The Baby Track

by Barbara Boswell

“Unbutton your blouse,” Connor ordered.

  Her heart slammed against the wall of her chest. “What?” She was suddenly very aware that they were alone together—in a bedroom. And that she really didn’t know him very well at all.

  Connor glanced at her pale face and anxious brown eyes. “Oh, for godsakes, I’m not going to assault you.” He made an exclamation of disgust. “I want to put a wire on you— for Nollier’s visit. Wilson Nollier, remember him? The reason why you and I are here?”

  “I can do without the sarcasm, thank you.” Courtney sniffed. “Violence is so pervasive these days, women can’t help being paranoid. Anyway, why don’t you wear the wire?”

  “Because you’d have to tape it to me and I don’t trust you to do the job right. Anyway, that tape sticks to the hair on my chest and it’s excruciating to pull off. I can fasten the wire to your bra,” he added, narrowing his eyes. “You do wear one, don’t you? I can’t tell with that flak jacket you’re wearing.”

  Courtney spluttered, flustered. To which of his well-aimed attacks should she respond first? That her stylish jacket no way resembled a flak jacket in any shape or form? That she did indeed wear a bra—but if he thought she was going to unbutton her blouse for him, he was definitely delusional. And then there was his remark about his chest. She’d already ogled the muscular strength of him; now her mind mentally added a thick mat of wiry-soft hair to that broad masculine expanse.

  While she was dealing with all of this, Connor took action. He began to unbutton her blouse with the deft expertise of one who has completed the task many times.

  “Stop!” Courtney slapped at his hands. “I refuse to let-”

  “Relax, Gypsy.” Connor smiled that caustic smile she loathed. “I’m not trying to seduce you, either. And I promise that the sight of your bra isn’t going to thrust me into the throes of foaming lust. I just want to clip the wire onto you, not cop a feel. Now stand still.”

  Courtney’s cheeks burned. His fingers were brushing against the softness of her breasts as he reached into the cup of her bra to attach the wire. She felt her nipples growing taut as they strained against the lace. If the tip of his index finger were to move just a centimeter or two lower, he would be touching the sensitive aureole.

  Nor was Connor as unaffected as he pretended by the intimacy. Her skin was smooth as satin to the touch, and he had to look at her in order to properly adjust the wire. What he saw was a lacy pink bra, and he couldn’t help wondering if she was wearing matching panties, tiny sexy ones, the kind that clouded a man’s mind on sight. Filling the cups of that ultra-feminine bra were full and rounded milk-white breasts, which were paradoxically both soft and firm and so tantalizing that desire, sharp and swift, sliced through him.

  His breathing quickened and he fumbled with the clip. It fell deeper into the cup and he reached for it, brushing her nipple as he retrieved it. Courtney gasped. The brief touch sent a lightning bolt of sensation all the way to her most secret, intimate parts.

  Connor felt the tight hard bud and a sensual heaviness pooled in his groin in response. He couldn’t help himself, he had to touch her again. Deliberately this time, he dropped the clip, then sent his fingers onto a search mission inside the cup of her bra.

  Courtney sucked in her breath. A wildly pleasurable tightness spiraled through her as his hand moved against her. His fingers were moving slowly as they gently probed her nipple, which was growing even harder and more sensitive. She had never experienced anything as electrifying as the delicious feelings that surged through her as he stroked and caressed her with his clever hand.

  Courtney heard a soft little sound escape from the back of her throat, and she arched her spine so that her breast pressed boldly into his palm. Her knees felt weak; it was difficult to hold her eyelids open. She wanted to close them, to lie down and...

  Connor gave up the phony quest for the clip along with any attempt to wire her. Gathering evidence was the last thing on his mind as the tantalizing scent of her perfume filled his nostrils. His fingers were trembling with anticipation and need as he unfastened the front clasp on her bra, but he was too aroused to worry about the absence of his characteristic laconic cool. Her bra fell away, and when his hands fully cupped her breasts, both Courtney and Connor sighed.

  “Oh God, Gypsy,” he whispered, his lips feathering her temple and her sleek, dark hair. “You’re so soft, so sweet.” His hands slid to her waist and he guided her to the bed which stood a convenient half-foot away.

  Swiftly he pulled her down on it, lying beside her so they were face-to-face.

  The change in position, from vertical to horizontal, enabled Courtney to briefly surface from the sensual quicksand enveloping her. “Connor,” she murmured, shivering as his mouth trailed down the sensitive curve of her neck. His hands were back on her breasts, fondling, squeezing, making her ache with a hunger she had never known.

  “We can’t,” she whispered on a moan. But as if of their own volition, her hands slid along the length of his arms to rest on his shoulders. The supple strength of him distracted her. She flexed her fingers, feeling his muscles ripple beneath her touch. Suddenly the cotton shirt he wore was a frustrating barrier.

  “We—we shouldn’t,” she amended breathlessly.

  “I know,” Connor grated in reply. His mouth was open and hot against hers. “I know.”

  He thrust his tongue into her mouth without any idle preliminaries, his hunger too great to indulge in his usual premeditated foreplay. Desire, urgent and heavy, tightened his body.

  Courtney melted against him, the softness of her body accommodating itself to the hard masculine planes of his. With a sensual groan, Connor deepened the kiss, demanding and receiving an intimately passionate response that she gave willingly and without reservation.

  Her senses were reeling, her body warm and arching into his. The sparks that had been kindled during those previous, aborted kisses blazed to full intensity, burning away all inhibitions and thoughts of resistance. Courtney clung to him, dizzy with the unfamiliar but irresistible pleasure and desire he was rousing in her. She wanted it to go on and on.

  Connor’s breathing was hard and fast and his hands moved over her, learning the shape of her, all the feminine curves and hollows concealed by her modestly cut suit— which he wanted to strip off her so he could savor the feel of her bare skin.

  He felt as if he were going a little crazy. Never had he burned like this, not even in the heady randy days of adolescence. He dimly recognized that if he were in full control of his faculties, he would be pulling back, unable and unwilling to accept the power this woman had over him. He was used to being the master of his passions, he never lost his head, yet he was coming dangerously close to doing exactly that.

  But none of that seemed to matter now.

  Cradling Courtney in his arms, Connor rolled her onto her back, coming down on top of her. She relished the intoxicating heaviness of his weight, wrapping her arms around him and wriggling sensuously beneath him.

  “I said I wasn’t going to seduce you,” Connor rasped, his head spinning, as if he’d had one too many shots of one-hundred-proof bourbon. “But, baby, I think you’re seducing me!”

  He slipped his leg between hers, forcing her narrow skirt to hike up high on her thighs. Connor glided his hand along the long, smooth length of her leg, encased in sheer rose-tinted stockings. Courtney’s toes curled in her shoes and her leather pumps dropped off her feet, one by one. Her body arched into his and she felt his virile hardness pressing intimately against her. This shouldn’t be happening, she thought vaguely, dazedly. It was too fast, too soon and...

  “Never, never get sexually hooked on a man who is wrong for you. ” Michelle’s words flashed to mind but were quickly submerged in the warm seas of sensuality into which she was slipping. When Connor claimed her mouth for another deep, hungry kiss, her eyes closed in ecstasy and she gave into the pure primal pleasure of it.

  It took several long moments for the sharp, stac
cato knocks on the door to penetrate the passionate mists enveloping them. Slowly, dazedly, they drew apart and sat up, staring at each other with slumberous, heavy-lidded eyes.

  “Mr. Nollier is here with the baby,” Mrs. Mason called through the closed door. “I told him you’d be right down.”

  Connor inhaled sharply. Courtney covered her cheeks with her hands. The baby!

  “We’ll be right there,” Connor said. His voice was husky and thick and the sensuous sound of it sent a shudder of response through Courtney.

  “Connor,” she whispered, laying her hand on his thigh. She remembered that old pop standard her mother sometimes played. “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered.” She’d thought the title effectively alliterative, but now she fully appreciated the sentiments behind the words. It was the way she was feeling now.

  Mrs. Mason’s urgent announcement took second place to the restlessness that churned through her. Her mind was filled with Connor. He’d been so tender with her, so hungry for her. And she had never responded to a man with such passion in her life. Her body still felt heavy and liquid and deliciously, languidly sensual.

  Despite the timing and the crucial events about to unfold, she craved his touch. Even a smile or a kind word would suffice, anything to let her know that what had just happened between them meant something to him. That she meant something more to him than merely a physical way to pass some time.

  Connor stood up, making a few necessary adjustments to his clothing. “We’ve got to go down now,” he said tone-lessly, heading toward the door. He didn’t look back at her. He didn’t trust himself to continue walking away from her were he to glimpse her kiss-swollen mouth or her soft, exposed breasts.

  Courtney blushed scarlet and she tried not to show the hurt she felt at his abrupt dismissal. As she fumbled with the front-fastening clasp of her bra with trembling fingers, she spied the forgotten clip, which had fallen to the carpet. “What about the wire?” she murmured.

  Connor heaved an impatient groan. “Can you do it yourself?”

  “No, I don’t know how to. I normally don’t lead the kind of life that requires secret wires and taping,” she added defensively.

  Connor said nothing at all as he attached the clip to her brassiere, and he moved away from her with precision speed to set up the recording equipment. Both were very careful to avoid each other’s eyes. “I’ll wait for you on the stairs,” he said brusquely. He had to get away from her or he would pull her back into his arms!

  Courtney finished buttoning her blouse, then quickly glanced in the mirror as she ran a brush through her hair. Her cheeks were the same rosy color as her blouse, her lips were sensitive and slightly swollen, the lipstick completely gone. Reflexively she touched her fingertips to her mouth, remembering the feel of Connor’s lips, of his tongue— She bolted from the room, determined to put the memory away as abruptly and thoroughly as Connor had.

  They entered Mrs. Mason’s sunny living room, where she stood cooing over the pink-and-white bundle that Wilson Nollier held in the crook of his arm.

  “Ah, Connor, Courtney,” the attorney greeted them with his usual unctuous friendliness. “Here she is. Your daughter.” Beaming, he placed the sleeping infant in Courtney’s arms.

  Courtney stared down at the tiny infant, who had a shock of straight, silky, coal-black hair. One small hand was curved over the edge of the blanket, the incredibly delicate little fingers balled into a fist. “She’s the prettiest baby I’ve ever seen,” she whispered.

  Courtney gazed raptly at the baby in her arms, her eyes drinking in each and every infant feature—the rosebud mouth, the amazingly small but perfectly arched eyebrows, the dainty shell of an ear. “Oh, she’s precious!”

  “And she’s your little girl,” Wilson Nollier said smoothly. He draped his arm around Mrs. Mason’s plump shoulders. “Seeing a mother meet her child for the first time is one of the most beautiful sights in the world, isn’t it, June?”

  The older woman dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “One I’ll never tire of seeing, Mr. Nollier.”

  Connor wanted to gag. The hypocrisy of those two pirates nauseated him. He knew damn well that the sizable check the baby brought in was the most beautiful sight in the world to Nollier, and Mrs. Mason undoubtedly never tired of receiving her payoff for whatever part she played in this racket. What if he and Courtney really were the baby-hungry couple that they’d presented themselves to be? Having handed the child to the hopeful adoptive mother, Nollier would not hesitate to rip it from her arms if the cash payment wasn’t large enough. What smarmy comments did he have in stock for that heartbreaking moment? Connor wondered cynically.

  “Oh, Connor, look! She’s opened her eyes!” Courtney cried excitedly. “They’re blue!” She stared in fascination as the baby looked up at her with big, wide-set blue eyes. Courtney felt an instant shock of recognition. “Sarah!” she said softly.

  A rush of sweet memories rolled through her mind as she remembered that Christmas morning when she’d found Sarah, a life-sized vinyl baby doll with blue eyes and black rooted hair under the tree. It had been the first Christmas after their mother had married John Carey, and even now, Courtney could recall the warmth and security and happiness of that day. She was four years old and all her wishes had come true—she had a daddy and the baby doll she wanted. Sarah promptly became her most prized possession and went everywhere with her. The dofl had been all over the world with her and now resided comfortably, wrapped in a cotton pillowcase, on the top shelf of her bedroom closet.

  Smiling, Courtney gazed down into the alert blue eyes of this new little Sarah. She felt the same kind of instant bond, of shared destiny she’d felt that magical Christmas morning. The baby was staring up at her with innocence and trust, and a sudden fierceness, staggering in its intensity, left Courtney nearly breathless. She knew in that moment that she was never going to give this child back to Wilson Nollier.

  Connor’s eyes were drawn again and again to Courtney and the baby. The two of them looked so natural together, so right. Even their hair color matched! Courtney had

  mentioned that she had nieces and nephews, and it was obvious she knew a thing or two about babies. She certainly looked at ease holding the infant in her arms.

  At ease? taunted a voice in his head. There was so much more to the image than that. She looked beautiful, her eyes ; tender, her smile loving and warm as the baby’s gaze connected with hers. Connor stared at the pair, transfixed.

  “Mrs. Mason tells me you’ve settled in, Connor,” Wilson Nollier’s voice broke the silence that had fallen over the room. “Do you have everything you need?”

  The bastard actually sounded solicitous, Connor thought, and a sudden wave of fury coursed through him. He decided he couldn’t endure any more of Nollier’s slick smoothness. It was time to put an end to this little drama, to nail Nollier once and for all.

  “You didn’t name a price in the office this afternoon,” Connor said, moving to stand closer to Courtney, hoping to lure Nollier closer as well. They needed him within audio range to get his voice clearly on tape. “Of course, we never expected to—uh—get a baby so soon and—”

  “Connor, please, let’s not talk about it right now,” Courtney interrupted, looking up at him with pleading dark eyes. She was filled with dread as she clutched the baby closer.

  Nollier smiled. “I agree with your wife, Connor. This is no time to talk about money. Hold your daughter. Get to know her!”

  Sink the hook in deeper, Connor translated bitterly. Get to know the child so that money would be no object when it came to keeping her. So that was the subtle way this baby-broker manipulated the hearts, minds—and cash resources—of his defenseless clients? He mentally called Nollier every obscene name he’d ever heard.

  “I’m a man who insists on paying my bills promptly,” Connor said, hoping that he’d managed to keep the disgust he felt for the attorney from his tone, from his eyes. “What do we owe you, Mr. Nollier?”

&nbs
p; “I’ll just go into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee,” Mrs. Mason said quickly. “I have homemade coconut cake, too, my own dear grandmother’s recipe.” The woman bustled from the room.

  Connor watched her absent herself from the proceedings with a sardonic eye. Coffee and cake added such a nice homey touch to the impersonal business of child-selling.

  “I have the mother’s hospital bill right here.” Nollier reached inside the pocket of his suitcase and pulled out a form. “The receipt, that is. The bill has already been paid in full by my firm.” He handed the paper to Connor. “The client reimburses us.”

  Connor stared at it. The top of the bill read Shadyside Falls Hospital, and it looked legitimate, an itemized account of a three-day hospital stay, including delivery room suite fee, doctor’s expenses, meals and pain relievers. The price was high, but not out of line; in fact, he knew for a fact that costs in the Washington area hospitals were substantially higher.

  “Can you afford to pay it, Connor?” Nollier asked. The concern in his voice sounded astonishingly authentic. “You don’t have to pay it all at once, you know, I can arrange for a monthly installment plan. And if you can’t swing that, well then, just pay me whatever you feel you can afford without jeopardizing your financial status.”

  Connor was certain he hadn’t heard right. He couldn’t have. Paying a mother’s hospital bill was perfectly legal in private adoption, and this bill had not been padded in any way.

  He looked at Courtney, who was staring at Nollier, her face mirroring her owii confusion.

  “What about your fee and the—uh—legal expenses?” she asked reluctantly. Here it comes, she thought anxiously. An astronomical fee that Connor will have to decline to pay. And then Nollier will demand Sarah back and—and he couldn’t have her!

  Wilson Nollier smiled, showing his even white teeth. “I’m waiving my fee, Courtney, and that includes all legal costs. My firm can absorb them.”

  She was flummoxed. “But—but why?”

  Nollier’s smile widened. “You and Connor are a fine, generous young couple who want to share your life with a child. This little girl needs a home. The woman who gave birth to her is a college student, just twenty-one years old and unmarried. Unfortunately the baby’s father, a professor at the same college, is already married and ended the affair as soon as he learned there was to be a child. The mother is a bright, concerned young woman who wants the best for her baby. I think you and Connor are that, Courtney—the best. It’s my pleasure to bring the three of you together. Money is irrelevant.”