Expecting at Christmas

Nodding, she sipped her tea. “Lots of times. I work when I’m not going to college.”

“College?”

She lifted her chin again at that determined angle. At some point the dark hair she’d pulled back into a bun had come loose, and feathery strands kissed the slender column of her neck. “I’m going to be the first person in my whole family who’s ever graduated from a university. I’ve completed 136 units at Cal State L.A.”

“That’s a lot of units.” More than Griffin had, and he had a degree.

“I would have graduated already but I keep changing my major. And they keep changing the requirements.”

“That can set you back, all right.”

“So I’ve still got a year or so to go. And now with the baby—” she shrugged “—it may take me a little longer.”

Maybe she should have thought about that before she agreed to have some other woman’s baby. Gritfin didn’t want anything to do with Loretta and her sob story. He certainly didn’t want her as his butler. But he couldn’t exactly throw her out on her ear in the middle of the night.

“Look, Miss Santana—”

“You can call me Loretta, if you like. They said in my accelerated butler’s class that was okay, if my employer found it easier.”

“Yeah, well...” Damn, he really hated firing people even when they were incompetent. So far, at least, Loretta hadn’t done anything wrong. “The truth is, I don’t actually need a butler.”

“Of course you do. Rodgers assured me—in confidence, you understand—that there are days when you wouldn’t be able to manage without him. You’re not terribly well organized, I gather.”

Griffin scowled. “Rodgers said that?”

“Oh, yes. But you mustn’t worry that I’ll let you down. I’m the most organized person I know.” She appeared quite confident.

He wasn’t convinced. “I still don’t think—”

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it.” Loretta hopped up, bumping the table in the process with her oversize belly and tipping over her cup of tea. “Oh, dear, I’ll wipe that up in a minute. You leave it for me.”

“Why don’t I answer the door while you take care of—”

“No, no. Answering the door is my job. They taught me just what to do.”

Taught her to answer a door? If that’s what she learned in the accelerated class, Griffin could barely imagine what a slow course might include.

He heard the door open and Loretta greet his visitor.

“I’m truly sorry you didn’t call first, miss,” Loretta said. “Mr. Jones has a dreadful cold, and I don’t think it would be wise for him to have guests this evening.”

A feminine voice he couldn’t quite make out responded.

“Now, wait a minute,” he muttered, heading for the front of the house. His cold, such as it was, wasn’t that bad.

“I’m sure you understand Mr. Jones is only thinking of your well-being. He wouldn’t want to expose you to a virus that might take weeks for your immune system to throw off.”

Griffin spotted a willowy redhead at the door, a soap opera starlet who was making a big splash on the social scene. He’d been trying for weeks to date her.

“Aileen, hi, there. It’s good to see you. Come on in.” He tried to ease Loretta aside. She didn’t budge from her post at the door.

Aileen eyed him with regal disdain before sending Loretta a cutting look intended to cause a mere mortal to bleed profusely. “I don’t recall ever getting such an interesting brush-off before, Griffin.”

“No, you don’t understand. She’s my butler.”

“Really? How terribly convenient for you.” Turning, she floated back down the steps, gracefully exiting the scene.

Griffin swore under his breath and followed her to her flashy Porsche. He tried to talk to Aileen, to make her understand, but the best he got was “By all means, call me when your butler returns from England. If he ever does.”

The car roared off down the driveway, rattling across the planks of the twenty-foot-long bridge over the creek at the bottom of the hill.

Griffin fumed and marched back up the steps.

He glared at Loretta. “Do you know what you just did? I’ve been trying to date that woman for weeks.”

“Well, you certainly wouldn’t want to make a bad impression on her, then, by giving her your cold. That’d be terrible. She’d be overwhelmed by all those nasty little oxidants, her yin and yang would have a terrible battle, and then where would you be?”

He didn’t have a good answer for that as she breezily went back to the kitchen to clean up the spilled tea and make him some chicken soup.

Having Loretta Santana as his butler was definitely going to be hard on his love life.

Damn, he’d vowed years ago—at his mother’s funeral—that he’d never put a woman at risk by getting her pregnant. Irrational as it might seem to someone else, that’s how he felt. And he’d been especially careful. He’d always played the field, with women who understood marriage and having kids weren’t in the cards if they hung around with him.

Now, to his dismay, he had a pregnant woman on his hands. He didn’t want to be responsible. But he damn well didn’t know how to get rid of her.

Chapter Two

Griffin stretched and untangled himself from the bed sheets. To his surprise he felt a helluva lot better than he had last night. His sore throat was gone, his head clear. Amazing what a good night’s sleep could do for a man. Not for a minute did he attribute his miraculous cure to the herbal tea or chicken soup he’d consumed.

He frowned, recalling the scene at the front door last night and his new butler’s offhanded dismissal of Aileen Roquette. If it hadn’t been for Loretta Santana he might not have awakened alone in his bed this morning.

Rolling to his feet, he strolled to the window. The southern California sun cast early-morning shadows through the oaks and pines that surrounded his property, tinting summer-dried grass to a golden brown. Though less than an hour from downtown L.A., Topanga Canyon had a rural flavor. Along the winding canyon road, houses varied from modest homes to opulent residences sporting ten thousand square feet of living space. His was on the high end of the scale.

Finger combing his sleep-mussed hair, he scanned the redwood decking that circled three-quarters of the house and cantilevered out over the canyon. In a column of cool winter sunlight, Loretta sat crosslegged gazing toward the distant hillside.

Griffin’s lips twitched with the threat of a smile. In this light she looked like a cross between a delicate, dark-haired wood nymph and a chubby Buddha. Grimly he remembered he had to find some way to send her back to wherever she had come from.

He grabbed a pair of walking shorts from the closet, tugged them on and strolled outside. The mild air brushed against his bare legs and chest, promising a day that would grow much warmer, even though the calendar read early December.

Leaning back against the deck railing, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you meditate every morning?”

Slowly she opened her eyes and a little smile played around her lips. Kissable lips, he thought, momentarily caught off guard by her serene expression.

“I learned to meditate while I was working as a temp for the Transcendental Psychic Society. The technique’s really helpful to keep your free radicals from escaping.” She frowned and shrugged. “Or maybe they’re supposed to escape. I forget which. But meditation is really good for you.”

He had the distinct impression Loretta spoke an entirely different language than he did. “Is the society where you learned about ions and oxidants?”