Practice Makes Pregnant

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

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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.”