Beauty and the Baby

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Yes, I have,” he said curtly. Patching had all but reached the end of its usefulness. They needed a new one. The last Santa Ana winds had seen to that. “Anything else on your wish list I should know about?”

  She was standing toe-to-toe with him, very aware, suddenly, of his maleness. And of the fact that she was very, very attracted to him. “I wish you were more flexible, but that’s something I can’t buy.”

  He touched her hair and was surprised to discover that it wasn’t stiff with hair spray. It felt silky against his hand. He found himself tangling his fingers in it. Tangling his soul in hers.

  “Maybe you could trade for it.”

  She tilted her face up to his. “What would you like to trade?” she asked in a low whisper.

  He had no idea where that had come from or why he’d even said it. Maybe it was the perfume she was wearing. Or the way she looked like pure sin. Or the way she looked up at him, her eyes tempting him to abandon caution. To take another risk.

  It was playing havoc on his thought process. On his desire.

  “Let me think on it,” he murmured just before he brought his mouth down to hers.

  Every time he kissed her, it was easier to let go of his resolve not to. Each time he kissed her, he was more tempted than before to continue kissing her. To turn his back on everything he’d promised himself he would never do again.

  He felt himself aching again. Needing again.

  Warm waves of desire passed over Lori, drowning her. Thrilling her. She stood on the very tips of her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing her body against his. Savoring their closeness.

  His heart was pounding as their lips drew apart. “Damn, but you make it hard, Lori.”

  She felt just the slightest bit fuzzy, just the slightest bit deliciously dazed. Her eyes searched his face. “What do I make hard, Carson? What?”

  His hands were on her shoulders. It was himself that he was holding back, not her. “You make it hard for me to remember that you’re my brother’s wife.”

  That was still between them and it shouldn’t be. “Widow, Carson, I’m your brother’s widow, not his wife. Not any longer. And why do you need to remember that?”

  Didn’t she understand? “Because this shouldn’t be happening. I shouldn’t feel this way.”

  Feelings, he had feelings for her. Something inside of her sang. She could feel her pulse accelerating. “How, Carson, how do you feel? Tell me.”

  Her question undulated along his skin, along his mind. Like a siren’s song, leading him to places that were far too dangerous for him to navigate around.

  He had to leave. Now. Before he couldn’t.

  He didn’t.

  “Like this,” he murmured against her mouth a moment before he kissed her again. Kissed her with a passion that broke through the steel bands he had wrapped around it.

  He could feel his blood surging through his veins, could feel it roaring in his ears. Could feel his head spinning as he closed his eyes and let himself go, just for a moment.

  No more than that, just for a moment.

  Because a moment was all he could safely risk. Any longer and he knew that he would lose all control. Lose himself in her.

  And that would be a very dangerous thing to do.

  He wanted her. Wanted to make love with her. Wanted to feel her soft skin yielding itself up to him.

  Too far, this was going to far.

  With superhuman control, he reined himself in. Carson released her shoulders and drew his head away. “I’d better go.”

  Something inside of her felt like weeping, but she made an effort not to show it. “So, is it James Dean or Cary Grant?”

  He shrugged. “You’ve already got the costume. It might as well be James Dean.”

  She grinned. Taking the jacket, jeans and T-shirt, she hung them up again in the closet. “Always knew you were a rebel at heart.”

  That wasn’t all his heart was, Carson thought grudgingly as he let himself out.

  She was in her element, Carson thought the next evening as he watched Lori work the festively decorated ballroom of the Grand Hotel.

  Lori might have a degree in digital design, might be an aide at the center and teach Lamaze classes at Blair Memorial, but she was a born hostess. A born charmer.

  Like Kurt, he remembered. Except that in her case, Lori used her gift to help others, not just to be self-serving. Once she’d broken him down and he’d agreed to having the fund-raiser, she’d taken off like a lit Roman candle, illuminating everything within her scope.

  True to her word, she’d handled everything, the invitations, the catering, the sponsors. All she’d required of him was his presence and his tolerance. The latter involved wearing tight jeans and a jacket whose color would have never been even his fiftieth choice. But she had thrown herself into this so hard, he felt he couldn’t really turn her down, even though he would have preferred spending the evening in the solitude of his home, waiting to have her come by and tell him how it went.

  No, that wasn’t quite true. He did enjoy being here, he had to admit, but only because it allowed him to watch her work the room.

  Allowed him to watch her move like every man’s secret fantasy, her slender hips moving just enough to undo every single man within eye range.

  Well, maybe not every man. Masters, Adair and that special agent he’d been introduced to, Byron Warrick, all looked to be taken with the women who had accompanied them to this fund-raiser, but he’d noticed more than one man stare after Lori with a note of longing whenever she walked by. Her Marilyn Monroe outfit had only a little to do with it.

  It made him feel possessive.

  It made him feel, Carson realized with a start, jealous.

  As if she was his to be jealous of, he admonished himself. Anything she might feel for him was obviously just tangled up with gratitude. He knew that. She’d been in a bad place when Kurt had been killed and he’d come through for her. It would have been against his nature not to.

  The danger here was getting caught up in the woman’s smile. In the woman herself.

  “Smile,” she said, coming up behind him. “You’re supposed to be having a good time.”

  The warm flush that went over him took a bit of doing to hide. “I am.” He picked up a glass of white wine from a passing waiter and took a sip to prove his point. “Can’t you tell?”

  He wasn’t fooling her. She’d watched him hang back all evening and had all but dragged him over when the press photographer had taken his pictures. “I’ve seen people looking happier in a dentist’s waiting room, queuing up for a root canal.”

  “Just my way, Lori, you know that.” He took another sip of the wine. He didn’t usually care for wine, but this was surprisingly appealing. Or maybe it was just Lori going to his head. “You did a good job.”

  She looked around the large room. People looked to be enjoying themselves. And happy people were generous people. “It did turn out pretty well, didn’t it?”

  There was no vanity in her assessment, he noted, only pleasure. It occurred to him how terribly different she and his ex-wife were. Jaclyn would have been looking to get herself into every photograph, mentioned in every line of press.

  For the first time, he noticed that Lori had a small drawstring purse hanging from her wrist. She held it up in front of him. “And I’ve gotten a lot of checks and pledges for the center.” She was very, very pleased with herself “We can afford twelve new water heaters and five roofs, stacked one on top of each other.”

  In general, he disliked exaggeration. Hers only succeeded in amusing him. “We’ll just need one of each.”

  She threaded her arms around his free one. “Well, then we’re going to have a great deal of money left over for a lot of other necessary things. The center’s going to be giving computer classes,” she suddenly remembered to tell him. “Sinjin’s seeing to that personally.” She waved as the man and Sherry looked in her direction. “One of the companies he owns manufact
ures computers.”

  The woman was nothing short of incredible. She’d only thought of the idea a few days ago and already it was a reality. “The kids are going to think you’re some kind of fairy godmother.”

  Turning toward him, she shook her head. “No magic, Carson, just kind hearts. Like I’ve always told you, people are basically good if you just give them a chance to be.”

  He’d been raised on the same mean streets that also housed St. Augustine’s. His father had abandoned his family and everything he’d ever gotten he’d had to struggle for. And when he’d grown up, he’d dealt with all manner of criminals who needed representation. In addition, when he’d tried to bring meaning to his life, his wife had left him to look for someone with more promise and more money.

  He shook his head. “Sorry, I’m afraid I never saw things that way. My world isn’t exactly what you’d call rosy.”

  Why did he always insist on painting everything in such dark hues? “You help kids who might have been hopeless if you hadn’t come into their lives, what’s rosier than that?”

  “You.”

  He was doing it again, making her feel all warm inside. If she didn’t know that it would embarrass him, she would have kissed him right there, in front of everyone. Instead, she just laughed.

  “Well, that goes without saying.” Taking his glass from his hand, she took a tiny sip. “Just one,” she told him when she saw the surprised look that came into his eyes. She gave him back his glass. “For energy. There’s still half a room to schmooze with.” She looked at him, extending her hand. It would be so much better if he was at her side. “Come with me.”

  But he just shook his head. “I’d only get in your way.”

  She knew better than to push. With a sigh, she nodded. “Have it your way.”

  “That’ll be a first.”

  She left him with a smile. But she was back in a few minutes. The band was beginning to play another set. “I need to take a break,” she told him. “Dance with me, Carson.”

  “I don’t dance, you know that.”

  She was quick to contradict him. “You don’t dance fast dances.” She presented her hands to him. “This is a slow dance. You dance slow dances. I’ve seen you.”

  “When?” he challenged. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been anywhere with music.

  “At my wedding. With me. Remember?”

  He remembered. Remembered thinking that he had never seen anyone looking so radiant. “But not since then.”

  “It’s like riding a bike.” She threaded her fingers through his. “It’ll come back to you, I promise.”

  “And if I step on your foot?”

  She turned her face up to his, already swaying against him. “I won’t sue. Can’t get a better deal than that, Counselor.”

  “I suppose not,” he allowed grudgingly.

  She felt good in his arms. Too good. He let his mind drift again, fueled by a desire that had no place in their relationship, not even fleetingly. What did it take to get that through his head?

  Apparently a lot more than it was taking now, he thought, inhaling the scent in her hair as she laid her cheek against his shoulder.

  “Were Marilyn Monroe and James Dean ever an item?”

  He felt her smile against the T-shirt, a warmth spreading through his chest on point of contact. “Not that I know of. Why?”

  “No reason. Just wondering.”

  That showed a glimmer of imagination. He was coming along. Tiny, baby steps, she thought, but he was coming along. It was all she asked.

  “I feel giddy,” Lori told him, closing the door as Diane Jones departed. C.J. had insisted on lending her her mother as a baby-sitter for the evening. She had to admit she’d felt better leaving her daughter in such competent hands. Mrs. Jones had raised five children of her own. “Must be my second wind.”

  “Or your twelfth.” She looked at Carson quizzically as she slipped out of her shoes. The woman was positively tiny, he thought. Like an ounce of dynamite. “I never saw anyone with as much energy as you have.” It was two in the morning and by his count, Lori had worked almost round the clock today, supervising and getting everything ready for the event. “A dozen other women would have been exhausted by now.”

  “You mean a man wouldn’t have been exhausted in my place?” There was amusement in her eyes.

  “No, I always thought of women as the heartier breed.” He unzipped his jacket. “And the deadlier one.”

  She saw the look in his eyes. “You’re talking about Jaclyn, aren’t you?”

  He shrugged out of the windbreaker, tossing it on her sofa. He didn’t want to go there tonight. “Just making a comment, that’s all.”

  She didn’t dislike many people, but she disliked Jaclyn for the way she’d hurt Carson. Disliked her with a passion. “Not all women are like Jaclyn, Carson.”

  It didn’t matter one way or the other. “I’m not planning on running a survey.”

  She looked up at him. “I wouldn’t think you’d have to.”

  “No,” he agreed, cupping her cheek, “I don’t.”

  He was sinking again, he thought, sinking into her eyes. Getting lost again. He had to be stronger than that. They had something good right now, something he enjoyed. He didn’t want to ruin it by trying for anything more. Half of something was better than all of nothing.

  “Lori, I don’t think we should let anything happen.”

  Too late. “I’m sorry, Carson, I’m not as regimented as you are. I can’t pencil in feelings. Or pencil them out. They just happen.” And they had happened to her. Because of him.

  He had to stop it now, before he did something even more stupid than he’d already allowed himself to do. Before he started kissing her and never stopped. “Well, maybe they shouldn’t.”

  He looked troubled, she thought. And there was a panicky feeling taking a toehold inside of her. She needed help in banking it down. “Talk to me, Carson. What’s wrong?” What’s wrong with us getting closer? she wanted to cry.

  She looked sad. Vulnerable. He wanted to stay and comfort her, but he knew that would be both of their undoing. He was perilously close to crossing a bridge that allowed no way back.

  He had to leave before he couldn’t.

  Carson backed away. “Look, it’s late and the baby’s going to be waking up soon. You should get some rest.”

  “Fat chance,” she muttered, staring at the closed door through the tears in her eyes.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lori paced the floor restlessly, unable to sleep. The clock on the nightstand was serenading 1:00 a.m. Emma was asleep in the next room and so should she be, but she couldn’t. Hadn’t been able to sleep for several nights now.

  It was all Carson’s fault.

  He hadn’t been over in a week. Not since the night of the fund-raiser. At work, it was as if they had suddenly become strangers. That was the way he was treating her. Politely, distantly. As if they hadn’t just been on the brink of something far more meaningful, far more intimate.

  And it was driving her crazy.

  She had no idea how to approach him, how to scale this new glass wall that had appeared without warning between them. She could see him, but she couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t even make him smile.

  Why?

  Exasperated, she went downstairs to the kitchen. Maybe warm milk would soothe her, although she didn’t hold out much hope.

  She took out the carton and poured a glass, then placed it into the microwave. She set the dial for forty-five seconds, then pushed the start button so hard, the oven moved back on the counter.

  Had they gone too far for him? That night of the fund-raiser, when he’d brought her home, had there been too many charged emotions between them? Had he suddenly withdrawn because the risk of what was ahead seemed too great for him to take?

  The microwave dinged and she yanked the door open. Some of the milk spilled over the top. She mopped it up with a sponge and a sigh.

  Damn
it, if she was willing to venture out, why wasn’t he? Risks were taken every day. It was a risk to leave the house every morning, to cross the street. Some people never made it back. Most did. Why couldn’t he think that way?

  The odds were in their favor. But only if they tried. He had to try.

  She took a sip of the milk and burnt her tongue. With disgust, she poured out the rest in the sink.

  He wasn’t trying. And she was tired of doing the work for both of them. It wasn’t the work she minded, it was getting summarily rejected that hurt. And continued to hurt.

  Lori pressed her lips together. Drastic times required drastic measures. She’d done everything she could to be encouraging, now it was time to try something else. There was only one thing left as far as she could see.

  She hadn’t wanted to do this, but he left her no choice. She had to risk everything.

  And perhaps be left with nothing.

  But she didn’t know what else to do.

  Carson sat outside on his patio, looking up at the same full moon that was keeping Lori company. Though he had no way of knowing, the same sleeplessness dogging him that afflicted her.

  He’d been keeping himself so busy, you’d think he’d be able to sleep at night when there should have been nothing left but exhaustion to tuck itself around him.

  But he couldn’t. And that was because there was something else besides exhaustion haunting him. There was Lori. His desire for Lori. Each day, it loomed a little larger, a little more prominent, and he hadn’t a clue what to do about it.

  It scared him, pure and simple.

  He wasn’t a man who scared easily. Carson liked to think of himself as someone who faced all of life’s challenges head-on without flinching. And he had. So far.

  But this, this was something different. This involved not risking his body, but his heart and that organ had sadly proven to be too fragile a thing to survive without layers of protection to keep it safe.

  Even so, it had succumbed.

  To her.

  There was no kidding himself. All manner of arguments to the contrary, he was in love with Lori. Very much in love with Lori. And he knew where that path led. He’d only ventured out on it once and had been badly beaten back for his trouble. He wasn’t any good at it. At relationships.