The Daddy Decision (9 page)

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Authors: Donna Sterling

BOOK: The Daddy Decision
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He crossed his arms, cocked his head and squinted at her, like some superhero employing X-ray vision to examine her soul. “I'd say you have some unresolved issues to face before you take on the challenge of motherhood.”
She stared at him in annoyed disbelief. Was he questioning her ability to be a good mother? “What kind of unresolved issues?”
“To start with, your fear of intimate relationships.”
“How dare you!” Ignoring that she herself had been pondering that very issue, Laura glowered at him. “You think that just because I'm not falling into bed with you that I'm afraid of intimacy?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“If that isn't the most egotistical thing I've ever heard!”
“No, I'd say the most egotistical thing was your insinuation that I was willing to invest
half a million dollars
for no better reason than to take you to bed.”
“I never said that.”
“But you thought it.”
“Ha!” She wished she could force out a real laugh. “If you really want to know, I gave you more credit than that I believed you were interested in helping my business grow for all the reasons you gave. But I also didn't doubt that you'd take full advantage of the opportunity to lure me to your house and into your bed. Are you going to deny that?”
“Hell, no. We've already established that I want you. I'm not the one in denial. You are.”
“Meaning?”
“You want me, too, Laura. I see it in your face when I touch you.” His voice turned gruff. “I felt it when you kissed me.”
The memory of that kiss glowed and throbbed in her chest. “You've
got
to do something about that ego of yours.”
“And you've got to quit kidding yourself—about me, and about Fletcher.”
″Fletcher?”
“You said that an affair with another man wouldn't disrupt your relationship with him.”
“It wouldn't.”
“If you believe that, you're even more naive than you were fifteen years ago.”
She drew in a sharp breath, ridiculously hurt that he'd flippantly mentioned the naiveté that he himself had exploited. She clenched her teeth and glared at him. “Is that
what you're trying to do? Prove that an affair would disrupt my relationship with Fletcher?”
“No, but I
would
take full advantage of the opportunity if it arose.” He didn't even have the grace to look sheepish about it. “Face it, Laura. Sooner or later, you're going to come out of hiding and give some lucky guy all the passion and loving that comes so natural to you.”
“I'm not the same girl you used to know.”
“Yes, damn it, you are. You might have tried to bury her, but when she breaks free, Fletcher's going to feel that he got a raw deal. He'll resent being saddled with the responsibilities of an ex-husband without ever having enjoyed you as his wife or lover.”
“Fletcher wants a child of his own, not me as a wife or lover.”
“He wants you the same way I do,” he growled, “except he's not man enough to admit it.”
His passionate avowal of his desire for her sent rays of heat to her stomach. And a tiny doubt about Fletcher assailed her.
Had
she detected subtle vibes of sensual interest from him? No! He didn't think of her in that way. She couldn't allow Cort to distort her perception of him. Her anger stirred. “I don't want to hear another word about Fletcher.”
“Why? Because you might see the truth? He knows you run from intimate relationships, and thinks he's found a back door into your heart that will eventually lead him to your bed. And when you turn to someone else—which you will—your child will be subjected to the same bitterness your parents felt toward each other.”
“You barely even know Fletcher!”
“I can see what's on his mind.”
“No, you're blinded by what's on
your
mind. And
you've already admitted that you know little or nothing about me.”
“You're right. I don't.” His voice lost its cutting edge, but none of its heated fervor. “But I do know how you make love, Laura. How you put your whole heart and soul into it...even when it's only a ‘silly infatuation.'” His eyes darkened with some new anger before he battled it away. “I will never believe that you've changed that much. If you have, it can't be good for you.”
“Oh, you're so noble, worrying about what's good for me. I suppose you're even willing to make love to me to help liberate my suppressed ‘inner woman.'”
“I suppose I am.”
Once again, she realized she
did
have an unresolved issue to face. Anger! She was deeply, ferociously angry with him, and not only because of the nonsense he was spouting. She'd been living with that anger, trying to deny it, rid herself of it,
protect innocent men from it
, for fifteen long years. This was what she'd been afraid of—waking the beast within her. But the beast had finally opened its eyes and raised its ugly head.
“You hypocrite!” she seethed. “Don't talk to me about fear of intimate relationships. You're the one who used me. Scorned me. Humiliated me!” The truth of her words fanned her wrath. “And then you took off. Abandoned me. Not one phone call, not one letter. Not even a postcard. You forgot I existed!”
“I never forgot you.”
She shoved against his chest, furious that even now, she wanted to believe him. “And now you think you can stroll back into my life, murmur pretty words, flash a little cash in my direction and pick up where we left off.” The audacity of the man filled her with a rage so sharp and pure, it almost
felt like elation. “Then you have the nerve to say you're doing it for my own good!”
She grabbed the nearest weapon—a pillow—and hit him with all her might.
“Laura!” After the first
whummp!
across the face, he dodged and parried with upraised forearms as she wielded the pillow again.
Whummp!
“I've already said I'm sorry.”
Whummp!
“You said you forgave me yesterday.”
“I lied.”
Whummp!
“Settle down, damn it.” He caught hold of the pillow, and she tried to wrest it from him. “You′ll have everyone running in here if you don't stop shouting.”
“What are you afraid of? That Steffie will realize her saintly brother is a low-down, sorry, bastard son of a bitch?”
He yanked the pillow out of her grasp, threw it aside and captured her arms. “This is good,” he reasoned, sounding winded, his hair sticking up at odd angles from her attack. “New territory for us, Laura. We've never fought before.”
“I hate you,” she raged through clenched teeth.
“I can see we're going to have to work through that.”
She struggled in vain to pull away from his iron-strong grip on her arms. “I suppose you'll withdraw your offer,” she remarked between angry pants of breath, “now that you know I'd rather die than go to bed with you.”
“Die? You'd rather die?”
“Yes, die.” She finally shook free of his imprisoning hands and backed out of his reach. Pointing a finger at him, she railed, “If you withdraw your offer now, I'll know you were trying to buy me.”
He pressed forward, alarming her, though she refused to show it. “Does that mean you're taking me up on it?”
“I didn't say that.”
“If you turn down my offer—” he drew ever nearer “—I'll know you don't trust yourself to be alone with me.”
She whirled for the door and flung it open.
A multitude of faces confronted her in the corridor. Steffie stood nearest the bedroom with her fingers fanned across her open mouth. Tamika, a short distance behind Steffie, was frozen in the act of wincing. Rory leaned against the corridor wall, chewing gum and watching with lively interest. Hoss loomed beside him, looking ready to launch into action if necessary. Fletcher hovered in the far distance, his face ashen and anxious.
They'd obviously heard her shouting.
“Today, Laura,” Cort called out hoarsely from behind her. “I want your answer today.”
Curling her hands into fists, she stalked past her blessedly silent friends and strode to her room.
Cort, meanwhile, closed the door on the several pairs of curious eyes peering in at him. So...Laura hated him, did she? Would rather die than go to bed with him. At least she was finally being honest. Or thought she was.
He, on the other hand, had been less than honest with her.
He'd scoffed at the idea that he would spend half a million dollars to “buy” her. He stared at the far wall, his muscles clenched, his chest tight with reactions too complex to understand. If he thought he could buy her—simply
buy
her—he would. In a heartbeat. Even if it cost him much, much more than half a million.
 
NEVER IN STEFFIE's LIFE had a Thanksgiving dinner felt as dismal as this one—except, of course, that terrible year when their mother had been seized and deported to Greece. Cort had been sixteen; Steffie, twelve. They'd dined on cold canned goods in a shabby rented room.
The food this year was superb. The turkey had turned out moist and succulent; the stuffing spicy and delicious; the cranberries, sweet potato casserole, rice, peas and gravy the best she'd eaten in a long time. Even so, she'd almost sighed in relief as dinner drew to a close and she served the pumpkin pie.
It should have been a happy occasion—the fifteenth Thanksgiving dinner shared by the Hays Street gang. But no one seemed to be in much of a celebratory mood. The conversation in her elegant new dining room seemed stilted, the cheerfulness forced.
The tension had started with the quarrel that morning between Cort and Laura. No one really knew what the fight had been about, but they'd heard Laura shouting.
Laura. Shouting
!
The rest of them had gaped at each other in disbelief. Laura had called Cort a few choice names that had come through the walls loud and clear. Other than that, they couldn't make out many words. Afterward, Laura had resisted confiding in anyone. So had Cort. And Fletcher.
Poor Fletcher! He looked pale, nervous and miserable, sitting there beside Laura and sneaking surreptitious glances across the table at Cort. Steffie couldn't tell if Fletcher was suspicious about the offer Cort had made, or concerned that Laura's quarreling had endangered that offer, or hurt by the realization that no one but Rory approved of him fathering Laura's baby.
Friction among the Hays Street gang was a new phenomenon. Steffie didn't like it.
She was tempted to pull Cort away from the table and ask him to call off the scheme they'd discussed last night to make Laura and Fletcher break their appointment at the clinic. As much as she wanted time to talk them out of their parenting plan, she suddenly felt uneasy about Cort's involvement.
What if Tamika was right, and the time Laura spent with him made matters worse?
She supposed she shouldn't worry. After that quarrel, Laura probably wouldn't go to Cort's house, and he probably wouldn't go through with the investment deal.
Steffie almost sighed again as she dug her fork into her slice of pumpkin pie. She'd hoped Cort and Laura would become friends again. Or more than friends. It seemed unlikely now that they'd ever even speak to each other again. Laura had clearly been avoiding him since this morning, spending all her time with Tamika's baby, or decorating the table with little pumpkins, stalks of wheat and horns o'plenty that she'd brought with her in her suitcase. Cort hadn't made a single move to engage her attention.
A silence had fallen over the dining room while everyone concentrated on pie and coffee. Steffie almost dropped her fork when Laura suddenly broke that silence.
“Cort,” she said in her low, soft voice that Steffie had never heard raised in anger until that morning. “Fletcher and I have made up our minds regarding your investment offer.”
Fletcher turned his head so fast he choked on a mouthful of pie and coughed into his napkin, still gaping at Laura.
Cort stirred a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee, took a long, leisurely swallow, then set the cup back down. He didn't act nearly as interested in their decision as everyone else seemed to be. “Yeah?”
Laura angled her chin. Steffie knew that meant she was nervous, but somehow the tilt to her chin always made her seem serenely composed. “If you'll draw up the contract, we'll have our attorney look it over.”
Cort reached for the serving bowl of whipped cream and spooned a dollop of it onto his pie. He didn't even
glance in Laura's direction. “Does that mean you intend to decorate my house?”

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