The Baby Agenda (2 page)

“Bingo.”

Will's eyes narrowed. “So he's here.”

“Yes. With Graziella.” She grimaced. “Of course she couldn't have a name like Ethel.”

Not many women in their twenties or thirties were named Ethel, Will thought with a trace of amusement. But he liked the way she said it, and the way she spit out
Graziella.

“I'll bet you're nothing as plain as Ethel, either.”

“No,” she mumbled, “I'm Moira.”

“As Irish as your hair.”

She reached up and touched the skillfully tumbled
mass of red curls atop her head as if to remind herself what was up there. “I suppose.”

“I'm Will,” he said, and held out his hand. “Will Becker.”

She laid hers in it and they shook with an odd sort of solemnity. “Good to meet you, Will Becker.”

She sounded as if the booze was starting to go to her head, as if she was having to form words carefully. He hoped she'd forget she still had most of a drink.

“Having a good time anyway?” he asked.

Moira sighed. “Not especially. You?”

“No. I'm not a real social guy.”

She stirred. “You probably wish I'd leave you alone.”

“No.” He clasped her wrist loosely. “No. Don't go.”

After a moment she said, “Okay.” She didn't seem to notice he was holding on to her. “I kind of wish I could go home, 'cept…
ex
cept I don't want
him
to catch me slinking out. You know?”

“Is he really worth the heartburn?”

“I thought so,” she said sadly.

“Have you been seeing him long?” Will didn't actually want to know; he didn't want to talk about the scumbag at all. But he also didn't want her to go back in, and he couldn't think of anything else to talk about. Sure as hell not the local building trade, since as of Monday morning he was no longer president of Becker Construction.

“I don't know,” she said in answer to his question. “A month or six weeks.”

Will slid his hand down and laced his fingers with hers. It was almost more intimate than a kiss, he thought, looking at their clasped hands. There was something about being palm to palm.

She didn't seem to notice that they were holding hands now.

“I just want to forget about him,” she declared. “And
Graziella.
”

There it was again, the name as abomination.

Will laughed. “Definitely forget them. Talk to me. Did you grow up around here?”

She turned to look at him instead of the ballroom. “Uh-uh. Montana. Missoula. You?”

“I'm a local boy.”

“So your family is here?” She seemed bemused by the idea.

“Yeah. Not my parents, they're gone. My mother when I was a kid, and then my dad and stepmom in a plane crash when I was twenty. One of those freak things, a sightseeing flight—” He stopped. Sharing long past tragedy wasn't the way to get the girl.

Not that he was trying to
get
her. Not when he'd be winging to Africa a week from now. He just wanted to enjoy her for a little longer.

“But I have two brothers and a sister,” he continued.

“From Dad's second marriage.”

She nodded her understanding.

“The youngest just graduated from college. My sister, Sophie. She'll be going to grad school come fall.” He smiled. “And that's more than you wanted to know, I bet. Do you have sisters or brothers?”

Moira shook her head. “There was only me and my mom. I didn't really even know my dad. My parents split up when I was two.”

And her father was a jackass who hadn't bothered to make time for his daughter, Will diagnosed. He really, really wished he could see her face better. Once again, she sounded a little sad, but he might be imagining things. He was surprised to realize that, for the second time tonight, he was feeling protective and angry on her behalf.
He thought he'd worn out all those instincts getting his siblings safely raised.

“Have you ever been river rafting?” he asked, at random, determined to lighten the conversation.

She made a little gurgle of amusement. “I can't swim. So no.”

“You can't swim?” Will repeated. “How is that possible? Doesn't every kid take lessons?”

“Not this one.” She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. “And I'm not about to start now,” she finished with a hint of defiance.

“So, is taking the ferry across the Sound your worst nightmare?”

“No, the ferry is okay. I keep a close eye on the lifeboats. Now, those I wouldn't like, but it's a comfort that they're there. My worst nightmare…hmm. Sailing cross the Atlantic.”

“
The Perfect Storm
wasn't your favorite movie?”

“I never have liked horror movies.”

He found himself smiling at the description. Standing here this way felt good. Somehow they'd come to be closer together than they had started. His much larger hand enveloped hers. Their voices were low, as if they were lovers murmuring secrets to each other.

“What's your worst nightmare?” she asked.

Will had to think about that. He didn't have any phobias, per se. He guessed he might be a little claustrophobic; he'd had a construction site injury once and when the doctor sent him for an MRI he'd found the experience hellish. Given the breadth of his shoulders, he'd been crammed in that damn tunnel as if it were the skin of a sausage and he was the innards. And he'd had to lie there for an aeon. Yeah, being buried alive wouldn't be high
on his list. But it wasn't the worst thing, although it was oddly akin.

“Being trapped,” he finally said quietly. “Any freedom of choice taken away from me. Spending my entire life doing what I have to do, no matter how desperately I chafe at it.”

Now where had
that
come from? It was true, every word of it, but he didn't think he'd ever spoken the words aloud. God help him, that's what his life had been like since the day he'd taken the phone call in his college dorm telling him his parents were dead. He hadn't known what he wanted to do with his life yet, but it wasn't going to be construction. He'd worked summers for his dad for the past five years, and that was enough.

Until all choice had been yanked from him when he realized his brothers and sister had no one else.

He couldn't regret the decisions he'd made then. He loved Clay, Jack and Sophie. But these past couple weeks, knowing the end was in sight, he'd felt like a kid who'd suffered through his school years looking toward high school graduation.

Free at last.

He felt Moira's scrutiny. Finally she nodded, but said softly, “Life's made up of obligations, though, isn't it?”

“But we ought to be able to choose the ones we take on, don't you think?”

Her head tilted, reminding him of a curious bird. Perhaps the owl he'd likened her to earlier, with downy, unruly feathers around the enormous, unblinking eyes.

With that tilt of the head, enough light touched her face that he thought,
green.
Her eyes were green.

“Yes,” she said. “I'm a big fan of free choice.” Her fingers wriggled in his, and she glanced down in apparent puzzlement.

So she'd finally noticed that they had been holding hands for the past ten minutes. Although reluctant, he released hers.

“If you'll excuse me, my feet are killing me and I think I had too much to drink. I'm about to conk out.”

“You're not planning to drive, are you?”

She shook her head. “I think I'll get a room.”

Will smiled at her. “I'll walk you down.”

“You don't have to—”

“It would be my pleasure,” he said with a formality unusual to him.

After a moment, she murmured, “Then, thank you.” She started toward the open doors, and he strolled at her side.

When they reached the ballroom, he could hardly tear his eyes from her face. She was indeed pretty, but in a way that contrasted with her curvaceous, seductive body. Her cheeks were round, her forehead high, giving her an unexpected look of vulnerability, and her milk-pale skin was dusted with pale gold freckles. Her eyes were green, but flecked with gold, too. And her eyebrows, like the hair on her head, were the pure color of copper.

She looked…innocent, which made him feel guilty for wondering if the rest of her body was freckled, too, if the nipples crowning her generous breasts were pink or dusky brown, whether her pubic hair was copper bright, too.

He almost groaned. Yes, of course it was. And, damn it, he had no business thinking this way when he couldn't start anything with her. He was tying up the last strands of this part of his life, not opening any new packages. However enticing this one was.

Moira greeted a couple of people, and he did the same. They even had a few mutual acquaintances, none of whom
seemed to think anything of the fact that they knew each other. He wondered what she did for a living, but decided he didn't want to know. He'd prefer to remember her as his mysterious redhead.

Then she stiffened. Raising his eyebrows, Will saw the couple directly in front of them. Good-looking guy, beautiful woman if you liked hip bones sharp enough to draw blood and thought counting ribs was an excellent postcoital activity.

The scumbag, clearly, and
Graziella.
Feeling Moira's tension, Will wasn't nearly as amused as he'd been when she last said the name.

“Bruce,” she said coolly.

Some instinct made Will lay his hand on Moira's back in a way any other man would recognize.
Mine.
He nodded, making plain his disinterest, and steered her around the other couple.

“Aren't you Will Becker?” the other guy said.

Will nodded. “Yes.” And kept going.

Moira gave another of those little gurgles of laughter that sounded like a small brook tumbling over rocks.

“Well, that was rude.”

“Yeah, and I enjoyed it,” he said truthfully.

She turned that laughing face up to him, her eyes sparkling, and said, “Thank you.”

“You're very welcome.” He kept his hand on her until they reached the front desk, at which point he stood back and let her take a credit card from the small, sparkly bag she'd carried over her shoulder. When eventually she turned around, he asked, “All set?”

“Yes. You don't have to walk me up, Will.”

“Yes, I do.”

She bit her lip and studied him for a moment, her eyes curiously vulnerable in a way that gave him a pang.

Twice now he'd thought of her as such, which had to mean something.

He knew what that something was. His gut was telling him to say good-night to her outside her hotel room door and leave. Don't kiss her. Don't step over the threshold. She wasn't a one-night stand kind of woman, and he wasn't interested in anything but.

Moira nodded and let him walk beside her to the elevators. One opened as soon as she pushed the button, and they rode upward in silence, side by side. He heard the soft sigh of a breath from her, caught an elusive scent that seemed old-fashioned. He had a flash of standing on the deep front porch of his family home, the sky purple with twilight, and that scent filling his nostrils.

Lilac.

The elevator opened and he said, “What's your room number?”

She stumbled, stepping out, and he wrapped a hand around her arm to catch her. “Um…” She looked at the small folder she held. “Two-eighteen.”

Will nodded and directed her to the right. The hall was broad, the plush charcoal-gray carpet inset with maroon. He stopped in front of 218 and watched as she fumbled with the card, finally getting it into the slot correctly and turning the knob when the green light flashed.

“I should say good-night now,” he said hoarsely.

Holding the door open, she met his eyes. “Did you mean it, when you said…” She seemed to lose courage.

“Said…?” His heart was hammering.

She whispered, “That you think I'm beautiful.”

“I meant it.” He lifted a hand, hesitated, then only
grazed her round, plush cheek with his knuckles. “You are.”

Her tongue touched her lips; she took a deep breath. “Then will you stay?”

S
TUNNED PLEASURE BLOSSOMED
inside him like the warmth from good whiskey.

“You're sure?” Will asked.

Had she really invited him in? Could he get this lucky?

But already Moira's eyes had widened, as if she'd shocked herself, and her face flushed. Even so, she mumbled, “I think so.”

Despite the rising tide of hunger, he found himself smiling. “That wasn't the strongest yes I've ever heard.”

Now her gaze was shy. “I haven't done this in an awfully long time.”

His every instinct was to kiss her and keep kissing her until she was past any second thoughts. Damn, he hadn't had sex in…it had to be a year, since he'd parted ways with Julia. But as desperate as he felt, Will wasn't willing to risk making love with a woman who might hate herself or him immediately afterward.

“It's been a good long while for me, too,” he admitted.

“Probably not as long as it's been for me.” This mumble was so low he doubted it had been for his ears. It was a good reminder that his redhead had maybe had too much to drink. She was clutching onto the door frame pretty hard.

“Why me?” he asked.

She raised her chin. “You can just say no.”

“I don't want to say no.”

“Oh.” Her lashes fluttered. “I'm attracted to you. I suppose…I needed someone to tell me I'm beautiful. You sounded like you really did mean it.” Her shoulders moved in an oddly unhappy jerk. “This is only for tonight…”

“It can only be for tonight.” His voice came out harsh.

Now alarm flashed in her green eyes. “You're not married?”

“No.” He laid a palm against her cheek and felt the heat of her blush. “No,” he said, softer. “Nothing like that.”

“Okay.” Her breath tickled his wrist. “Then…?”

“Are you on birth control? I don't have anything with me.”

Now her cheeks blazed. “I do. I was planning…”

He got it. The jackass downstairs was supposed to be standing here, not him. He was a substitute.

This was one time, Will thought with amusement and a leap of desire, that he didn't mind filling in.

“In that case,” he said huskily, “I'd love to stay.”

He had a fleeting moment of being bothered that she looked surprised—had she really thought he'd say
no?
—but it was forgotten when he stepped forward until their bodies touched, chest to thighs. He took the hotel key from her hand and urged her backward, until the door swung shut behind them.

The room was dark; he fumbled for a switch and batted at it. The lamp beside the king-size bed came on, casting a golden circle of light. Perfect.

Damn, she was pretty. Will tossed the hotel key onto a dresser top and divested her of the small evening bag, sending it after the key. Then he cupped her face in his broad palms and bent his head.

He didn't feel gentle, but he made sure his mouth was. Simply a little friction on her lips, a nibble, a stroke of his tongue. He could taste the martini, and something more. Something, he thought, that was distinctly
her.
He lifted his head and looked down at her face where color still blossomed. This close he could see that her lashes were darkened with mascara. Their natural color was undoubtedly that same bright copper. He'd like to see her without the mascara, with no defenses.

Although she had precious few now. She might have started with lipstick, but it had worn off, and the roses in her cheeks were surely her own. It would take a lot of powder to cover her freckles, and why would she bother trying? He liked those freckles.

“Can I take your hair down?” he whispered.

Her eyes were dazed. “I… Yes. Of course.”

When he delved his fingers in, he found an intriguing texture. As he removed pins, curls sprang free. One leaped around his index finger as if to entrap it. Her hair was thick and strong, strands sleek but not downy soft. Despite the sexual tension that gripped Will, he found himself foolishly smiling, imagining her trying to tame this mass every day.

“It's awful hair.”

“It's glorious.” Pins showered to the carpet; he was too busy playing to care. The curls tumbled below her shoulders. He guessed if her hair had been straight it might have fallen to the middle of her back. He could see that calling it
copper
wasn't right: a hundred colors seemed to be mixed, from hairs as pale as flax to ones a deep auburn, and every shade in between. It was beautiful in this light. With sun shining on her head, she must glow.

“Man,” he whispered, and buried his face in her hair. The lilac fragrance was coming from it, and he let himself
wallow happily for a minute. Then he pulled back enough to nip her earlobe and finally string kisses across her cheek to her nose and mouth.

This time he kissed her deeply, hungrily, sliding his tongue past her teeth to stroke hers. She made a muffled sound and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her body molded itself to his as if they were custom shaped. Sensation piled atop sensation: her tongue, slippery and sinuous against his, the plump, firm pillow of her breasts pressed against his chest, the vitality of the curls tangled around the hand he had cupping the back of her head.

He wanted her
now,
and fought to hold himself in check. That bastard downstairs had made her feel undesirable, and Will needed to fix that. Come morning, he was determined that she had no doubt in her mind how much he'd wanted her and how rich her own response was.

As he slid her zipper down and trailed his mouth over her throat, he murmured disconnected words meant to tell her what he felt. Her skin was unbelievably soft, and the leap of pulse under his lips aroused him like he couldn't remember being. He nipped at her neck, wanting to leave a mark but careful not to. He couldn't claim the right, not when he wouldn't be around tomorrow.

She let out little gasps as he eased her dress down and peeled it off her arms then over her hips. His blood surged at the sight of her deep purple satin bra and a skimpy pair of matching panties.

“Beautiful. So beautiful,” he managed to say, although the words came out sounding raw. Her dress fell to her feet and he scooped her in his arms and moved her a few feet closer to the bed.

She wore no stockings, only strappy high heels and the bra and panties that were… His hands explored. Not
a thong, but there wasn't much there except the generous curve of butt that had him so hard he hurt.

Damn. He kissed her again, both his hands gripping her ass to hold her tight to his hips. They rocked where they stood, as if they couldn't help themselves, and a groan tore its way from his throat.

He eased back and started yanking at his own clothes, flinging his suit coat to the floor, his tie after it the moment he got the damn knot undone. Moira was wrestling with the buttons of his shirt at the same time, and it fell to the floor, too.

Somehow he got the covers pulled down and laid her across the wide bed, her sprawl so wanton he couldn't do anything but follow her even though he wanted to finish stripping. He had to cradle his erection between her thighs or he thought he might die right now.

They kissed and rolled, his hands everywhere on her body, hers on his. Not until she rose above him, sitting atop him, did he manage to undo the catch on her bra and free the most beautiful breasts he'd ever seen. Her chest was freckled, and a scattering of paler freckles danced down over the creamy skin traced with faint blue lines, as though her skin was more transparent than normal. Her nipples were pink, the aureoles larger and just a little deeper in color.

Will heard himself making sounds that weren't even words as he tugged her near so that he could lave her nipples with his tongue, first one then the other. Kiss them softly, blow on the damp skin until she shivered, then suckle her, pulling the hard nubbin deep into his mouth as his cheeks flexed.

She clutched his shoulders and whimpered. Her hips rose and fell on his as if she couldn't help herself, but he was afraid he'd come right now, in his pants, if she kept
riding him that way. He rolled her onto her back so that he was on top, able to savor her breasts for another few minutes before he rose to his knees and tugged her panties off. There were the curls as bright as the ones on her head, nestled between a smooth, freckled stomach and perfect legs that were freckled, too. He wanted to kiss every single freckle, but he knew he wouldn't last that long.

Her stomach. He'd start there. He loved the give of it; she had a tiny waist, but not the washboard abs of a woman who worked out every day. She felt intensely feminine, the ripples of reaction under his mouth amazingly erotic.

He finally had the strength of will to retreat enough to remove her shoes and, with clumsy hands, unbuckle his belt and shed his pants and socks. Then he kissed and licked his way up her legs, from the quivering arch of her feet to the sensitive back of her knees and the velvet softness of her inner thighs. He nuzzled her curls and inhaled her scent, his head swimming. A few strokes of his finger told him she was hot and wet and ready. Her cries had become something closer to mewls, and her head was flung back, her hair a halo against the white sheet.

He moved up between her thighs and got as far as pressing against her opening when his brain finally kicked in.

A condom!
What in the hell had he been
thinking?

He all but sprang from her. “Your purse?” he asked.

For a moment he could tell she didn't comprehend, but then her eyes widened in shock that matched his. They'd come so close. Too damn close.

“Yes.” She swallowed. “Yes. I don't know where…”

“I put it…” He turned his head and spotted the glittery bag. He leaped out of bed. When he got his hands on the
bag, he dumped the contents on the dresser top, not caring that some fell to the floor. Between folded bills was one small packet, and that was it.

He wished she'd brought more than one.

Will ripped it open and put on the condom. Two long steps and he was at the bed, where her legs were still splayed wide. He ran his hands up them, caressing, squeezing, until his fingers reached her damp center and he stroked as he knelt there. Not until her hips rocked again did he lower himself, taking her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss even as he pushed inside her.

She was tight. So tight he had a brief, horrified moment of wondering whether she might be a virgin. But he met no barrier, although he had to quit kissing her to grit his teeth at the exquisite pressure her body put on him. He was a big man, but he'd never felt anything like this.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked roughly.

She was panting for breath and her eyes were dilated.

“No,” she whispered. “Oh, no.”

Will moved. Out, in, slowly this time. He was near to exploding, but he had to give her pleasure first. Had to.

“Never felt…anything…this good,” he groaned against her throat.

“Please.” She wrapped her legs around his hips and rose to meet his next thrust. “Oh, please.”

He knew what she needed. He just wasn't sure he could hold out long enough. He tried to blank his mind as he plunged, again and again, clasped so tight by her. He'd been holding his weight from her on his elbows, but now he reached down with one hand and gripped her hips, lifting her higher, changing the angle at which their bodies met.

“Will?” She sounded…almost frightened. Stunned, certainly. And then she cried out, and her body spasmed.
He drove himself in her as deep as he could go and let the climax roll through him, the pleasure so powerful he couldn't have formed a coherent thought if his life had depended on it.

He collapsed on top of her and couldn't move.

Through a haze, it occurred to him that he'd never felt this amazing in his life. That sex had never
approached
being this powerful. He didn't know how or why it had been this time. Maybe something about the night, about having watched her for so long through the glass. And they didn't know each other.

That was it: anticipation, and mystery.

Eventually he made himself roll to one side and tuck her against him, her head on his shoulder, her hair tickling his chin. Eyes closed, he smiled, imagining those tendrils reaching for some kind of toehold, like ivy scaling a brick wall.

“You're amazing,” he murmured, his voice thick.

She snuggled closer and said nothing.

Will let himself drift, aware of the change in her breathing as she fell asleep. And, in drifting, he slept himself.

It was probably the unfamiliar weight of her head on his shoulder that awakened him. Will was disoriented only for a moment. He reached up with his free hand and brushed curls from his mouth, then tilted his head enough to be able to see her face. Her lips were parted, and a faint snore came to his ears.

His body stirred, and Will wished again that they had more than one condom. He supposed he could call down to the front desk… But she was sound asleep. She didn't surface when he gently disentangled himself. Wishing for another condom had reminded him that he hadn't removed the last one, or cleaned up.

What he should do was get dressed and go. Staying longer wouldn't bring anything but frustration and, come morning, an awkward conversation he'd as soon not have. She'd asked for one night; he'd told her it couldn't be any more than that. What else was there to say?

Will eased away, used the bathroom, then quietly got dressed. He found a pen on the desk and wrote quickly on the back of one of his business cards:

He underlined the
are
with a dark slash.

He picked up her clothes and laid them over a chair, then tucked the covers under her chin. She sighed and shifted before sinking back into deep slumber.

Will took one last look at her face and the vivid hair spread across the pillow, turned off the lamp and quietly let himself out of the room.