The Would-Be Mommy Read online

  Well, that was her business.

  He closed his eyes, inhaling the luxury of simply being here. Picturing the faintly exotic tilt to her eyes, recalling her unexpected boldness, wondering why he got the sense that last night had been more than a simple, mutually satisfying encounter.

  There’d been a moment, or maybe a whole series of moments, when he’d broken through his isolation and truly connected with her. Lost himself. Found himself. What the hell was that all about?

  Uncoiling from the bed, Ian went into the bathroom. What a hit of femininity! Nightgown hanging from a peg, cosmetics on the counter, their mingled scent perfuming the air. He might almost be inside her again.

  He smiled, contrasting these cozy quarters with other places where he’d cleaned up over the years. Military barracks had been the high point; open-doored stalls the norm; rusty spigots in alleys the occasional last resort. If he landed the “From the Fire” column, his future would hold a lot more of those. Not an appealing prospect at this moment.

  In the shower, hot water sheeted off his skin. He wished Jennifer were snuggled in here with him. Maybe Viktor and Anni had the right idea, after all.

  Yeah, as if this would last. A few weeks of running tame and he’d be foaming at the mouth.

  His shower finished, Ian wrapped a towel around his hips, scooped his dirty clothes off the floor and went down the hall to the baby’s room.

  Jennifer stood with her back to him at the changing table, brown hair tumbling around her shoulders. She’d thrown on a Chinese-style silk robe that set off her dark coloring and clung to the delicious contours of her body.

  She turned, blinking as she took in his state of undress. “You’re quite a sight.”

  Ian grabbed his bag off the floor. “Thought I’d put on some fresh clothes. How’s the little one?”

  “Fine, thank goodness.” She shook back her hair. “So much for our plan to keep an eye on her all night.”

  He’d forgotten about that. “My intentions were good. Guess I’m not used to parental duties.”

  “Get dressed, soldier. You’re on baby duty now,” she replied. “My turn to hit the shower.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll hurry.”

  After pulling on his spare jeans and shirt, Ian ducked into the bathroom to give his face a once-over with the razor and run a comb through his hair. Back in the nursery, Jennifer transferred Rosalie into his arms.

  What a tiny bundle, yet when the little girl blinked up at him trustingly, she became the center of his universe. “I hope I didn’t let you down last night,” Ian said.

  “Are you kidding? You were transcendent,” Jennifer responded.

  She obviously assumed he’d been talking to her. And he had no intention of correcting that impression. “Transcendent, huh?”

  She touched a rough place on his jaw. “You missed a spot.”

  “Sorry.” He ducked his head. “I could give it another once-over.”

  “Don’t bother. It’s cute.” She backed off. “Help yourself to breakfast.”

  “Will do.”

  As he carried the baby downstairs, Ian’s jaw tingled from her touch. The casual intimacy of the gesture reminded him once again of his sister and Viktor. The first time he’d stayed with them after their marriage, he’d been struck by how comfortable these two independent beings had become around each other, communicating with a look, conversing in shorthand.

  The change in his career-obsessed sister had puzzled him. Now he understood. Even envied her a little.

  As he situated the baby and bassinet in a corner of the kitchen, he glanced out at the condo’s private patio. Morning light illuminated a flower bed bursting with colors. What a peaceful place to sit side by side, sharing a morning newspaper.

  Jennifer had created an oasis. She hadn’t given the impression of being the clingy sort, but it occurred to Ian that their lovemaking might have created expectations. Much as he enjoyed this respite, he wasn’t seriously tempted to stay here. In case she’d begun to hope for something more, he owed her a warning.

  He set the table, started the coffee and made toast, sprinkling cayenne on his to give it bite. “Great selection of jams and jellies,” he said when Jennifer entered, fresh and glowing in a knit top and slim pants.

  “Seems like every conference or seminar I attend, they give us a selection of these as a souvenir.” She inspected a miniature jar. “Mango. Think I’ll try that.”

  “I found some coffee flavorings in the pantry, too, but I take mine straight,” Ian said.

  “So do I, usually. Those were gifts, too.” After peeking at the baby, she swung back toward him. “I hadn’t pictured you as the domestic type.”

  Her remark surprised him. “I’m not.”

  “Oh?” She indicated the table and coffeepot. “This is nice. I appreciate it. Maybe I’m jumping the gun, but…”

  Uh-oh. “I was afraid you might…”

  “In case you were assuming…”

  They both stopped. “Ladies first,” Ian offered, although his sister would have popped him one for uttering anything so sexist.

  “I didn’t mean to take advantage of you last night,” she began.

  “Uh—anytime,” he said, puzzled.

  Jennifer added a tub of butter to the table. “Something came over me, and there you were. It was great. But emotionally, I’m not available. Too many bad choices in the past to risk making them again. I’m happy here, making my own home. Not that I can’t share. For a little while. You’ll be off then, and that’s fine. No lingering ties. In case you planned on any.”

  Whoa. If he understood correctly, she was blowing him off. “Is this what’s called letting me down easy?”

  Sliding into a seat, she kept her face averted, but he could have sworn she was turning pink. “Something like that.”

  Ian had no idea what to say. He fiddled with the toaster, examined far more pots of jam than he had any intention of eating, and stirred sweetener into his coffee, although he preferred it bitter.

  “You’re upset,” Jennifer said.

  “I shouldn’t be. I was going to tell you basically the same thing,” he blurted.

  “You were?”

  Their gazes met across the breakfast table. “I’m being considered for a post I’d give anything for,” Ian said. “My own column, my own agenda. Lots of travel, possibly long periods spent with a subject, exploring in-depth. I’m in no position to nurture a relationship.”

  Her eyebrow quirked. “‘Nurture a relationship.’ Is that polite-speak for ‘Put up with a sex-starved PR lady?’”

  He nearly choked on his toast. After a sip of coffee, he replied, “Actually, I’m rather taken with the sex-starved PR lady. I’m just not, as you put it, emotionally available, either.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  It ought to be. So why wasn’t it?

  They ate for a while in an edgy silence. Finally Ian ventured a joke. “I must say, your rejection has wounded me to the quick.”

  “Not used to it, eh?” Jennifer teased.

  “I’m only half kidding.”

  “Which half?”

  Good question. “The half that really likes you,” he admitted.

  “It’s unfortunate that we’re so similar.” She regarded him thoughtfully. “In some ways, we’re exactly right for each other. I mean, in the sense of being people who need our distances, but need each other sometimes, too.”

  “We could have both,” he said, and then wondered what on earth had impelled him to suggest that.

  “Long-distance relationship?” Jennifer’s mouth twisted wryly.

  “Wouldn’t work,” he conceded. “But I do get posted to L.A. occasionally. Think you could put up with me a few times a year?” Or more, if he worked it right.

  “I can’t make any promises,” she warned.

  “Maybe you’ll fall in love with some doctor.” He wasn’t sure why he’d thrown that in. “Isn’t that every woman’s dream?”

 
“Not mine.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “It’s too awkward, dating people at work. I did that once on a previous job. The breakup was miserable.”

  “You had to face him day after day?” he ventured.

  “No, he switched to another office, but I had to put up with people feeling sorry for me.” Obviously, that didn’t suit her. Strong-minded woman.

  Ian’s cell rang. For once, he’d love to turn it off, but he couldn’t. Especially not with the “From the Fire” position on the line. “Ian Martin,” he answered.

  It was Pierre. After excusing himself from the table, Ian moved to the living room.

  The photographer had a short but succinct piece of information. It not only changed Ian’s plans for the day, it changed a whole lot more.

  Possibly even the way he felt about Jennifer.

  Chapter Ten

  When Ian returned to the kitchen, Jennifer saw the tightness in his expression. “Bad news?”

  “You might say that.”

  Her stomach lurched. Why did she get the impression he was angry with her? “What happened?”

  Folding his arms, he leaned against the counter. “Pierre just heard on the radio that two babies were relinquished at your hospital today. It seems they aren’t alone. Three more were given up yesterday. I guess this explains your sudden invitation for me to spend the day following you around.”

  She’d almost forgotten about that. Jennifer’s next thought was, I hope he hasn’t found out about the cousins. “That’s it?” she ventured.

  “Is there more?”

  She should have kept her mouth shut. Well, she’d just have to wing this. “I didn’t know about today’s relinquishments, and whoever leaked this to the press has a lot to answer for.”

  “But you knew about yesterday’s.”

  Might as well own up, as far as she dared. “Yes. I’m sorry, Ian. I had to try to keep a lid on things. Just as, I might point out, you had to interview Samantha whether I liked it or not.”

  His regretful gaze met hers. “Point taken. I see what you mean about not dating coworkers. Or frenemies, as the case may be.”

  Friendly enemies. “Is that what I am?”

  “I wish that weren’t the case. But I suppose so.”

  Five minutes ago, she’d been straining to keep Ian at arm’s length. All the same, his withdrawal stung. Nothing she could do about it. “I’d better get over to the hospital. In full battle mode.” Rising, Jennifer began clearing away the remnants of breakfast.

  “Planning to take down the big mouth in your camp?” He gave her a crooked grin.

  “That, and manage the press.” She shuddered at the prospect of fending off swarms of reporters. “I’d better call Dr. Rayburn, in case he hasn’t heard.”

  “Before you do…” Any sign of humor vanished from his expression. “I’m not obligated to warn you about this, but I will, anyway.”

  His strained tone froze her. “What is it, Ian?”

  “Viktor asked me to find Sunny and interview her about Rosalie. Much as I hate raking all that up, I have to do it.”

  “What about her right to privacy?”

  “I can’t let the rest of the media get ahead of me.”

  “Especially not with a promotion on the line,” she retorted. Seeing him flinch, she backtracked. “That was unfair. We both have obligations.”

  Ian cast a wistful glance at the baby, who lay taking in this interchange with cheerful innocence. “I’m going to miss you guys.”

  And I’m going to try like hell not to miss you. “See you at the med center.” Jennifer sponged off the table. The last thing she wanted to see when she came home were reminders of their time together.

  “If there’s anything I can…Never mind. It’s not like you’d trust me behind the scenes again, would you?” Abruptly, Ian strode out. As she loaded the dishwasher, Jennifer heard his footsteps on the stairs. She followed his movements from the creaking ceiling as he collected his stuff and descended. “Well, I’m off.”

  “Bye.” Her throat thick with emotion, she barely squeezed out the word.

  He paused. “I’ll pass along one more tip, or rather, suspicion. Before you go running off to cross-examine the duty nurses about the leak, don’t overlook the obvious suspect.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Ask yourself who might want the press to cover this.” With a mock salute, Ian spun and exited. The air pressure seemed to funnel out in his wake.

  When his meaning hit her, she wished it hadn’t. Samantha. She’d already alienated a man she cared about much more than she should. Now she might have to antagonize one of her few, precious friends.

  First, though, she put in the obligatory call to Mark. The administrator took a fatalistic approach. “Bound to happen sooner or later,” he said. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “See you in a few.” She didn’t mention the possibility that Sam might be involved. Her friend deserved better.

  Postponing the call, Jennifer got the baby ready to go. This would be tricky, managing the infant along with work, but the employee day-care center didn’t operate on Sundays.

  Under other circumstances, she might have asked her friends to help. But by the end of the day, she wasn’t sure she would have any left.

  IAN ENTERED THE HOSPITAL lobby behind a young man accompanied by a pregnant woman. A flash went off, and half a dozen people wearing press IDs descended on the hapless couple.

  Idiots. The woman wasn’t relinquishing a baby; she hadn’t even given birth yet. And she wore a wedding ring. “Did we win something?” asked her husband.

  A security guard intervened. “I have to ask you folks to step aside,” he told the reporters. “You can’t be bothering our clients.”

  “Miss Serra’s on her way,” Ian informed him briskly. “She sent me ahead. Thanks for handling this.”

  “Just doing my job, sir,” the man said.

  While the couple signed in at the desk, Ian strode toward the elevators. None of the other reporters ratted him out. Professional courtesy, or else they just didn’t think fast enough.

  After exiting on the fifth floor, he put in a call to Pierre. Never mind the signs about not using cell phones. He doubted the administrative offices housed sensitive medical equipment.

  “I’m on the 405 Freeway,” the photographer said. “ETA half an hour.”

  Ian advised him about the situation in the lobby. “Why don’t you stake it out in case more babies show up? Now that I made it past the gendarmes, I plan to skulk.”

  “You sure got there fast,” Pierre observed.

  Ian let the silence stretch too long, because his brain refused to spit out any credible excuses.

  “Oh, man,” the photographer said. “You didn’t.”

  “She blindsided me,” Ian told him.

  “I hope she’s good in bed, at least.”

  The best. “We played dominoes all night and kept an eye on the baby.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  He was clicking off when a door opened from the administrative suite. A blonde girl, face streaked with tears, came out, followed by a guy in a suit jacket over jeans. Tony Franco, Ian recalled.

  “Thanks for filling out the paperwork.” The attorney caught sight of Ian and stiffened. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  Ian held up his hands. “Just need to ask you something.”

  “Wait here.” The man accompanied the young mother down the hall, bypassing the main elevators. There must be others that led to a rear exit.

  Tony returned. “How’d you get past the guard?”

  “Smoke and mirrors.”

  “Guess you’re better at this than the local press.” The man cleared his throat. “What’s the question?”

  “I need to find Sunny. Rosalie’s mother.”

  “That isn’t a question.”

  “Okay. Where is she?”

  “Can’t tell you.”

  He’d figured as much. �
��Will you at least tell me her last name?”

  “Seeing as you’re such a brilliant reporter, I’ll let you find that out for yourself,” Tony said.

  “Isn’t her identity a matter of public record?”

  “In your dreams.” The man regarded him with mock friendliness. “Anything else I can not help you with?”

  Even though the joke came at his own expense, Ian couldn’t help chuckling. “Not at the moment, counselor.”

  “It being Sunday, I think I’ll take myself home.”

  “How can you be sure no one else will relinquish a baby?”

  “I’ve left instruction with the staff. I’m sure they can handle it.” Giving him a brief wave, the attorney ambled off.

  Ian stood debating how to proceed. He refused to return to the lobby and give up the advantage of having bluffed his way past the guards. Besides, Pierre could cover any new arrivals.

  Come to think of it, Rosalie likely shared her mother’s surname, and he felt certain Jennifer had paperwork to go with the baby. Damn. He refused to try to trick her into revealing that information, and he could hardly expect her to cooperate. Where did that leave him?

  With a breaking story to report about surrendered babies in need of homes. Surely the staff at the nursery could at least advise him of the infants’ conditions and voice their personal reactions to the influx. That ought to satisfy Flash News/Global’s readers for the moment.

  But not for long.

  ENTERING THROUGH THE EMPLOYEES’ door to avoid the media, Jennifer tried to focus on the tasks ahead, yet her mind kept rebelling.

  She couldn’t let her feelings for Ian show when she faced him in the presence of others. Had to maintain this collected exterior she’d strained so hard to develop over the years. You can’t trust him or your own judgment. Arm’s length. That’s the key—arm’s length.

  No more private conversations over her kitchen table, let alone escapades in the bedroom. Only that wasn’t an escapade. It was precious.

  And never to be repeated.