She knew she was already in too deep, knew that there was nothing she could do to turn off her traitorous emotions.

He angled her head for a kiss. Her pregnant belly was firm and spooned right into his stomach as though their bodies were made to fit that way….

The sound of her moan was lost in his mouth as his lips finally closed over hers. His kiss was sure and strong, yet soft and seductive. The joy he created with just that touch was potent, liberating. She wanted to take it further, to press closer, skin to skin—

The porch light winked on and off. She jumped, pulled back for an instant and once more met the heat of his eyes.

Flynn gave a strained laugh. “Been a while since I’ve worried about being caught necking on a girl’s front porch,” he said.

The explosion of emotions that burst through him took him by surprise. Darcie Moretti was no shrinking violet when it came to giving and taking…or kissing. She didn’t play games or wait for him to lead. She participated, gave it her all. And man alive! What that “all” did to him.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another month of wonderful books from Harlequin American Romance! We’ve rounded up the best stories by your favorite authors, with the hope that you will enjoy reading them as much as we enjoy bringing them to you.

Kick-start a relaxing weekend with the continuation of our fabulous miniseries, THE DADDY CLUB. The hero of Mindy Neff’s A Pregnancy and a Proposal is one romantic daddy who knows how to sweep a woman off her feet!

Beloved historical author Millie Criswell makes her contemporary romance debut with The Wedding Planner. We are thrilled to bring you this compelling story of a wealthy bachelor out to find himself a bride…with a little help from the wedding consultant who wishes she were his only choice!

We’ve also got the best surprises and secrets. Bailey Dixon has a double surprise for Michael Wade in Tina Leonard’s delightful new Western, Cowboy Be Mine. And in Bonnie K. Winn’s The Mommy Makeover, a dedicated career woman is suddenly longing for marriage—what is her handsome groom’s secret?

With best wishes for happy reading from Harlequin American Romance…

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

A Pregnancy and a Proposal

Mindy Neff

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Louise Weaver,

From girlhood to womanhood, through slumber parties

and heart valves and babies and weddings—

we’ve survived it all.

Thanks, girlfriend…and Happy Birthday!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Originally from Louisiana, Mindy Neff settled in Southern California where she married a really romantic guy and raised five great kids. Family, friends, writing and reading are her passions. When not writing, Mindy's ideal getaway is a good book, hot sunshine and a chair at the river’s edge with water lapping at her toes.

Mindy loves to hear from readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 2704-262, Huntington Beach, CA 92647.

Books by Mindy Neff

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

644—A FAMILY MAN

663—ADAM’S KISS

679—THE BAD BOY NEXT DOOR

711—THEY’RE THE ONE!

739—A BACHELOR FOR THE BRIDE

759—THE COWBOY IS A DADDY

769—SUDDENLY A DADDY

795—THE VIRGIN & HER BODYGUARD*

800—THE PLAYBOY & THE MOMMY*

809—A PREGNANCY AND A PROPOSAL

Upcoming topics

Week 1: Romantic Dinners for 2…or 3…or 4…Meals to woo a woman when your kids are dining

Week 2: Top Ten Tips on Teens

How to avoid the minefields in your house and give peace a chance

Week 3: Potty Training: It’s not for the weak!

Week 4: “You’re going to be a daddy…again!” How to survive—and thrive on—fatherhood, the second time around

Be there…

for vital information for every single father!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

During the last five months, Flynn O’Grady had visualized countless scenarios of meeting Darcie Moretti again. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that in the middle of a Daddy Club meeting, he would look up and see her walking toward him.

His heart pounded a fierce tattoo in his chest at the sight of her. Her hair was a mass of messy brown curls that she’d corralled with two barrettes and a couple of chopsticks. Millions of golden freckles dusted her skin, fascinating him.

Darcie Moretti had a way of looking at a man that made him feel aggressive and startled and special and primitive all at once. She didn’t shy away; her gaze didn’t skitter coyly.

So why had she disappeared on him that night at the hotel? He had so many questions. Where had she been? Why had she left him without even saying goodbye, without giving him a phone number? And—

“Your daughter just called the runaway hot line.”

She was standing in front of him now, those quick-to-smile, clever lips set in a grim line.

“Did you hear what I said, Flynn?”

“Yes, I—” His brain finally absorbed the full impact of her words. He uncrossed his legs. His foot dropped to the floor. His body tightened, poised in that split instant of fight or flight, as though the folding chair had just collapsed beneath him, as though his world were collapsing, as well.

He felt the blood drain from his face, forgot that six single fathers were sitting in a semicircle around him at the Hardware and Muffins store in Princeton, each of them part of a Wednesday-night school for hapless fathers. “What did you say?”

“Heather’s planning to run away…if she hasn’t already.”

He leaped to his feet, never thinking to ask how she knew his daughter, or even where she would get such a ludicrous idea. They’d slept together once, on a sultry, late-summer evening when he’d been drowning his woes in a bottle of whiskey. She’d been like a breath of fresh air that night, a balm to his bruised soul.

But he didn’t recall mentioning his family.

“She can’t run away! I just saw her thirty minutes ago. At home. I haven’t been gone long enough.” Fear and disbelief battered him at once. Was there no end to the nightmares a parent could suffer? Horrible thoughts crossed his mind of what could happen to his little girl out on the streets. Never mind that the Princeton suburb they lived in was touted as one of the safest places in New Jersey. A young girl could make poor choices. Hell, she could slip on the ice and be buried under a foot of snow in less than an hour.

Darcie automatically reached out and placed a hand on Flynn’s arm. She saw his skin pale with genuine distress, and like always, she responded to that distress. She shouldn’t. God knows she’d gotten herself in plenty of trouble with her soft heart—a prime case in point was that night five months ago in a Philadelphia hotel room.

But darn it all, this man needed help.

When Heather O’Grady had called the runaway hot line where Darcie volunteered, Darcie had nearly had a stroke. She’d told herself every morning for the last three months that she should and would contact Flynn O’Grady. And every morning she’d chickened out.

His daughter, in a wild twist of fate, had settled the dilemma—and presented a whole new one. One that nearly ripped Darcie’s heart in two.

“Where did she go?” Flynn asked. “Did she say where she was going? What did she say?” The questions were fired one right after the other. “Is she still at home?”

“I doubt it,” Darcie said, hating the crestfallen look on his face.

“I’ve got to find her, call the cops…”

She shouldn’t get involved, should turn this case over to someone else. But that mushy heart of hers was already crying out its intentions. Not only were those intentions going to be dangerous, they were likely going to cause her great heartache. She’d felt the chemistry moments ago—right before she’d dropped her bombshell. In just a split second of eye contact, she felt him draw her in with those watch-out-woman bedroom eyes and knew he’d been remembering their night together. And her body had reacted to that sexual pull in a giddy flutter of hormones…in an exquisite, bittersweet wash of remembrance.

She wanted to just stand there and stare, to soak up every nuance of his GQ model looks, his scent, the way the white shirt rode his broad shoulders and the silk tie hung from his neck, the way the belt circled his trim waist, his pants draping and kissing his lean hips…

Well, honestly, Darcie, just stop it!

She reached for his arm again, stopping him from charging out of the store.

“I know a little about the way the police department works, and you’re not going to make headway at this early stage of the game.”

“Early? She’s thirteen years old and she just said she was going to run away!” He pinned her with a look. “And why did she tell you? How do you know my daughter?”

“I volunteer for a runaway hot line here in town.” Her hand tightened on his arm. He looked like he was going to pass out. She eased up against him, bolstered him with her body.

Oh, no, she nearly groaned. Bad move. The feel of his warm body pressed against her sent her hormones right off the charts. He needed her help. Not her fantasies.

The way he was looking at her made her squirm. Flynn O’Grady was a sexy mixture of worry, confusion and questions. She understood his worry, sympathized with his confusion and feared his questions.

“Are you okay?” she asked, easing a fraction of an inch away, still watching him in case he did indeed faint.

“No, I’m not. I’ve got to find my daughter.” He shoved his arms through his coat as he headed for the door. Then he stopped as though he’d forgotten something vital.

“The baby,” he muttered, and changed direction, striding toward Ruth Naomi Steadwell, the owner of Hardware and Muffins. The Daddy Club participants gave him room. Panic and determination radiated from him. He hitched a diaper bag over his shoulder, scooped Mary Beth into his arms and gave Ruth Naomi a distracted thank-you.

Darcie watched all this, her emotions reeling once more. She’d known he had children. If you wanted to learn anything about anybody, Ula Mae Simmons—one of the KoffeeKlatch regulars—would happily tell you. Still, seeing him with one-year-old Mary Beth in his arms jolted her.

Reining in the emotions, she barely stopped herself from shaking her head. He was like a bull charging blindly. His heart and intentions were in the right place, but he was very likely going to screw up royally. She didn’t want to see that happen.

Darcie stepped in his path. “Flynn, wait.”

He seemed confused, surprised that she was there. “Do you know where my daughter is? Where I can look?”

“I have an idea.”

“Then tell me.”

Now this was the tricky part. She couldn’t quite hold his gaze. “Um…I can’t.”

His chocolate eyes went from delicious warmth to black fire in an instant. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

“What the hot line personnel talk about with the kids is confidential.”

“Conf—” His expression incredulous, he didn’t seem able to finish the word.

And Darcie didn’t seem able to think—an odd occurrence given that she was normally a sharp, witty woman. Her cheeks felt overheated and her heart pounded as though someone had injected her with an ampoule of adrenaline.

Oh, no. She recognized this feeling. It had been happening to her with some regularity in the past four months and it meant that she was very close to experiencing one of those weird spells.

And the very last thing she wanted to do was crumple into a heap at Flynn O’Grady’s feet.

Whirling, she made a beeline for the rest room.

Flynn watched as Darcie Moretti disappeared through an inner sanctuary where men normally didn’t trod. It took him a full moment to realize that she’d bailed on him. Again!

This wasn’t acceptable. The clock was ticking. His daughter was in the process of running away to God only knew where.

And the woman who held the answers had apparently thought to escape him by hiding out in the ladies’ rest room.

Well, by damn, she’d underestimated him. He was a man on a thin string. A harried father. No gender sign on a pressboard swinging door would stop him.

Hitching Mary Beth higher on his hip, he slammed his hand against the door and pushed it open. From behind him, he heard approving noises from The Daddy Club guys, and an indrawn breath or two from the older patrons watching from the designer coffee bar in the back of the hardware store.

He ignored it all, allowed the door to swing closed behind him, sealing them away from prying eyes and ears. He focused his attention on the startled, freckle-faced woman staring at him with her back up against the salmon tiled vanity, her dripping wet fingers fiddling with the shiny black buttons on her baggy coat.

Frowning, he noticed that her pale face was also wet. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

Her tone wasn’t all that convincing but he let it go. “Look, Darcie, if you’ve got information about my daughter, I expect you to give it over.” It was tough to look menacing and serious with mushy animal crackers decorating his shirt, a squirming baby on his hip and a pink cloth diaper bag slung over his shoulder.

But he gave it a good shot, despite the fact that desperation was climbing and his imagination of what could happen to his daughter was vivid and ugly, sending him into near panic.

One of Darcie’s golden brows arched and her hazel eyes took on a look of censure. She reached for a paper towel and dried her face and hands. “Do you threaten your daughter like that?”

“I’m not threatening—” Appalled, offended, he broke off, tried to gather his wits. Was it the situation or the woman who had him so scattered, so close to the boiling point? It annoyed him that she’d left him, asleep and naked, five months ago. And it annoyed him that she’d just popped up in his life again. All that annoyance was getting tangled up in his panic over Heather. “No, I do not threaten my daughter!”

The baby winced, blinked. Her lip trembled.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Darcie said. She reached out and plucked Mary Beth out of his arms.

“Wait just a—”

“Hush.”

Flynn didn’t know if she’d meant the baby or him, but he was surprised enough to obey. He didn’t normally hand his kid over to just anybody. Actually, he hadn’t really handed her, Darcie had taken her and he hadn’t put up a fight.

He nearly groaned. What kind of a father was he? He couldn’t even hold on to his baby daughter. Could just any old stranger pluck his baby out of his arms?

And what about Heather? She was lost. He’d lost her.

How had that happened? Why hadn’t he known she was that unhappy?

He should have seen it—especially tonight. He’d asked her to baby-sit Mary Beth so he could come to this Daddy Club meeting, but she’d thrown a hissy fit. Frustrated, he’d snatched up Mary Beth and stormed out of the house.

Oh, man. He was such an idiot.

“Hey, it’ll be all right.”

He felt Darcie’s hand on his arm, met her compassionate eyes, noticed that the color had come back into her cheeks.

Mary Beth was happily twisting messy fingers in Darcie’s curly hair, dislodging several unruly strands from its sexy updo. Darcie didn’t seem to notice or to mind. And for some confounded reason, that touched him.

“I’m at a disadvantage here. You seem to have all the answers—about my daughter…and about where you’ve been for the past five months, why you left…”

His words trailed off, inviting her to pick up the conversational ball. He knew the timing of personal questions was inappropriate, but he felt like an ostrich looking for a hole in the sand to bury his head. Maybe if he stalled long enough, somebody would burst through the door and tell him it was all a mistake, that his daughter was home, safe and sound and happy, and that he wasn’t failing miserably at just about everything he did lately.

“I don’t have all the answers, Flynn.” She shifted the baby so that Mary Beth’s diaper-clad bottom was perched on the shelf of her arm. The baby laid her head on Darcie’s shoulder, and something in Flynn’s chest tightened. It didn’t make sense, but just that simple move made him feel inadequate. That was an emotion he was becoming increasingly familiar with these days.

“As for me,” she said. “I haven’t been hiding.”

“I thought you lived in Philly.”

“Did I say that?”

“No. You didn’t say much of anything.”

“You’d had a lot to drink.” She smiled. “Maybe we should start over.” She held out her hand. “Darcie Moretti, physical address Trenton, New Jersey. Same town I’ve lived in all my life.”

Flynn felt ridiculous exchanging pleasantries in the women’s rest room—especially in light of the fact that they’d slept together—but somehow Darcie Moretti made it seem normal.

He accepted her hand, felt a kinetic jolt that both shocked and worried him. He saw her hazel eyes widen, saw them darken to the color of moss.

“Well,” she murmured. “This is awkward.”

His laughter was both strained and spontaneous—and took him totally by surprise. “You’re a contradiction, Darcie Moretti. You pull a feminine stunt by hiding out in the rest room, then blatantly admit to an attraction.”

“I didn’t blatantly admit to an attraction. I only made a comment.”

“An admission,” he argued. “And along those lines, how about some straight talk about where you think my daughter took off to.”

Her gaze didn’t skitter this time. It held his. “I’d rather not say.”

“And I’d rather that you did. We’re standing in the women’s rest room, for crying out loud. We’ve gone to bed together. If that doesn’t invite confidences, I don’t know what does.” Now her gaze did jerk away, making him think of avoidance and secrets. First things first, he reminded himself. Find Heather, and then get the whole story on Darcie Moretti and her disappearing acts.

“Tell me, Darcie.”

She shook her head. “I’m only as good as my word. I work at the hot line and promise the kids who call me that they’re safe talking to me. If I betrayed that confidence, word would get around on the street. Kids would stop calling and they’d end up in bad situations and it would be my fault.”

Something raw and painful shimmered in her tone, but he told himself to let it go. “I’m not going to spread rumors. We’re talking about my daughter.”

“She may be your daughter, but she called me.”

He felt his frustration rising, tried to tamp it back down. “I’m not such a bad guy. I don’t beat her. I try to give her everything I can.”

“Except your time?”

“Did she say that?”

“Sometimes she does.”

“Sometimes she does?” he repeated. “She’s called you more than once?”

“Yes. I’ve been talking to her for about three weeks. Since just before New Year’s Eve.”

Flynn raked a hand through his hair, dislodged a hunk of sticky animal cracker, and wiped his hand on his coat, uncaring that it left a light brown smear.

“We had a fight New Year’s Eve. She wanted to go to a party and I said no. I didn’t know she was still mad about that.” He heaved a sigh and focused on her reflection in the mirror, noticing that one of the chopsticks shoved haphazardly in her curly hair was slipping.

“According to Heather you claimed it was family night, but a friend came over and Heather ended up baby-sitting Mary Beth while you ignored both of the girls and had drinks with the other woman.”

His gaze jerked back to her face. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn Darcie Moretti’s tone was laced with jealousy.

“I did not ignore her, and I didn’t make her babysit! I was home. And that other woman was Ross Steadwell’s wife, Elaine! Ross was there, too, and so were their kids.”

“Oh.” She didn’t look a bit contrite over her show of jealousy—if it had even been that. “Aren’t Ariel and Jimmy cuties?”

“You know them?”

“Very well. I handle the insurance for Data Ink. where Elaine works. In fact, uh…I’m the one who suggested that she and Ross get you involved in The Daddy Club.”

She seemed almost apologetic. Still, Flynn didn’t like people going behind his back, orchestrating his life. Never mind that his life seemed to be out of control lately and he could probably use some coaching. He still didn’t like it.

“Does Heather think I’m that bad?”

“No. She’s just a confused young girl.”

“What about me? I’m confused, too. I’m trying my best, but it doesn’t seem to be good enough. Look at me. I’m a mess. I’ve got animal crackers and baby slobber all over me. I nearly charged out of Hardware and Muffins without my baby. My other daughter is mad enough at me to run away and I don’t know why! And you claim to have answers that you won’t give.”

“I can’t betray Heather’s confidence, Flynn.”

The roiling in his gut was so powerful, he thought he might explode. Or cry. When she reached out to touch him, he jerked back. He didn’t know which emotion would rule, and he couldn’t chance letting her accidentally push him over the edge.

The woman was stubborn, but she smelled of apples and cinnamon and radiated compassion and capability. She made him think of home and hearth and family—all the things he wanted most. She made him think of intimacy and fun also, two things that had been sorely lacking from his life for quite a while now.

Or at least since that night five months ago.

Even though he’d had more to drink than he should have, he remembered it clearly. Remembered Darcie clearly, her passion, her verve, her wholehearted giving.

Right now, though, she wasn’t willing to give. She held the key to his daughter’s whereabouts. How could he make her understand how torn up and frightened he felt at the thought of something happening to his daughter?

“Heather’s had it rough this past year. Her mom left right after Mary Beth was born, then ended up getting killed in an accident. My mom moved in with us, which really helped the girls over the hump, but she recently had to leave for Vermont to take care of my aunt who had hip surgery—and I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” Saying it out loud made him realize how many women in his life had abandoned him. Some intentionally, some not so intentionally. God, he’d failed as a husband, and now his incompetence had him failing as a dad.

He was the one who’d wanted so desperately to be a father…but he hadn’t dreamed he’d have to do it as a full-time, single parent.

And failing dismally after the first three weeks of being on his own.

“You’ve got no reason to trust me, Flynn, but will you?” she asked softly.

“Trust you how?”

“Let me go find Heather.”

“I can’t…. That’s my job.”

“You’re going to stand on what you think is expected of you in a situation like this?” She shook her head, heaved in a breath. “As her parent you can force her to come home, but you can make it worse, too. And what’s to say she’ll stay put? She’s gotten up the nerve to make a move. The next time it won’t be as hard. Are you going to stay up all night watching her to make sure she doesn’t run again?”

“If I have to.” He’d do whatever it took, stick to her like glue, quit his job, rent a secluded cabin in the Pocono Mountains and force her to…To what? he wondered.

“I’m trying to tell you it might not be necessary. You need a mediator.”

“And you think that’s you?”

“I’m the one she’s been talking to. I’m the one she seems to trust right now.” She stroked the curls at the back of Mary Beth’s head, absently pressed a kiss to the baby’s hair. “Heather’s had a lot of upsets in her world lately.”

“I don’t need you to tell me the sorry happenings in my life,” he said tightly.

“See there?”

“What?”

“You’re not in the right frame of mind to successfully deal with Heather right now.”

Resentment made him edgy and sharp. “Don’t tell me how to deal with my—”

“Hold it right there, buddy.” Darcie jiggled and soothed when Mary Beth looked like she was going to cloud up again over the squabbling. “I’m trying not to judge you. I’m trying to help Heather. I’m trying to help you. I didn’t tell your daughter to run away—or to call me, for that matter. But she has and she did. I’m involved whether you like it or not. And because I’m an outside party, I can be more objective. If you go blazing after her, your emotions are going to come across as anger and you’re going to make it worse. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

Her impassioned words seemed to echo off the tiled walls of the rest room. For a long moment, Flynn didn’t comment. He just watched her, making her squirm, making her forget why they were there…making her want.

“Did you run away?” His voice was soft and deep.

“No, but a close friend in school did.” Darcie didn’t want to think about that outcome. But her heart clenched anyway. “And we’re wasting precious time.” She juggled the baby as she reached for a piece of paper.

“Here, let me take Mary Beth.”

Darcie kissed the baby’s cheek and passed her back to Flynn, deliberately ignoring the flash of heat that streaked up her arms as their hands bumped and tangled.

Why, oh, why did she have to be so crazy about this guy?

With fingers that trembled slightly, she wrote down the address and telephone number of her parents’ house and handed it to Flynn.

“This is where my folks live. Are you familiar with the area?” The address was in a blue-collar section of Trenton called the burg. Her family had lived there for more than thirty years. At one time Flynn O’Grady had too.

“I can find it,” Flynn said.

“Good. Give me an hour head start and then meet me there.”

“I don’t like this.”

She softened, placed her hand on his arm and gave a compassionate squeeze. The jolt was there, as she’d expected. But she couldn’t not touch him. This man needed. Needed badly.

And that’s why she’d suggested her family’s home to meet. If she had any hope of staying out of trouble with him, she needed people around her.

Added to that, her mother had plenty of experience soothing the ruffled feathers of a rebellious teen. It was a knack. Between her mother and her grandmother, they would feed Heather back into good humor. And if Darcie’s guess was right, Flynn would come away from the evening a winner, too. Nobody left the Moretti house without a meal or dessert or a week’s worth of leftovers.

“I know you don’t like it, Flynn,” she said softly, making herself remove her hand after one final squeeze—that one purely for herself. “But please let me try with her first. I want the best for all of you.”

He nodded, his nicely tapered fingers absently stroking his baby daughter’s silky blond curls. “I’ll meet you in an hour.”

She hoped to God that was long enough.

And she hoped she’d find the nerve somewhere along the way to tell him he was going to be a daddy. Again.

Chapter Two

Heather O’Grady sniffed and wrapped her gloved hands around the chain of the swing, pushing off with her feet. The canvas strip hugged her thighs like a soft horseshoe cradle as the metal chains creaked against the swing set crossbar. It was dark in the playground, and quiet.

Snow started to fall again, the flakes dropping and melting against her coat. Absently she wondered if they would pile up in her lap if she stayed real still. Would they freeze her to death? Would anybody find her frozen body? A kid, maybe?

Oh, that wouldn’t be right.

Heather thought about her baby sister, Mary Beth. She was a cute kid, and Heather loved her. But sometimes she sort of resented her, too. If Mary Beth weren’t around, Mom would probably still be here.

The minute the thought surfaced, she pushed it back. She wasn’t quick enough to stop the sting of tears, though, the horrible ache in her throat. Her breath puffed out in a cloud as a soft sob escaped. This park had been her playground, the place where she and Mom had come, just the two of them. Before Mom had gotten that stupid job. Before the baby was born.

Heather swiped at her cheeks, her gloves scratching her wind-chapped face. It wasn’t fair to blame the baby. She pictured Mary Beth’s cute little face, her round blue eyes, the way her dark blond hair flipped up around her tiny ears. The kid slobbered a lot, but that was probably because she was getting more teeth.

Pride nudged her. She was getting good at guessing what was wrong with Mary Beth, tending to the baby’s needs. Sometimes, she even felt sort of like a mom, which was a pretty weird feeling for a thirteen-year-old girl to have.

She felt old one minute and young the next. She wanted to be a little kid again, then five minutes later she wanted to drive and go to parties and hang out alone with Robbie Sanders. She’d been thinking about sex lately and that made her feel really confused—and guilty. Robbie wanted to do it and she kept saying no. Her friend Gina Warnelli said it was no big deal, that she should just go ahead and do it. But Gina had a bad reputation, and Heather didn’t want everybody talking about her that way.

She couldn’t admit to any of her friends that she didn’t really know anything about sex. They’d think she was some kind of prehistoric creature or something. But who was she supposed to ask? Not her dad. He’d blow a gasket. He’d immediately assume she was talking about Robbie, and he’d do something stupid, like taking the phone away or grounding her till she was thirty or something. Her dad already thought Robbie was too old—just because he was in high school! That was so stupid. It wasn’t like she was a baby or anything.

She kicked at the sand where glistening snowflakes turned the earth damp. Her heart lurched when she saw a shadow from the corner of her eye. Her fingers tightened against the chain. What if some bad guys tried to come and take her?

A whimper sneaked past her throat, catching her off guard, scaring her half to death. Then she really did feel like a baby. Nobody was there…were they? Her eyes burned from staring and her palms stung where the chain cut into them through her wool gloves.

Maybe she should go find a phone and call Robbie. Or maybe she should just go home. She’d told Darcie Moretti she was gonna run away, but so what? Darcie only knew her name, not what she looked like or anything. It wasn’t like she’d have to face the lady or anything. And Dad didn’t know she was gone. He was at that stupid Daddy Club meeting trying to figure out how to be a Mr. Mom.

She rolled her eyes. If only he’d just get a clue.

Headlights swept the playground equipment as a compact car pulled to the curb. Heather’s heart pumped.

Daddy?

Relief swept her and she nearly cried out. Then she took a closer look, her heart dropping like a stone.

It wasn’t Daddy. The car was too small and there wasn’t a baby seat in the back.

And Daddy was totally oblivious to what she was doing anyway. Like that was any big news flash, she thought.

As whoever it was got out of the car Heather picked up a rock and cupped her gloved fingers around it. She was scared. She was sorry she’d come out here. She was cold.

Tears burned her throat, swam in her eyes. It seemed like all she did lately was cry. How many tears did a girl have, anyway? The problem was, she didn’t even know why she hurt this way. Her insides stung, felt like they were churning, like if she just opened her mouth, all the bad thoughts would bubble up and come out in a loud scream.

Her fingers tightened around the rock. The person wasn’t so big. And Heather was pretty tall for thirteen. Already five foot five. It gave her an advantage, made people think she was older. Daddy didn’t like that. But so what? Why should he care anyway? He was always so busy, always had those blueprints spread out on his worktable and his head bent over them, always expected Grandma or her to take care of Mary Beth.

Shoot, she was only thirteen, yet he never bothered to wonder who would take care of her, did he?

Her eyes squinted and her heart still raced. It was hard to tell if the figure approaching was a man or woman.

“Heather?” The voice was female. “Heather, it’s Darcie Moretti from the hot line.”

As Darcie came closer, her coat flapped open and the wind plastered her top against her. Heather stared. She thought the lady was fat. But the lady wasn’t fat.

She was pregnant.

Heather’s heart sank. For some reason, pregnant ladies bugged her. Seeing them made her feel bad inside. Her mom had been pregnant and then she’d left.

“May I sit with you?”

Heather shrugged. “I guess.” She watched, intrigued by the way the sling style swing seat molded to Darcie’s hips, by the way Darcie’s pregnant belly pooched out and rested in her lap. “Does that hurt you?”

Confused, Darcie frowned. Then she noticed the direction of Heather’s gaze. Guilt made her grab at her coat, tug it around her. Of all times to let down her guard—and of all people to let it down in front of! “What? The baby?”

Heather nodded.

“No, only when she’s pretending to be a basketball star. That can get a little tricky. Thank goodness she’s still small yet.”

“A she? How do you know?”

“I had a sonogram.”

“Oh.” Heather jutted out her chin and looked away. “I didn’t know you were pregnant.”

“No, I suppose it never came up. Little reason it should. Is that a problem?”

Heather shrugged and kicked at the sand. “I told you stuff about me. You could have told me stuff about you.”

“Is that what you’d like?”

“Doesn’t make no difference.”

Darcie skimmed her fingers over Heather’s hair. This young girl was a fraud, trying to act all tough, when she was scared silly and aching for attention. Darcie had seen this same attitude on so many adolescent faces. She’d worn it herself as a teen.

“You know, kiddo, I wouldn’t go back to being your age for all the money in the world.”

Heather’s eyes filled and Darcie slid off the swing, sank to her knees in front of her and gathered the young girl in her arms. “Oh, honey, it’s okay. It’s all going to work out.” Please God, let it all work out.

“No, it’s not.” Heather sniffed. “I hate him. He treats me like a baby one minute and then wants me to do grown-up stuff the next.”

“Dads can be a pain sometimes, but yours loves you, Heather. He’s just having trouble finding balance.”

“How would you know?”

Darcie had to tread carefully here. She didn’t want to lose the girl before she had a chance to form a bond. “Because I’ve spent several weeks talking to you on the phone. You’re a good girl, Heather, caring and sweet and smart. Those qualities come from being loved.”

“I guess. I miss my grandma, though.”

Darcie found it odd that Heather mentioned missing her grandmother rather than her mother. She knew Heather’s mom had died five months ago.

Flynn had told her himself—after several shots of whiskey.

“When did your grandma leave?”

“About three weeks ago. Aunt Lois fell and broke her hip or something and Grandma had to stop taking care of us and go take care of her.” She shrugged. “It feels weird in the house without her.”

“Did she always live with you?”

“No. Just since Mary Beth was born.”

And now Heather had to assume a larger share of the adult responsibilities in the O’Grady household at a time when she should be enjoying a carefree youth. Darcie understood that all family members—regardless of age—needed to pull together and do their part, but she still felt bad for Heather, for the obvious pain and hurting that would cause the girl to cry out for help by way of the runaway hot line.

They were quiet for a moment, and Darcie pulled back, sensing that Heather had shown enough of her vulnerabilities for the moment. And Darcie’s own vulnerabilities were about to eat her alive. This was Flynn O’Grady’s daughter, and she longed to just hold her, to fix her, to love her the way she loved Heather’s father.

Impossible. Darcie knew that much better than most.

Feeling an ache born of hopelessness, she stood and looked around. “It’s pretty cold out here.”

“It’s okay.”

Good thing Darcie had a lot of patience. It could get trying when a young person was determined to disagree—or to make a point not to totally agree—with everything an adult said.

“So what is it about this park that’s special to you?”

Heather thought about not answering. Her feelings were private. And it was different talking to Darcie on the phone. It felt more anonymous. Face-to-face made those scary emotions do freaky things to her brain, made her feel stupid and embarrassed. But Darcie wasn’t looking at her like she was stupid.

“This is where my mom used to take me when I was little.” Heather watched as her breath puffed out in a white cloud. “She would push me on the swings and hold my hand when I went down the slide. And she laughed a whole lot back then.” Oh, God, the hurt inside was really bad.

“You miss your mom.”

“I guess.” She hated admitting to a need. “I miss Grandma, too, but at least she’s not dead.”

“I’m sorry about your mother, sweetie. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a parent. As much as my mom and I fight, I can’t imagine being without her.”

Heather looked up. Most people said they knew what it felt like, even if they didn’t. Darcie Moretti spoke honestly. And she didn’t talk down to her or shy away from sad subjects. “Do you, like, live with your mom still?”

Darcie laughed. “No. I have my own place, but sometimes I wonder why I shell out the money. I’m at my folks’ house a lot. Mealtimes especially. Ma takes it as a personal affront if I don’t show up for pot roast.”

Heather gave a wistful smile. “Grandma makes a pretty good pot roast.”

“A lot of problems and worries seem smaller over a bowl of mashed potatoes and pot roast.” Darcie heard the rumble of Heather’s stomach. “I bet you got so upset with your dad, you forgot to eat.”

Heather giggled, looking slightly embarrassed that her stomach had made such a loud noise.

“How would you feel about coming home with me? You’d be doing me a big favor,” she added quickly when Heather looked as though she was going to object. “I got tied up earlier and missed dinner. This is one of the unforgivable sins in a household like mine. Especially on Wednesdays and Sundays. If you don’t show, you’d better be dead or have a good reason why you’re not there.”

“But it’s nearly nine o’clock.”

“Doesn’t matter. A missed meal is a major cause for drama and lectures, with a huge helping of guilt so you don’t repeat the infraction. Ma’s side of the family is Irish and German and Dad’s is Italian. I imagine you can guess what sort of dramatics fly with a combination like that.”

“Do they yell at you?”

“Heck, yes. They yell at me and the dog and the walls. It’s an art families like ours learn at birth.”

Heather giggled again.

“Honest,” Darcie said, watching the softening, the acceptance, knowing she was on the verge of victory. She wanted that victory for Heather.

And she wanted it for Heather’s father. Just the thought, the image of Flynn O’Grady nearly sidetracked her.

“Grandma talks to the wall, and Mom talks to thin air. ‘She says she’s coming, then doesn’t show her mother the courtesy of a phone call. A body could be lying dead in the gutter, but does she bother to call her mother? No. And here I have a nice chicken in the pot going to waste,”’ Darcie mimicked, waving her arms like a conductor for emphasis, pleased by the way Heather’s face stretched farther into a grin. “You really don’t want to leave me alone to face that, do you?”

Heather stood. “What did she cook tonight?”

Darcie stood, too, barely restraining the urge to reach out, to make sure Heather didn’t walk off. “Roast chicken and stuffing. And chocolate cake.”

“I guess I could come for dinner.”

Darcie led Heather to the car, wondering if she would beat Flynn to Trenton, if she’d have a chance to form a bond with his daughter, to talk her into going home and staying there. She wondered if there would be enough time for the Moretti clan to work their magic as they had so many times in the past.

She prayed that there would be. She couldn’t lose a kid to the streets. It hurt too much.

Now that she knew it was Flynn O’Grady’s daughter at stake, it was all the more important to her. It was personal.

DARCIE DEBATED having a second piece of chocolate cake.

“Oh, go on,” Grandma Connor urged. “Your thighs won’t appreciate it, but life’s short.”

Rose Moretti raised her gaze to the ceiling as though seeking divine patience. Darcie decided that her mother had really perfected that look. “She insults her own granddaughter, right here in my kitchen. I ask you, is this the way to act?” Though Ma was German-born, thirty-five years of living with an Italian man had added to her repertoire of gestures and voice nuances.

“Of course it is. If family can’t tell the truth, it’s a sad day. Besides, she’s growing a baby in her womb and every little girl has to learn about chocolate.”

Darcie’s hand jerked and her next forkful of cake landed icing down on the china plate. She wanted to put a muzzle on Grandma Connor, but knew from thirty-one years of experience that it wouldn’t do any good. Grandma said what she wanted, when she wanted.

And that could well be a problem. Especially with Flynn coming over. She hadn’t yet told her family the identity of her baby’s father. And thankfully they hadn’t pushed her. Now, all she needed was for Grandma to mention the baby before she had a chance to talk to Flynn.

Trying not to think about any more disasters, Darcie forked a bite of the sinful dessert into her mouth, noticing that Heather had stopped eating and was watching to see if anyone had actually taken offense over the fat comments. The way Rose and Grandma were nose to nose, it sure looked like war.

“Hopefully this baby won’t inherit my tendencies to gain weight. And hopefully she’ll have more willpower.”

“You’re not fat,” Heather said cautiously.

“Of course she’s not!” Rose agreed, shooting another glare at her mother, which Grandma ignored with a sniff. “And Grandma does not think so, either. She just likes to hear herself talk. Trouble is, she lets anything that comes into her brain just rip right from her lips.”

“And you don’t?” Grandma asked, making a face.

Darcie couldn’t help it. She laughed. And so did Heather.

“I told you, didn’t I?”

Heather nodded. Both Rose and Grandma hid smiles. They were putting on a show. That it appeared to be at Darcie’s expense wasn’t a problem. Darcie understood them, knew she was loved.

“So, tell me about this ogre of a father you have.”

“Grandma!” Darcie said.

“Well, a girl runs away from home it must be that she is living with a beast.”

“He’s not really a beast,” Heather said, her fork suspended half way to her mouth.

“No? What is he, then?”

“An architect.”

“A businessman. Good sturdy stock. That’s important. And you have brothers and sisters?”

“A little sister. She’s one.”

Grandma nodded, her twinkling gaze darting to Darcie. “So he is a nice boy. A businessman, father, good husband material. My granddaughter should find such a man. A single one, that is.”

“Grandma, stop.” Darcie wondered if her guilt was flashing across her forehead. She’d already found Flynn O’Grady. And he was single.

Her face heated and she grew uncomfortably warm beneath her coat. Her mother was still frowning and shooting looks at Darcie over wearing her coat in the kitchen. But she’d rather sweat. She didn’t want to give Flynn a heart attack when he showed up. He’d had enough upsets for one night.

Already she could feel herself chickening out of telling him. At least for tonight.

“What, a grandmother can’t have a conversation?” Grandma Connor gave Darcie a long, probing look, then turned her attention back to Heather. “And how about your mama?”

Heather lowered her eyes, pushed her glass of milk back and forth on the maple table. “My mom died.”

Rose was across the room in an instant, her pillow-soft arms wrapped around Heather, her snapping gaze shooting licks of flame at Grandma Connor.

“Ah, darling, such a tragedy. You must forgive us for prying.”

Heather wanted to cry but was determined not to. Darcie’s mom smelled of chocolate pudding and love. The kitchen was warm from the oven and stove, yet the furnace kicked on. The house was modest, a narrow duplex with a small front yard, where the kitchen was the hub of the family and the neighbors were a holler away.

Totally different from the house she and her dad and Mary Beth lived in outside of Princeton. The O’Grady house was large—a hoity-toity upper-class house Robbie Sanders had told her once. It sat on an acre of wooded land surrounded by apple and oak trees and pitch pines.

Heather decided that she’d trade fancy for homey any day. She liked these comforting arms around her. And truthfully, she was kind of tickled by Grandma Connor. She didn’t want to spoil everything by acting all sad and upset.

“That’s okay,” she said to Rose. “I’m over it.”

“Of course you’re not. No one ever gets over losing a mother. But we’ll talk of more happy topics, shall we?”

“Men are happy topics,” Grandma muttered. “I especially like the ones with tattoos. Your daddy got any of those tattoos?”

Rose threw up her hands, Darcie choked on a swallow of cake and everyone jumped when there was a loud knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Darcie said, hopping up. Passing her mother, she whispered, “Put a cork in Grandma, would you?”

“You know she has a mind of her own,” Rose said, not even bothering to lower her voice. “I’ll see if your father can do anything with her. And when are you going to take off that moth-eaten coat?”

Darcie ignored her mother’s last question, pulled open the door and felt her knees go weak at the sight of Flynn O’Grady. He wore a long black overcoat, dress shoes that probably didn’t have a lot of traction against the icy stoop and a tie decorated with pictures of hot sauce bottles and chili peppers. Mary Beth was cradled in his arms, all bundled up in a furry pink snowsuit.

“Is she here?” he asked.

All conversation behind them stopped. She turned and looked at Heather, who went through several emotions at record speed. They flashed across her face like neon on an Atlantic City marquee—relief, elation, love, then suspicion, rebellion and accusation. This last was aimed at Darcie.

Darcie left Flynn to make his own way inside and went to Heather. The girl stood, backed up. “You told him?”

“Heather—”

“I trusted you. How come you called him?”

“I didn’t call him. I was at Hardware and Muffins when the hot line paged me. That’s where The Daddy Club meets.”

“So you what, told him everything?”

“No,” Darcie said softly. “Not everything. But you gave me your name, Heather, your full name, as well as your father’s. If you wanted anonymity you wouldn’t have done that.” The girl was silent, casting furtive glances over Darcie’s shoulder at Flynn. “Would you?” Darcie prompted.

Heather shrugged. “I guess.” It was her standard noncommittal answer, the underlying meaning lurking beneath the tone.

Darcie heard the interpretation as though it were a shout.

“Give him a chance, sweetie. He’s really upset.”

Heather tried to keep the belligerent look on her face, but she couldn’t. The minute her dad moved toward her, she lost it. A sob escaped and she slipped right into his arms, burrowing into his chest.

“You scared me half to death, sweetheart.”

“I was scared, too, Daddy.” She inhaled and hiccuped on a laugh. “You’ve got mushy crackers on your tie. That’s gross.”

Mary Beth squealed and boinked Heather on the head with drool-slick fingers. The kid should seem like a nuisance. But she wasn’t. Not really. Heather hugged her dad some more, then took the baby from his arms, determined to show her off. This was one of those instances where a baby came in handy. She was a buffer. Plus nobody could resist a little kid. Heather liked the attention the baby brought, even if she sometimes had to take a back seat to her. She could always pretend that it was for her, too.

Proudly she turned and walked over to Grandma Connor. “This is Mary Beth,” she introduced.

Grandma ran a wrinkled finger over Mary Beth’s cheek, then turned her eyes onto Heather, reaching out to pat her hair. “You’re a good girl. You do your family proud.” Heather didn’t really understand the praise, but she understood the look. It meant that she was special, and just as important as the baby was.

“We should be going, Heather,” Flynn said.

Heather’s stomach dipped. She wasn’t ready to go yet. He didn’t seem mad that she’d run away, but she was pretty sure he was gonna yell when they were alone. Well, he never really yelled, but it felt like it anyway. He’d probably just ground her again, though technically she was already grounded, so that wouldn’t be any big deal.

Thankfully Darcie’s mother saved the moment.

“Of course you should not be going! You haven’t had dessert! Did you eat a meal? I could warm up a nice plate of chicken for you.”

“No, really, I’ve eaten—”

“Then cake. You’ve not eaten chocolate cake, have you?”

“No—”

“Good. Sit. I’ll get you a plate and milk.”

Darcie was tickled by the look on Flynn’s face as her mother steamrollered him. “Might as well sit,” she said. “You’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t.”

“Watch your tongue,” Rose admonished.

Flynn glanced at Darcie just in time to see her lick her lips. His hand tightened on the back of the chair and his movements stilled for a split second.

To his everlasting horror, the two older ladies honed right in on his pause and the reason for it.

Flynn felt his ears burn, knew his face was beet red. Man, he hadn’t even been formally introduced to these women, yet they knew that he was thinking erotic thoughts about Darcie’s tongue. It was there in the twinkle of their eyes, in the way they practically tossed a cup of milk and his plate of cake in front of him and scooted Heather and Mary Beth out of the room on some pretense of showing them off to someone called Johnny.

Chapter Three

“I take it that was your mom and grandmother?” He sat down and tried to focus on the wedge of chocolate cake in front of him rather than on sexy thoughts of Darcie Moretti.

“Yes. Rose and Edna.”

“And Johnny’s your father?”

“Smart and good-looking, too,” she quipped. “Want me to call them all back for introductions?”

“Let’s give it a few. Let me quit blushing.”

“You were thinking about watching my tongue?”

He nearly choked on a sip of milk. “You are direct.”

“Is there any other way to be?”

“Well…yes.” He felt off balance, shy, for crying out loud. His memories of Darcie were vivid and fresh in his mind. He took a bite of dessert, glad of the distraction. “Cake’s good.”

“Ma makes the best.” She sat down across from him. “What’s going through your mind?”

“Too many things to name.” He put down his fork and took another sip of milk. There was something about this homey kitchen that made him feel welcome, made him reluctant to leave. But he didn’t belong here. He needed to learn to handle his family life—his children—on his own. Enrolling in The Daddy Club was a step in the right direction, a desperate measure after being backed against the wall and not knowing where else to turn. He couldn’t allow himself to idealize the Morettis or anyone else as fairy godmothers, ready to swoop in and smooth out the wrinkles of his home life. “I appreciate you finding Heather.”

“She was at Hawkins Park.”

Flynn pushed his empty plate away and gazed up at the ceiling. “I should have known that,” he said, his voice both soft and rough. “It’s where Marsha used to take her.”

“Your wife.”

“Yeah.” Her tone surprised him, had a strained ring to it. But when he looked at her, nothing appeared amiss. Just as well. He didn’t want to talk about Marsha now. Too many whammies had blindsided him today. His nerves were raw and a breath away from splintering.

“Heather’s changed a lot in the past few months, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how to get through to her. I had no idea she would ever think of running away.”

“You probably did, if you think back.”

“Maybe. It’s tough, though, you know? I’m dealing with a thirteen-year-old who doesn’t speak my language and a one-year-old who doesn’t speak any language!”

Darcie burst out laughing, the sound exuberant and refreshing, touching something deep in his battered soul. He didn’t realize how much he needed spontaneous laughter in his life, how much he needed a friend.

“Guess I sounded a little dramatic, huh?”

“No. Typical father of a teenager.”

“Thank God I’m typical.” Feeling lighter, he tipped back the kitchen chair, balancing on the rear legs. “I thought I was a total alien!”

“You’re a handsome alien.”

There was that directness again. Slowly he lowered the chair legs back to the linoleum floor, his gaze holding hers. He noticed beads of perspiration on her face, then glanced at her wool coat. “Aren’t you too warm in that jacket?”

She made a figure eight in a mound of spilled sugar on the maple table and didn’t look at him. “I’m fine.”

When he put his hand over hers, he felt her jolt of awareness. Darcie Moretti was attracted to him and doing her darnedest to act otherwise. He’d known it that night five months ago, and it was evident tonight. “What happened to you that night? Why did you leave?”

Because you called me Marsha. She shrugged. “I had to go. You were asleep so I left you that way.”

She wasn’t ready for this turn of conversation, didn’t have her words planned out. She liked to be in control, liked to know where every period and comma belonged, liked to fix things. All on her terms though. She didn’t care to be caught off guard like this.

He ran his thumb over the freckles on the back of her hand. “I looked for you in Philly. You led me to believe you lived there.”

This time she didn’t evade. “Maybe I did. It felt easier somehow. I don’t normally go to bed with guys I’ve just met.” Just ones I’ve been in love with all my life. “I was saving us both the embarrassment of the morning after.”

“We didn’t just meet, Darcie. I’ve known you since you were a kid.”

“Known of me, maybe, but you didn’t really know me.” The timing had always been off for them. When she was thirteen, he’d been the older boy who made her breath catch and her dreams sweet, but he hadn’t even known she was alive. He’d been wrapped up in football and cheerleaders, making her young heart weep with jealousy. Then at eighteen, she’d been the wrong social class and her fantasies had suffered a stinging death when the society page had gone gaga over his country club wedding to Marsha Levine, the district attorney’s daughter.

At thirty-one, Darcie’s fantasies had been resurrected when she’d encountered him in a hotel bar, both of them single, alone and all grown up. And she had seen her chance to put her fantasies to rest, operating on the theory that experiencing him would end her obsession.

Boy, had that been convoluted reasoning.

“I’d like the chance to get to know you now,” Flynn said, jolting her out of her musing.

His fingers stroked across hers lightly, making it hard to concentrate. And she was sure there was a reason she needed to remember all her faculties, to keep up her guard. But the firm shape of his lips was distracting, the smooth, deep tone of his voice mesmerizing.

She pulled her hand from beneath his, sat back in her chair, took a long breath.

A dimple creased his cheek. “Did that make you nervous?”

“Maybe.” She crossed her arms, then realized how that molded her coat to her body, and quickly uncrossed them.

“I’m very curious about you, Darcie Moretti, and intrigued…. I’m attracted to you and telling myself it’s not wise to pursue.”

Darcie licked her suddenly dry lips. They had a maple table between them. The smell of chocolate cake permeated the air. The heat of the furnace fogged the kitchen window that was edged with ice. All very homey and comfy and perfectly innocent, and yet she had the most overpowering urge to jump his bones. Oh, this was unacceptable.

And because it was unacceptable, she laughed. She didn’t know what else to do. She did know that she ought to head him off at the pass.

“For heaven’s sake, don’t just tell yourself not to pursue me—shout it.”

His brown-eyed gaze locked on to her, pinning her in the chair, making her heart speed up. Then his lips curved and before he even spoke, she knew she was a goner.

“So,” he began in that deep, sexy voice, “it seems you’re just as intrigued. Which means, I’m thinking…that you wouldn’t stop me if I, say…kissed you?”

The cuff of his dress shirt rode up on his wrist, revealing a silver watch. His hands were bold and strong—the kind of hands that were experienced in giving a woman pleasure. She knew that only too well.

She scooted back her chair. “We’re in my mother’s kitchen.”

“I didn’t mean right this minute.”

He was giving her a fair warning—a sensual warning. And it was thrilling.

And scary as all get-out.

There was still one big hurdle she needed to cross with him. But, oh the chemistry between them was like a dancing flame—hot and seductive, mesmerizing. She shook her head, wishing she dared take off her coat.

His sexy smile creased dimples beside his mouth, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I can’t believe I’ve made you speechless. Darcie the bold.”

“Darcie the sensible. Can you imagine my mother or grandmother walking in here, catching us looking at each other like animals in heat?” Oh, good grief. She held up a hand. “Forget I said that. Just give me a minute to find a hole to sink into.”

He laughed. “I like you, Darcie Moretti.”

Her traitorous heart gave a glad leap. She more than liked Flynn O’Grady. “Shh, Ma and Grandma will be in here to see what they’re missing out on. And then we’d all be in big trouble, because they’re forever trying to fix me up with somebody—male, that is.” Well, there she went again, putting her foot in it. She needed some glue for her lips.

“I’m all for being fixed up.”

“You can make light of it, but then you get to go home and never hear from them again. I have to put up with their nagging.” She pushed at her hair, adjusted a chopstick that was slipping. “They live to give me flak.”

“Does that bother you?”

“It would bother me if they didn’t nag.”

He nodded, his chocolate eyes letting her know she might be off the hook for now, but that he was reserving the right to pick up the sensual thread at a moment’s notice.

It was a terribly unsettling look.

“I wish Heather would adopt that attitude.”

“What?” She was having trouble keeping up. “Oh, you mean about nagging? She’s not as against you as you might think, Flynn. But she’s dealing with a lot lately.”

His brow rose.

She held up her hands in defense, remembering his pique in the rest room when she’d stated a similar conclusion. “I’m not outlining your perceived failures, or assuming to know all about your circumstances.”

“Yes, you are,” he said softly.

That caught her off guard, and for a minute she went silent. Then she laughed softly. “Okay, so I am. Sorry. Sue me. It’s a curse.”

“A good curse. You care.”

“Yes, I do. A great deal. And I want what’s best for Heather.”

“Then give me some pointers.”

“Be patient with her. Try to remember what it was like when you were her age.”

“Man alive, what do you think I’ve been doing? That’s exactly why I’m so concerned about her!”

“Shame on you, O’Grady. I wasn’t talking about sex.”

“Yeah? Well, every young boy is thinking it when he looks at Heather.”

“You mean Robbie Sanders?”

“For one. He’s in high school. He’s got no business sniffing around a thirteen-year-old.”

Darcie bit her lips to keep from laughing. He was so endearingly old-fashioned.

“What?” he demanded.

She shook her head and laughed. “Nothing. You’re just so predictable. A typical father who’s resisting his little girl growing up into a woman.”

“Don’t even say that.” He shuddered, and Darcie laughed even harder.

“You need to trust her, Flynn. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’s just going through adolescent changes, and she’s confused. But I believe she’ll make the right decision in the end.”

“She’s only thirteen. She’s too young to make decisions—”

She pressed a finger to his lips, raised a brow.

A sensual fire ignited like an inferno in Flynn’s gut. He reached up, cupped her hand and held it in place. Just to see what she would do, he kissed her finger. She drew in a shaky breath.

Their eyes held over their clasped hands. And by damn, he liked that interest he saw in hers, the swift desire.

Flynn wasn’t sure how or when it had happened, but he’d lost any thread of their conversation. His gaze kept straying to her mouth. Those full lips. The freckles surrounding them, fanning out to her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, the golden flecks dusting the backs of her hands, expressive hands that gestured with wild abandon, yet with grace.

A burst of canned laughter sounded from the television in the living room. Mary Beth’s delighted squeal mingled with conversation and a sitcom rerun.

Flynn raised his eyes back to hers.

Her indrawn breath was swift and telling. “What is it with us?” she asked.

He didn’t need clarification of her question. The chemistry between them was palpable. Just like it had been that night at the hotel. “It’s pretty strong.”

She stood, fanned herself. “This is a really bad idea, but let’s go outside.”

He didn’t have to be asked twice. His daughters were well chaperoned and happy. Darcie had said that her family had a knack for soothing the ruffled feathers of hormonal teens. He would continue to give them time to work their magic. And he would take some time for himself, some sorely needed time for himself. Time with a pretty woman on the front porch. A woman he’d been dreaming of for the past five months.

Darcie held the door for Flynn and closed it behind them, inhaling the crisp night air, allowing it to cool her body and her runaway hormones.

Pines and leafy bushes that had survived winter’s frost surrounded the porch. Concrete steps led down to a postage-stamp-size yard that was sliced in two sections by a walkway—a cookie-cutter version of every other yard on the block. Across the street, the neighbors still had their Christmas lights up, though the twinkling strands sagged where wind and snowfall had pulled out the staples.

The snow had stopped but the smell of rain was in the air. Cold bit at her cheeks, but her insides were burning.

She turned and gazed at Flynn’s tie. It wasn’t like her to feel shy, but she suddenly did. “You’re awfully dressed up.”

“I had a meeting with a new client.”

“Not at a job site, I take it?”

“Sort of. It’s a house over in New Brunswick. A remodel of a Victorian built in the early 1900s.”

His breath ballooned in front of him, warming her cheeks. “I thought Ula Mae said you did commercial architecture.” Ula Mae seemed to know everyone and everything going on in the state of New Jersey. And she was more than happy to pass it along. Since Darcie saw a lot of the older woman—mostly when they were discussing investments or insurance over an espresso at Hardware and Muffins —she usually got an earful of tidbits about the people in the community.

“I do both,” Flynn said, his dimples flashing a sexy warning. “What else does Ula Mae say about me?”

For the life of her, Darcie couldn’t come up with a witty quip. His utter charm and good looks snagged her, held her. “Uh, plenty.”

His grin widened. “Shall we see if I measure up?”

“That’s not…” Necessary, she finished silently.

Slowly, purposefully, he pulled her to him. Her heart slammed against her chest as he molded her body to his.

She knew exactly how this man measured up.

Desire raged like a flash point fire. Her belly wasn’t yet so big that she couldn’t feel his erection against the vee of her thighs.

“What have you got under that coat?”

His question brought reality crashing around her, nearly making her faint. She stared at his lips, then his eyes. Why couldn’t he have just kissed her and asked questions later?

Time had just run out.

“Uh, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

His lips touched hers, and she groaned. The fire between them was still as strong as ever. And she needed to be strong. She eased back.

“I’m…uh, pregnant.”

For what seemed like endless moments, he simply stared at her, his expression utterly blank. Then his forehead pleated and his body went rigid as he visibly struggled to process what she had said. “You’re…?”

“I’m going to have your baby.”

Chapter Four

Flynn leaped back, stunned, needing to sit before he fell. “You’re having my…” My God, he couldn’t even finish the sentence. He’d need those Daddy Club meetings more than ever now, he thought stupidly.

“I didn’t mean to catch you off guard.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or strangle her. He stared at the front of her coat, realizing now why she’d kept the baggy thing on.

A baby? His? What had he been thinking that night? He was a man who cherished family, had always wanted a big one—despite the ineptness he was currently displaying with the one he had—but he was normally more careful with a woman. Protected her.

“Let me see.”

Darcie suddenly felt embarrassed. With trembling fingers, she slipped the buttons through their loops, spread the panels, felt her heart gallop out of control as he eased away from the porch wall and came toward her, never taking his eyes off her belly.

At only five months along, she wasn’t hugely pregnant, but there was a definite swell beneath her charcoal jersey-knit tunic.

He reached out as though to touch, then pulled back. “Are you sure—”

Her chin jutted out and she didn’t let him finish his sentence. She didn’t need to. “Am I sure it’s yours?” Offended, hurt, she clenched her teeth. That damned class distinction that had made her feel like a waif at thirteen and again at eighteen rose up to haunt her. She thought she’d outgrown the insecurity. She hadn’t.

She stepped back, took a breath, told herself she would not cry. “You know, why don’t we just forget this whole thing, okay? We’ll just deal with getting Heather to go home with you and that will be that.”

“Darcie…” He reached for her.

She slapped his hand away. “I might have given you the wrong impression that night in Philly when I hopped right into bed with you, but I’m not like that. I’m not loose.”

“Ah, damn it.” This time he evaded her swatting hands, and cupped her face. “I know you’re not.”

“How? You don’t know me.”

“Instincts, then.” His thumbs massaged her temples.

She sniffed, mortified that the tears had slipped down her cheeks despite her strict efforts to hold them back. He should be hurling questions at her, yet instead he gave her tenderness.

“Your instincts are awful,” she said, not even knowing why she said it. Nothing made sense right now.

He eased her close. “Why in the world didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Her breath caught on a suppressed sob and she shrugged. Admitting that she was a chicken didn’t seem adequate for the moment.

He didn’t push. He simply held her closer. “It’ll be okay.”

“No it won’t.”

“Shh.” His palms were cold against her cheeks, his fingers gentle where they outlined the shell of her ear, cupped the back of her head. His head lowered, paused.

With exquisite care, he removed the colorful barrettes and chopsticks from her hair. Masses of naturally curly hair tumbled down, tangling with his fingers. Pinpricks raised goose bumps on her scalp and her arms. The roots of her hair hurt from being held up for so many hours, but his steady massage soothed…and inflamed.

Unconsciously she pressed against him. His gaze moved to hers, so strong and sure and utterly focused, holding her like a soft caress. She shivered, heard a silent click in her brain and knew she was already in too deep, knew too that there was nothing she could do to turn off her traitorous emotions.

The sound of her moan was lost in his mouth as his lips finally closed over hers. The jolt was almost too much to stand. She jumped, pulled back for an instant and once more met the heat of his eyes.

“Easy,” he whispered.

He took her lips again and heard her say, “Trouble.”

Yes. Definitely trouble. But it was the sweetest kind. The explosion of emotions that burst through him took him by surprise. Darcie Moretti was no shrinking violet when it came to giving and taking…or kissing. She didn’t play games or wait for him to lead. She participated, gave it her all. And man alive! What that “all” did to him.

He’d had his thirty-sixth birthday, and lately he’d been feeling jaded and old. With the simple, avid press of Darcie’s lips, he suddenly felt young and renewed.

He angled her head for better access and dove into the kiss, forgetting that Darcie’s family and his own daughters were on the other side of the door. He was caught up in some really glorious sensations, and for a while he just wanted to feel. Just that.

And he was feeling a lot—the soft warmth of her mouth, the pillowy feeling of her plump lips pressed to his, the heat of her thighs where they made a perfect cradle for his erection. Her pregnant belly was firm and spooned right into his stomach as though their bodies were made to fit that way….

As though the Almighty had made each with the other in mind.

And that thought scared him, big-time.

Darcie could hardly breathe, and then decided that breathing was overrated. There was a certain thrill in the dizziness born of lack of oxygen. At that moment, she was certain that she could sustain her life on Flynn’s taste alone—chocolate cake and milk and masculinity…and yes, trouble.

His kiss was sure and strong, yet soft and seductive. The joy he created with just that touch was potent, liberating. She wanted to go on forever, to take it further, to press closer, skin to skin….

The porch light winked on and off. Darcie’s eyes popped open and she leaped back from Flynn, her breath heaving, puffing white in the cold night air.

“Grandma Connor,” she explained, struggling for breath. “She used to do that to me when I was a teenager, too. It meant my dad was out of his chair and I was in danger of being caught.”

Flynn gave a strained laugh. “Been a while since I’ve worried about being caught necking on a girl’s front porch.”

“Yeah. Me, too. And that was pretty incredible.”

His dimples flashed, illuminated by the yellow porch light. “I could fall for you real easy, Darcie Moretti. I know that sounds weird with you being pregnant and all.”

Steady, she cautioned herself. Don’t jump. “Good thing we’re both sensible adults. And good thing neither of us has time to devote to a relationship.”

He took a step closer. She took a step back. “Who says I don’t have time for a relationship?” Never mind that she was right. It bothered him that she was thinking for him again.

“Your daughter does. Every time she calls the hot line. She’s your number one concern, Flynn. And mine. I won’t lose another kid.”

“Another one?” Flynn asked. It was difficult to think straight with desire still raging through him like a wildfire. But Darcie’s tone flashed warning signals in his sluggish brain, making him uneasy. Even more upsetting was her including his daughter in that category of kids whom someone could lose. “Are you talking ‘lose’ as in dead?”

She looked away. “It happens sometimes.”

He touched her cheek, turned her face back to him. “What happened to you?” he asked softly. “Who did you lose?”

“My best friend in high school.”

Not so recent, he realized, relaxing now that he was fairly sure she wasn’t talking about her hot line and his daughter. “Want to talk about it?”

“Are you sure you’re ready to hear this?”

“Yes.” No. He had an idea that as a father her story would cause him nightmares. But he wanted to know what made Darcie Moretti tick. And this was something that affected her deeply.

“Tammy’s dad was pretty strict, more so than most, and he wasn’t one to budge when he felt strongly about something. He’d been raising Tammy by himself, then one day he went to Atlantic City and came back married. Turns out he’d been seeing the woman for a while, but he’d never said a word to anybody, not even Tammy. He just brought Glenda home and expected Tammy to accept her new stepmother.”

“And she didn’t?”

“No. From then on, she went out of her way to be a rebel. She was bullheaded—a lot like your Heather, but older. She got pregnant and panicked.”

Flynn flinched and Darcie realized she probably shouldn’t have mentioned Heather and “pregnant” in the same breath.

“All Tammy thought about was that her dad was going to kill her. So instead of facing him, she ran away.”

Darcie leaned a hip on the brick half wall that surrounded the porch, and plucked a couple of berries off a juniper bush. “I was the last person she called. I didn’t think she was serious about staying gone. She’d threatened so many times before. I told her I’d come meet her, and she got mad at me and said I’d probably just tell my mom and then my mom would call her stepmom.” She glanced back at Flynn. “You know how it is with parents or neighbors sticking together.”

Cold bit at her cheeks and her insides as though an arctic blizzard had suddenly swept the yard. She could still see Tammy’s laughing face, still vividly remember the horror and then the giggles when they’d wrestled over a swing in grade school and Darcie had ended up with a broken finger.

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