Because she'd fallen in love with Cort, all those years ago, and again when she'd seen him at Steffie's, and at least a hundred times since. Deeper and deeper in love she fell, every time she was with him.
Why should she fool herself into believing otherwise?
He had offered to father her baby. She could allow herself that much of him...couldn't she?
Couldn't she?
He guided the car into his driveway, between the towering oaks and magnolias, and parked in front of the house she already knew so well. The house she would tailor into “the place she most wanted to be.”
She wouldn't be living here, though. Cort didn't love her, and she would never stand in his way of finding love, or torture herself by maintaining too close a daily contact. But her child could live here part of the time.
Her heart ached as much as it rejoiced.
Cort switched off the engine, climbed out of the car, strode around and opened her door. She took the hand he
offered, strong, steady and somehow comforting. But his face...ah, his face. Taut, intense, determined.
Fear pulsed through her. She loved him too much. And loving Cort had once nearly destroyed her.
He swept her up the steps to his house with an iron-strong arm around her. Doubts skittered in her stomach. He unlocked the door, drew her inside and pushed the wool knit coat from her shoulders. It fell heedlessly to the floor of the entrance hall.
“Laura.” He invoked her name like a gruff, earnest prayer, and held her shoulders between reverent hands. “Don't be afraid. I know what you want for your child. I want the same things.”
She wished so much to believe that it could work. Strength and sureness emanated from him. And heat. And a heart-thrilling hunger...
“Come to bed with me,” he implored in a torrid whisper, his gaze searing her. “Let's go upstairs, Laura. Let's make a baby.”
She felt dizzy with longing. “We...we have to plan,” she hedged. “Make arrangements.”
“There's nothing to arrange. We don't need a damn clinic or some petri dish.” He gripped her hips, and his thumbs swept in caressing arcs up and down her abdomen. “If a baby's going to grow inside you, I want to be the one to put it there.”
Ardent heat flared in her. She wanted him. Wanted him! And she wanted his baby. Fear wouldn't stop her.
Cort saw the decision flash in her gaze; felt the change in chemistry. He'd seduced her into this moment, he knew. He'd used every inducement, pressed every advantage, to lure her here.
He'd won his chance. But only a chance.
Please, God, make it count.
Fierce need drummed like a driving beat in his temples, and his vision wavered with rays of heat. He thrust his arm around her back, caught her behind the knees and swept her up into his arms. She clung to him, her eyes dark with desire, her hair cascading over his arm, her maddening dress pushed high on her thighs.
He carried her to his room. To his bed.
And he worshiped her there. He feasted on her there. He stripped away her clothes, piece by piece, and filled his hands, his mouth with her. She writhed and arched and moaned and filled her hands, her mouth with him.
She goaded him into desperation.
Feverish with need, he pinned her beneath him, gritted his teeth and pushed deep, deep, into her. Fierce, hot pleasure took his breath. Stunned him. Electrified his blood.
He thrust harder. Slower. Slick, hot and deep. Rhythmic.
And she transformed, as he'd known she would, into a purely sensual beingâstriving to prolong each penetration with voluptuous undulations; shifting positions to maximize sensation; meeting him thrust for jarring thrust
She riled him into savagery. Sweat dripped into his eyes. Groans rolled from his throat. He saw her through a passionate haze.
Beautiful. So damn beautiful.
He forced her legs higher around his waist, levered his body for deeper access and drove with serious intent. He loved her. He needed her. He wanted his baby inside of her.
Her mouth opened. Her body moved with each deliberate, jolting thrust. And her dazed, heavy-lidded gaze sought his.
Pressure mounted within him. Her moans turned to sobs, then cries, and she jackknifed against his chest. Her velvet heat gripped him with tight contractions and pleasure
pierced him, possessed him. He planted his seed deep within her.
Please, God, make it count.
Please, God, make her mine.
10
F
INGERS RIFFLED THROUGH her hair and brushed tendrils back from her face. A warm nuzzling against her neck made her squirm and smile. A smooth, strong jaw rubbed against her cheek. The pleasantly masculine scent of sandalwood aftershave teased her senses.
Laura opened her eyes.
Cort's dark, rugged face loomed above her. The warmth in his smiling blue eyes kindled an answering glow within her. “Morning,” he greeted.
She smiled and ran her hand tenderly over the planes of his face. “Morning.” And memories of their passionate, sumptuous night flooded back.
A remnant of the heat they'd shared warmed his eyes, and she wanted to feel his arms around her. She realized then that he was sitting on the bed, not lying in it, as she'd expected. And he was fully dressed, casually elegant in a light sage-colored shirt and charcoal-gray sport coat.
She, meanwhile, lay naked beneath the sheet.
“I have to meet with my real estate broker,” he said in answer to her unspoken question. “Unavoidable, or I'd cancel. I might be tied up until three or so.” He leaned in and brushed his mouth alongside her ear. “But I didn't want to leave without a kiss,” he whispered.
â³A kiss?” Her eyes rounded, and she caught his face between her hands to stave him off. She hadn't brushed her teeth yet! She couldn't possibly kiss him. “No. No kiss!”
“Now, Laura. After all we did last night, you can't be shy about something as tame as a kiss.” She saw the mischievous glint in his eyes and knew he remembered darn well that she never kissed anyone in the morning before she brushed her teeth! Scoundrel that he was, he tilted his face and advanced.
With a protesting cry, she averted her mouth. He pinned her arms beside her head and dug his chin into her neck. She laughed and struggled. He kissed his way to her face, and she twisted beneath him to get away An impromptu wrestling match ensued, as it often had in mornings at the Hays Street house, when the tussle usually degenerated into breathless laughter and the sweetest early-morning lovemaking.
But even then, she hadn't kissed him before brushing her teeth. A girl had to draw the line somewhere.
He soon had her shrieking in laughter from playful attacks and fending him off with shoulders, elbows and knees.
The phone rang. The answering machine clicked on, and a man spoke. Cort cursed, raised up and reached for the bedside phone. A business call. She took immediate advantage and scampered away, tugging the sheet off the bed and wrapping it around her as she dashed from his bedroom to her bathroom.
Moments after she'd locked the door, he said from directly outside the bathroom, “Okay. You win. Brush your teeth. But make it quick. I'm already late. And Iâ²m not leaving without a kiss.”
Laughter gurgled in her throat. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, combed her hair and slid into the white, terry-cloth robe she'd left on the hook. “You're a savage, Cort Dimitri,” she called through the door.
“You bring it out in me, Laura Merritt. And you have
ten more seconds to open this door, or Iâ²ll use my master key.”
“You have a master key?” She opened the door and poked her head out. “You're just so
master
ful.”
He pounced. He pulled her out of the doorway, braced her against the bedroom wall and nipped at her mouth with light, smiling kisses, then delved more deeply.
The heat ignited in her again. She slid her fingers into his thick, raven hair and reveled in the hot, arousing taste of him. He groaned, then wrapped one hand around her nape and slid the other beneath her robe to roam freely.
The kiss deepened. The heat grew serious.
He forced himself to stop. Exhaling a long breath, he pressed his face to hers. “I'll be home as soon as I can,” he rasped, his eyes closed, his body taut and hard, “and we'll pick up where we left off.”
Her heart thundered. She didn't want to let him go. But of course, she did. His departing gaze left her weak-kneed and breathless.
She knew she should be worried. She was too emotionally involved. They'd made love all nightâurgently, then tenderly. Teasingly. Insatiably.
How could he possibly make love to her like that if his emotions weren't engaged?
Don't be naive,
an inner voice warned.
Don't confuse sex with love... or history will repeat itself
. Yes, she should definitely worry.
But not today. Not when there was a chance that Cort's baby was growing inside her. She placed her hands wonderingly against her abdomen. She could be pregnant at this very moment!
With a rueful grin at her own irrepressible excitement, she hurried to take a shower. She had a lot of windows to measure before Cort returned. She also had ideas to sketch
for the bedroom at the end of the hall, which she believed would make an adorable nursery.
A nursery.
For their baby.
Hers and Cort's.
Smiling to herself, she dressed in dark, slim-fitting jeans and a red sweaterâred for Christmas, since today was the first of December. What a wonderful house to decorate for Christmas, she thought dreamily. She knew exactly where she'd put the tree. She hummed as she hooked dangling gold hoops into her ears.
The telephone rang, the answering machine clicked on, and a message piped through the intercom. “Cort, darling. Trisha. It's too,
too
bad of you to cry off from the duchess's party this Saturday, isn't it?” The feminine, throaty voice flowed with a rich British accent. “I had
such
a lovely idea for after the party. Give me a ring, won't you, and let me know when you'll be in London, you naughty boy.” She didn't leave a number.
Laura sat down on the bed with an unpleasant rush of her heart. No reason to be upset, she told herself. He had, after all, “cried off” from the party. But he would be returning to London eventually. Maybe often.
Of course
he had women.
Of course
he dated. She hadn't believed otherwise, had she?
The
duchess's
party. Was that someone's nickname, or did he schmooze with royalty while he jetted around the globe?
And what grounds did Trisha have for calling him a “naughty boy”?
Laura shut her eyes and forced herself to get a grip on her volatile emotions. Cort didn't owe her fidelity. She had known that before she'd slept with him. She had also known that he'd built a rich and varied life in which she played no part. Could she tolerate that fact, and possibly
interact with the other women in his life, if she were raising a child with him?
A picture flashed across her mind's eye of her child jetting off to London with Cort for a romp around the castle grounds with Trisha.
Oh, my
. An attitude adjustment was definitely needed. Or else, a drastic change in plans.
She'd be playing the role of ex-wife, she realized, without ever having had him as a husband. How could she bear to do that when she loved him? If she was already pregnant, she wouldn't have a choice!
Determined to put the anxiety aside until her emotions had settled and she could think clearly, she busied herself measuring windows.
A noise caught her attentionâthe sound of a door opening. The kitchen door. Laura wondered if Cort had come home early. Her heart beat faster at the thought.
What was she going to do? Sleep with him again, despite her reservations about having his baby? Tell him about those reservations, despite the abject humiliation of having to admit that she'd fallen in love with him again?
The murmur of a woman's voice mingled with a child's in the kitchen. Surprised and curious, Laura set down her measuring tape and ventured toward the sounds.
A stout, friendly-eyed woman with scraggly wisps of brown hair streaming from a haphazard topknot stood near the sink with a pitcher in her hand. “Oh, hello,” she greeted in surprise at the sight of Laura. “I'm Judy Jeffries, the housekeeper. Hope I didn't startle you. I didn't know anyone was here.”
“I hope I didn't startle
you.
I'm Laura Merritt. I'm a decorator, working here for a few days. Did I hear a child's voice, too?” She looked around the kitchen, but saw no child.
“My grandson, Duncan, just ran out to the car to get his coloring book. I bring him with me on Thursday mornings while my daughter works.” Judy gave her a quick, curious once-over. “So...youâ²re the new decorator, huh?”
Laura wondered at the odd way she'd phrased the question. Not
a
decorator, but
the new
decorator. “Um, yes.”
A definite glint of curiosity lurked in Judy's gaze.
The door swung open and a small blond boy of about four or five traipsed into the kitchen holding a coloring book and crayons. “Grandma, I can't find the purple. Oh, hi.” He regarded Laura with friendly, curious eyes, much like his grandmother's. Before he said another word, though, he looked beyond Laura and exclaimed, “Where's the table? I always color at the table. Where did it go?”
Laura glanced behind her at the empty kitchen, then back to the boy. He seemed to think that a table had been there. But Cort had told her that the only tables were in his bedroom. They'd had to eat breakfast on the courtyard-pavilion porch for that very reason.
“Duncan,” said Judy, looking oddly flustered, “why don't you go outside and color? Duncan!” Judy bustled across the kitchen after him as he loped off toward the main rooms.
“Hey,
everything's
gone!” he yelled from the formal living room. His amazed tones echoed throughout the house. “Look, Grandma. The couches, the chairs...even the pictures are gone!” Judy lunged for his arm, but he evaded her, clutching his small box of crayons and coloring book as he ran. “The naked-lady statue is gone, too!” he shouted from the entrance hall.
“Uh, Duncan,” Laura piped up, thoroughly puzzled. He really believed there had been furniture, pictures and naked-lady statues the last time he'd been here, which, according to what Judy had said, would have been last
Thursday. But Cort had clearly told her that the house hadn't had any furniture or artwork since he'd moved in.
Other than a couple bedrooms, it's as bare as a barn,
he'd said. “Are you sure you're thinking of the right house? I mean, your grandmother probably takes you with her to more than one house when she cleans, doesn't she?”
“Nope. Mr. D.'s the only one who lets me come. Tell her, Grandma,” he appealed to Judy, troubled that his credibility was being questioned. “Didn't there used to be couches and pictures and stuff?”
One glance at Judy's hesitant face told Laura the truth. There
had
been. And Judy didn't want to tell her.
But that made no sense!
Judy bribed Duncan with a handful of cookies to go outside, then turned to Laura with a worried, apologetic gaze. “I hope this isn't going to cause problems. Mr. Dimitri asked me not to mention his moving all the furniture out of the house.”
Laura gaped at her in stark disbelief. She couldn't believe he'd done such a thing, nor could she understand why. Was it furniture from the previous ownerâsomething he didn't like? But even so, why had he lied to her about it?
“I believe he wants me to keep quiet about getting rid of everything so word doesn't get around about the other decorator. You know, he doesn't want to hurt her professional reputation.”
“The
other
decorator?”
“The one who was here in August, when he bought all that stuff. She filled every room slap full.”
“He had the house professionally decorated in August? ”
Judy bit her lip, clearly realizing that she'd made matters
worse. “I don't understand rich people, Ms. Merritt. They can be so eccentric.”
Â
LAURA SAT ON the edge of the bed in the guest room, her hand wrapped painfully tight around the telephone receiver. Cort would be home anytime now, and she desperately needed to understand the situation before she confronted him. She called the only person she knew who might have some insight. “I'm sorry if I pulled you away from a class, Steffie. It's not exactly an emergency, but I'm trying to make sense of things, and I really, really need your help.”
“You didn't pull me away from class. I was at lunch,” Steffie assured her, sounding concerned. “What's wrong?”
“Tell me,
please
âwhy did Cort hire me to decorate his house?”
The lengthy pause that followed only heightened Laura's tension. When Steffie finally answered, she sounded...cautious. “I assume because he wants his house professionally decorated.”
“He had the house professionally decorated in August.”
“He did? You're kidding!”
“And that's not the worst of it. After buying a household of furniture, he moved it all out last weekend, before I got here. He deliberately deceived me into thinking it's been empty since he bought it. He lied to me, Stef! I've never known him to do that. I feel that I don't really know him at all.”