“Lauren, about the other night…”

Rafe gave Lauren a rueful smile. “I’m sorry. I never intended to say what I did.”

To his surprise, she smiled back. “That’s okay. Forget about it,” she said, almost cheerfully. “Actually, you did me a favor.”

“I did?”

She nodded. “I thought over what you said, and I decided you were right.”

That should have been a good thing, yet Rafe suddenly felt wary. As if he were in the marines again, picking his way through a field full of land mines. “Right about what?” he asked cautiously.

“What you’re always telling me. That I need to develop some backbone. Set goals, get out more. That I should learn to fight for what I want.”

Rafe relaxed again, leaning back in his chair. He gave her an approving nod, pleased that she was finally taking his advice. “Good. Glad to hear it. So what is it that you decided you want?”

“A man.”

Dear Reader,

Celebrate the holidays with Silhouette Romance! We strive to deliver emotional, fast-paced stories that suit your every mood—each and every month. Why not give the gift of love this year by sending your best friends and family members one of our heartwarming books?

Sandra Paul’s The Makeover Takeover is the latest page-turner in the popular HAVING THE BOSS’S BABY series. In Teresa Southwick’s If You Don’t Know by Now, the third in the DESTINY, TEXAS series, Maggie Benson is shocked when Jack Riley comes back into her life—and their child’s!

I’m also excited to announce that this month marks the return of two cherished authors to Silhouette Romance. Gifted at weaving intensely dramatic stories, Laurey Bright once again thrills Romance readers with her VIRGIN BRIDES title, Marrying Marcus. Judith McWilliams’s charming tale, The Summer Proposal, will delight her throngs of devoted fans and have us all yearning for more!

As a special treat, we have two fresh and original royalty-themed stories. In The Marine & the Princess, Cathie Linz pits a hardened military man against an impetuous princess. Nicole Burnham’s Going to the Castle tells of a duty-bound prince who escapes his castle walls and ends up with a beautiful refugee-camp worker.

We promise to deliver more exciting new titles in the coming year. Make it your New Year’s resolution to read them all!

Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

The Makeover Takeover
Sandra Paul

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedicated with love to Nikki and Dano. Thanks for all the help and encouragement.

Books by Sandra Paul

Silhouette Romance

Last Chance for Marriage #883

The Reluctant Hero #1016

His Accidental Angel #1087

The Makeover Takeover #1559

Silhouette Yours Truly

Baby on the Way

Mills & Boon Duets

Head Over Heels

Baby Bonus?

Moonstruck

SANDRA PAUL

married her high school sweetheart and they live in Southern California with their three children, their dog and their cat.

She loves to travel, even if it’s just several trips a month to her hometown bookstore. Bookstores are her favorite place to be.

Her first book with Silhouette Romance was the winner of RWA Golden Heart Award and a finalist for an RWA RITA Award.

KANE HALEY

Note to self: Who’s having my baby?

Trudy—hopeless romantic, office gossip, can’t keep a secret. If it’s not her, she might know who it is!

Lauren Connor—dates a lot, trying out new looks to impress her boss, was out sick with stomach flu. Hmm…

Sharon Davies—recently trapped in an elevator with a major client, blushes whenever he’s around, looking a little green lately. Could she be carrying my baby?

Leila—makes eyes at me. Is it more than a crush?

Maggie Steward—my personal assistant, wants children, clock is ticking. She would never go to a sperm bank!

Julia Parker—worries that her endometriosis could make her infertile. No man in her life. Definite sperm bank material!

Jennifer Martin—eight months pregnant. Is it her late fiancé’s baby? Is it mine?

WHEN THE LIGHTS WENT OUT…October 2001

A PREGNANT PROPOSAL November 2001

THE MAKEOVER TAKEOVER December 2001

LAST CHANCE FOR BABY January 2002

SHE’S HAVING MY BABY! February 2002

KANE HALEY, INC.

CHICAGO, IL

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 Fifteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

“C’mon, Lauren.”

“No.”

“Why not? We have plenty of time….”

“No, we do not.” Sitting stiffly erect in her chair, Lauren Connor carefully avoided meeting her boss’s eyes across the wide expanse of his oak desk. Focusing on the slice of the Chicago skyline visible in the window beyond his broad shoulder, she added, “Mr. Haley might be here at any moment and the last thing I want is for the head of the company to catch us fooling around.”

“He’s not due for at least another thirty minutes—”

“Twenty.”

“Twenty then. That’s time enough.” Rafe Mitchell studied his secretary’s unrelenting expression, then coaxed, “C’mon, Lauren, it’ll help me relax. This Bartlett deal is really stressing me out.”

Unable to stop herself, Lauren stole a glance at his face. His dark eyes met hers, and her stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with the nausea that had been plaguing her all morning. Breaking away from that intent stare, she pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose and let her gaze wander over him, trying to assess the truth of his claim.

He certainly didn’t look stressed. As usual, he was leaning back in his chair with his long legs stretched out in front of him and his hands thrust into the pockets of his custom-tailored gray suit. But maybe he was feeling the pressure. No one knew better than she how stressful working at the accounting firm of Kane Haley, Inc., could be, and heaven knew, as Vice-President of Mergers and Acquisitions, Rafe had more than his share of challenges.

On the other hand, no one else knew better than she did how good Rafe was at getting his own way. Even the absurdly hopeful expression he’d donned couldn’t hide the stubborn determination indelibly marked in the hard lines of his face. Rafe Mitchell was tough, and he looked it—from the tight, muscular build of his six-foot-tall body to the shrewd, cynical intelligence gleaming in his dark-brown eyes.

Catching a glimpse of amusement in their depths, Lauren’s spine stiffened even more. “Well, it doesn’t relax me,” she said, trying to make her soft voice sound firm and implacable. “All I end up with is a lot of frustration.”

“That won’t happen this time—I promise,” Rafe said quickly.

She looked at her notepad, pushing her glasses back up as they slipped down her nose again. She doodled on the paper, pretending to add more items to the list she’d made.

“I’ll even let you go first.”

Her pen faltered. To her inner disgust, Lauren could feel herself weakening. She bit her lip, trying not to give in.

His deep voice turned husky with persuasion. “Please, Laurie…”

The last of her resolution crumbled. In the three years she’d worked for Rafe, she never had been able to resist that half-demanding, half-coaxing tone—so why did she think today would be any different? Especially when she wasn’t feeling well enough to deal with him.

She slapped her notepad down on his desk. “All right—you win. I’ll play you one game—but just one! And for heaven’s sake, let’s make it quick.”

Triumph flashed across Rafe’s face, and he sprang to his feet. “Great! You sit at my desk. I’ll set things up.”

Lauren walked over and settled into his chair. The supple leather still retained the warmth from his body, and she sighed as the heat comforted her, helping to dispel the small shivers chasing along her limbs. Even the thick brown sweater and long wool skirt she was wearing weren’t helping much to keep her warm today.

She wrapped her arms around her middle as another pain tightened the muscles in her stomach. She couldn’t be coming down with the flu—not now. The niggling thought that it might be something else, something even more serious, she pushed right out of her mind. She didn’t have time to deal with any personal problems. There was too much work to be done. The meeting with Mr. Haley this morning, the future meetings she needed to set up to prepare for the Bartlett takeover. Contracts to get ready, decorations to plan for the company Christmas party—the list was endless. And right at the top of it was trying to handle a boss who insisted on wasting valuable time.

She watched Rafe as he paced off approximately seven feet on the plush cream carpet. He placed his empty trash can on the spot. Then he strode back toward her to retrieve a small orange hoop, complete with a net, from a drawer in his desk.

Lauren shook her head at the satisfaction on his face as he crouched to attach it to the rim of the can. “Don’t you ever get tired of playing these silly games?”

“Nope,” he answered, without bothering to look up from his task. “I like to win.”

“You’ll probably end up with ulcers,” Lauren told him morosely, the thought prompted by another wave of nausea. “You’re much too competitive.”

Rafe slanted his secretary an amused glance. If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black, he didn’t know what was. Lauren was competitive, too. She just didn’t know it.

Not many other people would realize it at first glance either. She was definitely a girl who would have played with Barbies and tea sets with her mother, rather than sports with her dad. Everything about her was, well…sort of wimpy. She wore glasses that constantly slipped down the bridge of her small nose. The thick lenses gave her blue-gray eyes a slightly surprised look—like an anxious little mole, blinking in the sunshine. Her mouth was unremarkable, and her thin face and pale cheeks were framed by straight brown hair.

Her movements were precise, her attitude was prim. She didn’t talk about herself much, but Rafe knew her father had died when she was five or so. As a result, she wasn’t used to the rather crude way men could talk—never mind understanding the way they thought. Nor did she have even the slightest clue about the purpose, rules, or even the star players of the games men loved. Not football, hockey, baseball—not any game for that matter. Rafe had discovered that amazing fact barely a week after she started working for him. He’d mentioned Michael Jordan—who could grow up in Illinois and not know about Mike?—and been totally stunned when she’d asked in all sincerity if Jordan worked in the mail room.

Rafe had known right then and there that his new secretary needed help. She needed to get out more. She needed to quit being so serious all the time and so polite. To loosen up a little, build some confidence and learn to survive in the big city. Most of all, as part of his takeover team, she needed to develop some fighting spirit. And nothing was better for achieving all of those goals, Rafe knew, than a little healthy competition.

Hadn’t playing football and baseball kept him out of trouble when he was in high school? Major trouble, anyway. Hadn’t the boxing, the hand-to-hand fighting workouts—the all-night poker games—kept him sharp and aggressive, not to mention solvent, during his stint in the marines? Of course they had. And once he’d gotten his degree on a GI bill, hadn’t his ability to play the corporate game—not to let up on a deal until he had the terms he was after—eventually landed him this job with Kane Haley, Inc.? You’d better believe it.

So—being the great guy he was—he’d taken Lauren under his wing. Every couple months or so, he’d introduced her to a new game, to broaden her experience and help to de-wimp her. She’d learned about hockey by playing “mint hockey” on his desk, using a hard candy for the puck and pencils as their hockey sticks. For tennis, he’d strung up a tiny net of paper clips, and they’d batted a wad of paper back and forth. They’d tackled soccer, baseball—but his favorite game so far was trash-can basketball. Now there was a game that required skill.

Not that Lauren had any. Her depth perception was dismal and her coordination sucked. Still, he couldn’t help believing she had to have potential for something, he reflected as he pulled out the orange foam ball he’d stashed in a potted fern near the window. She was slim for her height of about five foot six or so, and had nice long legs. Her build at least looked athletic enough—until you put her to the test.

He tossed her the ball, then shook his head as she reached out awkwardly and fumbled the catch. Pathetic—simply pathetic.

But her lack of talent wouldn’t stop her from giving the contest her best shot, he knew. Lauren always balked at participating at first—she had completely outdated notions about correct behavior at work—but once he’d bullied, cajoled or tricked her into playing, her competitive nature would rise to the fore. She hated to lose, and entered each of the ridiculous contests with a fierce determination to win.

Rafe hid a slight grin. Already she was frowning over his placement of the basket, her slim brows drawing down over her eyes.

“Isn’t that farther away than you set it last time?” she asked doubtfully, pushing up her glasses as she glanced at him.

“No.”

“But—Rafe!” Her frown deepened as he shrugged out of his jacket. “What are you doing? Mr. Haley—”

“Doesn’t give a damn how I’m dressed, as long as I get the job done—and I do. Every time.” Rafe lifted his brows, studying her disapproving face as he began to roll up his white shirtsleeves. “Surely you don’t expect me to play a serious game in my suit?”

“Why not? You know you’ll beat me with or without it.”

She made the last comment almost beneath her breath, but Rafe heard it anyway. Like his coordination, his hearing was excellent. He gave her a reproachful look. “Hey, don’t I always give you a sporting chance?” She opened her mouth, but before she could reply, he interjected, “Of course, I do. I’ll shoot at double the distance.”

“Like that’s going to matter,” Lauren grumbled, but he could tell he had her hooked. She made a practice motion with the ball toward the can before adding, “I think you just like to make me play because then you can always win.”

Rafe suppressed another smile at the faint disgust in her voice. It wasn’t like Lauren to complain. She usually participated in each contest in resigned silence.

He prudently kept his mouth shut, although he could have told her it wasn’t beating her that he enjoyed so much, but rather watching the fierce determination she put into the games. Like now, for instance. She’d forgotten all about Kane Haley’s imminent arrival and had abandoned that aloof, grave expression she seemed to feel lately was appropriate as his secretary. Instead, her face was screwed up in a fierce scowl of concentration, her eyes narrowed behind her glasses as she visually measured the distance to the goal.

He let her study it for a few seconds longer, then prompted, “Ready?”

She nodded, her long, straight brown hair swinging gently against her cheek. “Ready.”

She lifted the ball. Just as she was just about to release it, he said, “Wait!”

Lauren almost lurched out of her chair. She gasped, her blue-gray eyes wide with alarm, her glasses askew on her small nose. “What? What’s wrong?” She straightened her glasses and glanced nervously at the door. “Is Mr. Haley coming?”

“Nah. We just forgot to make a bet.”

Her eyes narrowed again—on him this time. “I don’t want to bet. I keep telling you, betting is illegal.”

“Now would I suggest doing something illegal?” Her expression said yes, but before she could answer, he did it for her. “Of course not,” he said smoothly. “I was just thinking of a simple, friendly wager—maybe for a small exchange of services.”

She still looked suspicious. “What services?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” He pretended to consider a moment. “How about if you win, I make a Christmas donation to the women’s shelter you’re collecting for. A hefty donation.” No need to tell her, he decided, that the check was already made out and ready to be donated in either case. The incentive would spur her on.

Sure enough, her eyes lit up, then turned wary again. “And if I lose….”

“If you lose, then all you have to do is a little Christmas shopping for me. Pick up something for a few of my friends.”

“What friends?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe Amy. And Maureen. And possibly Nancy.”

Now she really looked disapproving—and definitely torn. Rafe kept his expression serious with an effort. He’d asked her last week to pick up some gifts for the women he was currently dating, and she’d responded with a stiff little speech about “gift-giving being a personal thing” and “not feeling right about doing it for him” and how she was sure “his friends would rather have something he’d chosen himself.” He’d listened and agreed, but hell, he had no idea what to get women, and he hated buying gifts anyway.

It would be much better all around if Lauren just did it for him.

He knew he wasn’t actually giving her any choice; the women’s shelter was a big deal to Lauren. She really got into stuff like that. Charities. Church. The new child-care facility Maggie Steward, Kane’s administrative assistant, was adding to the corporation. Anything she felt would help make someone’s life better always caught Lauren’s attention. No way on earth would she be able to refuse a possible donation.

But he asked her anyway, “So whaddaya say? Just get them whatever women like. Throw it all on my credit card.”

“Fine,” she answered, gritting her small white teeth.

Now he’d really riled her up. She pressed her lips together and picked up a pen. She deliberately wrote down a line on her notepad, and even took the time to scribble something in the margin.

Finished finally, she threw down her pen. She glared at him, then glared back at the basket. Jabbing at her glasses, she set her delicate jaw and pushed up the sleeves of her brown sweater. She even wiggled forward to perch at the extreme edge of the chair, tugging down the hem of her brown plaid skirt as it inched up above her knees.

Settled into position, she lifted her arm again. With a mighty scowl and a jerky flip of her wrist, she released the ball.

The orange missile shot straight toward the basket and plopped down—three feet short.

Rafe wanted to howl at the frustration on her face. She was stiff as a baseball bat now with her hands clenched into small fists by her sides. But instead of laughing, he shook his head in mock commiseration. “Ah, damn. That’s too bad,” he said sympathetically. He scooped the ball up from the carpet. “Let’s see if I can do any better.”

He made a minor production of measuring off his shooting range, making sure he doubled the distance Lauren had thrown from. Then with a casual toss, he threw the ball.

He nodded in satisfaction as it sank right in the can. Man, he was good. He glanced at his secretary to see if she fully appreciated his prowess, and his smile disappeared.

Lauren looked sick. Her pale skin had a yellow cast and as he watched, she flinched, then wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, but the words ended on a small gasp. “I just have a small pain in my stomach.”

He frowned as she tightened her arms again. “What do you mean pain?” he demanded. “Like appendicitis?”

“No. Really—I’m fine.”

“There’s a flu bug going around—”

“It’s nothing,” she insisted, dismissing his concern with an airy wave of her hand.

A second later, however, she clasped that same hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in alarm. Jumping up, she looked frantically at the trash can—still decked out with its silly net—then dashed out the door.

Chapter Two

When Lauren emerged from the women’s restroom a few minutes later, she was feeling much better. She’d splashed cold water on her face, rinsed out her mouth, and was sure she could make it through the rest of the day. But then she saw Rafe leaning against the wall outside with his arms crossed, wearing his black overcoat. Her brown coat and scarf were slung over his arm, and he had the scuffed brown messenger bag she used as a purse clutched in his big hand.

He straightened at the sight of her. “Okay, let’s go,” he said briskly, before she could speak. “You’re sick and I’m taking you home.”

“I’m not sick,” Lauren said, automatically reaching for her bag.

He relinquished it, but turned her this way and that as he hooked her arms into her coat and tugged it up her shoulders. Then, taking her arm in a firm grasp, he steered her down the hall toward the elevators.

“Rafe—wait! I’m better now,” Lauren told him, trying to dig in her heels.

“Glad to hear it,” he replied, but kept walking, pulling her along with him.

When they reached the elevator, he still didn’t give her a chance to argue, pushing the button and pulling her inside before she could think of a way to convince him she was all right.

The doors closed and he turned to face her. “You’re white as a ghost, Lauren.” Ignoring her protests, he slung the scarf around her neck. He wrapped it around and around to the mellow rendition of “Jingle Bells” seeping from the elevator speakers. “I’m taking you home. I don’t want you driving yourself.”

Lauren pulled down the wool folds stacked up over her nose. “But there’s no need! Mr. Haley—”

“Will understand. I left him a message explaining that you weren’t feeling well. Since it’s Friday, you’ll have the entire weekend to rest up.”

Lauren opened her mouth to protest again, then shut it as she glanced at Rafe’s face. His tone sounded pleasant enough, but the look in his eyes told her he meant what he said.

Lauren sighed, subsiding back into her scarf. She’d seen that look before, whenever he was working on a deal. Rafe was determined to get his way, and any argument she made would simply be a waste of breath.

She decided to try anyway. “I can take a taxi. Or the bus. Or maybe Jay will give me a ride home.”

He glanced down at her, raising his brows in question. “Who’s Jay?”

“Jay Leonardo, the neighbor who drove me in this morning.”

“What’s wrong with your car?” he asked, as the elevator lurched to a stop at the fourteenth floor. The mirrored doors slid open for another passenger.

“I’m not sure,” Lauren told him. “It was slow starting and Jay offered—”

“Why, hello Rafe,” a sultry voice interrupted.

Lauren looked up. A blond woman was standing at the open doors, staring at Rafe with delight.

His crooked grin appeared. “Well, hello, Nancy,” he drawled.

The blonde slid into the elevator and immediately slunk up next to Rafe. Like a snake, Lauren decided. A busty one.

So this was the Nancy she was supposed to buy a present for.

Lauren faced forward as the door closed. Beside her, Rafe and the woman exchanged pleasantries as “Jingle Bells” ended and “White Christmas” began. Trying to avoid looking in the mirrors surrounding her, Lauren glanced up at the overhead lights, then down at her unvarnished nails. But finally she gave in. She might as well be invisible, she thought, staring at their reflections in the mirrored door.

Rafe stood next to her, but he wasn’t looking at her; not at all. He’d fixed his entire attention on the woman on his other side—and the blonde’s was fixed entirely on him.

Which, of course, was no surprise in either case. The woman looked beautiful in her expensive blue suit, fitted within an inch of her life. Flimsy-looking heels showcased her tiny feet, and a fur hung over her arm. Sleek, sophisticated, she had at least ten years on Lauren’s twenty-four and radiated the confidence those years had obviously given her. And as for Rafe…

Lauren studied him, noting how his crisp white shirt made his hair and eyes look even darker. How the tailored lines of his charcoal suit contrasted sharply with his rugged face. He smiled briefly at the newcomer and his straight teeth gleamed. Beguiling creases appeared in his lean cheeks.

Rafe looked…just fine, too.

Lauren looked away from him to stare woodenly ahead at her own image. With her frumpy cloth coat, striped scarf, and serviceable low pumps—and her long brown hair hanging down in a tangle around her glasses—she looked like a stump. A furry, brown one.

“What are you doing in this area of town?” Rafe was asking Nancy.

“I had an appointment with my accountant on the fourteenth floor and thought I’d stop by your office to see if you wanted to have lunch. I haven’t heard from you for a while,” the woman murmured in a chiding tone, looking up at him from beneath long lashes.

Ooh, bad move, Lauren thought. Rafe didn’t encourage his dates to visit him at the office. It made them territorial, he’d once told Lauren. Sure enough, the expression in his eyes cooled. But he answered pleasantly enough, “Yeah, I’ve been pretty busy at work.”

The blonde pressed again. “You still have my number, don’t you?” She reached out and lightly touched his arm.

Rafe lifted a brow. “It’s on my speed dial,” he assured her.

Lauren tried to turn her sudden snort into the semblance of a cough. “Sorry,” she mumbled, as they both glanced at her in the mirror.

Rafe’s gaze met hers. She quickly looked away as his eyes narrowed a little, but could feel his gaze still on her.

“This is my secretary,” he announced suddenly, as if he’d just remembered she was in the elevator, too. He put his arm around Lauren’s shoulders to turn her toward them. “I think you’ve spoken with her on the phone. Lauren, Nancy. Nance—Lauren.”

Lauren politely stuck out her hand. The blonde had reluctantly grasped it, when Rafe added, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass on lunch today. I’m taking Lauren home. She’s been sick—vomiting and all that.”

Heat swept up Lauren’s face as the other woman snatched her hand away. Nancy stepped back, glanced around the mirrored box as if looking for a way out, then jabbed at the panel.

The elevator jolted to a stop. “I need to—ah, get out here,” the blonde said, edging around Lauren. With a final, “See you, Rafe. Call me!” she disappeared down the hall.

Rafe pushed a button. The doors slid shut again. A distressingly upbeat version of “Sleigh Ride” came on. Lauren glared at Rafe’s pseudo-innocent look in the mirror, and her hands clenched by her sides. “I’d appreciate it,” she said icily, “if you wouldn’t use me as some kind of blonde repellent.”

His eyes crinkled in amusement, but his tone was reproachful as he asked, “Now would I do something like that?”

“Yes!” Annoyed with his antics, Lauren turned toward the panel. “And I have better things to do than to fool around, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to the office and—”

He caught her hand to prevent her pushing the button just as the elevator shuddered to another stop. The doors slid open on the street level. Rafe latched on to her arm. He marched her through the lobby and out of the main entrance into the crisp December air.

Horns blared, traffic roared by on the busy street in front of them. A Salvation Army Santa rang his bell with incessant cheerfulness in front of the building next door, making Lauren wince. Rafe paused on the sidewalk a moment to tug her scarf up over her ears, pushing her hands aside when she tried to stop him. Then, satisfied with his efforts at keeping her warm, he took her arm again, urging her toward the parking structure.

Lauren’s feet slipped a little on the icy pavement. His grip on her arm tightened to steady her.

“You should have worn your boots,” he murmured, glancing disapprovingly at her low heels.

Lauren spat out her scarf and raised her chin as far as possible to tell him, “You didn’t give me the chance! They’re under my desk.” If that wasn’t just like the man, she fumed, retreating back into the wool as the cold Chicago wind nipped her nose. To blame her when he was the one at fault….

He caught her hand as she slid again, and wrapped his other arm around her waist. Tucking her under his shoulder, he almost carried her across the frozen sidewalk. “And what about your gloves?” He raised his brows and gently squeezed her cold fingers with his warm ones for emphasize. “Are those at your desk, too?”

Lauren pressed her lips together. He knew they weren’t; he’d scolded her for not wearing them when she’d come in that morning. So she decided not to answer that question, concentrating instead on trying to keep her balance.

When they reached his sleek black car, she did try to tell him once again that she could get home without his help, but he ignored her, unlocking the door to stuff her gently but firmly inside.

Knowing there was no changing his mind, Lauren crossed her arms and watched the city roll past the window. When he slid a disk into his CD player, she gave him a sidelong glance. Music pulsed from his speakers, a heavy rock song, and he tapped on the steering wheel to the beat.

Her eyes lingered for a moment on his hands, following the movement of his long fingers. Her gaze slid up to his face, following the sharp angle of his jaw up his cheekbone to his eyes. His dark lashes half shielded his gaze, which were fixed on the road ahead as he cut through traffic. As always, he looked completely confident, sure of where he was going and what he wanted.

She knew she didn’t need to give him directions to her apartment. After all, Rafe was the one who’d found it for her. A short time after she became his secretary he’d condemned her first place sight unseen as being in a “dangerous” area. He’d then recommended her present address which he considered much safer; Rafe had grown up in the city, and he knew his Chicago. The rent for the converted Victorian was a little more than Lauren had wanted to spend, but after listening to his horror stories about her first location for an entire week, she’d ended up plunking down the money with a minimum of fuss.

Obviously pleased with his victory, Rafe had helped her move. But then he hadn’t come around again until the Christmas season, when he’d turned up on her doorstep with a tree for her. He’d arrived with one last year, too, and Lauren wondered if he planned to do the same this Christmas. She was trying to think of a polite way to ask—without making it sound as if she expected him to buy her a tree—when they pulled up before her building.

Lauren sighed in relief, thankful the short drive was over. Now he could get back to work. She turned to him as she opened her door. “I really appreciate—”

“You sit right there,” he ordered, switching off the engine. “I’m taking you up.”

The house had been divided into four apartments; Lauren’s was one of two on the second story. As they climbed the outside stairs that had been added to provide a separate entrance, she worriedly tried to remember if she’d straightened up that morning—or if she’d left the place a mess. Probably, the latter, she thought gloomily. She hadn’t felt very well this morning, or last night either for that matter.

She paused on the landing with her key in hand, hoping to head Rafe off. “Thank you for—”

“Here, give me that,” he interrupted, removing the key from her grasp. In less than five seconds he’d opened the door, nudged her inside, and followed right behind her.

Lauren entered reluctantly. Her gaze darted around as she struggled to remove the wool tourniquet Rafe had tied around her neck. The apartment had an open design with the kitchen, dining and living rooms all combined into one big living area. The place didn’t look too bad, she decided, glancing toward the kitchen. She’d left a couple of cupboard doors open and her breakfast dishes were in the sink, but no big deal.

Relieved, she looked up at Rafe to try to thank him again, and caught him staring at her folded laundry, piled on a nearby chair. Right on top of the pile was her white cotton, size 34A bra.

A hot flush crept up her face. Lauren sidled over to the chair, intending to tuck her bra beneath her other clothes. But just as she picked it up, Rafe took off again.

“Where’s your thermostat?” he asked, striding across the living room. “It’s in the hall, isn’t it? Let’s get the heat up in here.”

He disappeared down her hallway, and Lauren hurried after him. She caught up with him by the thermostat located next to her bedroom door—her open bedroom door. Lauren groaned as she glanced inside. Her bed was unmade, her flannel nightgown was thrown across the sheets and her underwear was on the floor.

She yanked the door closed, blocking Rafe’s view of the rumpled bed and the rest of the messy room.

He didn’t seem to notice. He adjusted her thermostat to his satisfaction and turned to go back into the living room. Lauren followed, noting in relief that he was finally heading to the door.

He waited in her tiny foyer for her to catch up. When she reached his side, Lauren took a deep breath to restore her composure, and said in as calm a voice as she could manage, “Thank you for driving me home.”

“You’re welcome,” he responded, his tone as solemn as hers. “Do you want to go to bed?”

Lauren gasped, her startled gaze flying to meet his. “No! I mean, yes. I mean—I’ll do that—just as soon as you leave.”

Unholy amusement lit his dark eyes. Lauren’s face burned hotter than ever. Of course he hadn’t meant the question the way that it had sounded. As if he was planning to go to bed with her. What was wrong with her today?

Instinctively, she lifted her hands to cover her red cheeks, then yanked them down again as she realized she was still holding her bra. She whipped it behind her back again, shutting her eyes in embarrassment. Rafe would tease the life out of her now—he loved to tease every chance he got—and, heaven knew, she’d just given him plenty of ammunition. She lifted her lashes and stared up at him in dread, waiting mutely for him to start.

But he didn’t. Maybe it was the apprehension on her face or maybe he took pity on her because he thought she had the flu. Maybe he simply remembered Mr. Haley was probably waiting back at the office.

Whatever the reason, Rafe merely told her, “Well, I’m leaving now, so go climb in between the sheets.”

He reached for the doorknob, then paused. He turned back to face her and tilted up her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “And forget about coming into work on Monday if you still feel sick. That’s an order, Lauren.”

He released her and left. Lauren bolted the door behind him and sagged against it in relief, her skin still tingling from his touch.

Rafe was still chuckling to himself as he strode down the hall to his office. He’d never seen Lauren so flustered. What a kick she could be sometimes, getting all upset and embarrassed simply because she’d left a bra out. Did she think he’d never seen one before?

He forgot about Lauren’s amusing modesty, though, when he entered his office to find the president of the firm waiting. Kane Haley was sitting on the edge of Rafe’s desk, his broad shoulders hunched as he frowned down at a paper in his hand.

Rafe shrugged out of his overcoat, tossing it on the rack by the door, then moved forward to greet the other man. “Kane—have you been waiting long? Didn’t you get my message?”

“That’s why I waited,” his boss replied, rising to his feet. “How’s Lauren?”

“Lauren?” Rafe shrugged, faintly surprised by the question. “She’s sick, as I said.”

Kane looked back down at the paper, and Rafe realized it was his own scrawled message that the other man was holding. “You say here,” Kane said, “that she has a stomachache.”

“She does.” Surely Kane didn’t think Lauren had lied simply to go home early? “She wasn’t faking, if that’s what you think.”

“I don’t.” Kane dropped the slip of paper down on the desk. He paced to the window—skirting the trash can that Rafe had left in the middle of the carpet—and stood silently for a long moment, looking out at the view. Then he drew a deep breath, and turned, meeting Rafe’s eyes.

“What I think,” Kane said slowly, “is that Lauren might be pregnant.”

Chapter Three

“Pregnant?” Rafe stared at the other man in disbelief. Lauren? His secretary Lauren—pregnant? “Where on earth did you get a crazy idea like that?”

“You said in your note her stomach was bothering her.”

“Yeah, so—”

“Has she been tired a lot? Fatigued in the mornings? Has she seemed moody at all?”

Rafe paused, his chest tightening. She had seemed more serious and distracted lately. Even kind of droopy at times. His voice sharpened, “Yeah, but she’s probably picked up that flu bug that’s been going around.”

Kane frowned. “Did she seem to have any other flu symptoms? A headache? Fever?”

Rafe remembered how cool Lauren’s hands had felt and the pale color of her cheeks—before she’d blushed so furiously, that was. Now that he thought about it, she hadn’t appeared to have any other flu symptoms. Could she be—?

Ridiculous. Hell, what was he thinking?

“That certainly doesn’t mean she’s pregnant.” Exasperated with himself as well as Kane for considering the idea, even for a second, Rafe gave a short laugh. “Lauren’s not even dating anyone. Who’s supposed to have fathered this mythical child?”

“Me.”

The whole conversation—odd from the beginning—suddenly made sense to Rafe. Too much sense.

His jaw tightened. He’d always liked Kane. Had found him to be an intelligent and fair man to work for. And he knew the guy had a pretty active social life. But to do something like this….

Rafe’s voice lowered to a deceptively even tone. “Are you saying,” he asked carefully, “that you’ve slept with Lauren?”

“Hell, no!” Kane looked shocked, then honestly appalled. “I’ve never even touched the woman.” He met Rafe’s hard gaze, and his own narrowed in response. “So if you’re thinking of trying to throw a punch at me, you can just forget it.”

Until that moment, Rafe hadn’t realized he’d assumed a fighting stance, with his fists clenched and his legs braced aggressively. “Hell.” He thrust his hands into his pockets. “If you didn’t sleep with her, then how could she be having your baby?”

“She might not be—at least, I’m not sure….” Kane paced across the carpet to stare unseeingly out the window again. “The fact of the matter is, someone at this firm is pregnant with my child. All I’m trying to do is find out who she is.”

The silence stretched. Then Kane turned around. He studied Rafe’s expression a second, and a smile twisted his mouth. “Don’t look at me like that either. I’m not insane—not yet, anyway,” he said wryly. His expression turned grim again. “Do you remember my friend—Bill Jeffers? The one who had cancer?”

Rafe raised his brows at the sudden change of subject, but nodded. Yeah, he remembered Jeffers. The guy hadn’t been much older than he himself—or Kane for that matter.

“When Bill first found out he was sick,” Kane continued, “he decided to go to the Lakeside Reproductive Clinic to make a sperm deposit to ensure that if the radiation treatment affected him adversely, he could still have kids. I went along with him to provide support and a—well, a back-up donation—in case he needed it.”

With a sigh, Kane trod across the carpet again. “Thankfully, he didn’t. In fact, he’s fine, and his wife is pregnant—by the usual methods I might add—and their baby is due in June.”

“I’m happy for them.” And he was, Rafe thought, fighting back his growing tension. But it was all he could do to keep his voice even as he said, “But what does all this have to do with Lauren?”

“Nothing. Or maybe everything.” Kane ran his hand wearily through his dark hair. “You see, after Bill called to tell me his wife was pregnant, I contacted the clinic to have my own donation undonated, so to speak, only to find out it was too late. It seems the clinic goofed—big-time. My donation has already been used, and by a woman at this firm. Someone on the clinic staff saw Kane Haley, Inc., on her insurance form and thought my sperm was being requested.”

Rafe could feel the back of his neck prickle as the short hairs there literally stood on end. “Holy sh—”

“—exactly,” Kane said grimly. “And now the clinic is refusing to tell me who the woman is, citing a lot of legalese about her right to privacy—never mind my right to know who’s bearing my child. Anyway, I’m lining up a lawyer to get to the bottom of things, but until then…well, to be truthful, it’s been hell. Have you ever noticed how many women work at this firm?”

Rafe started to nod.

“How many fertile women there are out there?”

Rafe changed his nod to a negative shake. That was the last thing he’d ever thought about. Kids weren’t on his agenda at all.

He stood there silently as Kane rose and paced restlessly, skirting the trash can each time he passed. Kane added, “Every time one of the women around here puts on weight, or gets emotional—or complains of a stomachache—well, I can’t help but wonder…”

“…if she’s the one,” Rafe concluded.

He pursed his lips in a silent whistle. Whoa. Talk about a good deed coming back to bite you on the butt. He glanced at Kane’s haggard expression and silently shook his head. A situation like this would be hard on anyone, but it must be especially hard for a guy like Kane who obviously took his responsibilities seriously. Even, it seemed, his responsibility to a child he hadn’t planned to help create.

But he doubted Kane would have much success in his search. “I think you’re wasting your time,” he warned him. “You’ll probably never find her if she doesn’t want to be found. And even if you do, she might not welcome your interference—especially if she’s married.”

“What if she isn’t married? What if she’s going to try to raise the kid—my kid—on her own, and she needs help? Or the child does? I can’t just walk away and pretend it doesn’t exist.”

Rafe didn’t know what to say about that, but he could set his boss’s mind at ease on one point. He’d bet his—hell, he’d bet his Porsche—that his secretary wasn’t the woman carrying that child. The tight feeling in his chest eased. “It’s not Lauren,” he said bluntly.

Kane swung around. “How do you know? Unless…” He slanted Rafe a considering glance. “Are you dating her?”

“No, of course not,” Rafe said, surprised by the question. “She’s a nice girl, but not the kind of woman I’d ever get involved with.”

Kane still didn’t seem convinced. “You’re pretty protective of her.”

“I’m not protective—not personally, anyway,” Rafe told him, growing slightly annoyed. Couldn’t a guy be concerned about a woman—about his own secretary—without people getting the wrong impression?

Apparently not, since Kane still looked skeptical. So Rafe explained, “It’s just that her mother died soon after Lauren moved here—and she’d never lived on her own before. And Lauren’s, well, she’s sweet and kind of naive. Besides,” he added, warming to his subject, “simply because I object to the thought of an older, experienced man taking advantage of an unsophisticated younger woman doesn’t mean— What?” he demanded, as a smile crossed Kane’s face. “Did I say something funny?”

“Not at all,” Kane drawled, not bothering to hide his amusement. “But you must admit, coming from you…”

“What do you mean, coming from me?” Rafe frowned. “The women I get involved with all know the score up-front.” He always made sure of that. No way did he want there to be any misunderstandings later on down the road.

“If you’re not involved with Lauren, than how can you be so sure she’s not pregnant?” Kane demanded, his expression turning serious again.

“Because Lauren isn’t the kind of woman to go it alone—to try to raise a child without a father,” Rafe replied, complete certainty in his voice. “Hell, Kane, I’ve worked with the woman almost every day for three years. She’s as traditional as they come. If she wanted a baby, she’d get married first.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t head to a sperm bank to get the job done. She grew up without a father. We talked once about how difficult that can be on a child.” At least, Lauren had talked about it. Remembering a couple of the heavy-handed foster fathers he’d lived with after his own mother had died when he was twelve, Rafe hadn’t been quite as convinced.

But the firmness of his tone apparently convinced Kane that Lauren wasn’t the woman he was searching for. Kane let the subject drop, and they moved onto a discussion about the latest takeover Rafe was orchestrating. It was clear, however, that Kane’s mind wasn’t on business, and soon Rafe suggested that they postpone the discussion until Lauren’s return. Since it was Lauren’s job to gather the numbers and analyze the data, they would save time if they waited for her.

Kane readily agreed. “We’ll set up another meeting then,” he said, rising to his feet. “When will she be back?”

“Probably Monday. From what I hear this bug doesn’t last long,” Rafe said deliberately, wanting to stress again that Lauren wasn’t the sperm bank bandit Kane was searching for.

Kane studied him, an unreadable expression on his face. “Are you sure—”

“I am.”

With a final nod of acknowledgment, Kane left the office, closing the door behind him.

Rafe walked over and sat behind his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he stared at that closed door a while, filled with profound sympathy for the man—and equally profound thankfulness that he wasn’t in Kane’s shoes. He wondered what Kane planned to do if he ever found the woman and discovered that she did need help. Offer to support the kid? Maybe even marry her? Nah, Kane wasn’t that crazy.

Catching sight of the message slip Kane had left on his desk, Rafe absently wadded it into a ball and tossed it toward the abandoned trash can. The paper sank without touching the rim. Not that he had anything against marriage. Not at all, Rafe thought, reaching for another scrap. He crumpled that up, too. Marriage was fine for other people. He supposed a wife could be an asset to a man’s career. Especially a rich, well-born, attractive wife with plenty of connections, a category that Maureen, Amy or Nancy all fit into nicely.

But he personally had no intention of taking such a drastic step. He took aim at the can again. So he made sure to keep his pistol holstered for the most part, and, at the least, to put a silencer on before he shot. He certainly wasn’t going to be trapped by one of his bullets going astray, as Kane’s had done.

The second paper ball followed the first. Another clean shot, nothing but net.

Rafe frowned as he considered the matter. How could the clinic make a mistake? What if some woman had learned about Kane’s “contribution” and asked for his sperm on purpose? After all, Kane was a rich and powerful man, and women had been using pregnancy for ages to trap men into proposing.

If so, then Lauren was definitely out of the running, he decided. He wasn’t sure he’d convinced Kane, but Rafe had no doubts at all on the matter. He knew the woman—hell, he knew her better than anyone. They’d talked quite a bit over the years; were pretty good friends, as well as boss and secretary. She would never do something like that. It just wasn’t in her makeup to chase after a man. Lauren would never try to trap a guy into marriage.

Still, he could understand why Kane might have suspected her of wanting a baby. When one of the women had brought her newborn into the office a few weeks ago, Lauren’s face had lit up like a kid’s at Christmas. She’d fussed and cooed over the little one, and had even held it for a while—a rather risky move, in Rafe’s opinion. Not only was the kid alarmingly tiny, it spit up more than a fountain in the park.

But Lauren hadn’t minded. Yeah, there was something—not maternal exactly—but definitely nurturing about his secretary. A slight smile curved his lips, and he leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on his desk. Hell, she even worried about him at times—that he was working too hard or might be tired. There was a kindness, a gentle way about Lauren, that made her seem like the sort of woman who should have a bunch of kids around her knees. Pulling at her with sticky little hands. Clamoring for attention.

Rafe grimaced. Talk about a nightmare. But Lauren would handle it—revel in it probably. No doubt she would have a baby some day—far, far in the future. But now? No way. As he’d told Kane, she didn’t even date. Whenever he asked her to work late, she never had a moment’s hesitation in complying. Besides, they’d been so busy lately, she wouldn’t have had time to meet a man, even if she wanted to.

Although…Rafe frowned, lowering his feet and straightening up again…although it appeared she had met one guy at least. This Jay Leonardo person. Her neighbor.

He shrugged that off. Just because the guy gave her a ride to work, didn’t mean she’d gone out with him. Surely she would have mentioned it if she had.

Restlessly, he looked around for one more paper to throw before he settled down to work. Since his desk was clear except for Lauren’s notepad, he pulled that closer to tear off a sheet. But when he turned the pad over, he realized she’d made some kind of list on it. That figured; Lauren was always making lists. More than once he’d watched her tick off the items she’d compiled, smug satisfaction on her face as she made each mark.

To his amusement, he saw that this time she’d doodled little pictures next to each of the reminders she’d written down. In her small, compressed handwriting she’d written: Take gifts to women’s shelter. Boxed presents were next to that one, each adorned with an elaborate bow.

Number two was Buy decorations for company Christmas party, surrounded by round balls he took to be ornaments.

The third item didn’t appear to make much sense. Don’t forget the… he squinted, trying to make the last two words out …Barbie bottoms? He didn’t think so. Booby battles? Nope. He was pretty sure it wasn’t that either.

The doodle beside it proved equally confusing, so his gaze dropped to number four on the list. Buy a special present for Jay. Rafe stared at the happy face beaming beside the words, and his amusement faded. So she was buying presents for the guy, was she? His eyes narrowed. Then she probably was dating him, after all.

His eyes narrowed even more as he scanned the final item, the one she’d scribbled down before playing basketball. Buy presents for Rafe’s women. What did she mean by that? he thought, irritated by her phrasing. They weren’t his women—not specifically, anyway. What did she think he was? Some kind of sheik or something? He might like to play the field, but he wasn’t stupid enough to put too many players in the game at once. All three women were just friends and nothing more. At least, so far.

And what had she drawn next to the words? He turned the pad this way and that, then picked it up and held it closer, trying to make out the tiny picture. A cowboy with a lasso? Santa with a whip? He stiffened as he realized there were horns on Santa’s head. She’d drawn a devil, dammit, with its tail curling around to the front. Ending up in a place no tail had any business to be!

He leaned back, slightly stunned, unable to take his eyes off the offensive little stick figure cavorting in the margin. What the hell was this all about? he wondered, his annoyance growing even stronger. Okay, maybe he had virtually forced her to agree to buy the women gifts—but that didn’t make him Satan, for heaven’s sake! Never would he have believed Lauren could—would—draw something so downright graphic.

But since she had, that made booby battles a definite possibility, he decided, his gaze returning to number three. Both indecipherable words definitely began with B and—Ah, yes! The squiggle next to them was a bottle. Now he had it! Don’t forget the Barbie bottles. What the…? Damn. That still didn’t make any sense.

He studied the words once more. Suddenly, his stomach turned, as if the flu bug scurrying around the office had just attacked with a vengeance. That first word wasn’t Barbie but…baby. His jaw tightened as he read the sentence again.

Don’t forget the baby bottles.

By six that evening, Lauren was feeling much better. The thick, chalky pink medicine she’d forced down had soothed her upset stomach, and a long afternoon nap had done much to soothe her upset nerves.

She even felt well enough when she awoke to straighten the apartment. Once that chore was finished, she took a long hot shower then donned a comfortable sweat suit and slippers to lounge around in.

Feeling clean and cozy, she wandered into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea, sipping it as she stared out the kitchen window. Dusk had already fallen, and lights from nearby houses gleamed through the barren trees and darkness. The view blurred as steam condensed on her glasses. Slipping them off, Lauren laid them on the counter, then realized the window was hazy, too.

She set down her cup. Leaning forward, she reached out to draw a Christmas tree in the mist. The freezing cold pane burned then numbed her fingertip. Outside, snowflakes pelted against the glass in a brief, desperate flurry. But inside her apartment she was warm and safe…and alone.

Her hand dropped. Lauren stared at her drawing as it slowly disappeared into the mist again. She liked being alone, she told herself. She was used to it. Even as a child, she’d been something of an introvert—my little dreamer, her mother used to call her. She’d always felt more content with her books, her own thoughts and daydreams, than hanging out with a crowd.

Of course, she hadn’t been completely alone then; she’d had her mother. Most people had at least some family—parents, siblings, even an aunt or an uncle or two. Or they were married by her age. Sharon Davies in accounting was only a year older, and she’d recently married a handsome widower. Jennifer Holder was near her age, and she’d recently tied the knot, too, and already had a baby. Most of the other single women at work at least had a lover. She had no one.

But just because a person was alone didn’t mean that they were lonely, she reminded herself. She straightened her shoulders and picked up her cup. Take Rafe, for instance. Like her, he’d lost both parents, although he’d lost them much, much younger than she had. Rafe wasn’t married either—and he liked it that way. Not that anyone could ever call him an introvert. He enjoyed women—lots of women.

She sipped her tea, the taste warm and bitter on her tongue, as she wondered who he’d be taking out that night. She’d never met the other two women he was currently dating. Still, judging by Nancy—and from the women he’d dated in the past—Lauren had a pretty fair idea of what they must be like.

For one thing, they were probably older than she was. Rafe preferred dating women who were near his own age of thirty-two, or even a little older. Most likely they’d be wealthy, and she had no doubt at all that, again like Nancy, they’d be beautiful. Not pretty or cute, but striking, with the polished, sleek appearance of women who had unlimited time and money to spend enhancing their looks.

What would it feel like, Lauren mused, to look like that? To know that when you entered a room, men’s heads turned? She sighed, turning on the tap to clean out her cup. She couldn’t even imagine it. Men just never responded to her that way. Most of the men she knew treated her like a pal, a buddy, a little sister. Or even a generic mixture of all three. The way Rafe did.

No, Rafe wasn’t aware of her as a woman at all. She rinsed the cup slowly, letting the warm water flow over her cold fingers. So how could she have thought—even for a second—that he was asking her to sleep with him? Wincing in remembered embarrassment, she turned off the tap and set the cup on the drainer. Still, there was no sense worrying about it, she decided in an effort to comfort herself as she dried off her hands. She was sure he’d forgotten all about the incident—forgotten all about her—as soon as he got back to the office. Probably before he’d even reached his car.

She threw the towel down on the counter. So what if he had? And why was she thinking about him anyway? Probably he hadn’t gone on a date at all, but had headed to the gym. Rafe was always up for a game of racquetball to release some of his energy.

Feeling restless herself suddenly, she headed into the living area. This room was her favorite all year round, but she especially liked it during the holidays since it looked so very Christmasy. Forest-green rugs were scattered on the gleaming hardwood floors, and she’d positioned her overstuffed burgundy couches to face each other in front of the small hearth, where a fire burned cheerily. She walked over to one of the couches. Pushing aside the teddy bear reposing in her favorite spot, she sat down and picked up her knitting.

She realized she’d left her glasses in the kitchen. Oh, well. She could see well enough to work. She began knitting, determined to get over the faint depression that had been plaguing her lately, the soft click and glide of the silver needles providing a familiar accompaniment to her thoughts. She needed to quit thinking about Rafe—about work—so much, and get her mind on other things, she decided. Things she enjoyed. Like reading. And knitting. She smiled wryly. Although making a sweater for her boss probably wasn’t the best way to get him out of her mind. Especially since Rafe wouldn’t like it if he knew how much work she’d put into it.

Rafe didn’t like getting gifts, especially anything he considered too personal. Still, Lauren had decided to make him the sweater anyway. She’d made him a scarf last year, and he’d been okay with that. Besides, she enjoyed knitting and had no idea what else to get him for a Christmas gift.

So she’d indulged herself by choosing a merino lamb’s wool in a deep, rich chocolate color to match his eyes. And she’d selected a fisherman stitch to challenge her skill. She held the garment up to judge her progress, pleased to notice that she only had a few inches left to complete. She should have it done in plenty of time for Christmas. He didn’t have to know she’d made it, how many months it had taken her, she decided. Nor how expensive the yarn had been. She would just let him assume she’d bought it somewhere, and—

The doorbell chimed, interrupting her thoughts. Jay! she thought immediately, setting her work aside. Her neighbor had gotten in the habit of stopping by in the evenings to chat for a while, and Lauren enjoyed the visits, too. It made the long winter evenings pass more quickly.

Delighted at the prospect of company, Lauren opened the door with a smile of welcome on her face, shivering a little as the cold air rushed into the warm room.

Her smile slowly faded, and she pushed the door almost closed again, sheltering behind it. A man was standing on her unlit landing. His face was in profile, his shoulders braced against the sleet as he glanced back at something behind him. For a moment, she didn’t recognize him.

But then he turned, and the light from the room behind her slanted across the hard angles of his face and lit up his intent eyes.

Lauren’s heart skipped a beat, then picked up again at a faster pace. What was he doing here? He looked…menacing somehow. But that was probably because of his evening beard. The dark stubble shaded his lean cheeks and chin, making him look like a gangster from an old black-and-white movie. The effect was heightened by his wet hair, which he’d slicked back off his forehead with a careless hand. Snowflakes glistened in the thick dark strands, and on the shoulders of his black overcoat.

For once his dark eyes looked serious—angry almost. But why would that be? Had something gone wrong at work?

“Rafe?” she said uncertainly.

Chapter Four

“Yeah, it’s me.” She looked surprised to see him, Rafe noticed. He could understand that. He was pretty surprised himself that he’d ended up on her doorstep this evening.

He stared down at her as she stood half-hidden by the door, her slight figure silhouetted by the light behind her. All day he’d told himself he wasn’t going to come over here again—that he wasn’t going to ask her a damn thing. Because even after seeing those baby bottles on her list, he still didn’t believe Lauren was the woman Kane sought. That she’d deliberately get pregnant like that.

But then he’d realized that maybe it hadn’t been deliberate. What if some guy—like this Jay character—had taken advantage of her? Gotten her into trouble? What if she’d accidentally gotten pregnant that way?

The more he’d thought about it, the more the evidence had added up. She’d been sick this morning—and had admitted she’d been ill all week. She’d also been awfully anxious not to let him into her apartment. Why, she’d practically raced to her bedroom to pull the door closed. He’d thought at the time she was embarrassed to have him see her clothes lying around, but maybe what she’d really been trying to prevent was him seeing someone else’s clothes in there. Like a man’s shirt. Or shoes. Or pants. That seemed a definite possibility.

But even more compelling was the feeling he’d been having lately; the one that until today he’d chalked up to his imagination. The feeling that Lauren was hiding something from him.

She wasn’t as confiding as she’d been when they’d first started working together. More and more often, she’d have a shuttered, closed expression on her face when she looked at him. As if she had a secret she was determined not to share.

Not, Rafe reminded himself, that it was any of his business if Lauren didn’t want to tell him about her personal life. She might be more naive than most women he knew, but she was still an adult, capable of making her own decisions—stupid though they might be.

Like unlocking her door without a moment’s hesitation. That wasn’t any of his business either, yet he couldn’t help asking, “Don’t you think you should check first to see who’s out here before opening your door?”

“I usually do,” Lauren said, tucking back a strand of hair that had fallen along her cheek. “But I was expecting someone.”

“Jay, I suppose,” he drawled.

She nodded. Even though Rafe had suspected as much, her ready agreement caused a spark of irritation to flare inside him. Not that it was any of his business who she hung out with on her time off, of course. Not at all.

“Is there something wrong? Do you want to come in?”

He glanced down at her again. She was staring up at him with a puzzled, slightly worried expression. “Did you come over for anything special?” she added.

“I just stopped by to see how you were doing.”

Her face lit up with shy pleasure, and she hugged the door a little closer. “I’m fine now. I don’t feel sick at all anymore.”

“That’s great.” Rafe shoved his hands into his pockets. “Glad to hear it.”

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