Borrowed Baby (9 page)

"Turn on the light and I'll show you." Once he switched it on, Liz turned the sobbing baby toward it. "I'm sure I'm right."

She put her finger into the little girl's mouth and lightly felt around. She winced as she was rewarded in her search. Casie was biting down.

"See, right there, on the bottom." As gently as she could, Liz pried the baby's mouth open just wide enough to inspect the tiny dot of white emerging on a field of pink. The area around it was swollen. "It's coming in right here."

Griff stared incredulously. "She's making all that noise over a tooth?"

"It hurts like hell, Foster," Liz informed him. She looked around. She remembered seeing a modestly stocked bar around somewhere this afternoon. "Got any whiskey around?"

He stared at her. "Isn't this an odd time to ask for a drink?"

"It's not for me, it's for Casie."

He reacted immediately, taking the baby from her. "Are you crazy?" As far as he was concerned, it was a rhetorical question, but he didn't think she'd be this far off.

The protective gesture he displayed might have been lost on him, but it wasn't on Liz. She tried not to smile. Whether or not he admitted it, he cared about

Casie. "I don't suppose you have any Anbesol lying around?"

"Any what?"

"That's what I thought." Gently she took Casie back from him. "Anbesol is a topical anesthetic that numbs the swollen gum. Whiskey does the same thing. It's the best we can do until morning. Then you can go to the drugstore and get some Anbesol and one of those teethings rings filled with liquid." She saw the strange way he was looking at her. "You put that in the freezer. The frozen liquid soothes her gums when she bites down on it. Now move."

He muttered under his breath as he went to the bar in the family room. Reaching under the counter, he took out an almost full bottle of whiskey. He had never thought in his wildest dreams when he purchased the bottle that it would be used to soothe a baby's sore gum.

Holding the bottle aloft, he marched back into the living room. Liz was sitting on the arm of the sofa with Casie in her lap. The baby was drooling all over and generally making a mess of Liz's dress. She seemed oblivious to it, to everything but comforting the baby. A lot of women would have been horrified at having such a fancy dress stained. His estimation of Liz grudgingly rose another notch.

Griff thrust the bottle toward Liz. "Here."

She glanced at it, then up at him. "In a glass, Foster. I need to wet down my finger."

"And I need to wet down more than that." He went back for a shot glass and poured two fingers' worth into it.

Liz dabbed her finger into the amber liquid, then gently massaged Casie's gum with it. Casie made a horrible face, but the crying went down an octave before it finally faded.

Griff took the glass from her, contemplated it, then downed the remainder of the contents. He had a feeling that he was going to need it tonight, for more than one reason.

Chapter Seven

"Would you like me to spend the night?"

Griff almost choked. Staring at her, he lowered the shot glass slowly as he replayed her words in his head. Had he heard her correctly? He was very aware of the fact that there was a silent drama being played out between them on another more sensual, more basic level. He knew that she knew it, too. But he hadn't expected her to come right out and suggest that they sleep together, especially not after she had just come home from a date with another man. A rather expensive date if the dress she was wearing was any indication as to the kind of places her boyfriend took her to.

He set the shot glass down on the coffee table a little too forcefully. There was an ominous crack when it came in contact with the wood. "What?"

Casie's crying jag had left him a trifle rattled, Liz decided as she rocked the baby. He looked a little ragged around the edges, which had prompted her to make her offer in the first place.

"Would you like me to spend the night?" she repeated, enunciating every word slowly. "I can take care of Casie for you if she starts crying again. You certainly don't appear to be in any shape to look after her."

"Oh."

He felt embarrassed at his mistake. He should have realized that was what she meant. Maybe she hadn't noticed his overreaction. As to her offer, his natural inclination was to turn it down, but then he stopped himself. The woman had a point. He wasn't cut out for all this. She apparently was. That's why he had called her in the first place, he reminded himself. Where had she been half the night, anyway? He felt the stirrings of jealousy take hold again. He shook them off. No business of his where she went and with whom. No business at all.

So why did he feel so angry?

"You're not exactly dressed for it," he pointed out, unable to contain a touch of sarcasm. "She's drooling all over your dress."

Liz glanced at the wet spots that Casie had created. Her heart sank. This was going to be some cleaning bill. Oh well, she tried to rally herself, there was no use lamenting anyway. "It'll come out eventually and I had no idea that taking care of a teething baby had a dress code." She continued rocking and cuddling Casie against her, and the baby began to settle down. Liz raised her eyes to Griff's face. "Now, do you want me to stay or not?"

He wished that she wouldn't look up at him like that. She looked too damn sexy for her own good. Or his. "Suit yourself."

"Foster, the words are, 'yes, thank you,' not 'suit yourself.'"

He looked as if he wanted to spit lead. But he used the words she fed him, however grudgingly. "Yes," he muttered, "thank you."

"See, Casie, even he can be trained," Liz whispered to the baby with a soft laugh.

He heard what she said, just the way she had meant him to, but he ignored her. He looked at her dress and felt a tinge of guilt. It had undoubtedly cost her an arm and a leg. "I'll pay the cleaning bill." He ran his finger over the stain at her shoulder.

She almost reached up to touch his hand, but stopped herself. It would only make him back off. "No need."

"I said I'd pay for the bill. Why do you like to argue over everything?"

Back to their corners again, she thought. "It keeps the adrenaline flowing. Now," she said, rising to her feet, "which is her room?"

"The room she's staying in is over here." He led the way to Sally's bedroom.

Liz was aware of the way he had deliberately reshuffled her words. He was still trying to cling to the fact that he was only taking care of Casie temporarily. Didn't give up easily, this one. Well, neither did she. He was going to open up that fortress he called a heart to both of them before she was through.

* * *

Liz sang and hummed and walked the floor for over an hour until, finally, Gasie dropped off to sleep. When Liz emerged from Casie's room, it was ten past two and she was way beyond being tired and onto her third wind.

Thinking that Griff had gone to bed, she began to make her way into the kitchen. Maybe she could fix herself a light snack or at least some coffee.

"You always tiptoe around like that?"

She gasped and swung around. Griff sat on the sofa, one long leg stretched out on the cushion. An unopened book was resting on his thigh. He was watching her. The look in his eyes was unguarded, warm and smoldering. She felt a tingle of electricity before she finally crossed to him.

"I thought you'd be fast asleep by now."

He measured his words. "Your singing kept me up."

She sank down on the couch next to him, a little more cautiously than was her style. She wasn't exactly certain why. She was glad, though, that he had stayed up. The strap on her dress slipped from her shoulder and she pulled it up.

"I didn't know I was that loud."

"You weren't."

Her singing had been low and undeniably sexy. A man couldn't sleep with that going on. It made him want too many things.

"Would you like some coffee?"

She was tempted to make a teasing comment about his finally playing the congenial host, but she didn't want to spoil the moment. "I'd love some."

"Wait here."

She leaned back against the deep cushions. "Need some help?" The offer was made unenthusiastically. Suddenly she was bone tired and she wouldn't mind sitting here for the next twenty-four hours or so.

"1 can manage."

"So you keep telling me."

She closed her eyes and raised her feet up on the table. They ached. They were also bare. She laughed softly to herself. In her hurry and concern about Casie, she had forgotten her shoes in the car. She hadn't even noticed until now.

Griff returned with the coffee. He handed Liz one of the steaming mugs. She stared down at it, a surprised expression on her face.

"What's the matter, did I get it wrong?" He sat down again, leaving space between them.

"No. You remembered that I took it with milk."

"So?"

She raised it to her lips and took a sip. "I didn't think you'd notice something like that."

Why was she always finding hidden meanings in things? Why couldn't she just leave it alone? And why did he notice every single thing about her? "I'm a policeman, I always notice details." The explanation was more for his benefit than for hers.

"Oh."

He didn't quite like the way her eyes danced behind the mug as she uttered the single word. Why shouldn't he remember how she took her coffee? Just a detail. Like the way her mouth felt against his. Details. Simple, ordinary details.

No, not so simple. Not so ordinary.

Slowly, undeniably, desire poured through his veins, like a relentless demon demanding its due. He ached from it. He ached for her. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Except go on the offensive. "Did you leave your shoes at your boyfriend's house?"

She looked at her feet. "No, they're in my car. I had them in my hand when I played back your messages on my answering machine. I guess I forgot to put them on." She wiggled her toes. "You might be good at details, Foster, but you're lousy at conclusions."

He didn't know whether to be relieved that he had been wrong, or wary because it mattered to him that he was. He shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, you're obviously dressed for a date—"

"A concert," she corrected.

"There's a difference?"

She grinned broadly. "There is when you go with Vinnie."

"Vinnie?" he repeated.

She nodded and took another sip before answering. "The man you interrogated me about yesterday."

Mischief lifted the corners of her mouth. He wanted to kiss her into submission. But who would be ultimately submitting to whom was not a foregone conclusion.

Seeing that he was drawing a blank, she gave him another clue. "The photograph on the piano."

"Then he's not your boyfriend." She hadn't made that clear to him yesterday.

"Vinnie and I go back. Way back."

A lover? "How far back?"

She paused deliberately. Don't deny it, Griff Foster, you are a little jealous. You do have feelings under that coat of heavy iron mail about your heart. "Really far. To a sandbox."

"What?"

She was talking in riddles again. He liked things cut- and-dried. He doubted she knew the meaning of the words. His coffee was growing cold as he studied the woman on his sofa. His sofa, his turf. So why did he feel so confused, so awkward?

"We were both eleven. He was being beaten up by a bully and I hit the bully over the head with my social studies book. Made a pretty good-sized dent." She swirled the last of her coffee around in the mug as she talked. "Vinnie pledged his undying loyalty. He's a music critic now and gets free tickets to a lot of programs. I go with him on occasion. We share a love of music." She leaned over and placed her mug on the coffee table. "Have I satisfied your curiosity?"

From this angle, he had a very good view of her breasts. He nearly snapped off the handle on his mug. "I wasn't being curious. Just making conversation."

"Ah."

The single word said it all. He knew she saw right through him and that irritated him almost as much as the fact that he was curious about her.

He deliberately changed the subject. "You sure that the only thing wrong with Casie is that she's cutting a tooth?"

He had a lot of good defensive moves, she thought in admiration. "Yup."

"Day care make you such an expert?"

He was trying to be cynical again. Well, it wouldn't work this time. She was beginning to understand him a little better.

"No, four younger brothers and sisters and a cousin who lived with us. I had to take care of them while my parents worked."

Despite himself, he wanted to know more. Maybe, he thought, he wanted some common ground between them. But why, when he was trying to block her out of his life? She had him working at cross-purposes. "You were a latchkey kid?"

"No, not really. I always thought of latchkey kids as being alone and lonely. I wasn't alone and I certainly didn't have the time to be lonely." Lazily, she nibbed one foot against the instep of another. "Besides, my parents were right up-front."

"Up-front?" He tried not to pay attention to what she was doing. She seemed oblivious to the fact that the slitted skirt slipped back further, exposing her legs all the way up to her thighs. He felt himself growing warmer. What would those long legs feel like wrapped around him?

She wondered why he suddenly took such a deep breath. He looked as if he was trying to rouse himself. Was she boring him?

"They ran a mom-and-pop grocery store. A big chain bought them out about five years ago and they retired to San Diego. We have family gatherings there every occasion we can think of. Would you like to come for Christmas?" She leaned toward him, bridg-ing the space he had so carefully put between them.