Читать книгу Honeymoon For Three - Sandra Field - Страница 9

CHAPTER FOUR

SLADE had eaten a plateful of nachos with very hot salsa and downed two beers by the time Cory walked in the door of the pub. Several of the men eyed her speculatively, and in a primitive surge of possessiveness Slade stood up, waving to her. She smiled, wending her way through the tables; she looked slim and attractive in jeans and a brown leather bomber jacket. He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders and kissed her, unsurprised to feel tension knot her muscles.

“You’re quite a woman,” he murmured. “Fifty-five minutes of squash and I still want to throw you down on the floor and make love to you.”

Color crept up her cheeks. “The bouncer wouldn’t approve.”

“Plus the carpet needs cleaning.”

With great relief Cory saw the bartender approaching. They ordered burgers and draught beer, then Slade asked, “How did your game go?”

“I lost—couldn’t concentrate.” She hesitated. “I thought you’d have gone back to Toronto by now.”

“Friday afternoon.” As their beers were delivered, he paid for them, waited until the bartender was out of hearing, then added, “Although I could delay my flight until Sunday. That way we could spend the weekend together. During which I’d do my best to make you pregnant.”

“Slade, I—you’ve got the wrong idea.” As if she knew exactly what she was talking about, rather than having only the haziest of notions from reading popular magazines, Cory said in a rush, “There are clinics—it can all be done artificially.”

“What did you say?”

“You heard.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’ve applied several adjectives to you in our brief acquaintance, but cold-blooded wasn’t one of them. Artificially, for Pete’s sake!”

“The whole situation’s artificial! And I’m not cold-blooded. We hardly know each other, and we certainly aren’t in love with each other—how can we make love?”

“Very easily, I assure you. People do it all the time.”

“I’m not people. I’m me.”

“Then we’re both wasting our time. I won’t bring a child into the world that way, Cory. You can find someone else.”

She couldn’t even imagine broaching the subject with someone else. As Slade stared moodily into his glass, she studied his face, seeing as if for the first time the strongly boned jaw, the fan of laughter lines radiating from the corners of his eyes, the cleanly sculpted mouth and cleft chin. Right now he looked older than his years. He’s suffered too, she thought humbly, and remembered the pain that had convulsed his features at the restaurant. She said steadily, “I don’t want to ask anyone else.”

He looked up, his gray eyes unreadable. “But you want me to disappear once you’re pregnant.”

“That’s right. I’d be the sole parent.”

“What have you got against marriage, Cory?”

“I’m an independent, financially secure woman. I scare the heck out of eighty percent of men. The other twenty percent have already been snapped up by women quicker on the draw than me.”

“I have no doubt there’s an element of truth in that. But it’s scarcely the reason you react like a gun-shy dog every time I mention the word ‘marriage’. Why don’t you want to get married?”

Shrugging, she said, “Been there, done that.”

He said flatly, “You have this habit of giving flip answers to serious questions. Neat way to keep people at a distance.”

She frowned at him, disliking how easily he seemed to see through her. “With most men it works.”

“I’m not most men.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” She paused while the waiter put their food in front of them, and reached for the ketchup. “I was married once. I never want to be married again. And that’s all you’re getting out of me. Because I’d be willing to bet you’re not going to tell me why you’ve changed your mind. About my idea, I mean.”

“You’re right. I’m not.”

“This isn’t about building a relationship. It’s about making a baby.”

Slade didn’t want a relationship; that had been achingly clear to him every day of the last two years. So why did he dislike Cory’s honesty so much? He said obliquely, “I’ve got a clean bill of health. What about you?”

“Me too.” She gave a rueful smile. “It’s not even an issue.”

Almost sure she wouldn’t answer if he asked why, he said, “How much financial support will you want?”

Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “None! This has got nothing to do with money.”

He’d sensed that would be her answer. “Once you find out whether or not you’re pregnant, I’ll expect you to let me know.”

“I don’t want you keeping tabs on me!”

“If you’re not pregnant,” Slade said smoothly, “you’ll presumably want to try again. Won’t you?”

And what was she supposed to answer to that? Scarlet-cheeked, Cory said, “I hate talking this way... it sounds so—so utilitarian.”

“The same goes for the baby’s birth—I’ll want to know when it happens.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said shortly.

“I said I had conditions, Cory. There are three more. One, if you ever need help, you’re to get in touch with me—I mean that. Two, I’ll be contacting you once a year to hear how things are going. And three, once I know you’re pregnant I’ll change my will so that you and the child will be beneficiaries.”

Cory gave up any pretence of eating. “You know what I feel like? A fly that’s blundered into a spider’s web. At first just one foot’s stuck. But the more the fly struggles, the more bits of web it gets entangled in.”

“We’re not talking about something simple here—a game of squash, for instance,” Slade said in a hard voice. “This is a new life you’re going to bring into the world—a baby. Not something to be done lightly. If one of the reasons you chose me is because I have principles, you can’t expect them to fly out the window when it suits you.”

The trouble was, he was right. “Maybe we should give up the whole idea. It’s getting more and more complicated.” She poked at a dill pickle with her knife and burst out, “Slade, am I wrong to want a baby? I know you’re supposed to get married first and then have children. But I hated being married! It seems to have immunized me against falling in love again. I don’t want to fall in love. I just want a baby.”

Clearly she wasn’t talking just for effect; she wanted an answer. But she was asking the wrong man. He was immune to both marriage and children. He said carefully, “Being a single mother won’t always be easy.”

The pickle was being reduced to a series of neat cubes. “All the other women I know are either settled with families, or else they’re having affairs and falling in and out of love. I don’t fit; that’s part of the trouble.”

“Have you thought of adoption?”

“There’s a huge waiting list—it could take years. I’m too impatient for that, Slade; I want the baby now. And I know you’re right—being a single mother and holding down a job won’t always be a bed of roses. But I’m learning to delegate at work. Dillon—my right-hand man—could manage the firm in a year or two, especially if I got into the perennials.”

That nasty little jab in his gut—of course it wasn’t jealousy. “So why don’t you ask Dillon to be the father?”

She gave a rich chuckle. “Oh, no, not Dillon. It’s not that he’s uninterested in women; he’s the very opposite—altogether too interested. A bad case of rampant hormones. When he first came to work for me, I had to set him straight in the first week... and now we’re buddies.”

Then she sobered, pushing a French fry around her plate. “I have some money put away, from the tourist agency and from when my aunt died. I know Sue would pass on baby clothes and cribs and things.” Then she looked straight at him, and said with passionate honesty, “I have so much love to give, Slade. I’d make a good mother; I know I would.”