The Would-Be Mommy Read online

  All the same, she couldn’t wait to see him.

  WOMEN WORE MAKEUP and stylish clothes to attract men, but also as a protective shield, Ian mused. He was glad Jennifer trusted him enough to open the door on her rumpled hair and stained sweatshirt, especially since they came with a welcoming smile.

  He felt a twinge of guilt. How would she react when and if he interviewed Rosalie’s birth mother? Well, he’d worry about that later.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said.

  “At least you got here, which gives you a better track record than Esther. She didn’t bother to show up for the shopping trip we scheduled at her convenience.” She reached over to brush a crumb from his collar. “Crackers for dinner?”

  That was embarrassing. “With peanut butter. For protein.”

  “Ah, health food.” Jennifer led him through the living room into an office, where she’d set up Rosalie’s bassinet. In contrast to the enormous spaces in Mrs. Wycliff’s mansion, this felt like a home.

  Inhaling the floral scents, Ian realized how isolated he’d become. While he was growing up, despite the family’s frequent moves, his parents had always created a nest for him and Anni. Over dinner, they’d discussed the day’s events, and at bedtime, read beloved books aloud. He hadn’t missed that domesticity…until now.

  He rallied his thoughts. “So this Esther person blew you off?”

  “We waited so long we barely had time to try on any dresses. I wouldn’t be surprised if she missed the wedding entirely.” She sat down in her desk chair.

  “I nearly missed my sister’s wedding, and I was the best man,” Ian admitted, strolling across to peek at the baby. He could have sworn she perked up when she saw him. “My plane was late.”

  “You didn’t arrive early for the rehearsals?”

  “Blame my brother-in-law for sending me on assignment at the last minute. I didn’t even get a chance to rent a tuxedo. Luckily my dad had a spare.”

  She glanced at the computer. “About your story…”

  Ian braced for trouble, although he couldn’t imagine what she might object to. “Oh?”

  Instead of accessing Flash News/Global’s home page, however, she displayed an e-mail queue. “You won’t believe how many readers I’ve heard from. Listen to this.”

  He pulled up a chair. “Angry? Disdainful?”

  “Quite the opposite.”

  He leaned forward to read the first one she opened, from a woman in South Africa. Recently, I’ve been overcome by hopelessness. It seems like nobody cares about one another anymore. You restored my faith in humanity.

  “She got all that from my article?”

  “I didn’t expect this kind of reaction, either.” Jennifer clicked on another one, from New Zealand.

  Wishing you and your hospital the best of luck. But then, you medical folks work miracles every day, don’t you? it read.

  “This seems to have touched a lot of people.” Ian rarely heard from the public directly; when he did, it was usually to protest some controversy. “Whoever coined the term human interest wasn’t kidding.”

  “Some are from parents hoping to adopt. None who live around here, though, and I doubt Orange County’s going to start exporting babies.” Jennifer shut down the computer. “So what did you do today?”

  “Have you heard about the investigation of that federal judge in L.A.?”

  “I saw an item in the paper.” Sleepily, she swayed toward him.

  Ian scooted his chair closer. “Shoulder to lean on, if you want.” At this close range, his senses tingled with awareness.

  She straightened. “Thanks, but I’m fine. You were telling me about the judge?”

  Ian gathered his thoughts. “His ex-wife made some interesting revelations.” He proceeded to outline the interview, with Jennifer prompting him at key moments. In the retelling, the judge’s shady antics sounded almost comical, save for the impact on the daughter.

  “I saw Judge Wycliff at a charity fundraiser once. He seemed dignified, but a little pompous. Guess he didn’t look so pompous in his, er, extracurricular poses,” Jennifer observed wryly.

  Ian chuckled. “I’d love to see his reaction when this story breaks.”

  “Me, too.” She shielded a yawn behind her hand. “Oh, dear. It isn’t the company. I’m afraid I’m the early-to-bed type.”

  Even though he’d prefer to ply her with coffee so they could spend more time talking, he had come to help, Ian recalled. “I’ll take the first shift with the baby. I hardly ever turn in before two or three in the morning, anyway.”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  After they transferred Rosalie and her gear to the nursery, he brought up his netbook. “I’ve never used this in a rocking chair before. Ought to be interesting.”

  “It was kind of you to volunteer.” Jennifer touched his cheek. Alarming how powerfully his body responded, although he hoped she didn’t notice. “I’m sure you’d rather be enjoying the Hollywood nightlife.”

  No, I’d rather be kissing you. “One nightclub’s pretty much like another anywhere in the world. But I don’t know anywhere else quite like here.”

  “Like what? My messy apartment?”

  “I’m not sure what I meant,” Ian admitted.

  As she leaned over the crib, he saw again that trace of sadness he’d noticed the previous night. Someone ought to love this woman and have children with her, to banish that expression forever. Someone who could be happy living an ordinary life in a quiet town like Safe Harbor.

  Someone very different from Ian.

  “’Night. I’ll come in later, I promise.” With a hint of a smile, she disappeared down the hall.

  A few minutes later, Ian heard the shower running. Sudsy water, streaming over her slim body, her gently rounded breasts, her…

  Get your head somewhere else. He’d better confine his fantasies to the idea of taking over “From the Fire.” In case his superiors quizzed him about his plans, he intended to have a whole sheaf of proposals ready.

  Ian opened his computer. It took several tries to find a comfortable position, but finally he angled his long legs to support the machine as he read through Armand Ephron’s recent pieces. Brilliant work on inside stories from Asia, Africa and Eastern Europe. A replacement would need to put his own stamp on the column, but how?

  Widen the focus, Ian mused. South America didn’t receive nearly as much coverage as it should. Neither did controversial medical issues. Who said politics and war were the only topics worth writing about?

  He continued reading, moving on to a couple of magazines he subscribed to online and studying them for trends and possibilities. As he worked, he had a sense of the night gathering around him. Outside noises faded. Inside, a floor lamp bathed him in its cozy cheer.

  After a while, Rosalie’s eyes popped open, but when she started to fuss, Ian sang an old drinking song he’d learned in France. She settled back, apparently oblivious to his atrocious accent.

  When he was sure she’d fallen asleep, he removed a spare set of overnight gear from his bag and went to the spare bathroom to brush his teeth. Returning to the rocking chair, he allowed himself to relax.

  Someday maybe he’d have a home like this. Once he’d made his mark. Once he’d fulfilled the burning need that had powered him since his teen years to explore the world and challenge himself. To be the reporter others admired, the war-scarred veteran whose rare appearance at a college seminar drew packed crowds. The man who dug deep into the human soul, and found his own at the same time.

  Although peripherally aware of his surroundings, Ian must have dozed. A noise woke him—a soft keening. Springing to his feet, he went to the crib, but the baby’s little face was tranquil.

  He heard it again, a faint sob, and pinpointed the source as Jennifer’s room down the hall. What had happened to disturb her so profoundly?

  Ian was trying to figure out whether to respond when he heard her cry out, “Where is he? What have you done with my baby?�
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  Then she screamed. He broke into a run.

  Chapter Nine

  Jennifer awoke in a man’s arms. Tender, strong arms that pulled her out of the wrenching terror of her dream. For an instant, she didn’t know where she was, and the only reality became the stroking of her hair and the hard chest beneath her cheek.

  Her body trembled to the racing of her heart. Her baby…gone…no one to comfort her…but there was someone, this man who’d slid into bed beside her and gathered her close. Safe in his protection, she released her loss and loneliness in a sigh.

  “Nightmare?” It was Ian’s voice.

  In the darkness, she nodded against his solid support.

  “I had a few of those after I got shot,” he said.

  “You were shot?”

  “In Iraq, during an interview. Afterward, I let people think it didn’t faze me, but my dreams knew better.”

  Jennifer understood about covering up your pain. Even now, she regretted crying out as she emerged from sleep, although she was grateful Ian had come. “This hasn’t happened in years.” She struggled to a sitting position. “I’m not usually so…emotional.”

  He sat up, too, and plumped the extra pillow behind him. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw that his shirt had come untucked and his sleeves were rolled up. “It sounded like you were trying to find a baby,” Ian said quietly.

  How much had she revealed? “I don’t remember….”

  “Did you give one up for adoption?”

  He was too damn perceptive. Jennifer never talked about this, never. Only her mother knew the whole story, and Mimi’s life was in such perpetual turmoil that she’d probably put it right out of her mind.

  “Worse,” she said. “He died.” Her voice broke.

  “You don’t have to talk about it.” Ian drew the covers over them. “I could just hold you.”

  Her pulse slowed. “You’re here to watch over Rosalie, not me.”

  “I’m here to make sure you rest. Maybe spilling this will help.” His rich voice reverberated like a cello. “Tell you what. I’ll show you my scar if you’ll show me yours.”

  His teasing note lightened her mood—and besides, he’d piqued her curiosity. “What kind of scar?”

  “From the bullet wound. Got a flashlight?”

  “Ian, I can turn on the lamp.” Jennifer supposed she should skip this whole silly business, but she couldn’t resist. Tomorrow, he’d be gone, and in a week or so he’d leave the region entirely. She doubted she’d ever see him again, let alone share another moment like this.

  Which meant she’d never have to face him and feel embarrassed, either.

  “I promised to show you my scar. Not my stubbly face.” Amusement rippled through the words. “Besides, I like feeling as if we’re holed up in some remote place, just you and me.”

  Keeping the world at bay. Yes, she liked that idea, too.

  In the bedside table, Jennifer found a flashlight. Ian unbuttoned his shirt and bared his left shoulder. “There.”

  She trained the beam on him and spotted a puckered indentation. “It’s smaller than I expected.”

  “Got a better one.” Shrugging his arm from the sleeve, he turned his back to her. “Check out the exit wound.”

  It was larger and more irregular. “How did this happen? Were you embedded with troops?” Instinctively, her finger traced the jagged shape. Beneath her touch, his skin quivered. “I’m sorry. Does that hurt?”

  “No, it’s…kind of nice. I was interviewing a faction leader in the middle of Baghdad. Stray bullet. Missed the vital organs. No wonder people say I’m lucky.”

  She caught the tension in his voice. “What aren’t you telling me?” Suddenly uneasy, she removed her finger.

  “Leave your hand there. Feels good. No one’s touched it since the medic stitched me up.”

  Without thinking, Jennifer bent and kissed the mark. “All better.”

  He laughed. “Okay, I showed you mine.”

  “Finish your story.” With the cover tented around them, she really did feel as if they were huddled far from civilization.

  Ian slid his shirt back into place. “Not much to tell. I was young and stupid. The wound looked small, so I stuck a scarf over it to stem the bleeding and finished the interview. Later, the medic said I could have bled to death. That’s when I got scared.”

  “Surely it hurt!” She couldn’t imagine ignoring a bullet wound.

  “Like acid poured on fire. I considered it a badge of honor to gut my way through it.”

  “Men can be such chowder heads.” Jennifer switched off the flashlight.

  “Your turn.”

  “My turn to—?”

  “Spill,” he reminded her.

  She gathered her courage. Well, she had promised, and what a relief to be able to talk, here in the darkness. “I was seventeen. My boyfriend, Frank, was two years older. He…” How much of the story to pour out? Just the part about the baby. One wound at a time. “We were driving…we lost control and crashed. I was five months pregnant. The baby died. The doctor said that at least I could have more, as if that made it all right.”

  “What happened to Frank?”

  “Long gone.” No sense dwelling on him. “I named the baby Edward, after my father, Eduardo Serra.”

  “How’d he take it?”

  The question puzzled her, and then she registered that Ian was referring to her father. “My parents divorced when I was three and Dad dropped out of my life. He didn’t know about his grandson.”

  She felt a light kiss on her temple. “I’m sorry,” Ian murmured. “Men have really let you down, haven’t they?”

  “Sometimes.” She didn’t want to nurse her old anger, especially not this evening. On the bed, she angled toward Ian. Wanting, and not wanting, his mouth to close over hers. And then it did.

  He paused, as if giving her a chance to protest. Perhaps she ought to stop him, but the contact felt right. Necessary. Gripping his shoulders to steady herself, she teased his lips with her tongue, inviting more.

  His palms slid along her silky nightgown, caressing her waistline. Jennifer’s body tingled.

  Releasing her from a long kiss, Ian cupped her face and studied her. In the dimness, she saw a question in his eyes, and then he lifted her nightgown, his hand tracing the curve of her waist and the swell of her bosom.

  Her breasts tightened beneath his thumb and her pulse beat faster. Sensations blossomed inside her.

  “Touch me,” Ian whispered.

  Jennifer spread her hands across his bare chest, relishing its roughness, treasuring the sharp intake of his breath. Tonight they’d taken refuge in each other from their private wars. Tonight, they were healing each other’s wounds.

  She shrugged off her gown. It caught around her arms, and with a low noise that was half groan and half laughter, Ian’s mouth traced the vulnerable naked swell of her breasts before he lifted the fabric free. Together they peeled off his jeans.

  “Let me look at you.” His body rubbed hers, striking sparks as he eased her down. Then he reached past her. Found the flashlight and discovered her with a beam. “Incredible. I knew your skin would be velvet, but I didn’t picture all this.” He bent to nip lightly at the inside of her thigh.

  Fire flashed through Jennifer. “Let’s…” But his mouth reached hers, hushing the words.

  The beam shut off. Yet he seemed to be searching for something in the bedside drawer. He lifted his head. “Don’t you have any…? Ah. Found it.”

  She scarcely remembered buying the condoms. Left from a boyfriend months ago, briefly exciting, quickly gone. As for his name…that was gone, too.

  Ian. That name wouldn’t leave her soon, even if the man did. But she refused to waste time fretting.

  “Could you hurry?” Jennifer asked.

  “That’s what I like—a woman who knows what she wants.” He unrolled the protection. “You’re sure you want to do this? I caught you at a vulnerable moment.”
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  “That’s the best kind.”

  “Good point.”

  As he fitted the sheath, she relished the sight of his lean build. The nightmare had left a void that she needed him to fill. To make her body forget that it had ever held anything but him.

  “I’m an honorable man,” Ian added. “Most of the time, anyway. So if you aren’t sure…”

  “Are we going to chitchat all night?” Jennifer teased.

  “Hell, no.” In an instant, he straddled her, his hardness pressing into her yielding femininity. With restrained power, he parted her and joined them. A wave of bliss rolled through her, pure, hot and insatiable.

  Anchoring herself to his hips, Jennifer rocked against him. “Make me whole, Ian,” she whispered. “Just for tonight.”

  Ian thrust slowly. “You can’t tell me you don’t want this more than once.”

  “I want a lot more. Right now.”

  “Oh, man.” His rhythm sped up. Jennifer clasped him, because if she didn’t hold on tight, she might melt into liquid silver. His mouth and his tongue found hers, and they fused into one being, glorious and free.

  Joy claimed her. Never let this end. Never let me go.

  And he didn’t. Afterward, he lay cradling her, his warmth all around, his contentment whispered. The nightmare had passed, and the dream had come.

  For tonight.

  IAN AWOKE IN A POOL of sunlight. Lazily, he reached across the sheets for the woman who’d tantalized and fulfilled him.

  Cool bed. Empty. What the hell?

  He sat up, confused. The clock read nearly 8:00 a.m. How had he’d slept this late and where was he supposed to be?

  Sunday. He wasn’t scheduled to be anywhere.

  From down the hall came the rippling sound of Jennifer talking to the baby. Of course. Rosalie required attention.

  Relieved, Ian leaned back against the headboard. He’d love a rematch of last night’s encounter. Intense and thrilling, it had gone by too fast. Today should offer a leisurely chance to explore each other, but he hadn’t considered the requirements of motherhood.

  Temporary motherhood. Still, Jennifer had been hurting bad last night, haunted by her trauma. She’d wanted their lovemaking as much as he had, but she also wanted a child. And she had one. Why didn’t she seem eager to make the situation permanent?