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Authors: Donna Sterling

BOOK: The Daddy Decision
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The purely feminine sound of her voice embraced Cort with nostalgic force, and his tension grew. In days gone by, the mere murmur of it had filled him with a keen, sensual anticipation. Like Pavlov's dogs, he'd responded every time, regardless of where he was or whom he was with.
He poured the brandy into his glass and noted with approval that he felt no keen sensual anticipation whatsoever.
Even so, he had no business being here. She wouldn't
want to see him any more than he wanted to see her. The memories between them were not all pleasant.
He made the drink a double.
Would the sight of her still pack the same punch, still send him reeling? In all his travels and dealings with the “beautiful people,” no woman's beauty had ever affected him quite the way Laura's had. Of course, he'd been only twenty-two back then and accustomed to the grim streets of the inner city. She'd been eighteen, a precious hothouse flower from the wealthy Atlanta suburbs. Fifteen years of life would have brought about some changes in her, he was sure—and in his reaction to her.
After a fortifying swallow of brandy, he ventured toward the great room.
“Thanks for bringing in my bags, Howard,” he heard Laura say from somewhere near the door. “I know you were already freezing behind the wheel...and then to get out in all that snow. What a bad night for your heater to break!”
Cort heard her, but couldn't see her because of the others surrounding the entrance foyer. Even Rory had set his guitar aside and edged forward, waiting with an air of anticipation for her attention.
And Cort remembered that it had always been this way, whenever she'd come home. He'd had to wait his turn.
“Oh, Howard, look at your hands!” she softly exclaimed. “They're beet red. Frozen solid.” Cort imagined her enfolding the old cabdriver's hands in hers. She never had hesitated to touch. “Here, take these gloves They're the stretch kind, so they'll fit.” An irascible bluster of protest answered her. “Now, Howard,” she admonished, humor seeping into her voice, “don't make me sic my friends on you.”
“Take the gloves, Howard,” ordered B.J. in her gruff, no-nonsense voice.
Steffie and Tamika started in on him, too. After a short while of all four women talking at once, the poor guy apparently gave in and took the damn gloves, because his tormentors allowed him to leave.
Cort stood in the kitchen doorway and watched the group move en masse toward the immense stone fireplace with its blazing fire. B.J. showed Laura a new tattoo on her forearm. Tamika assured Laura that she had brought the baby, who was sleeping upstairs. Hoss bragged that his three-month-old son already showed signs of aptitude for football.
And through it all, Cort hadn't caught a clear view of Laura yet. She was blocked from his sight by the others clustered around her.
The tension within him gradually rose to the level of frustration. He hadn't wanted to see her again at all, damn it. But since he'd been forced into her presence, he wanted to get the initial confrontation over with.
He wanted to see her.
Now.
As if responding to his unvoiced impatience, Steffie drifted off toward the closet with Laura's fleece-lined jacket, B.J. dropped down into an armchair near the doorway where Cort stood, and Tamika settled onto the sofa with her husband, leaving Laura standing alone at the hearth with Rory.
Although he'd expected changes in her, nothing had prepared Cort for the actuality.
He wouldn't have recognized her. At least, not right away.
Her hair was darker—more of a burnished honey than the bright, striking blond of her youth. It was shorter, too—no longer cascading in thick, shiny waves to her
waist, but reaching only halfway down her back and tied at her nape with a black scarf.
She'd lost weight If the voluptuous curves he remembered still existed, he couldn't see much of them beneath her long, bulky black sweater. Her heart-shaped face also looked slimmer, with every graceful curve and hollow more pronounced.
She wore no makeup, as far as he could tell, and no jewelry other than small, gold-stud earrings. A major change. She'd always been glamour incarnate—wine-colored lip gloss; exotic, kohl-lined eyes; gold or silver dangling from her ears, wrists and throat, even when she wore jeans. Designer jeans, of course. Sleek-fitting. With heels.
She now wore loose gray slacks with flat, practical boots.
The difference went deeper than her appearance, though. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he did. Something inside her had changed. Gone was the tangible sexuality that had glowed from her like a force field. Gone was the arousing air of promise, of intriguing possibilities, that had radiated from her like a perfume.
She looked, very simply, like a slim, attractive blonde in her late twenties. Maybe early thirties. A soft-spoken schoolteacher, or a P.T.A. mom. Certainly no femme fatale. No pinup come to life. No living, breathing fantasy.
He stared in both utter disappointment and acute relief.
“I would have brought my old lady,” Rory was telling Laura, “but she had a gig, singing at a club in L.A.”
“Do you still find time for
your
music?” Laura asked.
“Hey, can Rockin' Rory's brownies make you grin? Hell, yeah, man. I finished recording that CD we talked about last time. All original material. B.J. drew the cover art.”
“Oh, Rory, that's great!” She turned toward B.J. with uplifted eyebrows. “B.J., I didn't know that you—” Her words broke off, and she did a startled double take toward
the kitchen doorway. Her lips parted. Her gaze locked with Cort's.
At last. Her attention was his.
About damn time.
Everyone glanced their way, and a peculiar tension seemed to fill the room. He suddenly felt like an interloper, disturbing the serenity of their cozy little group. The big, bad wolf, poised to pounce on the sweetheart of the Hays Street gang.
She looked soft, feminine and vulnerable.
He had no damn business being there.
Cort couldn't quite summon a smile, but he managed a nod. “Laura.”
A faint flush rose in her cheeks. “Cort.”
“Good to see you again.” He politely extended his hand, more out of habit than anything.
She glanced at it. After a tense pause, she slowly extended hers. “Good to see you, too.”
They clasped hands.
But her hesitation had thrown him. Logically, he understood why she might hold a grudge and hesitate to acknowledge him. Logically, he knew he deserved it. On some other level, though, he reeled from the blow. She'd never resisted touching him before. Physical contact between them had always been freer than the air they'd breathed.
His sense of loss stunned him. How could he feel a loss now when he hadn't seen the woman in fifteen years? Hadn't touched her in all that time. Or held her.
Not even once.
She'd hugged everyone tonight except him.
The feel of her hand clasped in his helped Cort regain his equilibrium. She had, after all, only hesitated to shake his hand. She hadn't refused. Her palm settled against his
in a warm, cozy fit. Her skin felt pleasingly soft and petal-smooth; her grip firm and responsive.
The contrasts had always stirred him, he remembered: her soft femininity, her surprising strength. Her occasional shyness; her propensity for sensual indulgence. Slow, savoring indulgence, at that...
Memories swamped him, and he involuntarily tightened his grip. The light honey-gold of her skin against the dark bronze of his brought back flashes too visceral to be considered memories. He felt her pulse accelerate to a strong, vibrant rhythm. Ah, he remembered that rhythm. His body remembered.
She withdrew her hand, her color becomingly high. “I...I'm glad you got the chance to join us.” She smiled, but he recognized the effort behind it. He noticed the stiffness of her posture and the slight elevation of her chin. “I'm sure Steffie's thrilled that you're here.”
“You know
I am!” His petite, vivacious sister stepped in between them and hooked her arms around their shoulders, forcing them into a rather awkward huddle. “You are two of the nearest, dearest people in my life,” she said fervently. “I love you guys.” She kissed Cort's cheek with a loud smack, then did the same to Laura's. “Nothing makes me happier than to have you both here.”
At such close proximity and with Steffie's shining gaze shifting between them, they had little choice but to meet each other's gazes in a show of affability.
But Cort read the uneasiness in Laura's eyes.
He couldn't help a small, rueful smile. Mending their rift wouldn't be nearly as easy as his Pollyanna sister obviously hoped. But, what the hell. He was willing to give it a try.
For Steffie's sake.
She clearly wanted them to acknowledge their reconciliation
in some way—with words, or a hug. He wasn't opposed to a hug. A brief, casual, token hug.
In a tactically brilliant move, though, Laura circumvented it. “Oh, Steffie, you know
we
love
you
, too! And I'm very happy to be here.” She kissed Steffie's cheek and hugged her, effectively cutting Cort out of the intimate circle.
“Now,” Laura said as she drew away, “is there anything I can do to help you get ready for tomorrow, Stef? Any celery or onions to chop, pies to bake, or turkeys to, uh, pluck?”
“No,” Steffie replied, clearly disappointed by the less-than-satisfying results of her mediation attempt. “Everything's ready for tomorrow.”
“Oh. Good. Well, then, if you'll excuse me...” her smile graciously included Cort “...I can't wait another minute to see my little godson again.” Her smile grew dazzling as she turned to Tamika. “You don't mind if I peek in at him, do you? I promise I won't wake him.”
Tamika rose from the sofa with a delighted grin and led Laura up the stairs.
Cort refused to let his gaze follow them. Instead, he took a deep, unsatisfying swig of brandy. Laura had definitely changed...and in a profoundly disturbing way.
He wondered how deep that change went.
He wondered what a man would have to do to find out.
 
I
CAN
GET THROUGH THIS VISIT, Laura swore to herself as she followed Tamika down the stairs, back toward the last man on earth she'd wanted to see. Not even the precious sight of Tamika's beautiful baby boy sleeping with such sweet contentment had been able to soothe her anxiety.
The shock of seeing Cort Dimitri again—
touching
him
again—had left her trembly, hot and dazed, as if she'd narrowly escaped a fatal accident.
He looked better than ever. His towering height and athletic build seemed more solidly muscular than she remembered, and his masculine presence more potent—a daunting realization, considering the fact that he'd always awed her. The years might have added a few lines beside his thickly lashed eyes and deepened the grooves beside his full, wide, inexplicably sensual mouth, but this only added to the rugged allure of his swarthy face. His thick hair gleamed with the same ebony highlights. His deep, smooth voice held the intriguing cadence of his early upbringing in Greece. And he exuded the cool aura of strength and command that had captivated her as a giddy teen.
She hadn't been surprised to learn that he'd made millions. He'd always been so...intense.
That hadn't changed, either. When he'd tightened his grip on her hand and his dark, midnight-blue eyes had directed that inner intensity at her, a swift, responsive heat had flooded her
Her knees trembled as she descended the stairs behind Tamika. Her reaction was due to the surprise of seeing him again, she assured herself. A nostalgic flashback gone awry. Nothing she couldn't handle.
Why in God's name had Steffie neglected to tell her he'd be here? She couldn't possibly have known that Laura would have found an excuse not to come. Although Steffie and the others knew that she'd been hurt by Cort fifteen years ago, none of them realized how long it had taken her to get over him, or how hard she'd found it to start dating again. Her pride hadn't allowed her to share the extent of her pain with anyone.
That, however, was long ago. She'd been “over” Cort
for at least a decade. Looking back, she realized she'd merely been infatuated—not with the man himself, but with the physical side of their relationship.
Physical
side?
Ha! There hadn't been any other side to it. She'd been a sheltered, naive schoolgirl, intoxicated with her newly discovered feminine power over men. He'd been the sinfully attractive bad boy who'd introduced her to sex.
And what an introduction! He'd approached it with the same intense determination he did everything else, and with his usual inexhaustible attention to detail. Just remembering the passion he'd ignited brought a flux of heat to her stomach.

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