Allison stiffened at the whisper-light brush of fingers against her nape.

Startled, she spun to confront whomever had touched her, but found no one. She stood at the edge of the group and though the room was crowded, no one was within arm’s reach.

How odd. Puzzled, she turned back to the lecturer.

Within moments, she felt the same brush against her nape. Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder. But again, no one stood close enough to have touched her.

Her gaze swept the crowd and she went perfectly still.

Across the packed ballroom, a man leaned against a marble pillar, watching her.

Allison felt his intent black gaze as surely as if he’d reached out, slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her body against his.

He is what I felt, she thought, dazed.

Dear Reader,

As you take a break from raking those autumn leaves, you’ll want to check out our latest Silhouette Special Edition novels! This month, we’re thrilled to feature Stella Bagwell’s Should Have Been Her Child (#1570), the first book in her new miniseries, MEN OF THE WEST. Stella writes that this series is full of “rough, tough cowboys, the strong bond of sibling love and the wide-open skies of the west. Mix those elements with a dash of intrigue, mayhem and a whole lot of romance and you get the Ketchum family!” And we can’t wait to read their stories!

Next, Christine Rimmer brings us The Marriage Medallion (#1567), the third book in her VIKING BRIDES series, which is all about matrimonial destiny and solving secrets of the past. In Jodi O’Donnell’s The Rancher’s Daughter (#1568), part of popular series MONTANA MAVERICKS: THE KINGSLEYS, two unlikely soul mates are trapped in a cave…and find a way to stay warm. Practice Makes Pregnant (#1569) by Lois Faye Dyer, the fourth book in the MANHATTAN MULTIPLES series, tells the story of a night of passion and a very unexpected development between a handsome attorney and a bashful assistant. Will their marriage of convenience turn to everlasting love?

Patricia Kay will hook readers into an intricate family dynamic and heart-thumping romance in Secrets of a Small Town (#1571). And Karen Sandler’s Counting on a Cowboy (#1572) is an engaging tale about a good-hearted teacher who finds love with a rancher and his young daughter. You won’t want to miss this touching story!

Stay warm in this crisp weather with six complex and satisfying romances. And be sure to return next month for more emotional storytelling from Silhouette Special Edition!

Happy reading!

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor

Practice Makes Pregnant
Lois Faye Dyer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

For Rose Marie Lunny-Harris,

in memory of her mother,

Hazel Lunny.

LOIS FAYE DYER

lives on Washington State’s beautiful Puget Sound with her husband, their yellow Lab, Maggie Mae, and two eccentric cats. She loves to hear from readers and you can write to her c/o Paperbacks Plus, 1618 Bay Street, Port Orchard, WA 98366.

MANHATTAN MULTIPLES

So much excitement happening at once!

The doors of Manhattan Multiples might shut down. The mayor and Eloise Vale once had a thing. Someone on the staff is pregnant and is keeping it a secret. Romance and drama—and so many babies in the big city!

Jorge Perez —Manhattan’s hottest assistant district attorney, determined to fight for justice, too busy for love. At a social function, Jorge sees a shy beauty and knows he has to talk to her. He crosses the room and one thing leads to another….

Allison Baker —Assistant to Eloise Vale and part-time law student, this bashful woman decides to wear a slinky dress to her first party in ages. One look at the gorgeous man across the ballroom, and Allison’s heart starts to hammer.

Eloise Vale —As Manhattan Multiples’ director and a mother of triplet boys she finds enough to keep her busy. But her stomach is in knots because of continuous threats from a former flame, who is only the most powerful man in the city!

Bill Harper —With an empire to rule, the mayor of New York City has enough on his mind without memories of Eloise Vale, the only woman he's ever loved. And now she’s the enemy. Can he find a way to bridge the gap between them? Find out next month in PRINCE OF THE CITY, by Nikki Benjamin (SE #1575).

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter One

“You’re going to this party with us tonight.”

Allison Baker didn’t respond to Zoe’s announcement. Instead she took a sip of iced tea, stretched out her legs, propped her bare feet on the yellow cushioned seat of the kitchen chair opposite her and smiled fondly at her friend.

Zoe Armbruster stopped pacing the floor and planted her hands on her hips, fixing Allison with a militant look. “Don’t give me that sweet smile. I know you’re thinking up a thousand excuses not to go. And I’m not buying any of them.”

Allison gestured at the stacks of law books, legal tablets, pens and loose papers scattered over the small kitchen table. “Zoe, I’d love to go out with you and Jack, but I have to finish researching a legal brief for class next week.”

Zoe held up a hand as if she were stopping traffic on a busy Manhattan street. “Nope. No excuses accepted. None. Zero. Zip. Nada.” She caught Allison’s hand and tugged her upright, spun her around and determinedly nudged her toward the bedroom. “You live the life of a nun—all work and no play. Tonight we’re going to forget our daytime jobs and concentrate on having fun.”

Laughing, Allison let Zoe urge her into the bedroom. The petite brunette was difficult to resist in this mood. Allison knew she should be looking for a case law to buttress the arguments in State v. Cunningham, but the prospect of a night away from law books and class assignments was tantalizing.

“I have absolutely nothing to wear to a society fund-raiser, Zoe.” She sat on the end of the bed, her gaze following Zoe’s curvy, shorts-clad figure as she slid back the closet door and began to push aside hangers. She glanced down at her own slim, five-foot, six-inch frame, then back at her friend’s hourglass, five feet two inches of lush curves. “And there’s no way I can wear anything of yours.”

Zoe frowned at a tailored black business suit and pushed the padded hanger aside. “We’ll find something. If we have to, we can always take in one of my dresses for you.”

Allison laughed out loud. “That would take all night. We’d never make it to the party.”

Zoe half disappeared into the back of the closet, her voice muffled. “You’re going to this party if I have to steal a dress for you from Saks!”

“Oh, great,” Allison said wryly, shaking her head and brushing back a lock of auburn hair that clung to her cheek. “You’re willing to become a felon so I can attend a party?”

“Yes.” Zoe’s emphatic response was followed by a crow of satisfaction. She backed out of the closet, flourishing a clear plastic garment bag holding a lacy black gown. “Aha!”

Allison straightened. She’d forgotten about the designer gown, bought during a whirlwind shopping trip with her mother on her last visit to her parents’ home in Beverly Hills. She’d never actually worn the dress because she’d flown back to Manhattan a day early to avoid accompanying her parents to a movie premiere. She hated the media frenzy that always attended her parents’ appearances at the Hollywood parties they loved.

She’d managed to avoid attending any of the glamorous events since she was seventeen. That disastrous night at a film award after-party had left an indelible and traumatic imprint on her life.

Zoe unzipped the clear plastic bag and pulled out the gown, her eyes rounding. “Wow, this is great. And absolutely perfect for tonight.” She glanced at Allison. “Do you have shoes to wear with it?”

“Yes. I think they’re on the shelf behind a stack of winter sweaters.”

“Great! Here.” Zoe tossed the dress at Allison and disappeared into the closet once more.

Allison smoothed her palm over the lace-covered satin, the rich material cool against her thighs, bare below the hem of her white shorts.

Zoe popped out of the closet, triumphantly dangling a pair of black strappy sandals from one hand. “Here they are.” She halted in front of Allison. “Are you going to shower and dress quickly, or do I have to threaten you?”

“No, I give up.” Allison laughed at the quick, mischievous smile that lit Zoe’s face. “I’ll go to the party.”

An hour later Allison stared at her reflection in the long mirror that hung on the inside of the small bedroom door. Gone was the efficient personal assistant cum law student. The mirror reflected an image so unlike her daytime persona that it was startling. The black lace-over-satin gown clung to her slim curves, emphasizing the swell of her breasts below the off-the-shoulder neckline.

The narrow, ankle-length skirt was split up the side to just below midthigh, revealing the silk-clad length of pale thigh and calf, ending in black sandals with stiletto heels.

She turned, peering over her shoulder at the back of the dress. Black lace clung to the curve of hip and derriere with a subtle seductiveness. She’d caught up her hair and anchored it with simple gold combs, leaving wispy curls to brush against her temples and the nape of her neck. A single, twisted-gold chain encircled her throat, falling just above her collarbone. The matching gold-filigree earrings lent a touch of the exotic.

Subtle mascara and golden-brown eyeshadow gave her eyes a smoky, mysterious look accentuated by mocha-pink lipstick and blush.

The woman in the mirror didn’t look cautious. She didn’t look studious. She didn’t look shy or introverted. She didn’t look the slightest bit like Allison’s normal self.

She looked, Allison thought, like a woman to be reckoned with, sure of herself, outgoing.

She curved her mouth into a smile. The woman in the mirror smiled back.

Allison smiled more widely.

Just for tonight, she told the woman in the mirror with uncharacteristic recklessness, this is who I’m going to be. No yesterday, no tomorrow. Just tonight. I’m going to laugh and flirt and have fun.

“Wow, look at you!” Zoe’s reflection joined Allison’s. “And look at the two of us—the Princess and Rose Red.”

Zoe wore a crimson cocktail dress, her dark hair and vibrant coloring a perfect foil for Allison’s black lace, fair skin and auburn hair.

Allison linked her arm through Zoe’s and tilted her head to one side, her laughing gaze pretending to assess their reflections. “Not bad for a secretary and a waitress, eh?”

Zoe waved her hand with airy unconcern. “I’m not a waitress, I’m a barista. And you’re not a secretary, you’re an executive’s personal assistant on her way to becoming a brilliant attorney. And tonight,” she added loftily, “we’re both elegant ladies of society.” The doorbell rang, interrupting her. “Oops, there’s Jack.”

Arm still linked with Allison’s, Zoe hurried them out of the bedroom. Allison managed to catch up her tiny black evening bag and coat as they left the apartment.

The ballroom was so crowded that Allison was separated from Zoe and her date within minutes of their arrival. For once, however, she didn’t mind being alone in a crowd. Wrapped safely in the protective trappings of a more glamorous and self-assured woman, she chatted easily with a much younger man standing beside her at the buffet table. He was obviously interested in her and she walked away from the encounter with her confidence soaring.

I’m a completely different person, she thought, smiling to herself. This is such fun.

The ballroom was decorated in a deep-sea theme, with Mediterranean-blue chiffon draped on the ceiling and covering the walls. Golden light gleamed softly through the filmy fabric, creating the illusion that the ballroom floated underwater. Spaced around the perimeter of the room were sculptures and photos of whales in their natural environment. In front of each display, clusters of guests gathered around professional lecturers who wore name tags and answered questions about sea life in general and whales in particular. Allison sipped champagne and wandered from group to group, fascinated by the depth and passion of the professors’ responses to questions.

Standing on the edge of a group and listening to an oceanographer describe his group’s efforts to return an orphaned baby whale to his pod in the waters off British Columbia, Allison stiffened at the whisper-light brush of fingers against her nape.

Startled, she spun to confront whomever had touched her, but found no one. She stood at the edge of the group, and though the room was crowded, no one was within arm’s reach.

How odd. Puzzled, she turned back to the lecturer.

Within moments she felt that same brush against her nape. Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder. But again no one stood close enough to have touched her.

Her gaze swept the crowd and she went perfectly still.

Across the packed ballroom, a man leaned against a marble pillar, watching her.

Allison felt his intense black gaze as surely as if he’d reached out, slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her body against his. He was tall and very tan, Hispanic perhaps, with short black hair and eyes so dark they seemed black.

She couldn’t tear her gaze from his, and it wasn’t until the crowd shifted, blocking her view of him, that she drew a deep breath and realized she had been staring. She sipped her champagne and glanced about her, relieved when no one seemed to have noticed her preoccupation. Flustered and suddenly much too warm, she walked quickly through the open French doors behind her and out onto the stone terrace.

Allison leaned on the balustrade, drawing deep, calming breaths and gazing out at the lights of the city below her.

The last place Jorge Perez wanted to be on a hot Saturday night in August was at a fund-raiser for a save-the-whales organization. Not that he didn’t want to save whales from extinction. He would gladly have written a hefty check and donated to the cause. His objection was to the party itself. He rarely attended society events, preferring to spend his weekends working, but when his boss had asked him to stand in for him, Jorge couldn’t refuse. He liked Ross and he doted on Ross’s two kids, Ben and Sarah. When the children cornered him and begged him to go in Ross’s stead so their father could take them sailing for the weekend, he’d given in.

So here he was, dressed in an Armani tux instead of faded jeans, chatting with city council members, sidestepping the not-so-subtle advances of a Hollywood starlet hanging off the arm of a local hotel tycoon, and fielding questions from a Times reporter about the details of the latest murder case.

What a way to spend the weekend.

He glanced at his Rolex and calculated that he ought to circulate for another thirty minutes before he could legitimately tell his hostess good-night without being considered rude.

Behind him he heard the starlet’s tinkling laugh, and he swallowed a groan. Without looking over his shoulder, he eased around the laughing group ahead of him, snagged a champagne glass from a passing waiter and kept walking until he reached the relative safety of the back wall. He leaned his shoulder against a convenient marble pillar and let his gaze drift over the room.

He recognized many of the people from the days when his ex-fiancée had dragged him to parties like this one several times a week. The engagement hadn’t lasted and neither had his regular attendance at this sort of function.

Bored, he glanced idly over the throng, mentally ticking off minutes. The crowd shifted and abruptly parted to frame a woman directly across the huge room. Boredom fled, his attention caught, riveted by the sight of her. Auburn hair gleamed beneath the subtle gold lighting, her shape willowy inside a slim tube of black lace. She stood with her back to him, and he silently willed her to turn. He needed to see her face.

Come on, he urged silently. Turn around.

When she did, he felt sucker-punched, his muscles tightening with a swift rush of adrenaline.

She was incredibly beautiful. In a room filled with expensive, manicured, designer-dressed and jewel-draped gorgeous women, she stood out like a glowing candle. Black lace cupped shoulders that gleamed ivory above the low neckline, her throat a slim column accented by a single strand of gold. Wisps of auburn hair curled against temple, cheek and nape, while the rest of the rich, deep red mass was caught up in a loose gathering of curls that looked about to tumble to her shoulders with her slightest movement.

She turned away, facing the lecturer, and the movement shifted her dress, exposing the length of her thigh and calf, pale against the shimmering black of her skirt.

Who the hell is she? Jorge knew most of the people in the room, if not by sight, then by reputation. He was sure he’d never seen the beautiful redhead before. He would have remembered.

The crowd shifted yet again, cutting off his view of her.

Come on. Come on. He stared at the slice of auburn hair and black dress still visible and willed the chattering throng to move apart.

The laughing, gossiping crowd moved again, groups splitting apart and reforming, the floor of the ballroom reflecting the ebb and flow of the sea the decorator had sought to replicate.

She came into view again. Muscles tense with anticipation, he waited for her to turn and look at him. She glanced over her shoulder, a tiny frown between her brows as her gaze swept the crowd as if searching for someone.

Her gaze met his. Jorge felt the connection as surely as if an electrical current surged between them. He couldn’t tell what color her eyes were from this distance, but he saw them widen, saw her body go still.

He bit off a curse as the crowd shifted, blocking his view of her, and he pushed away from the pillar to make his way across the crowded floor. Closer now, he realized that she’d left the group clustered around the lecturer. Swiftly he scanned the crowd, catching a glimpse of auburn hair as she slipped through the French doors onto the terrace. He quickly altered direction, moving around the perimeter of the room, briefly pausing to collect a nearly full bottle of champagne and two flutes from a friendly waiter before stepping out onto the terrace.

He saw her immediately. She leaned against the balustrade, head tilted back, gazing up at the night sky. Standing just outside the soft circle of light cast by the French doors, the black of her gown nearly blended into the shadows. The fair skin of throat, shoulder, arms and face, however, gleamed pale against the darker night.

Jorge moved slowly toward her, taking the opportunity to observe before being seen.

“It’s too bad we can’t see the stars.”

She went still. Then she turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him.

Her eyes were amber, smoky as well-aged scotch, and filled with a wariness that belied the sophistication of the black lace gown and upswept hair.

Jorge immediately abandoned any thought of glib pickup lines.

Even before she looked over her shoulder and met his dark gaze, instinct told Allison that the deep drawl belonged to the man from the ballroom. For one moment, sheer panic threatened to engulf her. But then he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, the nearly black irises reflecting the warmth of his smile, and the grip of fear that often accompanied her dealings with men eased.

He moved closer, halting a decorous four feet away, and looked up at the sky.

“Air pollution,” he commented.

“Air pollution?”

His gaze met hers briefly before returning to the dome of hazy, not-quite-dark sky. He gestured at the city below and around them, the soft glow of lamplight from inside the ballroom glinting briefly off the crystal flutes in his hand.

“Maybe it’s more accurate to call it light pollution.” He took a step nearer, leaned one hip against the balustrade and handed her a flute, then filled it. “Did you know that the astronauts only see the darkness of night in the less populated sections of the United States, like North Dakota or Montana? On the east and west coasts the population is so dense and the use of electricity so high that astronauts see them lit up at night, not dark.”

“Really?” Allison sipped her champagne, tense muscles slowly relaxing as he continued to lean casually against the low stone edge and made no attempt to close the distance between them. He was tall, well over six feet, his shoulders wide beneath the black jacket of his tuxedo.

“Really.” He grinned, the corners of his mouth curving upward, his eyes laughing at her. “Are you interested in astronomy?”

“Um…” Allison realized that she was staring in fascination at the curve of his lips and had no clue what he’d said. “I beg your pardon?”

“Astronomy,” he said gently. “Are you an astronomy fan?”

“I was as a child, but I haven’t had time for star-gazing since I moved to New York,” she responded absentmindedly, wondering if the golden tone of his skin was natural or if he spent a lot of time outdoors.

“And how long ago was that?”

“Several years.” Allison suddenly realized that he was asking questions and she was answering without thought because she was so fascinated by him. Each time he smiled at her, she was more aware of the slow, heavy throb of her pulse and the swift kick of sexual attraction. For the first time in her life, she found herself physically attracted to a man. Even more startling was her complete lack of fear. She felt oddly safe with him. He’s the perfect man to flirt with, she realized, remembering her earlier promise to the woman in the mirror. Tonight I’m going to flirt and have fun.

She smiled in anticipation. He smiled back, his gaze narrowing, growing more intense.

“I’m afraid I’ve forgotten to introduce myself,” she said politely, holding out her hand. “I’m Allison Baker.”

“Pleased to meet you, Allison.” He took her hand in his and stepped closer. “I’m Jorge.”

His hand engulfed hers, the fingers and palm faintly rough, his warmth and the touch of skin against skin sending prickles of awareness zinging through her body.

“Hello.” Her voice was throaty, husky with the force of her emotions.

His eyes darkened, his fingers tightening over hers.

“So, tell me, Allison Baker.” He smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

He quirked a dark eyebrow, his teeth flashing in a teasing grin, and Allison laughed.

“You mean on this particular terrace, or at a save-the-whales fund-raiser?”

“Whichever. Mostly, I’m just wondering if you have a particular affinity for whales.”

“Ah, you’re wondering if I’m attracted to large mammals?”

He chuckled, the sound a deep growl of amusement. Before he could respond, the French doors flew open behind them and a wave of chattering party guests spilled out onto the terrace. The orchestra music followed them, and several couples began to dance.

Jorge glanced over his shoulder at the noisy crowd and the whirling couples. “I think the party has found us.” He took the flute from her hand and set both hers and his next to the nearly empty bottle of champagne on the balustrade. “It’s a shame to waste the music. Shall we?”

Allison nodded, and he slipped an arm around her waist to tug her body gently against his. He folded his fingers around her right hand and swept her into the rhythm.

She felt the same jolt of startled recognition that she’d felt in the ballroom earlier, when she’d looked up and found him watching her. The black silk of her bodice brushed against his pleated white shirt, her left hand lay against the black tux jacket covering his broad shoulder and only inches from the thick dark hair that gleamed in the light from the ballroom behind them. Each time she drew breath, she pulled in the subtle scent of his aftershave. Spicy and masculine, it mingled with an underlying hint of clean soap, starched shirt and a uniquely male scent in a potent, heady mix that went straight to her blood, making it race more swiftly through her veins.

“Tell me, Allison Baker, what do you do when you’re not dazzling men at fund-raisers for large mammals?”

She tilted her head back, her lips curving in response to his teasing smile. Should she tell him about her job at Manhattan Multiples? No, she decided, not tonight. Tonight, I’m not my everyday self. So she compromised. “I’m a student.”

“Really? And what are you studying?”

“Law.”

“Yet another thing we have in common.” The music changed, switching to a slower tune. They swayed in time to the music, and he lifted her right hand to his shoulder so he could clasp her waist and draw her nearer.

“You’re studying law, also?”

“No. I did study law, now I practice law.”

She beamed at him, delighted. “You’re an attorney? How lovely. What field do you specialize in?”

“Criminal law.”

“Then you must be very busy,” she said dryly. “The crime rate in America is a disgrace.”

“Hey,” he laughed. “Not my fault. And I’m doing my part to improve the situation.”

A waiter moved past them, circulating a tray of canapes, and Jorge skillfully avoided a collision by tucking Allison closer. Their bodies pressed together from shoulder to thigh and she caught her breath, blindsided by the surge of desire that had her slipping her arms around his neck to hold him closer. His arms tightened, crushing her against him.

Allison was only vaguely aware that the sounds of music and laughter faded; she was too caught up in the feel of his hard body against her softer curves and in the driving need to have more. She tilted her head back to look up at him, her hair brushing against his throat and face, and found his eyes glittering down at her between lowered lashes.

Then his mouth covered hers, and the sexual tension that had vibrated between them from the first, exploded. She was dizzy with it, her heart pounding frantically, heat exploding in her veins.

The kiss quickly skipped all the tentative preliminaries of a first embrace and went straight to carnal. One big hand cradled the back of her head and his tongue thrust against hers as he ravaged her mouth. Delight raced through her veins and she met him eagerly, gasping with shock that quickly submerged beneath sheer pleasure as his hand covered the black silk over her breast and found the stiff peak of her nipple. He pushed her against the wall and shifted, pressing one hard thigh between her legs.

She murmured frantically, twisting against him in an unsuccessful attempt to find release. For one heartstopping moment he surged against her, but then he stiffened, the muscles in his arms flexing with iron strength before he pulled his mouth from hers, breathing hard.

“Allison, we can’t do this here. Come upstairs with me.”

She stared at him, unable to think, the transition from total absorption in the physical to clear thought impossible.

“I have a room upstairs. Ross booked it for himself and his wife—when he asked me to stand in for him tonight, he gave me the key in case I wanted to stay over. Come upstairs with me, sweetheart. Please.” His voice was nearly unrecognizable, roughened with the passion that vibrated between them.

“I don’t do this sort of thing,” she finally managed to say, not sure why it was so important for him to know.

The heat in his eyes flared, the pupils black with desire. “Neither do I.”

Allison could barely think with his hard body pressed against hers and her own body screaming to continue. She’d never felt passion before, had never thought she would, not after being forced by a date when she was barely seventeen. Could she turn her back on what might be her one chance to make love?

Just for tonight, she thought. Just this once.

“Yes.”

Fierce satisfaction blazed in his eyes. Without another word he stepped back, wrapping an arm around her when her legs wobbled.

She hesitated, holding a hand to her hair. “Do we have to go through the ballroom?” she murmured, glancing about them and realizing for the first time that they stood in the shelter of a heavy stone column, out of sight of the other guests.

“No.” He flicked an assessing glance over her and tugged her bodice higher over the swell of her breasts, his fingers reluctantly leaving the soft skin. “There’s a back way.”

He took her through a nearly hidden door at the far end of the terrace that led to a service hallway behind the huge ballroom. Tucked against his side, Allison was soon confused by the maze of corridors they walked through to reach the elevator.

“How do you know so much about this hotel?” she asked as the elevator rose.

“They were robbed two years ago. I prosecuted the case and spent a lot of time walking the halls and studying the layout to understand the system the defendants used.”

She nodded, barely listening to his words, her gaze focused on the movement of his lips as he spoke. She badly wanted his mouth on hers.

“Stop it.” The growled words were thick. When her gaze met his, his eyes were hot. “I’m not going to touch you in here. If I do, we won’t make it to the room.”

Her mouth formed a startled, rounded O. His arm tightened around her shoulder, tension thickening the air, the hard body she was tucked against strung taut with control.

The elevator doors opened silently, and Jorge moved her out and down the hallway with swift purpose. One quick swipe of the card key opened the door, and within seconds they were inside. He backed her against the door and took her mouth, his hands making short work of the zipper at the back of her gown. Allison helped him, wiggling impatiently as he pushed the dress off her shoulders, his mouth leaving hers to find the peak of her breast as the dress pooled around her feet.

She screamed when he tugged her nipple into the hot, wet cave of his mouth and sucked, her hips pressing urgently against his.

He swore and picked her up, crossing to the bed. Within seconds he’d stripped both of them, donned protection and covered her. She welcomed the heavy, hot press of his weight, nearly mindless as he drove her higher with his hands and mouth.

He lifted above her, going motionless, his dark hair tousled, the lines of his face fiercely possessive. “Are you safe?”

Allison could barely understand his words, his voice thick and roughened. What had he said? Was she safe? The answer was yes; she felt safe with a male for the first time in her life. She nodded, unable to speak, and then she forgot all about safety for he surged inside her and sent them both over the edge.

Allison frowned and flipped the page on her desk calendar again.

This can’t be right.

But there was no getting around the fact that the last time she’d scribbled red asterisks on her calendar to mark the beginning and end of her monthly period was over six weeks ago.

Did I forget?

No, she knew she hadn’t forgotten. She never forgot to jot down the dates of her period. She’d been jotting those little red marks on her calendars since the summer she turned thirteen.

She quickly scanned the notations on the days between the last little red mark and today’s date. Halfway in between, she was stopped short by a date, circled in red but without an accompanying note; it was the Saturday night she’d gone to the party with Zoe and Jack—and left with Jorge Perez.

Heat moved through her veins and flushed her face and she squeezed her eyes closed at the flood of memories. They’d spent hours together after leaving the party. I shouldn’t have slept with him. But sleeping had nothing to do with what the two of them had done in his bed.

Allison dropped her face into her hands and groaned.

I’m such an idiot. What was I thinking?

She hadn’t been thinking, she admitted to herself. That was the problem. She hadn’t been able to think rationally from the moment she’d looked across the ballroom and found him watching her. And when he took her in his arms, their powerful sexual attraction drove everything but him from her mind.

It wasn’t until she’d wakened in the gray pre-dawn that she asked herself what came next—and then she’d panicked, slipped from his bed and fled the hotel room. She hadn’t seen him since; but then, she hadn’t expected to. He didn’t know where she lived or worked and in a city as large as New York, it was unlikely that he would find her, even if he bothered to search, which she doubted he would.

She flipped the calendar page to the current month, absentmindedly jotting “six weeks” on the square for today’s date.

I hope I don’t start my period this weekend, she thought idly. She had too much homework to finish and she couldn’t afford to spend a day in bed with cramps.

She stared at the red letters she’d just written on the white square. Six weeks? Of course, she thought, frowning. It had been six weeks. Something about the time frame niggled at the edge of her consciousness. But I’m never late.

Her hand froze, the tip of the fountain pen bleeding a small spreading blob of red ink on to the pristine white paper of the calendar. Allison stared at the red blot without seeing it, horror widening her eyes and shortening her breath.

Six weeks—my period is two weeks overdue. Could I be pregnant?

A swift image of Jorge Perez’s compelling face and the muscled strength of his body pressing hers into rumpled sheets had her groaning with dawning apprehension and shock.

Pregnancy was more than a possibility, she realized. She wasn’t on the pill, nor had she used a diaphragm or any other form of contraception. That night with Jorge was the first time in her life she’d been carried away by passion, and she’d been completely unprepared.

She knew that condoms had a risk factor. She couldn’t even blame Jorge if she’d conceived that night, because he’d used protection. She was the one who’d been irresponsible and failed to add backup birth control.

She dropped the pen on the calendar and sat back, pushing trembling fingers through the thick fall of her hair.

What am I going to do if I’m pregnant?

Her hand pressed against her belly in an instinctive, protective gesture.

Her one night of incredible passion with Jorge might have consequences that would alter her life forever. Not to mention her body.

She tilted her chin down and stared assessingly at her torso. She couldn’t discern any changes—her abdomen was as flat as usual.

But if she were pregnant, the shape of her body wouldn’t stay the same for long. She’d seen lots of pregnant women come and go through the doors of Manhattan Multiples, a care center for mothers expecting more than a single baby, and she had no illusions about what would happen to her now-slender body if she were carrying Jorge’s baby.

Jorge. She blanched. Did she have to tell him?

Of course I have to tell him. How can I not?

On the other hand, how could she? Would he be happy? Angry? Would he want visitation rights, or God forbid, custody?

Allison pressed a hand to her chest, felt the heavy thud of her racing heart, and took several deep breaths in an effort to calm herself.

She had to be practical, she thought, forcing herself to think logically, when she really wanted to run screaming from the building. Before she considered all the many questions, she had to find out if she was really pregnant. On her lunch hour she would go to the pharmacy and buy a pregnancy kit.

She glanced at her watch. Two hours until lunch.

Resolutely she shifted her calendar to the corner of her desk and pulled a file toward her, flipping it open. She forced herself to focus, bringing up the appropriate data file on her computer and moving doggedly through the necessary action.

She canceled a lunch date with a co-worker and went to the pharmacy instead, returning with the kit concealed in a plain brown bag tucked into her purse. The afternoon hours dragged by, the hour hand on her watch moving slowly toward 5:00 p.m.

The hum of activity in the office grew louder with end-of-the-day preparations, drawers opening and slamming shut, files being dropped into the return-to-shelf basket.

“Don’t work too late, Allison.”

Allison lifted her head to find her boss, Eloise Vale, standing in her office doorway, her purse slung over one shoulder and a leather briefcase in her hand.

“I won’t.”

“Good. You spend too many late nights in the office,” Eloise chided, her smile affectionate.

“Not tonight. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Eloise glanced at her watch. “Oh, drat. I’m going to be late. Bye.”

Allison called a good-night as Eloise whisked off down the hall. She forced herself to wait until all sounds had ceased, until the last slam of desk drawers being closed and cheery good-nights were followed by the closing of the outer door. Then she made herself wait another ten minutes in case one of her office mates had forgotten something and might return to their desks.

At last, reassured by the absence of human activity in the silent outer office, she picked up her purse and left her office for the community bathroom.

The room was silent. Allison pushed open the doors to the three empty stalls to verify that she was alone before dropping her purse on to the marble-topped vanity. A crystal vase with a bouquet of spicy, white carnations, lush pink roses and delicate white baby’s breath brightened one corner of the gray marble countertop that held two sinks with porcelain fittings. Recessed lamps cast a soft light in front of the long mirror that took up the entire wall above the vanity.

Allison drew in a deep breath, flipped open her purse and closed her fingers over the brown-bag-enclosed test kit.

The door flew open with a bang. She jumped, startled, and spun to find the white-haired janitor, who looked every bit as surprised as Allison felt.

“Oh, my goodness!” The janitor’s hand flew to his heart and he audibly caught his breath. “I’m sorry, ma’am—I didn’t know anyone was here. I’ll come back later….”

“No.” Allison curved her lips upward in a stiff smile. “No, I’m finished.”

She edged her way past the elderly man and his cart of cleaning supplies and walked back down the hall to her office. Leaving the door open wide, she sat at her desk and turned on her computer, staring blindly at the glowing screen. The minutes seemed to crawl by. At last she heard the rattle of the cart as the janitor left the rest room and moved off down the hall. Allison forced herself to wait until the sound of wastebaskets clattering against the trash can ceased, until the music from the portable radio clipped to the wheeled cart faded, until the outer door to the offices clicked shut. Silence reigned once more.

Allison picked up her purse and crossed to the doorway, peering cautiously out into the hall. Nothing stirred. For the second time, she left her office and moved quickly down the hall to the rest room. She flipped on the lights, crossed to the vanity and pulled out the test kit.

Scant moments later she stared at the stick. There were two little windows, one a little circle, the other a little square. Both of them had a pink line. The test result was positive.

I’m pregnant.

She couldn’t stop staring at the pink lines in their small windows. In an unconsciously protective gesture, her hand lifted to rest on the flat plane of her abdomen.

Her gaze followed the movement of her hand, searching for any change in her body beneath her fingers.

Nothing. She looked just as she always did.

She wondered frantically if she could ignore the pregnancy.

Oh, right. That’s a great plan. The functioning, practical side of her brain scoffed at the ridiculous idea.

Her gaze lifted and she stared at her reflection, dazed, her stunned mind struggling to grasp the fact that in eight months she would give birth.

She had to have a plan. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, overwhelmed by the concept of the tiny life growing inside her. How would she cope with a baby? She didn’t know anything about being a mother. And how could she work at the office all day, go to school at night and still have time to care for a child? But how would she support them if she didn’t finish law school? The barrage of scattered, panicked questions hit her like a tidal wave until she felt light-headed.

She braced her palms on the vanity edge and bent forward to lower her head. Her hair swung forward to brush against her cheeks, and she closed her eyes until the dizziness passed.

At last she opened her eyes and cautiously lifted her head, eyeing her reflection in the mirror. The soft lighting was kind, but there was no denying that her cheeks were pale, her eyes dark and bruised looking. Feeling faintly nauseated, Allison ran trembling fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her face.

I can’t make decisions now, she acknowledged. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was keeping this baby. Determination firmed her chin and once again, she smoothed her palm over her flat tummy. She’d give herself a few days to think about all the probabilities, then make choices and plans.

In the meantime, she thought, she’d have to conceal her worry from her darling, but very snoopy, boss. Eloise had sharp eyes and was genuinely interested in the well-being of all her employees at Manhattan Multiples. Allison knew that she would have to be very good at hiding her distraction. She only hoped that she would have a few weeks before her growing tummy became so obvious that Eloise guessed her secret.

The same day that Allison was struggling to come to terms with the shocking confirmation of her pregnancy, Jorge worked late at the office and returned to his apartment after 10:00 p.m.

He stopped in the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door to grab a bottle of water before heading down the dark hall to the second bedroom that he’d converted into an office. Dropping his briefcase and suit jacket on the leather recliner, he crossed to the desk, switched on the lamp, and pushed the on button for the laptop computer sitting atop the polished mahogany. While he waited for it to boot up, he opened the water bottle and drank as he picked up messages from the fax machine. Halfway through the small stack of paper, he halted, his attention captured by the distinctive letterhead of the Bretton Detective Agency. He dropped the rest of the papers back into the fax machine tray, a fierce surge of anticipation flooding him as he quickly read the body of the message.

The Bretton detective had found her. The black-and-white copy of the faxed photo attached to the letter was grainy, but there was no question that the woman glancing over her shoulder as she entered a shop was Allison Baker. And she not only lived across town, she worked in the city.

Jorge glanced at the clock and muttered a curse. It was too late to appear on her doorstep.

But he had her work address. He’d see her tomorrow.

“Manhattan Multiples.” He wondered briefly what the company did. The detective’s report listed the company name and Allison’s job title as personal assistant, but there was no indication as to what type of business Manhattan Multiples was engaged in.

He jotted a quick note to the detective agency confirming that the photo was indeed the Allison Baker he wanted to find and requested a final bill.

He knew the search was going to be expensive, but finding Allison was worth whatever it cost. He could have asked the police detective assigned to the district attorney’s office to run a search for her, but to do so would have required him to explain why he wanted her located. And he wasn’t willing to tell anyone that spending one night with the elusive redhead had left him craving her so badly that he was willing to turn the city upside down in order to see her again.

And when I see her, he thought grimly, she’s going to explain why she ran away and left me alone in that damn hotel room without saying goodbye or leaving me a note. How the hell did she think he was going to see her again?

Probably because she didn’t want to see me again.

The knowledge ate at him, corrosive as acid. Despite the likelihood that Allison hadn’t planned to ever contact him, Jorge couldn’t let it go. He’d felt something rare and powerful that night. Until she told him face-to-face that she hadn’t felt it, too, he wasn’t giving up.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.