And Baby Makes Three

by Rebecca Winters

  Her eyes grew slumberous. “I think it will.” She slid her arms around his neck. “Oh, Cole-” She pressed kisses all over his handsome face. “I’ve been wanting you to make love to me forever-I adore you.” Her voice shook. “You have no idea how much.”

  For an answer, his mouth came down on hers, urgent and avid. Flames of desire licked her veins, turning her into a breath less supplicant. She didn’t remember being carried to the bedroom. All she knew was that she was in his arms, trying to satisfy her craving for him.

  Hours later, when the stars had faded over the Ruby Mountains and the sun was about to come up, she had to give herself a talk about leaving him alone. He was in a deep sleep at last.

  She should have been sated by now, yet she realized the craving for him was worse than before and would never go away.

  Out of the semi darkness she heard a velvet voice whisper, “Come here.” Cole pulled her on top of him, trapping her legs.

  Her breath caught. “I didn’t mean to waken you.”

  “That’s the first lie you’ve told me all night,” he teased, kissing her in a certain spot.

  Her face crimsoned. “Do you know how embarrassing it is to want your husband so much you have no shame?”

  “There’s no shame when two people love each other as much as we do. Only a hot-blooded woman like you could ever hold me. When my time comes-”

  “Stop-” She put a hand over his mouth. “I don’t ever want to think about that.”

  He pressed a moist kiss to her palm. “Naturally I’m hoping it won’t be until after a lifetime of loving. But when it does happens-remind me to thank my little brother. Without him I would never have known this kind of happiness.”

  “Cole, darling-” she cried in an aching voice.

  Once again her world spun away in a ritual of giving and taking and unspeakable pleasure. Catherine’s entrancement was so total she didn’t realize at once that someone was ringing the doorbell. “Sweetheart-”

  “Ignore it and they’ll go away. I have other things to do,” he whispered, plundering her mouth.

  The bell pealed again.

  “Cole?” She tried to breathe. “I think we’d better get it. Maybe something’s wrong with Bonnie.”

  “Someone would have phoned.”

  “Maybe it’s Mack.”

  A groan escaped. “All right. I’ll get it.” He pressed another hungry kiss to her mouth before rising from the bed.

  She watched her gorgeous husband shrug into a toweling robe and leave the bedroom. In another minute she could hear Cole say, “Gavin-where’s the fire?”

  “The family wants you and Catherine to come over for breakfast, but they were afraid you wouldn’t answer the phone.”

  “Then why didn’t you just come in and tell us?”

  “But yesterday you told me not to barge in!”

  “That was yesterday.”

  “You don’t sound mad anymore. I guess she’s not afraid of you anymore either?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s good, huh?”

  “Yup.”

  Catherine had to cover her mouth to hold in her laughter. If this was how things were going to be on the Bonnibelle from now on, she could handle a hundred life times of it.

  LUCY GORDON

  Lucy Gordon cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Charlton Heston and Roger Moore. She also camped out with lions in Africa, and had many other unusual experiences that have often provided the background for her books. Several years ago, while staying in Venice, she met a Venetian who proposed in two days. They have been married ever since. Naturally, this has affected her writing, where romantic Italian men tend to feature strongly.

  Two of her books have won the Romance Writers of America’s RITA® award.

  You can visit her website at www.lucy-gordon.com.

  Playboy’s Surprise Son

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘THE race is nearly over. The two drivers from the Brent Team are neck and neck. Jared Marriot of Team Cannonball seemed bound to win, but he faded and his challenge is over-no, here he is!-catching up with the front two. Has he enough room to pass? Yes, there he goes, streaking ahead of them both, and there’s the chequered flag to say that he’s won.’

  Colours flashed across the television screen as the Cannonball car shot over the finishing line, closely followed by the two Brent cars. The camera honed in on Jared Marriot, waving a hand above his head, fist clenched in victory.

  ‘He did it, Mummy.’ Mike, the little boy on the sofa, was beside himself with glee. ‘He won! I knew he would.’

  ‘Of course you did, darling,’ Kaye assured her son.

  ‘He always wins, doesn’t he?’ Mike insisted.

  ‘Well,’ she said cautiously, ‘not quite always.’

  Mike glared indignantly. ‘Yes, he does,’ he insisted. ‘Always.’

  Kaye smiled fondly. At five years old, Mike thought he could make the world do as he wanted. Jared Marriot was his hero, which meant that he won every race, even when he didn’t.

  They watched as he climbed out of the car to be greeted with wild acclaim from the team, then leapt up onto the podium and sprayed champagne everywhere-the very picture of triumph.

  In the interview that followed he was engagingly modest. Yes, he’d had a few unfortunate incidents lately, but the bad times were behind him. He’d won the World Championship three times, and as for this year-well, we’d see. He said the last words with a knowing twinkle in his eye that made everyone laugh with him, not at him.

  That was his gift, Kaye thought wistfully. His laughter was an invitation to join him in a merry conspiracy, and it would take a heart of stone to refuse.

  Her heart had never been made of stone, not where the young Jared had been concerned. They’d shared one evening, and the sense of being close to him had been intense and beautiful, making her want to be closer yet, and closer.

  Was it really his fault that it had all been an illusion? She’d been eighteen-old enough to have some common sense, so she’d told herself in the despair that engulfed her afterwards. She refused to blame him, for if she did so she would lose something she couldn’t bear to lose.

  Mike was still burbling happily about his hero.

  ‘Mum, when can I drive a racing car?’

  ‘When you’re a lot older than you are now,’ she said firmly.

  ‘And then I’ll be like Jared?’

  ‘If you’re crazy enough, yes,’ she teased.

  She wondered at his fixation with one man. There were lots of other daredevil racing drivers. Perhaps he’d noticed that Kaye always watched Grand Prix races, eyes following Jared, and that she tensed up if he had an accident.

  Or perhaps there was another reason…

  Later that night, when she’d seen Mike safely asleep, Kaye returned to the television and switched on the recording she’d made of the race so that she could watch it again later, when she was safely alone. There was Jared in triumph. When the camera homed in on his face she paused the picture and watched it with an aching longing.

  This was the man she remembered from nearly six years ago: a little older, affected by the terrible tragedy that had nearly killed him last year, but still basically the wild and wacky character who’d entranced her from the first moment.

  She’d been enjoying a gap year before heading for university to develop her talent for languages. It was that very talent that had won her a job with Brent. Car racing took place in many countries, and an employee who could slip easily from one language to another was useful.

  That was how she’d met Jared. He’d been in Monza for the Italian Grand Prix, along with Brent’s other driver, a great name in the sport-known as Warrior and self-obsessed. He had a lucky charm-a silver badge worn under his racing gear-and when he’d accidentally left it behind there’d been a crisis, resolved by sending Kaye to Monza.

  There she had endured War
rior’s effusive thanks and spent the next day being treated as his multi-lingual servant.

  Second driver on the team had been a young man with laughing eyes and film star looks.

  ‘Jared will be a fine driver when his time comes,’ Warrior loftily declared. ‘He just needs to be a little patient.’

  Jared, overhearing, grinned and winked at Kaye. In the race he came within an inch of defeating Warrior, who emerged from his car pale and ill-tempered.

  ‘He’s not going to forgive you for that,’ Kaye murmured as they all got ready to leave the track.

  Jared chuckled. ‘Wait until the next race. Maybe I can give him something else not to forgive. Bye!’

  He blew her a kiss and hurried away to join the glamorous model who was waiting for him, which gave Kaye a stab of jealousy. Her own looks were pretty enough, but she knew she couldn’t attract a man who could take his pick from a wide choice.

  For a few weeks she watched Jared’s progress through the races, which he won-to Warrior’s ill-concealed fury-and through a few colourful explosions in the tabloids featuring various curvaceous companions.

  She sometimes met him briefly in England, between races. He would recognise her from a distance, wave and be gone. Once he bought her a cup of tea in the firm’s canteen and she enjoyed a few dazzling minutes with him, only slightly spoiled when he addressed her by the wrong name.

  Clearly she just didn’t have the ‘something’ that made a girl stand out from the crowd. If only she was more rounded.

  ‘Much too thin,’ she told her reflection in the wardrobe.

  ‘You count your blessings,’ her grandmother said, just behind her. ‘There’s many a plump girl would say you were lucky.’

  Her mother’s parents had raised her since her own parents had died in a road accident eight years before. Their relationship was affectionate, with no more than the normal inter-generational exasperation on both sides.

  ‘You can wear those tight jeans, which is more than most of them can,’ Gran observed helpfully.

  ‘Only ’cos I’m shaped like a boy,’ Kaye said in disgust. ‘No ins, no outs, no nothing!’

  ‘Good. It’ll help you stay out of mischief.’

  One by one Jared’s victories mounted: Turkey, Italy, Belgium, Brazil. Between races the press pursued him intently, attracted by the stream of lovelies in his company. One in particular alerted them. Mirella, a model as famed for her colourful life as for her beauty, appeared on his arm more than any other. There were quarrels, reconciliations, even talk of marriage-all of it featured in the headlines. When he won the Japanese Grand Prix, inches ahead of Warrior, Mirella was there to greet him in the pits.

  Returning to England, Warrior went into a sulk which ended in him storming into the office one evening as Kaye was about to leave, having worked late. She indicated that Duncan, her boss, was still there, and Warrior headed for Duncan’s office, slamming the door behind him.

  At once voices were raised and she listened, fascinated, to the ensuing row. It might be shocking to eavesdrop, but how often could you get entertainment this good?

  At last, reluctantly, she headed for the exit, colliding with someone she hadn’t noticed before.

  ‘Sorry,’ Jared said, steadying her.

  ‘How long have you been there?’

  ‘Just a few minutes. I was going to talk to Duncan but-’ he made a face ‘-perhaps another time.’

  ‘Warrior’s really mad at you for overtaking him when you did,’ she said softly.

  ‘It was a race. I’m supposed to overtake.’

  ‘But he’s the number one driver, so you should have let him stay ahead.’

  ‘In his dreams. Oh, Lord, they’re coming out. Quick!’

  He grabbed her hand, whisking her away before she could protest. Not that she wanted to protest. Now she was with him again she knew how she’d longed for this.

  The two men emerged and headed for the elevator. Neither of them saw Jared and Kaye, keeping well back.

  ‘You’re not doing anything tonight, are you?’ he asked when they were safely alone.

  It was more an arrogant statement than a question. If he wanted her, how could she possibly be doing anything else? But she was too dazzled by him to see anything wrong with that.

  ‘Not a thing,’ she assured him.

  ‘Then let’s get out of here fast.’

  She went with him eagerly, terrified lest anything happened to change his mind. A small bar had recently opened across the street, and they took refuge there.

  ‘Thank heavens I didn’t walk into a scene!’ he said thankfully when they were settled.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re afraid.’

  ‘Of scenes? Sure. I avoid them like the plague.’

  ‘And they call you the bravest man on the track,’ she teased.

  ‘Ah, on the track! That’s different. Crashing at two hundred miles an hour, no problem. But raised voices and agitation-’ He shuddered. ‘I just run for it.’

  ‘You weren’t expected for a day or two,’ she said. ‘We all thought you’d be kept fully occupied by-er-’ She was carefully avoiding Mirella’s name.

  ‘All right, all right,’ he said, understanding perfectly and grinning. ‘I made a hasty exit. Can we leave it?’

  She burst out laughing and his grin became more relaxed.

  ‘I’m a coward there too,’ he admitted. ‘In fact I’m just a disreputable character, and I can’t think why anyone bothers with me.’

  ‘Neither can I,’ she declared solemnly. ‘From where I’m sitting, you have absolutely nothing going for you.’

  ‘I know.’ He sighed. ‘Women turn away from me, and somehow I just have to endure it.’

  He was twenty-four, with the lean figure of an athlete and looks that retained the barest hint of boyishness. His dark brown eyes seemed to contain mysterious depths, even when they gleamed with fun, as they did now. Female rejection was something he would never experience and they both knew it.

  He was wry, funny, ridiculous, self-mocking, and-most charming of all-he seemed to give her all his attention. Common sense warned her that it meant nothing, was merely something he did with everyone, especially women. But she firmly silenced common sense. Who needed it?

  They chatted easily. It was the talk of friends, not lovers, but she was happy. When their eyes met in amused understanding she had a sweet sensation that should have warned her of danger. But she only realised that later. Much, much later. When it was far too late.

  ‘Driving my first racing car was like reaching heaven,’ he recalled. ‘I was free. I could do what I liked. Mind you, what I liked was usually stupid, and there was trouble afterwards, but it was worth it. I knew I had to drive cars for a living, one way or another.’

  ‘You could have become a taxi driver,’ she told him, straight-faced.

  He struck his head. ‘Hey, I never thought of that! What a chance I missed! All those crashes when I could have been doing something really interesting. Mind you, there’s a snag. In a taxi the passenger is the boss. I can’t stand that. I have to be in charge.’

  ‘But don’t you get instructions from the team?’

  ‘They tell me what they want, but I contrive to do it my way. I’m the one in the driving seat and they just have to get used to that.’

  Another man might have sounded like a bully. Jared merely came across as a charming lad who would manipulate his own way by one means or another.

  A giggle from another part of the bar made them look up to find that he’d been recognised.

  ‘Oh, no,’ he groaned. ‘Come on.’

  Grabbing her again, he whisked her out onto the pavement, suddenly overcome by self-reproach.

  ‘I’ve got no manners, have I? That’s twice tonight I’ve just hauled you away without asking what you want.’

  ‘I’m not complaining.’

  ‘That’s because you’re a sweet, understanding person, but you deserve better than me.’

  She suppres
sed the instinct to say, No, I don’t. Ever. She was in a haze of delight.

  ‘At least I can offer you something to eat,’ he said. ‘Come-’ He stopped in the act of seizing her hand, groaning. ‘I’m doing it again.’

  ‘Well, you’d better get on and do it, then, hadn’t you?’ she said, laughing and grasping his hand in her turn. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To my home. No more public places.’

  ‘Where are you parked?’

  ‘I live nearby. No driving. Which is just as well because-’ he blinked ‘-I may have had just a little too much wine.’

  His home turned out to be a couple of rented rooms, which astonished her by their austerity.

  ‘I’m hardly ever here,’ he explained as she looked around. ‘Every two weeks there’s a race in a different country. Plus, I’ll soon be moving to another team, which is what I really came to tell Duncan tonight.’

  She was facing away from him so he didn’t see the dismay at the news that he was leaving.

  ‘Right,’ he said breezily. ‘It’s time for me to demonstrate that I have other skills besides acting like a maniac on the track.’

  To her surprise he turned out to be a skilled cook.

  ‘My mother insisted on it,’ he explained. ‘She said women would find me such a turn-off that I’d better learn to fend for myself.’

  Again they laughed together, and again happiness pervaded her so that nothing else mattered. Almost nothing else. The knowledge of his imminent departure lay like a threat in her mind, infusing every word and action. Perhaps it caused what happened next.

  When they’d finished washing up he said, ‘Bless you for everything. What would I have done without you?’ Then he leaned forward and kissed her lightly.

  She couldn’t blame him for the consequences. They were at least as much her doing, perhaps more. Suddenly her arms were about him, her mouth pressing against his, her whole being trembling with delight and anticipation. She sensed the shock that went through him and the next moment his embrace grew more fervent, more thrilling.