Baby Fever

Looking around and finding herself alone, she cautiously lifted the jacket to her face and breathed in the distinctly male fragrance that lingered there…and the warmth. The temptation to slide the jacket on and hug herself was overwhelming. She, Jasmine LeClerc, cofounder of Man-Haters Anonymous, wanted to wallow in this man, Patrick O’Halloran, who she’d bet her last dollar made love with a slow hand and hot need.

What would his hands feel like on her skin? Would he kiss her for a long time or would he rush through that part of lovemaking? Would he insist she take the lead sometimes or would he want to be the one in charge all the time?

Jasmine, you idiot. She hung up his coat, slid a receipt over the hanger and pulled off the stub to give to him. What was she thinking? Even if he was interested, she couldn’t do anything about it tonight. She had to wait until she stood a chance of becoming pregnant. Which meant trying to keep him interested enough to come back, but without seeming like a tease until the time was right. She didn’t know if she could walk that tightrope.

Patrick watched her set his salad and bread on the table then lay the coat check stub beside the salt and pepper shakers.

“I’ll get that for you when you’re ready. Do you need anything else?” she asked.

“No, thanks.” Except maybe a Scotch on the rocks, a slab of prime rib, a big bed and you. Ah, yes, all of his cravings satisfied at once, everything that had been denied him since the little medical problem. That would be a perfect night, he decided as he watched her move away from him.

He bided his time through the evening, waiting for the right moment to ask her out, wondering whether she would be willing to go somewhere tonight or if he’d have to wait until tomorrow. Chafing at the confinement of the booth, he made himself linger over his third cup of coffee.

He looked at his watch for the fifth time in forty-five minutes. Still more than an hour to go until she would get off work, but he didn’t think he could consume another drop of anything liquid. He could stall a few more minutes by going to the rest room. Then he would just ask her.

What did he have to lose? If she said yes, great. If she turned him down, that would be the end of that. He was ready for a livelier environment anyway. The peace and quiet of the Carola was getting on his nerves, adding to his stress, especially sitting at the booth for hours on end. Although he’d also found something enlightening about being alone and trapped—he could observe. Which was why he’d noticed that J.D. and Maggie spent a lot of time casting surreptitious glances at each other. The tall, broadshouldered J.D. kept a close watch on the flirtatious and sassy Maggie, who sashayed a little more wickedly when the man was nearby.

Shaking his head and smiling, Patrick started to stand when Maggie strolled up.

“If you want Jazz to go out with you, honey, you can’t take no for an answer.”

He took his seat again. “I take it she doesn’t date much.”

“An understatement.” Maggie glanced around, apparently checking on Jasmine’s whereabouts. “Look, honey, she’s interested. I can tell you that. But if you intend on toying with her affections, I would strongly advise you to take no for an answer. Frankly, I believe she could use a good time or two, but only if she knows up front this is temporary.”

“How could I promise anything else? We don’t know each other.”

“We’ve all seen Pretty Woman, honey, where the poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks makes the rich man throw caution to the wind, no matter what the public’s opinion might be. It was just a modern-day fairy tale, and women like Jazz and me know it. So treat her with fairness. That’s all I ask.”

“I give you my word.”

She nodded. “You have kind eyes.”

Did he? While he’d never been accused of mistreating anyone, he didn’t think there was a well of kindness in him beyond the average. Maybe the heart attack was changing him more than he thought. Then again, maybe it was just Jasmine.

Now or never, he decided, taking a deep breath as Maggie hurried away when she spotted Jasmine marching to his table. Taking care of business first, he asked for his bill and handed her the coat check stub, deflecting whatever emotions seemed anxious to spill out of her. By the time she returned with his jacket, he’d paid the bill, and she seemed calmer. But the sparks he’d seen intrigued him more than her pretense of flirting.

He stood as she arrived, and she held up the jacket, indicating he should turn around. He couldn’t remember anyone doing that for him, ever, and he was uncomfortable letting her. Then he felt her fingertips graze his neck as she straightened the collar before brushing her hands across his shoulders, patting the fabric in place, a wifely gesture that startled him into stillness.

When he could manage it, he turned around. “I’d like to take you out when you get off work. You know the city, so you could choose where.”

Her gaze settled chest-level on him. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m exhausted.”

“Tomorrow, then? During the day? Breakfast or lunch? You name the time and place.”

Her eyes flickered briefly to his face, then lowered again. “I’m sorry. I can’t tomorrow.”

He bent down a little, keeping his voice low. “Have I misinterpreted?”

Jasmine held herself still. His breath was warm against her forehead. She could lean forward two inches and be able to rest her head against his shoulder. “misinterpreted?”

“Your interest?”

Anticipation surged through her. Misinterpreted? Not likely. But she couldn’t tell him that, not tonight. She wanted—needed— him to come back tomorrow and maybe the next and the next, until she was ovulating. “I’m just saying no for now.”

“So if I ask tomorrow, I might get a different answer?”

“Maybe.” She should smile at him, flirt with him, something. But she couldn’t even look him in the eye. The lies would show.

He was quiet for too long. She finally looked up.

“I won’t promise, but I’ll try,” he said.

“I hope you do,” she answered quietly, giving him a smile of sorts. “If not for dinner, maybe you’d enjoy a card game or two upstairs. I’m sure you could find a table to join.”

“Good night, Jasmine.”

“Good night.”

He waited, just staring at her.

“Patrick,” she added. “Good night, Patrick.” Come back tomorrow, please, she begged him silently as he walked away.

“I don’t mind you talking to him when I’m there, but I don’t trust you alone with him,” Jasmine said in clipped tones as she cornered Maggie in the hallway a few minutes later.

Maggie’s eyes opened wide. “I wasn’t trying to lure him. I wouldn’t do that to you, Jazz. You know that.”

“I’m just telling you I don’t need your help where he’s concerned.”

“Help? We were just shooting the breeze. Honest.”

Jasmine wished she could take her sister into her confidence, but she knew Maggie would go crazy if she knew. Jasmine had never known anyone who so totally believed in the sacred order of things the way Maggie did. Dating, marriage, then children. Well, Jasmine had tried that once. It had been enough.

But if Maggie knew Jasmine had every intention of seducing that glorious man solely for the purpose of having his child, not only would she interfere, she would probably even tell Patrick. Patrick. Even the name made her shiver with anticipation.

“Shooting the breeze? I don’t believe you,” Jasmine said. “You know how I feel about men. I have good reason to feel nothing but contempt. One seemingly nice man isn’t going to change my opinion of the gender.”

“Jazz--”

“I mean it, Maggie. Don’t interfere with—”

Maggie’s hand landed against Jasmine’s mouth. “Hush.”

The hairs on the back of Jasmine’s neck stood up. Even without confirmation, she knew Patrick had come up behind her. He must have gone to the rest room before he left. She’d been vaguely conscious of the door opening, but she hadn’t tempered her speech. Please let us have an earthquake right now, she prayed uselessly.

“You’re going to pay for this one with more than quarters,” Maggie whispered to her before disappearing.

Steeling herself, Jasmine turned around. Had he heard her words to Maggie?