Those Baby Blues

by Sheridon Smythe

  Hadleigh squeezed her eyes tightly shut against the image his words evoked in her mind. “You slept with her,” she whispered, hoping she didn't sound as pained as she felt.

  "Yes. I slept with her.” His sigh seemed to come from the very depths of his chest. “She was emotionally unstable. I knew better, but I can't undo what's done. Brutal warned me—"

  "So that's why he's so mistrustful of me!” Hadleigh exclaimed, sitting up to look at him. She could just make out his frown in the darkness.

  "Yeah,” he said dryly. “Brutal hasn't let me live it down. But hey, he's not as tough as he looks. And if telling yourself that doesn't work, imagine him sitting beneath a Christmas tree trying to put a diaper on a baby doll."

  "So that's the big secret you threatened to tell me that first day?"

  "Yep. Caught him red-handed—on video. Remind me to show it to you sometime."

  "When Brutal isn't around."

  He chuckled. “Yeah, when Brutal isn't around. Anyway,” he pulled her back against him. “Back to my sordid past. Instead of being firm and making Cheyenne leave, I let her hang around. When she told me that she was pregnant, I told her that I would do my part in raising the baby, but that I couldn't marry her. I didn't love her,” Treet added flatly. “It went from bad to worse after that. She screamed and threatened. There wasn't a lamp or a vase left in one piece. She finally stormed out. I didn't see her again until she went into labor."

  "She told the nurses that you promised to marry her."

  "She lied. Cheyenne knew from the start how I stood with her, she just wouldn't accept it. When she found out that I couldn't be bullied into marrying her, she gave me the baby. That's when I found out I wasn't Caroline's father."

  Shock jolted Hadleigh out of his lap and onto the porch. She was speechless for a few seconds. Finally, she got out, “You knew Caroline wasn't yours? And you weren't suspicious?” She'd heard the rumor from her friends, but she hadn't wanted to believe it. She should have remembered the old cliché, where there's smoke, there's fire.

  Treet crossed his ankle over his knee, and ran a distracted hand through his hair. He sighed again. “Like I said, Cheyenne was emotionally unstable. It was easy to believe that she'd lied to me from the start when the blood test revealed I couldn't be the father. That she'd switched babies in the hospital never crossed my mind.” He stared at her long and hard, as if he were trying to judge her reaction in the dark. “Would it have crossed your mind?"

  He had a point, Hadleigh realized, still reeling from the news. Treet had known Caroline wasn't his, yet he'd raised her as if she were. Loved her unconditionally. Guarded her with his life.

  He couldn't be that noble ... could he?

  Hadleigh felt suddenly chilled. She shivered and hugged herself. She had to ask. “When you found out ... she wasn't yours, why did you keep her?"

  "Because I already loved her. It didn't matter that she wasn't mine biologically by that time.” His voice dropped so low she had to lean close to hear him. “She needed me ... and I needed her. Since then, we've been a hell of a team."

  "Does Caroline know?"

  "No. Nobody knows but me, Brutal, and my agent. Todd's the one that pushed for the blood test.” Treet rubbed his jaw and rose from the chair. “When the hospital called to tell me that Caroline wasn't my daughter, I thought Todd had been running his mouth. I was ready to pound him into the ground."

  Hadleigh believed him. She knew how fierce he was about protecting Caroline. She was the same way with Sam, and now with Caroline, as well. “Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

  He took a step and began rubbing his hands along her chilled arms, staring into her face. His body heat reached her and began to seep into her bones. She swayed toward him, then steadied herself.

  "Because I don't think about it. Because I don't want anyone to know. As far as I'm concerned and as far as Caroline's concerned, I'm her father."

  With a moan, Hadleigh dropped her head to his chest. “Oh, hell,” she said.

  Treet's soothing hands grew still. His fingers tightened around her arm.

  "What's wrong?"

  When she didn't immediately respond, he gave her a little shake. “Tell me,” he demanded, sounding worried.

  A weak chuckle escaped her. “Cheyenne is Sam's mother, Treet. Sam's mother!" It took her a moment to realize that the shaking came from his chest this time.

  Treet was laughing.

  "It's not funny,” she growled, burying her face against him. She tried not to laugh, but his mirth was contagious. “I guess I don't have to wonder any longer where Sam got her temper."

  "Or the red hair."

  "Or the red hair,” Hadleigh repeated. She didn't resist when Treet shuffled closer, warming her all over. Knowing she shouldn't, she slid her arms around his waist. He was wonderful to snuggle with, she mused. “Or her flair for getting her way,” she continued. “And her mile-long stubborn streak."

  "Hm. She could have gotten that one from watching you,” Treet drawled teasingly. “From what I've heard so far about your ex, I feel extremely grateful that Caroline takes after you."

  It was the best compliment Hadleigh had ever heard. She inhaled his rich, masculine scent and let her breath out in a silent shudder. She felt as if she could stand there in his arms all night long, with the lightning her background, thunder her music, and Treet for support. Even the wind, though a little cool, was refreshing against her hot face.

  Treet had other, better ideas. “Let's rehearse, shall we? Shouldn't take fifteen minutes or so."

  "Slave driver,” Hadleigh mumbled, reluctantly releasing him and stepping back.

  When he picked up her hand and laced his fingers through hers, she let him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  It felt natural. Right.

  They paused to look in on the girls, smiling simultaneously at the sight of their sleeping forms. Sam was snoring softly, her arm flung across Caroline's unsuspecting face.

  "I don't know how Caroline sleeps with her,” Hadleigh whispered, her throat tight with emotion. “She takes up the entire bed."

  "So do I,” Treet whispered back.

  Hadleigh shot him an accusing look. “So that's where she gets it."

  He chuckled and nudged her along the hall until they reached his bedroom door.

  Suddenly rooted to the spot, Hadleigh swallowed hard and glanced his way. Their eyes met; heat flared between them, instant and intense. “Maybe we should wait until tomorrow,” Hadleigh said, her voice husky and uncertain. “When we're not so—so—"

  "Emotionally charged?” he supplied, then shrugged. “I'm fine. Primed and ready."

  The word primed made her heart skip a beat, and caused a startling, sudden jolt in her mid section. She resisted the urge to glance down and see for herself if he was indeed primed.

  "Don't worry, I promise you'll have fun.” His knuckles raked her spine, then dropped away, while his expression remained innocent ... questioning.

  The jolt settled lower in her belly.

  Very low. She licked her lips and nodded. “Okay. Let's do it."

  "Now you're talking my language."

  He grinned at her shocked expression and opened the bedroom door, waving his hand for her to go first.

  Taking a deep breath, Hadleigh went inside.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Eighteen

  The moment the door closed behind them, Treet became Russell Linuchi again.

  Startled anew by the split-second transformation, Hadleigh wondered if she would ever get used to this man's amazing talent. He looked purposeful as he turned and locked the door.

  He could have pretended, she thought, swallowing hard. Just like they had pretended to eat roast duck earlier. Now the door was truly locked and she was in Treet's bedroom.

  Not a pantry.

  Not a closet.

  But a bedroom. His bedroom.

  Lordy. Her throat went bone-dry. She silently reminded he
rself that this was a rehearsal, and Treet was acting. Which is what she should be doing. She knew her lines—she had memorized them earlier. Besides, there weren't many. Say them, get them over with, and get the hell out before you do what you know you shouldn't do.

  "Relax, babe, I won't eat ya,” Russell drawled, giving her that comical leer again as he advanced on her.

  She began to stumble backward. The backs of her knees hit the bed. She buckled, falling onto the king-sized mattress.

  He pounced, landing lightly on top of her, his face close to hers. It was like gazing into a stranger's eyes, she mused, trying to catch her breath and remember her lines.

  Oh, yeah. “Shouldn't—shouldn't we talk first?"

  "We can talk afterward.” Efficient fingers began to unfasten her dress, which had a tiny row of pearl buttons all the way to the hem. He'd reached the fourth button before Hadleigh grabbed his hand. Belatedly, she remembered that she wasn't supposed to let him get that far.

  "Um, could you slow down a bit?” She didn't have to fake a blush; she was already blushing. “I'm a little nervous."

  "Sure, babe,” Russell said with just the right amount of disappointment in his voice. He rolled from her and sat up.

  And began removing his shirt.

  "Wh—what are you doing?” she asked in a squeaky voice. Frantically, she scooted along the bed until she reached the headboard.

  "You know what I'm doing, babe."

  If he said babe one more time she was going to scream. But she knew that he would ... because he was Russell Linuchi, and babe was Russell's favorite word.

  Sleeping with a different woman each night was also Russell's favorite pastime. “But I thought we were going to talk about this deal you've got coming up with Unique."

  "You said something about talking,” Russell corrected. He pulled off his shirt and threw it aside, then started on his jeans.

  "Wait!” This time Zoey didn't bother trying to hide her obvious panic. “Mr. Linuchi ... Russell, I never sleep with a man on the first date.” She flashed him a weak smile, slowly creeping to the edge of the bed.

  She made a dash for the bathroom.

  He caught her just before she reached it, laughing and pulling her back to the bed, completely oblivious of Zoey's true panic. “My, you are going to make this interesting, aren't you?"

  Zoey struggled in his arms, finally stomping the heel of her shoe onto his foot. He let out a muffled yelp and let her go. She turned, mortified as she watched him hop around the room.

  His expression was one of intense pain. It looked too real to be fake.

  "Treet?” she ventured, trying to figure out if she'd really hurt him. “I didn't ... you're not really hurt, are you?” She'd tried to warn him she wasn't a professional!

  He hopped close enough to grab her—which he did. Tackling her onto the bed, he grinned wickedly into her startled face. “Gotcha."

  "You're a creep,” Hadleigh said with feeling. He'd let her believe she'd really hurt him. “Now get off me, creep!"

  His wicked grin widened, spreading to his eyes. “I don't think you're in a position to give orders, babe."

  "Don't call me that when you're not Russell. It's bad enough I have to hear it from him."

  Treet's brow rose. “You still don't like Russell?"

  "Who's asking, Russell, or you?"

  "Does it matter?"

  She frowned in thought. “Well, yeah, it does. If you're still Russell, that means I'm still Zoey, and since Zoey wouldn't want to blow her chances of becoming Russell's secretary, she wouldn't tell him that she didn't like him."

  He whistled between his teeth as if he was impressed. “You're really getting into this, aren't you?"

  "Doesn't it help?” She was genuinely curious about his work. Besides, she needed something to take her mind off the fact that Treet was lying on top of her. “Wasn't that the whole point with me playing Zoey's part, to make it seem real for you?"

  "Oh, you make it real, Hadleigh. You make it very real."

  The sudden silence that fell between them made Hadleigh want to squirm. Desperately, she said, “I still think that Russell is moving too fast with Zoey. How can she fall for this guy? He obviously only has one thing on his mind."

  Treet appeared to consider her criticism. “Maybe Zoey's thinking the same thing,” he suggested.

  "Russell hasn't given Zoey time to think of her own name! If he isn't pawing her, he's making suggestive remarks—"

  "The scene's over, Hadleigh. Come back to earth."

  She immediately snapped her mouth closed. Very evenly—or so she thought—she said, “If the scene is over, then why are you lying on top of me?"

  "Because it feels good?"

  Hadleigh wished she had the nerve to disagree, but she knew she'd be lying, and worse, he'd know she was lying just by looking down and seeing her hard nipples trying to poke holes in her dress. Tentatively, she reached out and placed her hand against his bare chest, right in the middle of the dark patch of soft, curly hair over his heart.

  It pounded beneath her fingers. Her eyes went wide, staring into his watchful, sexy gaze. He brought his hand up and did the same, pushing her unbuttoned dress aside and placing his hand against her breast over her own galloping heart.

  "We've—we've been running around the bedroom,” she began in a rush.

  "Like hell,” he growled, shifting her sideways on the bed but keeping her held tightly to him. His mouth captured hers in a long, hot, explorative kiss. When they came up for air, he whispered against her mouth, “You are the absolute best kisser."

  "Mm,” she mumbled, breathing hard. “You are.” She didn't see him do it, but somehow he managed to reach out and touch the bedside lamp twice, bringing it to a low glow.

  They did a lot of kissing. Just holding one another and kissing as if they couldn't get enough. Nibbling kisses. Little kisses. Big, urgent kisses. Soft, tender, teasing kisses. They left no stone unturned in the art of kissing. They became experts at it.

  "Hm, you taste sweet,” Treet murmured, his hand finally searching and finding her aching breast. Each movement was slow and tentative, as if he were giving her plenty of time to protest. As if he expected her to protest.

  Protest? Ha! She thought he'd never make the next move. She sighed into his mouth and arched against his hand, wishing he'd just rip the bra from her and have it out of the way. Now that she was here, in his bedroom, in his arms, she wanted to get with the program.

  Get naked with him.

  Lordy, Lordy, she had lost her mind!

  She never knew losing her mind could be so ... so mind blowing.

  Impatient with his torturous pace, Hadleigh struggled to finish the job he'd started on her buttons. There had to be a million, she thought, working blindly. When his hands closed over hers, she let out a sigh of relief, thinking he would help.

  But instead he stilled her hands and reluctantly drew away from her mouth. She opened her eyes, staring into his smoky baby blues, confused and aching.

  "Hadleigh, I don't want you to do anything you're going to regret,” he whispered.

  She didn't know whether to kiss him for being so sensitive, or slap him for holding them up. She opted to kiss him. Maybe she could do something about his hesitation.

  It worked. As if her assurance had snapped something inside him, Treet began to work frantically at the aggravating buttons.

  "I'll never wear this dress again,” she vowed breathlessly against his throat. “So tear it. Rip the damned buttons loose."

  With a groan and a chuckle, Treet obeyed. Within seconds, she was free. Her wisp of a bra quickly followed the dress to the floor. Now they were bare breasts to bare chest and it was glorious.

  "God, you feel fantastic,” he croaked, his hands seemingly everywhere at once. Stroking her nipples. Cupping her buttocks. Trailing fire down her spine with skillful, tip-toeing fingers. Pulling her tight against his erection, making her inhale a sharp gasp. Sucking hard on her nipples, giving
each the same bone-melting attention until they quivered.

  Shaking, on fire with an urgent need, Hadleigh fumbled with his button-fly jeans.

  To hell with fighting it.

  * * * *

  Now that the moment had arrived, Treet was suffering. Really suffering.

  From guilt. Immense guilt. He was a creep. A manipulator. A selfish bastard. He'd tricked her into his bed, and now he regretted it.

  Which was the biggest lie he'd ever told himself.

  No, he didn't actually regret the fact that she was here, in his arms, just regretted the way he'd done it. But God, was she warm. And sweet. And receptive.

  And she truly was the best kisser.

  The first button of his jeans popped open beneath Hadleigh's impatient, determined fingers. His throbbing erection strained against his jeans, painfully. He'd never felt so hard in his life.

  Or so guilty.

  Like the scandalous rakes from a by-gone era, he'd seduced Hadleigh Charmaine, and not very honestly, either. He'd used his profession, his talent, and an outrageously doctored script to bring her to this point of no return.

  "Oh, my.” Her appreciative exclamation sank into his fogged brain at the exact moment her silken, hot fingers closed around him.

  He gasped, his fingers toying with the elastic of her panties. Her belly was flat and smooth ... soft and silken. And so were the curls he tangled his fingers in.

  "Lordy,” she breathed, squeezing him gently, then slowly working her fingers up and down his length.

  Treet nearly bit his tongue in two. He eased her panties down her hips, smiling when she quickly wiggled her way out of them and tossed them from her foot. She reminded him of a fledgling stripper.