Emma nodded and grabbed his finger in an attempt to pull it into her mouth.
Garrick reached for her bottle of apple juice, nestled her on his lap, and made himself comfortable in an armchair. She lifted her large brown eyes at him as she drank from her bottle.
“You know, you have eyes like your aunt,” he noted. “Has anyone ever told you that? Probably not, seeing how you two also just met.” He chuckled at his joke.
A silver-framed photograph caught Garrick’s attention. In the picture, Leila stood smiling in between two women with equally broad and similar smiles. Each was attractive, but it was Leila who commanded his full attention.
Her eyes and smile hinted and teased him as if she knew a secret. A genuine love radiated between the women and he wondered if one of the other ladies was Emma’s mother. Still, his gaze returned to Leila.
If a picture was worth a thousand words, what did this one say about his neighbor? Sexy leaped to mind, and another image of her in her white evening dress surfaced. She was a woman who owned her curves and, to be honest, he wouldn’t mind roaming his hands down—
Emma coughed.
Garrick quickly cleaned his thoughts. “What? I wasn’t doing anything.”
She said nothing, but he imagined she didn’t believe him.
“Okay. So I was thinking about your aunt,” he confessed. “Generally speaking, she’s pretty hot. However, it would never work between us.”
Emma’s eyes drooped low.
“I don’t really expect you to understand. Things really get complicated when you get older. Physical attraction isn’t enough.” His gaze crept back to the picture. “Things like compatibility are important. You know, finding someone who has the same hopes, dreams, and ideas.”
The soft suckling of air caught his attention and he glanced down to see Emma’s bottle empty, and she had fallen fast asleep.
“Yeah, my love life bores me, too.”
Leila couldn’t concentrate.
Every time Mr. Porter, her business date, rambled on about projects, distribution, or even how overcooked his steak was, Leila kept contemplating to call home. Sure, she’d run a few reports on her new neighbor, but how responsible was it to leave her niece with a man she hardly knew?
“I have to admit—I’m impressed with how far you’ve taken Atlanta Spice in such a short time,” Porter said. “You’ve been in business—what—five years?” He cocked his head as his gray eyes leveled on her. “Ms. Owens?”
“Huh? Oh. Uh, six. I started Atlanta Spice six years ago.” She broadened her plastic smile. “I truly believe the magazine and Hearst Communications will make an excellent partnership.”
Porter dropped his gaze and his jiggling, thick neck reddened as he drew a deep breath.
She frowned as her antennae rose. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” He cleared his throat and carved on a new smile. “You are a very smart business-woman and we at Hearst admire what you’ve accomplished in an oversaturated market.”
Leila lifted her chin as a swell of accomplishment grew within her.
“But—” He lowered his gaze again. “Hearst doesn’t share the same vision for the magazine.”
Confused, Leila stared at him. Mentally, she pictured an airplane plummeting to the ground. “I don’t understand.”
Porter lowered his fork and then braided his fingers above his plate. “We’re interested in purchasing Atlanta Spice.” He let his words set in for a moment before he continued, “We’re prepared to offer you a fair price for the magazine. Trust me. You’ll never have to work again.”
“It’s not for sale,” Leila managed to say.
“Everything is for sale,” he retaliated. “It’s just simply finding the right price.” He held her gaze. “Look, Ms. Owens. You’ve taken this magazine as far as it can go. There’s no shame in cashing in a cash cow and moving on to the next big adventure. A beautiful woman like yourself, surely there’s some man you have tucked in a corner?”
Uncertain about the direction the conversation was headed, Leila removed her emotions from her expression.
“I know when my wife was about your age she kept screaming about her biological clock.”
His sentence hung in the air between them while Leila envisioned knocking his smug smile off his face. Why did men think all women wanted babies?
“I appreciate your concern over my biological clock, but let’s focus, shall we?”
Porter shifted and had the nerve to look indignant.
“I’m looking for a new distribution deal,” she began, battling to remain calm. “If I can’t get it with you then regretfully I’ll have to get it somewhere else.”
Porter didn’t bat an eye when he leaned forward. “Why don’t you at least hear our offer before you make a decision?”
It was close to midnight when a depressed Leila returned home. She’d left the restaurant hours ago but had ended up taking an uncharted drive around Atlanta’s perimeter.
No matter what she did, she couldn’t get Hearst’s offer out of her head. Whenever she felt tempted to accept it, she was crushed with disappointment. How could she ever give up her baby?
Her thoughts leaped to Samantha and she lowered her head against the steering wheel. After a while, she cut the engine and wondered if she had angered her neighbor by returning so late. As she stepped out of the car and approached the front door, she wondered about the going rate for babysitters.
Entering the house, she thanked God for the welcoming silence; yet, as she slipped out of her coat, she grew concerned about it.
“Hello?” she called out as she closed the coat closet.
When she didn’t receive an answer, she inched toward the living room. “Garrick, where are you?”
Something rustled on the sofa and Leila tiptoed and approached from the back. Once she stood above it, she gazed down at the most angelic sight she’d ever seen.
A sleeping Garrick lay flat on his back while Emma dozed softly on his chest. Since both seemed cozy and content, she didn’t have the heart to wake either of them.
Still, the sight of them awakened something foreign in her and she stared at them while it grew until she recognized the feeling as longing.
Garrick sighed and then slowly his eyes fluttered open. “Hey,” he greeted.
“Hey, yourself,” she whispered back. “Sorry I’m late.”
An easy smile curled Garrick’s lips. “Not a problem. I rather enjoyed it.”
Leila continued smiling, but shook her head. “How is it that someone who loves children as much as you doesn’t have any of his own?”
His smile shaved a few inches as he glanced down at little Emma. “Just unlucky, I suppose.”
“Good thing I have small feet,” she sighed. “It appears I’ve put both of them in my mouth. Sorry.”
Garrick laughed and Emma squirmed fitfully. “I better put her to bed.”
“Here, let me.” Leila reached down and pried the baby from him. As she laid Emma against her shoulder, that strange fluttering returned to her stomach. There was something in the way Emma felt in her arms—something about the way her breath drifted across her skin.
“You’ve fallen in love with her, too,” Garrick accused, sitting up.
“It’s hard not to,” she admitted and turned to take the child upstairs. As Leila walked, she hummed nursery rhymes she was surprised she remembered. When she tucked her niece into bed, she stalled to watch her sleep.
Leila thought about her own mother for the first time in years. Had her mom ever watched her daughters while they’d slept? Had she had dreams and hopes for their future—or had she only thought of herself, the way she had when she’d taken her life?
“I better get going,” Garrick whispered from the doorway.
Leila jumped and then crept out of the room. “Sorry.” She pulled the door up. “I just…I don’t know.”
“Where did you go?”
“I was just thinking about someone.” She fla
shed a smile.
“Oh.” Garrick held up his hands. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No. It’s okay.” She shook her head and pretended that she didn’t feel the squeeze to her heart. “It wasn’t anyone important.”
Garrick nodded, but he didn’t look as though he believed her. Great, the last thing she needed was a man who could read her like an open book.
“Um…excuse me if this is tacky, but how much do I owe you for this evening?”
He shrugged. “Well, I’m pretty expensive,” he warned. “I make about three, four hundred dollars an hour on my day job.” He glanced at his watch. “You’ve been gone for about five hours. That will be two grand.”
“Excuse me?”
“Okay, I’ll knock about two hundred off the bill since the kid is sort of cute.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I also take major credit cards.”
She stared at him.
“I’m joking.” He tweaked her cheeks and then realized what he’d done. “Sorry. I’d gotten in the habit of doing that this evening.”
Leila exhaled and then laughed at their exchange. “Not a problem. You had me going there for a minute.”
Garrick turned and headed back down the hall and descended the staircase. “So how did it go?” he asked.
She followed close behind him. “I’m sorry?”
He stopped at the base. “Dinner. How was the meeting?”
She sighed. “It didn’t quite go as I expected.”
“Sorry to hear it.” He stood there not sure why he wasn’t heading for the door. Then again, maybe it had something to do with her magnificent dress or the sweet scent that clung to her hair and skin.
“Well, I’ll survive.” She laughed and rolled her eyes. “That sounded corny, didn’t it?”
He hesitated.
“Great.” She turned from him and went toward the kitchen. “I need something to drink. Maybe a glass of wine will do it. Care to join me?”
Garrick glanced at his watch again and shrugged. “Sure. What the heck?”
Chapter 8
“They want me to sell my magazine,” Leila confessed and sat before the fireplace.
Garrick settled down in front of her, popped the cork to a bottle of pinot grigio, and then poured two glasses. “So what are you going to do?”
She opened her mouth to declare she was going to tell Hearst they could cram their offer, but instead she said, “I don’t know.”
He handed her a glass.
“It’s a very good offer,” she admitted. “A part of me thinks it’s crazy to walk away. The other part…I don’t know.” She glanced up and was warmed by the intensity of his gaze. “You know, I’m constantly going on about me or my family problems. I hardly know anything about you.”
He frowned.
“I mean other than the stuff on your credit or police report. By the way, you might want to hurry and pay that speeding ticket you received six months ago.”
Garrick rocked his head back with a hearty laugh. “Thanks for the reminder.” He sipped his wine. “So what do you want to know?”
“Tell me about your work.” She twirled the contents in her glass. “Pretend I don’t know what you do for a living.”
“All right.” He eased down onto his side and gazed up at her. “I’m an architect and just took over as president of my father’s firm about six months ago. I love designing buildings, however, I’m not too fond of the managing aspect.”
“Really? I love it.”
“I bet you do.” He chuckled. “You probably run your magazine with an iron fist.”
“No…I can be flexible,” she defended slyly. “I’m fair, levelheaded—most of the time.”
“And if I was to ask your employees?”
She hesitated. “They may have a slightly different view of things.”
They laughed.
Stunned, Garrick recognized the same musical notes Emma emitted during one of her belly laughs. When he turned up his glass again, he delighted in the way the light from the crackling fire danced in her eyes and illuminated her honey-coated skin. Her exposed shoulders enticed to the point where his fingers itched to touch them.
“Have you ever been married?” Leila asked out of the blue.
“You mean your little P.I. work didn’t turn up that information?”
She bit her lower lip and pretended to play coy. “Maybe.”
“I’m divorced.” Their eyes met and he could see there was another question she wanted to ask; but she didn’t, and he was relieved. “What about you? Have you ever been married?”
“No, but I was engaged once. Came to my senses about a week before the nuptials, gave the ring back, and lived happily ever after.”
“No regrets?” he asked.
“Pertaining to marriage—no.” She drew a deep breath and drained the rest of her glass. “It’s been my experience that men have a real problem with career women.”
His eyes drifted to his glass. “Oh?”
She nodded and observed him. “You’d be amazed how many men still want their women to be barefoot, pregnant, and catering to their every whim. I mean, this is the twenty-first century. You would think we wouldn’t have to explain the need or the desire to accomplish something more than baking cookies.”
“What about the desire to plant roots—watch something grow?”
“I still have that option, but I resent the assumption I can’t do both.”
“Equally?” He laughed, and then caught himself.
“Men do both,” she challenged.
He sat up. “It’s not the same. When a child comes into the world, women are programmed to be the nurturers—”
“You’ve been spouting that nonsense so long you actually believe it.”
“Men can have babies now?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” She set her glass down and massaged her neck to camouflage her irritation.
“You’re upset.”
“No. No,” she lied.
Garrick gave in to the temptation and reached for her hand; however, she skillfully dodged his touch. “Okay.” He also set down his glass. “I’ll take that as my cue to exit stage left.”
“Women are blessed with the ability to procreate,” she continued.
He held his tongue, realizing he stood on thin ice.
“But don’t shoot off some sexist male agenda about how we’re the only ones programmed to stay up all night, prep bottles, and change dirty diapers.”
“You’re right,” Garrick acquiesced. “You were never programmed to do those things.”
“You were. Imagine that.” She smiled despite herself. “But I’m serious.”
“I can see that.” He paused and then reached for his glass again.
“So you disagree with me?” She folded her arms and kept her gaze leveled on him.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Leila shook her head. “So what happened?”
“What—to my marriage?”
She nodded. “You look more like the ‘till death do we part’ type, so I’m guessing—?”
“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” Garrick chuckled to hide his discomfort.
Her cheeks darkened at the polite reprimand. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
He reached for the bottle of wine while he thought the question over. “Truth is, even though I lived through it, I don’t know what happened.” He refilled his glass and then reached for hers. “I remember the arguments, but never the cause. I remember us lying in bed, but feeling lonely. Then I remember her asking for a divorce and being incredibly relieved.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be.” He sucked in a long breath. “I’m not.”
Leila studied him and then set her drink aside. “I better not. Emma may wake up tonight.” She removed the pins from her head. “Though I hope not.”
Garrick watched, f
ascinated, as her thick mane tumbled around her shoulders. Again, his fingers itched; this time to run through her hair.
Even though the last thing Leila needed was some desperate-housewives scenario where she was sleeping with her next-door neighbor, she couldn’t stop herself from flirting.
This evening, she ran a gamut of emotions and the ones that streamed through her now reminded her that she was just a girl, sitting before a boy, wishing he would strip off her clothes. Gee, how long had it been since she’d been in a relationship?
For a long while, the soft crackle from the fireplace remained as the only sound in the room. She lowered her gaze and pretended that her thoughts had drifted. In truth, she mentally measured the length of his hands and tried to guesstimate his shoe size.
“Hey?”
Leila surfaced from the sea of forbidden thoughts and prayed he wouldn’t read her mind again.
“Where did you go this time?” he asked.
She blushed before thinking of a lie and he saw straight through her.
“It’s late. I better go.” He climbed to his feet, and then offered a hand to help her up.
“Oh, okay.” She blinked in surprise. What happened?
He pulled her up with too much strength and she smacked into his chest. The wonderful smell of soap and aftershave lingered on his skin. The very essence of him invaded her senses and she quaked from the knees up.
Seducing her neighbor was not smart, but damn if she could think of anything other than slipping out of her dress.
“You’re a very beautiful woman,” he admitted in a husky whisper. “Something tells me you know that.”
Her eyes skirted up his broad chest, thick neck, cleft chin, and then finally met his warm gaze. “You’re a good-looking man—and I’m sure you know that as well.”
His eyes lowered to her lips and she practiced restraint by not running her tongue across them.
“The holidays are rough for people who aren’t in relationships,” he reasoned.
“Are you suggesting I’m only attracted to you because I’m lonely?”
“No. I’m asking.”
She crooked up one corner of her mouth and leaned into him. “Does it matter?”
Garrick remained hypnotized by her lips and she could literally feel his indecision pulse through the air between them.
She’s My Baby Page 5