Bringing Up Baby New Year & Frisky Business

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “I hope not.” He set the mugs on the table and pulled out a chair for himself. “But if you’re so down-to-earth, why did you name your business The French Maid?”

  Darcie would have liked to reach for his strong, capable hand and bring it to her lips, kissing the tips of each of those blunt fingers. Instead, she picked up her mug and flicked her tongue over the whipped cream—an acceptable substitute. “Because other people like putting on airs. They would sooner hire The French Maid than Darcie’s Dirtbusters.”

  Joe watched Darcie lick the whipped cream off the top of the hot chocolate and regretted his impulse to serve it that way. Sitting there in his kitchen in a bathrobe, with her hair tousled from being under the wig, she looked as if she’d gotten up from a lover’s bed to revive herself with a cup of hot chocolate so she could go another round. Once again, she was turning him on, and he didn’t think she even meant to this time. Obviously, she could manage it by being herself.

  He scrambled to remember what they’d been talking about. “How do you know they wouldn’t hire Darcie’s Dirtbusters?”

  “I tried that first. Not a single call. But they called The French Maid.” She took a sip of her hot chocolate and gave herself a whipped-cream mustache, which she disposed of with one swipe of her pink tongue. “This makeup Geraldine put on my face itches.”

  “I don’t think you’ll need that stuff.” He had the urge to scrub it off himself. Or maybe that was just an excuse to touch her. He’d fantasized the French Maid in a bathtub of perfumed water and rose petals, and himself with a soft washcloth. He wouldn’t mind giving Darcie a bath even if she wasn’t French.

  “The Virgin Mary was not a freckle-faced redhead, now was she?”

  That’s what he missed. Looking at her cinnamon freckles. He longed to get that makeup off her. “No, but Baby Jesus wasn’t a carrottop, either.”

  “We’ll wrap him in swaddling clothes.” She swirled her tongue in the whipped cream again.

  Damn, he was getting an erection. He’d promised this wouldn’t be about tulips and pistils. “Exactly what are swaddling clothes?”

  She shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest idea, but Baby Jesus is always wrapped up tight, so we’ll make sure you can’t see his hair.” She took another drink of her hot chocolate and her lashes fluttered down in obvious enjoyment.

  He imagined her eyes closing right before he kissed her. But, of course, he wouldn’t kiss her. That would be asking for trouble.

  Putting her mug down, she focused her green eyes on him. “I’ve been meaning to say this—I don’t want him out there in that manger for very long. It’s still fairly warm out at night, but I still don’t want him getting chilled.”

  Joe loved the way her red-gold hair curled around her face. He wanted to bury his fingers in that mass of color. “You can decide how long we should have him in there. It’s really only important when the judges come by.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I brought you a costume,” she said. “An old bathrobe of my da’s that I never had the heart to give away to charity.” A flicker of some potent emotion brightened her eyes. “Considering that you sleep in the nude, I wouldn’t expect you to have a proper bathrobe, either.”

  And there they were, talking about bedroom habits again, and it was all perfectly legitimate, so he couldn’t ask her to stop. But that sparkle in her eyes made him think she might be enjoying the topic. She was attracted to him. And he didn’t want that. Yes, he did. God, was he confused.

  He took a breath. “I don’t have a bathrobe, but I would hate to use something that has so much sentimental value for you.”

  She waved her hand. “It’s a ratty old thing. Don’t know why I’ve kept it so long. Besides, we’re partners in this. I’m counting on you to build the stable and the manger, so it’s up to me to be in charge of costumes.”

  “That sounds fair. I should be able to get enough lumber from the scrap bin to make most of what we need.” If he concentrated on the construction angle of this project, he might be able to forget about running his hands all over her creamy little body.

  She eyed him. “From the looks of that five o’clock shadow, you can grow a beard quick-like. I’d advise you to grow one rather than glue one on or dangle it from your ears. Some do that, but it looks like they have a dead rat hanging from their face, in my opinion.”

  Dead rats. That should cool his fevered libido. But he kept watching her mouth as she talked and wondering how that mouth would feel against his.

  “And besides, a stiff wind could come through and blow it into the next county, and there you’d be, chasing your beard.”

  He choked on his hot chocolate. She probably didn’t know what that word meant in crude slang terms. “Can’t have that.” To cover his amusement, Joe ran a hand over his stubble.

  “Right.”

  He’d never worn a beard, but he didn’t relish gluing something to his chin, and Darcie had made the hook-on beard idea sound so stupid he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing one. Maybe he’d look good with a beard. Dashing, even.

  “So what are you planning to have on under the bathrobe, then?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I would say so!” The gleam in her eye became more pronounced. “Bathrobes can come undone, and we wouldn’t want you standing there flashing the carolers, now would we?”

  He was getting more agitated with every minute they talked about clothes or the lack of them. “I may not wear pajamas to bed, but I won’t parade around in the front yard naked under my Joseph costume. I’ll wear jeans and a T-shirt.”

  “No good. Jeans would show at the bottom. It’s inconvenient that you sleep buck naked because a nightshirt with a rope around the waist would do nicely, if you had one.” She tapped her finger against her lower lip.

  He wished to hell she wouldn’t do that. Her lower lip was one of the most seductive things about her. Full and pink, with a little crease in the middle that he couldn’t stop looking at, especially with all this talk about being naked. “Well, what are you wearing under that bathrobe?” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he knew he shouldn’t have asked.

  She stood immediately, whipped open the robe and showed him. “It’s a nightgown.”

  He could see that. He also could see how the delicate white fabric draped across her breasts and tucked in at her waist before falling in soft folds to her feet. Furthermore, he could see how the style dipped just enough to reveal her generous cleavage, full and inviting. And finally, he could see how this nightgown she’d be wearing under her bathrobe would drive him insane if he thought about it much more.

  So he thought about the dark makeup she had caked on her face, which he definitely hated.

  “You don’t like it?”

  He took another deep breath. “It’ll do, I guess.”

  “It’s a little flimsy.”

  Flimsy might be his favorite type of nightgown now that he’d seen this one on her. “Yeah, it is.”

  “I don’t expect anyone to see it. But in case a strong wind comes through, I’ll—”

  “That would be the beard-blowing kind of wind.”

  “Exactly.” She retied her robe to his great relief.

  Now he’d just have to forget that she had it on under there, he thought. “Then instead of jeans, I’ll wear shorts and a T-shirt.”

  “No, you can’t do that, either. The T-shirt neck will show above the bathrobe and you’ll look like some fellow in the old folks’ home sitting around in the common room in his underwear and robe.” She snapped her fingers. “I have a sleep shirt that’s very big on me. You could wear that.”

  “No, Darcie, I could not wear that. Your father’s bathrobe is one thing. A woman’s sleep shirt is something else.”

  “Don’t be stubborn. It would be perfect. It has a scoop neck and will come almost to your knees. We’ll turn it around backward so the writing doesn’t show.”

  “What writing?”

  “Um, does it really matt
er? It will be backward.”

  He was losing patience. Or maybe sexual frustration was making him cranky. “Darcie, what writing?”

  “‘God created Adam to see if Eve could take a joke.”’

  Joe crossed his arms. “I’m not wearing it. I refuse to be a traitor to my own gender.”

  “I bought it right after Bart Junior left for the Amazon, and my opinion of men was not the best. I found it in the large women’s section, which is why it’s so big. I bought it for the saying, but I don’t wear it anymore.” Her green gaze pleaded with him. “It would really be perfect for your Joseph costume and it goes with one of the stripes in the bathrobe. The color’s bad for me but perfect for you.”

  He had to ask. “What color is that?”

  “Peach.”

  “Peach? You want me to wear a woman’s nightshirt with a women’s-lib slogan on it, in peach? Just how far do you expect me to go?”

  She lifted her round, little chin. “Far enough to win.”

  “I don’t see why what I wear under my bathrobe will make such a big difference.”

  She leaned forward, her expression earnest. “You never know about those details, Joe. One thing I’ve learned in my classes is that small things make or break a decorating scheme. One wrong note, and the whole shebang falls apart. I’m worried about Gus’s teeth. Baby Jesus shouldn’t have four shiny new teeth.”

  He leaned forward, also for emphasis, of course. He had a feeling she was capable of taking this project to extremes. Besides, she smelled like wildflowers. “You’re not going to blacken little Gus’s teeth?”

  Her eyes widened. “Goodness no! I wouldn’t do that to my baby. But I’m thinking that everything else must be perfect to take attention away from those four teeth.”

  This close, he could see the blend of colors that made up the interesting shade of her eyes. He loved looking into them. “I’ll hang a big lighted star over the stable.” Her eyes looked like stars. The closer he got, the more they glowed. “That’ll take attention away from his teeth.”

  “It’s a good idea.” She leaned a little closer herself. “And an angel. Could you make an angel with a trumpet and hang it over the stable, too? Then they really won’t notice Gus’s teeth.”

  “An angel. Sure. A revolving angel.” He had no idea how he’d make an angel, let alone a revolving one, but he’d figure it out. Right now, with her looking at him like that, he had the feeling he could do anything. “We’ll hang all kinds of things over the stable. They’ll all revolve.”

  Her voice grew softer, her breathing shallow. “And you’ll wear the nightshirt?”

  For one kiss from those rosy lips, he’d wear sequins and feathers. “Sure.” He leaned close enough to feel her warm breath on his face. “Nobody will notice Gus’s teeth, I promise.”

  She sighed. “I hope not.”

  A kiss would be harmless, his fevered brain whispered. A friendly kiss to seal the bargain. Gripping the edge of the table so he’d remember to keep his hands to himself, he slowly leaned close enough to brush his lips against hers. She didn’t pull back. Yeah, he could handle this.

  Closing his eyes, he made contact again, keeping the pressure light. So sweet. Her lips were plump and moist, drawing him back a third time, and a fourth. But he was still in control. Maybe his pulse rate was up a little, but he was okay. He was cool. And she tasted so good.

  Daring more, he ran the tip of his tongue along the delicate crease in her lower lip, the spot that had been driving him crazy ever since he first noticed it. That felt so wonderful that he outlined the entire curve of her lips, top and bottom. Surely it wouldn’t be too dangerous to explore the sweetness inside. He dipped his tongue in slowly. At the gentle penetration, she moaned.

  And he lost it.

  Suddenly, his fingers were buried in her soft hair and his tongue was deep in her mouth.

  “Ma-ma!”

  Gus’s wail severed the connection as they leaped apart.

  Joe gazed at her, his breath coming in gasps. Her eyes were downcast, her color high. “Darcie, I’m sorry. God, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s my fault, too.” She stood, not looking at him, and her voice quivered as her brogue became more pronounced. “But you have a lovely mouth on you, Joe Northwood, and you tempted me.”

  “Ma-ma!” Gus called again.

  “I’ll be right with you, my wee elf!” She put her hand to her chest and took a deep breath.

  Joe gazed at her, all flushed and ready for more kissing. “You have a lovely mouth on you, too, Darcie O’Banyon.”

  “But we shouldn’t be pressing those lovely mouths together anymore, all things considered,” she said.

  “No, probably not.”

  She glanced up at him, her eyes still sparkling in the afterglow of his kiss. “It’s obvious that we’re attracted to each other, but I have to be practical about such things, now that I have a baby.”

  “I understand. And I apologize for kissing you.”

  “We were both involved in it, so don’t heap ashes on your head. But from this moment on, I’ll keep my mouth to myself if you’ll promise to do the same.”

  He’d never had to make a promise that felt so wrong. He wanted to have another meeting of their mouths right this minute. He wanted more than that. But that was selfish of him. She needed to save her mouth, and the rest of her tempting body, for a guy who would agree to walk her down the aisle. “It’s a deal,” he said.

  7

  GUS SEEMED WIDE AWAKE, and considering that he’d saved her from total disaster, Darcie decided she’d be wise to keep him on her lap until Joe worked his magic on her car’s innards. With her arms full of her baby she wouldn’t have room for an armful of Joe.

  She flipped on a light in the living room and settled into an easy chair with Gus on her lap. From her experience, taking a car from dead as a doornail to alive and kicking took some time. Which was a good thing because she needed time to compose herself after that whale of a kiss. The man certainly packed a wallop.

  Curiosity had tripped her up, as it had many times in the past. Curiosity and a weakness, only recently discovered, for the charms of the opposite sex. Once she’d known that he meant to kiss her, she’d had to find out what that lovely mouth would feel like. Now she knew. It felt delicious.

  Geraldine had warned her about this very thing, had told her to take charge of matters and not allow Joe to get the bit between his teeth. Darcie was very much afraid that at the end of that kiss Joe had taken the bit firmly between his teeth. And she’d been more than ready to go for a gallop.

  “I’m glad you woke up,” she murmured to her baby.

  From the looks of this, I’ll be so busy keeping an eye on the pair of you I won’t have time to bless myself.

  Nestled in her arms, Gus stared up at her, fighting sleep. But even if he went back to sleep, she was determined not to lay him back in the playpen. She’d hold on to him like a shield until she could put him in the car seat and drive them both to the safety of their apartment.

  Now that she and Joe each had their assignments straight, they wouldn’t need these late-night meetings. Being in this house at night with Joe was entirely too cozy, and neither of them could be blamed for what had happened. It wouldn’t happen again.

  Much calmed by that thought, she started singing Gus an Irish lullaby, one her da had sung to her when she was a little girl. He’d been mother and father to her for as long as she could remember, and she missed him terribly. But whenever she used one of his favorite expressions or sang one of the songs he’d been so fond of, then he seemed, for a moment, to be close at hand.

  She leaned over Gus as she sang softly about her homeland, of green fields and frolicking lambs, a tiny cottage and a warm fire. Then something made her glance up, and she saw Joe leaning in the living-room doorway, gazing at her. The tender look on his face made her heart pound like the heart of a rabbit caught in a snare.

  He didn’t want a woman with a baby, she remin
ded herself. No matter that he was looking at her like that. Probably hormones put that expression in his eyes.

  “Is my engine running?” she asked.

  He smiled and started to say something. Then he stopped himself and looked away, and when he glanced back at her, the smile was gone. “It’s so damn easy to flirt with you, Darcie.”

  Watch yourself, blarney breath. I’m on the job.

  Darcie wondered if curiosity would be her undoing. “You were planning to flirt with me just now?”

  “I started to, but I stopped myself. Flirting leads to kissing, and kissing leads to—”

  “I know exactly where kissing leads.” Her cheeks warmed. “To Gus.”

  “Not necessarily.” He paused. “Or maybe it does, in your case. Maybe you don’t believe in birth control.”

  “I most certainly do! Someone else didn’t want to wear an overcoat on his bobber. He said we were getting married, and like a fool, I believed him.”

  Joe muttered something that sounded like a very strong curse word.

  “But I’m not sorry for how things turned out,” she said. “Not for one minute. My biological clock was ticking, which is why I allowed myself to believe Bart Junior meant for us to get married. I didn’t want to miss the boat and suddenly be too old to have children.”

  “And how ancient would that make you now? Twenty-five?”

  She was pleased that he’d underestimated her age. “Thirty my next birthday.”

  Joe shook his head. “Not possible. They must have fouled up your birth certificate back in Ireland. You’re so young-looking, so fresh-skinned, so…” His voice trailed off as he gazed at her.

  The intensity in his eyes made her squirm a little, and the longer he looked at her the more she remembered the imprint of his mouth on hers. She laughed to cut the tension. “Don’t feel obligated to stop. I’m enjoying this.”

  Stop or I start spitting up graham crackers.

  “I think I’d better watch myself. In fact, we’d both better watch ourselves very carefully from now on, with what we say, what we do, what we wear.”