that’s your attitude, well, I’ll still take you to court for the money because it’s only right. It can go into a college fund. But you can forget about visitation rights.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He ran a hand over his hair. Lord, couldn’t he do any of this right? “You aren’t going to have to take me to court to get me to support my child.”
“You just don’t want to be bothered with spending time with the baby, then?” she said, her upper lip lifting in a definite sneer. The expression looked damnably gorgeous on that exotic face. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll do fine without you.”
“No, dammit, listen. I meant that, however much of a shock your news was, I want to be a father to my child. A real father, not a once-a-month baby-sitter.”
She didn’t give herself away by much...the movement of her throat as she swallowed. The pause that went on a little too long while she collected herself. Another man might not have noticed, or understood that she fought to control emotions swinging in wild, breath-stealing arcs.
Tom noticed.
“Well, good,” she said at last. “I’d thought—hoped—you were the sort of man who would want visitation rights, would want...it’s important, you know. A child should have a father who wants to be a father.”
Tom knew Jacy hadn’t had a father. Or a mother. “What about you?” he asked quietly. “Are you well? You and...the baby?”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “The doctor didn’t mention any problems, anyway. I feel fine.”
Yeah, she was just fine. Pregnant and alone and scared—though she would deny it. He had a feeling he could have found her in a dead faint and she would deny feeling anything as vulnerable as fear.
“Look,” she said, “if I give you the name of my doctor, will you go by and fill out his forms?”
“I want to do the right thing, Jacy.”
“Good. That’s good.” She even smiled—not an entirely successful effort, but she was trying. “With both of us wanting what’s best for the baby, we can work things out.”
“You do want to do the right thing, too, don’t you?”
“Of course.” The smile tilted into a frown quickly enough.
“All right, then.” He took a deep breath and got it said. “Will you marry me?”
She just looked at him, as expressionless as if he’d spoken in another language. In spite of every reason he had not to, he couldn’t keep from smiling at her blank expression. “Marriage,” he said. “You have heard of it?”
“You’re crazy,” she said.
“That’s not quite the response I’m looking for.”
Jacy stared at Tom. She had trouble believing she’d heard what she’d heard. “It’s all you’re getting.” Nuts, she thought. The man is Obviously nuts.
All at once she needed to move. There was nowhere to go, no place to be except here, dealing with this—with him—but she didn’t have to stand still to do it. “What century are you living in, anyway?” She tossed the words over her shoulder as she paced. “People don’t get married because they have to anymore.”
“We both want what’s best for our baby. Having two parents is best.”
“Not if they can’t stand each other.” Jacy paced as if she were race-walking. When she reached the other end of the room she flung herself into a quick turn.
“I’m not surprised if you can’t stand me, under the circumstances. But I don’t feel the same.”
She scowled at him in disbelief and paused. “So maybe you don’t absolutely detest me. You don’t think much of me, period.”
“I... respect you.”
For some reason that infuriated her. “Don’t choke on it!”
“Jacy, I know you don’t want anything to do with me. But we’re not talking about what you want, or what I want.” There was something deliberate about his smile, something wicked—oh, yes, definitely wicked—a sexy twitch of his mustache, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Though the fact that you want me almost as much as I want you ought to help us make a marriage work.”
She laughed at him. Put her hands on her hips, and laughed. “Oh, tell me another one. You want me? Sure—you took me out, took me to bed and decided once was enough. If I hadn’t gotten pregnant I’d never have seen or heard from you again unless I was interviewing you for the paper.”
“I can’t believe a woman like you could be so wrong about this sort of thing.” He started toward her.
What did he mean by that—“a woman like you”? A woman who had so many lovers she might not be sure which of them fathered her child? Jacy held herself steady against the fresh hurt. “Look,” she said, “I think this discussion is getting out of hand. I am not marrying you or anyone else.”
“Fine,” he said as he reached her. “We won’t talk for a while.”
Jacy was slow to understand. Later she would try to figure out why she’d been so slow, but now—now all she could do was step back. Only somehow she didn’t move fast enough. Or far enough. Even as she moved away he followed, reaching out.
His big hands cupped her face.
She should have been able to move then. He held her face firmly, his wolf-silver eyes fixed on hers—but she wasn’t hypnotized. She should have been able to move while he bent slowly over her.
Jacy braced herself. She knew what to expect The memory of how much Tom Rasmussin demanded of a woman made her body soften and ache for him even as she closed her mind and heart against him.
But he tricked her, damn him.
His mustache was soft. So was his mouth—soft and hot and riveting, gathering all her attention to her own lips as surely as a magnet draws iron. He passed his mouth slowly, gently, over hers. Once. Again...and again. The sweet persuasions of his lips undid her with every pass, unraveling her thoughts and her pride, leaving her balanced in some windless place where nothing existed except the quiet attention his mouth paid hers.
Her lips burned. Her breasts tingled. Her belly ached with the rich lightning pouring into her veins, while a longing as rich and forbidden as moonshine, as clear and potent as moonglow, banished sanity.
She reached for him.
In an instant the past surged up into the present. When her arms slid around him he circled her tightly, pulling her against him—body to body, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, trapped together by passion. His tongue entered her mouth. She tasted him then as she had before, and she went a little crazy.
Jacy’s hands insisted on knowing his body again. They raced over him. The ache in her intended to have more than this delirious press of clothed bodies, and her mouth silently told him this was so. In return, Tom kissed her as if he were able to do nothing else, as if his next breath depended on tasting her, knowing her.
