She hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring.

He sat up straighter. She’d left her job as his assistant and left him in…May. Seven months ago.

In his mind’s eye, he saw her answering the door again, her hand on her stomach. Her beach-ball-sized stomach.

Marcus was no expert on pregnancy, but didn’t she look further along than seven months? Really, she looked to him to be almost ready to have the kid…

His heart slammed into his breastbone, and his stomach rolled as the world seemed to tip on its axis.

Marcus yanked the key from the ignition and got out of the car. He raced across the pavement and up the three stone steps to the gate.

“Marcus.” She answered the door immediately, as if she’d been waiting for him to finally add two and two and come up with four.

“Is it mine?”

CHRISTINE RIMMER

came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been everything, including an actress, a sales clerk and a waitress. Now Christine is grateful not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves, who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oklahoma. Visit Christine at her new home on the web at www.christinerimmer.com.

Dear Reader,

In this season of miracles, anything could happen. The man you loved and lost might just come looking for you – only to discover you’re about to give birth to a little miracle of your own. The huge extended family you never dreamed of having might be yours after all – and you might be invited to a fabulous family reunion in Las Vegas.

Hey. It could happen. And it does. To Hayley Bravo, about-to-be single mum.

That’s not all. Hayley has recently discovered she has a sister named Kelly and a brother, Tanner. Watch for their stories in the coming months (Kelly’s is first, in February 2009 – Valentine’s Secret Child).

And happy holidays to you all. May the season bring you joy and love and the company of dear ones.

Yours always,

Christine Rimmer

A Bravo Christmas Reunion

Christine Rimmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Betty Lowe, lifelong friend

and loyal reader,

what endures is the laughter,

the caring,

the sharing.

In the end, there is always

Love.

Chapter One

Marcus Reid knew damn well that he should stay away from Hayley Bravo. Far, far away.

Since she dumped him and left Seattle, he’d worked harder than ever, rising before dawn to push his body to the limit in his personal gym, burning the midnight oil at the office, driving himself to exhaustion every day. Evenings when he didn’t have to be at his corporate headquarters, he kept himself good and busy. He dated, making it a point to get out more—with gorgeous, attentive, appreciative women. Women more glamorous than Hayley, women more sophisticated than Hayley. Agreeable women. Women who had sense enough not to ask the impossible of him.

Yeah. It had taken him months to get over Hayley. A lot longer, if you wanted the hard truth, than he’d expected. Getting over Hayley had turned out to be one hell of a job. Almost as hard as dealing with his ex-wife Adriana’s final desertion.

But he’d managed it.

Or so he kept telling himself. He was over Hayley. Done. Finished.

So why was he standing on the doorstep of her Sacramento apartment on that cold evening in mid-December?

Since Marcus had no intention of answering that particular question, he banished it from his mind with a shake of his head.

The complex she lived in was perfectly ordinary, built around a central courtyard, the boxy units accessed from outside. Low to midrange in price, he would guess. She’d lived a lot better when she worked for him. He’d seen to it. Not only a fat salary, but a big expense account and a luxury car, compliments of his company, Kaffe Central. And then there were the gifts he’d showered on her….

Now she was on her own, she’d be watching her budget. That bothered him, the thought of her pinching pennies to get along. Though their relationship had ended, some part of him still wanted to take care of her.

Light glowed in the window to the left of her door. Through the partly open blinds, he could see she had put up a Christmas tree. And he could hear music, faintly. A Christmas song?

Hayley was into the Christmas crap big-time. Strings of lights twined on the railing of her second floor landing, where she’d made herself a sort of patio with a couple of wicker chairs and a wooden crate for a table. A miniature tree, tiny lights twinkling, topped the crate—and he was stalling, checking out her Christmas decorations instead of getting on with it.

Time to make a move. Ring the bell. Or get the hell out of there.

He sucked in a big breath, lifted his hand and gave her doorbell a punch.

After a few never-ending seconds, the door swung wide. The music from inside swelled louder: “White Christmas.”

And there she was, the light from behind her haloing her red hair. Those eyes that managed to be blue and gray and green all at once went wide with surprise. And a bright smile died unborn on that mouth that he’d loved to kiss.

“Marcus!” Her expression was not encouraging. Far from it. She looked…pained. Slightly panicked, even. She brought her hand to her mouth and then lowered it—to her stomach.

He tracked the movement, watched as her palm settled on the round shape of her belly, fingers curving gently. Protectively. He stared at her pale hand and the roundness beneath it, trying to accept what he saw.

It was…enormous, her stomach. It looked as if she had a beach ball tucked in there, beneath the tentlike red sweater she wore.

Too stunned to fake politeness, he shut his gaping mouth—and then opened it again to accuse roughly, “You’re pregnant.” He lifted his gaze and met her eyes again.

She was frowning, more worried now than panicked. “Marcus. Are you okay? You look—”

“I’m fine.” Outright lie. His stomach churned, spurting acid. He needed to hit someone. Preferably whatever bastard had dared to put his hands on her, to do that to her.

God. Hayley with some other guy, having that other guy’s baby…

It didn’t seem possible. He couldn’t believe it.

At the same time as he knew this couldn’t be happening, some rational part of his mind saw clearly the ridiculousness of his disbelief. Why the hell wouldn’t she be with some other guy? Some guy who made her happy. Some guy who loved her and cherished her and wanted to make a family with her….

“White Christmas” ended. Bells jingled as “Winter Wonderland” came next.

“Marcus…” She reached out a hesitant hand. “Please come in and—”

He cut her off by moving back just slightly, out of the way of her touch.

“Oh, Marcus…” She looked at him with what might have been pity.

He wanted to shout at her then, tell her loud and clear that she never, ever had to feel sorry for him. But he didn’t shout. Far from it. Instead, he said what he’d planned to say. He doled out the stock phrases, just to show her that finding her big as a house with some other guy’s kid didn’t affect him in the least.

“I’m in town on business. Thought I’d stop by, see how you’re doing….”

She wrapped her arms around herself, resting them on that impossible belly, and looked at him steadily. Now those eyes of hers looked sad. “I’m all right.”

He parodied a smile. “Great. Did I catch you having dinner?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

He craned to the side, hoping to see beyond her into the apartment. “Your, uh, husband home?”

She took forever to answer. Finally, so gently, she told him, “No, Marcus.”

He waited, his gaze on her face, carefully not glancing down again at her bulging stomach.

Finally she heaved a big sigh. “Look. Are you coming in or not?”

“Yeah.”

She stepped back. He crossed the threshold. She shut the door, closing the two of them in that apartment together.

The place was small. Straight ahead a hallway led into shadow. To the right was a narrow kitchen with a tiny two-seater table. On the left was the living room area. There, the brightly lighted tree already had a pile of festively wrapped presents beneath it. The TV cabinet dripped garland and fake red berries. She even had a Nativity scene on one of the side tables.

Leave it to Hayley to do Christmas full out. Last December, she’d…

But he wasn’t going to think about last December. Last December was gone. Over. Done. He was only here to say hi and wish her and her baby—and the guy, too, damn him to hell, whoever he was—a nice life.

“Your coat,” she suggested softly, reaching out.

He dodged her touch again. “It’s all right. I’ll keep it on.”

She dropped her outstretched arm. “Okay.” It was her turn to fake a smile. “Well. Have a seat.” She indicated the blue couch in the living room. Obediently, he marched over there and sat down.

“A drink?” she offered, still hovering there on the square of tile that served as her entrance hall.

He realized a drink sounded pretty damn good. He needed a drink at a moment like this. Something to numb his senses, blur his vision. Something to make it so he didn’t care that Hayley was having someone else’s kid. “Great. Thanks.”

“Pepsi?”

“No. A real drink. Anything but whiskey.”

She blinked. She knew how he felt about booze, as a rule. “Well, sure. I think I’ve got some vodka around here. No tonic or anything, though…”

“Vodka. Some ice. Whatever.”

She turned toward the kitchen. He watched her in there as she got down a glass. She disappeared for a moment. He heard ice cubes clinking. And then she was back in his line of vision, glass in one hand, a bottle in the other. She poured the clear liquor over the ice, put the lid back on the bottle and came to him, that belly of hers leading the way.

“Thanks,” he said, when she handed it over. He knocked it back in one swallow and held out the glass again. “Another.”

She opened her beautiful mouth to speak—but he glared at her and she said nothing. Silent but for a sigh, she took the glass and waddled back to the counter, where she poured him a second one. She approached again and held out the glass. He took it. And then he watched with bleak fascination as she moved to a chair across from him and carefully lowered herself into it.

The liquor, thankfully, had no smell. He considered knocking back the second glass. But he had a feeling if he did, it might just come right back up again. So he sipped the disgusting stuff slowly and told himself to be grateful that it had no more taste that it had smell, just a slight unpleasant oiliness on the tongue.

She asked, her chin tipped high, “How did you know where I live?”

“I kept track of you.” Did he sound like some stalker? He qualified, “Just your address. Your phone number…” It was nothing obsessive, he’d told himself. But he did feel a certain…responsibility for her. He’d hired someone to get her address and phone number after she left him.

And about that phone number? More than once, when he was pretty sure she wouldn’t be home, he’d dialed that number, just to hear her voice on her answering machine and know that if he needed to get in touch with her again, he could.

“I wanted to be sure,” he said, “that you were doing okay.”

“Well.” She lifted both hands, as if to indicate everything around her—the cramped apartment, the blue couch he sat on, the tree in the window, the baby inside her. And the husband who wasn’t home yet. “Doing fine.”

He should have had the guy he hired find out more. He would have gotten some advance warning about that other man, about the baby coming. If he’d known, he wouldn’t be here now, drinking vodka and looking like a fool.

“Your husband…” he said, and then didn’t know how to go on.

She shook her head. “Marcus, I—”

“Stop.” He tipped his glass at her. “On second thought, I really don’t want to know.” Another gulp and the second drink was finished. So was he. He set the glass down and stood. “I can see you’re okay. That’s good. You have a great life.” He headed for the door.

“Marcus. Wait—”

But he wasn’t listening. Four long strides and he reached the door.

As he yanked the door open, she called again, “Damn it, Marcus!” He shut the door behind him. Ignoring the sound of her calling after him, he made for the stairs, taking them two at a time, his throat tight and his chest aching.

In under a minute, he was across the central courtyard of her apartment complex, out the wrought-iron gate to the street and behind the wheel of his rented Lexus. He stuck the key in the ignition and turned it over. The engine purred.

But he didn’t pull out into traffic. Instead, he flopped back in the seat and stared blindly at the dark windshield, seeing not the night beyond, but Hayley staring back at him through solemn eyes. Hayley, coming toward him with that second drink he’d demanded, her huge stomach leading the way.

She hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring.

He sat up straighter. She’d quit her job as his assistant and left him in…May. Seven months ago.

In his mind’s eye, he saw her answering the door again, her hand on her stomach. Her beach-ball-size stomach.

Marcus was no expert on pregnancy. But didn’t she look further along than seven months? Really, she looked to him to be almost ready to have the kid…

His heart slammed into his breastbone and his stomach rolled as the world seemed to tip on its axis.

No ring on her ring finger. And the husband. He wasn’t there because…

There was no husband.

Marcus yanked the key from the ignition and got out of the car. He raced across the sidewalk and up the three stone steps to the gate.

Which was locked.

He swore, a harsh oath, though there was no one but the night to hear him. Earlier, he’d lucked out and slipped in behind a couple too busy groping each other to notice they had company as they entered the complex. Not this time. He stood at the gate alone. Muttering another bad word, he punched the button that went with Hayley’s apartment number.

She answered immediately, as if she’d been waiting by the receiver for him to finally add two and two and come up with four. “Marcus.”

“Is it mine?”

By way of answer, she buzzed him in.

She was waiting in her open doorway when he reached the top of the stairs. Waiting in silence. No Christmas music now.

He asked, low, “Well?”

And she nodded. Slowly. Deliberately.

“And the husband?” he demanded. When she frowned as if puzzled, he clarified. “Is there a husband?”

Her head went back and forth. No husband.

He stared at her. He had absolutely zero idea what to do or say next.

She gestured for him to come in. Moving on autopilot, he reentered her apartment. She indicated the blue couch. So he went over there and lowered his strangely numb body onto the cushions again.

He watched as she reclaimed the blue chair, those ringless pale hands of hers gripping the chair arms. His gaze was hopelessly drawn to her belly. He tried to get his mind around the bizarre reality that she had his baby in there.

His baby. His…

“Oh, Marcus,” she said in a small voice at last. “I’m so—”

He cut her off by showing her the flat of his palm. “You knew, didn’t you, when you left me? That’s why you left me. Because of the baby.”

She shook her head.

“What?” he demanded. “You’re telling me you didn’t know you were pregnant when you walked out on me?”

“I knew. All right? I knew.” She pushed on the chair arms, as if she meant to rise. “Do we have to—?”

“Yeah. We do.”

She sank back to the chair. “This is totally unnecessary. Really. I’m not expecting anything of you.”

“Just answer me. Did you leave me because you got pregnant?”

“Sort of.”

“Damn it. Either you did, or you didn’t.”

She shut those shining eyes and sucked in a slow breath. When she looked at him again, she spoke with deliberate care. “I left because you didn’t love me and you didn’t want to marry me and you’d already told me, when we started in together, you made it so perfectly clear, that you would never get married again and you would never have children. I felt guilty, okay? For messing up and getting pregnant. But still, I wanted this baby. And that meant I couldn’t see it as anything but a losing proposition to hang around in Seattle waiting for you to feel responsible for me and this child I’m having, even though you didn’t want me and you don’t want a kid. It was lose-lose, as far as I could see. So I came home.”

Her tone really grated on him. As if she was so noble, just walking away, telling him nothing. As if, somehow, he was the one in the wrong here. “You should have told me before you walked out on me. I had a damn right to know.”

Spots of color stained her pale cheeks. She straightened her shoulders. “Of course I planned to tell you.”

“When?”

She glanced away. “It’s…arranged.”

“Arranged.” He repeated the word. It made no sense to him. “Telling me I’m going to be a father is something you needed to arrange?”

She let go of the chair arms just long enough to throw up both hands. Then she slapped them down again. Hard. “Look. I was stressed over it, all right? I admit I didn’t want to face you. But I have it set up so you would have known.”

“You have it…set up?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Set up for when?”

“As soon as the baby’s born. You were going to know then.”

“You were planning to…call me from the hospital?”

She swallowed. “Uh. Not exactly.”

“Damn it, Hayley.” He glared at her.

She curved a hand under her belly and snapped to her feet. “Come with me.”

He stayed where he was and demanded, “Come where?”

“Just come with me. Please.”

“Hayley…”

But she was already moving—and with surprising agility for someone so hugely pregnant. She zipped over and grabbed her bag, flung open the entry area closet and dragged a red wool coat from a hanger in there. She turned to him as she shrugged into the coat. “Where’s your car?”

“Out in front, but I don’t—”

“Are you drunk?”

“Drunk? What the hell? Of course I’m not drunk.”

“Okay.” She flipped her hair out from under the coat’s collar. “You can drive.”

He muttered a string of swearwords as he rose and followed her into the cold, mist-shrouded night.

* * *

Ten minutes later, she directed him to turn into the driveway of a green-shuttered white brick house on a quiet street lined with oaks and maples.

He pulled in where she pointed, stopped the car and took the key from the ignition. “Who lives here?”

“Come on,” she said, as if that were any kind of answer. A moment later, she was up and out and headed around the front of the vehicle.

Against his own better judgment, he got out, too, and followed her up the curving walk to a red front door. She rang the bell.

As chimes sounded inside, he heard a dog barking and a child yelling, “I got it!”

The lock turned and the door flew open to reveal a brown-haired little girl in pink tights and ballet shoes. The dog, an ancient-looking black mutt about the size of a German shepherd, pawed the hardwood floor beside the girl and barked in a gravelly tone, “Woof,” and then “woof,” again, each sound produced with great effort.

“Quiet, Candy,” said the child and the dog dropped to its haunches with a sound that could only be called a relieved sigh. The child beamed at Hayley and then shouted over her shoulder, “It’s Aunt Hayley!”

Aunt Hayley? Impossible. To be an aunt, you needed a brother or a sister. Hayley had neither.

A woman appeared behind the child, a woman with softly curling brown hair and blue eyes, a woman who resembled Hayley in an indefinable way—something in the shape of the eyes, in the mouth that wasn’t full, but had a certain teasing tilt at the corners. “Hey,” the woman said, wiping her hands on a towel. “Surprise, surprise.” She cast a questioning glance in Marcus’s direction.

And Hayley said, “This is Marcus.”

“Ah,” said the woman, as if some major question had been answered. “Well. Come on in.”

The kid and the old dog backed out of the way and Hayley and Marcus entered the warm, bright house. The woman led them through an open doorway into a homey-looking living room. Just as at Hayley’s place, a lighted Christmas tree stood in the window, a bright spill of gifts beneath.

“Can I take your coats?” the woman asked. When Hayley shook her head, she added, “Well, have a seat, then.”

Marcus hoped someone would tell him soon what the hell he was doing there. He dropped to the nearest wing chair as the kid launched herself into a pirouette. A bad one. She stumbled a little as she came around front again. And then she grinned, a grin as infectious as her mother’s—and Hayley’s.

“I’m DeDe.” She bowed.

“Homework,” said the mother.

“Oh, Mom…”

The mother folded her arms and waited, her kitchen towel trailing beneath her elbow.

Finally, the kid gave it up. “Okay, okay. I’m going,” she grumbled. She seemed a cheerful type of kid and couldn’t sustain the sulky act. A second later, with a jaunty wave in Marcus’s direction, she bounced from the room, the old dog limping along behind her.

Hayley, who’d taken the other wing chair, said, “Marcus, this is my sister, Kelly.”

It occurred to him about then that the evening was taking on the aspect of some bizarre dream: Hayley having his baby. The kid in the pink tights. The decrepit dog. The sudden appearance of a sister where there wasn’t supposed to be one.

“A sister,” he said, sounding as dazed as he felt. “You’ve got a sister…”

Hayley had grown up in foster homes. Her mother, who was frail and often sick, had trouble keeping a job and had always claimed she wasn’t up to taking care of her only daughter. So she’d dumped Hayley into the system.

“Oh, Marcus.” Hayley made a small, unhappy sound in her throat. “I realize this is a big surprise. It was to me, too. Believe me. My mother always told me I was the only one. It never occurred to me that she was lying, that anyone would lie about something like that….”

“Ah,” said Marcus, hoping that very soon the surprises were going to stop.

The sister, Kelly, fingered her towel and smiled hopefully. “We have a brother, too….”

Hayley piped up again. “I just found them back in June—or rather, we all found each other. When Mom died.”

His throat did something strange. He coughed into his hand to clear it. “Your mother died….”

“Yeah. Not long after I moved back here. I met Kelly and our brother, Tanner, in Mom’s hospital room, as a matter of fact.”

“When she was dying, you mean?”

“Yes. When she was dying.” Before he could decide what to ask next, Hayley turned to her sister. “Could you get the letter, please?”

Kelly frowned. “Are you sure? Maybe you ought to—”

“Just get it.”

“Of course.” Kelly left the room.

Marcus sat in silence, staring at the woman who was soon to have his child. He didn’t speak. And neither did she.

It was probably better that way.

The sister returned with a white envelope. She handed it to Hayley, who held it up so that he could see his own address printed neatly on the front. “Tell him, Kelly.”

Kelly sucked in a reluctant breath and turned to Marcus. “I would have mailed it to you, as soon as the baby was born.” She held up two balloon-shaped stickers, one pink, which said, It’s A Girl and the other blue, with It’s A Boy.

Hayley said weakly, “You know. Depending.”

Marcus looked at the envelope, at the long-lost sister standing there holding the stickers, at Hayley sitting opposite him, eyes wide, her hand resting protectively on her pregnant stomach.

I’m going to wake up, he thought. Any second now, I’m going to wake up.

But he didn’t.

Chapter Two

Hayley despised herself.

She’d blown this situation royally and she knew it. She stared at her baby’s father in the chair across from hers and longed only to turn back time.

She should have told him. In hindsight, that much was achingly clear. She should have told him back in May, before she broke it off with him, before she quit her job as his assistant and slunk back to Sacramento to nurse her broken heart.

No matter his total rejection of her when she’d told him she loved him, he’d deserved to know. No matter that when she dared to suggest he might think again about them getting married, he’d given her a flat, unconditional no—and then, when she hinted they ought to break up, since they were clearly going nowhere, he’d agreed that was probably for the best.

No matter. None of it. She should have told him when she left him that he was going to be a dad. If she’d told him then, she wouldn’t be looking across her sister’s coffee table at him now, seeing the stunned bewilderment in his usually piercing green eyes, and totally hating herself.

She broke the grim silence that hovered like a gray cloud in her sister’s living room. “Okay. I messed up. I know it.” She glanced down at the envelope. “This is no way to find out you’re a dad. I can’t believe I was going to do this. I…” She dared to glance up at him. Not moving. Was he even breathing? She pleaded, “Oh, Marcus. I wish you could understand. After how it ended with us, I just didn’t know how to break it to you. This was the only way I could make sure I wouldn’t chicken out and never get around to telling you.”

Marcus stood.

She gulped. “Um. Are we going?”

“Oh, yeah. We’re going.”

Hayley slid the envelope into her purse as he turned and headed for the door. Without a backward glance, he went through the arch to the entrance hallway. She pushed herself upright as she heard the front door open—and then shut, a way-too-final sound.

Kelly sent her a look. “Oh, boy. He’s mad.”

“Maybe he’ll just leave without me….” She almost wished that he would.

“I don’t like this. You sure you’re going to be okay with him?”

She gave her sister a game smile. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

Kelly stepped close and caught her hand. “Call me. If you need me…”

“I will. I promise.”

“I’m here. You know that.”

“I do. I’m glad….”

With a final, reassuring squeeze, Kelly released her.

Outside, Marcus was waiting behind the wheel with the engine running. He stared straight ahead. Hayley got in, stretched the seat belt long to fit over her tummy and hooked it.

Without once glancing in her direction, he backed from the driveway and off they went.

The short ride back to her place was awful. She tried not to squirm in her seat as she wondered if he’d ever look at her again—let alone actually speak.

At her apartment complex, he followed her wordlessly through the iron gate, across the central courtyard and up the steps to her door. She stuck her key in the lock and pushed the door wide.

He took her arm as she moved to enter. “The letter,” he said.

“I…what?”

“Give me my letter.”

“But there’s nothing in it you don’t know now and I don’t see why—”

“You don’t want me to read it.” It was an accusation.

“I didn’t say—”

“The letter,” he repeated. He was looking at her now. Straight at her. She knew that look from two years of working for him, of falling hopelessly and ever-more-totally in love with him. When Marcus got that look, it meant he wouldn’t stop until he had what he wanted. She might as well give in now. Because in the end, he would get the damn letter.

“All right,” she said, as if she’d actually made a choice. She took the letter from her purse and handed it over.

He let go of her arm, but then instantly threatened, “Don’t even imagine you can run away again.”

She felt the angry heat as it flooded her cheeks. “What are you talking about? I left—you, my job and Seattle. I didn’t run away. And I certainly am not going anywhere now. This is my home. Especially now that I’ve found my family here.”

“Just don’t. Because I’ll find you. You know I will.”

She did know. But so what? She had zero intention of running off, so his point was totally moot. “I like it here,” she insisted, hoping it might get through this time. “I’m going nowhere.” She wrapped her arms around herself against the night chill and cast a longing glance toward the warmth and light beyond the threshold. “Are you coming in?”

“Not now,” he replied, so imperious he set her teeth on edge. He spoke at her more than to her and he stared over her shoulder instead of meeting her eyes. She wondered as she’d wondered a thousand times, why, of all the men in all the world, had she gone and given her heart to Marcus Reid?

Probably her upbringing—or lack of one. Her mother had put her in the foster care system when she was a baby. And her father, the notorious kidnapper, murderer and serial husband, Blake Bravo? He’d been long gone by the time Hayley was born. Unavailable. That was the word for dear old dad. Unavailable in the most thorough sense of the word.

Which, she supposed, made it not the least surprising that she’d chosen an emotionally unavailable man to love.

“All right, then,” she said. “Since you won’t come in, good night.” She started to turn toward the haven of her apartment.

But then he muttered distractedly, “I need to think. Then we’ll talk.”

She faced him once more. “That’s fine with me.” Though what, exactly, they would talk about was beyond her. What more was there to say? Not much. Not until after the baby was born, when they could discuss fun topics like custody and child support.

Oh, God. She dreaded all that. And she’d been avoiding facing what she dreaded.

Because she understood Marcus well enough to know that he’d never turn his back on his child. Even though he’d always insisted he didn’t want children, now he was actually having one, everything would change. He was going to be responsible for a child. And Marcus Reid took his responsibilities with absolute seriousness.

He left at last. She went inside and shut the door and ordered her pulse to stop racing, her heart to stop bouncing around under her breastbone.

Marcus knew her secret now. Getting all worked up over the situation wasn’t going to make him go away.

Chapter Three

Marcus,

I don’t know where to start. So I guess I’ll just put it right out there. If you’re reading this it’s because you’re a father. I’ve just had your baby and this letter has been mailed to you because the baby is born and doing fine. The sticker on the envelope should tell you whether it’s a boy or a girl.

I’m so sorry. I know you’re furious with me about now. I don’t blame you. I should have told you before I left Seattle, but…well, I just couldn’t make myself do it.

So you’re learning this way. In a letter.

Try not to hate me too much.

Try not to hate me too much….

Marcus read that sentence over twice. And then a third time.

After that, he loosened his tie. Then he dropped back across the hotel room bed and stared at the attractively coffered ceiling and thought how she was wrong: he didn’t hate her. True, what he felt for Hayley right then wasn’t pretty. It was fury and frustration and a certain wounded possessiveness all mixed up together.

But hate? Uh-uh. He wished he did hate her. It would make everything so much simpler.

He raised the letter and read the rest. She’d listed the address and phone number of the hospital she would be using. And also the information he already had—her own address and number.

She wrote at the bottom:

Try to understand. I realize this isn’t what you wanted. I swear I was careful. I guess just not careful enough.

Hayley

That was it. All of it. It wasn’t much more information than he’d already had.

He balled up the letter, raised his arm and tossed the thing into the corner wastebasket. Slam dunk.

What the hell to do now?

He was due back in Seattle tomorrow, for a series of meetings, the first of which he had on his schedule for 11:00 a.m. His company was poised for a big move into the Central California market. They were high priority, those meetings.

But then again, so was the kid he’d just found out he was having.

And so was Hayley. She needed him now, whether her pride would let her admit that or not.

Still flat on his back across the bed, he grabbed his PDA off the nightstand and dialed—with his thumb, from memory. She answered on the second ring.

“’Lo?” Her voice was husky, reminding him of other nights, of the scent and the feel of her, all soft and drowsy, in his bed.

“You were already asleep.” He didn’t mean it to come out sounding like an accusation, but he supposed that it did.

“Marcus.” She sighed. “What?”

“I’m flying out at 6:00 a.m. tomorrow. I’ve got meetings in Seattle I can’t get out of.”

“You’ve always got meetings you can’t get out of. It’s fine. I told you. I don’t expect—”

“I’ll clear my calendar in the next couple of days. Then I’ll come back.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah. I do. We both know I do. I’ll see you. Thursday. Friday at the latest. If you need me before then, call me on my cell. You still have the number?”

A silence, then, “I have it.”

“When’s the baby due?”

“January eighth.”

“You’re not working, are you?” He heard rustling, pictured her sitting up in bed, all rumpled and droopy-eyed, her hair tangled from sleep. “Hayley?”

Reluctantly, she answered, “Yes. I’m still working.”

“You shouldn’t be. And now you’ve finally told me about the baby, you don’t need to be. I’ll make arrangements right away.”

“Give me money, you mean.” She sounded downright bleak. She’d damn well better not try refusing his money. “I’m managing just fine. I like working and I feel great and I’m going to stay on the job until—”

“Quit. Tomorrow.”

“Uh. Excuse me. But this is my life you’re suddenly running. Don’t.”

“I’m only saying—”

“Don’t.”

He had no idea where she worked, or what she did there. His own fault. He’d just had to play it noble seven months ago, which meant only allowing the detective to get the basic information.

So that now he was forced to ask, “Where do you work, anyway?”

“I’m an office manager. For a small catering company. There’s the owner, the chef, the dishwasher and me. We’re in a storefront off of K Street. Around the Corner Catering. We do a pretty brisk business, actually. We’re hooked up with a staffing agency so we offer full service. Not only the food, but the staff, from setup to cleanup.”

“A caterer. You work for a caterer.”

“Yeah. Is that a problem for you?”

“It’s high-stress work and you know it. Chefs are notorious for being temperamental. You’re having a baby. You shouldn’t be in a stressful work environment. You should—”

“Don’t,” she said for the third time.

He let it go. Later, when he got back, they could discuss this again. He’d get her to see this his way—the right way. “I’ll be gone two days. Three at the most.”

“You said that.”

“No, I said I’d be back Thursday or Friday. On second thought, I should be able to make it sooner. Wednesday, I hope.”

“All right. Wednesday, then. Is that all?”

He hated to hang up with all this…tension between them. He should say something tender, he supposed. But nothing tender occurred to him. “We’ll work this out. You can count on me.”

“I know that.”

“Don’t worry.”

“I…won’t,” she said softly after a moment. Then, almost in a whisper, “Good night, Marcus.” Then a click.

He put the device back on the night table and laced his hands behind his head. A kid. It still didn’t seem possible. A child had never been part of his plans.

But plans changed. And sometimes allowances had to be made.

“His assistant called me at work an hour ago,” Hayley told Kelly when the sisters met for lunch the next day. “Her name is Joyce. She sounds very…efficient.”

“That’s good, right?” Kelly forked up a bite of Caesar salad.

Hayley turned her glass of Perrier in a slow circle. “I mean, not young, you know?”

Kelly swallowed and frowned, puzzled. “Not young…like you?”

Hayley turned her glass some more. “It shouldn’t matter, that he hired someone older to replace me.”

“But you’re glad he did.”

Hayley tried to deny it—and couldn’t. “I suppose I am. Even though, since I left, he’s been going out with a bunch of beautiful women.”

“Oh, really?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“How do you know that?”

“I still get Seattle magazine. I saw a picture of him in a tux.” She gazed wistfully down into her überpricey glass of bubbly French water. “He looks amazing in a tux. It was some opening of something. He had a drop-dead gorgeous blonde on his arm. He looked so…severe. And dangerous. And handsome—did I mention handsome?”

“Often.”

“Practically broke my poor little heart all over again.”

“Jerk.”

“No. He’s not a jerk. He’s…just Marcus, that’s all. He was true to me when we were together. As a matter of fact, he’s not real big on the bachelor lifestyle. But then, when we broke up, well, he would have considered it a point of honor, to prove to himself that he was over me.”

Kelly shook her head. “Did I already say the word jerk?”

“You did. And I said he’s not. He’s just…well, you’d have to know him.”

Her sister wisely withheld comment. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Kelly spoke. “So the two of you got together…?”

“Six months after he hired me, when his divorce became final.”

“He was married?”

“To his childhood sweetheart. But she dumped him and ran off with some European guy. I was just burning hot for him. And I was lying in wait for those final divorce papers to come in the mail. Then I seduced him. It’s a plain, shameless fact.”

Kelly chuckled, “My bad baby sister.”

“Oh, yeah. I was so sure I could show him what real, true love could be.” Hayley shook her head. “So much for that.” She bit into her grilled chipotle chicken sandwich and chewed slowly. The last month or two, with the baby taking up so much space in there, eating fast meant heartburn later.

“So what did his new, older assistant have to say?” Kelly buttered a sourdough roll.

“She was just telling me a platinum card was on the way, wanting to know where I banked so she could arrange for a giant-sized wire transfer of funds.”

“Money,” Kelly said thoughtfully. “Well, it comes in handy, you gotta admit.”

“It sure does. I suppose I should be more grateful, huh?”

Kelly chuckled. “Oh, hell no. He should be grateful, to have a beautiful, smart, capable, loving woman like you as the mother of his child.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Do.”

“He’s just a little messed over, that’s all. From the awful childhood he had, from his marriage that didn’t last forever, after all. I should embroider myself a sampler and hang it on the wall….”

“Saying?”

“‘There’s no saving a messed-over guy, so you’re better off not to even try.’” Hayley chuckled, a sound devoid of humor. “Hey. It rhymes.”

“Pure poetry.”

“Kelly?”

“Umm?”

“Do you think I’m messed over? You know, from the way I grew up?”

Kelly shrugged. “Maybe a little. But we all are, I’m sure. You, me, big brother Tanner—and all the other poor, lost souls who had crazy, bad Blake Bravo for a dad. Think about it.” Blake had married a lot of women. And given them children. Each woman had thought she was the only one. And they all found out much later, after the notorious Blake finally died and it was all over the national news, that there were other wives. Several. Some no doubt were yet to be found—along with the children they’d borne him. “None of us ever knew our father,” Kelly continued, “even the ones who saw him now and then. Because he wasn’t the kind that anybody really knows. And then, we all had mothers with emotional issues. That’s a given. Remember Mom.”

“God. Mom. Yeah.” Lia Wells Bravo had been frail both physically and emotionally, the perfect target for Blake Bravo’s dangerous brand of charm. One by one, she put the children he gave her during his infrequent visits into foster homes. Lia told all three they had no siblings. And though she wouldn’t take care of them herself, she refused to give them up for adoption.

“It’s just a sad fact,” Kelly said. “Anybody who’d fall in love with a man like Blake Bravo would have had to be at least a little bit out of her mind.”

“You’re not exactly reassuring me, you know.” Hayley sipped her Perrier.

“Sorry…”

“It’s so depressing, just thinking about Mom. I hate that I never understood her. And now she’s gone, I probably never will.” She looked down at her sandwich and knew she ought to eat more of it. “Did I mention that Marcus’s childhood was terrible, too?”

“You did. Have you met his parents?”

“They’re both long dead. His mother died when he was a kid, some kind of accident. Marcus was never really clear on what happened to her, exactly. His father was a drunk and Marcus despised him. He got millions when his dad died. Marcus put it all away, hasn’t touched a penny of it. He has it set up so it funds a bunch of charities. The whole Kaffe Central thing? He built that himself. Starting from a corner coffee shop in Tacoma where he went to work as a manager straight out of college.”

“Kaffe Central. You said it’s like Starbucks, right?”

Hayley leaned across the table. “Never,” she commanded darkly, “compare the Kaffe Central experience to Starbucks.” And then she grinned. “But, yeah. Helpful, skilled baristas. Quality coffee. Lattes to die for, whipped up just the way you want them. Amazing ambience—special, but…comfortable. Selected bakery treats.”

“Wi-Fi?”

“As a matter of course. Oh, and it’s a progressive company, too. Good working conditions, good salaries, everybody gets stock options, good benefits including health insurance. And from what Marcus said, you’ll have one in your neighborhood soon. They’re opening several shops here in the Sacramento area.”

“Can’t wait—and he sounds…like a complex man.”

“He is. And determined. Way determined. Now he knows about the baby, he’s going to be pushing me to do things his way. And I mean everything.”

“Marriage?”

Hayley laughed. “Are you kidding? After what his ex, Adriana, did to him, Marcus has sworn he’ll never get married again.”

“But now that he’s going to be a dad…”

“Not Marcus. No way, not even with a baby coming. He may push for full custody, though.”

Kelly scoffed. “But I thought you said he didn’t even want kids.”

“He didn’t. But now it’s happening, it’s all going to be about doing the right thing, whatever he decides the right thing may be. He can be…cold. Distant. There’s an emotional disconnect there that can be way scary. But he does have an ingrained sense of fair play. So my guess is he’ll probably be willing to share custody.”

“Big of him.”

“But he’ll want me to move back to Seattle, you watch. And he’s already been on me to quit work immediately.”

“Don’t let him scare you. We can sic Tanner on him.” Their older brother was a private investigator. Strong. Silent. Smart. Possibly as determined as Marcus. And extremely protective of his sisters and his niece.

“Even Tanner isn’t going to be able to keep Marcus Reid from doing it all his way.”

“But you will,” said Kelly. “You’re tough and smart, Hayley Bravo. Nobody pushes you around. You survived our poor, screwed-up mom and the foster care system with a positive attitude and a heck of a lot of heart. You’re going to be just fine—and your baby, too.”

“Say that again.”

“It’ll work out. You’ll see.”

Hayley took another bite of her sandwich and fervently hoped that her sister was right.

She found Marcus sitting in one of the wicker chairs by her front door when she got home from work that night. He wore a pricey gray trench over a beautiful charcoal suit and he looked as if he’d just stepped off the cover of GQ.

She met those ice-green eyes and felt an unwilling thrill skate along the surface of her skin. In spite of everything—her stomach out to here, her wounded heart, and the threat he posed to the destiny of her child—the man could steal her breath away with just a look.

“It’s after six,” he muttered, those eyes of his looking dangerous and shadowed, the Christmas lights that twined the railing casting his sculpted cheekbones into rugged relief. “What kind of hours are you working, anyway?”

“Nice to see you, too.” She unlocked the front door and pushed it inward, then stepped back to gesture him in ahead of her.

He rose with a certain manly, regal grace that made her want to do sexy things to his tall, lean body, things she shouldn’t want to do to him after the way he’d turned her down months ago—things she probably couldn’t do in her current condition.

“Are you all right?” He was scowling. “I don’t like it. You on your feet all day with the baby coming any minute now.”

“I’m not due for almost a month. And I’m hardly working on my feet. I’m at a desk, thank you very much. Tonight, we had two events—a cocktail thing and a small dinner party—on the schedule, so I stayed a little late to give a hand with the last-minute details.” As usual, there had been yelling on the part of the chef, Federico. Sofia, the owner, had yelled back. And it all came together beautifully in the end, just as it always did.

“Caterers,” he grumbled. “I know how they are. Damn temperamental. Lots of shouting, everything a big drama.” Okay, so he had Sofia—and Federico—nailed. No way she was copping to it. “It can’t be good for the baby, for you to be in a stressful environment like that.”

“You’re repeating yourself.”

“This issue bears repeating.”

“It’s not good for the baby if I get pneumonia, either.” She pulled her coat a little closer against the evening chill. “But still, you seem determined to keep me standing out here all night.”

He said something under his breath—something unpleasant, she had no doubt—and then, at last, he acquiesced to enter her apartment. Close on his heels, she turned on the light and shut the door.

They faced each other across the cramped entry area.

“You’re back early….” She forced a smile, feeling suddenly strange about all this: the two of them, the baby, all the ways he’d denied her seven months ago, the secret she’d kept that she had no right to keep, a secret as pointless as it was wrong.

Because, in the end, here he was again. Back in her life. Determined to look after her and the baby whether they needed looking after or not.

“I took a few days off,” he said with a scowl.

“You never take days off.”

“First time for everything.”

“I thought you had…meetings.”

“I did. I made them quick. I cleared my calendar. For tomorrow and the next day.” His eyes held a flinty gleam and the determined set to that sensual slash of a mouth told her that he had plans. Plans concerning her and the baby and their future. Plans that he would implement within the next forty-eight hours—whether she liked them or not.

Hayley kept her smile in place. “Your coat?” He shrugged out of it. She hung it up, along with her own. “A drink?”

“No. Thanks.”

Seeking a little good cheer—as well as an excuse to put some distance between them—she went to the tree. Dropping to an awkward crouch, she plugged it in. The Christmas lights came on, so happy and bright. Festive.

In all the years of her lonely childhood, there had always been a tree: in the group home, where she went between families. And in the various foster homes. And there was always at least one gift for her under each of those trees. So that she’d come to think of Christmas as something special, something magical and glowing in an otherwise drab life lived out in a series of other people’s houses. Christmas was colorful, and optimistic, with joyous music that brought a fond tear to her eye.

Funny, but Kelly said she felt just the same way about the holidays….

“Come on.” Marcus was there, standing above her. He held down a hand. She put hers in it, shocked at how good it felt—to touch his long, strong fingers again….

Oh, she would have to watch herself. She was just a big sucker when it came to this man.

He pulled her heavy body upward and she let him, leaning into him a little—but not too much. And as soon as she was upright, she stepped back, away from the delicious temptation to press herself and their baby against him, to find out if he would put those lean arms around her, if he’d cradle her close and put his lips to her hair.

She asked, “Have you eaten?”

“It’s not necessary for you to—”

“Not the question. Did you have dinner?”

“No.”

“I made spaghetti last night, before you…dropped in. There’s plenty left. I’ll just heat it up and do the salad. Have a seat. The remote’s right there on the arm of the couch. Watch the news. It won’t take long….”

He stared at her for several seconds. She wondered what he might be thinking. Finally, with a shrug, he went over to the couch and sat down.

A short time later, she called him to the kitchen. He turned off the news and came to join her at her tiny table. They ate mostly in silence. She found her small appetite had fled completely. Dread was taking up what little space there was in her stomach. Still, she forced herself to put the food in her mouth, to slowly chew, to grimly swallow. The baby needed dinner. And really, so did she.

When they were through, Marcus got up and cleared the table while she loaded the dishwasher and wiped the counters. Then they went to the living room. He took a chair and she sat on the couch.

Her pulse, she realized as she sank into the cushions, had sped into overdrive. Her palms had gone clammy. And her stomach was aching, all twisted with tension. The baby kicked. She winced and put her hand over the spot.

“Are you sick?” He frowned at her. She shook her head. “Just…dreading this conversation.”

“You’re too pale.”

“I’m a redhead. My skin is naturally pale.”

“Paler than usual, I mean.”

“Can we just get on with it? Please? Tell me what you want and we can…take it from there.”

“I don’t want to upset you.”

She folded her hands over her stomach. “I’m fine.” It was a lie. But a necessary one. “Just tell me what you have in mind. Just say it.”

“Hayley, I think…” The words trailed off. He looked at her through brooding eyes.

“What? You think, what?” She fired the question at him twice—and as she did, somehow, impossibly, she knew what he was going to tell her, what he was going to want from her. It was the one thing she’d been beyond-a-doubt certain he wouldn’t be pushing for.

But he was. He did. “I think we should get married. All things considered, now there’s a kid involved, I think it’s the best way to go here.”

Married. The impossible word seemed to hover in the air between them.

Now that there was a baby, he wanted to marry her….

She unfolded her hands and lifted them off her stomach and then didn’t know what to do with them. She looked down at them as if they belonged on someone else’s body. “Married,” she said back to him, still not quite believing.

“Yes.” He gave a single nod. “Married.”

She braced her hands on the sofa cushions and dared to remind him, “But you don’t want to be married again. Ever. You know you don’t. You told me you don’t.”

Did he wince? She could have sworn he did. “It’s the best way,” he said again, as if that made it totally acceptable—for him to do exactly what he’d promised he would never do.

Okay, now. The awful thing? The really pitiful thing?

Her heart leaped.

It did. It jumped in her chest and did the happy dance. Because marrying Marcus? That was her dearest, most fondly held dream.

From the moment she’d met him—that rainy Monday, two months out of Heald’s Business College and brand-new to Seattle, when he interviewed her for the plum job of his executive assistant—she’d known she would love him. Known that he, with his piercing, watchful eyes and sexy mouth, his wary heart that was kinder than he wanted it to be, his dry sense of humor so rarely seen…

He was her love. He was the one she had been waiting for, dreaming of, through all her lonely years until that moment.

Marriage to Marcus. Oh, yeah. It was what she’d longed for, what she’d hoped against hope might happen someday.

Because she loved him. She’d known from the first that she would. And within weeks of going to work for him, she was his. Completely, without reservation, though he refused to touch her for months.

She waited. She schemed.

And then his divorce became final. She went to his house wearing a yellow raincoat, high heels, a few wisps of lingerie and nothing else.

At last, they were lovers. No, he didn’t love her. Oh, but she loved him.

God help her, she sometimes feared that she would always love him. And her love…it was like Christmas to her. It was magic. And bright colored lights. It was that one present with her name on it under a new foster mother’s tree.

“Hayley?” His voice came to her. The voice of her beloved. Dreamed of. Yearned after—and yet, in the end, no more hers than all the foster families she’d grown up with.

She pressed her lips together, shook her head, stared bleakly past him, at the shining lights of her tree.

“Damn it, Hayley. What do you want from me? You want me to beg you? I’m willing. Anything. Just marry me and let me take care of you. And our baby. Let me—”

“Stop.” The sound scraped itself free of her throat.

He swore. A word harsh and graphic. But at least after that, he fell silent.

She met his eyes. “What if there was no baby, if I wasn’t pregnant…?”

“But you are.”

“Work with me here. If I wasn’t. Would you be asking me to marry you now?”

A muscle danced in his jaw. “I would, yes. I love you.”

The lie was so huge, she almost smiled. And the knot that was her stomach had eased a little. She felt better now. She knew she could hold out against him, against her impossible dream that he would someday find his way to her, that at last he would see she was the only one for him.

But he hadn’t found his way to her, not in his secret heart. And he never would.

“Marcus. Come on. You’re lying.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Please. This is not going to work.”

“The hell it won’t. I came here to see you, didn’t I, showed up at your door last night? And I had no damn clue about the baby then.”

Okay. Point for him. But hardly a winning one.

She challenged, “You’re telling me you came here because you realized you couldn’t live without me?”

“That’s right.”

“You didn’t want to go another day without me at your side? You came here intending to ask me to marry you, after all, to beg me to give our love another chance and be your bride at last, to make you the happiest man on earth, make all your dreams come true?”

He looked at her steadily. It was not a pleasant look. “Damn you, Hayley. I want to marry you now. Why does it matter what I would have done if you hadn’t been pregnant?”

“Is that a real question?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you really want to know why it matters?”

“Yes. I do.”

“All right. It matters because in all my life, except for the sister and brother I found in June at my mother’s deathbed, I’ve never had anyone to really call my own. I’ve worn other people’s hand-me-downs, lived in other people’s houses, been the extra kid, the one who didn’t really belong. The one who never had a home of her own.”

“I’m offering you—”

“Wait. I’m not finished. What I’m trying to say is that I had no choice, about the way I grew up. But I do have a choice now. When I get married, I’m going to finally belong to someone. Completely. Lovingly. Openly. And the man I marry will belong to me.”

“I will belong to you. I’ll be true to you, I’ll never betray you.”

“Well, of course you wouldn’t. You’re not the kind to cheat. Except in your secret heart.”

“That’s not so.”

“It is. You know it is. You’ll never belong to me, Marcus. You belong to Adriana. You always have and you always will.”

Chapter Four

Marcus regarded the pregnant woman on the blue couch. At least she had a little color in her cheeks now. Telling him all the nonsensical reasons she wouldn’t have him as a husband had brought a warm flush to her velvety skin.

Terrific. She had pink cheeks and he wanted to…

Hell. He didn’t know what he wanted to do, exactly. Something violent. Something loud. Something to snap her out of this silly resistance she was giving him and make it crystal clear to her that she was making no damn sense and she ought to smarten up and get with the program.

Adriana wasn’t the issue here. She’d walked away, divorced him. That part of his life was over. For good.

Hayley loved him and needed him. He was willing, at last, to be what she needed.

He spoke, the soul of reason. “I’m here, now, today, and ready to do what you wanted. You left me because I wouldn’t marry you. And now I want to marry you. I want to give you exactly what you were asking for all along. I don’t understand why you have to be difficult about this. You’re not behaving rationally. And one of your finest qualities has always been your ability to step back and assess a situation logically. I advise you to do that. Now.”

“Marcus.”

He hated when she said his name like that. So patiently. As if he were a not-very-bright oversize child. It was supremely annoying, the way she got to him, the way he let her get to him. He’d graduated from Stanford at the top of his class; he’d built a billion-dollar corporation from virtually nothing. He knew how to deal with people, how to get along and get what he wanted.

But with Hayley, somehow, since she’d decided she loved him and wanted to marry him, he hadn’t known how to deal at all. First, she left him because he wouldn’t marry her. And now that he said he would marry her, she was turning him down.

And she was talking again. All patience and gentleness, trying to make him understand. “No. You don’t want to marry me. You want to take care of your child—and the mother of your child. You think marrying me is the best way to do that, to take care of us. I admire you for that. I truly do. You are a fine man and I’m proud to be having your baby. But that kind of marriage—marriage you want because it’s the right thing? Uh-uh. That’s just not what I want. And it’s not what our baby needs, either. Our baby needs—no. Our baby deserves a loving home, a happy home. How can our baby have that if you’re resentful because you felt you had to marry me?”

“Whoa.” He waited, just to be sure she was going to stop talking and listen for a moment. When she stayed quiet, he said slowly and clearly, “Don’t characterize me. Please. I’m not resentful. Not in the least. And you know me well enough by now to know that I never do anything because I have to. I never do anything I don’t want to do.”

She was shaking her head. “All right. Have it your way. You want to marry me. Because you feel that you have to.”

He stood. “Hayley.”

She gazed up at him, her expression angelic. “What?”

“I’m going to go now.” Before my head explodes.

“Oh, Marcus…”

He went to the closet by the door and got his coat. “We can…work this out tomorrow.” He’d regroup, come at this problem in a fresh, new way—true, at this point he hadn’t a clue what that way might be. But something would come to him, some way to get through to her, to make her see reason.

“There’s nothing to work out,” she said brightly. “Not when it comes to marriage, anyway—and where are you staying?”

He named his hotel. “Tomorrow, then.”

She was on her feet, her hands pressed together as if in prayer, her expression verging on tender, her eyes at that moment sea-blue. He wanted to cover the distance between them, sweep her into his arms and taste those lips he’d been missing for so many months.

But no. Later for kissing. After she realized he was right about this. After she agreed to marry him and come home with him where he could take care of her, where she—and their baby—belonged.

In his hotel suite, Marcus checked his messages. There were several, each representing a different potential disaster. He made a string of calls to his associates. They brainstormed and came up with the necessary steps to eradicate the issues before they became catastrophes. By the time he hung up from the final call of the night, he was reassured that things in Seattle were as under control as they were likely to get until he could handle this situation with Hayley and return to work.

Next, he checked his e-mail, one eye on CNN as he made his replies, keeping a couple of IM conversations going at the same time, taking two more calls and answering questions as he worked. At last, with the phone quiet and the replies made, he put on his gym clothes and went down to the guest gym to work out.

Aside from the night before, when he had learned about the baby, Marcus never touched liquor—or drugs of any kind. His father had been a hopeless and violent drunk and Marcus was determined, above all, not to follow in the old man’s footsteps. But his high-stress lifestyle demanded he find some way to relax and blow off steam. So he worked out.

An hour and a half later, dripping sweat, his legs and arms rubbery from pushing every muscle to the limit, he returned to his rooms and hit the shower. It was after one when he went to bed. By then he’d decided on his next move with Hayley and his confidence had returned.

Tomorrow, she would see things his way and agree to be his wife. They could be married in Nevada ASAP. And then she could return to Seattle with him and take it easy until the baby was born. They would have a good life, a full life.

He’d long ago accepted that he would never be a father. But now that it was happening, he was realizing he really didn’t mind at all.

At seven the next morning, when Hayley opened the blinds on the living room window, she saw Marcus sitting out there on her balcony next to the miniature tree. She was tempted, just for the sake of being contrary, to let him sit there.

But it was cold out. Even from the far side of the window, with him facing away from her toward the central courtyard, she could see the way his breath plumed in the air.

It just wouldn’t be right, to let her baby’s father freeze to death on her landing.

She went and opened the door. At the sound, he turned and looked at her. Once again, she was forced to ignore the shiver of pleasure that skittered through her, just from meeting those watchful green eyes.

“I thought you’d never get up.”

She gathered her robe a little closer around her and spoke in a tone meant to show he didn’t thrill her in the least. “How do you keep slipping through the security gate, that’s what I’d like to know?”

His fine mouth hinted at a wry smile as he stood. “Nobody keeps me out when I’m determined to get in.” His eyes said he was talking about more than a locked gate. Another shiver. She told herself it was the cold. “Make me some coffee?”

She couldn’t help teasing him, “You know, there’s a Starbucks just two blocks away on—”

“Very funny.” He asked again—or rather demanded, “Coffee. I need coffee.”

“Oh, all right.”

He followed her in, put his coat in the closet, then sat at the table and got out his PDA as she ground the beans and got the pot started. He poked at the tiny keys a mile a minute while she heated the water for her own special pregnant-lady herbal tea blend.

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