Poor baby! Victoria picked him up, inhaling the scent of powder and baby. Dylan was missing Suzy and Michael. And she’d left him in this unfamiliar place. Guilt overwhelmed her. She’d added to his sense of dislocation—but what other choice did she have?
Connor, a little voice said, she could have called Connor for help. He’d offered to take the baby. But if she called him he would crow in victory—and claim Dylan.
She would lose her baby.
And Connor wouldn’t look after the baby personally, either. He’d simply hire a nanny, which was no different from what she was doing. Dylan wriggled in her arms. Victoria kissed his head apologetically and loosened her grip.
But what if she confided in Connor that she was Dylan’s biological mother? Would he understand … would he be prepared to compromise? She nuzzled Dylan’s soft baby hair and thought of the Connor North she knew.…
Hard. Decisive. Ruthless. There wasn’t a compromising bone in that strong, too-male body.
No. She couldn’t tell him.
She would have to get through this by herself.
The rest of the day passed in a rush. And Victoria, who’d intended to leave not long after lunch for the first time in her life, left work far later than she’d intended.
Dylan still hadn’t settled by the Victoria went to collect him. But the staff were sure Monday would be better.
The weekend went by in a blur of sleepless exhaustion. Victoria missed a call from Connor while she and Dylan napped, and after listening to the recording of his deep, provocative voice saying, “Just wanted to see if you’re coping,” decided against phoning him back.
So he thought she wasn’t coping?
Well, she certainly wasn’t going to cry for help.
By the following Tuesday Dylan was visibly querulous, and one of the day care workers called to say he was running a slight temperature.
Panic flooded Victoria and she wasted no time getting to the day care center.
“He didn’t drink his last bottle.” The day care attendant looked concerned. “If his temperature rises further you may want to take him to the doctor.”
By the time Victoria got Dylan home, after an hour in peak-hour traffic, he was hot and flushed. Pausing only to take his temperature, which had rocketed alarmingly, she faced the fact that this was more than grief and dislocation. Dylan was ill.
A call to her doctor garnered his pager. Victoria swore. But within minutes a doctor on call had phoned and told her to take the baby to the nearest medical center. Berating herself for leaving it so long, she hoisted Dylan into the baby seat, secured him and hurried to the front door.
Connor had been waiting all week for Victoria to phone and beg him to take Dylan, to admit defeat. But she hadn’t. To his annoyance she hadn’t even responded to the message he’d left on her answering service. And Connor was left wishing he’d never allowed the hollowness in her eyes to persuade him to leave Dylan in her care. What had he been thinking? Dylan was the most important person in his life.
Five days had passed since the funeral, and he couldn’t wait any longer. The driving urge to see Dylan—a primal, deeply-rooted need to reassure himself that his baby was happy—dominated him. Yet as the Maserati ate up the now-familiar route Connor admitted it wasn’t only Dylan he’d been missing—he wanted to see Victoria, too.
It was perfectly normal, this desire to spend time with her. Right. It was perfectly normal to crave the presence of someone who drove you crazy?
Connor’s mouth slanted.
They’d each lost someone they loved—an aching loss that the other understood better than anyone else in existence. That made sense. But it wasn’t convincing. It sure didn’t explain why the shape of her wide mouth haunted him when he should’ve been thinking about work. Or why the memory of her slender body bending over Dylan’s car seat could wake him in the middle of the night, even though he’d always preferred blondes with hourglass curves. Or why he kept fantasizing about the silken softness of her skin under his fingertips.
Hell, he’d even wondered how she’d coped with telling Bridget she was taking more time off work to look after the baby. He’d actually considered calling earlier in the week to see if she needed support.
But he’d managed to hold out.
Until now.
As he lifted his hand to ring her doorbell the front door flew open.
“Oh, you startled me.”
His first thought was that he must have been blind. Victoria was beautiful. How had he ever missed it? How had he ever thought her plain?
Her long hair swirled about a face that was simply perfect. Straight, uncompromising brows, direct hazel eyes and a wide mouth of such delicious rosy-red that he fought the urge to kiss it.
Then he saw that she was upset.
His gaze dropped to the infant seat. “Are you going out?”
“Dylan isn’t well. I’m taking him to the medical center.”
Connor didn’t ask questions. “We’ll go in my car.”
When she looked like she wanted to protest, he added, “If I drive you can look after Dylan.”
She nodded.
Once he’d made sure she and Dylan were comfortably ensconced in the back seat of the Maserati, Connor pulled out his cell phone and made a call, before climbing into the driver’s seat.
“This isn’t the medical center I meant,” Victoria said sharply fifteen minutes later.
Connor felt the impact of her accusing gaze on the back of his head, but he didn’t shift his eyes from the road ahead. “I called a friend who’s a pediatrician. He’s meeting us at his rooms—he understands the background.”
Chuck had known Michael, and knew Connor had been named guardian of his child. Chuck even knew the truth about Dylan’s paternity. “If it’s necessary Chuck will admit Dylan to Starship,” he said, referring to the well-known children’s hospital.
“Chuck?” She sounded doubtful. “How do you know him?”
“His name is Charles Drysdale, if that’s any better. We play squash at the same club.” A stab of pain pierced Connor at the thought of visiting the courts without Michael. “And he’s one of the best pediatricians in town. You’ll be charmed—most women are.”
Charles—or Chuck—Drysdale had twinkling eyes and a way of putting patients at ease within minutes of meeting him. Victoria liked him at once.
“Tell me what you noticed, Victoria,” he asked when she’d taken Dylan out of the infant seat and sat down with him on her lap.
Victoria shifted guiltily in the chair, all too conscious of Connor hovering anxiously behind her. “Dylan has been a little crabby for a couple of days.”
Connor came closer and scowled. “You never let me know.”
“I thought he was missing his parents,” she said defensively.
“He’d certainly notice that,” Chuck said. “So two days? That’s how long he’s been crabby?”
Victoria thought back to how demanding the baby had been over the weekend, how only holding him had settled him. “Maybe a little longer—from Friday perhaps. The funeral was on Thursday and he seemed fine then. But I can’t say for sure.”
Chuck made a note on the pad in front of him. “Did you notice anything else?”
“Li called me at work earlier. Dylan had a temperature and—”
“Who is Li?” Connor paced closer.
Victoria shrank into the chair. “She’s one of the caregivers in the day care center.”
“Day care center? What’s Dylan doing in a day care center?” Connor’s eyes glittered with the kind of rage she’d never seen. “We’ve never discussed putting Dylan in a day care center.”
Chuck held up a hand. “Connor, save it for later. Let’s see what’s wrong with the baby first.” The doctor rose to his feet and crossed the room to an examining couch. He gave Victoria a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t you bring Dylan here?”
Victoria felt totally wretched as she laid Dylan down on the bed. Every doubt she’d ev
er had about mothering crashed in on her. “I’m not doing a good job, am I?”
“You’re doing just fine. Most new mothers feel a little frazzled and uncertain when their baby becomes ill.”
He asked some more questions while he examined Dylan. Finally he said, “Have you ever had chicken pox, Victoria?”
“Chicken pox? That’s what Dylan has?”
“Certainly looks like it. It’s not common for such young babies to get chicken pox, but it does happen, and the symptoms fit—the temperature, not drinking … and see here?”
She stared down to where he pointed to a small pink dot on Dylan’s chest. “And here.” He indicated another spot, this one with a small scab.
“I saw that—I thought it was an insect bite. But shouldn’t there be more spots?”
“Not necessarily. Some cases only have a few spots here and there.”
Lifting her head, she said, “But I thought chicken pox spots were watery blisters.”
“That one,” he gestured to the pink dot, “will blister soon. Then it will scab over.”
Victoria stared at Chuck, conscious of an overwhelming sense of relief. Dylan wasn’t going to die. It wasn’t scarlet fever or convulsions or some incurable disease. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?”
“Plenty of fluids, calamine lotion and cool baths. I’ll prescribe some acetaminophen for Dylan and a mild sedative for you. Is there anyone to help you with the baby? He’ll need to stay home for a week. And you need some rest.”
Oh, no. She gave a groan. “I need to go to work.”
“I’ll give you a note.”
What would Bridget and the rest of the partners say? “I can’t, I’ve taken too much time off already.”
“Your body needs rest if you’ve been up the kind of hours I suspect this young man has been keeping.” Chuck drew a card from a holder on the nearby table. “This is for a nursing service. They’ll be able to assist you over the next week, although he can go back to the day care center once he’s better.”
“That must be where he picked this up,” Connor growled from behind her.
Victoria felt awful, and remorse set in afresh.
“He could’ve come into contact with the virus anywhere.” Chuck shrugged. “But the incubation period is ten to twenty days, so given the time he’s been at the day care center it’s highly unlikely he contracted chicken pox there.”
Victoria could’ve kissed Chuck. It wasn’t her fault. But the feeling of relief that numbed her knees turned to horror as she heard Chuck ask Connor, “Have you had chicken pox?”
Connor nodded.
“Good, then you can help Victoria.”
Connor’s angry gaze bored into her. “Don’t worry, I intend to.”
Misery sank like a dark cloud over Victoria. He would take Dylan away from her. She really didn’t need the only kind of help Connor was prepared to give.
“Thanks so much for taking us to Charles Drysdale. He’s such a nice doctor.”
Connor listened to Victoria’s polite babble as she whipped the sleeping Dylan through the front door, set the infant seat down on the white carpet and swung the door closed in Connor’s face.
Before it could click shut he threw his full weight forward against the wood. “Not so fast,” he growled, sticking a foot in the crack.
Folding her arms, she blocked the gap he’d leveraged open. “If you don’t mind I need to see to the baby.”
“I mind very much,” he said with slow menace that caused her hazel eyes to turn gold in startled fear.
“It’s late, Connor. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”
“No!” He’d done with compromise. Now they would do things his way.
He shouldered the door open. She shrank back. Damn right she should be scared. Right now he was too furious to pay much attention to her fears.
“What are you going to do tomorrow? Take more leave?”
“I can’t—I’m in the middle of …” Her voice trailed away as his frown deepened. Then she drew a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair. “To be honest, I haven’t had a chance to think what I’m going to do. Perhaps I’ll hire a nurse.”
“And leave the baby with someone you’ve never met?” The anger that had been smoldering since he’d first discovered she’d lied to him about taking leave and had taken Dylan to a center full of other babies reignited.
“I’ll make sure I get someone with good references.”
“You won’t need to.”
Fear shadowed the gold-green eyes. “What do you mean?”
“We agreed that you would take leave!”
“You demanded that I take leave—I never agreed.”
Connor ran his hands through his hair and tried to remember back to what had been said. “Well, you certainly never objected. You know I’d assumed you’d agreed.”
“Did I?” But her gaze flickered away.
“You lied to me by omission, Victoria.” He bore down on her. “How dare you take the baby to day care without consulting me? We hold joint custody, remember … or are you trying to get me angry enough to apply to court to have that revoked?”
She looked shaken. “You can’t do that.”
“I can—and I will if you persist in this stupidity. What’s important here is Dylan’s well-being.”
“Everything I’ve done has been in Dylan’s interests.”
“No, it isn’t.” His rage boiled over. “You’re only looking after your interests—your damned career that’s so important to you. Not caring for a grieving baby!” He shook his head. “God, but you make me sick!”
She went white. “I—”
He couldn’t let that air of deceptive feminine fragility sway him. “Spare me from ambitious women who walk over everyone to get what they want.”
A sprinkling of freckles he’d never noticed before stood out in sharp relief against her pallor. “I would never jeopardize Dylan for my career—”
“Never?” he said softly. “That’s why you took a young baby to a nursery full of other children where he could pick up viruses?”
“Chuck said—”
“That it was unlikely, not that it was impossible.” He leaned closer until his nose was up against hers. “Do you think that’s what Suzy wanted for her baby?”
She stumbled back. “Suzy enrolled Dylan in that center. I’ve done nothing Suzy would not have done herself.”
That caused him to hesitate, but only for an instant. Dylan was his son. When he thought what might have happened … Damn, he’d never be able to trust her with Dylan again. “Why the hell didn’t you call me?” he snarled.
She remained mute.
Of everything, it was the not calling that enraged him most. She was so pigheaded, so stubborn she would’ve let the baby come to harm before she called him.
His baby.
What had once been a favor to a devastated friend, a random donation of sperm, had turned into the most important thing in his life. Dylan was more precious than anything in the world. And she hadn’t bothered to tell him that his baby was sick. The baby he’d entrusted her with against his own better judgment.
A surge of sheer instinctive paternal possessiveness shook him as he stalked closer. “It was an unforgivable mistake not to call me.”
Pinned against the wall, she faced him. The glaze of shock had receded and her eyes shot sparks at him. “You would’ve taken Dylan away from me.”
“Oh, for …” He broke off before the force of the crude curse erupted.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Recognizing how real her dread was, Connor stepped back and leashed the anger that vibrated through his large frame. “This has gone far enough. I’m taking the baby with me.”
“No.” There was raw pain in the sound. “You can’t!”
“You’ll find that I can.”
Victoria’s head came up. Her cheeks were stained with hectic color, a vivid contrast to her previous bleached paleness. “No. Michael and
Suzy wanted us to share custody. I can only see one way that this can work.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m coming to live with you, too.”
Connor gave her an incredulous stare. The silence reverberated with tension. Then he said, “Fine. You can come, too!”
Seven
Victoria walked into Connor’s palatial home for the first time the next evening, not sure of what she would find.
What she didn’t expect was to see Connor lying on his back on the thick carpet in the living room, bouncing above him a bathed, ecstatic Dylan. She hesitated in the doorway and watched as Dylan squealed in delight and Connor whooped.
A long-forgotten sense of being the outsider swept her, of being the kid with the mother who slept all day while her father blew in and out of town like tumbleweed.
Then Connor caught sight of her, and flashed her a dizzying smile. “Look, Dylan, there’s Victoria.”
She dropped her leather laptop case and took a step forward. Dylan stretched his arms toward her. She swung him up and buried her nose against his neck. He smelled clean, of baby powder and calamine lotion. He made soft snuffling sounds and her heart melted.
“How was your day?” Connor had sat up, the laughter fading from his face as his eyes became watchful.
She let out a deep breath. “A lot better than yesterday.” Knowing that Dylan was being looked after by Connor’s housekeeper had lifted a great weight off her shoulders.
“How’s Dylan been?” She set the baby down on the floor and, dropping down beside him, she tugged his T-shirt up.
“Ratty a little earlier. But he had a good sleep.”
“The spots are looking better, not so red.”
“He was fussing so I bathed him … and the cool water seemed to settle him.”
“He loves his bath.” Victoria searched Connor’s chest for signs that Dylan had splashed with his usual abandon but he looked as immaculate as ever. Typical. If it had been her, her shirt would be clinging to her.
“I think you can handle bath time from now on. You must do a far better job.”
His grin flashed back. “I’ve changed—both my jeans and shirt looked like candidates for the wettest wet.”
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