style="font-size:15px;"> “She came with the house.”
“Chained up in the basement, no doubt.”
Cinda laughed, and it was magic. “Exactly right. How’d you know?”
“A lucky guess. I like her. I think she’s nice.” God, how he wanted Cinda.
“You’re being kind.” Cinda patted the happily gurgling blond baby girl in her arms. “The truth is, if you’re not me or Chelsi, she won’t like you. Ever. Now, tell me, what hideous thing did she say to you on the way in here? And don’t tell me she didn’t because she always does.”
She did? Did that mean there had been a procession of men through those front doors? Trey instantly hated that idea—and now truly liked Major Clovis for doing her best to run them off. One thing Trey knew was she wouldn’t run him off. But in answer to Cinda’s question, Trey shrugged. “Nothing much. Ripping my heart out. Things like that. At least she’s up-front about how she feels. I can respect that.”
“Oh, you poor thing. But speaking of respect, come over here and pay yours to my daughter, a little girl you almost had to bring into this world, Mr. Trey Cooper.” Cinda’s eyes shone with maternal pride.
Trey loved the way she said his name. Mr. Trey Cooper. Like she was trying it out for size. Mrs. Trey Cooper. But wait a minute, he chided himself, shouldn’t he hate that whole idea? Shouldn’t he be running away, instead of steadily walking toward her? As he approached where she still stood, he reminded himself of his own rule: no wife and kids while on the race circuit. Sure, he knew that intellectually, but another part of his psyche, the part that reported directly to his heart, said…maybe, maybe not. Oh, this wasn’t good. This woman had danger written all over her. She was the yellow flag that warned the drivers to slow down when there was trouble ahead on the course.
And yet, here he was standing in front of her as close as propriety and the baby’s presence between them would allow. He looked into Cinda’s golden eyes, caught the scent of her perfume, and smiled. Awareness flashed and caught him off-guard. His heart beat faster, harder. Cinda’s lips parted slightly, as if she thought he was about to kiss her. As if she was about to allow him to kiss her. And oh, he wanted to, all right. Trey leaned in toward her. She leaned in toward him. He reached out, putting his hand lightly on her back as he lowered his head to capture her mouth.
He heard her little gasp…of passion for him? No, of pain because the baby had yanked a handful of her mother’s hair. And Cinda was pulling away from him and looking embarrassed and disconcerted. Feeling much the same, Trey cleared his throat and retreated a step or two. Still, despite the “kissus interruptus,” the good news here was Cinda was obviously as affected by him as he was by her.
“So,” Trey remarked, striving to get nonchalant as he pointed to the baby, “tell me about this little lady here who likes to pull hair and ruin tender moments between two adults.”
Trey grinned at the child and turned to mush. He was a total sap for babies. The little girl was beautiful. Healthy chubby-baby round. Pretty pink skin. Blue eyes. She had dark blond curly fuzzy hair that looked…Trey fought a bemused grin…spiky and wet or something. Dressed in a one-piece ruffled pink baby-girl-outfit thingie with snaps, she clung to her mother and eyed him warily as her mother set about making the introductions.
“Mr. Trey Cooper,” Cinda said, “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Miss Chelsi Elise Cavanaugh.”
As Cinda reassured the little girl that it was okay for the big and smiling man to talk to her, Trey suddenly realized something amazing. Chelsi could be his daughter. Not in the biological sense. But in the physical traits department, she looked just like him. Her eyes were blue like his, and her hair was a sandy blond, again like his. He fought to keep the shock off his face, even as he heard himself engaging in the simpleton banter adults employ with babies.
Still, he couldn’t get past it. Anyone who saw the two of them together would have no trouble believing that he was Chelsi’s father. Of course, that was what he wanted people in Southwood to think. But this was pretty upsetting. It bothered him, and he couldn’t figure out why. So she looked like him. So what? His looks and coloring, unlike Cinda’s, weren’t all that unique.
Then Trey realized what had him upset. It wasn’t just that Chelsi looked like him. It was that he was proud she did. As if he’d had something to do with her creation. Well, that did it. Trey’s single-male-and-liking-it genes rose up in protest. Easy, buddy. With this kind of thinking, can pushing a baby buggy be far behind? Or the tan minivan? And holding your wife’s purse in the mall while she shops for bras? Remember the race circuit. That’s your first love. Always will be. Run, man. Just hightail it out of here, dude, I’m telling ya.
Trey knew he wouldn’t do that, but a more upsetting realization had just smacked him between the eyes: if Cinda’s baby looked so much like him, then that meant he looked a lot like the baby’s father, right? Okay, now here was some tricky ground. Trey pretty much believed that Cinda was attracted to him. He knew the signs. But could it be, at least in part, because he reminded her of her deceased husband? Oh, that would really suck.
Trey told himself that he needed to know what Richard Cavanaugh had looked like. Just to put his mind at ease. Just so he’d know that Cinda wasn’t a vulnerable widow, one he was taking advantage of. But how the hell was he supposed to go about finding out what her husband had looked like? He couldn’t just, out of the blue, ask her. What reason would he give? Nor could he demand that Cinda produce a picture of the man. And he certainly didn’t think it would go over very well if he set out on a photograph-hunting safari of his own throughout her house. No doubt, Major Clovis would skewer him before he got to the stairs.
Though still chuckling at the baby who refused to come to him, on the inside Trey was beating himself up. What the hell was he even doing thinking he had a right to question Cinda about her feelings about anything? He barely knew the woman. Only it didn’t feel that way.
So here was the thing: He wanted to see her and get to know her. Yet he didn’t. If he did and came to really like her, which he thought he pretty much already did, then he’d have to confront and possibly abandon his own conviction about not being in a committed relationship right now because of the demands of his profession.
Or he could not see her at all. Too late. Here he was in her family room and that was her standing in front of him. All right, so he couldn’t stop thinking about her and, yes, he had initiated this meeting between them. But now that he had, he was sorry—not because he didn’t feel anything for her, but because he did. And he didn’t like that. But since he did, it would really hurt now to find out that he reminded her of her deceased husband.
Damn, this was like a splash of cold water in the face. He’d gone down roads and pathways here in the past few moments that were really not called for. After all, what the two of them were doing here was trying to even a score. That was it. So he was attracted to her. So he’d gone to some lengths to see her. So what? He’d been here before in his thinking with other women.
No he hadn’t, Trey realized. Not even close. The way he felt about Cinda was new and different from anything he’d ever felt before. Hell, he’d only seen her twice in six months, but she’d filled every thought he’d had in that half a year. There was no denying that.
So stick to the script, Trey told himself. What difference does it make who you might remind her of? You didn’t come here to ask her to marry you. You came here because she agreed to pretend to be married to you. So get over yourself.
But he couldn’t. He realized that this ruse of his could work too
