Night Fever (31 page)

“I don't like casual interludes!”

“It isn't an interlude, or casual. You're carrying my child. And sooner or later, you're going to marry me,” he added.

“No, I'm not!” she raged. “You don't love me! You just want me.”

He stared down at her angrily. She was blind as a bat and naive as a child. Why couldn't she see it?

“Think what you like,” he said curtly. He lifted himself, amused at the expression on her face when he separated them, at the way she averted her eyes.

He got up and dressed while she pulled her own clothes back on and tried not to look at him.

He pulled her up from the bed and framed her face in his hands, his body lean and strong and warm against hers while he looked at her solemnly.

“You belong to me in every way there is,” he said quietly. “I'm not going away, and I'm not giving up. You might as well get used to having me around. Mack and Granddad need me, and so do you.”

“They don't like you,” she muttered.

“Mack does. Your grandfather will come around.” His hands slid to her hips. “Becky, you've got my baby in your body,” he whispered, shocking her. “If you could just manage to trust me, a little bit, we could have a good life together.”

She lowered her face to his chest. “I trusted you once,” she said miserably. “You betrayed all of us.”

He couldn't answer that. He straightened. “I did my job,” he replied. “My job has nothing to do with you and me and the baby.”

She bit her lip. “All right. I'll think about what you said. But I don't want this to happen again, please,” she whispered, her eyes glancing toward the bed.

He tilted her chin up and searched her mutinous eyes. “I can't promise you that. I want you too badly. What we did in that bed is as natural as breathing,” he said. “Desire isn't the black plague. You and I are going to be intimate for a long, long time, and we have a child to raise. I'm offering you a commitment, for life. If you don't like making love out of wedlock, marry me, then.”

“My family…” she began miserably.

“You have to decide whether I come first or they do,” he said firmly. “Let me know when you work it out. Meanwhile, I'd better get home. Will you be all right alone?”

She nodded. “Mack won't be gone very long.”

He looked down at her quietly. “You think I'm being cruel, forcing you to choose, but there's a reason. You'll understand one day.”

She didn't reply. He let his eyes run down to her stomach and then he turned away and left the room.

She didn't see him out. She had a lot to think about. He was going to make her choose between her family and him, and she didn't know how in the world she was going to do it—especially after today.

She spent Sunday going to church, visiting Granddad, and worrying. By the next morning, she was a nervous wreck.

R
ourke dragged out of bed early Monday morning, and when he thought about all he had to do, he almost climbed right back in again. His consolation was that Granddad was almost surely going to get better now, which would take one more burden off Becky's shoulders. It felt rather nice to have someone to look after, he thought absently. Uncle Sanderson had been self-sufficient and independent right up until the sudden heart attack that had killed him instantly. Rourke had never been responsible for anyone except himself. Now he had Becky and the child to think about. Because of them, he had Clay and Granddad and Mack, as well. He smiled as he remembered Mack's antics in the car, Granddad's sudden display of temper, and Clay's belated friendliness. It didn't feel bad at all to have a family, even if he was its unexpected acting head and half of it hated him.

Then he thought about what he and Becky had done in her bed Saturday, and his body went hot all over. It was magic with her. He wanted her completely, achingly. If only he could make her understand that she was entitled to her own life—that it wasn't wrong to put her happiness first.

If having to choose between him and her family was the only way to open her eyes, it would have to do. She had enough pressure, but the baby was growing by the day. He had to get her to a minister, and soon.

He got through his most important tasks early in the morning at work, and arranged to get Clay a new cell mate. Interfering in the way the county sheriff's department ran the jail wasn't something he usually did, but these were special circumstances. He explained the problem to the sheriff, an acquaintance of many years, who immediately solved it.

“How do you feel about people who pass bad checks?” he asked Becky as they drove to the nursing home to get Granddad. He'd picked her up at her office, grinning when Maggie gave him a curious but amused look.

“Well, I don't think I know any people who pass bad checks,” she said. She was wearing a green print dress that made her look younger, and while the gauntness was still there, it was less evident this morning. “But they probably do it out of desperation, don't they?”

He chuckled and lifted his cigar to his lips. “They do it out of greed,” he said. He glanced at her. “But they make better cell mates than rapists. I've just have one moved in with your brother. You can go and see him whenever you like.”

“The bad check passer, or my brother?” she asked with the first glimmer of humor in her voice that he'd noticed recently.

“Either or both,” he replied. He glanced at her and smiled. “Feeling better?”

“Yes,” she confessed. She let her eyes meet his shyly, and then she averted them to the window as vivid memories of two days before washed over her. His ardor seemed to grow, and she couldn't deny him. She hoped he didn't think less of her for her inability to say no, but she was too uncertain of herself to ask him. “You gave my grandfather a reason to live. I think he meant to lie in that bed and die.”

“I got that idea myself. He'll have a lot more fun sparring with me, when he gets back on his feet.” He glanced at Becky and grinned. “He's got a mission in life now—to save you from my evil clutches.”

“He's a little late, isn't he?” she muttered. “Especially after Saturday.”

“Saturday was magic,” he said huskily, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I dreamed about it all night long.”

“You didn't give me a chance to say no,” she said tightly, not looking at him.

“It wasn't deliberate, Becky,” he replied quietly. “Once I started, I couldn't stop.”

Her lower lip trembled. Neither could she, but she wasn't admitting it. It seemed indecent to want someone that badly, especially in her condition. “Well, you might have waited until I agreed to marry you, at least,” she muttered.

“I may be too old by then.” He raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead. Lacerate my conscience. Everybody picks on the poor district attorney.”

“Well, I'm justified!” she exclaimed. “You got me in trouble!”

“I got you pregnant, which is another thing entirely. Considering that I did it on the first try, I feel pretty smug about the whole thing.”

She felt her cheeks grow hot. She'd never discussed things like this with anyone, and she was pregnant out of wedlock, not to mention having given into him with shaming ease, which she found embarrassing. And here was the cause of it all, bragging about his prowess!

“I have never…!” she began hotly.

“Oh, yes, you have,” he murmured dryly. “Four times, already.”

She went scarlet and gave up trying to fence with him verbally. No wonder he was such a good district attorney. She wrapped her hands around her pocketbook and ground her teeth together. Arguing with him got her nowhere. She'd try ignoring him altogether and see how that worked.

It didn't. He turned on the radio and began to hum along with a popular country and western song.

“Have you thought about names?” he asked suddenly as they turned into the nursing home parking lot. “I like the sound of Todd, for a boy, and Gwen for a girl.”

“It's my baby,” she said stubbornly. “I get to name it.”

“Half of it is your baby,” he replied as he pulled into a parking space and cut off the engine. “You get to name half of it.”

“Rourke,” she said.

He put a long forefinger over her lips, stilling the words. His dark eyes looked straight into her hazel ones in the sheltered closeness of the car, bringing back the sweetest memories of how it felt to kiss him.

“Of all the things two people do together, I think having a child is the most poignant,” he said gently. “I want to share every step of it with you, from morning sickness to labor.” His hand slid to her cheek and stroked it with a light, caressing pressure while he searched her eyes. “I've never had anyone of my own,” he said slowly. “Don't shut me out, Becky.”

She wanted to give in. She wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him that she'd do anything he wanted her to, but there had been too much deception already, and too many lies. She didn't trust him. He wanted the baby, but that didn't mean he loved her. She couldn't really see him taking on her whole family just to be a parent, either. The first glow of fatherhood had enveloped him, but that might wear off. Worse, there was always the danger of a miscarriage this early in her pregnancy. She couldn't take the chance of letting him too close right now, until she was sure of his motives. And love was the one word he'd never mentioned to her, not even during their greatest intimacy, like yesterday. Men could desire without loving, couldn't they?

She lowered her eyes to his tie. “All right. I won't shut you out. But I won't let you take me over, either, Rourke.”

“Fair enough,” he said solemnly. “Now, let's go and get your grandfather. I hope you remembered the rope and chains,” he added mischievously as he helped her out of the car. “I wouldn't give five cents for my chances of getting him in the car without restraints.”

“No? I would,” she murmured, walking alongside him toward the nursing home entrance. “He respects people he can't push around.”

He glanced down at her warmly, liking the way she looked walking beside him. He felt a thrill of pure possession. She was his woman, with his child growing inside her. It was enough to make a man strut.

Becky noticed the way women's eyes went to him when they were walking down the spotless hall toward Granddad's room. He was a handsome man—all dark sensuality and wicked spirit. He towered over her and made her feel small and feminine, and she liked the way his gray suit hugged the powerful lines of his body, emphasizing its fierce masculinity. He was a strong man, and not just physically. She allowed herself one sweet second to wonder if her child would be a boy, and if he would look like his father.

Granddad was waiting impatiently in his chair. Dr. Miller had already released him. Once Becky signed the papers, he could get out of here and straighten out the mess Rourke Kilpatrick had made of his family.

“It's about time,” he raged at her, and then glared at Rourke as he came in with her. “You, again?” he muttered.

“I'm glad to see you, too,” Rourke said, unperturbed. He grinned. “Becky signed you out before we came down here. If you're ready, I'll have the nurse bring the wheelchair.”

“I hate being beholden to you,” Granddad fumed minutes later, sitting rigidly in the front seat of Rourke's car while Becky—and Mack, who'd been picked up at Mrs. Addington's house on the way home—sprawled in the back seat.

“Oh, I can imagine,” Rourke said with an aplomb that made Becky want to giggle.

“And I hate those damned cigars you smoke,” he added.

“So do I,” Rourke said, taking another puff as he wound through the open country and down the road that led to the farm.

Granddad glared at him. He tried to think of something else to complain about, but it was getting harder to come up with things. He sighed and looked out the window. “Nice car,” he muttered.

“I like it,” Rourke replied. “It has advantages over the Mercedes-Benz, because it's newer. But I miss my dog.”

“Mean, low-down thing, to kill a man's dog,” Granddad said reluctantly.

“Yes.”

“How's MacTavish?” Becky asked gently.

He glanced over the back seat at her. “He's fine. He misses going on picnics and out to the parks, but he's adjusting.”

She averted her eyes to the farmhouse in the distance.

“You need something done about that roof,” Rourke remarked as he parked in front of the house. “Those shingles over the porch will come off in the first strong wind.”

“I can't climb up there,” the old man said with ravaged pride.

“I can,” Rourke told him. “I'll take care of it. We can't have Becky pelted with falling shingles, in her condition.”

Granddad reached for the door handle, looking uncomfortable. “Shameful, letting her get in such a condition unmarried,” he said under his breath.

“I quite agree. You might use your influence to convince her that I'm excellent husband and father material,” he replied, and Mack did giggle this time.

“You ought to marry him, if he's willing,” Granddad told her when they were all out of the car. “Having a baby and no husband is scandalous.”

“Besides, he likes trains and basketball,” Mack said.

Becky glared at her relatives. “You both hated him only last month,” she reminded them.

“I didn't say I liked him, did I?” Granddad asked impatiently. “I just said you should marry him.”

“I like him.” Mack shrugged.

“Thanks, Mack,” Rourke said, clapping a big hand on the boy's shoulder. “It's nice to have friends.”

Later, he felt as if he needed more than just one. Becky was polite and grateful for what he'd done, but she was suddenly as remote as the moon in every other way. He might have pushed too hard, he decided. Seducing her again seemed to have put more distance between them than ever. He should have remembered her bristly pride. He'd probably shattered it by making her succumb to him so easily. Apparently she felt even guiltier because she couldn't say no to him. He was almost sure that she loved him, but until she admitted it and he could make her understand what he felt, they were at a stalemate.

He went to see Clay, mostly to see who his new cell mate was. The bad check passer was only a little older than Clay, and not belligerent or rude. Becky would manage with this one, he decided.

“How's it going?” he asked Clay, after he'd had him moved into an interrogation room so that they had a little privacy.

“Slow,” Clay said. “Is it always so slow?”

Rourke lit his cigar and nodded. “Welcome to the criminal justice system.”

“I wish I'd had the good sense to keep my nose clean,” Clay muttered. “This is the pits. How's Becky? She hasn't come back, and I figured it was because of the creep they put in the cell with me, but they moved him this morning and put this new guy in. Is she okay? How about Granddad and Mack?”

Rourke leaned back precariously in his chair and propped his long legs over the desk. “You have been kept in the dark, haven't you?” he murmured dryly. He blew out a cloud of smoke. “Granddad is home. He pitched a fit when he found out Becky was pregnant, and he's decided not to die because she won't marry me. He thinks babies should be born to married people.”

Clay stared at Rourke blankly. “Granddad is at home because Becky is pregnant?”

Rourke flicked an ash into the dirty glass ashtray. “That's right.”

“My sister is going to have a baby?!” he said, saucer-eyed.

“Yes,” Rourke said, then frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe more than one. I think there may have been twins in my family a few generations back. I'll have to ask Becky if she knows of any in hers.”

Clay's eyebrows began to lever upward. “It's your baby?”