“It’s still your fault. If you hadn’t been at that club that night, McKay wouldn’t have dragged me along and I never would have met her.”
“If I remember correctly, you were disgustingly gleeful when you left with her that night. You said she was a, quote, hot new babe, unquote, and thought you were headed straight to the sack.” Courtney grinned in spite of herself. “Shall I assume she put a cold, quick end to your delusions?”
“We went to bed that night and we’ve been together ever since,” Kaufman all but wailed. “She says she’s in love with me, she wants to marry me! Hell, she might even be pregnant by now. Who can think of precautions when she— when we—” His voice trailed off.
“Clang,” murmured Courtney.
“What?”
“Just the sound of the metaphorical cage door slamming shut,” she said dryly.
“Damn, I never thought it could happen to me!” Kaufman raved on. “I’m not the type of guy a woman falls in love with—or would even consider marrying!”
“You won’t get any argument from me on that. But then I’ve always thought Jarrell was—well, strange.” That was putting it tactfully; the choice of unflattering adjectives that could be truthfully used to describe Jarrell Harcourt was almost unlimited.
“You might not want to admit it, but you’re hooked, Kaufman,” declared Courtney. “You’re in love with her. If you weren’t, you would’ve dumped her the moment she began uttering terrorizing words like love and marriage. I hope you’ll invite me to the wedding,” she added with malicious glee.
Kaufman snarled a blistering curse and slammed down the receiver so forcefully that the noise reverberated in her ears. Kieran Kaufman and Jarrell Harcourt? Courtney’s smile widened. What a perfectly dreadful couple! She wished that Connor had his full memory back so they could share the humor of it together.
She abruptly sobered. When Connor regained his memory, he wouldn’t want to share anything with her. He would be furious with her, he would accuse her of manipulating him, of taking advantage of him, of trapping him. Her eyes filled with tears. She had done all those things, hadn’t she? And she had the terrible feeling that her reasons—that she’d been afraid and distraught and most importantly of all, that she loved him—would never excuse her in his eyes.
Restlessly she paced the floor, her tormenting thoughts whirling around in her head. She checked on the sleeping baby several times and finally, unable to stand her own company for another second, headed back downstairs.
The living room was empty, and she rushed to the front door, her pulse racing, her imagination immediately conjuring up all sorts of disasters that might account for Connor’s absence.
All of which were instantly erased the moment she saw him standing outside at the curb saying goodbye to Richard Tremaine and Wilson Nollier. Relief surged through her, but her heart was still pounding and her limbs felt as limp as overcooked pasta.
Connor came back inside and took a long look at her. “What’s wrong sweetheart?” he asked, his voice, his expression, filled with concern.
“You weren’t here when I came down.” She gave her head a small shake. “I—I guess I was afraid that they’d kidnapped you or something,” she said softly, self-mockingly.
“I’ve already told you I’m not going anywhere.” He pulled her close to him, his hands flexing on her waist. “So that precludes kidnapping, doesn’t it?”
She leaned into him, clinging to him, wanting to beg him to tell her he would never leave her. He would say it, but she knew the words would provide no reassurance. He’d already said them, and she was positive that they were valid only as long as he believed himself to be her husband.
The moment he learned the true facts... Courtney shivered. He would be gone. “Did the visit go well?” she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.
“Very well, considering the peculiar circumstances,” Connor said wryly. “He—Richard Tremaine—my father-offered me a job with the family company. He wants to legally claim me as his son, wants me to meet my brothers and become part of the family.”
Courtney’s head jerked up and she met his eyes.
“He told me a little about his wife Mamie,” Connor continued quietly. “He said she was a sweet, beautiful woman but they never loved each other, that they were too young and bowing to family pressure when they married. It was an advantageous financial alliance for both. Neither were happy, although Mamie had Cole, my older brother, within the first year of their marriage. And then my father met my mother.”
“Bam, fireworks,” Courtney said softly, quoting Nollier.
“Exactly. He wanted to divorce his wife and marry my mother when she became pregnant, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She was certain she was being punished for her sins, and if his marriage broke up, they would both burn in hell forever.” He shrugged. “So she chose hell on earth with Dennis McKay, and Richard stayed with his wife and had two more sons. Then Mamie was killed in a car accident. Shortly afterward, Richard went to my mother and begged her to divorce McKay and marry him. She refused.”
“More punishment?” Courtney surmised.
Connor sighed. “I guess so. She told Richard that she didn’t love Dennis McKay, but she felt she owed him for marrying her and giving me his name, plus she had two other kids by him. She said he was a good-enough father and she couldn’t break up her children’s home. My father never remarried. He said if he couldn’t have my mother, he didn’t want anybody else.”
“It’s sad,” Courtney whispered. “Such a waste.”
“He said he kept up the fiction of the bereaved widower for his boys, but he wants to tell them the whole truth now.” Connor cleared his throat. “He wants to sign over to me a portfolio of stocks and a trust fund that he established years ago in my name. He’s going to call my mother tonight and tell her what’s going on.”
“Tell her that he’s finally claimed you,” Courtney said, swallowing hard. “I wonder how she’ll take it?”
“I’m more interested in how you’ll take it. This will affect all of us, Courtney. You, me, Sarah—and whoever else might come along.” He pressed a possessive hand against her belly. Would she at least admit to the hoax of their alleged infertility?
But Courtney, struck by the consequences of Richard Tremaine’s call to Connor’s mother, didn’t make the connection his remark implied. All she could think about was that Nina McKay knew her son wasn’t married and wouldn’t hesitate to inform Tremaine of that fact.
And then everything would fall apart. She’d been living in a dream world, Courtney acknowledged bleakly. She had been counting on more time to live with Connor and Sarah as a family; she’d thought she had at least until he regained his memory. A hopeful and totally unrealistic part of her had willed that time far into the future.
But now she had only until tonight.
She closed her eyes, resting her forehead against his chest, keeping her face averted to hide her anguish from him. A searing pain ripped through her, so intense that she had to hold her breath to keep from crying aloud. Another parting, another goodbye. She’d lived through so many, but she knew beyond a doubt that this would be the worst of all.
“Is the baby asleep?” Connor asked huskily. He held her closer, arching her into his muscled strength. He nuzzled her jawline, the sensitive hollow below her ear, the slender curve of her neck, breathing in the delicate scent of her skin, tasting it. With a low growl, he covered her breast with his hand, massaging it with slow, sensuous fingers.
The hardening of his body made no secret of what he wanted. He was boldly aroused, pressing hard against her. Courtney released a shuddering breath. The newly awakened, passionate side of her wanted to revel in every sensation coursing through her, to surrender to the moment and to him. To spend these last hours with him making love because it was all she would have after tonight’s fateful phone call.
But the defensive coping skills she had developed from years of leave-takings and painful partings re
flexively kicked in, eliminating any chances of impulsive passion. Every time the Carey family had received orders to move to another army post, Courtney had managed the pain of separation by withdrawing into herself, by gently but irrevocably detaching herself from those she was about to leave behind.
Automatically she did that now. The news of that phone call was like orders from Uncle Sam.
Just as Connor was about to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom, she pulled herself out of his arms. “It’s such a beautiful day,” she said, pasting a sunny smile on her face.
Connor did not care to discuss the weather. He reached for her, to yank her back into his arms, but though he was fast, Courtney was even faster. She neatly sidestepped him and crossed the room, her smile growing even brighter.
“I know what we can do today!” she exclaimed with credible enthusiasm. “Go on a picnic! It’s a perfect day for it, and the fresh air will be good for Sarah. And for us, too—we’ve both been cooped up inside that hospital for too long. Mrs. Mason told me about a beautiful park on the edge of town. Shadyside Creek runs through the park, and there is a waterfall there, too. The town took its name from it. Shadyside Falls.”
Connor grimaced. He was as interested in the area’s geography as he was in the weather, which was to say, not at all. His body was on fire with a violent need. He wanted her so badly it was all he could do not to stalk across the room, fling her over his shoulder and carry her to bed.
“I don’t want to go on a picnic,” he grated, “Courtney, I-”
“But Sarah and I do, and we’re going,” Courtney sang out gaily and dashed from the room.
Her departure was so fast and so unexpected that she was gone before Connor had time to act. He heard her talking to Mrs. Mason, who was in the kitchen baking something.
The delicious aromas emanating from there didn’t tempt him in the slightest.
A picnic? What was going on with her? He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. She had to have known how much he wanted her. His body had made no secret of that. A thought struck him. Had his blatant desire frightened her? Was her' sudden urge to picnic masking an attack of nerves, perhaps the aftermath of last night’s passion?
Thinking of last night made him burn with a powerful, ever-increasing, vigorous need. He relived it all—the driving urgency, the feverish heights of pleasure, the fierce, almost primitive urge to mate with her, to indelibly brand her as his.
Had it been too much for her? He broke into a cold sweat at the thought that he might have hurt her. Remembering her responses to him, her soft moans of pleasure, the sweet way she’d clung to him, eased his anxiety somewhat.
Still, she had been a virgin, and maybe she was feeling a little embarrassed and overwhelmed by the passionate demands he had made on her—and by her own on him. Connor frowned. He should’ve moved faster and hauled her upstairs where he could have swiftly put an end to her postvirginal apprehensions with lovemaking so wantonly intimate and satisfying that she would never again feel inhibited with him.
But she’d caught him unaware, and he had missed his chance. His body pumped with sexual tension that could easily escalate into surging lust with just a modicum of encouragement from her. Maybe if he tried again...
He went into the kitchen and found Mrs. Mason sliding a cookie tray into the oven while Courtney removed several loaves of bread from a tin bread box.
“Connor, how many sandwiches can you eat?” Courtney asked brightly.
She was smiling her social smile, which grated on him because it was the kind of smile she gave to everybody and he’d become accustomed to receiving her special intimate smiles, ones reserved just for him.
“Do you want white, whole wheat or rye bread?” she asked with the impersonal friendliness of a waitress at a lunch counter.
Connor heaved a sigh. It was hardly the offer he’d been hoping for. And with the redoubtable Mrs. Mason firmly entrenched, there was no way he could launch a sensual campaign to make her change her mind.
He breathed a frustrated sigh. “I’m not a fussy eater. Whatever you make will be fine.”
So the picnic was on—and he was supposed to turn himself off. He turned and strode from the kitchen, pondering the incredible phenomenon of Connor McKay complying with a woman’s wishes.
Eleven
“Admit it, this isn’t so bad,” Courtney insisted playfully, handing Connor another sandwich. They were both wearing jeans and cotton sweaters, hers yellow and his green, and sitting on a thick faded quilt that Mrs. Mason had loaned them for their outing. The well-maintained park, the pride of the town, was spacious and flat with wooden picnic tables interspersed among the tall shade trees that were already green with new spring leaves. A fast-flowing creek ran through the middle of the park, cascading over a six-foot drop of rocks before continuing its course and eventually emptying into a small tributary of the Potomac River.
Courtney and Connor had chosen to bypass the tables in favor of a shady spot on the ground under the wide branches of a thick-trunked oak tree. Baby Sarah, snug in a portable vinyl carry-bed placed on the far edge of the quilt, seemed completely oblivious to her change of surroundings and slept soundly.
“I know you weren’t too eager to come, but you’re having fun after all, aren’t you, Connor?” Courtney rummaged in the woven straw picnic hamper, also on loan from Mrs. Mason. She pulled out two apples, two oranges, some brownies wrapped in wax paper, a stack of similarly wrapped chocolate chip cookies, a bag of nuts and a bag of candy.
Connor bit into the sandwich—a turkey, ham, cheese, lettuce and tomato combination, his third. “I’ll grant you Mrs. Mason packs one helluva picnic basket. This lunch is big enough to feed a Third World country.”
“I packed the lunch,” Courtney corrected him. “And paid Mrs. Mason for the food, of course.”
“Of course. Mrs. Mason sure knows how to turn a buck. Under that sweet, grandmotherly facade is an enterprising ‘Have-I-gotta-deal-for-you’ entrepreneur.’ ’
“What do you mean?” Courtney cast him a swift, apprehensive glance. That remark had sounded startlingly like his old self.
He stretched out his long legs in front of him. “Can’t I make a simple comment without it being analyzed and scrutinized? Next you’ll be throwing today’s date into every other sentence to keep me oriented to time and place like the hospital’s well-meaning staff.”
Courtney concentrated on unwrapping the brownies and cookies. She offered them to him. “Have some dessert.” Connor arched his brows. “Hoping to sweeten my disposition?”
“Maybe I am. You’ve been irritable since—”
“You decided that you’d rather have a picnic surrounded by the good citizens of Shadyside Falls—” he extended his arn^to indicate the families occupying the picnic tables “—rather than be alone with me.”
Courtney’s cheeks reddened. Anger, that excellent means of distancing oneself and avoiding pain, swiftly rose within her. “So you’re trying to punish me because I wouldn’t have sex with you. Instead of enjoying the beautiful day and the lovely park and good food, you’re—you’re sulking!’ ’
“If I am, at least I’m behaving honestly. That cheerful ingenuous act you’re putting on is as phony as—” He abruptly stopped speaking and clamped his lips together, as if to physically prevent himself from saying the words he’d been about to say.
As phony as our marriage? The words pounded silently through Courtney’s head. Though he didn’t know it, it was a heartbreakingly apt comparison. But a fleeting one, for their phony marriage had only a few more hours left.
She scrambled to her knees and started loading the food back into the basket. “I shouldn’t have slept with you last night,” she muttered, angry at herself, at him and at the cruelty of fate for tantalizing her with what might have been and then capriciously yanking it away. “We got along beautifully all last week, we never exchanged a cross word, but the moment sex was involved—”
“Present tense, Gypsy.” He k
nelt up, bringing himself within inches of her. “Sex is involved, very much so.” He seized both her wrists and carried her hands to his chest. Automatically she lay her palms against the soft thickness of his sweater, her fingers flexing slightly.
His eyes searched the dark, velvety depths of hers. “You’re mine,” he said in a fierce, husky whisper. “I’m not going to let you go, and I’m not going to let you push me away.”
His thumb traced the shape of her lips, which trembled and parted for him. One big hand slid to the small of her back, and he caressed the sensitive spot until she exhaled a shuddering breath of arousal. He moved his knees apart to widen his stance and drew her even closer to him, nestling her body into his.
Courtney felt the force of his arousal pressing against the most feminine, vulnerable part of her, making her feel full and hot and moist there. When he rubbed intimately against her, her head began to spin. “Connor,” she whimpered breathlessly as his mouth descended on hers.
“I know, baby, I know.” He slipped his hands under her sweater, gliding them over the smooth bare skin of her back as he sent his tongue deep into her mouth. He kissed her, a deep drugging kiss that she returned in full, giving into all the love and passion she felt for him.
He moved his hands, which were still under her sweater, around her sides and upward to her breasts. “Let’s get out of here,” he rasped urgently against her ear. “I want to be alone with you. I want to show you how much—how good—” Words failed him and he buried his lips against the soft curve of her neck.
A small breeze rustled the branches, and Courtney felt its cooling effects on her flushed face. With it came a measure of sanity. When she felt his fingers deftly reach for the clasp of her bra, she dug her fingers into his forearms and pushed his hands away. “Connor, we’re right in the middle of the park! ” Her voice was husky and thick, and he smiled at the sound of it.
“You’re right.” He moved a few discreet feet away. “We don’t want to shock the picnickers with a scandalizing public display of affection. They might be incited to make a citizens’ arrest.”
The Baby Track Page 16