A Baby of Her Own

by Brenda Novak

  Rebecca frowned at the cowboy waiting for her at the table. “I’m going to lose Lover-boy there and get a room. I’ll leave you a key with my room number at the front desk.”

  “Okay. I’ll be in room 431. With Conner,” Delaney added. Then she squared her shoulders and started for the door, her eyes on the elevators beyond, but Rebecca called her back.

  “Will you be all right, Laney? You’re whiter than a sheet.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “The hard part’s over, you know. You’ve just gotta—”

  Delaney raised a hand. “I really don’t want a pep talk at the moment. Not for this.” She frowned. “I keep expecting to wake up and realize I’ve been dreaming.”

  “You’ll thank me later.”

  “If it works.”

  “Just play your cards right, and it will.”

  Play her cards right? She was a virgin. She didn’t know how to play this game at all. But she hadn’t taken those assertiveness classes for nothing.

  The lobby was empty except for a night clerk standing behind the check-in counter. He was clicking away on a computer and didn’t look up as Delaney passed, despite the echo of her heels on the marble floor. She was glad; she didn’t want to have to smile and nod and pretend she wasn’t going to a stranger’s room.

  She kept her mind carefully blank as she rode the elevator and navigated the long narrow corridors of the fourth floor, but all her fears came flooding back when she finally stood in front of room 431.

  This is it. Tomorrow I might be pregnant or I might be sorry.

  With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she told herself to take a risk for once. This could bring her a baby. A baby! And Conner would never miss what he was giving her. He’d never even know.

  On the other hand, there’d be no going back….

  She was still hovering in indecision when a bellman came around the corner.

  “You having trouble getting into your room, ma’am?”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

  “Okay. Have a good night.” He passed, pulling an empty luggage cart, and turned toward the elevators, but Conner must have heard their exchange because he opened his door.

  “I thought that might be you. I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t hear your knock.”

  Delaney didn’t mention that she hadn’t knocked, that she might never have knocked. She was too busy trying not to stare. Conner had taken a shower. He stood before her wearing nothing but a pair of faded blue jeans that had obviously been donned quickly—the top button was undone. His hair was combed but still wet, and she could tell he’d shaved, but it was his chest that made her mouth go dry. Broad and sculptured, with just a sprinkling of hair that narrowed into a thin line intersecting his navel, it looked like something she might’ve seen in a fitness magazine. Steam rolled out of the bathroom behind him, adding a bit of atmosphere, and Delaney could smell dampness and the scent of his shampoo.

  “Smells good,” she said before she could think.

  He smiled, and this time it wasn’t the social smile she’d seen fleetingly downstairs. It was sexy and sweet and nearly made her heart stop.

  “I’ve been traveling all day, and I wanted to shave,” he said.

  That was nice of him. Nicer than she would’ve expected.

  “Are you coming in?” he asked.

  She glanced toward the elevator. A simple no could still end this. But Conner reached out to her, and she let him draw her inside.

  The Bellemont was probably the nicest hotel in Boise. It was certainly more expensive than any Delaney had stayed in, but then she’d only stayed in one. When she was nine, Aunt Millie and some of the ladies from the Rotary Club had taken her to Disneyland. They’d rented a cheap motel because no one had much money, but there’d been a swimming pool and it had seemed like a castle to Delaney.

  She circled the room, noting the striped wallpaper and crown molding, the king-size bed, the mahogany desk with rolling chair, the entertainment center that housed the television and snack bar, two nightstands with big brass lamps and an overstuffed chair next to a table on which lay a menu for room service. Picking up the menu, she leafed through it, as Conner folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall to watch her.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  She looked up at him, then hurriedly away because he made such a spectacular sight with his powerful-looking shoulders and arms. “No. I’ve…I’ve never had room service before. I was just wondering what it’s like.”

  “It’s generally not the best food in the world, but it’s convenient,” he said. His voice was amiable, kind, but there was curiosity in his eyes and he seemed to be taking in little things about her that she didn’t even know she was giving away.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet.” She gazed down the list of omelettes and pancakes, sandwiches and pasta entrées. “Looks like they have quite a selection. It’s expensive, though, huh?”

  “I take it you haven’t traveled much.”

  “My mother moved around a lot, but we didn’t stay in the kinds of places that have room service. Once we landed in Idaho, she was getting sick, so we stayed put. I’ve been to Disneyland, though.” She smiled at the memory, which was one of the best of her life. “I’ve always wanted to go back,” she admitted. Then, to counter the wistfulness of her words, she added, “I mean, when I have kids of my own.”

  She set the menu down. “Speaking of kids, do you want children someday?” She held her breath, thinking that his answer to this question would decide whether she stayed or quickly excused herself.

  He shrugged, still leaning against the wall. “Maybe someday, but I’m certainly in no hurry. I have a lot to do before I’d be ready for something as monumental as that.”

  She nodded and some of the guilt twisting through her eased. See? He didn’t want children right now. From the sound of it, he didn’t want children for a long, long time. She wouldn’t be denying him anything. And she had no guarantee that tonight would produce a baby, anyway. It would put an end to her virginity, however, and now that she was this close, that was reason enough to remain. Thirty years of celibacy was enough.

  “Would you like a glass of wine?” he asked.

  Delaney shook her head. She didn’t dare drink more, even though the tequila didn’t seem to be having any effect. “No, thanks. I think we should, you know, get started.”

  He frowned. “Are you in some sort of hurry?”

  She wanted to face the obstacle before her head-on, endure what was about to happen and put it behind her, but she couldn’t say that, and she couldn’t think of anything she could claim was pressing—not at midnight. “No, not really.”

  “Then, why don’t you sit down and tell me a little about yourself first?”

  “There’s really nothing to tell,” she said. The room suddenly seemed incredibly small, and she didn’t know what else to do with herself so she perched on the edge of the bed.

  “What happened to your mother? You said she was sick. I hope she got well.” He casually shoved away from the wall and came to sit beside her, loosely folding his hands between his spread knees as they talked.

  “No, she died when I was seven.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Delaney followed his lead and clasped her hands in her lap, although the whiteness of her knuckles indicated that her grip was far tighter than his. The scent of soap on Conner’s skin and of his aftershave was strangely provocative, and she could easily imagine how good it would feel if he took her in his arms—only she didn’t want it to be that good. It had to be impersonal, unpleasurable, simply the means to an end. “It’s okay. It happened a long time ago.”

  “What about the rest of your family? Do they live in Jerome, too?”

  Delaney knew he was trying to put her at ease, and she appreciated the effort. Having this man so close and so nearly naked was certainly unsettling, but she didn’t want to talk about her personal history. It wasn’t a pleasant topic. She’d
been foisted on the community at large, and the people of Dundee had been kind enough to look after her, to care about her. Which made her feel like she had to make it up to them somehow. She’d spent the whole of her adult life trying to repay a debt she could never completely discharge, and didn’t want to be reminded of it now. Particularly since she felt she was betraying the same people she owed by doing something so far from what they’d expect of her, so far from what was right.

  She opened her mouth to tell Conner she didn’t want to talk about herself. But the tequila was finally siphoning off the tension in her body and making her a little dizzy at the same time, so she lay back on the bed and pretended she’d had the childhood she’d always wanted. What did it matter what kind of picture she painted for Conner? Their paths were never going to cross again.

  She told him a fantastic tale about the wonderful father who’d raised her and six other siblings, the sisters who’d married and had children but were still close, the younger brothers who were going to high school. She told him she grew up on a farm with fresh fruit and vegetables and long days spent playing in the barn. She even told him she milked cows in the morning before school.

  “I thought you said your mother moved around a lot.”

  “Oh, that was before,” she said quickly, cursing the tequila for making her so fuzzy-headed. “After she passed away, I went to live with my father and his wife.”

  “I see. Sounds like, from that point on, you had the perfect childhood,” he said. He was now lying on his side next to her, his head propped on one hand as he gazed down at her. They were close but not touching. He’d been listening—perhaps a little too carefully—and smiling and commenting, and surprisingly enough Delaney felt almost comfortable with him. She’d thought the tall tales she was spinning would push him away, keep him from glimpsing the real Delaney, but they’d done just the opposite because they’d revealed her most secret desires. She’d never revealed how badly she’d always wanted these things to Rebecca, nor certainly to anyone else. She occasionally dated in Dundee, but it was mostly group stuff—bowling league, softball league, weekends at the Honky Tonk. She generally preferred Billy Joe’s company to that of most of her male friends. They always had a good time at the Honky Tonk, but he’d never made her stomach flutter, not like this.

  “What about you?” she asked, trying to ignore the way Conner was looking at her, the fact that his gaze kept dropping to her lips as though he was waiting for the right moment to lean forward and kiss her. “What about your childhood?”

  “Mine? Oh, it was perfect, too,” he said. She thought she heard a trace of sarcasm in his voice, but her confusion was deepening because he’d started trailing one finger down the side of her face and over her lips, which she instinctively parted.

  “Are you okay with this, Delaney?”

  Was she okay? His touch made shivers shoot through her entire body. But wait—wasn’t there some reason she shouldn’t be doing this?

  One night, one baby. The thought floated through her mind, but its meaning had changed completely. At this point, that one night hardly seemed like much of a sacrifice….

  “I’m okay,” she murmured.

  “Good. Because I think this is going to be great. Better than I ever imagined,” he said, and then he kissed her. It was a perfect kiss, a long, slow “I’m not going anywhere” kind of kiss, and it nearly melted Delaney’s bones. Her eyelids drifted shut as his tongue met hers, and she flattened her hands against the hard muscles of his chest. He no longer reminded her of any movie star. But something warned her not to think of him as Conner, because women fell in love with men over less than he was doing to her now. She’d assumed that he’d be quick, abrupt and selfish, but he was just the opposite. He was taking his time, touching her, caressing her, kissing her.

  By the time she felt his hand on her leg, moving slowly up her inner thigh, her head was spinning. Her body instinctively arched toward him, but he didn’t hurry his pace. He seemed intent on going by degrees, almost painful degrees that nearly consumed her with need.

  “Conner,” she whispered, feeling as though she was hanging on to sanity by a very thin thread. She’d told herself not to use his name, to not even think it, but what could she do? It was printed across her closed eyelids like fireworks in the sky. She’d tried to distance herself by pretending he was Hugh Jackman, by telling herself that she was experiencing every woman’s fantasy, nothing real, but it wasn’t working. Even though she’d met him only an hour and a half earlier, Conner was Conner, and he was as real as a man could get.

  “Let’s do it now,” she whispered, her voice throaty, almost hoarse.

  He said something against her mouth about not fighting him, about letting it happen naturally, and started lifting her dress. She helped him by wriggling out of it, then tossed it onto the floor, focused on removing his clothes, as well. He stopped her long enough to let his gaze sweep over what he’d revealed, and his smile of satisfaction made heady pleasure course through Delaney, obliterating the shyness she’d expected. Conner made her feel so incredibly sexy, so desirable and yet safe, accepted. She wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this but, heaven help her, she was. She’d never enjoyed anything more. She knew she’d pay in guilt come morning, but that didn’t seem to matter, at least not now. Such realities hovered somewhere beyond her immediate thoughts, out on the fringes of her consciousness, and were completely forgotten when Conner finished taking off his pants and covered her with his naked body. Then, after a brief flash of pain, Delaney felt what she’d never experienced before—a man joined with her—and it was a reverent, powerful moment. The orphan was at last connected to another human being, physically and emotionally, and somehow she knew nothing would ever be the same again.

  IT WAS CLOSE TO MORNING. Conner wasn’t sure what had pulled him from sleep, but he certainly wasn’t opposed to waking up, not with Delaney still in his bed and not when he felt so completely boneless, weightless and relaxed.

  Delaney was lying on her side facing away from him, her breathing steady and even, and he was cradling her with his body, enjoying the feel of her backside pressed against him. He’d known when he invited her to his room that he wasn’t doing it for the altruistic motives he’d kidded himself about in the bar, but he hadn’t expected anything like the kind of emotionally charged hours they’d shared. Last night had not been a casual one-night stand. Conner wasn’t sure if it was her innocence or her vulnerability or even something else, but Delaney had touched him deeply. She’d taken what they’d done far beyond the physical. And he had enough experience with women to know the difference.

  Angling his head to see her face in the light that was just starting to creep through the crack in the draperies, Conner couldn’t help smiling. He must have been blind not to think her absolutely stunning the moment she entered the bar last night. The more he stared at her, the more he liked what he saw. He loved the way her eyes closed and her lips parted when he caressed her, the dimple that flashed at him when she smiled, the swollen look of her mouth after he kissed her. And he liked a lot of other things—the sounds she made when he touched her, the tenderness she showed when they curled up together, the dreaminess in her voice when she talked about her family. Last night he’d been fully prepared to get up and head over to the Running Y Ranch and never see her again, but somewhere along the line, he’d changed his mind. Now he thought that letting her go too easily would be an unnecessary loss. Certainly he could find Jerome and take her out on occasion. Maybe she could even come up to Dundee once in a while. It would help pass the time until he returned to California.

  He shifted to let the blood flow back into his arm, and Delaney started, then sat bolt upright, blinking and looking around. Reality seemed to descend on her when she caught sight of him. She grabbed the sheet and held it over her as though he’d just appeared and she hadn’t made love with him all night.

  “Morning,” he said, reaching out to soothe her and gather her to him, but she dod
ged his hand and scooted to the far edge of the bed.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked, raising himself into a sitting position.

  She groaned and put a hand to her head. “I can’t believe I did this,” she said, but Conner could tell she wasn’t talking to him. She eyed her dress lying on the floor, and then the sheet she was using to cover herself. Dropping the sheet, she streaked out of bed and scooped up her dress as she made a dash for the bathroom.

  “Delaney?” he said, frowning in confusion. She’d been pretty jumpy when she first arrived last night, but she’d warmed up quickly enough, and the woman he’d made love to several times during the night hadn’t been inhibited at all. Now she was blushing and covering herself as though he hadn’t already seen her.

  “I’ve got to leave,” she muttered, as the sight of her delectable backside disappeared around the corner.

  “Why? What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “This—everything!” she cried from inside the bathroom. She came out smoothing the skirt of her dress over her hips and dropped to the floor to find her shoes.

  Conner felt a flicker of anger. Since she’d been a virgin, he could understand her having a certain amount of remorse, but he’d been careful to address that issue. And it wasn’t as though he’d coerced her in any way. “I warned you about the regret,” he said, wondering if he could have been clearer somehow.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

  “But I don’t want you to be sorry about what happened,” he told her. “It makes me feel as though I took advantage of you.”

  “Don’t feel as though you—Don’t feel anything. It doesn’t matter. We’re never going to see each other again, anyway.”

  That statement didn’t make him any happier than her previous one. “Actually, I was going to talk to you about that,” he said. “Will you slow down and give me a minute?”

  She found one of her shoes and started forcing it onto her foot. “I can’t. I have to go now.”