The Baby Track (6 page)

It stood to reason that, thirty-four years ago, the senior Tremaine would have called upon Wilson Nollier, his longtime lawyer-friend, to arrange the sale of his bastard son. Nollier and Tremaine had grown up together; they still golfed together and traveled in the same social circles. His old friend’s fall would be a blow to Richard Tremaine, compliments of that same unacknowledged bastard.

“We’re going to nail Nollier,” Connor said fiercely, his green eyes glittering. “We’ll do whatever it takes, won’t we, Courtney?”

Courtney studied him. She was aware of a tension emanating from Connor, and it was different from the sexual tension that had stretched between them earlier. He looked dangerous, hard and cruel.

But crimes like baby-selling were cruel, and an adversary had to be tough to stand a chance of winning against a man like Wilson Nollier. If this expedition successfully ended Nollier’s racket, it would be worth the sacrifice of enduring a few days of pretending to be Connor McKay’s wife. After all, the key word was pretend.
And if there was only one bed, Connor could sleep in the bathtub or on the floor!

“Yes, we’ll do it,” she affirmed, nodding her head.

“Fools rush in where angels fear to tread,” Kaufman said laconically.

Courtney grimaced. She was uneasy enough; Kaufman’s negative little digs didn’t help. Once again, her eyes strayed to Connor, and once again, she caught him staring at her. Her pulse leaped.

“I have to leave,” she announced suddenly. “I have an appointment in twenty minutes.” A bit of a white lie; her appointment wasn’t for another two hours. But every self-protective instinct she possessed clamored for her to get away.
Now.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Connor called as she walked out the door. “Around eight. We have a lot of details to iron out.”

“I have a date tonight. Give me a call at my office tomorrow,” Courtney ordered and marched out.

“Sassy little wife you’ve got there, McKay,” Kieran observed. “Needs to be shown who’s boss.”

Connor stared at the door, his eyes agleam. “I wonder if tonight would be too soon to start?”

No expense had been spared in feting the patrician Virginia horse breeder, Harmon Blake “Hop” Hopwood, on his sixtieth birthday. Courtney glanced around the enormous ballroom of the exclusive Twin Oaks Country Club, staring at the grove of real trees that had been embedded in concrete planters for the occasion and that gave the baroque ballroom the feel of an actual forest. Hop Hopwood was an avid outdoorsman, and the party decor reflected his tastes. The trees even had live wild birds in them, captured and housed in cages, a concession to the indoor aspect of the faux woodland setting.

A twenty-piece band provided music from the “big band” era, there was a sumptuous buffet and open bars and heavy socializing among the guests of all ages.

Courtney sat at a round table for eight, all the seats vacated but hers and Emery Harcourt’s. Poor Emery hadn’t wanted to come tonight, but his family had insisted, and he had obeyed, asking her to accompany him. His deepening depression concerned her. The appearance of his former fiancee with her new love had drained him of what little spirit he had. Courtney stayed by his side and tried to be consoling.

“Oh God, as if things weren’t bad enough, here comes Jarrell,” Emery said with a groan. “She’s heading directly for our table.”

Courtney stifled a groan of her own. He’d articulated her own thoughts exactly. They had already exchanged perfunctory hellos with Jarrell Harcourt earlier, and the woman had made no attempt to conceal her antipathy toward her brother’s date. But here she was again, tall, slim and blond, her thick, straight hair styled in a classic bob. She was unsmiling, of course. As far as Courtney could tell, Jarrell Harcourt did not possess the ability to smile.

Jarrell joined them, taking a seat next to her brother, turned her back to Courtney and proceeded to converse with him. No one else came near the table, and Courtney, shut out of the Harcourts’ conversation, sat in silence. Ten minutes crawled by, then fifteen. She sighed.

And then, just when she had decided that the interminable evening had reached its nadir, it took a definite turn for the worse.

For a moment, Courtney thought she was hallucinating. That couldn’t be Connor McKay and Kieran Kaufman, in black tuxes and looking for all the world as if they belonged in this elite crowd, who were crossing the wide expanse of the ballroom.
Heading directly toward the table where she and the Harcourts sat.

Courtney froze. She balled her hands into tight fists but barely felt her nails digging into her palms. Horror of horrors, it was McKay and Kaufman! And their elegant attire aside, the unholy grins on their faces were alarming testimony to the fact that they were up to no good.

“Uh, excuse me,” Courtney mumbled and rose from the table. The dangerous duo were at least twelve feet away; if she moved swiftly she had enough time to intercept them before they reached the Harcourts.

“Hello, Gypsy.” Connor’s sea-green eyes slid lazily over her as she approached them.

Courtney was wearing an elegant peacock-blue silk dress that was cut in modest, classic lines and was not the least bit gypsylike. Her dark eyes smoldered. “What are you doing here?”

“I guess you wouldn’t believe that we were invited? That we’re old golfing buddies of Hop’s?” drawled Connor.

“I most certainly would not. You crashed this party!” “Bingo!” Kaufman exclaimed.

Courtney sent him a scathing glance, then turned to Connor again. “Why did you crash the party?” A dreadful thought struck her. “Surely not to—to see me?”

“I told you we needed to talk tonight,” Connor replied, shrugging. “Since you insisted on being here, it was only logical that we hold our meeting here. Although I can’t say much for the surroundings.” He glanced around him, his expression disapproving. “Trapping those poor birds and ’ shutting them up in cages so these society geeks can gawk at them..He shook his head. “I know a few diehard animal rights activists. Maybe I should give them a call and alert them to this abuse.”

“Get than and their pickets over here right away,” Kieran said gleefully. “I’ll call a local news team who is sympathetic to the cause. It might make the news at eleven.”

“No!” cried Courtney. But what was even more horrifying than the thought of a fanatical group of picketers and camera crew crashing the party was the fact that Connor McKay had just spoken the very thoughts she’d been harboring all evening about those poor captive birds. She did not want to be so psychically attuned to him!

“How did you know I was here?” she demanded nervously.

The two men looked at each other, then back at her. “It’s part of my job to track people down, Gypsy,” Connor explained with a patient air that she found extremely irritating. “I’ve traced reclusive celebrities who cover their trails with professional expertise, and I’ve traced politicians holed up with women who were most definitely not their wives, to

mention just a few cases. Locating you was a kindergarten exercise.”

“Hey, who’s the blond babe sitting at your table?” Kieran asked, surveying the crowd with his weasel-sharp eyes.

Courtney actually smiled. “That’s Jarrell Harcourt. And I’m willing to bet that’s the first time in her life she’s ever been referred to as a ‘babe.’ ”

Kaufman stared, assessing the woman. “Hmm. Looks tense and humorless—but sexy in a snobbish, aristocratic kind of way. Desperately needs to get laid, I wager. Well, this is her lucky night. I’m going to blitzkrieg her. She’ll never know what hit her until she wakes up tomorrow morning in my bed.” He headed purposefully toward the table.

“Blitzkrieg?”
Courtney echoed, staring after him.

Connor wrapped his fingers around her wrist, effectively manacling her. “It’s no use trying to stop him, Gypsy. Kaufman is like a guided missile—once fired, nothing can deflect him from his trajectory.”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to try to stop him,” Courtney said dryly. “If there were ever two people in the world who deserved to meet, it’s those two.”

“Wicked, Gypsy.” Connor grinned. His eyes narrowed as he followed Kaufman’s progress to the Harcourt’s table. “I take it that’s your boyfriend, the inestimable Emery, sitting there?”

“That’s Emery,” Courtney agreed, not bothering to correct his misassumption. It seemed wiser—and safer—not to.

“He’s kind of pale. Is he anemic?”

“Not that I know of.”

“He’s not exactly the life of the party, is he? In fact, he looks so morose he could hire himself out as a professional mourner at funerals.”

It was an unfortunately astute observation, but loyalty to poor unhappy Emery kept Courtney from agreeing. “I’m not going to stand here and listen to you rip Emery to shreds. He doesn’t deserve it. And I’d like my hand back, if you don’t mind.” She tried to pull her wrist out of his grip, to no avail. It was like trying to shake off a locked handcuff.

“I was simply stating a few facts about Master Emery, not attacking his undoubtedly sterling character,” Connor said coolly. He released her wrist. The way she leapt to Har-court’s defense was annoying. The fact that he found it annoying was even worse. His lips thinned into a straight line. “But we’ve wasted enough time—we have to discuss our visit to Nollier’s office tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Courtney repeated. Her dark eyes widened. “I didn’t realize we’d start so soon.”

“The sooner the better,” he said briskly. “I called Nollier’s office this afternoon and set up an appointment for tomorrow at one. His secretary put me through to him and I spoke to him personally. He said to prepare to leave for Shadyside Falls after our meeting tomorrow afternoon.”
“Tomorrow?”
Courtney echoed incredulously. “But Kaufman said couples went to Shadyside Falls weeks or months after their initial visit.”

Connor shrugged. “Nollier said our timing is incredibly lucky.” He smiled a shark’s smile. “And it is, but not for him.”

Courtney gulped. “I—I’ll have to make arrangements with my boss to spend time away from the office.”

“Will that be a problem?”

“No.” She shook her head. “But do you really think that we should rush into this? I mean, we only decided to do it today and—”

“In the immortal words of Kieran Kaufman, ‘Fools rush in, etcetera.’ ” Connor’s voice lowered. “Getting cold feet, Gypsy? Maybe you can’t trust yourself to play the role of my wife without wanting to—”

“Don’t say it!” Courtney said hotly. “Don’t even think it!”

Connor laughed, his earlier irritation dissolving as he gazed into the fiery dark depths of her eyes. She amused him, excited him as no woman ever had. And tonight, his trusty bachelor alarm failed to sound. He felt cocky and dangerous, he felt like taking a few risks.

“Let’s go out on the terrace and talk all about tomorrow, Courtney.” He took a step toward her.

Courtney took a step back. She had seen the long terrace that lined the outside of the ballroom when she’d arrived with Emery. It was dark, lit only by the moon and stars. And it was secluded. A couple could be completely alone

and unobserved out there____

She took another step backward. Her eyes met Connor’s and a slow smile crossed his face.

“Keep walking, Gypsy.” He provided the necessary incentive by walking toward her. “Just keep on going. The terrace is only a couple hundred steps away.”

Four

She could always stop moving, Courtney thought, even as she kept backing up. The problem with that plan, however, was that Connor didn’t give any indication that he would stop coming toward her. If she were to stop, it appeared in all likelihood that he would crash right into her.

“I’m not going to let you bully me,” she announced, while walking backward at a rather hasty clip.

“Good for you. I like a woman who stands up for herself.”

He was bullying her
and
mocking her. Once again Courtney felt her temper, usually so even, so mild and easy to control, begin to rise to flaring heights. “I’m going to stand still, right here, right now,” she announced sharply.

She stopped moving and stood stock-still. To her delight, Connor stopped too. Proud of herself, Courtney shot him a triumphant look.

Connor shrugged. “We can talk here as well as anywhere, Gypsy.”

He appeared completely nonchalant, and Courtney might have been lulled into complacency had she not caught a swift glimpse of the wild, hot and hungry gleam in his eyes.

Her sense of victory faded abruptly. They were standing face-to-face, only a few inches apart. She glanced nervously around at their surroundings; somehow they’d ended up in the thick grove of trees lining the ballroom. They were concealed from the others, though the loud party sounds disrupted the illusion of the primeval forest.

“But first things first,” Connor continued softly, lacing his long fingers through her thick dark hair. He tilted her face up to him at the same moment that his head descended toward her. “This has been simmering between us all day. Let’s get it out of our systems now.”

“Out of our systems?” she echoed. Her mind wasn’t working as quickly as it should. Neither was the rest of her. She should be slapping him away and fleeing this too-private indoor wooded glen. Courtney knew all that, but somehow she remained where she was, which was far too close to Connor McKay.

While she was wondering if she should blame her sudden mental and physical lethargy on the glass of champagne she had consumed earlier this evening, Connor lightly touched his mouth to hers.

The feel of his lips, warm and firm against hers, galvanized her into action. She drew back her head and placed both her hands on his chest, in an attempt to keep him literally at arm’s length. “Stop it, Connor. I know what you’re doing.”

“Mmm, I thought you might.” He wrapped his arms around her, and her elbows flexed from the pressure he exerted to draw her closer to him. Suddenly she was not even a hand’s length away from him.

Courtney drew a sharp breath. She was intensely aware of his size and strength, of the heat of his hard body. For one breathless, insane moment, she felt the urge to lean into all that masculine heat and strength, to relax against him and let him support her...