Читать книгу To Love and Protect - Сьюзен Мэллери - Страница 9

“I need a man with good hands,” Liz Duncan murmured to herself as she studied the sketch, then the beautiful blond female model she’d hired for the afternoon.

“Don’t we all?” Marguerite said as she adjusted the baby she held, then tossed her long hair back over her shoulder. “That’s why they wrote a song about it.”

Liz tilted her head. Something about the scene wasn’t right. The proportion, she thought. With a man holding the baby, the image would be more powerful and evocative. Marguerite’s fingers were too delicate, her palms too narrow.

“A song about what?” Liz asked absently.

“Slow hands, honey. Get with the program. If you’re going to get a man, get a good one. Make sure he knows what he’s doing.”

Liz glanced at the tall, slender nineteen-year-old. “I’m talking about work.”

“I’m not.”

“You never are.” Liz flipped through her sketches, then shook her head. “You can put her down. We’re done.”

“Sure, boss.” She carefully placed the sleeping baby back into the bassinet and lightly touched her cheek. “Thanks for the good time, kid.” She looked at Liz. “You really done with me?”

“Sure. I’ll let the agency know I changed my mind about the assignment, not that you didn’t work out.”

“I appreciate that.”

Marguerite collected her large tote bag and walked out of the room. Liz crossed to the bassinet and stared at the sleeping baby. The infant’s tiny features stirred her heart.

“I wouldn’t mind taking you home with me, little one,” she murmured. “Too bad this is all about work.”

After wheeling the baby back to the nursery, Liz wandered the halls of Children’s Connection, the nonprofit adoption and fertility center that had hired her to do the artwork for its new brochure. She’d been on manhunts before, but never in connection with her work.

“I should give myself hazard duty pay,” she murmured as she rounded a corner and began checking out offices.

She found nine women, three guys over the age of fifty, a hunky guy about thirty, but no strong, masculine types with great hands. Her vision for the brochure was clear—someone holding a baby. At first she’d thought that someone should be a woman, but now she knew better.

She headed toward the exit, thinking the Portland General Hospital next door might be a better source. Maybe she could find an intern or resident to take pity on her. If her luck held, her baby model would continue to nap peacefully. If she could just—

A man reached the front door the same time she did. He pulled the door open and waited politely for her to exit first. Liz stumbled to a stop as she studied his strong fingers and broad palms. His hands looked more than capable—they looked safe. She could see them cradling the baby, offering shelter and security and the perfect resting place for a tired, trusting infant.

“Change your mind?” the man asked.

“Huh?” Liz blinked at him, then realized he was still holding open the door. Was he leaving?

“Wait! You can’t go.” Without thinking, she grabbed the sleeve of his leather jacket. “Are you leaving? Do you have a few minutes? Okay, maybe an hour, but no longer. The baby is going to wake up after that. But I’ve got at least an hour, if you do.”

As she spoke, she looked from the man’s hands to his face. He was young, maybe in his mid-twenties. Handsome. Confident. Intriguing. Brown eyes regarded her quizzically while a firm, sensual mouth curved up slightly at the corners.

“What?” she asked, aware that she might not have made as much sense as she could have.

“I’m debating between deranged and charming,” he told her.

She released his jacket. “I suggest charming. It’s more flattering and accurate. I’m occasionally temperamental but almost never crazy. You should hear me out.”

“Fair enough.” He released the door and stepped back.

As he tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, Liz became aware of a subtle tension crackling between them. Not a surprise, she thought ruefully. Dark-haired guys with broad shoulders were totally her type. Combine that with an air of mystery and an easy disposition and she was almost always open to the possibilities.

“Elizabeth Duncan,” she said, holding out her hand. “Liz. I’m a commercial illustrator hired by Children’s Connection to do some artwork for their new brochure. If they love my design enough, they’ll start using it on letterhead and publicity materials.”

“David Logan.” His hand engulfed hers. “I can draw a stick figure that would make you green with envy.”

She chuckled even as she ignored the slightly crooked, very charming tilt to his smile and the way the warmth from his fingers made her want to purr. She was on a schedule, not just because of her deadline but because her other model—the baby—wouldn’t sleep forever.

“So here’s the thing,” she said. “I have approval for my idea, which was a woman holding a sleeping baby. The drawing focuses on the baby, so we only see the woman’s forearms and hands. But when I did a preliminary sketch, it looked all wrong.” She tried to look as innocent as possible. “I need a man instead.”

One eyebrow rose. “Of course you do.”

“I’m serious. You have great hands. The baby is asleep, so all you have to do is hold her. It’s maybe an hour out of your life. Just think, if the people in charge love my design, your hands could be famous. That would have to help with women.”

He chuckled. “What makes you think I need help?”

She had a feeling he didn’t at all. “Okay, fine. It will give you an edge.”

He pulled his hands out of his pockets and glanced at his watch. “Just an hour?”

“I swear. I work fast.”

Twenty minutes later David Logan had to concede that Liz was nothing if not determined. She’d collected a sleeping baby from the nursery and brought both of them to a small, empty office with a huge south-facing window. Sunlight poured in—a rare thing for a mid-October day in Portland, Oregon.

“The light’s great in here,” she said as she slipped off her worn suede jacket. “It’s also quiet so we won’t be disturbed.”

She fussed with the leather executive chair, moving it around until she was happy with the placement. David watched her work, admiring both her ability to focus and the way the light turned her long, wavy auburn hair first gold then red then back to gold.

Liz was beautiful in a fiery, explosive kind of way. Petite, yet curvy, she wore her black jeans skintight and her dark green shirt unbuttoned far enough to show the lace of her bra. Silver earrings dangled nearly to her shoulders.

Her body had been built to drive men insane, but she had the face of an angel. Wide-eyed, full-lipped and innocent. It was a combination that would have caused him to look twice in any circumstances.

She settled him in the chair and then positioned the baby in his arms. He liked Liz’s light touch and the way she got lost in her work. He liked her close enough to cloud his judgment.

“You’re not comfortable,” she said as he held the baby stiffly.

“No kidding. I don’t want to break her.”

“You won’t. Think of this as practice for your future family. Plus, she’s too young to judge and I won’t tell anyone if you mess up.”

“How comforting.”

After she’d fussed a few minutes, rolling up the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt, then unrolling them, she repositioned him again and reached for her sketch pad.

“Stay as still as you can,” she said as she began drawing. “Take deep breaths to relax. Don’t think about me drawing, instead think about that little girl in your arms. She’s so tiny and you’re the only person in the world she can depend upon.”

David glanced down at the baby. He’d never much thought about kids one way or the other, and he wasn’t comfortable holding this one. The only person she could depend on?

“Kid, you’re in trouble,” he muttered.

Liz chuckled. “So not true, David. You’ll be a great dad. Imagine her grown up a little. Maybe three or four. You come in the door from work and she runs toward you. Her whole face lights up with love and excitement. Her daddy’s home.”

Her voice and her words created a powerful image in his mind. He could almost see the little girl racing toward him.

“She’s seven,” Liz continued, her voice low and compelling. “You’re teaching her to throw a ball. This is your daughter and there’s no way she’s going to throw like a girl.”

He grinned. “What if I throw like a girl?”

“Oh, sure. That’s likely.”

He studied the baby he held. Her skin was soft and pale, her mouth a perfect rosebud. Tufts of hair draped across her forehead. He wondered who she was and how she’d come to be at Children’s Connection. Was she being adopted? Did she belong to one of the employees?

“She’s twelve,” Liz said. “Tall and skinny and really awkward. You can see how beautiful she’s going to be, but no one else can. The boys are teasing her and she comes home in tears. It’s been a while since she’s wanted to be daddy’s little girl, but she’s hurt and she crawls into your lap. When you hug her, she feels so small, as if the harsh words could break her. And you want to do anything you can to protect her.”

David felt himself tensing, as if there really was a preteen for him to defend. As if this child was his.

“Why the stories?” he asked.

“All questions will be answered later. Just go with me, okay?”

“Sure. I’m about to find those guys and beat the crap out of them.”

“I like that in a father. Now she’s sixteen and going to her first school dance. She’s as beautiful as you always knew she would be. But she’s growing up and slipping away and even though you know in your head she’ll always be your daughter, in your heart you feel like everything’s different.”

Without thinking, David tightened his hold on the baby. She couldn’t be grown up yet. Not so fast. Not while—

“Done,” Liz said, sounding both triumphant and slightly stunned. “This was fast, even for me. I guess I got caught up in the story, too. You can relax.”

For the first time David realized his muscles ached from holding so still. He shifted the baby against his chest and moved his arm under her.

“I’ll take her,” Liz said as she set the sketch pad down on the table and reached for the baby.

David handed her over, then glanced at the picture.

“That’s amazing,” he said honestly as he gazed at the sketch.

It was exactly as she’d described—a man’s hands holding a baby. Simple, minimalistic, yet evocative. There was power in the drawing. The man’s hands—his hands—supported the baby in such a way that he could feel the protectiveness and the love. This was not a father who would let anyone mess with his kid.

“How did you do that?” he asked. Was it the curve of the fingers, the shadows? Thirty minutes ago he’d never held a baby in his life. Based on this drawing, he’d been doing it for years.

“I drew the baby first,” Liz said as she settled the little girl into the bassinet on wheels. “While I talked, your hold on her changed. I can’t explain it, but you just connected to what I was saying. I waited until you were really into it, then drew like crazy.”

She looked up and smiled. “The talking thing is a technique I learned in a class. The instructor said the best way to get a subject to do exactly what you want is to make him feel what you want people to feel when they look at the drawing. Sounds strange, but sometimes it works.”

She picked up the sketchbook. “They’re going to love this. Which means you’re officially my model and I need you to sign a release.”

The baby whimpered. Liz shook her head.

“Someone is waking up and I’m guessing neither of us is ready to take responsibility for actually dealing with her. Let me run our star back to the nursery, then I’ll get you a release form. Oh, and I have expenses on this job. I can even pay you.”

“Money?”

“That is the generally accepted means.” Her green eyes widened with amusement and anticipation. “Did you have something else in mind?”

Where she was concerned? Absolutely. “Lunch.”

“You’re on.”

David picked a small bistro down by the river. It was not the kind of place dirt-poor, struggling commercial illustrators frequented so Liz was determined to enjoy every second. The trick was going to be focusing on something other than the man sitting opposite her. It wasn’t just that he was handsome and nice and funny, it was the way he looked at her, as if he’d just discovered something amazing about her, and the way he moved his hands when he talked. She had a real thing for his hands.

“Tell me about being a commercial illustrator,” he said when they were seated. “Is all your work freelance?”

It was late, nearly one-thirty, and most of the lunch crowd had already come and gone. She and David had the front of the restaurant to themselves.

She brushed her fingers against the thick white tablecloth and stared longingly at the basket of bread. She’d skipped breakfast, more out of financial necessity than a desire to lose weight, and she was starved.

She nodded in response to his question. “No, boss.” As the waiter appeared with a pitcher of ice water, she explained, “No regular paycheck, either. I find my own jobs, work my own hours. I’m trying to build a portfolio of just the right work, which means I’m picky about the assignments I take. Times can be lean, but I get by.”

“Where does Children’s Connection fit into your plans?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not doing it for the money. There’s very little pay. But the exposure and publicity opportunity is huge. Plus I’m a fan of what they do.”

He leaned toward her. “Were you adopted?”

“No, but my grandmother was. She was Russian. When her parents were killed during the Second World War, she had nowhere to go. Some aid workers took her in and she ended up in Poland. There she met an American nurse who wanted to bring her here.”

His dark gaze moved to her face. “So that explains the great cheekbones.”

“Aren’t you the slick one? Complimenting my appearance while getting information on my past.”

“I have my ways.”

She liked his ways. “Enough about me. What do you do?”

Before he could answer, the waiter returned to take their orders. Liz chose a club sandwich, knowing she could take at least half of it home for dinner, and added on a cup of soup. David picked the burger.

“So typically guy,” she said. “A burger and fries.”

“I have to get my fix while I can.”

She picked up her water glass. “Because you’ll soon be forbidden to eat red meat?”

“Because I’m heading to Europe in about—” He checked his watch. “Eleven hours.”

“You’re what?”

He lowered his voice. “I’m a spy and the government is sending me to Russia.”

“Oh, please.”

He grinned. “It’s half true. I really am going to Moscow, but not as a spy. I work for the State Department.”

“Like I’m buying that. How old are you?”

“Twenty-five. I was recruited out of college.” He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m a low-level flunky. Trust me, they hire guys my age. Someone has to do the grunt work.”

“An overseas assignment is hardly grunt work.” She thought about her nana. “But to see Moscow…” Someday, she promised herself. Because she wanted to and because she’d told Nana she would.

“Have you been?” he asked.

“No. We talked about going, but Nana’s health was never great. Not that there was tons of money.”

“She must be very proud of you.”

“She was.” Liz reached for the bread. “She died three years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

David’s words were a simple, expected courtesy, yet he spoke them as if he meant them. As if he understood loss.

“Thanks.” She looked at him. “So what exactly is grunt work for the State Department? I don’t guess you carry packages across the border or anything?”

“Sorry, no. But I can probably get you a decoder ring.”

She laughed. “I’d like that. Oh, and maybe some disappearing ink.”

“I’ll check the supply cabinet when I get there.”

“How long are you posted overseas?” she asked.

“It can be years. I’ll be in Moscow at least three.”

Liz felt a twinge of something low in her stomach. Regret? Maybe. She liked David more than she’d liked anyone in a long time.

“What does your family say about that?” she asked.

“I’m one of five kids, so they’re used to their children having lives. Besides, my folks are great. They want me to be happy.”

Nana would have wanted that for her, too, Liz thought fondly. Happiness and lots of babies. To her grandmother, they were forever linked. Unfortunately, Nana had only had one son and that son had only produced one child.

The waiter appeared with their meals. When he was gone, Liz picked up her soup spoon and glanced at David. “Logan, huh? As in ‘the Logans’? The rich computer company family who contribute millions to Children’s Connection?”

David sighed. “I believe it’s very important to give back.” He grinned. “At least I will when I make my fortune. For now, my folks are the generous ones.”

More than generous, she thought. She’d heard great things about the family. Based on how terrific David was, she would guess they were true.

“I assume there’s no Mrs. Logan accompanying you to Russia?” she asked.

He regarded her seriously. “Nope. Mom’s going to stay home, although she did sew my name into the collars of all my dress shirts.”

She grinned. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m not married, Liz. If I was, I wouldn’t be having lunch with you like this.”

“Good. I’m not married, either. Although there are two large ex-football players waiting for me back at the apartment.”

His mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding.”

“No, but don’t sweat it. They’re just roommates.”

“Why do I know that’s a line?”

“I have no idea. I’m telling the truth. They only have eyes for each other.”

After a lengthy lunch they tussled over the bill.

“It’s on me,” Liz said as she reached for the slip of paper David held. “It’s in exchange for you modeling for me. I’m putting it on my expense account, I swear.”

David shook his head. “It’s my treat. I don’t have lunch with a beautiful woman all that often.”

He was so lying, she thought humorously.

“I’m on to you,” she said as he handed the waiter his credit card. “You act all gentle and charming, but the truth is you’re a serious player in the man-woman game. You know all the moves and I doubt you ever spend a night home alone, except by choice.”

He winced. “That’s unfair.”

“But is it wrong?”

He looked at her and smiled. “What about you, Red?” He fingered the fringe on the brown suede jacket she’d just put on. “You play the starving artist, but with really great accessories. I’m going to guess that guys fall all over themselves to stare into those big green eyes of yours.” He lowered his voice. “Tell me that you’ve never done a quick sketch just to impress a potential conquest.”

“Not since high school,” she protested.

“Any nights alone except by choice?”

She considered the question. “Not really.”

“So you’re a player, too.”

“Okay. Sometimes. Guys are easy.”

“Yeah, and nobody gets close.”

She stared at him. How did he know that? Keeping men at arm’s length was something she did well, and she couldn’t always say why. Sometimes she wondered if she didn’t want to fall in love or if she was just afraid of feeling too much.

The waiter returned with the credit card and the receipt. David signed it and pocketed his copy. As he put away his card, he studied her.

“I have eight hours until I have to head for the airport. Want to keep me company for the rest of my last day on American soil?”

She had a thousand things she should be doing and right this second she couldn’t think of even one.

“Sure, but what about your family? Don’t you have to do the goodbye thing?”

“Did it last night. There was a big party.” He rose and held out his hand. “Wish you could have been there.”

“Me, too.”

She stood and tucked her hand in his. His fingers laced with hers.

Liz felt the heat sizzle between them. Her chest tightened, and there was a definite tingle rippling through her thighs. Talk about lousy timing.

They walked along the river until a cold wind forced them indoors, then they settled next to each other in the corner booth of a coffeehouse. The hours slipped by and they couldn’t seem to stop talking.

“Everyone tried to talk me out of pursuing this as a career,” Liz said with a shrug. “Except Nana, but she believed I could do anything. If I hadn’t won the grant right before graduating, I don’t know that I would have had the courage to make a go of my art.”

She laughed. “Art. That sounds so pretentious. It makes me feel that I should be wearing a black turtleneck and talking about the blindness of the masses. Then I remember I’m part of the masses.”

David rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. Her skin was smooth and pale. No freckles, no flaws at all. She had small hands with slender fingers. Sensibly short nails, he thought. No flashy polish, no rings. The plainness of her hands was at odds with the dangling earrings and charm-bracelet watch.

But he liked that the same way he liked her quick smile and easy laughter. He turned her hand over and traced the lines there.

“Which one is the life line?” he asked.

“I have no idea. I hope it’s the really long one. I have a lot of things on my to-do list and I need time.”

“You’ll make it,” he said with a confidence he couldn’t explain.

“Can I have that in writing?”

“Sure.”

He stared into her eyes. There were a thousand shades of green in her irises. Even more variations on red, gold and auburn in her hair. With his other hand, he reached up and tucked a loose strand behind her ear. He let his fingers linger, and her breath caught.

“David, this is crazy.”

“Tell me about it.”

He had to be at the airport by nine. He was already packed, with his luggage in the trunk of his rental car, but instead of thinking about his job and the opportunity he’d been offered, all he could wonder was how he and Liz could be alone together for more than the next couple of hours.

“Tell me more about your family,” she said. “What was it like growing up with a twin sister?”

“You really want to talk about that?” he asked.

Her mouth parted. “We have to talk about something.”

“Why?”

“Because if we don’t—”

Instead of waiting to hear what would happen if they didn’t, he kissed her. A handful of customers filled the coffeehouse. Several college students were having a heated debate on the economy, and an old man sat by himself reading the paper. David didn’t care about any of them. Right now there was only this moment, this woman and how her mouth felt against his.

She was soft and warm, melting into him as her lips returned the soft, chaste kiss he’d offered. Heat flared, as did desire.

She smelled like flowers, clean skin, sunshine and something that could only be Liz herself. Her fingers clung to his where they held hands. Her free arm wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

He released her hand and pulled her hard against him. Sitting next to her, he knew, it would be difficult to touch her everywhere, but he wanted to try. He wanted to feel her breasts pressing against his chest and know the weight of her body on top of his. Need filled him, making him ache. He was hard and ready, and damn it all to hell if he didn’t have a plane to catch.

“This is crazy,” Liz whispered when he pulled back. “We just met.”

He was pleased to see that her eyes were dilated and her breathing just as fast as his own.

“Some things don’t take very long,” he said. “When they happen fast, they’re usually right.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never reacted this way. Have you?”

He brushed his mouth against hers. “No. Not even close.”

She shivered. “Hold me. Hold me for as much time as we have left. Please.”

He tugged her close and draped his arm around her shoulders. They talked some, kissed some and mostly watched time slip away. At a little past eight, they walked out to the parking lot and got in his rental car. He headed back to the Children’s Connection parking lot where they’d left her car.

Liz couldn’t believe how sad she felt. She’d only known David a few hours, but it seemed more like a lifetime. The thought of him going away, of never seeing him again, broke her heart.

When he pulled up beside her aging sedan, she turned to him. “Do you really have to go?” she asked softly.

He put the car in Park and faced her. “It’s my job, Liz. I’ve been working for this assignment since the day they hired me.”

She ducked her head. “I know. That was silly. If anyone understands giving it all for a career, it’s me. But I just…”

“Me, too.” He touched her chin, raising her head so she looked at him. “I can’t decide if we should stay in touch or make a clean break.”

“I don’t know, either.”

Her chest tightened until it was difficult to breathe. She wanted him—not just sexually, but in so many other ways. She wanted to learn everything about him. She wanted to meet his family and talk about goals and have dates and fights and make memories. If it wasn’t completely crazy, she would swear she’d fallen for him.

“Take me with you,” she said impulsively. “To Russia.”

He cupped her jaw. “You don’t know how that tempts me, Liz. We could keep each other warm through the long winter.”

It could work, she thought frantically. As a freelance illustrator, she didn’t have to punch a time clock. “I could work from there and send my drawings back to my clients,” she told him. “It would take me a couple of days to wrap things up here but I could—”

He silenced her with a kiss. The sweet pressure of his mouth told her his answer even as she struggled not to believe him. Her eyes began to burn.

“I know, it’s crazy,” she whispered.

“But a great dream.”

A dream. That was what this was. A beautiful, perfect dream that could never be real. Take off for Russia? For a guy? Never. Not that David wasn’t great, but what did she know about him?

Torn between what was sensible and what her heart cried out to claim, Liz opened the passenger door and forced herself to slide out into the night.

“Thank you for a terrific afternoon, David Logan,” she said as she fought tears. “I don’t think it could get better than this. We should probably keep the memory intact and not try to repeat it.”

He nodded. “You’re right. But if you ever find yourself in Moscow…”

“I’ll look you up. And when you’re back in Portland, you do the same.”

“Right.”

She stared at him, at his face, his eyes. She was making the right decision. They both were.

“You’re not the one who got away,” she said firmly.

“Neither are you.”

As she closed the car door, she knew they were both lying.