“I’m going to have a baby, Michael.” Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN EPILOGUE Copyright

“I’m going to have a baby, Michael.”

“What did you say?”

She lay there, gazing up at him, the oddest expression on her face. “I’m going to have a baby.”

“You... are.” He couldn’t, for the moment, think of anything more intelligent to say.

Still wearing that odd expression, Susan nodded.

“Who is he? The baby’s father.”

“I don’t know yet.”

Whirling, he faced her. There’d been more than one man? “Well, when are you going to find out?”

“I’m not sure.” She paused. “You’re angry, aren’t you?”

“Okay, yeah, I’m angry. I’m angry as hell at the irresponsibility of whatever man did this to you.”

She frowned. “Did what to me?”

Michael swore, out of all patience. “Got you pregnant, of course.”

Susan laughed. Shocking him. “In the first place, Michael, a man can’t get me pregnant all by himself. And in the second, I’m not pregnant—yet. And in the third place, I haven’t slept with anyone but you in my entire life.”

Dear Reader,

I’m delighted to bring you this BY THE YEAR 2000 story. Though I’m still in my thirties and have a thirteen-year-old daughter, I relate so much to Susan and her dilemma. A woman’s independence is a precious thing—something not easily won or sustained, yet essential to her becoming the person she was meant to be. The trick, of course, is to find the independence and then learn how to be interdependent without losing anything. Because just as never finding independence is only half living, living only with independence is not experiencing life to the fullest, either. Like many women, I teeter on this line often as I struggle to be a mother, a wife, a friend, a writer.

But Susan showed me how it’s done. I believe in her. And, like Susan, I believe we can have it all if we’re determined enough, work hard enough—and remember not to take ourselves so seriously all the time.

I wish every one of you a new century of happy lives and happy relationship.

Tara Taylor Quinn

P.S. I love to hear from readers. You can reach me at P.O.

Box 15065, Scottsdale, Arizona 85267-5065 or on-line at

http://www.inficad.com/~ttquinn.

My Babies and Me
Tara Taylor Quinn

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Deanna Reames and David Reames.

A woman couldn’t ask for better in-laws.

CHAPTER ONE

WILL YOU have my baby?

No. Susan Kennedy shook her head, her layered shoulder-length hair tickling her neck and cheeks. That wasn’t quite the line she wanted.

Can I have your baby?

Nope. She dusted the buttons on the telephone with one long slim finger. Misleading. Her ability to have a baby wasn’t in question.

So how about May I have your baby?

She toyed with that one, actually dialed Chicago’s area code before disconnecting this time. Her goal wasn’t to ask his permission but to request his participation in the most monumental event of her life. At the same time she had to make it clear—abundantly, in-your-face clear—that she was asking nothing from him.

Other than the initial ten-minute participation. Grinning, Susan amended that last thought. There was no way any physical shenanigans between her and Michael would take less than an hour. They did sex very well.

Which probably meant she was asking for more like two hours of his time. Michael always claimed Susan had a way of making everything seem easier than it really was. Shorter than it was. Less expensive than it was. When she’d budgeted one thousand dollars for their trip to the Poconos, he’d counted on two.

Damn thing was, she’d somehow managed to run through every dime of the two-thousand dollars, just as he’d predicted. And Michael, being Michael, had never said a word.

Stupid, smug man.

Stupid enough to father her child? In spite of the fact that they’d been divorced almost as long as they’d been married?

He had to. Period. No other option was acceptable.

So how did she convince him of that?

How about Would you lend me a sperm? That didn’t sound like too much to ask. And “lend” seemed so harmless, so...not-permanent.

But she wasn’t planning on giving it back.

All the more reason to call him today. Because “lend” wasn’t what she wanted at all. She wanted him to give it to her, willingly and for keeps, and as Michael always gave her wonderful gifts for her birthday...

January 21. Her birthday. She glanced at the office around her, the plaques on her walls, the windows overlooking the icy Ohio River, Cincinnati, Ohio and Louisville, Kentucky all at once. Sinking into the soft leather of the high-backed maroon chair, she sighed and hung up the phone. Gloomy suddenly, she reached down to pet the red setter snoring on the floor at her feet. She couldn’t believe she was actually thirty-nine years old. For a person who’d always loved birthdays, she was doing a damn good imitation of hating this one.

Someone dropped a coffee cup in the hall. Hearing it break, Susan hoped it had been empty. Annie, the setter who made her way to Susan’s office every morning, didn’t even budge at the noise. The dog was getting old, too, nearly thirteen. Susan’s soul mate.

She didn’t kid herself, though. In spite of the fact that Susan had known Annie since puppyhood, the dog didn’t come to her every morning out of some incredible bonding experience they’d shared. No, Annie just preferred Susan’s soft carpet to the cold but beautiful ceramic tile that covered the other floors of Halliday’s. It was one of the largest, privately owned sporting goods supply companies in the world.

Susan jumped as the phone rang, echoing in her bright, luxurious, tomblike office.

“Hello?” She grabbed it after the first ring, eager for distraction, praying it wasn’t Michael calling to wish her a happy birthday. She wasn’t ready to speak with her ex-husband. Not yet.

“Hey, old woman, how about lunch?”

“Seth?” Holding the phone away from her ear, Susan grinned. “You in town?”

“Haven’t missed a birthday yet, have I?”

“Well...” Susan used her best corporate attorney’s voice to disguise how thrilled she was that he’d made it back. “I seem to recall there were those first two...”

Seth snorted. “Before I was born doesn’t count.”

Annie rose slowly and lumbered out to the hall, and as loneliness invaded the room, Susan’s spirits plummeted again. “Lunch would be good. Can you go now?” she asked.

“At 9:30 in the morning?” Seth laughed, then stopped abruptly. “Something wrong?”

“Nope. Just don’t feel like working today.” Which was something wrong.

“I’ve got one call to make, and I’ll be there,” Seth promised immediately.

“Thanks.” Tears in her eyes, Susan hung up the phone. As much of a pain as it had been growing up the only girl with five brothers, Susan was glad she had Seth. He was two years younger, the brother who came directly after her. She’d picked on him all the years they’d lived at home. She’d known she could get away with tormenting him. After all, Susan was the girl, the princess. And while she wasn’t allowed to do any of the fun things they did—like go to the batting cages or play catch or go golfing—the boys were all under strict orders not to bully her. So she’d bullied Seth relentlessly. Even when he’d topped her by a foot and forty pounds.

She wasn’t sure just when she’d started leaning on him instead.

“THANKS FOR meeting with me, Michael.” James Coppel, of Coppel Industries, offered Michael Kennedy his hand.

“I’m happy to be here, sir,” Michael shook his hand before taking a seat in Coppel’s penthouse office suite. He’d just flown in from Chicago.

Although he was careful to do it covertly, Michael took in the opulence around him, his heart rate quickening. Susan should see this, was his first thought. Only his ex-wife could understand the importance of his being there, in that affluent Georgia office suite. Only she would know what it meant to him. He caught a glimpse of himself in an ornate, gold-framed mirror that took up most of the opposite wall and was surprised by his reflection. Well-groomed, dark-haired, he looked...at ease. As if he belonged there.

“Would you like some coffee?” Coppel asked, relaxing in his chair as he surveyed Michael. The man’s hair might have grayed, his skin wrinkled, but he’d lost not an inch of his imposing six-foot height in the seven years Michael had known him.

“Certainly,” Michael replied. He wasn’t a coffee drinker, didn’t like what the stuff did to his stomach, but he’d been in business long enough to know that he had to appear as relaxed as his boss.

Though close to seventy, Coppel was a legend. A genius. The man had never missed a beat in the forty years since he’d purchased his first exterminating franchise. He’d built an empire that had interests in just about every industry in the country. Other than film. Coppel had even been smart enough to stay out of Hollywood.

If Michael had ever allowed himself an idol, Coppel would have been it.

The coffee was delivered and with one polished wing tip resting on a suited knee, Michael sat back to calmly sip the dreadful stuff.

“How old are you, boy?”

“Thirty-nine.” Legally, Coppel had no right to ask that kind of question, and .they both knew it.

“And you’ve been with Smythe and Westbourne for how long?”

Michael would bet every dime of the half million he’d saved over the past seven years that Coppel knew exactly how long Michael had been with the Coppel Industries’ investment firm. To the day.

“Seven years.”

“And in that time you’ve gone from director of finance of one branch to financial director of the entire operation, showing a three hundred percent increase over the past two years.”

“Yes, sir.” Michael was damn proud of those figures. They’d cost him. A lot.

“Mind telling me your secret?”

Michael knew he’d finally been asked a legitimate question. A question he could answer with deceptive simplicity. “Integrity toward the customer.”

Coppel snorted. “I run an honest ship, young man. Always have. How do you think Coppel became the name it is? Honest business in a dishonest world. That’s how.”

And that was something Michael had known. Even before he’d earned his MBA, Michael had chosen the company for which he wanted to work. And set about being the candidate they’d choose when the time came.

“I take that one step further, sir,” he said now, no longer aware of the opulence of the room or the other man’s stature.

He had Coppel’s complete attention.

“Each customer is different, with individual needs. My teams have been taught to treat the customer as a person, to sell him not what we have to sell—not what, in the short run, makes us the most profit—but what he truly needs. It hurts the small picture, sometimes, when we don’t make a killing right off the bat. But in the big picture—”

“They go away happy,” Coppel interrupted him, eyeing Michael with interest. “They come back. They bring their neighbors with them.”

“Over and over again,” Michael said with the conviction of seven years’ worth of figures to prove his theory.

“Lose money to make money,” Coppel said.

“Sometimes.”

“Building a whole new level of trust, a new approach to doing business—which, I suppose is really an old-time traditional approach.”

“At least at Smythe and Westbourne.”

The other man nodded. “So you think you can determine what the customer wants.”

“I do.”

“How?” Coppel might be testing him, but he was intrigued as well.

“By becoming the buyer instead of the seller.”

Coppel nodded, his brow clearing. “You put yourself in the shoes of the consumer.”

“And realize that just as all people aren’t the same, all consumers and their needs aren’t the same, either.”

Looking down at some papers spread in front of him, Coppel said, “You appear to have a real talent in this area.”

Michael didn’t know about that. He thought his real talent lay in profit-and-loss margins and personal infrastructures.

“What about your family?” Coppel asked. “How much of your time do they require?”

And for the first time since he’d been summoned to this interview more than a month ago, Michael allowed himself to hope. He wanted a move up to one of the bigger, more diverse companies in the Coppel holdings. He needed a new challenge.

“None, sir,” he said with the confidence of knowing he had the right answer. “I’m divorced.”

“No children?” It was a well-known fact that Coppel didn’t believe a man should desert his children. Which was why he’d never had any of his own.

“None.”

Nodding, Coppel broke into a small, satisfied smile.

“You have anybody else who might want a say on your time?”

You got a lover? Michael read into the question.

“No.”

He saw women occasionally, but he’d been sleeping with Susan again, on and off, over the past three years, although they’d been divorced for seven. He couldn’t seem to find a passion for anyone else.

“Any dependents at all?”

What is this? Michael shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. He sent a sizable amount of money to his parents and brother and sisters back in Carlisle, but that was nobody’s business except his.

“Why?”

Eyes narrowed, Coppel sat forward. “I’m thinking about offering you a new position, a move from a subsidiary company to Coppel Industries itself.”

Michael didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t breathe.

“But the position I have in mind would require constant travel, and I won’t even consider offering it if that meant you’d be shirking personal commitments. I don’t break up families.”

Coppel had come from a broken family, had his father run out on him, been forced to quit school and provide for his ailing mother. He’d entered high school at nineteen after his mother passed away. He’d put himself through college exterminating bugs, and the rest was history. Not only history, but public knowledge now that Coppel was one of the top businessmen in the country.

“I have no one,” Michael said.

HE MADE HIMSELF WAIT until he was pacing the gate at the airport before calling Susan. Just to keep things in perspective.

Only to find that she wasn’t in her office. A hotshot corporate attorney, Susan was out slaying dragons as often as she was in.

Picturing his ex-wife in her dragon-slaying mode, he grinned as he hung up the phone.

“I WANT to have a baby.”

Seth spit the whiskey he’d been sipping, spraying it across the table. “What?”

Laughing, Susan wiped a couple of drops of Crown Royal from her neck. At least her silk blouse and suit jacket had been spared. “It’s not like you to waste good whiskey,” she admonished. Actually, she was a little concerned on that score. It was still only eleven. A bit early for her brother to be hitting the hard stuff. He’d ordered a drink the last time they’d met for lunch, as well.

Leaning across the table, Seth whispered, “Are you out of your mind?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Susan.” He sat upright, every inch the imposing engineer who flew all over the country inspecting multimillion-dollar construction sights. “Be serious.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more serious in my life.” She was still grinning, but mostly because if she didn’t, she might let him intimidate her.

“Why?”

“I’m thirty-nine.” Neither of them touched the sandwiches they’d ordered.

“Yeah. So?”

Susan shrugged. “If I don’t do it now, I’ll have lost the chance.”

“That’s no reason to have a kid. You’re supposed to want it.”

“I do.” Oddly enough.

Picking up a fry, Seth still looked completely overwrought. “Since when?”

“Since I graduated from law school.”

He stared at her, fry suspended in midair. “No kidding?” She’d obviously surprised him.

“I have it all written down.” She spoke quickly, eager to elaborate, to convince him that her decision was a good one. The right one. To win his approval. How could she possibly hope to convince Michael if she couldn’t even get the brother who championed everything she did on her side?

“Before I married Michael, I spent a weekend at a lodge in Kentucky, assessing my life, my goals, my dreams. Life was suddenly looming before me and I was scared.” She warmed beneath Seth’s empathetic gaze. “Frightened that I’d lose myself along the way somehow.” Her brother nodded, looking down at the plate between his elbows.

“By the end of the weekend, I’d mapped out all my goals, both short- and long-term, in chronological order.” Seth was staring at her again, his expression no longer empathetic. Unlike the sophisticated lawyer she was, she rushed on. “It was the only way I could be sure I wouldn’t let myself down, wouldn’t end up sixty years old and regretting what I’d done with my life—when it was too late to do anything about it.” Like their mother, she wanted to add but couldn’t. The boys didn’t know about those last hours she’d spent with their mother before she died. No one knew. Except Michael.

Seth continued to stare silently. “I wrote down career goals first,” she said, then took a sip of her brother’s whiskey. “Where I wanted to be by what time. Financial goals. Work goals. Personnal goals. For instance, I wanted to be able to play the violin by the time I was thirty-five.”

“That’s why you took those lessons?”

“Because I wanted to learn how to play? Yes.”

“But did you still want to play the violin when you got to that stage in your life?” Seth asked, pinning her with a big-brother stare he had no right to bestow on her. “Or did you just take the lessons because you’d written down that you had to?”

“I wanted to learn to play.” She’d just been unusually busy that year, which was the only reason she hadn’t enjoyed the experience as much as she’d thought she would.

“When was the last time you picked up your violin?”

That was beside the point. She’d been too busy these past four years.

“I wanted to travel to Europe by the time I was thirty-six.” She steered Seth back to the original conversation. “And,” she added before he could grill her, “I loved every second of the month I spent there.”

Of course, she’d been with Michael, and as a general rule, she loved every second she’d spent with Michael, period. They’d even made getting divorced fun. They’d rushed straight home afterward, tripped over his packing boxes on the way to their bedroom and made love furiously until dawn.

Seth chomped on a couple of fries. Brooding. His classically golden good looks were broken by the frown he was wearing.

“I’ve always known I’d have a baby by the year 2000,” Susan said softly, seriously, begging her brother to understand.

“Listen to you! Learn to play an instrument, go to Europe, have a baby by the year 2000. It’s ludicrous, Susan.” When his intensity didn’t sway her, he slowed down. “What happens after you have this baby?” he finally asked.

“Then I raise him or her.”

“You can’t just bring a child into the world because some stupid plan tells you to, Susan.”

“Who says I can’t?” Not exactly an answer to be proud of, but he was making her defensive.

“You aren’t mother material, for God’s sake! Can’t you see that?”

She opened her mouth but couldn’t speak. Not one word came out. She just sat there, mouth gaping, staring at him.

Until her eyes filled with tears. “How can you say that?”

“I’m sorry, sis.” He glanced away, took a sip of whiskey. “I love you, you know that.”

She’d thought she did.

“Look at your life, Susan, all mapped out, running right on schedule. The last thing children do is follow your schedule. They shouldn’t have to. They should be free to follow their own way, their own hearts. And they need parents who can give them the time, the freedom of choice to do so.”

“Like you’d know?” she asked, still hurt by his sudden abandonment.

He acknowledged his own lack of family with a nod. “I do know,” he said, surprising her with his fierceness. “Which is exactly why I’m so goddamn alone.” He finished off his whiskey with one swallow.

“Seth?”

There was a lot more going on here than she knew. A lot more that she needed to know.

“Not now,” was all he said, flagging down the waitress for another whiskey.

Susan pushed her plate away, untouched. She’d had breakfast at nine. It was way too early to be thinking about eating again.

“There’s another factor that’s missing here. Unless something else has happened since I left town.”

Susan shook her head. Life had been predictable, the same, for months now.

“A baby needs a father.” Seth’s voice was strong again. He made a show of glancing around them. “I don’t see one hanging around.”

Susan took a deep breath. “I’m going to ask Michael.”

Eyes suddenly alight, Seth grinned and grabbed her hand. “You two are getting back together?”

She couldn’t hold his gaze, couldn’t watch it dim. Sliding her hand from his, Susan shook her head. “Of course not. Nothing’s changed there.”

“Careers still come first, you mean?” he asked.

Susan nodded, awash in the sadness she felt emanating from her younger brother.

“My point exactly.” He finished off the second whiskey. “A kid deserves to come first.”

CHAPTER TWO

“SO THIS BABY THING is the reason you didn’t feel like working today?” Seth asked as he walked her to her car fifteen minutes later. He seemed huge and intimidating in his expensive overcoat.

And he was making her mad again with his refusal to take her seriously about the baby. If she couldn’t convince Seth, how in hell was she ever going to convince Michael? But because she didn’t want to face the fact that she might not be able to convince either one of them, Susan let his comment go.

To a point.

“No,” she finally answered him, studying the shadowy trail her breath left on the air.

They’d reached her Infiniti, and Seth opened the door she’d unlocked with her antitheft device as they’d approached. “I’ve actually got a small problem at work that was making me wish I was somewhere else this morning.”

“A small problem?” Seth leaned into the car, one arm on the hood, one on the open door. “That means there’s something major coming down. What is it?” He paused, frowning again. “Your job isn’t in jeopardy, is it?”

Susan laughed then, but without much humor. “Hardly.” They both knew she could write her own ticket as far as Halliday Headgear for Sports was concerned. She’d saved them enough money over the years to buy them out twice.

“Then what is it?”

“Just a case I’m working on. No big deal.” Susan started the car, turning the heat up full blast.

“Is Halliday in trouble?”

“Nope.”

“You going to tell me, or you want me to just keep asking questions until my ass freezes?”

“It’s nothing, really.” Susan grinned up at him. “Just a little suit I could have won even before I attended law school.”

“And?”

It was annoying how well Seth knew her. She’d have to remember to stay away from him when she was having birthday blues in the future. “I just feel for this boy, okay? His face mask snapped, a production problem with one of the hinges. The kid suffered a subdural hematoma which is pushing against his brain, causing paralysis on one side of his body. His father’s out of work and the family doesn’t have insurance. They don’t have money for surgery, let alone the months of physical therapy he’s going to need.”

“If his face mask malfunctioned, isn’t Halliday responsible?”

“We would be if he’d been wearing it to play softball—the mask’s intended use.”

“Why was he wearing it?”

Susan looked up at her brother. “He was playing soccer.”

“Halliday’s getting off on a technicality?”

“A big one.”

“And the kid?”

Susan shrugged. “I don’t know. Even if the surgery’s performed, he’s not going to be able to walk again without rehabilitation.” She took a deep breath. “I could win this one for him if I were on his side. I know of a loophole that would override ours.” “Damn!” Seth whistled. “You sure as hell don’t need to be wasting energy worrying about babies, Susan. Sounds like you’ve got some soul-searching to do a lot closer to home.”

“Yeah.” She’d be doing some soul-searching, all right, but having a baby was about as close to home as she could get.

A MESSAGE FROM Michael was waiting for her back at the office. Susan was inordinately disappointed to have missed his call. Especially in light of the dissatisfying hour and a half she’d just spent with her punk of a brother. Who the hell did he think he was telling her she wasn’t mother material? How would he know?

Of course she was mother material. She just hadn’t had the occasion to use those maternal skills or instincts or whatever they were...yet. But she would as soon as she could.

Her fingers didn’t falter this time as she punched out Michael’s number. She had a goal. A purpose. And no one was going to stop her.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Kennedy, Mr. Kennedy is out of town today....”

And that about summed up the day for her, Susan thought as she dropped the phone back in its cradle. He’d left town on her birthday. He’d left town without telling her. What in hell was the world coming to?

She listened indifferently to the remainder of her messages. Her father had called to wish her happy birthday. No round of golf for her. Only her brothers got that invitation for their birthdays. Julie, her brother Scott’s wife, not only called to wish her happy birthday, but to invite her to little Joey’s second birthday party the following week. Scott was her oldest brother. And her least favorite. He was so much like their dad he made her crazy. But he was a good man and when she was in a normal mood, she had to love him.

Spencer, the doctor in the family and the youngest brother, had called for him and Barbara, his wife, who was also a doctor. What was this? It seemed as if everyone was ganging up on her. Like there was a conspiracy to make her feel better or something. Did they know how miserable she felt? How much she wished the day would just go away?

The thought gave her chills. She didn’t want any of them to guess that she wasn’t just hunky dory and happy-go-lucky with her perfect little life. She’d been defending it to them forever, and she’d bloat up and burst if she suddenly had to eat all those words.

Besides, Stephen and Sean hadn’t called yet. Which meant no conspiracy was afoot. Sean, the brother between Seth and Spencer, was the organizer of mutinies in the family. He’d have been the first to call and gloat if he thought he had a way to get to her. And Stephen? Well, she wouldn’t be surprised to get a birthday call from him sometime in March. If it weren’t for the fact that he was a renowned nuclear scientist, she’d worry about his IQ. The man was about as clueless as they came. He was also closest to Susan in age, being only one year her senior. He was going to hit forty this year.

Snatching the phone back up, Susan buzzed her assistant. “I’ll be out for the rest of the day,” she said the second Jill answered. She didn’t want to enter into any discussions about research and cases on the docket. It was her birthday and she was damn well going to enjoy it. Somehow. She loved birthdays.

“The McArthur boy lost his lawyer,” Jill reported anyway. “I figured you’d want to know.”

That was true. Susan did want to know. Later.

“Any change in his condition?” she asked in spite of herself.

“Still paralyzed.”

“Thanks.” Susan made a mental note to seek out Tricia Halliday the following week. Surely they could find a compromise on this particular case.

She just wondered how much groveling or bribing she’d have to do to get the hard-hearted woman to budge. Tricia cared about being right. Not about being human.

“I’m taking tomorrow off, as well,” she decided out loud. The next day was Friday. She was giving herself a birthday present.

“Heading for Chicago?” Jill asked. Susan could hear the impertinent grin in her assistant’s voice.

“Not that you know about.”

“Don’t worry, Susan, there’ll be no calls from me unless the old lady croaks.”

“Even that can wait until Monday,” Susan muttered as she hung up the phone.

Michael’s secretary had said he’d be back that night. She was going to be there to welcome him home personally. She needed a fix.

And maybe, just maybe, she’d get up the guts to ask for the present she wanted most in the world.

A tiny little life to nurture and love and fill her up again.

She had a feeling she’d have to put forth the most convincing argument of her life if she hoped to win this one. Of course, that was what she’d thought when she’d been set on talking Michael out of their divorce. And look where that had gotten her.

MICHAEL TRIED to reach Susan again when he touched down in Chicago. Not only was he dying to share his news, even if everything was only in the possibility stages, he’d also remembered on the flight home that today was Susan’s birthday. To celebrate, he stopped at the American Airlines counter and bought them both tickets to Hawaii for Easter weekend. It had been too long since either of them had taken a vacation.

The tickets were open-ended, as always. He could change them if Easter wasn’t good for her.

She was out of the office until Monday. Still no answer at the condo. Knowing how much Susan loved birthdays, knowing more than anyone how she did everything to excess, he was sure she’d found some crazy way to celebrate this last birthday in her thirties. Things like that mattered to Susan. Celebrating. And momentous birthdays. Michael usually had to stop and think to even remember how old he was. Age wasn’t anything that had ever mattered to him. He supposed it might be different for women.

Catching sight of a departure board as he walked by, Michael found himself searching for any flights leaving for Cincinnati that evening. He wanted to be with Susan. To share his news. To share her celebration. To make love to her...

He wanted to go home.

And because his wanting threatened to override good sense, Michael went to pick up his forest-green Pathfinder from the airport’s parking garage instead. His home was here for now, in the condo he’d purchased when he’d moved to Chicago seven years ago. He and Susan had made their choices then. Forced to decide between staying together and climbing to the top, neither one had been willing to give up on career success. As great as their marriage had been, their careers had meant more—to both of them.

He had the day’s industrial summaries to go over. Reports to study. He’d catch Susan later when she was all celebrated out.

And maybe he’d be able to talk her into a quick trip to Chicago in the not-too-distant future.

Two DRINKS AT LUNCH. Another one instead of dinner. And peace was as elusive as ever. Seth Carmichael stayed at his desk until his eyes stung from lack of sleep, and he knew he had to pack it in. Go home. He’d been up for more than twenty-four hours. He’d taken the red-eye after last night’s meetings in Alaska to make it back here in time for Susan’s birthday. He’d like to think that meant he’d fall into bed the second he hit his apartment, that he’d sleep the sleep of the just. Or the dead.

But he knew he wouldn’t.

And that was why he was still at work two hours after everyone else had gone home for the night. Of course, they all had families to go home to. Seth had an apartment filled with stale air. There weren’t even any plants sharing the place with him. He was gone so much any plants he brought home just shriveled up and died.

He locked up carefully and walked out of the building that housed the offices held by Hier Engineering. In the parking lot, Seth climbed into his Bronco, pleased with the power beneath his hands as the engine turned over instantly.

Bitch of it was, he liked his life. Or he had. He loved his job. Enough to know that when he was seeing double like this, he had to leave the figures alone. He couldn’t risk a mathematical error that could result in a tragic accident—a building not as sturdy as it needed to be, a bridge that cracked. These were his real nightmares.

Almost of its own accord, Seth’s Bronco headed in the opposite direction from home, toward a part of town he no longer had any reason to visit.

So why were his nights filled with a couple of sullen little faces and a more determined beautiful one? It had been four months since Laura’s ultimatum. Four months.

He felt as raw as if she’d hurled those hateful words only yesterday. They were as clear in his mind as if she had.

Hell, it wasn’t like she’d been a permanent fixture in his life. Or her kids, either. He’d only met them the previous summer when he’d shown up to coach soccer to a bunch of underprivileged kids and met a little boy with a whole lot of defensiveness but a lot of talent, too. He’d been drawn to Jeremy from that very first day, thinking of him at odd times through the weeks that followed—trying to figure out a way to help him.

And the boy’s mother... He could still remember the first time he’d stopped by Jeremy’s house to speak to his parents about the boy’s talent. He’d thought Laura was the boy’s sister when she answered the door. Her silky blond hair had been hanging loose over a frayed tank top. And her cutoff shorts had had more holes in them than her tennis shoes.

He’d been poleaxed right from the start. And that was before she’d even opened her mouth, before he’d discovered her indomitable strength. Before he’d found out the good news—she was single. Divorced.

The Bronco sped down the exit ramp. Seth didn’t reduce his speed as he continued on.

And Susan. What in hell had gotten into his sister? Didn’t she know she was his hero? That he measured everything he did by her standards? How could she do something as stupid, as heartless, as to even consider bringing a child into the world simply because she’d written it down in her damn planner? Who was going to raise that child, nurture him, love him, while Susan spent fourteen hours a day at work?

The soccer field came into view before he slowed down enough to be cautious. Jeremy might not even be there. He’d probably quit practicing the second Seth walked out the door of his mother’s house. Or maybe it had been the next week, when he’d gone to soccer practice and discovered that Seth was no longer his coach.

At least he knew the kid was still on the team. He supposed that was something.

And what would Seth say to the boy if Jeremy was at the field by himself? “Hey, kid, good to see ya. Sorry you weren’t important enough to me.”

Right. Just what a nine-year-old needed to hear. Face it. That was exactly what Jeremy was thinking, anyway. The kid’s father had run out on him. He’d expected Seth to do the same. And Seth had obliged.

The field was empty, just as he’d realized it would be. Of course, it was January. Freezing. Who kicked around soccer balls at eight-thirty on a January night?

Jeremy would have. If Seth had still been around to encourage him. The boy had ability. And he loved to play. Soccer was the one thing that could help Seth get through to Jeremy. That could make Jeremy feel good about himself.

Driving by Laura’s house was a given.

Maybe he should stop in to say hello. Just to make sure they were all right. There were lights on in the front room, and a glow from the television that appeared to be Jeremy’s only solace these days, his only escape.

The front yard was still nothing but a tiny square of hard dirt; the sidewalk was cracked, pieces missing; half the porch sagged. He’d repeatedly offered to set her up in a better place, a better part of town. She’d refused every time. And when he couldn’t stand having her there any longer, when he’d found her a place on his own, made all the arrangements for her to move, when he’d insisted she accept his offer, she’d given him the ultimatum that had ended everything.

Light flickered on the homemade curtains, probably a reflection from the television screen. He wondered if Jeremy was still looking out for his little sister.

Seth had driven by Jenny’s school last month, and the little girl had been off by herself, leaning against a corner of the building while her classmates played. She’d seen too much in her young life to be capable of make-believe. To find any joy in childish antics.

Seth had hoped to change that, too. Just as he’d once thought he’d be able to bring an easy sparkle back to Laura’s eyes. But the bastard who’d helped create that family had done some real work on all of them. The bruises he’d left behind, both physical and mental, were more than Seth had been able to eradicate.

He’d wanted to be their friend. They’d needed more than that. A single-parent family usually did.

Slamming his gloved hand down hard on the steering wheel, Seth sped away from the run-down neighborhood where Laura lived; he didn’t slow down until he’d reached the bar right around the corner from his apartment complex. He could walk home from there if he got lucky enough to be too wasted to drive.

He just couldn’t believe Susan was actually planning a single-parent family. What if she had a boy? Boys needed fathers. Jeremy was proof of that.

He’d given his sister credit for having more sense.

SHE’D COME PREPARED. Slipping into the public rest room in the lobby of the condo sales office in Michael’s complex, Susan quickly took off her suit, bra and panty hose, donning nylons, a garter and a lavender French-cut negligee. She might be pushing forty but her body still looked good—curved in the right places, tight where it should be. Touching up her makeup didn’t take but a second, just long enough to coat her lips with wet luscious red. Her nipples puckered with cold, and probably a bit of anticipation, too, as she slid her overcoat and shoes back on, picked up her weekend bag and sedately reentered the lobby.

She’d brought protection, too, just in case Michael hadn’t replaced the box they’d finished off the last time she was in town. There was no place in her plan for an unexpected pregnancy, no place for manipulation or dishonesty. If she was going to have Michael’s baby, it was going to be with his permission.

An evening sales associate tossed her a welcoming smile as Susan sailed regally past her and into the night, shaking back her hair. Gold with streaks of light chocolate—that was how Michael had always described her hair. Gold and chocolate. Of course, he’d also said it almost exactly matched the oak of her desk, but that was when he’d had her lying on top of it.

Her desk would have been a little cumbersome to bring, so she’d settled for his favorite whiskey—a rich golden Scotch—and a box of his favorite chocolates—all lights. While he’d understand the significance of her offering, he might think her a little odd for bringing him presents on her birthday, but she wasn’t leaving anything to chance. She wanted his senses overflowing. She wanted distraction.

She wanted to ask a favor and she was scared to death he’d think she was crazy. Of course, his immediate answer would probably be no. She’d wait until he was stone-cold sober before she’d accept that decision.

MICHAEL WAS ELATED and instantly hard when he opened the door of his condo to see Susan standing there, coat gaping, his own personal paramour. But he wasn’t really surprised. He’d been thinking of her all day. Needing her. And she was here.

That was just the way it was with them.

“Lady, you read my mind.” He gathered her close, his hands sliding inside the open overcoat, as he kicked the door closed.

“Hello, Michael,” she laughed when he let her up for air.

He kissed her again, tasting her, turned on as much by the familiarity of her as the luscious breasts he felt against him. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” He nuzzled her neck, her collarbone.

“Thank you.” Her voice wasn’t quite steady. She was on fire, too. Even after all these years, it was still instantaneous combustion. For both of them.

“Mind if I put these things down?”

Michael took her bag and the gifts she held without removing his lips from her body. He set her things on the high-backed wicker chair in the foyer and then, turning, forced her backward toward the stairs that led to his bedroom.

He was damn glad she was here.

“WHERE WERE YOU TODAY?” Susan’s words were soft, sleepy, her finger toying with his nipple as he lay facing her, still inside her.

“Atlanta.”

Her eyes were closed, but her face was taut, her body tense as she continued to play with him. “On business?”

“Later.” At the moment, Michael couldn’t even remember why he’d thought the day’s meeting so important.

“Mmm-hmm.” Susan’s tongue darted out to his lips and then was gone. “Later.”

“MICHAEL?”

“Mmm-hmm?” He’d just been thinking he should rouse himself enough to tell her his good news. As soon as he was strong enough for another celebration.

“We can always talk to each other about everything, can’t we?”

Although he didn’t shift from his position propped on the pillows with Susan cradled against his chest, Michael was instantly alert. Lethargy evaporated to be replaced with caution. And maybe something else. Maybe fear.

“I’ve always thought so.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

Her breathing became more regular as she lay there silently, more relaxed, as though she were going to sleep. Was that it, then? Just a reaffirmation of what they were to each other?

Granted, their relationship was far from traditional, an open-ended friendship with no strings attached. But it worked for him. And for her, too, he thought. Had she just needed reassurance? He was loath to move, to disturb her. Loath to find out there was more.

“So, if...something...changed for me, I could tell you?”

What had changed? “Of course you could.”

Had she found someone else? Someone in Cincinnati? God forbid, someone she wanted to marry?

Michael’s throat was dry, but he tried to be calm, reasonable. She wouldn’t have shown up here tonight, wouldn’t be lying naked in his arms, satiated with a couple of hours of healthy love if there was someone else, right?

Unless...

He thought back to the day—and night—of their divorce. Sex was exactly how she’d said goodbye.

He couldn’t stand the idea of her with someone else.

“So has something changed?” He finally had to ask. Had to know.

“Maybe.”

Maybe? Could you maybe be in love with someone else?

He continued to hold her, to run one hand lightly up and down her naked back.

“You’re not sure?”

The entire conversation was ludicrous. Susan in love with someone else? Making love with someone else? He might have worried about something like that in the beginning, seven years ago, right after their divorce. But now?

“I’m sure.”

His hand stilled. “You are.”

Her hair was rough against his chest as, slowly, she nodded.

Then why in hell are you lying here, naked, in my bed, in my arms? He wanted to shout at her. Almost did.

Until it occurred to him that Susan had every right to fall in love with someone else. And that he had no rights at all. Not anymore.

Once, he had.

But he’d given them up.

CHAPTER THREE

“I’M GOING to have a baby, Michael.”

Michael flew out of bed, hardly aware of her head flopping onto the pillows behind him as he stood on the thick carpet covering his bedroom floor.

And then, feeling incredibly foolish, he realized he must have misunderstood, heard her wrong. He’d thought, for a second there, that she’d told him she was pregnant.

“What did you say?” He stalled, looking for a way to explain his bizarre behavior without actually telling her what he thought she’d said.

She lay there, gazing up at him, the oddest expression on her face. Half fearful, half belligerent. Her chocolately golden hair was scattered about her face and tangled on the pillows beneath her, her lips bare and swollen, her eyes wide. She’d pulled the covers up to her chin. She looked about sixteen.

“I’m going to have a baby.”

The breath knocked out of him, Michael felt as though he’d been sucker punched. If he hadn’t been butt naked he’d have sunk to the floor.

“You...are.” He couldn’t, for the moment, think of anything more intelligent to say.

Still wearing that odd expression, Susan nodded. He hated the way she was looking at him. Hated seeing her so unsure. Hated everything about this damn evening. This day. This life.

“You’re going to have a baby.” He just couldn’t make sense of it.

She nodded again.

Susan was pregnant. His Susan. The woman whose career meant more to her than anything, including him, was going to be encumbered with someone else’s child.

He’d kill the bastard who’d done this to her.

“Who is he?” Michael reached for his slacks and, not taking time for underwear, pulled them on. He would hunt the guy down and kill him with his bare hands for not loving Susan more responsibly. Hell, for loving her at all.

“I don’t know yet.”

So intent was he on finding some shoes, a shirt, he barely heard the words when she first uttered them. But as he buttoned his shirt, cussing at every little buttonhole, her voice slowly sank in.

Whirling, he faced her. “You don’t know yet?” He had to be asleep, having the craziest nightmare of his life. There was no other way to explain the things he was hearing.

Unusually winded, Susan shook her head.

There’d been more than one man? “Well, when are you going to find out?” Didn’t they have to wait until after the baby was born to determine paternity?

“I’m not sure.”

“I’m going downstairs.”

Michael took the stairs three at a time—half sliding, half running in his hurry to get away from her. To get away from the whole sordid mess. With a Scotch in hand, and one small light on above the bar, he paced his living room, doing some quick desperate math. He’d seen Susan at Christmas, but he’d only been able to spare the one day and her whole family had been around. He’d been busy as hell all through the fall with year-end approaching, and dammit, this baby couldn’t be his.

His gut hard, he figured out that it had been a good four months since he’d made love to Susan. And there was no way she was four months along. Her belly was as flat as always. He knew. He’d just spent the past two hours intimately acquainted with it.

Not that he’d wanted the baby to be his. He finished off the shot of whiskey he’d poured. Not at all. Certainly no more than Susan wanted to be pregnant. He couldn’t think of anything she’d want less. Except maybe death. Or anything he’d want less, for that matter.

He also couldn’t get past the sick feeling of knowing that another man had done this to her. Dammit! Why hadn’t she been more careful?

“You’re angry, aren’t you?”

She’d appeared behind him, wearing a rumpled men’s shirt. She’d found the shirt he’d worn to work earlier and wrapped herself in it. The shirt reminded him of his meeting with Coppel.

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me, Michael.”

He turned toward her. She was right. Lying to each other was one thing he and Susan had never done.

“Okay, yeah, I’m angry.” So angry he could feel his nostrils flaring.

“Why? It has nothing to do with you.”

So why, if that was supposed to make it okay, didn’t he feel okay?

“For one thing, I’m angry as hell at the irresponsibility of whatever man did this to you.”

She frowned, dropping down to his leather couch, folding her feet beneath her. “Did what to me?”

Michael swore, out of all patience. “Got you pregnant, of course.” Did pregnancy make a woman stupid, too? He’d thought it only caused pickle cravings and crying attacks.

Susan laughed. Shocking him. “In the first place, Michael, a man can’t get me pregnant all by himself.”

She had him there.

“Secondly, I’m not pregnant—yet.”

The whiskey was clouding his brain.

“And in the third place, I haven’t slept with anyone but you in my entire life.”

Well, that was okay then.

Michael fell down to the couch beside her, feeling a little drunk, though he’d only had the one shot. “Thank God.”

Only him. In her entire life. He started to grin.

She grazed his face with one slim hand. “Would it really have mattered so much if there was someone in Cincinnati?” Her words were soft, easy, but the light in her eyes was soul-deep.

“It would.” In seven years’ time, they’d never discussed fidelity. Or infidelity, either.

“I’m glad.”

Pulling her into his arms, Michael held her, wondering if they’d just made some kind of crazy commitment in this relationship that wasn’t. And hoping, irrationally, that they had.

Slowly, though, as he sat listening to her breathing in the quiet of the night, Michael’s mind started to clear. He still had his good news to share. But first...

“Why did you say you were going to have a baby if you aren’t?” he asked, frowning in the near darkness.

“Who says I’m not?” She turned to look at him.

“You just did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Susan...” His tension was building again. “You just said—”

“That I’m not pregnant,” she finished for him. “But I’m going to be.”

“When?”

“Soon, I hope.”

Aghast, he stared at her. “Why?”

“Because I want to be.”

“But...” He was adrift. Lost. He stared at a scrap of paper he’d been doodling on earlier and left on the coffee table. “...then you’d have a child.”

“I know.” It was the quiet conviction in Susan’s words that got to him. And scared the hell out of him. Who was this woman? Susan didn’t want children.

Did she?

“Will you give me a baby, Michael?”

Michael jumped up again. “No!” He hadn’t meant the word to be so loud—so harsh. “You’re kidding, right?” It was late; she’d been working long hours. That must be it.

As soon as she started to shake her head, Michael looked away.

“Please try to understand, Michael.”

Looking back at her, he nodded. He wanted to understand.

“Having a baby is something I’ve always planned to do.”

“Since when?”

“Since before you and I were married.”

“And you don’t think I should have known about this?”

“Probably, but we were young. We had so many goals.” She shrugged. “Neither one of us wanted a child then.”

“But you planned to have one later.” He was trying to understand. He really was.

“By the time I was forty.”

“You never mentioned it because you weren’t planning to stay married to me?” He supposed the question was a bit ludicrous considering that they weren’t married, but had she gone into the marriage knowing it wouldn’t last?

“I just figured that once we’d both done what we had to do, reached our career goals, we’d be ready to talk about having a family.”

He nodded. At least she hadn’t been planning their divorce before she’d even married him. And they’d never actually said they were never going to have children. He’d just assumed, since she was as career-driven as he was—since she put job above all else and completely accepted the fact that he did, too—he’d just assumed she didn’t want a family as much as he didn’t want one.

Maybe he knew her better than she knew herself.

Sitting down beside her, Michael once again took her in his arms. Having her there with him was the only thing that felt right, natural... normal.

“Susan, honey, you’re at a particularly vulnerable time in your life. A time when people make rash decisions. And then spend the next twenty years regretting them.”

“Don’t patronize me, Michael.” She pulled away from him, one-hundred percent intimidating attorney, even while wearing nothing more than his shirt. “I am not going through a midlife crisis.”

“It’s perfectly natural.”

“And I’m not going through one.”

“Most people don’t realize that they are.”

“And do they start them in their twenties?”

“You can’t honestly consider some half-baked thought you once had about having a child as proof that you really wanted it. If you did, why’d you wait so long?”

“Because I knew I could afford to wait. That I needed to wait.” Her eyes pleaded with him to take her seriously. “The thought, even back then, wasn’t half-baked.”

“How can you be so sure about a decision like this?”

“Remember when I went to Kentucky that weekend before we got married?”

“Of course.” He’d been scared to death she was going to change her mind.

“I went because I was having second thoughts. I was afraid that by marrying you, I was going to lose me.”

“You never told me that.” Michael pulled at a string coming loose from the button at the bottom of his shirt.

“I know.” She smiled sadly. “You’d just have told me you wouldn’t let that happen, that you wouldn’t take away who I was or needed to be.”

“Because it’s true.”

“But sometimes these things happen to people without their even noticing it.” She took his hand, held it in her lap. “You wouldn’t knowingly or purposely have distracted me from my goals, Michael. Just my loving you, wanting to make you happy might have done that.” She paused, then began again, her voice low. “Once you start...subjugating yourself, you don’t even know anymore whose interests you’re really protecting. And then you’re fifty or sixty years old and resenting everyone because you haven’t done what you needed to do in life and it’s too late. Look what happened to my mother. Because of our family.”

And suddenly Michael began to understand. He’d been the one to pick up the pieces of Susan’s tortured heart after Rose Carmichael died. They hadn’t been married yet, but he’d helped her come to grips with that last, painful conversation. Helped her work through the regrets, the recriminations.

“I wrote out a life plan that weekend in Kentucky, Michael. My goals, my dreams. And target dates by which I either had to decide they no longer mattered—or I had to fulfill them.”

Michael started to feel a little sick. “Having a baby was on that list.”

Susan nodded.

“And it still matters.”

“Yes.”

The last thing in the world he wanted was a baby. He had his own reasons. And, like Susan’s, they came from examples set by his parents. To Michael, having a child meant his life was over.

He’d felt that even before the meeting with Coppel.

“Have you talked to anyone else about this?”

“Just Seth.”

“And?”

She was silent. Her eyes fell for a moment and then returned to his. “Seth’s hardly one to understand.”

Based on her brother’s bachelor life-style, he supposed not. But Seth had always championed his big sister, had walked in her footsteps as long as Michael had known him. Michael had even begun to wonder if maybe Seth was still alone, married to his career, because he was following Susan’s example.

“He thinks you’re crazy?”

Susan shrugged, shocking Michael when her eyes filled with tears. “He doesn’t think I’m mother material.”

Seth’s lack of confidence had shaken her. “He’s nuts.” Michael heard the words before he’d even realized he’d had the thought.

“Really?” Her beautiful eyes glowed with uncertainty in the dusky room.

“Just look at Seth if you need evidence,” Michael said. “You practically raised him.” Which was one of the reasons Michael had thought she’d never want children. With three younger brothers, she’d had more than her share of babysitting and housework and driving her brothers to practices and games. Her mother had needed her at home, so her high-school years had been rife with missed opportunities.

Somehow she was back in his arms and Michael soaked up her warmth, her soft feminine scent. The evening washed over him—the good and the bad. Was her need to have this child so great that she’d be willing to give up her job? Move to Chicago?

The thought wasn’t as displeasing as it might have been. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d wished he’d never had to divorce her in the first place. The number of sleepless nights he’d spent lying beside her, trying to convince himself that a long-distance relationship could work. Instead, he’d been tortured with visions of needing his wife at some important function and her not being there, or vice versa. He’d imagined them wearing themselves out trying to be together every weekend out of obligation to each other. And he’d thought of what marriage meant, of the expectations it brought, of two people being one unit—and just couldn’t picture the link between him and Susan stretched across two states. Visions haunted him of the damage they’d eventually do to each other by trying to hang on when they kept disappointing each other, when expectations couldn’t possibly be met. He’d tried to imagine himself being a good husband to Susan from Chicago and knew that he’d had no choice but to let her go. He’d finally had to face the fact that they couldn’t possibly be true to themselves, to their own needs and desires, and to each other, as well. There wasn’t room in either of their lives for anyone else’s expectations.

But that was before he’d known she wanted to have a baby.

“You want us to get married again,” he summed up.

She didn’t say anything right away. “Nothing’s changed for us, has it Michael?” she finally asked, frowning.

“How do you mean?”

“Our reason for divorcing. Your career needing you one place, mine needing me another.”

So, she wasn’t planning to move to Chicago? “Not for me, it hasn’t.”

“Then why would we get married again?”

“So you can have your baby.”

“This is almost the new millennium, Michael.” Her voice was a little arrogant as she settled back against him. Hard. “You don’t have to be married to have a baby.”

He was apparently too damn tired to think straight. “Do you mind telling me then, what exactly you do want from me?”

“Your sperm.” Susan grinned up at him. And he saw in her eyes, in the cocky tilt to her mouth, the woman he’d fallen in love with so many years before. The one who always made everything sound so easy.

ALMOST FOUR DAYS LATER, Susan couldn’t believe how relieved she was to have asked the question. She knew there was a good chance Michael was going to say no. But she couldn’t ignore the fact that he hadn’t already done so. And couldn’t help but hope that he wouldn’t.

She’d spent the rest of the weekend in Chicago, and it had been just like old times. He’d taken both days off in deference to her birthday and they’d played to their hearts’ content. In bed and out of it

They’d done the city, gone to the zoo, walked along the skydeck of the Sears Tower, taken a walking tour through downtown Chicago to view the skyscrapers. They’d been sidetracked before they’d actually seen many skyscrapers, however. The cold and their hunger had driven them inside. After an hour and a half spent stuffing themselves at Michael’s favorite restaurant down by the lake, Michael had driven her through the Lake Shore Drive Apartments—glass houses he called them—and out to the Widow Clarke House, the oldest surviving building in Chicago.

And not once, throughout the entire weekend, did they mention Susan’s baby—or anything else remotely serious.

But she knew Michael. He was thinking about the baby. And he’d let her know when he’d made a decision. She just hoped it was sometime before her fortieth birthday.

In any case, she was feeling better Monday morning than she had in a long while. She’d asked him. She could afford to wait. At least for a week or two.

In the meantime, she had another little problem to attend to. A problem named Tricia Halliday. Tricia’s office—it was still hard for Susan to think of it that way—occupied the whole floor above Susan’s. Formerly belonging to Tricia’s husband, Ed, the room was a sportsman’s dream. It had a half basketball court at one end, basketball being Ed’s favorite sport, a putting green running along one wall, and a ceramic tile floor underneath the furniture to accommodate Ed’s best friend, Annie. And it was all wrong for Ed’s widow, Tricia.

Susan had gone to work for Ed right out of college. Having grown up with five brothers, she fit right in with the sports talk, understood the needs of athletes. She could even hold her own on the basketball court if she had to. And she’d adored Ed. She’d been devastated when he’d died of a heart attack last year, playing tennis at his club one Sunday afternoon.

He’d reminded her of her dad with his patience, his ability to see what was done well rather than focusing on what hadn’t been done, his insistence on looking at the bright side, the right side. The major difference between the two men, as evidenced by Susan’s position in the company, was Ed’s lack of chauvinism. He hadn’t thought, as Susan’s father did, that men and women had to be pigeonholed into particular roles.

Unfortunately, Ed’s character hadn’t rubbed off on his widow. Tricia was honest and hardworking, but her only interest was in the bottom line. Her pocketbook. And as Halliday Headgear was a privately held company, there wasn’t a lot anybody could do once the CEO made up her mind about something. Except live with it. Or quit.

Dressed in her red power suit, Susan faced Tricia across Ed’s desk, determined not to leave without some sort of compromise in the McArthur case.

“Are you telling me you can’t win this suit?” the older woman asked, her brows almost touching with the force of her frown.

“No. I’m not telling you that.”

“It was my understanding that my ten-year-old nephew could win this one for us.”

“Probably.”

“So why are we wasting my valuable time, and yours, discussing it?”

“Because the McArthur boy didn’t do anything wrong, Tricia. True, he was playing soccer instead of softball, but the mask would have broken, probably with more serious repercussions, if he’d been hit with a softball rather than a soccer ball.”

“He wasn’t.”

“No, he wasn’t.” Susan paused, eyed her boss, and started again. “But that boy is still paralyzed because of the malfunction of our equipment.”

“What do you want from me, Susan?”

Susan stood, leaned over the front of Tricia’s imposing desk. “I want us to settle out of court, to fund the boy’s operation—and his physical therapy afterward.”

Tricia stood up, too. “That’s got to be thousands of dollars.”

“The lawsuit could cost you a lot more than that.”

“But we’re not going to lose the suit.”

“I had Jill spend a day with Grady Moses down in production.” Looking around at the motivational posters on the walls, the peaks being scaled by climbers, the shots being made, the rides and runs and jumps, Susan took heart from Ed’s memory. “She found out that there was a malfunction several months ago on one of the machines. Six cases of masks were damaged before the error was noticed. Their hinges didn’t have double sealings.”

“I’m aware of the problem.” Tricia nodded. “The machine was fixed, the cases were pulled.”

“Five of the six cases were pulled,” Susan corrected. “While Grady was at lunch someone used the sixth case to fill an order. The masks had been on back order for weeks and someone in shipping was a little too eager.”

Carefully, slowly, Tricia sat back down. Her eyes never left Susan’s face. “You’re telling me we’re going to have more lawsuits, and somewhere along the way, one of them’s going to be the result of a softball injury.”

And the McArthur incident would come to light giving Halliday Headgear some very bad press.

“No.” Susan almost wished she didn’t have to be honest. “Grady was able to track down the orders and make exchanges.”

Relief softening her face, Tricia spread her arms wide. “Then we don’t have a problem.”

“The men’s club in Valdez had ordered five of the recalled masks. They sent back four damaged ones, but the fifth one they returned was a first-quality mask. By mistake, they kept the fifth damaged one for the boys at their church to use.”

“I see.” Tricia folded her hands on top of the desk.

Breathing her first easy breath, Susan hoped Tricia finally did see, and waited patiently for instructions to prepare the out-of-court settlement.

“We’re certain this is the only mask that escaped notice?”

“Positive.” Susan nodded, perching on the edge of the desk. “Grady checked and rechecked the serial numbers.”

“Then we’ll proceed as originally directed.”

“But...” Susan stood, staring down at her boss. “We know the mask was faulty,” she said, trying very hard not to raise her voice. “We know the boy would’ve been hurt no matter what ball hit him. It’s only a technicality that he happened to be playing soccer instead of softball.”

“And court cases are won on technicalities all the time.”

“You realize that if this information is made known, your chances of winning will drop considerably.”

Tricia’s eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening me?”

“Of course not!” Susan backed away from the desk. “I’ve been with Halliday Headgear since college, Tricia. I’ve always, always seen to the best interests of the company.”

Head bowed, Tricia said, “I’m sorry, Susan. Of course I’m fully aware of how much you’ve done for us, how lucky we are to have you.” She looked up and Susan saw the sincerity in the other woman’s eyes.

“Thank you.”

“Now, was that all you needed to see me about?”

Just like that, Tricia expected this to go away. “I can’t rest the case yet, Tricia. An eight-year-old boy may never walk again.”

Shrugging, Tricia pulled a pile of papers toward her. “I pay you to be thorough, Susan. Keep searching if you feel you must to protect the company, but unless you’ve got something new to tell me, I don’t need to hear about this case again.”

Too furious to do anything else, Susan turned and left the office.

CHAPTER FOUR

IF HE DIDN’T make her pregnant, someone else would.

No matter how many different ways Michael looked at the situation, he always ended up back in the very same place. Susan wanted him to impregnate her, but if he said no, she wasn’t going to give up on this crazy idea. He’d be sending her directly into the bedroom of another man.

By Thursday afternoon he had one hell of a headache. And still no answers. In desperation he turned to the only other person he could possibly call. His ex-brother-in-law, Seth—and, next to Susan, his closest friend.

“What’s up?” Seth asked as soon they’d assured each other they were fine and that both of them had absolutely nothing to do next Sunday but watch the Super Bowl.

“I’m sure you can guess.” Michael was finding it a little difficult to say the words. He was that opposed to the whole idea. Picking up a pencil, he started to sketch a couple of cartoon characters, a man and a woman, jumping out of an airplane without parachutes.

“Susan told me she asked you about the baby.”

“And she told me you think she’s insane.” He dropped his pencil.

“I never said that!”

“No.” Michael remembered the tears in Susan’s eyes. “You told her you didn’t think she’d make a good mother.”

Sounding unusually defensive, Seth said, “And you think she would?”

Swiveling his chair away from his desk, Michael looked out the window behind him. He gained no inspiration at all from the barren tree limbs outside.

“She did all right by you and Sean and Spencer.”

“She didn’t have a career then.”

“She has a career now and she still looks out for you.”

Seth swore softly. “Come on, Michael, you know it isn’t the same thing. A kid deserves better than absences, vague promises, excuses.”

“So, it isn’t her mothering abilities you doubt.” He rested his feet on the windowsill. “It’s her time management.”

“Or her priorities,” Seth said. “You know her, Michael, she’s been biting off more than she can chew her entire life, all the while insisting she’ll manage. She always thinks that whatever she’s tackling is a piece of cake.”

He agreed with Seth. But... “She does manage in the end.”

“Up until now she’s only had one priority.”

That was true, too. But who was to say she wouldn’t handle two priorities as successfully as she handled one? If she wanted both of them badly enough...

Michael brushed a piece of lint off his navy slacks. “Answer me something...”

“If I can.”

“Do you think she really knows what she wants?”

“If you mean do I think she really wants this baby, then yes, I do.”

Michael was afraid he’d say that. “Yeah, me, too.”

“So...you going to give it to her?”

This had to be one of the oddest conversations in the history of man—or at least of brothers-in-law. But Michael was getting nowhere on his own. And the decision was too important to be clouded by confusion or wishful thinking.

“I don’t know,” he finally said.

Seth hesitated. “You know she’ll, uh, find someone else if you don’t.”

“I had considered that.” At least a million times in the past six days. “But she might not.”

“I don’t think anything but an act of God is going to keep Susan from having her baby.”

Neither did Michael. Dammit. And damn Seth for saying so. “There’s always artificial insemination.”

“I really doubt she’d consider it.”

So did Michael.

“She’d want to know the man who’s going to be, biologically speaking, the other half of her child,” Michael said before he had to hear it from Seth.

“She’d insist on having the inside scoop on the littlest things, like how soon he’d learned to tie his shoes, how close his family was, whether or not he liked to go to the movies.” Seth twisted the knife a little deeper.

“She’d ask for a complete genealogical workup going as far back as possible.” Michael rubbed more salt into his wound.

After all, Susan was a lawyer. A damn good one. She wanted all the answers.

“Of course, all that extra effort, getting to know someone that well, tracking down someone’s heritage—it might be a little off-putting, might make her reconsider....” Seth was obviously trying his best to help.

“Not Susan.” Michael voiced what both men knew. Turning, he picked up the pencil and added some finishing touches to the cartoon. “Because she’d underestimate the work involved, the difficulties. Just like she always does.” Just like she had that night she’d tried to talk him out of the divorce. She’d made it all sound so simple. Him living in one state, her in another. But he’d known a marriage could never survive under those circumstances. Marriage meant commitment, expectations. Sharing one life. Not two.

“So, you going to do it?” Seth asked painfully, as though he were suffering right along with Michael. And, in a sense, he probably was. Seth obviously felt pretty strongly that Susan was making a big mistake.

Michael tossed the pencil. “The last thing in the world I want is to be a father.”

“I don’t think Susan’s looking for a father,” Seth said. “I had the impression she just wants the...you know. The genes.” He could tell Seth didn’t approve of that, either.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “That’s the way I took it.” She wanted his sperm. Not him.

And that rankled, too.

THE OFFER FROM Coppel Industries came through on Friday morning. Coppel stockholders wanted to make Michael a vice president of finance. If he accepted, he’d be on the road, traveling around the country, analyzing current holdings, but mostly seeking out new ones. Diversification was the key to success. And Coppel felt that Michael could pick winners.

He’d have an office, too, a posh one, at Coppel headquarters in Atlanta.

The offer exceeded his expectations; it was a culmination of everything he’d worked for his entire life. More than a dream come true, it was a mountain successfully scaled, a goal reached, years of endless toil rewarded. Of course, it also came with Coppel’s words of warning still ringing in Michael’s ear. No entanglements. No dependents.

Michael took the job.

“OKAY.”

“Okay?” Susan sat down. She’d been waiting for his call all week.

“I can’t pretend I’m happy about this.”

Sitting on the floor of her bedroom, wearing nothing but the slip and panty hose she’d been in the process of taking off, Susan couldn’t stop grinning. “I know.” She couldn’t believe it! He was really going to do it.

“You don’t have a child on a whim, Susan.”

“I don’t do anything on a whim, Michael.”

“Single-parenting is tough.”

Susan glanced at her watch. Seven o’clock on Friday night. She wondered if he was still at the office.

“I can handle it.”

“And you think it’s fair to the kid, bringing him into the world without a father?”

“I have five brothers, Michael, all of whom live within twenty miles of my home. I don’t think he—or she—will be lacking male attention.”

“This is nuts.”

“I don’t think so.” It felt right. To be having a baby. To be having Michael’s baby. Of course she’d prefer to be doing it the traditional way. To be sharing more than just the conception with Michael. But she’d be happy.

A baby!

“What about your job?”

“What about it?”

“You’re still planning to work?”

Susan frowned. “Of course.” And then, “Who do you think’s going to support this child?”

“And you honestly think you can work fourteen hours a day and still be a good parent?”

Her arms about her empty stomach, Susan leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. “The only reason I still work fourteen-hour days is because I have nothing to come home for.” It was the first time she’d admitted the truth, even to herself. “I’m not climbing up anymore, Michael. I’m at the top.”

“There are always higher mountains to climb.”

“I like the one I’m on.” She used to, anyway. And she would again. In spite of Tricia Halliday.

“I can’t be a father, Susan.”

“I’m not asking you to be.”

Ice clinked in a glass and she heard him swallow. “Hell,” he swore softly. “I don’t even live in the same state.”

“Which has nothing to do with anything.” She wished he’d just relax about it. “Michael, we’re divorced. All I want from you is biology.”

He swallowed again. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it doesn’t have to be complicated.” Opening her eyes, Susan stood, finished undressing. “I’m a single woman who’s made the decision to have a baby,” she told him. “It’s happening more and more. Single women are even adopting babies. But I really want the full experience, carrying the child, giving birth. All I’m asking from you is the missing ingredient I need to get started.”

Susan stopped, pulled on a pair of sweatpants. The line was silent. “I could ask a total stranger to provide the sperm,” she said, exasperated. “Would you rather I do that?”

“Hell, no!”

“You’re my friend, Michael.” Throwing herself down on the bed she’d once shared with him, Susan gazed, still topless, at the picture of Michael laughing up at her from the bedside table. “My best friend.” She had to stop for a second. Catch her breath. Swallow the tears that had suddenly appeared. “Who else would I go to when I need a favor?” she finished.

“No one.” He sighed. “You were right to come to me.”

She couldn’t believe how good it felt to hear him say so.

“So when do you want to do it?” His voice dropped, low and gravelly, sexy.

Covering her naked breasts with her arms, Susan wanted to tell him that this weekend was perfect timing, as far as her cycle was concerned. “Whenever it’s...convenient...for you,” she said instead. It felt odd to be discussing it. She and Michael just kind of fell into sex—mostly because they couldn’t help themselves.

They’d certainly never planned it before. It was slightly embarrassing. And she was freezing. Scrambling into her sweatshirt, she barely caught his words.

“...this weekend...off for the Super Bowl.”

“Good!” She pulled the phone back to her face. “This weekend’s good.” She’d already decided to take both days off. While that would mean two full weekends in a row, she needed a little extra distance right now. Needed time to think objectively about the McArthur case. “Probably too late to fly in tonight, huh?”

Michael laughed and her toes curled. There just wasn’t another man like him. She knew. She’d searched frantically during those first few years after the divorce.

“I’d like to think it’s my body you’re so eager for.”

It was. “That old thing? Had it last weekend.”

“Keep it up, woman.”

“So you’ll come in the morning?”

“First flight out.” His voice sounded muffled, as though he were already on to the next item on his evening’s agenda.

“Michael?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

SEX. He wasn’t going to think about anything but the sex. And sex with Susan was always incredible. He had to admit, as far as favors went, this one was relatively painless.

As long as all he thought about was the sex.

He occupied himself with business during the short flight from Chicago to Cincinnati, mentally reviewing possible candidates for his replacement at Smythe and Westbourne, making a list of the projects and problems his replacement would need to know about.

He still hadn’t told Susan about the promotion. He had some irrational feeling that if he was going to get through this episode intact, he had to keep his private life, his own personal self, out of it. Susan’s request had erected a wall between them that he was afraid to scale. Somehow, he knew that for his own self-preservation he had to keep his distance. Sharing this, the greatest success of his life, with her, the realization of all his goals, made him too vulnerable at a time when he couldn’t afford to be vulnerable at all.

Besides, there was a small part of him that was afraid she’d be hurt because he’d accepted a job that required no familial obligations, even though he’d agreed to father her child. And the fear wasn’t just born from an aversion to hurting Susan. If she was hurt, that would mean she’d been harboring some desire for him to share more than just the conception of her child.

And he couldn’t do this for her if he thought, for one second, that she’d be asking for more than he had to give.

Staring out the window at the expanse of anonymous farmland passing beneath him, Michael forced his mind back to the loyal staff he’d built over the years. He’d pretty much decided on the person he was going to promote, and he looked forward to breaking the news. That thought gave him the balance he’d been seeking.

Business was the only thing he felt sure about. The only way he knew how to cope. To shut off the fears and concerns that were nagging at him, the uneasiness he couldn’t seem to dissipate with logic.

A man could only think so much about sex without embarrassing himself.

SETH’S DARK-BLUE Bronco was parked in front of the condo when Michael pulled up in his rental. Fond as he was of Susan’s brother, Seth sure as hell could have picked a better time to come visiting.

“I heard you were going to be in town,” the big blond man greeted him as Michael let himself in. “Thought I’d stop by and see if you two wanted to take in a movie or something.”

Susan, curled up on the couch, raised her brows and grimaced behind her brother’s back.

Michael shrugged out of his overcoat and hung it on the brass tree by the front door. “Don’t think so, buddy,” he said. There was no way in hell he’d be able to sit through a movie right now.

“The new Star Trek movie’s playing downtown,” Seth coaxed.

Exchanging glances with Susan, Michael shook his head. Trekkies though they were, a movie was still a two-hour wait in the dark. “It was just released,” he told Seth, pulling his keys out his jeans pocket to drop them on the hall table. “And it’s Saturday. The theater’ ll be full of kids.”

Dressed in beige khaki slacks and a black longsleeved fleece shirt that hugged her waist, Susan looked great. And eager. Her eyes were glowing as she shared an intimate glance with him.

“How about a game of basketball, then? I can call for a court.” Seth picked up the phone and dialed.

“I didn’t bring gym clothes,” Michael said, disconnecting the call. He met and held his friend’s gaze. “Seth, go home.”

“There’s a new restaurant on the other side of the river I’ve been meaning to try,” Seth said, still clutching the phone. “We could have lunch....”

Turning his ex-brother-in-law toward the door, Michael grabbed Seth’s coat off the rack and handed it to him. “Go home.”

Seth took his coat, put it on, and turned back, looking from Susan to Michael. “I think we should talk about this.”

“I think—” Susan began.

“Go home,” Michael interrupted her, giving Seth a little shove.

“You’re sure?” Seth asked quietly.

Hell no, he wasn’t sure. But Susan was. And he’d never be able to live with himself if he forced her to ask another man to do this.

“Go home.” he said one last time.

Swearing, Seth let himself out, slamming the door.

Michael locked it behind him.

SUSAN STARED at Michael’s back. He was still staring at the door he’d just locked, almost as though he were thinking about heading out himself.

“You want something to eat?”

He turned, walking slowly back into the living room, not meeting her eyes. “Nah, I had breakfast at the airport.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets, stretching the denim of his jeans taut across his fly. Susan couldn’t help noticing how attractive he was. She’d never been able to look at Michael without thinking about sex. But today there was more. Today she saw the man who was going to give her his baby.

The thought scared her just a little. What if this changed things? Not her life; of course that was going to change. But what if things between her and Michael weren’t the same afterward?

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she blurted suddenly.

His gaze swung to hers, intent, hopeful. “You’ve changed your mind.”

“No.” Susan shook her head. She needed to be a mother. “But it doesn’t have to be now, today,” she said even as she realized that putting it off wasn’t going to make any real difference. “It doesn’t have to be you.”

But she wanted it to be. She couldn’t imagine carrying anybody’s baby but Michael’s.

“Are you having doubts?”

Looking down, Susan studied the pattern in the tweed fabric of her overstuffed couch. “Not about the baby.”

“You’re having doubts about me?”

She’d hurt him. Damn, it was getting messy already and they hadn’t even done anything yet.

“Could you sit down or something?” she asked as he continued to hover over her, the hands in his pockets distracting her. “Please?”

Michael sat. On the very edge of the couch, knees spread, his elbows on his knees.

Susan couldn’t look at him. She hadn’t felt this tongue-tied with Michael since before the first time they’d made love. She’d been crazy with wanting him. And a little frightened because of her virginity. Her inexperience. A little frightened that she wouldn’t be able to satisfy him. After all, he’d had the prettiest girls in college chasing after him.

She’d been a boring little tomboy bookworm.

Not knowing what else to do, she’d been honest about her feelings then. And been honest with Michael every day since.

“I can’t imagine anybody but you as the father of my child.” The words, though softly uttered, were filled with the emotions tumbling through her.

She wasn’t looking at him, but she felt him flinch.

“I’m not asking you to be a father, Michael. I’d never do that to you. Any more than you’d ask me never to be a mother.”

Chancing a peek at him, she quickly looked back down at her hands. He was staring straight ahead, the muscles in his jaw working fiercely.

“I’m fully prepared to raise this child myself. In fact, I’m intent on doing so,” she assured him. Just as she’d been assuring herself for months.

“I just want it to be your baby growing inside me.” She wasn’t doing this very well. “I want my son or daughter to be a part of you.”

The more she talked to her silent ex-husband, the more her needs became clear to her. She didn’t just want a baby by the year 2000. She didn’t just want a baby, period. She wanted Michael’s baby. Even though she knew that having Michael’s baby meant raising the child herself.

“What I—” she said, stopping and then trying again. “What I don’t—” She reached across to lace her fingers with his, willing him to meet her eyes, waiting until he did. “What I don’t want...is to lose you in the process.”

He seemed about to say something but didn’t.

“You’re my best friend, Michael. I don’t want that to change.”

Slowly, tenderly, he brought his lips to hers. Kissing her softly. “In seven years I haven’t learned to stop caring about you,” he said, his lips still brushing hers. “I don’t think I ever will.”

Susan tried to block her mind as she gave herself up to his kiss, but for the first time, she wasn’t in a hurry to make love with Michael.

And that frightened her most of all. Things were changing already.

SETH TOOK the corner so hard he felt his outside tires leave the road. How could they be so stupid? The sister who’d never made a mistake in her life, as far as Seth was concerned. And his friend, who was exactly like Seth himself. It was as if he didn’t know either one of them anymore.

By what right could they bring a new life into the world without the means to nurture it? Children needed parents. Two of them. Full-time.

Rounding another curve, he heard a grinding in his steering column and lightened up on the vehicle. His Bronco didn’t deserve this abuse. It was faithful to him. Loyal. There when he needed it. And it never asked more from him than he could give.

Some gas. A wash every month. An occasional new tire. Tune-ups. All stuff that could wait until he happened to be in town.

Seth drove until he calmed. down enough to stay within the speed limit, then slowed even more. He wanted a drink. And he’d have one. Maybe, considering that it was Saturday, and the day before the Super Bowl to boot, he’d have two. Or three.

Keeping the Bronco out of sight of the field, he slid in behind the big weeping willow across the street and to the west, and put the truck in park. But he didn’t turn it off. He wasn’t staying. Couldn’t. He couldn’t risk being seen.

He also couldn’t seem to stay away.

Every week that he was in town he tried. And every week he ended up right in this same place. He’d thought that maybe today, in his efforts to prevent his sister from making the biggest mistake of her life, he’d be spared this little sojourn.

But even that peace had been denied him.

So here he sat, champing at the bit as he watched Mitch’s dad massacre what had promised to be a damn good soccer team. The city league was sponsored by the Y and played all year, no matter what the season, in an effort to keep kids off the streets and in organized activities.

Last year, Seth had been their coach.

“Use your head!” he yelled. And then, ducking his own head, looked around furtively to see if anyone had heard.

Someday he’d learn to keep his big mouth shut. He’d have been a lot better off if he’d done that before he volunteered to coach soccer for underprivileged kids. Before he’d met Jeremy Sinclair. Or his mother.

“Finesse, Jeremy,” he muttered fiercely. “Keep your eye on the ball and your feet in motion.”

The boy watched the ball, but he was practically tripping over his feet in his hurry to get down the field.

“Dance, son.”

Seth itched to get out of the car. To stand at the side of that field and holler. He noticed Peter Adams sitting on the bench, his lower lip jutting out like he was going to cry. None of the boys were smiling. Wishing he could motivate their butts, Seth swallowed instead.

And saw Jeremy glance over. There was no way the kid could see him. He was too far away, camouflaged by a tree. But it was time to go. He couldn’t risk practice ending early. Couldn’t risk Jeremy finding him there.

Anyway, he wanted that drink.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE MAN WAS enough to drive her to drink. Two o’clock Saturday afternoon and they’d spent barely a moment at home. So, of course, Michael still hadn’t made love to her. He’d touched her. Hell, he could hardly keep his hands off her. Yet the second things started to progress, he’d find something to talk about.

Without really talking about anything at all.

And Susan thought she was nervous about taking that final, irrevocable step.

This morning, after he’d thrown Seth out, he’d decided he was hungry, after all. So they went to the new restaurant Seth had recommended for lunch, and a couple of hours disappeared. Then he’d asked to see her office on the way back to the condo, giving as his reason the fact that he hadn’t been there since she’d moved her desk in front of the window.

Eventually, they’d ended up back at the condo. It was either that or go see the Star Trek movie.

“Let’s make a gingerbread house,” Susan said as they pulled in the drive.

“What?” He looked over at her as though she’d lost her mind. Putting her Infiniti in park, he shut off the engine and handed her the keys.

“Come on.” She grinned at him. “It’ll be fun.” And it would give them something unthreatening to do—at home, where there was at least a possibility of babies being made.

“You need special candies and stuff to do that,” Michael told her as he followed her into the house.

“Got them.” She’d meant to make a gingerbread house with Spencer and Barbara’s five-year-old daughter, Melissa, at Christmastime. Thank goodness she’d never mentioned her intentions to Melissa, because she hadn’t had a Saturday off in the entire month of December.

Hanging his coat on the rack, Michael reached for hers. “Gingerbread houses are for Christmas.”

“If you promise not to tell Santa, I won’t.”

“Susan.” Michael took her in his arms, pulled her against him. Kissed her once—and let her go. “A gingerbread house isn’t something you finish in an afternoon. They take hours of planning.”

Hurt by Michael’s unwillingness to make love to her, Susan headed for the kitchen. “Then we’ll design a simple one.”

Michael had always had artistic flair. His doodles were proof of that. But he’d hardly ever stopped working long enough to do more than doodle. She’d like to see him turned loose on a gingerbread house.

“Just waiting for the gingerbread to bake and cool takes all day,” Michael said, walking into the kitchen.

“We’ve got all day.” Susan was taking ingredients from cupboards, piling them on the kitchen counter. “Besides, it won’t take that long. We can always pop the pieces in the freezer when they come out of the oven.” She had to stand on tiptoe to get the molasses from the cupboard above the stove and Michael was suddenly there, reaching over her, bringing it down.

He brushed his body against hers, then let her go. And told Susan something she desperately needed to know. He wanted her. He was hard as a rock.

But before she could so much as turn in his arms, he’d stepped away from her to study the recipe she’d put on the counter.

“It says you have to chill the dough overnight before you cut it.”

“So we’ll pop it in the freezer before we bake it, too.”

“Susan, I’m telling you, if you start this now, you’ll still be at it tomorrow afternoon.”

“Not with you helping me I won’t.” She grinned at him to hide her hurt. “You want to mix or dump in the ingredients?”

“Dump.” Michael didn’t sound any more excited about that than he had about the baby. She hoped he was a little quicker at the dumping or they wouldn’t get the house made.

HE’D BEEN RIGHT, of course. There was no way they were going to finish her damn gingerbread house that day. They’d been working on it for a couple of hours already and he was still at the designing stage.

But he had to admit the idea had been a good one. He couldn’t remember the last time he and Susan had laughed together like this.

“You have flour on your nose,” he told her, reaching up to brush the dab of white away. His fingers lingered. He’d always loved the softness of her skin, the contrast between it and his rough stubble.

“Remember that time we were fooling around in the trees outside my dorm, and Connie Fisher dumped that bag of flour all over us?” she asked now, leaning over his shoulder as she surveyed his drawing. He’d been sitting at the table with paper and pencil for the better part of an hour.

“She was lucky she was up three flights,” he grumbled, remembering all right. Susan had just let him under her shirt for the first time and right before he’d had his first real handful of the breasts that had been driving him to distraction all semester, they’d been ambushed.

And she’d been donned the rest of the week for missing curfew. He’d had to wait another five days to finally touch her.

She’d been so worth the wait....

“I think this is it.” He reined in his thoughts, not trusting himself to travel along the road they’d taken. Which was ironic, considering the fact that sex with Susan was his whole reason for being there.

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