Daddy's Double Due Date

In the cramped entryway a miniature flute-shaped vase filled with tiny pink flowers sat on a small half-moon table. Prim and proper. Delicate. Like the woman.

He noticed the way she arched her back as if easing the kinks from sitting long hours at a computer. “You look beat.”

“I am, but I don’t want to put this off.”

“I won’t take long, maybe thirty minutes. I’ll heat the burgers and we’ll talk while you eat.” He refused to acknowledge the connection he’d felt with her when she’d earlier tried to guard his child. He hadn’t felt anything like that…ever. He tried to push the thought from his mind. Thinking about it might convince him to go away, leave her in peace, forget he was going to be a father, something he couldn’t do. He dreaded what he was about to say to her, because it would be irrefutable evidence that he truly was the ruthless bastard everyone believed.

She tried to hide a yawn behind her hand, then glanced once more at the sack. “We were so busy, I didn’t get lunch either and, even cold, food of any kind sounds beyond great. Thank you, Mr. Morgan, for bringing dinner.”

“Hunter,” he said. “Call me Hunter.”

Ashley studied his face a long moment as if trying to read him. “All right, Hunter. Let’s eat. You can have your say, then I’ve got something I need to tell you.”

Her willingness, even eagerness to talk, came as a surprise. He would do his best to get this over with fast, because she looked as if she was about to collapse. He might be hard-nosed, but he wasn’t totally without feelings. Odd that it should be this woman who reminded him of that.

Her obvious exhaustion made him wonder if maybe he should let her off the hook tonight and reschedule their meeting. But something he couldn’t grasp pushed him to settle things. If he didn’t know better, he would think it was fear. Fear that even though he had legal rights, she would turn this into a nasty, prolonged custody battle that would keep him from his child. Fear that she might disappear without a trace or miscarry as had happened before.

Ashley directed him to a too-small kitchen decorated with bright sunflowers while she pulled her arms from her coat and tossed it over a chair. “How much do I owe you for dinner?”

He found the microwave in a corner and popped the bag and all inside. “Don’t worry about it.”

Ashley dug in her purse, then stuffed a five-dollar bill into his jacket pocket. “That should cover it.” She turned on her heel and opened an overhead cabinet.

When she stretched on tiptoe to reach the glasses, Hunter moved behind her. “Here, let me get those for you.”

She spun around and pressed against him in all the wrong places. Damned if it didn’t feel right.

He lowered his arms on either side of her, watching the rapid rise and fall of her chest as he settled the glasses on the counter behind her. Her scent, a unique blend of sensuality and wholesomeness, swirled around him. She smelled damned good.

She cocked her head to the side and looked at him with luminous eyes which mirrored her perception and wariness.

Realizing she had said something, he asked, “What?”

“The microwave,” she said, her voice unsteady, little more than a whisper. When he continued to stare at her, she pointed behind him. “It dinged.”

“Yes, I heard it.” He hadn’t, but wasn’t about to tell her. In fact, he had been so engrossed in her mouth Hunter doubted he would have heard the civil defense sirens. With one last glance at her enticing lips, he forced himself to step away.

“I hope water is okay,” Ashley said. Without waiting for his answer, she opened the refrigerator and leaned forward to fill two glasses from a plastic jug.

“Water’s fine.” He tried to ignore the way her skirt hugged her slender hips and backside, but failed. Miserably. Yes, he needed water. Lots of water to put out the still-smoldering flames of desire she had ignited earlier when he’d held her in his arms. Again he wondered what it was that attracted him to this particular woman? What aroused him, had him acting like an awkward teenager on his first date? Hell, she wasn’t even his type. At six feet two inches, he preferred tall, leggy blondes who reached his shoulders. Ashley didn’t come close. And her hair was auburn, not blond. Not that it mattered.

Her shoulder-length hair and wraithlike stature had nothing to do with why he had waited two hours on the steps, sheltered from the pouring rain. He had come for one reason—to claim his child. It was time he put his libido under lock and key and got down to business. Too much was at stake to be distracted by a pretty face. Yeah, Ashley Morgen was pretty, more than pretty. He’d spent a lot of time with beautiful women, but he had no idea what to do with one pregnant with his baby.

Calling on every ounce of discipline, he withdrew the sack from the microwave and followed Ashley to a flowered couch in a cracker-box living room that fit her perfectly. It made him feel clumsy and out of place.

When she arched her back again, he asked, “Rough day?”

“You could say that,” she muttered, putting their drinks on the coffee table. “My boss suspects something is going on between you and me. When I tried to leave, he reminded me having anything to do with you is a breach of confidentiality. He’s right, you know.”

“It’s only a breach if we talk about cases. Since that’s not why I came, there’s no problem. If you’re concerned about appearances, we could go somewhere else.”

“No. I can’t afford for us to be seen together at night.”

He fought the urge to smile, knowing it would probably earn him another of her frowns. “Because people would assume we were seeing each other.”

“Exactly,” she said, eyes flashing. “And I’d be fired.”

“Not unless Williams can prove you divulged client secrets.”

“You’re a defense firm’s sworn enemy.”

Hunter grimaced as he dug a burger from the sack and put it on the paper plate she handed him. “Enemy, huh?” If only he could see her as his enemy. Maybe then he would stop noticing things about her, things like the way her whiskey-colored eyes reflected her every thought, her every emotion. Somehow the idea of spending time with her didn’t seem all that wrong to him.

She bit into a fry, closed her eyes and moaned, then licked the salt from her lips. “I didn’t realize I was this hungry.”

Tearing his gaze from her mouth, Hunter’s thoughts scattered as he stared at the contours of one shapely leg revealed below the hem of her navy blue skirt. “You can’t worry about what other people think,” he said. “Once word gets out you’re having my baby, everyone will assume…”

“Assume?” she asked, watching him intently.

“That we’ve been lovers,” he said, wondering why he found the thought of them making love so intriguing.

She stopped in midchew. “That’s absurd.”

He did smile then. It was her panicked expression. “Is it? How do you intend to convince the entire town that we didn’t—That we haven’t—”

“No one is going to know who fathered my baby.” She settled her plate on the coffee table and turned to face him. “I called the clinic after your visit today. They refused to identify the sperm donor. So, you can see how futile it would be to continue to claim that you’re the father.”

Hunter withdrew the lone page from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to her. “The clinic manager called me after discovering how the mix-up occurred. It seems the initial collection container is labeled with a computer-generated number. But afterward, when the sperm goes to the lab techs for storage, they are responsible for transferring the identifying numbers onto the individual vials. One of their lab techs transposed two numbers. Since they must sign off on every step of the entire process, they were able to identify which worker did it. I’ve been assured that he has been fired.”

“I don’t understand why they didn’t tell me all this.”

“Initially, I imagine they were scrambling to discover how this all happened. When the clinic manager called me to explain what they’d found, I told her I was on my way to see you and would tell you myself. She may call you anyway to cover the clinic in case you decide to bring charges.”

“Are you going to sue?”

He had intended to, but now he wasn’t sure about a lot of things, including why he suddenly felt suing for custody wasn’t best. “I haven’t decided. The clinic has implemented a new system where they will print additional labels to remain with the initial collection and be used on the storage vials.”

“I’m glad they took steps to keep it from happening again.” Ashley unfolded the paper and read, pausing once to glance at him. “Where did you get this?”

He heard the tremor in her voice and knew how difficult this had to be for her. Still, this was his child, too. “I took it from your chart yesterday. I figured you would demand proof.”

She looked once more from him to the single sheet and back again, visibly shaken. “Then it’s true.” She swallowed hard. “You really are my baby’s…my baby’s…”

“Father,” he said, wishing she would say the word.

Dropping the paper, Ashley rose and crossed to a set of double doors opening onto a balcony.

Hunter retrieved the sheet and tucked it inside his pocket before following her outside into the crisp March night. She stood at the railing, rubbing her arms. The rain had finally stopped. The air smelled fresh and clean as it cloaked them in a bone-chilling dampness, and Hunter found himself wanting to hold her. “Should you be outside in the cold?”