by Heidi Betts
And yet none of that scared him nearly as much as having Shannon asleep in the next room. He was beginning to feel things for her that he shouldn’t.
If he’d wanted to become emotionally involved with the mother of his child, he’d have gone about the task from a whole different angle. He’d hired a surrogate specifically because he didn’t want the romantic attachments of a wife or girlfriend.
But Shannon made him imagine what it might be like to be having a child with a woman he loved. To live with someone for the first time in his adult life and start a family with that person. All things he had never wanted before.
And he didn’t want them now.
He didn’t.
Just as soon as the baby was born, he and Shannon would go their separate ways, and he’d forget about her. She’d likely move on with her life and forget about him just as quickly. It was only his growing attachment to the notion of being a father that had him thinking he was also experiencing genuine sentiments toward Shannon.
Taking a sip of the smooth red wine, Burke watched the turntable inside the microwave going around in a slow circle.
He had seven months, he thought. And in seven months, he could convince himself of almost anything. Even that.
When Shannon awoke the next morning, she felt a thousand times better. She still had a bit of a cough and her throat hurt a little, but the headache and intense lethargy that had dragged her down for more than a week seemed to have fled completely.
Whatever Dr. Cox had given her in the emergency room really worked. Not to mention the mini-pharmacy Burke set up for her on the nightstand.
Throwing back the covers, she sat up and looked around, realizing she was still in her flannel pajamas from the night before, with nothing else to change into. Ah, well. With any luck, Burke would be at his office already and she’d be able to search his apartment for a robe or something to put on so she could take a quick shower.
She padded across the bedroom in her bare feet and slowly opened the door, listening for any sign of Burke’s presence. When only silence met her ears, she eased into the hall, thinking to make her way toward the kitchen for a bite of breakfast. Before she stepped foot in the living room, though, she heard people moving around and the low hush of voices.
Or rather one voice, issuing orders.
“Be careful with those,” Burke told them in an undertone. “I don’t know what’s in them, but it could be fragile.”
He stood to one side of the doorway while two other men moved half a dozen boxes from a wheeled metal cart into the penthouse foyer. Wearing black chinos and a dark blue dress shirt, he looked even better than he had in a suit or tight, crumpled jeans. If that was possible.
The shirt molded to his arms and back in a way that made her want to run her hands over the sinewy muscles rippling beneath. His slacks, too, fit like a second skin, and she thought his tailor—whoever the man was—deserved a hefty raise.
She shouldn’t be thinking these things. It was hard not to, when confronted with such a fine masculine specimen, but her life was too full, too busy for stray sexual thoughts or keyed-up hormones.
Maybe it was the pregnancy causing these frequent bouts of lust that sent butterflies skittering through her nervous system. She was only eight weeks along, but already she’d noticed a change in her appetite and food preferences, a slight tenderness in her breasts…and an almost overwhelming attraction to the baby’s father. That wasn’t part of the deal, but the baby—and her libido—didn’t seem to care.
“Good morning.” Finally spotting her at the edge of the living room, Burke turned and started toward her. “I hope we didn’t wake you.”
“No.” She shook her head before looking back at the moving men. “I thought you’d be at work.”
“I didn’t want to leave until you were settled,” he said. “I had them bring your things up from the parking garage. I’m not sure how they’re packed, but I’d be happy to carry the boxes back to your room and help you unload them.”
Judging by the number of cardboard boxes sitting inside the door, he’d had them pack up and bring over everything she owned. A change of clothes and her toothbrush would have been enough for the limited amount of time she intended to stay at his place.
“That wasn’t necessary,” she told him, even though she’d said the same thing last evening, to no avail. “I won’t be here more than another day or two.”
His only response was a softly spoken, “We’ll see.”
After the last box was brought in, he tipped the moving men and closed the door behind them. “Let’s get you something to eat before we start to unpack.”
Shannon was either too tired, too sick or too stunned to protest as he spun her around by the shoulders and guided her into a small, sparkling clean kitchen. Pulling a stool away from the marble island, he urged her onto it.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he said, opening and closing the refrigerator, opening and closing cupboards. “I had Margaret go shopping this morning and stock up on the healthiest foods she could find. Otherwise you’d probably be stuck with something left over from the deli down the block.”
He poured a glass of orange juice and a glass of milk, and set both of them in front of her. Emptying a container of precut mixed fruit onto a plate, he grabbed a fork and set that in front of her, too.
“You don’t have to wait for me. I already ate,” he told her, gesturing to the small chunks of cantaloupe, pineapple, strawberries and red grapes. “I’m going to make my first attempt at cooking oatmeal from scratch.”
A grin tickled the corners of her lips as she watched him study the directions on the back of the instant oatmeal packet. He looked so intense, determined to do it right, without a single mistake. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that using the microwave wasn’t exactly making oatmeal “from scratch.”
She picked at the fruit slowly, nibbling on the corners before finishing what was left of the cut squares in one bite. And while she ate, Burke poured the packet’s contents into a bowl, added water, and nuked it until done. He took it out, stirred the oatmeal until it steamed, and then brought it over for her approval.
“I hope you like the peaches-and-cream flavor. It sounded healthier than brown sugar and cinnamon.”
Holding back another smile, she said, “I love peaches and cream.” Even though brown sugar and cinnamon was her favorite.
She knew what he was doing—force-feeding her foods that were good for the baby. Milk for calcium, orange juice for folic acid, fruits and vegetables for the vitamins and minerals they contained. No sugarcoated breakfast cereal for her; it had to be hearty oatmeal.
And she would let him, because she was a guest in his home, because it was his child, and because if she were back at her own place, she’d probably only grab a slice of toast or a granola bar on her way out the door. Not the healthiest eating habits, especially while she was pregnant, but it was fairly typical of her.
“What are your plans for today?” she asked, trying to make conversation while she waited for the oatmeal to cool.
“This is it,” he said, holding his hands out at his sides and rocking back on his heels. “I’m here to look after you. You still don’t look a hundred percent, so you should probably take it easy. You can take a nap on the sofa while I unpack the boxes from your apartment, or lie on the bed and tell me where you want things.”
“You’re going to an awful lot of trouble for a temporary houseguest.”
Avoiding her gaze, he busied himself wiping the counters with a damp dishcloth and taking away her empty orange juice glass. “Maybe I’m hoping your stay won’t be so temporary.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. From last night’s conversation, she understood he had hopes of her staying longer than just a day or two. He’d even gone so far as to suggest she stay the entire length of her pregnancy.
But that wasn’t possible. Even if she had nowhere else to go, she didn’t think spending the next several months
living with Burke was a good idea.
She was smart enough and realistic enough to admit—if only to herself—that she was attracted to him. That had been crystal clear from their first meeting, but she’d thought the feelings that had cropped up at the sight of him would go away. He was Chicago’s most eligible bachelor—gossiped about, sought after, photographed more than most movie stars—and she’d been duly impressed.
But instead of lessening, the way the emotions of a starstruck moment should have, her feelings toward him seemed to be increasing.
She’d grown to dread his phone calls, because she knew that just the sound of his voice would send her pulse skittering. She’d imagine him on the other end of the line, raven hair and smoky-gray eyes, more handsome than any man had a right to be. And even though his conversation always centered on the pregnancy and concerns for the baby, there were times when she let herself fantasize that the tone of his words or a certain question about her health stemmed more from his regard for her than for the child she carried.
Now she was in his apartment, only a stone’s throw from him at any given moment. And she was afraid that her hormones—pregnancy-induced and otherwise—were about to spin out of control.
“You stay here and finish your breakfast while I move the boxes into your room.”
He moved away, and Shannon watched him go. Then she twisted on her stool to watch as he lifted the top box from the stack and carried it past her down the hall. He returned a moment later for a second box, and then a third. His muscles bulged as he worked and a thin sheen of sweat broke out along his brow.
If only things were different, she thought, downing the rest of her room-temperature milk and wishing it were ice-cold water. If only they’d met in a way that didn’t include her becoming a surrogate mother to his child. If only she were the kind of woman a man like Burke Bishop would notice in the course of a regular day.
But she wasn’t, and she’d do well to remember that. Burke was paying her to give him a baby, after which they’d probably never see one another again. And if she wasn’t careful, she’d walk away with a broken heart, as well as an empty womb.
With a sigh of regret, she hopped down and followed him on his last trip past. It was pointless to argue with him about how long she’d be staying, so she decided to play along and let him help make the room she was using more homey. She could always pack it all up again and ask him to have her things sent over to her apartment once she moved back.
There was very little space left to move around in the average-sized bedroom with the large cardboard boxes now littering the floor. He had several of the flaps pulled back and stood with hands on hips, studying the contents.
“Where should we start?”
She opened a couple of the boxes closest to her, noticing clothes and shoes piled to the top. They were a mess, tossed in every which way, with nothing folded or kept away from dirty soles. A man had definitely packed these boxes, because a woman would never be so careless with dresses and skirts, even if they weren’t her own.
Plucking a white blouse off the top, she blew out a breath at the smudge on the right arm. “I suppose we can put the clothes away, but they’re going to need ironing, and some of them will have to be washed.”
He glanced at the wrinkled shirt in her hands and winced. “Sorry about that. I should have sent professionals to collect your things instead of having the driver do it.”
“That’s all right. It’s nothing that can’t be undone. If you have an iron, I can straighten out some of these now.”
His mouth twisted, eyes narrowing as he looked at her like she’d just grown a second head. “You just got out of the hospital. You shouldn’t be doing laundry and ironing, for God’s sake.”
He snatched the blouse from her hand and laid it on the bed. “Set aside anything dirty or overly wrinkled and I’ll have them sent out.”
She started to say, “That’s not necessary,” but pursed her lips when she recognized the determined glare on his face. Apparently, Burke was a man who liked taking care of life’s little details, whether they were necessary or not. Especially, she’d noticed, when it came to her.
“That would be great, thank you.”
She dug a few things out of the box in front of her, sorting them into piles on the bed. The one for the cleaners ended up significantly smaller than the other, since she rarely had anything dry-cleaned and could easily wash and iron them when she got back home. She suspected she could even ask Burke’s assistant, Margaret, to find an iron and ironing board for her to use while she was here, if Burke didn’t have one in the penthouse.
When she discovered her uniform for the Tavern, though, she groaned and sank down on the edge of the mattress. She’d forgotten all about work tonight and really didn’t feel up to a five-hour shift.
For a second, she considered calling in sick. After all, she was, and she had the emergency room papers to prove it. But that would leave her boss and the other servers in the lurch, and she knew from personal experience what a pain it was to cover for a missing co-worker. Not only that, but she needed the money from both her salary and the generous tips she usually raked in on a Friday night.
So she’d go in and see how long she could last. If she had to, she would leave early. And if she mentioned to the other waiters that she wasn’t feeling well, she was sure they’d pitch in to help lighten her workload.
“This one is clean, but it has to be pressed by tonight,” she told Burke, laying the black slacks and forest green shirt across her lap. “Maybe I can hang it in the bathroom while I shower and let the steam work out the wrinkles.”
“Why is that outfit so important?” he wanted to know.
Lifting the top, she pointed out the logo above the left breast pocket. “I have work tonight, whether I like it or not.” Before he could argue—which she knew he would—she added, “It’s too late to call and tell them I won’t be there, so I’ll just have to tough it out.”
One corner of Burke’s mouth pulled to the side, as though he were chewing the inside of his lip. Avoiding her gaze, he slid his hands into the front pockets of his pants and rolled back on his heels.
“About that,” he said slowly.
He looked guilty, and Shannon was sure she wouldn’t like whatever he was about to say.
“I called the Tavern this morning before you got up.”
With narrowed eyes, she asked, “Why would you do that?” Although she suspected she already knew the answer.
“Don’t be angry. You were sick, and I knew you’d been working yourself to the bone both at school and the restaurant. It was probably too much for you even before you got pregnant.”
He was explaining, trying to cover his bases so she wouldn’t get upset, but he still wasn’t telling her what he’d done.
“What, exactly, am I not supposed to be angry about?”
He shifted his stance, staring down at his shoes as though he were afraid to admit whatever it was he’d done. “I told your boss you wouldn’t be able to work tonight, or any other night.”
Shannon felt her brow go up, stretching toward her hairline. “You quit. You quit my job for me.”
“Only temporarily,” he rushed to assure her. “Think of it as a hiatus. I didn’t give them details, of course, but I explained that you’d be taking several months off—until after the baby’s born—and then would probably be interested in going back to work.”
“And Vinnie was okay with this. He just said, ‘Sure, let her take nearly a year off. Her job will still be waiting for her when she gets back.’”
“He didn’t seem to have a problem with the situation,” Burke said evenly. And then, with more confidence than any man deserved, he added, “I can be very persuasive.”
“Yes. I know you can,” she said. But it wasn’t a compliment. His persuasiveness right now felt more like manipulation, and she didn’t like it. He’d already persuaded her into more of a relationship than she’d expected when she’d first agreed
to this arrangement. Not to mention persuading her straight into the guest bedroom of his penthouse apartment.
“I’m sorry if you’re upset with me. I did what I thought was best. You really do need to take it easy for the next few days, until you’re feeling better. And it wouldn’t hurt to cut back on your workload through the rest of your pregnancy, either.”
A low level of fury simmered beneath the surface of her skin. She could feel her fingers clenching and her cheeks becoming heated.
She understood his concern, since her health was directly related to his child’s health. And she even appreciated his conviction, because she’d been so sick and only getting sicker before he broke into her apartment and dragged her to the hospital. If he hadn’t, she would probably still be curled up, shivering and miserable in her tiny apartment.
But she didn’t like his heavy-handedness, or the way he kept making important decisions about her life without consulting her first.
“Maybe I should, um, leave you alone for a while. To unpack.”
From his expression, she could tell he didn’t want to leave. But he also wasn’t looking for a confrontation or all-out battle. He really didn’t know her well enough to be sure which was coming, she thought.
And that was a big part of the problem. He didn’t know her, and she didn’t know him. They were as different as night and day, trying to find some middle ground just long enough to form a legal bond and bring a baby into the world. For some reason, that very analytical summary of their relationship depressed her and put a cap on her building ire.
She stared down at the uniform clothes on her lap, her stomach cramped with mixed emotions. Part of her wanted him to stay. She’d admitted long ago that she was attracted to him, and if things had come about differently, she’d have been more than interested in getting to know him better.