Читать книгу Baby Fever - Susan Crosby, Susan Crosby - Страница 11

Patrick O’Halloran. Her baby would have an Irish father. And maybe his beautiful auburn hair and all that emotion she could see in his eyes.

Jasmine accepted the jacket and took a step back. “I’ll bring your salad,” she said, then walked to the coat check cubicle, trying to control her reaction. For the first time, genuine hope filled her.

Looking around and finding herself alone, she cautiously lifted the jacket to her face and breathed in the distinctly male fragrance that lingered there…and the warmth. The temptation to slide the jacket on and hug herself was overwhelming. She, Jasmine LeClerc, cofounder of Man-Haters Anonymous, wanted to wallow in this man, Patrick O’Halloran, who she’d bet her last dollar made love with a slow hand and hot need.

What would his hands feel like on her skin? Would he kiss her for a long time or would he rush through that part of lovemaking? Would he insist she take the lead sometimes or would he want to be the one in charge all the time?

Jasmine, you idiot. She hung up his coat, slid a receipt over the hanger and pulled off the stub to give to him. What was she thinking? Even if he was interested, she couldn’t do anything about it tonight. She had to wait until she stood a chance of becoming pregnant. Which meant trying to keep him interested enough to come back, but without seeming like a tease until the time was right. She didn’t know if she could walk that tightrope.

Patrick watched her set his salad and bread on the table then lay the coat check stub beside the salt and pepper shakers.

“I’ll get that for you when you’re ready. Do you need anything else?” she asked.

“No, thanks.” Except maybe a Scotch on the rocks, a slab of prime rib, a big bed and you. Ah, yes, all of his cravings satisfied at once, everything that had been denied him since the little medical problem. That would be a perfect night, he decided as he watched her move away from him.

He bided his time through the evening, waiting for the right moment to ask her out, wondering whether she would be willing to go somewhere tonight or if he’d have to wait until tomorrow. Chafing at the confinement of the booth, he made himself linger over his third cup of coffee.

He looked at his watch for the fifth time in forty-five minutes. Still more than an hour to go until she would get off work, but he didn’t think he could consume another drop of anything liquid. He could stall a few more minutes by going to the rest room. Then he would just ask her.

What did he have to lose? If she said yes, great. If she turned him down, that would be the end of that. He was ready for a livelier environment anyway. The peace and quiet of the Carola was getting on his nerves, adding to his stress, especially sitting at the booth for hours on end. Although he’d also found something enlightening about being alone and trapped—he could observe. Which was why he’d noticed that J.D. and Maggie spent a lot of time casting surreptitious glances at each other. The tall, broadshouldered J.D. kept a close watch on the flirtatious and sassy Maggie, who sashayed a little more wickedly when the man was nearby.

Shaking his head and smiling, Patrick started to stand when Maggie strolled up.

“If you want Jazz to go out with you, honey, you can’t take no for an answer.”

He took his seat again. “I take it she doesn’t date much.”

“An understatement.” Maggie glanced around, apparently checking on Jasmine’s whereabouts. “Look, honey, she’s interested. I can tell you that. But if you intend on toying with her affections, I would strongly advise you to take no for an answer. Frankly, I believe she could use a good time or two, but only if she knows up front this is temporary.”

“How could I promise anything else? We don’t know each other.”

“We’ve all seen Pretty Woman, honey, where the poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks makes the rich man throw caution to the wind, no matter what the public’s opinion might be. It was just a modern-day fairy tale, and women like Jazz and me know it. So treat her with fairness. That’s all I ask.”

“I give you my word.”

She nodded. “You have kind eyes.”

Did he? While he’d never been accused of mistreating anyone, he didn’t think there was a well of kindness in him beyond the average. Maybe the heart attack was changing him more than he thought. Then again, maybe it was just Jasmine.

Now or never, he decided, taking a deep breath as Maggie hurried away when she spotted Jasmine marching to his table. Taking care of business first, he asked for his bill and handed her the coat check stub, deflecting whatever emotions seemed anxious to spill out of her. By the time she returned with his jacket, he’d paid the bill, and she seemed calmer. But the sparks he’d seen intrigued him more than her pretense of flirting.

He stood as she arrived, and she held up the jacket, indicating he should turn around. He couldn’t remember anyone doing that for him, ever, and he was uncomfortable letting her. Then he felt her fingertips graze his neck as she straightened the collar before brushing her hands across his shoulders, patting the fabric in place, a wifely gesture that startled him into stillness.

When he could manage it, he turned around. “I’d like to take you out when you get off work. You know the city, so you could choose where.”

Her gaze settled chest-level on him. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m exhausted.”

“Tomorrow, then? During the day? Breakfast or lunch? You name the time and place.”

Her eyes flickered briefly to his face, then lowered again. “I’m sorry. I can’t tomorrow.”

He bent down a little, keeping his voice low. “Have I misinterpreted?”

Jasmine held herself still. His breath was warm against her forehead. She could lean forward two inches and be able to rest her head against his shoulder. “misinterpreted?”

“Your interest?”

Anticipation surged through her. Misinterpreted? Not likely. But she couldn’t tell him that, not tonight. She wanted—needed— him to come back tomorrow and maybe the next and the next, until she was ovulating. “I’m just saying no for now.”

“So if I ask tomorrow, I might get a different answer?”

“Maybe.” She should smile at him, flirt with him, something. But she couldn’t even look him in the eye. The lies would show.

He was quiet for too long. She finally looked up.

“I won’t promise, but I’ll try,” he said.

“I hope you do,” she answered quietly, giving him a smile of sorts. “If not for dinner, maybe you’d enjoy a card game or two upstairs. I’m sure you could find a table to join.”

“Good night, Jasmine.”

“Good night.”

He waited, just staring at her.

“Patrick,” she added. “Good night, Patrick.” Come back tomorrow, please, she begged him silently as he walked away.

“I don’t mind you talking to him when I’m there, but I don’t trust you alone with him,” Jasmine said in clipped tones as she cornered Maggie in the hallway a few minutes later.

Maggie’s eyes opened wide. “I wasn’t trying to lure him. I wouldn’t do that to you, Jazz. You know that.”

“I’m just telling you I don’t need your help where he’s concerned.”

“Help? We were just shooting the breeze. Honest.”

Jasmine wished she could take her sister into her confidence, but she knew Maggie would go crazy if she knew. Jasmine had never known anyone who so totally believed in the sacred order of things the way Maggie did. Dating, marriage, then children. Well, Jasmine had tried that once. It had been enough.

But if Maggie knew Jasmine had every intention of seducing that glorious man solely for the purpose of having his child, not only would she interfere, she would probably even tell Patrick. Patrick. Even the name made her shiver with anticipation.

“Shooting the breeze? I don’t believe you,” Jasmine said. “You know how I feel about men. I have good reason to feel nothing but contempt. One seemingly nice man isn’t going to change my opinion of the gender.”

“Jazz--”

“I mean it, Maggie. Don’t interfere with—”

Maggie’s hand landed against Jasmine’s mouth. “Hush.”

The hairs on the back of Jasmine’s neck stood up. Even without confirmation, she knew Patrick had come up behind her. He must have gone to the rest room before he left. She’d been vaguely conscious of the door opening, but she hadn’t tempered her speech. Please let us have an earthquake right now, she prayed uselessly.

“You’re going to pay for this one with more than quarters,” Maggie whispered to her before disappearing.

Steeling herself, Jasmine turned around. Had he heard her words to Maggie?

“Good night again,” he said as he started to move past her in the narrow confines of the hallway, brushing against her and smiling.

Relieved, she concentrated on the sensation of his body skimming hers, then he stopped, pressed her against the wall and kissed her. Not a hard, quick kiss but a gentle merging of lips and breath, a kiss meant to entice. A kiss that started at their mouths but flowed the way of hot, thick, maple syrup over pancakes, down, around and through her body, saturating her with sweetness and temptation.

He settled his hands at her waist; hers glided up his chest. He slid his hands over her rear and pulled her closer; hers slipped behind his back to curve over his shoulder blades, bringing their chests as close as their hips. His tongue swept her lips then dipped inside her mouth. Was that sound coming from her? God, he was so warm, so very warm.

He lifted his head and stood in silence until she opened her eyes. She saw that his smile was gone, replaced with an intense expression she could put no name to.

“What you have to understand, Jasmine, is that seemingly is your operative word. A man can be seemingly nice. Then again, he may be an expert at pulling the wool over the eyes of unsuspecting women. It’s probably better that you continue to feel contempt for all men than to trust any of us individually. You might end up lonely as hell, but you’ll find comfort in the knowledge you’re right, I’m sure.”

He strode away from her as she wilted against the wall and closed her eyes, blocking her final glimpse of him.

She wouldn’t look, not yet, Jasmine decided as she continued serving the party of eight. From the corner of her eye she could see J.D. leading a single customer to a booth in her section, the same booth where Patrick had sat the previous two nights. Patrick, who had given her hope before her foolish words had sounded a death knell to her dream, mournfully, dolorously, plaintively.

Yet a small part of her still clung to a fragment of hope that he was a man who didn’t give up easily.

She held her breath as she tucked her tray under one arm and casually, almost carelessly, glanced at the lone man…with the fringe of shockingly white hair.

I am not going to cry. Again and again she repeated the order as she slipped into the kitchen and busied herself by slicing bread and building two salads.

“Why’d you put ten dollars in the jar?” Maggie asked, coming up beside her. She leaned a hip against the stainless-steel counter. “Crime and punishment?”

“It was the tip he left last night. I couldn’t keep it, so you might as well add it to your dress fund.”

“He really got to you, didn’t he, Jazz? In a way that no man has, not in a long time.”

Jasmine scooped dressing on the salad. “You’d think I would have learned with Deacon, wouldn’t you?”

Maggie made a crude noise. “You can’t compare Deacon with anyone.”

“Rich is rich. Power is power. I’m not blaming Patrick, you understand. It was my fault entirely. But I was foolish to think for even a minute a man like that might want me. In the end, I’m glad he overheard. Better to kill the possibilities now than later, I think.”

“But some part of you wants the fairy tale.”

“I’m human,” Jasmine said, forcing the words past a lump burning her throat. “But if I really do want to have a relationship with a man again, I need to look at my own kind. Someone from the diner, instead of here.”

Maggie raised her brows. “From the sublime to the ridiculous. The people you meet at that afternoon job of yours swing to the other side of the pendulum, don’t you think? And since when did you start defining yourself by your job? You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and any man would be lucky to have you, especially your Patrick-the-gorgeous-hunk-of-masculinity.”

Jasmine hugged her sister. “Have I told you lately how much I love you? For all that I resented Mom getting married again and having a baby when I was ten, you were the best thing that happened in my life.” She stepped back and moved to the sink to wash her hands.

“What’s weighing on you, Jazz?” Maggie asked softly, following her. “I can’t remember seeing you this emotional since—”

Jasmine let out a shaky laugh. “Don’t mind me. I’m ovulating.”

“You mean, PMS’ing.”

Jasmine shrugged, then lifted the salads onto her tray, choosing to forget her problems by working harder than usual. She kept up a constant dialogue with customers, drawing Maggie’s curious looks as she laughed, sometimes a little too boisterously. She would not cower. She would not grieve. She would continue to be strong and independent and—

Oh, God, and childless.

Midnight came. She changed into a sweater, jeans and tennis shoes for the walk home. Usually J.D. played bodyguard, but he had a late date. The problem with living only four blocks from work was that it was too close to justify a cab ride, and waiting at a bus stop seemed more dangerous than walking.

She stepped out into the night and glanced at the sky, sensing imminent rain. In a way she welcomed it, because it kept some of the crazies off the street. She could make a dash for home without looking around every bend and within every doorway. Cursing her all-day distraction, which had resulted in her forgetting her windbreaker, she folded her arms across her stomach, put her head down and began walking against the wind.

Up the concrete walkway she hurried, then out the gate with its discreet wrought-iron C, identifying the club to its members. She latched the gate and turned in the direction of her apartment. A man blocked her path. Knowing instinctively who stood there, she slowly lifted her gaze, taking in the look-alike wardrobe of sweater and jeans. His expression broadcasted his reluctance to be there, as did his words.

“I tried to stay away.”