by Diana Palmer
“I can’t worry about him and you as well,” she said curtly. “And he deserves a chance. You’re old enough to make your own mistakes, but I’m responsible for him now.”
He stared down at her for a long time. Then he turned away with a sigh and lit still another cigarette.
“I’ve done it for so many years,” he said after a minute, staring at the floor. “It’s all I know.”
“I’m not asking you to change,” she reminded him.
He looked up. “We’re married.”
“We can get divorced.”
“I don’t want a damned divorce!” he burst out, his eyes black with anger.
She stood there staring at him helplessly, searching for the right words.
He sighed angrily. “I knew you’d be trouble the minute I saw you,” he growled. “A frumpy little bookseller with the body and soul of an angel. And you’re in my blood like poison. I’d have to die to get you out of my system!”
She lifted her shoulders and smiled ruefully. “Well, look at it this way, you’ll never have to fight off other men.”
He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Would you care to bet? The way you look right now…”
“I look pregnant,” she said. “In two or three more months I’ll look like a blimp.”
“Not to me you won’t.”
He averted his eyes to his shoes. “Well, I’ll go home and pack. And there are some people I want to see.”
“Pack?”
He looked up. “I’m going to live with you,” he said. “If you don’t like it, that’s tough. I am not,” he continued, gathering steam, “going to have you working yourself to death and running up and down these damned stairs. Harriett’s right. You need looking after. So I’m going to look after you. Until the baby comes, at least,” he added. “After that we’ll make whatever decisions have to be made.”
She wanted to argue. But he looked very formidable. “But, your…your work….”
“To hell with my work,” he bit off. He looked frankly dangerous. “I’ve got enough in foreign banks to buy this damned building you live in. I work because I like it, not because I need money.”
“But…”
“Shh. Talking is bad for the baby.” He crushed out his cigarette. “I’ll get back Saturday.”
Things were happening too fast. She was shell-shocked. She watched him walk toward her.
“Little gray-eyed witch,” he whispered. He pulled her gently against him and bent to tease her mouth with his. “Open it,” he murmured. “I haven’t kissed you in months.”
“I’ll bet you’ve kissed other women,” she said mutinously.
He lifted his head. “Nope.” He drew his knuckles over her flushed cheek. “I haven’t even looked at one. And yes, there are always women in the circles I move in. Beautiful women, with no principles and eyes like dollar signs. And all I could think of was how it felt with you, that morning when we made such exquisite love on my bed and created this little boy.”
Tears burst into her eyes, startling him. “You know?” she breathed.
“Of course. Didn’t you?” he asked, smiling at her.
“You’re more experienced than I am,” she hedged.
“Not in that kind of lovemaking,” he murmured ruefully. “I wasn’t lying when I said I’d never experienced it before.”
“Do you mind very much, about the baby?” she asked, because she had to know.
He smoothed away her frown with a lean forefinger. “I have to get used to the idea, that’s all. I’ve been a free spirit for a very long time. I’ve had no one.”
“Yes, I know.” She studied his shirt buttons. “Eric, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to come here….”
He stopped the sacrificing little speech with his mouth, opening hers to a delicate, gently probing kiss that had her going stiff with desire all too soon.
His fingers tangled in the short hair at the nape of her neck and eased her head back against the hard muscle of his upper arm. His other hand made slow, torturous forays against her collarbone, her shoulder, the side of her breast.
“Sadist,” she whispered shakily as the magic worked on her.
He bit her lower lip gently. “Do you want to make love?”
Her eyes opened, looking straight into his face. “No.”
He smiled, and his fingers brushed knowingly over her nipples. She flinched with sudden pleasure, and he laughed gently.
“Yes, you do,” he murmured dryly.
“My mind doesn’t want to,” she amended, trying to save herself from the sensual prison he was trying to trap her in.
He kissed her eyes closed, and his hands slid to her stomach, cupping its firm warmth. “It won’t make you miscarry,” he whispered. “Not if I’m gentle enough. And I will be.”
She trembled at the soft tone, and he smiled and pulled her into his arms, holding her.
“It isn’t that,” she whispered into his shoulder, eyes open and worried as they stared at the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t make me care for you. It will make it all that much harder to let go. Just…just let me pretend that it’s Mexico, and we’re having a holiday. All right?”
He stood very still, smoothing her hair. “Dani…”
“Please!”
He sighed heavily and let her go. “All right. A holiday.” His eyes dropped to her belly and he chuckled. “For the three of us.”
“And—and no sex,” she added, her eyes dark and frightened.
He searched them, seeing her fear of losing him. It bothered him, but he didn’t quite know how to handle it. “Are you sure?” he asked. “We could enjoy each other.”
“Yes, I know. But I don’t want to.”
She was imposing impossible limits on his self-control, but he couldn’t turn his back on his responsibility to her. He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “Okay,” he said carelessly. “No sex.”
She breathed more easily. She had expected him to argue. He brushed a kiss against her nose.
“Of course,” he added, “you can always seduce me if you like.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a reluctant smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He winked at her. “See you Saturday. Rest for another hour. I’ll stop by your store and tell the mother hen where you are. And watch those damned stairs,” he added firmly.
“Yes, your worship.” She curtsied.
He laughed shortly as he went out the door, closing it quietly behind him. Dani stared at it for a long time before she went back to lie down. She wondered what she was letting herself in for. He wasn’t going to be able to settle down, she was sure of it. It would mean only more heartache. But apparently he felt responsible and he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight for five months. She grimaced at the thought of having to cope with Dutch and Harriett together. It was going to be a rough pregnancy.
Chapter Eight
Dutch thought that getting married might have been worth it all when he saw the shock on J.D.’s and Gabby’s faces.
J.D. Brettman was big and dark. He was an ex-mercenary who now practiced law in Chicago. And Gabby Darwin Brettman had been his secretary before she married him. Dutch had heard a little about her from First Shirt, another member of the team, who’d told him how rough the courtship had been, and he’d met her once himself. Now he needed advice, and he couldn’t think of anyone better than J.D. to ask.
“Married.” J.D. caught his breath. “You?”
Dutch shrugged. He looked up from his lit cigarette to catch the amused look in Gabby’s green eyes, and he laughed in spite of himself. “It’s your fault,” he told her. “I never would have noticed her, but for you. Until J.D. married you, I thought all women were incapable of honesty.”
J.D. touched Gabby’s cheek gently. “She changed my own outlook,” he said, and a look passed between them that embarrassed Dutch.
Dutch got up and went to the window, staring blankly out at Chicago. “I don’t know what to do,” he
confessed. “I thought I would keep working and we’d each have our own lives. But she won’t agree to that. She says she can’t handle knowing what I’m doing when I’m away.”
J.D. got up. “I’ll make a pot of coffee. Gabby, keep Dutch company, will you?”
“Sure.” She got up and went to the window, standing quietly beside the tall blond man, her arms folded over her chest. She looked at him. “I was going to get out of J.D.’s life when I thought he might go back to it,” she said honestly. “I couldn’t handle it, either.” Her shoulders rose and fell. “I’m not a coward, but the worry would have made one of me. If he’d been a policeman or worked in law enforcement, I suppose I’d have had to make the best of it. But the kind of work he did, and you do, isn’t easy for a woman to cope with. It’s extraordinarily dangerous.”
“Gabby,” he said, staring out the window, “how would you have felt if J.D. hadn’t been able to give it up—and you were pregnant?”
Tears burst from her eyes. He looked down and saw them, and his face contorted. “Oh, God,” he breathed roughly.
She turned away. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I want a baby so much. But J.D. and I haven’t been able to have one. If I were pregnant, and he went off to a war, I think I’d die in my sleep.”
He started to speak and couldn’t. He lifted the cigarette to his lips, anguish in his eyes.
“I meant to tell you,” J.D. said minutes later, after he’d brought the coffee, “that Apollo’s been cleared of any criminal charges.”
“You got him off?” Dutch asked with a smile, feeling happy for their old friend and comrade.
J.D. nodded. “It took a little work. But he was innocent—that helped.” He pursed his lips and glanced at Dutch. “He’s opened his own business.”
“Oh? Doing what?” Dutch asked.
“A consulting firm. He specializes in teaching anti-terrorism tactics to international corporations. And already he’s got more work than he can handle.” He leaned back against the sofa. “It’s exciting work. Even a little risky. He asked if you might be interested. He needs someone experienced in tactics and strategy.”
“A desk job,” Dutch scoffed.
“Not at all. Go see him.”
Dutch met J.D.’s level gaze. “I don’t know if I can settle down.”
“I didn’t know, either.” He glanced at Gabby, who was writing letters at the small desk, her long hair around her shoulders. “But it wasn’t hard to decide which meant more, a few wild thrills, or her. She’s my world,” he added in a tone that made Dutch look away.
He leaned forward, staring at the carpet. “Dani’s pregnant.”
J.D. hesitated. “Is it yours?”
He nodded and smiled. “No doubt about it.”
* * *
Later, he went to see Apollo Blain, the tall black man who’d been part of their small unit since J.D. and First Shirt had formed it years ago. Apollo grinned at him from behind his big desk, looking urbane and capable and prosperous.
“Tired of planning battles?” Apollo chuckled as he shook Dutch’s outstretched hand. “Help me save paunchy executives from terrorists. It’s a hell of a lot safer, and the pay’s good.”
“J.D. said I might like it.” Dutch sighed, settling back in an armchair. “I got married.”
“You?” Apollo gaped at him. He felt his own forehead. “My God, I must have an awful fever. I thought you just said you were married.”
“I am. And I’ve got a son on the way,” came the amused reply.
“I’d better lie down.”
“Not until we discuss this job,” Dutch returned.
“Are you really interested?” Apollo asked seriously.
Dutch nodded. “I don’t know if I can stick it out. That’s up front. But I think I need to try, for her sake.”
Apollo whistled. “I’d like to meet this lady. Anything like Gabby?”
Dutch smiled. “Quite a lot.”
“I hope there aren’t any more of them running around loose.” Apollo shuddered. “Even First Shirt’s on the verge, with Gabby’s mother. Anyway, enough about that. Here’s what I had in mind, if you’d like to give it a shot….”
Dutch lit a cigarette and listened quietly. He nodded. Yes, it sounded like an interesting job. Outwitting terrorists. He smiled. Perhaps he might even enjoy it. He leaned back and crossed his legs as Apollo’s deep voice outlined the project.
* * *
When Dani told her best friend what was happening, Harriett had little to say about it, except to mutter something about a strong cage and a thin whip.
“He’s not at all difficult when you know him.” Dani grinned impishly. “And you have to admit, he’s rather extraordinarily handsome.”
“Handsome doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Harriett said curtly. And then she smiled. And growled wolfishly. And went off grinning.
Dani stared after Harriett, her own smile being slowly replaced by a frown. Her hand went absently to the swell of her stomach and she walked back behind the counter slowly.
It all seemed like a dream, somehow. The only reality left in her life was the baby. How in the world was she going to cope with a husband who felt trapped? She couldn’t forget the look on his face when he’d seen that she was pregnant, couldn’t forget what he’d said to her. He’d apologized, but still she couldn’t forget. He didn’t want this baby for some reason, and, although he desired Dani, he didn’t love her. His feelings were superficial at best, nothing that a marriage could be built on.
Her eyes went to the order sheet on the counter and she stared at it blankly, oblivious to the sound of Harriett helping a new customer find the books she wanted. Harriett had been right; she should have kept her head in Mexico. How incredible that levelheaded Dani had gone off the deep end and married a stranger. It wasn’t like her.
And now he felt responsible for what he’d done, and he was going to take care of her. She almost cried. Not because he loved her, but because the baby was his fault. She stared at her neat, short nails. How could she bear seeing him day after day, knowing that only the baby held him to her, that when it was all over, he’d be gone again. Perhaps he’d be killed. Her eyes closed in agony.
“Stop it,” Harriett whispered sharply, pausing by the counter. “Stop tormenting yourself. At least he cares enough to look after you, doesn’t he?”
Her eyelids lifted, and her anguished gray eyes were fogged from tears. “Does he?”
“He was snarling like a mountain lion,” Harriett said, “when he stopped by here on this way to the airport. But it wasn’t all guilt, you know. He’s really worried about you.”
Dani sighed thoughtfully. “He was terrified when he saw I was pregnant, Harrie,” she murmured. “And when we got back to my apartment…he said some harsh things.”
“None of which he meant, I imagine.” Harriett patted her hand. “But you’ve got to stop worrying. It isn’t healthy.”
“He said he had to see some people,” Dani said tightly.
“So that’s it.” Harriett glanced toward the browsing customer. “If he said he’d be back, he will. You can’t put a rope around a man like that.”
“I’d die if I lost him,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I offered him a divorce, and he wouldn’t take it. I can’t bear being nothing more than a responsibility.”
“Once he gets to know you, that might change. Have you thought of it that way?” Harriett asked with a quiet smile. “Now, get busy. That’s the best therapy I know for worry. Okay?”
“Okay.” But as the days went by, the worries grew. What if he didn’t come back at all? What if the people he was seeing told him of another mission, and he couldn’t resist taking it?
Friday afternoon, when she left, she asked Harriett to open up the next morning so that she could sleep late. She was tired, and the worry wasn’t helping. Harriett started to say something, but apparently thought better of it.
* * *
Something woke Dani. A movement
beside her, a heavy weight on the bed. She came awake slowly, her face pale and drawn from lack of rest, her eyes heavily shadowed.
Dutch stared at her with unconcealed anxiety. She looked even worse than when he’d left. His eyes went slowly down her body to the swell of her stomach and they darkened. He didn’t touch her this time. She didn’t want that, he recalled bitterly, she didn’t want him in any physical way anymore.
Dani blinked and almost reached out to touch him. Was he real? Her eyes wandered over his broad shoulders in the tan raincoat he was wearing. His blond hair was damp, too, curling a little around the sides of his face, and she wondered if their child would inherit that slight waviness.
“I didn’t expect you so early,” she said drowsily. “Is it raining?”
“Cats and dogs.” He stood up, moving away from the bed. “Harriett’s watching the store, I gather?”
“Yes. Would you like some breakfast?” she asked, although the thought of food was giving her problems already.
“I had it on the plane,” he said. He lit a cigarette and glanced at her. “Can you eat anything?”
She shook her head. “Not now, I can’t. I have toast when I get up.”
“I’ll go make some.”
She gaped at him, and he laughed reluctantly.
“Well, I can toast bread, you know,” he said. “We used to take turns with chow when the group and I were on a mission.”
Her eyes lowered quickly to the bedspread. She touched the design in the white chenille. “The…people you had to see?” Her glance skipped to his hard face and down again. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.” She got up, standing slowly because any movement could trigger the nausea.
He felt as if he’d taken a hard blow in the stomach. Not her business! For God’s sake, didn’t she even care?
He turned, striding angrily into the kitchen while she sighed miserably, wondering what she’d done, and made her way into the bathroom.
The toast was on the table when she joined him. She’d thrown on a sleeveless flowered dress and came barefoot into the room, her hair gently brushed, her face white and drawn. He was wearing jeans and a brown knit shirt that made him look even more vital, tanned and powerful than usual.