them with me.”
“Me?” Oh, God. He wanted her to help him pick the woman who would essentially raise her child? How could she do that?
A thousand emotions flew through her at once as Desmond nodded.
“It would be helpful if you would, yes,” he said, oblivious to her shock and disquiet.
“You did fine the first time without me,” she squawked and cleared her throat. “You don’t need my help.”
“The first time I had nine months to select the right person for the job,” he countered. “I have one day this time. And I trust your judgment.”
“You do?” That set her back so much that she sagged against the weave of the lounge chair.
“Of course. You’re intelligent, or you wouldn’t have been accepted into medical school, and you have a unique ability to understand people.”
She frowned. “I do not. Mostly I piss people off.”
Her mouth was far too fast to express exactly what was on her mind, and she did not suffer fools easily. Neither made her very popular with men, which was fine by her. Men were just roadblocks she did not have time for.
Desmond cocked his head in the way she’d come to realize meant he was processing what she’d just said. “You don’t make me mad.”
“That’s because I like you,” she muttered before thinking through how that might come across. Case in point. Her mouth often operated independently of her brain.
His expression closed in, dropping shadows between them again. “That will change soon enough. I’m not easy to get along with, nor should you try. There’s a reason I asked you to be my son’s surrogate.”
She should let it go. The shadows weren’t her business and he’d pretty much just told her to back off. But the mystery of Desmond Pierce had caught her by the throat and she couldn’t stop herself from asking since he’d brought up the subject.
“Why did you ask me?”
Surely a rich, good-looking guy could have women crawling out of the woodwork to be his baby mama with the snap of his fingers. Obviously that wasn’t what he’d wanted.
Coolly, he surveyed her. “Because I dislike not having control. Our agreement means you have no rights and no ability to affect what happens to Conner.”
“But I do,” she countered quietly. “You put me in exactly that position by asking me to breast-feed him. I could walk away tomorrow and it would be devastating for you both.”
“Yes. It is an unfortunate paradox. But it should give you an idea how greatly I care about my son that I am willing to make such a concession. I didn’t do it lightly.”
Geez. His jaw was like granite and she had an inkling why he considered himself difficult to get along with. Desmond didn’t want a mother for his son because he wasn’t much of a sharer.
Good to know. Domineering geniuses weren’t her cup of tea. “Well, we have no problems, then. I’m not interested in pulling the parental rug out from under you. I’m helping you out because I’m the only one who can, but I’m really looking forward to medical school.”
This time with Conner and Desmond was just a detour. It had to be, no matter how deep her son might sink his emotional hooks.
Desmond nodded. “That is why I picked you. Mr. Lively did a thorough screening of all the potential surrogates and your drive to help people put you head and shoulders above the rest. Your principles are your most attractive quality.”
Um...what? She blinked, but the sincerity in his expression didn’t change. Had he just called her attractive because of her stubborn need to do things her own way? That was a first. And it warmed her dangerously fast.
Her parents had lambasted those same principles for as long as she could recall, begging her to date one of the men who lived in their community and have a lot of babies, never mind that she had less than no interest in either concept. The men bored her to tears, not to mention they embraced her parents’ love of alternative medicine, which meant she had nothing in common with them.
How great was it that the man she’d ultimately married appreciated her desire to become a medical doctor instead of a homeopathic healer?
And how terrible to realize that Desmond Pierce had chosen her strictly because he expected she’d easily leave her child without a backward glance.
He was right—she would do it because she’d given her word. But there wasn’t going to be anything easy about it.
Since the nanny had left him high and dry, Desmond was the one stuck sorting out his son’s 3:00 a.m. meltdown. Conner woke yowling for God knew what reason. Larissa had always taken care of that in the past, leaving Des blessedly ignorant to his son’s needs.
Unfortunately, after twenty minutes of rocking, soothing, toys and terse commands, nothing had worked to stop the crying. If he’d known Conner would pull this kind of stunt, Des would have gone to bed before 1:00 a.m. Two hours of sleep did not make this easier, that was for sure.
Desmond finally conceded that he no longer had the luxury of pretending McKenna didn’t exist just to keep his growing attraction to her under wraps. Larissa’s printed instructions clearly said the baby nursed at night. He’d been hoping for a miracle that would prevent him from having to disturb Conner’s mother. That did not happen.
So that’s how he found himself knocking on her door in the dead of night with a crying baby in his arms. Definitely not the way he’d envisioned seeing McKenna Moore in a bedroom. And he’d had more than a few fantasies about McKenna and a bed.
She answered a minute later, dressed in a conservative white robe that shouldn’t have been the slightest bit alluring. It absolutely was, flashing elegant bits of leg as she leaned into the puddle of light from the hall.
“Woke up hungry, did he?” she said with more humor than Des expected at three in the morning. “Give him here,” she instructed and, when he handed over the baby, cradled him to her bosom, murmuring as she floated to an overstuffed recliner in the corner of her room.
Funny. He hadn’t realized until this moment that she sat in it to feed Conner. He’d envisioned her snuggling deep into the crevices to read a book or to chat on the phone with her legs draped over the sides. McKenna seemed like the type to lounge in a chair instead of sitting in it properly.
The lamp on the small end table cast a circle of warmth over the chair as she settled into it and worked open her robe to feed the baby. Instantly, Conner latched on and grew quiet.
“You can come in if you want,” McKenna called to Desmond as he stood like an idiot at the door, completely extraneous and completely unable to walk away.
“I would...like to come in,” he clarified and cleared his throat because his voice sounded like a hundred frogs had crawled down his windpipe. Gingerly, he sat on the bed because the love seat that matched the recliner was too close to mother and child.
