by Leanne Banks
He smiled. “Just a little longer. Here’s the waiter. Do you know what you want?”
A proposal, she thought, decent or indecent. She waved her hand. “Why don’t you order for me?”
“That I can do,” he said. “We’ll start with a bottle of Dom Perignon, we’ll share bruschetta as an appetizer, Caesar salad for two, Filet oscar for me, rare, and Shrimp provençale for the lady.”
Lilly stifled a sigh of disappointment and leaned closer to whisper to him. “I’m allergic to shellfish.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. Chicken marsala?”
“Fine, thank you,” she said. She could forgive him. It was just a little glitch. Sure, she’d told him she was allergic to shellfish several times, but Robert had more important things crowding his mind. Tonight the proposal could have him distracted.
She laced her fingers tightly together in her lap and waited for the waiter to leave. “So tell me why you’re so excited?” she asked with a smile and hoped he didn’t notice her slight lisp.
He leaned toward her. “I wanted you to be the first to know. After my parents, anyway,” he said with a low, intimate tone. He opened his hand on the table in a gesture of invitation.
Lilly rubbed her damp palm against her dress and placed her hand in his. “This sounds important.”
“Trust me. It is.”
Lilly’s pulse pounded so hard she feared he could hear it. “Tell me.”
He looked from side to side and cleared his throat. “I have just received the endorsement of the Texas Cattlemen’s Association and the Houston Chronicle.”
She nodded. “And?”
He laughed. “This is huge. Do you realize what kind of influence these endorsements could give me? This has to be my biggest breakthrough so far.”
She nodded, still sitting on the edge of her seat. “That’s great news. Great news. Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”
His eyebrows furrowed together. “What do you mean?”
“I mean was this what you wanted me to be the first to know?” she asked, praying that it wasn’t.
He beamed. “Yes, it was. I knew you would be as excited as I was.” He released her hand and pointed. “Look. Here comes the waiter with the champagne. Great timing.”
“Incredible,” she murmured, numb with disappointment. She felt like an idiot. She wondered if there was a neon light flashing stupid on her forehead as she watched the waiter pour the champagne.
Robert swirled the bubbly liquid in his flute and sampled it, then lifted his glass to her. “Join me in a toast.”
Trying to muster some enthusiasm, she dutifully lifted her glass and kept her smile plastered on her face.
“To good news,” he said, clinking his glass against hers. “And good friends to share it with.”
“Cheers,” she muttered and gulped the champagne. Good friends. Her ego was flattened. She lifted the glass and gulped it again. Good friends, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal. Another gulp and she was finished.
Robert raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Careful Lilly, you don’t want to get lightheaded in public.”
“Why not?” she asked, feeling waspish.
“Well you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself.”
“I’m curious,” she said, wishing she had the nerve to get roaring drunk. “When is it appropriate to get light-headed?”
“In private,” he said in a low voice. “With someone who won’t take advantage of you.”
What if I want to be taken advantage of? She opened her mouth, looked into his eyes, and promptly lost her nerve. “Congratulations on your news,” she said and saw the light return to his eyes. Her reminder of his success had made him happy. His happiness should have made her happy, but she was miserable and now she had to sit here and hide it through at least three courses.
The value of a rubber ducky is greatly underestimated.
—DELILAH’S DICTUM
Chapter 4
She’d had that blasted dream again.
Even after she’d poured herself a champagne cocktail and sank into her mini-Jacuzzi with her rubber ducky, it had taken her forever to get back to sleep. When she had, she’d been transported to a dark room with a floor of eggs. She had to get to the other side without breaking any eggs.
Delilah was no shrink, but she knew the way she felt about her life. If she made one false step, she could end up covered with slimy eggs and lose everything, which was part of the reason she was convinced marriage and motherhood weren’t for her. What made this dream more wacky than ever had been the appearance of her neighbor.
Who would have thought that she could have rescued the man who had seemed bent on torturing her for the last few weeks? Worse yet, who would have thought she could have found him attractive, even if only for a moment of complete ignorance? And he was a Huntington.
Her stomach burning with the thought of it, she fished inside her tiny purse for an antacid as she walked through the door to the spa. It was so early there weren’t many people around and she distantly noticed the click of her heels on the Italian tile floor. It was a sound she didn’t usually hear due to the high activity level.
First things first. She started the coffeemaker, flicked on all the lights and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for her third dose of caffeine. She cheated and shoved her mug directly under the rich brown liquid, then returned the carafe to its rightful place. She gave the cup a few quick cooling breaths and sipped.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the infamous Delilah Montague, Howard Bradford’s protégée.”
Startled, Delilah whipped around and strangled on her coffee, dumping some of the hot liquid on her leather jacket. She glared at the man standing in the doorway. Short with shifty eyes like a ferret and too much gel in his hair. Slimy, she immediately concluded.
“Who are you?” she asked, reaching for a napkin to dab her spill.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand, which she didn’t accept. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me. Guy Crandall.”
Delilah’s stomach tightened, but she instinctively feigned ignorance. “I don’t recall the name.”
His smile stiffened. “Are you sure? Howard and I go way back.”
She shrugged. “I met several of Howard’s close friends.”
“Howard and I were business acquaintances. I was on his payroll.”
“For what?”
“Consultation services,” he replied.
Delilah knitted her brows in confusion. “I don’t recall receiving any consultation services from you.”
Guy made a sound of exasperation. “Who do you think you’re fooling? You know what I’m talking about. It was a cover.”
“Cover for what?” she asked and this time she didn’t have to pretend ignorance.
“I can’t believe you don’t know,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.
“Well, I don’t.”
“I have information that could cause a lot of trouble for Lilly Bradford’s romantic future. If you don’t start paying me, I’m going to sing like a canary. And trust me, Miss Delilah, things will get messy.”
Delilah lifted her chin. She wasn’t afraid of messy. She’d dealt with messy her entire life. The only thing that kept her from decking Guy was the thought of Lilly. Lilly had been protected. Lilly hadn’t been forced to deal with messy. Delilah bit her tongue.
Sara glided into the office and stopped with a start. “Oh, good morning. A visitor so early?”
“Excuse me,” Guy muttered before he slithered out of the room.
Sara stared after him. “His voice sounds familiar. Who was that?”
“Guy Crandall.”
Sara’s eyes widened. “Oooh. What did he want? It didn’t look pleasant.”
Delilah poured herself another cup of coffee and took a quick sip, barely flinching at the quick burn. “It wasn’t,” she said, not elaborating as she walked into her office.
Blackmail. Guy Crandall’s visit must have someth
ing to do with Cash’s last request, she thought distastefully as she closed the door behind her. Guy must know something about Cash that even Delilah didn’t know. Something that could hurt Lilly.
It was a perfect set-up for Guy because Lilly was Cash’s Achilles’ heel. He would do just about anything for her, including pay a slimeball like Guy to do nothing.
Delilah made a face. She didn’t want to pay Guy. Everything inside her rebelled at the idea of letting someone like Guy extort money from her. She had more backbone than that.
She wouldn’t do it. She absolutely wouldn’t do it.
If she hadn’t promised Howard.
By the end of the day, Delilah’s head was pounding. She made a mental plan for her evening as she drove through the vestiges of rush-hour traffic. Chinese food, a soothing CD, a bath, a couple of cocktails and if the sleep gods were kind, she would dissolve into her mattress for eight hours with no eggs in sight.
She placed her order for Chinese and sank into the tub, listening warily for sounds of Armageddon from her neighbor, but she heard nothing. After a long soak, she reluctantly left the tub and wrapped herself in a white terry-cloth robe. Her doorbell rang and she grabbed the money for her Chinese dinner.
She opened the door to a frazzled teenage girl and a screaming baby.
Not her Chinese dinner. The poor girl must have the wrong address.
“Are you Delilah Montague?” the girl asked.
Delilah paused, getting an unsettling feeling in her stomach. “Who wants to know?”
“I do,” the woman said and cocked her head toward the baby. “And Willy, here.”
Willy. Delilah looked at the red-faced baby and felt a spurt of apprehension. “I’m Delilah Montague, but—”
“Good,” the woman said with relief. “I’m Nicky. Nicky Conde. Howard said he told you about me and Willy.”
“Howard?” Delilah echoed.
The woman gave a loud sniff and stared at Delilah with sadness in her dark eyes. “He promised!” she wailed.
“He promised what?” Delilah asked, not at all sure she wanted to know.
“He promised he would tell you about me and Willy. I told him I couldn’t handle the baby. I mean, I love ’im, but he’s just too much for me to handle. I’m too young. I have my whole future in front of me,” she wailed, sobbing. “Howard gave me money, but I can’t keep Willy anymore. You have to.”
“Me?” Delilah echoed in horror. “Why me?”
“Howard promised you would keep him if I couldn’t. He promised. There are papers in the diaper bag and everything.”
Delilah held up her hands. “No, no, no. I didn’t hear anything about this baby until now. And I can’t see any reason why I should take on the responsibility of your baby.”
“But Willie is Howard’s son,” Nicky argued.
Delilah felt the hallway tilt. She shook her head. “He can’t be Howard’s son. Howard couldn’t—” She broke off, reluctant to disclose Howard’s problem even though this woman may have helped cure him.
“He used this little blue pill—”
“Oh, absolutely not. Howard’s doctor strictly forbade him to use Viagra.”
Nicky shrugged. “He used the pill and when I showed up pregnant, he told me he wasn’t using it anymore because it made his chest hurt.”
Delilah’s headache returned with a vengeance. “How old are you, Nicky?”
“I’m nineteen and I wanna be a model. I’m leaving Willy with you and going to Paris. Howard said you would take care of Willy.”
Delilah’s breath locked in her chest. This couldn’t be happening. “For how long?” she asked, dread locking around her feet like twin anchors.
Nicky tossed the diaper bag at Delilah’s bare feet. “He’ll be your son.”
Benjamin couldn’t ignore the commotion in the hallway any longer. He opened his door to the sight of Delilah standing in her robe, holding a screaming baby while a teenager turned and ran for the elevator.
“Wait! You can’t leave. You can’t—” Delilah stared at the baby as if it were the anti-christ. “Omigod.”
“Delilah?” Benjamin said.
“What in hell am I going to do with a baby?”
“Delilah?” Benjamin repeated.
“What in hell am I going to do with a baby?” she muttered, not appearing to hear him.
“Let me help you get this stuff inside your condo,” he said, picking up the stroller and overstuffed diaper bag.
Delilah looked at him as if she were in a daze. “In my condo? Do I have to?”
“I don’t think you want to stay out here the rest of the night,” he said over the sound of the baby’s cries as he nudged her inside her condo.
Still in shock, she jiggled the baby and paced, muttering to herself. She looked at the squalling red-faced infant in disbelief.
Her jiggling and pacing failed to comfort the baby, and she emanated enough nervous energy to power the space shuttle. He impulsively pulled the baby from her arms. “Get a drink. Let me try.”
She looked at him blankly for a moment then moved her head in a circle and headed for the kitchen. He heard the tinkling of ice cubes in a glass as he turned out the lights and spoke to the child in a low voice. “She’s only partly crazy. She’ll calm down and you’ll be okay. Are you a boy or a girl? Blue,” he said, looking at the infant’s blue sweater. “Boy. I bet you’ve had an eventful day, so you just need to relax and go to sleep. Don’t try to understand women. That will just upset you more. Trust me, if you learn this lesson now, you’ll be saving yourself a lot of grief.”
The baby hiccupped and shuddered and stared wide-eyed at Benjamin. Quiet. He kept up the low-voiced monologue, switching to the subject of corporate law. Within minutes, the baby’s eyes started to droop. Another few minutes passed and the baby was asleep.
He felt Delilah’s curious gaze as she came to his side. “How did you do it?” she whispered.
“I turned out the lights and bored him to sleep. Pull the cushions off the couch and I’ll put him down.”
“Down?” she echoed.
“To sleep,” he said. “Hopefully for the night.”
Still feeling as if someone had hit her with a baseball bat, Delilah pulled the cushions off the couch and arranged them in the corner of the room. Her mind whirled. Howard. Nicky. Baby Willy. Viagra. Delilah shook her head. If Howard weren’t dead, she’d kill him.
She glanced at Benjamin, surprised at how easily he’d calmed the baby. It was almost as if he had the magic touch.
Which she clearly did not possess. “Thank you.”
He shrugged and set Willy down on the cushions. She darted for the diaper bag and pulled out a blanket. A bunch of papers came out with it. She winced at the sound, hoping it wouldn’t wake the baby. Benjamin nabbed the blanket and put it over Willy while Delilah looked through the papers.
“Oh my God,” she murmured, her blood turning to ice. The papers granted her custody of the little banshee. “This can’t—”
“Want me to look at those?” Benjamin offered.
“No,” she said, stuffing the ones with legal mumbo jumbo back into the bag and skimming a letter that contained instructions for Willy’s care. Her stomach sank. … allergic to disposable diapers … delicate stomach, prone to digestive problems … “When am I going to wake up?”
“Delilah, are you okay?” Benjamin asked.
She met his searching gaze and forced herself to nod.
“Who’s the baby?”
“Willy,” she said with a smile that felt brittle as she stuffed the instructions back into the diaper bag. She turned off the lamp closest to the baby in hopes that he would remain asleep until she could figure out how to handle this situation. “It’s Willy.”
“Who’s the mother?”
“Um, Nicky.”
“Who is Nicky?”
Hell if I know. She couldn’t confide in Benjamin. She couldn’t confide in anyone. “Um, my cousin,” she invented, telling her
self it wasn’t a bold-faced lie. Her mother had always said that in some way everyone in the whole world was related.
“How long is she leaving Willy with you?”
Forever. Delilah felt as if someone had taken away her future, locked her in a cell and thrown away the key. She opened her mouth, closed it and tried to concoct a reasonable, believable explanation. “Nicky’s having financial problems.” The baby made a rustling sound as he moved in his makeshift bed and Delilah froze, lowering her voice to a whisper. “We have to be quiet.”
He nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Let’s go in there.”
Delilah’s heart sank. His questions were going to continue and she wasn’t sure how to answer them.
“Why doesn’t the father of the baby help her?”
Delilah was certain the father of the baby had helped. Howard Bradford was a lot of things, but he’d always been conscientious about his financial support of Lilly. Delilah knew Howard had done the same for Willy. She just didn’t know exactly how. “Willy’s father is dead,” she said. “Nicky doesn’t feel like she can handle the baby by herself and I had agreed to be the godmother in case both parents died.”
“But both parents haven’t died,” Benjamin said, looking at her as if he didn’t quite believe her.
Delilah resisted the urge to squirm. “That’s right, but, uh—”
“So you shouldn’t be legally responsible.”
“That’s probably true, but—”
“Does Nicky have other family? Maybe—”
Delilah waved her hand. “It’s a long sad story. I’m really the only—” She choked over her words. Damn Howard Cash Bradford and his Viagra. How was she supposed to take care of a baby and the spa? Hadn’t Howard known she would be a horrible mother? After all, she’d lost her mother when her father had taken custody of her. He hadn’t even allowed visitation. What did Delilah know about mothering? She felt sure of defeat. “I’m the only one.”
He frowned. “But it’s obvious you didn’t expect this. It’s very strange.”
“Yes it is. But that’s my family for you,” she murmured, oddly grateful that her last statement was true. For some reason, she didn’t like lying to Benjamin. He seemed like he had more integrity in his little finger than most men had in their entire bodies. But that was probably an illusion, she told herself, and she didn’t know him very well.