“Since I’ve agreed to serve as a surrogate mother and bear your twins, I’ve done a lot of research.”
He caught the tension and a hint of desperation in her tone and momentarily regretted his unwillingness to at least listen to her story. “What kind of research?”
“How to make babies.”
At her saucy suggestiveness, he whistled and allowed his features to soften for a moment. “Most girls learn that before their teens.”
He might not like the fact he’d gone from angry to interested in the space of a heartbeat, but now that he’d recognized his own response to her, he could deal with it—even if he was enjoying their confrontation too damn much. But would his plan work? He grinned, hoping blatant sexual suggestions would scare her into running right out the door and leaving him in peace.
Deliberately, he lowered his voice to a murmur. “If you’re not sure how babies are made, I’d be willing to instruct you.”
Her eyes widened, and her soft intake of air revealed she wasn’t as sophisticated as she appeared. She looked down and studied her hands for a moment, then replied as if she’d never hesitated. “I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about pregnancy. Did you know a fetus recognizes its parents’ voices while still in the womb?”
She was one stubborn woman. He ought to pick her up, throw her over his shoulder and carry her out the front door. Yet the idea of running his hands along her curves was all too appealing.
Inadvertently, he stepped back. His mouth tightened in a grim line. “The point being?”
As if knowing the farther she advanced, the harder it would be for him to kick her out, she stepped closer to the kitchen. “I can’t grow the twins for you like peas in a pod and then just hand them over.”
Her frosty words doused his seduction attempts as effectively as an icy shower. A warning shiver prickled down his spine, chilling him to the bone. “If you think for one moment you can change our contract and keep my kids, you have a shock coming. That’s why I insisted on marrying my surrogate. Those babies are mine, genetically and legally.”
“You misunderstand.”
“Explain yourself.”
“You have to bond with your babies.”
“Lady—”
“My name is Bianca.”
“I don’t think—”
“Just talk to your babies. The softer you make your tone, the better.” She cocked her head at a saucy angle while the underlying sincerity of her expression captivated him and threw him off balance at the same time. “Perhaps you can sing?”
He couldn’t have heard her right. Confusion filtered through his wariness, and he gulped. “Sing?”
“Since I’m moving in here, you’ll be close enough for your children to become accustomed to your voice. If you sing to them, you can bond while they’re still in the womb.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I know it’s early in the pregnancy. But the babies will sense your tone. They feel vibrations.” Without warning, she took his hand and placed it over her womb.
He went completely still. The warmth of the life inside her radiated through the leather into his palm, filling him with unexpected wonder and banishing the chill. His babies were there. His children.
He’d never thought of the surrogate in terms of living, warm flesh. Her surprise move had robbed him of his emotional detachment, and he could no longer keep his accustomed and comfortable distance. He wanted to hate feeling this way. He didn’t want to feel at all. It had been a long time since he’d allowed anyone to penetrate the echoes of the past and the wall he’d built around himself. But these were his babies. She was the woman who would bear his children.
Reeling with the knowledge that she wasn’t simply a womb for hire but an individual with needs and desires and thoughts that could affect him and his children in the most profound ways, he fought down surging panic. By coming here, she’d personalized a service that was supposed to have been anonymous. She’d shattered his illusion of control. Suddenly, he felt as if he’d been caught in a nightmare from which he couldn’t awaken.
He strode into the kitchen, aimed for the sink and turned on the faucet. With a springy bounce, she followed and stood watching. Ignoring her, he waited for the water to turn colder.
Leaning against the far counter, she wore a look of faint bemusement. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. When the spray numbed his fingers, he splashed his face, praying he’d awaken his sluggish mind to deal with her abrupt invasion into his life. He’d hoped he’d never have to meet her. He hadn’t wanted to see her face, hear her voice, or worse, breathe her enticing scent. He sure as hell didn’t want to touch her stomach, know details about her pregnancy, or consider if it would be hard for her to give up the babies.
He’d intended to remain aloof. In his mind, this was just one more business deal. Now she wanted them to live together. She wanted him to sing, damn her.
She chuckled, the low contralto pleasant to his ears. “You’ll get used to me.”
“That remains to be seen.” Thoughts racing, he splashed his face with icy water then dried with a clean dish towel. He didn’t want her here in Linda’s house. He didn’t want to get used to her. Yet she carried his and Linda’s children in her womb, and he couldn’t shake the certainty that his wishes were now irrelevant. Why couldn’t this Bianca Warren surrogate go back to wherever she’d come from and let him retreat to his comfortable bubble of isolation?
He could almost hear his brothers laughing their asses off. They’d told him repeatedly that he couldn’t live in a bubble. That despite his grief he couldn’t hide from life. And when their sympathy had turned to nagging, Craig had shut them out. Just because Max and Ford had found happiness didn’t mean that he could.
He might not have been happy, but he sure as hell had kept his life simple—until now.
As long as she carried his children, he had few alternatives. He couldn’t risk alienating her. Despite all his precautions, he had no wish to fight over the children in court. Even worse, she could disappear, and he’d never again see her or his children. She could be as demanding as she liked, and as if she’d held a gun to his head, he’d be compelled to put up with her. Unless he convinced her to leave, he was stuck with a woman whom he found too damned sexy, and if he guessed right, in trouble up to her pretty little neck.
AS CRAIG BRADDACK reared back and shut off the faucet, Bianca took an involuntary step back but fought her immediate reaction to pivot and run. He raked fingers through his black hair while he scowled at her with grim determination. Not even a few stray water droplets spiking his lashes could soften his sharp cheekbones, arrogant jaw or the muscle flexing in his neck. Doing her best to ignore his chest, bronzed and bare except for a light dusting of hair, she kept her gaze locked with his. But when he hooked a thumb in his jeans, diverting her attention to the top button that remained unfastened, her mouth went dry.
Her gaze skimmed his features, noting the fatigue in dark eyes that glittered icily. His stubbornly squared chin portrayed the force of his personality, and only the full, sensuous lips hinted at any emotion but raw anger burning just below the surface.
As he tried to steamroller her with his harsh look, she refused to let his turbulent expression squash her determination. She’d blown the first impression big time.
While the disguise had been useful, the black leather clothing had been a mistake. He’d jumped to the wrong conclusion about her principles. She shouldn’t blame him for thinking she sought to take advantage of him by moving in, since that’s exactly what she was doing. But in this case, keeping the babies safe justified her outrageous, uncharacteristic and blatantly sexy behavior.
The black leather had made her feel deceptive and out-of-her-l eague sexy. If she’d had another even half-decent choice, she would have taken
it. However, she was out of options. Desperation had driven her to masquerade as a tease, and the ruse had worked. Although the heat in his eyes at the sight of her biker outfit made her wonder if she’d be safer on her own.
But alone, she was vulnerable. She told herself she would have insisted on living with Craig even if he’d had a live-in girlfriend. Yet she’d done her homework. The secretaries at Dean, Atherson, and Jackson gossiped incessantly. Collecting information about him without attracting notice hadn’t been difficult. He didn’t have a girlfriend, dating only occasionally since his wife’s death.
A month ago, a glimpse of him walking through the office hallway had transfixed her. She’d found herself attuned to every remark she heard about him. But it wasn’t his dark good looks or his moderate wealth or his house in a good neighborhood that drew her. That he’d lost his wife so young tugged at her heart. That he intended to raise the children alone had amazed and fascinated her. That he was so obviously available and handsome to boot made her distinctly uncomfortable, but she had more important things to dwell on than her attraction to Craig.
“You can’t live here.” His tone was cold, commanding.
Survival was her first priority. He had to let her stay. But she couldn’t tell him she had nowhere else to go, so instead, she ignored the churning in her stomach and summoned a sweet smile. “Please, don’t use that holier-than-thou tone. You don’t want to scare your children, do you?”
All but snarling with temper, he folded his arms across his chest “You’re pregnant all of one month. My children aren’t developed enough to have ears yet.” He took a deep breath, his chest expanding.
Slowly, he expelled the air and spoke in a more reasonable tone. “Your moving in here isn’t part of our agreement. It’s not as if you don’t have a place to live. With the funds I’m supplying to see you through this pregnancy, you could rent a penthouse apartment.”
In the face of his bleak gray eyes, the cheery kitchen mocked her. If only she could tell him she needed his protection instead of misleading him. But she didn’t dare. No matter how contemptible her little act, it was necessary to convince him to take her in.
Anger toward the stalker choked her. He’d disrupted her life for the second time, forcing her to lie through her teeth, steal a motorcycle and become adept at disguises to visit her grandmother. She’d had to drop her night classes at the law school she attended, and she could ill afford the expense to retake them.
How far would she have to go to stay alive? Sexy hadn’t worked. Perhaps it was time for tears.
It wasn’t hard to squeeze a few out, not after her day. With her life once again in danger, she’d been forced to abandon her car. To flee, she’d taken the only other transportation available—the motorcycle. After she produced the motorcycle’s ignition key and claimed the bike was hers, the officer had let her off with a warning not to ride in the park. That had been the least of her worries. She’d had to get away. Fast.
Thankful for the high school boyfriend who had taught her how to ride a motorcycle, she’d driven straight to the bus station. She’d checked the saddlebags, hoping for a clue to her stalker’s identity. Instead, she’d found and appropriated the too-tight black leather clothes and helmet, retrieved her duffel from a locker where she’d also had the forethought to stash cash for emergencies. Even disguised in the flaming red wig, she hadn’t dared to return to her apartment.
Until today, she’d thought her fortune had changed and that she’d eluded the stalker who’d persisted in pursuing her for months. In her former identity, she was supposed to have been safe. She had changed apartments and job, disguised her appearance and avoided her former hangouts.
Now, her cover blown, she sniffled and tried to appear helpless in the face of Craig’s daunting anger. He had to buy her act. Didn’t he have a heart behind that bare chest? A soul beneath those hard eyes?
The diamond edge in his gaze never lost its sharpness. Playing on his sympathy was a waste of time. The story about bonding with his babies was easier to believe than the truth—and he hadn’t bought the story. Nor was he buying her tears. Time for another change in tactics.
From across the kitchen, he glared at her with suspicion. She hiccuped. “I don’t feel so good.”
Suiting action to words, she slid down the slick cabinet onto the ceramic tile. Three full strides carried him to her. With leashed power, he gathered her into his arms, lifting her as easily as if she were a child. Off balance, she let out a cry and threw her arms around his neck.
His laughter didn’t curtail his stormy expression. “So, have I finally got you where you want to be?”
He’d asked his question in a manner as playful as a kid holding his first puppy. Then she glanced into eyes as darkly gray as thunderclouds on a stormy day, and her throat tightened. His warm breath fanned her neck, and suddenly she realized he wasn’t angry with her. A languid smile curving his lips, he’d dropped his gaze to her mouth and looked as if he was planning a gourmet meal. Did he think she owed him a little something if he agreed to let her stay? Another shiver racked her despite the heat of his bare shoulder against her cheek.
How had she gotten herself into such a mess? All she needed was a place to hide. She wouldn’t get in his way. Why couldn’t he compromise? Why was he holding her so close, and why was she suddenly so aware of the heat of his hand on her hip?
“Put me down.”
A teasing smile played across his lips, yet his eyes remained hard, hinting of ulterior motives. “I don’t think so. You look pale, unsteady. I can’t take a chance on your keeling over and injuring my children.”
Obviously, he had no concerns for her welfare. But then what had she expected? Going in, she’d known Craig Braddack’s reputation—tough, uncompromising, adamantly single since his wife’s death. What she hadn’t expected was her own reaction to his proximity, a nameless, silvery excitement that tensed every muscle and scattered her senses.
He carried her out of the kitchen and up a sweeping flight of stairs without breathing hard. Taking the opportunity to study him, she realized he looked different up close. In his lawyer’s office dressed in a suit and tie, with his hair combed, he’d appeared more civilized. Right now, from the slashing line of his mouth to the tensing muscle of his jaw, he reminded her of a savage.
As he carried her up the stairs, his shoulders rippling into a mountain of chest muscles, panic clutched her. Somehow she’d lost control of the situation. “Where are you taking me?”
“To bed.” His eyes gleamed with a brief flash of amusement that she found irritating and insulting. And undeniably intriguing.
She’d made a fine mess of her situation. And Craig seemed more than willing to take advantage.
Her heart pounded so hard that her ribs ached. “This isn’t funny.”
“Funny isn’t what I have in mind.”
She didn’t need to ask what he did have in mind. The searing intensity in his eyes made her want to hide. Heat curled in her stomach.
From his teasing tone, he’d figured out she was perfectly fine. He’d turned the tables on her, using her excuse of an illness to keep her in his arms. “Let me go.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ll leave?”
Damn him for calling her bluff.
“I can’t.”
“Well then, why shouldn’t we enjoy ourselves?” He eyed her speculatively. “It’s not as if we have to worry you’ll become pregnant.”
She didn’t laugh at his humor. Unable to decide whether he was trying to intimidate her into leaving or really meant to take her to bed, she opted to let an uncomfortable silence express her indignation.
The twinkle in his eyes indicated he might be playing games. Yet she was all too aware of his thumb caressing her hip, his bold gaze lingering on her mouth and the maddening hint of arrogance in his tone that revealed he
was aware of her reaction to him.
While she had no idea how she’d allowed the situation to veer so far out of control, she wouldn’t be reduced to trading her body for a place to stay. She had to stop him before they reached the upper hallway and his bedroom. After a glance through the window behind him, she broke the taut silence by uttering the first thing she could think of to distract him. “There’s a policeman in your driveway.”
“Uh-huh.” He looked at her as though she’d just escaped the insane asylum.
She shrugged. “Fine. Don’t believe me.”
As he turned at the top of the stairs, she peered again through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the two-story foyer. A police car, blue lights flashing, still stood in the driveway.
At least he’d have to put her down.
For once, she wished she’d been lying about the cop. Dealing with Craig’s amorous advances was preferable to answering a policeman’s questions. Through the foyer window, she watched a uniformed officer ring the front bell. At the chime, she stiffened, and Craig turned.
She wriggled in an effort to make him put her down. “Have you forgotten I can walk?”
Ignoring her struggle except for a slight tightening of his arms, he shook his head. “I don’t know when to believe you.”
“I don’t lie,” she protested, wishing she spoke the truth, wishing the masculine scent of him didn’t intensify her rapid breathing.
He shot her a cool, calculating look. “Really? Something tells me otherwise. There’s a cop at my front door, and suddenly you’re squirming. Keeping you from running seems like a very good idea.”
She twisted, but for all the good her struggling did, his arms might have been carved of granite. “But—”
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