Читать книгу Countdown to Baby - GINA WILKINS - Страница 11

Geoff parked his expensive, new-looking sports car behind the economy sedan Cecilia had bought used four years ago—another sign, she mused, that their lives couldn’t be more different. And then he moved toward her, his face shadowed, his lean, strong, yet somehow elegant body silhouetted by security lighting.

Even the way he walked fascinated her, she thought as she watched him approach. He held his head high and his shoulders squared—an innate air of confidence that probably came with being born a Bingham. It wasn’t arrogance she sensed in him, exactly—more an expectation of being accepted and respected, a feeling that had been lacking in her own background.

This man could have spent the evening anywhere he wanted—and with anyone—but he had chosen to spend it with her. She couldn’t deny that it was a huge boost to her feminine ego.

He stopped in front of her. “Nice neighborhood.”

“Thank you. I enjoy living here.”

It was an older neighborhood, filled with aging houses—and aging residents, many of whom had lived here since Cecilia was a little girl. The teenage girl next door was the youngest resident of the neighborhood since moving in with her grandparents a year ago.

Tall, stately trees guarded the sides of the narrow street, their branches nearly touching over it. Neat yards and flourishing flower beds gave testament to the pride her working-class neighbors took in their homes.

Cecilia had inherited her small white-frame house when her mother passed away three years earlier. Though she had protested, Eric had insisted on signing his half over to her—in gratitude, he had said, for her putting her own life on hold to care for their mother while he completed his education and embarked on his career.

Cecilia’s name was the only one on the deed now, but she still considered it Eric’s home, too. He made a point of keeping up the routine maintenance for her—such as painting the siding and shutters and flower boxes last spring—and he ate lunch with her every Sunday.

At least, he had until very recently, she corrected herself with a little ripple of sadness. Now that Eric was about to be married and was establishing his own family, some of the old routines had to change, Sunday lunches being one of them. As much as she welcomed Hannah into the family, Cecilia couldn’t help regretting a little that her role as the most important woman in Eric’s life had come to an end.

Now she wasn’t the most important person in anyone’s life, she had found herself thinking during the middle of several long, lonely nights. Though she had never been the type to indulge in self-pity, she was human enough to wish some things had turned out differently for her.

“Have you lived here long?”

Pulling herself back to the present, she replied to Geoff, “Since I was very young. This is the house where my mother raised Eric and me.”

Geoff nodded, his face still obscured by the shadows of the warm summer night. “You must miss her very much.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I miss my mom, too.”

The simple and palpably sincere statement brought a lump to her throat. She remembered Geoff’s mother—a beautiful, classy, kind-hearted woman who had been known as a tireless contributor to local charities. At only forty, Violet Bingham had died of a massive heart attack. That was almost ten years ago. Cecilia had been a relatively new employee of the clinic, but even then she had seen how the tragedy had devastated the family and the community.

People who knew him well said that Geoff’s father, Ron, would never get over the loss of his young wife. Cecilia had always considered it a shame that handsome, charming, still-vibrant Ronald Bingham should spend the rest of his life alone.

Maybe it was the moment of bonding or maybe it was the thought of the empty rooms waiting for her that made her say, “Would you like to come in for coffee? Or if you’re too tired, I—”

“I would love to come in for coffee,” he agreed before she could even finish the sentence. “I’ll just go lock my car first.”

Hoping she wasn’t making a gigantic mistake, Cecilia turned toward her front door.

Trying to be subtle about it, Geoff studied Cecilia’s home curiously when he followed her inside. The love of bright colors revealed by the red dress she had worn this evening was echoed in the decor of her living room. The sofa looked new—a splash of bright graphics on a deep-red background. The few wood pieces were old—a mix of refinished and fashionably distressed antiques.

On the walls hung framed prints of impressionistic paintings. The jewel-toned throw pillows scattered about the furniture had probably been hand crafted. It was a room that had been decorated by someone with excellent taste and limited funds. He liked it better than many expensive and professionally decorated rooms he had been in.

He made note of the framed photographs grouped on the mantel. Most of them were of Eric, from infancy through adulthood. Eric lying on a bear rug, blowing out three candles on a birthday cake, posing in Boy Scout and baseball uniforms, beaming in cap and gown. A dark-eyed brunette who could only be Cecilia’s mother appeared in a few of the photos, looking stiff and camera-shy. Cecilia was pictured even less, either because she didn’t like being photographed or didn’t care to display pictures of herself.

It was obvious that she adored her younger brother. Geoff was quite sure that his own sister had no similar photographic shrine to him. He and Mari had always gotten along well enough, though they had been too busy and focused on their careers to connect much during the past decade. Since their mother’s death, actually.

Violet had been the glue that held her family together. Their grief over her loss had caused them to drift apart, throwing themselves more fully into their activities to dull the pain.

Cecilia motioned toward the couch. “Have a seat. I’ll put the coffee on.”

He placed a hand on her arm. “I have a confession to make.”

Her eyebrows lifted in question. “What?”

“I don’t really want any coffee.”

She tilted her head to study his face, her expression hard to interpret. “Is that right?”

“I don’t even like coffee.”

“So you came in because…?”

“Because I wasn’t ready for the evening to be over.”

The admission certainly didn’t seem to surprise her. Nor did it appear to perturb her. She had to have known when he’d followed her home that the moment would come when she would have to decide how she wanted their evening to end.

Maybe she had made that decision when she invited him in. She glanced at his hand where it rested on her arm and then looked back up at him through her thick, dark lashes. The smile that played on her lips was neither shy nor hesitant, but the smile of a woman who knew what she wanted. And tonight, it seemed, she wanted him.

“Then maybe we can make it last just a little while longer,” she murmured, sliding her free hand up his chest.

His pulse rate sped up in anticipation. “Just for a little while,” she had said, making it clear that she wasn’t expecting more from him than this one night. She was no starry-eyed ingenue who would take his attentions too seriously. No hungry, wannabe socialite hoping to secure a country-club future by snagging a most-eligible bachelor.

Perhaps that was why he’d had such a good time with her tonight. She’d had no expectations, no demands of him. He hadn’t been trying to sell her anything or charm anything out of her, and the same had been true in reverse. He had been free to be himself—to eat what he’d liked, to talk without overanalyzing his words, to laugh and dance and sometimes sit quietly and listen to the music.

Damn, it had felt good. He wanted to hang on to that feeling for a bit longer. He released her arm only to slide both of his own around her. “I suppose you’ve been told that you have beautiful eyes.”

She gave him a look that was a mixture of amusement and reproach. “You’ve been refreshingly natural all evening. Don’t start spouting corny lines now.”

He laughed, though it hadn’t really been a line. She did have beautiful eyes. And an absolutely amazing mouth. And a body that seemed to have been tailored to fit nicely against his.

“Okay,” he promised. “No corny lines.”

She seemed to give that vow a moment’s thought, and then she shook her head and slid her arms around his neck. “Oh, the heck with it. Tell me more about my eyes.”

He was still grinning when he covered her mouth with his.

He had been fantasizing all evening about tasting her full, soft lips. He discovered now that imagination couldn’t compare to reality when it came to kissing Cecilia Mendoza.

Though he had bent down to her, she stood on tiptoe to meet him. The position brought her even more snugly against him, making him intensely aware of the womanly fullness of her breasts and hips. Geoff had always appreciated curves, having never been a fan of the fashionably underfed look.

He no longer tried to hide the effect she had on him. They weren’t in public now, and he felt free to be completely honest with her. If she didn’t know how much he wanted her by now, then she simply wasn’t paying attention.

He surfaced from the kiss long enough for them both to draw quick breaths of air, and then he dove in again. As waves of pleasure swept through him, he found himself thinking about how glad he was that he had changed his mind about spending the evening alone with his guitar.

No woman should reach the age of forty without having at least a few reckless adventures to remember, Cecilia figured. And since she was getting rather close to that particular milestone, this was one adventure she simply could not resist.

Kissing Geoff was a revelation. Who would have thought any man could make her feel so much with no more than a couple of deep, skillful kisses? She was typically a bit slower off the mark, so to speak. But then, it had been quite a long time since she had participated in the sport.

She could feel the heat in her face when he finally drew back. Her hair was beginning to slip its restraints, lying against her cheeks and tickling the nape of her neck. She knew she must look flushed and disheveled, but still Geoff gazed at her as though he found her beautiful. And while she knew she wasn’t, really, it still felt nice to have him look at her that way.

His smile was crooked, and his voice satisfyingly gravelly when he said, “I should warn you that I feel another corny line coming on.”

She cleared her throat. “I’m getting close to spouting a few myself.”

“As much as I would like to hear any outrageous compliments you choose to make about me, maybe it would be better if we move the conversation to another location. We could at least sit down. Or, if it’s getting too late, you could walk me to the door….”

Another gentlemanly way to offer her an out if she had any doubts. He really was a nice guy, Cecilia thought as she slid her fingers into the back of his neatly brushed hair. She couldn’t help thinking how nice it would look tousled around his handsome face.

Because he held her so tightly against him, she knew their kisses had affected him as deeply as they had her. Yet his lightly spoken words had been intended to ease any tension their passionate kisses might have created between them. Geoff wanted her to feel comfortable with him, the way she had at the restaurant earlier. He was obviously trying to reassure her that he was putting no pressure on her, that she was fully in control.

While she appreciated his consideration, she almost wished he would sweep her off her feet so she didn’t have to make any decisions. It was an uncharacteristic thought, and one she quickly suppressed, since she was admittedly a control freak who wanted the final say in all areas of her life.

“Maybe you would like to see the rest of my house,” she said, giving him a smile designed to let him know exactly what the invitation included.

“There’s nothing I would like more,” he assured her huskily.

She took his hand. His fingers closed eagerly around hers.

Because there was no way she could have known anyone would be joining her in her bedroom that evening, it must have been a lucky impulse that had made Cecilia change her sheets and put out fresh flowers from her garden before she left for work that morning. She enjoyed coming home to a clean house after a long day in the clinic, and tonight the faint whiff of the flowers only added to the romantic haze she had slipped into.

The small Tiffany-style lamp on her nightstand was connected to a timer so she didn’t have to walk into a dark room after working late. The lamp glowed softly now, throwing gentle illumination over the 1930s-era dark pecan bedroom furniture and the hand-pieced quilt she used as a bedspread. Period accessories gleaned from flea markets and antique shops decorated the vanity and double dresser, and more family photos hung on the walls. Numerous soft, colorful throw pillows turned the room into an old-fashioned, comfy boudoir, complete with a bentwood rocker tucked into one corner.

This was Cecilia’s haven, the place where she hid out to read and daydream. Though the decor had changed, it was the same room she’d had as a girl, never having the desire to move into the rooms that had been used by her mother or her brother. She rarely brought anyone in; even Eric had stepped foot in her room only a handful of times, and then only to make various repairs.

It took an enormous leap of faith for her to invite Geoff Bingham into her private space. For a woman who generally took as few risks as possible in her life, this was pretty huge on the adventure scale.

Maybe he sensed her sudden attack of nerves. He turned to her and gave her a smile that was both gentle and endearing. “It’s not too late to walk me to the door.”

“I know, but the thing is, I don’t want to do that yet.”

“Can’t say it’s what I want you to do, either,” he murmured, his smile crooked again.

Drawing a deep breath, she walked her fingers up his chest. “Tell me again about my eyes.”

“They are—” he lowered his head to speak against her lips “—amazing.”

She let herself drift into the kiss, into the moment. She’d had a few great kisses in her life—some that she would have described at the time as spectacular—but there was something different about kissing Geoff. She couldn’t think of a word that wasn’t clichéd or trite or simply inadequate, but there was definitely something….

Apparently he found time to work out during his travels. Beneath the conservative businessman’s clothing was a lean, solid, nicely muscled body. She had noticed that during their first slow dance. Her observation was confirmed when she slid his jacket off his shoulders and tossed it over the rocker. Even through his shirt, she could see that his shoulders were wide and his stomach flat. What she couldn’t see, she mused as she went to work on his tie, was whether his chest was smooth or furry. Tanned or pale.

Only moments later she was able to confirm that he was lightly tanned and that there was only a smattering of dark hair down the center of his chest. Drawing his shirt slowly down his arms, she tried to anticipate how it would feel to be pressed against that very nice chest, with nothing between them except desire.

She couldn’t wait to find out.

Holding her gaze with his own, he slipped his hands behind her. A brush of cool air followed her zipper down her back, and then her dress pooled around her bare feet. She couldn’t really remember kicking off her sandals, but then the details of this night were beginning to blur into a haze of sensation. She had given up on rational thought a long time ago—maybe even the first time Geoff had smiled at her.

Unfortunately, her intuition hadn’t warned her to don sexy lingerie beneath the red dress. She was still wearing the serviceable beige bra and matching panties she had worn to work. Before she had time to regret the choice, the problem had become moot; Cecilia barely had time to reflect on how suspiciously good Geoff was at removing women’s undergarments before she found herself in his arms again. With nothing between them but desire.

It felt even better than she could have imagined.

As he lowered her to the bed, she came very close to telling him that she never did things like this. That it was so unlike her to bring a man she had just met into her bed. She bit the words back because they sounded so overused. So difficult to believe—even though in this case they were so absolutely true.

She could only hope he somehow understood without being told that this was a special evening. A brief visit to fantasyland.

Reality intruded momentarily when he retrieved a plastic package from his pants pocket—did he always carry condoms or had he hoped to hook up with someone tonight?—but she pushed the question to the back of her mind to ponder later.

He kissed her eyelids. “Have I mentioned that I have a thing for big brown eyes?”

“I—” She was forced to clear her throat before she could speak. Apparently the fact that they were practically glued together in her bed wasn’t affecting his voice the way it was hers, though it was certainly affecting other parts of him dramatically enough. “I think you have.”

His lips trailed across her cheek. “Did I tell you how much I like the dimples at the corners of your mouth?” he asked, then pressed a kiss just there.

She felt those dimples deepen. “I don’t think you have mentioned that.”

The tip of his tongue swept across her lower lip, causing a shiver of reaction. “Consider it said.”

She could only nod this time.

Scooting downward a bit on the bed, he nibbled a line from her chin down her throat to the top of her shoulder. “Should I keep listing the parts of you that I like best? Because I warn you, it could take the rest of the night.”

Arching into his explorations, she closed her eyes and threaded her fingers into his hair. “I just happen to be available all night,” she managed to say.

He lifted his head from his downward path just long enough to flash her a wickedly beautiful smile. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.”

The outrageous idea came to her while she was making coffee the next morning. It hit her with enough force to make her stumble, almost dumping coffee grounds on the spotless linoleum floor.

She placed a hand on a countertop to steady her while she took a moment to wonder if she had just slipped over the edge of sanity. Surely she must be crazy to even consider what she suddenly found herself contemplating.

Dimly aware of the sound of the shower running in the back of the house, she knew she had only a few minutes to gather her composure—and, perhaps, her courage—before facing Geoff.

It was still early on this Saturday morning—not quite 8 a.m. She’d woken first, a bit startled with the realization that she wasn’t alone in her bed. Resisting the opportunity to watch Geoff sleep—and he had looked as delicious with tousled hair and a shadow of beard as she had thought he would—she had slipped out of the bed and into the shower.

By the time Geoff had roused, looking a bit embarrassed that jet lag and a strenuous night had caused him to sleep so heavily, Cecilia had already donned a T-shirt and shorts, pulled her hair into a loose braid and applied judicious touches of makeup. Urging him to take his time in the shower, she had promised to have breakfast ready when he came out.

Hastily dumping coffee into the filter, she turned on the coffeemaker and set out cereal, fruit, milk and yogurt on the kitchen table. Remembering Geoff’s choice of steak and potato for dinner last night, she wouldn’t be surprised if he preferred a bacon-and-eggs breakfast, but this was what she had on hand.

She should probably wait until after they had eaten before broaching the proposition that had hit her with such staggering force. He would need the energy, she thought wryly, when he bolted in panic from the crazy woman he had awakened with this morning. Could she really expect him to react any other way?

But did she have any logical choice but to ask him? How else would she know if it was even within the realm of possibility?

Geoff came into the kitchen then, and her heart tripped—whether from nerves or a surge of raw attraction, she couldn’t have said. Probably both. He looked younger, somehow, with his hair still damp and his white shirt open at the collar and rolled up on his arms. He hadn’t shaved, and the scruffiness only added to that sexy-young-rebel look that was so deceptive for the button-down businessman she suspected him to be.

She swallowed and rubbed her palms on her khaki shorts, suddenly feeling every day of the five years she had on him. Though she didn’t usually have issues with vanity—no more than any other woman, anyway—she found herself hoping those extra years weren’t immediately visible.

Geoff smiled, only adding to his extraordinary appeal. He brushed a light kiss across her mouth. “Looks good.”

“I hope you like fruit and cereal.”

He chuckled as he glanced at the table. “Oh, yeah. The food looks good, too.”

A silly blush warmed her cheeks. Heaven only knew when she had last blushed that way, she thought with a shake of her head. She had to get herself under control. If a simple flirtatious compliment turned her into a giggling schoolgirl, how could she begin to talk to him about certain much more serious—yet undeniably awkward—matters?

“Sit down. I’ll pour the coffee,” she said, turning toward the coffeemaker. And then she stopped and whacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Oh, darn. I forgot. You don’t drink coffee.”

He laughed and patted her shoulder on his way to the table. “No. But feel free to have some yourself.”

“I drink too much coffee, anyway. It’s my one vice.” And because that sounded like such a foolish statement after last night, she blushed again.

She tried to hide it by turning her back to him and opening the refrigerator door. “I have juice. Apple or grape. Eric loves fruit juices, so I try to keep plenty on hand.”

Stop babbling, Cecilia. She really did have to get a stronger grip on her emotions this morning.

“Apple juice sounds good. Thanks.”

They finally settled at the table—she with her coffee, he with a glass of apple juice.

“Looks like it’s going to be a nice day,” Geoff remarked, nodding toward the window over the sink. His light tone indicated that he was trying to start a casual conversation. Maybe he sensed that she was tense this morning. If so, he probably attributed it to morning-after jitters, maybe after-the-fact misgivings.

He had no clue, of course, what was really making her so nervous. If he did, he couldn’t have looked so calm.

Trying to put on a show of being completely relaxed, she responded to his comments in kind and toyed with her breakfast, making a pretense of enjoying it. Actually, her throat was so tight she thought she might choke if she tried to eat much.

When he had finished his meal, Geoff pushed his plate aside and laced his hands on the table. “Okay,” he said, leveling a look at her. “What’s wrong? Second thoughts about last night? Regrets?”

“No. As uncharacteristic as it was for me, I don’t regret anything that happened last night.”

His smile turned gentle. “I never doubted that the night was hardly routine for you.”

And now she worried that he was misinterpreting her admission that she wasn’t exactly a party girl. “It isn’t as if I’m making too big a deal out of what happened between us last night,” she assured him hastily. “I mean, I am a thirty-seven-year-old divorcee.”

He reached out to cover her hand with his. “It was a big deal, Cecilia. One of the best nights I’ve had in a very long time.”

She laced her fingers with his. “For me, too.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I’m sort of afraid of ruining everything now.”

“Not possible.”

“You haven’t heard what I want to ask you yet.”

Though she saw a touch of wariness enter his eyes—poor guy, she couldn’t blame him, considering how awkwardly she was handling this—he managed to keep his expression politely encouraging. “What do you want to ask?”

She drew her hand from his and reached for her coffee cup, relieved to see that it was steady when she lifted it to her lips. After a bracing sip, she began, “I’m thirty-seven years old.”

“Yes, so you said.”

“I was married once. A long time ago. It didn’t work out.”

“You mentioned that, too.” He sipped his juice, eyeing her curiously over the rim of his glass.

She was really making a hash of this. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “The thing is, I’ve never had an overwhelming urge to remarry. I love my home and my work and I would rather be contentedly single than unhappily married.”

“We agree on that point. My family’s been nagging me to marry for years, but to be honest, I simply have no desire to do so at this point. I just don’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s happiness and welfare.” He still looked a bit wary as he clearly spelled out his position.

Realizing the direction his thoughts were taking, she laughed a little and held up her hands. “Relax, Geoff. I’m not asking you to marry me. As pleasant as our night together was, it hasn’t turned me into a starry-eyed romantic with foolish dreams of happily ever after.”

Though he looked marginally relieved, he seemed contradictorily perturbed with her choice of adjectives. “Pleasant?”

“Very pleasant,” she clarified a bit impatiently. She had almost forgotten to make allowances for the male ego during this impromptu proposition.

“So what is this request you have of me?”

She drew a deep breath, then blurted the words before she lost her nerve. “I want you to help me make a baby.”