Читать книгу One Baby, Two Secrets - Barbara Dunlop - Страница 10
ОглавлениеKate had wrangled an invitation back to Quentin’s Sunday night. She had been hoping to talk to him alone and maybe even meet Annabelle. But she’d been disappointed on both fronts.
Annabelle had been put to bed by the nanny before Kate arrived, and Quentin didn’t even show his face. His friends didn’t seem to care, though, guzzling liquor, dancing on the furniture and frolicking in the pool to music from a live band in the gazebo.
She’d had no desire to party, but she was more determined than ever to meet Annabelle. So when she saw a woman passed out on a sofa, she’d come up with an idea. As the party wore down, she found a quiet corner and pretended to do the same.
There was no way she was dozing off amidst intoxicated strangers. So she lay there awake until 4:00 a.m. when the last guests had stumbled away.
Chilled and exhausted, she’d finally closed her eyes.
At five, the cleaners showed up and began straightening the furniture and clearing up the debris—empty bottles, broken glass, garbage and cigarette butts discarded everywhere. At six, they turned on vacuum cleaners and began to filter the pool water.
Giving up on the idea of sleeping, Kate found a bathroom. She gazed at her smudged makeup, mussed hair and the dark circles under her eyes. Lack of sleep made her look exactly like a woman who’d partied too hard two nights in a row. It was depressing, but there was no denying it would help her disguise. She ran a comb through her hair and wiped away the worst of the mascara smudges, then her thoughts turned to coffee.
As she moved down the hallway, she heard a woman’s voice chirping happily about it being a beautiful day and how she was warming a bottle that would be delicious. Kate guessed it had to be the nanny talking to Annabelle. Her chest swelled with anticipation, and she picked up her pace, following the voice.
“You look so pretty this morning,” the nanny singsonged. “Such a smiley girl.”
Kate moved through the archway into a bright, airy kitchen, to see a young woman in blue jeans and an orange T-shirt, holding a baby against one shoulder and a bottle in the opposite hand.
“Are you hungry?” the young woman asked Annabelle in a gentle voice, and then she spotted Kate.
“Oh,” she said, her expression sobering. “Hello. I didn’t realize anyone was here.”
“Leftover from last night,” Kate offered in an apologetic tone, smoothing a hand over her messy hair.
“Can I help you with something?” the woman asked, her voice and manner becoming reserved.
Kate couldn’t keep her gaze from Annabelle. The baby girl had blond hair and big blue eyes in a sweet, delicate-looking face. Her pink mouth was perfect, and she was dressed in a white romper dotted with colored hearts.
“I’m...” Kate struggled for words. “I was hoping to meet Annabelle.”
The woman’s gaze narrowed, and she drew almost imperceptibly back.
Kate was reminded of how she looked and of the impression she must be giving.
“I’m Kate Dunhern,” she quickly put in. “Francie’s sister.”
When the woman didn’t immediately respond, it occurred to Kate that she might be new on the job.
“Did you know Francie?” Kate asked.
“I didn’t know she had a sister.” The woman was still obviously cautious.
“We weren’t close.”
“She never mentioned you.”
Kate kept her voice calm and mild. She didn’t mind that the nanny was protective. “I can answer some questions about Francie. Or I can show you some identification.”
The offers seemed to dispel the woman’s fears. “That won’t be necessary. I’m Christina Alder, Annabelle’s nanny.”
“I guessed that,” said Kate, taking a step forward. “She’s adorable.”
Christina smiled fondly at Annabelle. “Isn’t she? She’s a sweetheart, good as gold.”
“Have you been taking care of her long?” Kate moved closer still, taking it slow, smiling at Annabelle, trying not to startle the baby.
“From the day she was born,” said Christina.
Kate reached out and touched Annabelle’s little hand with her finger.
“Baa,” said Annabelle.
“Baa, yourself.” Kate smiled. “I’m your auntie Kate.”
Annabelle wiggled, and Christina shifted her hold.
“You’re a friend of Quentin’s?” asked Christina.
Kate shook her head. “I only just met him on Saturday. I came home for...” She paused. “Well, I was disappointed they didn’t have a service for Francie. And then I learned about Annabelle.”
Annabelle wrapped her fist around Kate’s index finger, and a shaft of warmth shot straight to Kate’s heart.
“She misses her mommy,” said Christina. But there was something off in her tone, as if she was being polite rather than sincere.
“It’s good that she has you.”
“Yes,” said Christina, sounding more sincere. “It helps.”
“And there’s Quentin,” said Kate, opening the door for a comment about Quentin’s abilities as a father.
“There are a lot of demands on his schedule.” Christina’s tone was neutral.
“He seems very busy.”
“He is very busy.” Christina paused. “He loves his daughter, though.”
“I’m sure he does.”
Annabelle started to squirm, and her face twisted into a frown.
“She’s hungry,” said Christina.
“I’m sorry I interrupted.”
“Not at all. I just need to sit down to feed her.”
Kate stepped back to give them some room. She wasn’t sure if she should leave, but she desperately wanted to stay.
Christina climbed into a padded chair at the breakfast bar and adjusted Annabelle across one forearm, popping the bottle into the baby’s mouth. Annabelle began to suck and her eyes fluttered closed.
“She’s very patient,” said Christina. “Most babies cry from the time you get them up to the time they get their bottles.”
“Have you cared for a lot of babies?”
“I’ve had my diploma for four years. I did a lot of fill-in work for the first two, and my last posting was newborn twins.” Christina smiled. “They were a handful.” She smoothed a lock of hair across Annabelle’s forehead.
“Boys or girls?” asked Kate, easing her way onto one of the other chairs.
“Boys. We got them into a routine at about four months. Mom took them on by herself when they hit six months. She still sends me email updates.”
“They’re doing well?” Kate continued to watch Annabelle.
“They just had their first birthday. They’re finally both sleeping through the night.” Christina sobered. “I’m very sorry about your sister.”
“Me, too,” said Kate. “I hadn’t seen her in a long time. Well, I guess you would know that since I haven’t been to see Annabelle. I didn’t even know Francie was pregnant.”
Christina didn’t respond to that. Kate supposed there wasn’t a whole lot more to say on the subject.
“I’m glad she had Annabelle and Quentin in her life,” said Kate.
Christina’s brow furrowed ever so slightly “You know we lived in the gatehouse, right?”
Kate wasn’t sure what that meant. “The gatehouse?”
“Quentin and Francie, they weren’t... They weren’t together as a couple. He said he liked having Annabelle close by, but I understood his relationship with Francie was short-lived.” Christina glanced away, as if she was aware that she’d shared too much.
“Thanks for telling me that. I didn’t know.”
Cristina didn’t answer, instead adjusting the bottle at Annabelle’s mouth.
“It was nice that Francie could live here,” said Kate, glancing around at the huge, ultramodern kitchen.
From where she sat, she could see the estate grounds and the city beyond. The great room was behind her with its expensive furniture and art, the plush carpeting and a massive stone fireplace across one entire wall. If the gatehouse was any comparison to the main house, Francie had lived in the lap of luxury.
“She did enjoy the lifestyle,” said Christina.
Kate could well imagine, at least from what she remembered of her sister. “Quentin seems to throw her kind of parties.”
“He does,” said Christina, removing the bottle from Annabelle’s mouth and holding the baby against her chest to pat Annabelle’s back. “She definitely liked the nightlife better than the mornings.”
“I remember that about her.”
“But she had me. So she didn’t need to worry about the mornings.”
A male voice interrupted their conversation. “Sorry to barge in.”
Kate stood, turning to see the man she’d met Saturday night.
Brody Herrington looked a whole lot fresher than she felt in her crumpled cocktail dress. He’d topped a pair of well-worn jeans with a crisp charcoal dress shirt.
“I wouldn’t have taken you for an early riser,” he said to Kate.
She stuck to her story. “The vacuuming woke me up.”
“I’ll get out of your way,” said Christina, her demeanor immediately changing to deference as she rose with Annabelle.
Kate wanted to tell her not to leave, to ask her to please stay and talk some more. She wanted to learn about her sister and Annabelle’s life here with Quentin. But she couldn’t risk tipping her hand. If Quentin knew she was here to judge his fitness as a parent, he would send her packing.
“It was nice to meet you,” she said instead.
Christina gave her a brief nod and left the room.
“You crashed here last night?” Brody asked.
“One too many martinis,” Kate lied, pushing past her embarrassment to stay in character.
What must he think of a woman who passed out at a party? Then she told herself he probably didn’t think anything. He likely met that kind of woman all the time.
“I may have left my watch behind last night,” he said, holding up his bare wrist as evidence. Then he seemed to spy a coffeepot. He smiled and crossed to it.
“Want some?” he asked.
“Kill for some.”
He retrieved a pair of mugs from a glassed-in cupboard. “I was going to take a look around and see if I could find it.”
“It must be expensive,” she observed.
He looked puzzled. “Expensive?”
“You’re here at six in the morning. I assume you were worried about it.”
“Oh. Yes. Well, it is a nice watch. It was a gift. From my mother on my twenty-first birthday. It’s engraved.”
“So, sentimental value.”
“Sentimental value,” he agreed as he poured the coffee.
The revelation surprised Kate. Brody didn’t seem like the sentimental type.
“You need anything in it?” he asked.
“Black is fine.”
He held out one of the mugs, and she moved to take it. In addition to a movie-star-handsome face, he had the most extraordinary eyes. They were dark and deep, slate gray in some lights, shot with silver in others. Right now they seemed to shimmer with contemplation. For a second she worried he saw right through her disguise.
“Want some help?” she asked, more to break the silence than anything else.
“Help?”
“To find your watch.”
“Oh. Sure. It has a black face and a platinum band.”
She couldn’t help but grin at that. “To help me distinguish it from all the other watches lying around the mansion?”
“It was a great party.”
“Yes, it was,” she lied.
She simply couldn’t understand the appeal of such a rowdy event. It was impossible to carry on a conversation over the loud music, music that grated in her ears. The guests were all drunk or high and only interested in gossip and fashion and bragging about their money or their connections.
“You don’t say that with a lot of conviction,” Brody observed.
She covered her expression with a swallow of the coffee. It tasted fantastic. “I guess I’m still recovering from the fun.”
“You do look a little rough around the edges.”
“Aren’t you suave.”
“You want me to lie?”
“Sure. Why not?”
His dark eyes warmed with humor. “You look fantastic this morning.”
“Lukewarm delivery. But I’ll take it.”
His gaze moved downward, noting her one-shouldered, jeweled, sea-foam cocktail dress. It was tight and stiff and terrible to sleep in.
“I like the dress,” he said.
“It’s too late for you to try to flirt with me.”
“I disagree.”
“Then it’s too early for you to flirt with me.” She took another satisfying swallow of the coffee. “Chat me up later, when my brain is fully functional.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Kate knew flirting with Brody was a mistake. She needed to keep him and everyone else at arm’s length.
“Where did you last see it?” she asked him.
“See what?”
“Your watch.”
“Oh, right.” He glanced around. “I don’t know. I’m not sure. I was going to start with the great room.”
She polished off her coffee. “Lead on.”
Kate decided that looking for Brody’s watch was a plausible reason to hang around the mansion a while longer. She might get another chance to see Annabelle or a chance to talk to Quentin. Thus far, she hadn’t managed to get the man to stand still long enough to have more than a ten-second conversation.
Brody pulled up the sofa cushions, checking behind each one. Kate took the opposite end of the room, scanning the floor, the tabletops, the windowsills, eventually making her way into the dining room and hunting around its corners. The cleaners were still working and nodded politely to her as they passed. They seemed used to encountering leftover party guests.
It occurred to her they would assume she’d had a companion last night. After all, that was the most common reason for a woman to be dressed in a cocktail dress in the early hours of the morning. She told herself not to care. But then she found herself wondering if Brody thought the same thing.
Had he believed her when she said she’d fallen asleep? Did he think she’d had a one-night stand? He might even think she spent the night with Quentin.
She shuddered at the very idea.
She told herself again not to care what Brody thought. What Brody thought of her was completely irrelevant. Still she found herself retreating to the great room to set the record straight.
He wasn’t there.
She listened, but she didn’t hear anything. So she headed down the hall, toward the main staircase, glancing into the rooms with open doors. She found Brody in an office, standing behind a desk plunking the keys of a computer.
“Find anything?” she asked.
He looked guiltily up, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing.
“Nothing,” he answered.
She waited to see if he’d elaborate.
“I was taking a quick check of my emails.” He hit a couple more keys. “We’ve got a big tour in the works.”
“Sounds exciting.”
He shrugged. “Fairly routine. But you know rock stars.”
“Big egos?” she guessed.
“Big everything. They need a lot of TLC.” He moved from behind the desk.
She struggled for an opening to broach the subject, but there was no way to nonchalantly work it in. She decided to tackle it head-on. “I did fall asleep last night.”
“Huh?”
“What I said earlier. That was how it happened. I had a few too many drinks and accidentally fell asleep on a sofa.”
His gaze narrowed, and he looked intrigued.
“I was telling you the truth,” she said.
“Okay.”
“Was that sarcasm?” She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not.
“That was. It’s none of my business.”
“I wasn’t with Quentin.”
Brody looked so genuinely surprised that she felt foolish.
She tried to backpedal. “I was remembering what you said Saturday night. You seemed to...well, allude to me possibly being after Quentin in an unsavory way.”
“You said you weren’t.”
“I’m not.”
“I believed you.” He seemed sincere.
Now she really felt foolish. “Good. That’s good.” She told herself to stop talking, but for some reason she kept on. “Why?”
He flexed an amused grin, brushing his fingers along the top of the wooden desk as he moved toward her. “You didn’t look like you were lying.”
“How does lying look?” What was the matter with her? She sounded silly, and she didn’t seem to be able to quit. “I mean to you. How can you tell?”
“I don’t know. How does anyone tell?” He stopped in front of her.
It was too close for comfort, but she didn’t move.
“Lack of eye contact,” he continued. “A tense, closed expression, halting speech, hesitation.”
He certainly didn’t look tense. He looked relaxed. He looked powerful, in control, and too, too sexy. She should look away and break the spell. She didn’t.
“Take now,” he said, leaning ever so slightly forward. “Your expression is open. You’re not nervous. You’re looking straight at me. It’s like you’re inviting me in.”
Uh-oh.
“Like you want me to see your innermost thoughts,” he continued.
She definitely didn’t want that. Her innermost thoughts were her business and hers alone.
“Like you’re thinking physical contact...” He brushed her fingers, gently holding the tips of hers with the tips of his. He drew in a deep breath. “Wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
She felt a warmth rise over her wrist, up the inside of her arm and through to her chest. She didn’t want him to let go.
He eased in, his intention clear. His hand wrapped itself fully around hers, intensifying the sensations. She lost track of time and place, forgot about everything but Brody as he drew her close.
His lips touched hers. The kiss was gentle. She hadn’t expected that. His free hand came to rest at her waist, again the lightest of touches. If he’d kissed her hard or pulled her fast and tight, she might have had the presence of mind to break away. But he was stealthy in his approach, slipping past her defenses, his actions so soothing that she didn’t realize her mistake.
The kiss deepened.
It felt good. It felt great.
She stepped forward, bringing her body against his, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. His hand moved along the small of her back, splaying warm and smooth against her spine.
Her lips parted, and he groaned, pulling back, breaking the kiss.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She felt her face heat in embarrassment. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”
Then she remembered the part she was supposed to be playing. Girls like Francie didn’t get rattled by a kiss. So instead of apologizing, she gave him a sultry smile and walked her fingers down his chest before dropping her hand to her side. “No problem. Just so we’re clear on Quentin.”
Brody looked confused for a moment. Then he seemed to give himself a little shake. “Glad we got that out of the way.”
She wanted to ask him if it was the question of Quentin that was now out of the way, or if their kiss was the thing that was out of the way. Had he been curious about kissing her? Had he been disappointed? Was he moving on?
A dozen questions bloomed in her mind, but she couldn’t ask any of them. The kiss was definitely out of the way. It was done. She was moving past it, past Brody, and back on to Annabelle.
