looked different, a little more rounded than he remembered, softer. Her hair was shorter, the slight natural curl unconfined, and with no makeup she presented an intriguingly scrubbed look that he’d previously seen only rarely.
But she was as desirable as ever. Without his even touching her, his body responded the same way it always had since the first time he’d taken her hand and looked into her clear, momentarily startled and then wary hazel-green eyes. Responded in a way it had failed to do to any woman since she left.
It wasn’t that she was any more beautiful than numerous other women who entered his orbit. Or even that she was smarter. He knew plenty of highly intelligent, talented, beautiful females. In the last eighteen—no, twenty—months, far too long to brood over losing a lover, he’d deliberately cultivated a few of those other women. Had even vowed that he would take one of them to bed. But before it came to that he had lost interest. None of them were Shahna.
It was Shahna who inconveniently haunted his dreams. Shahna he reached for in the mornings before he was fully awake, only to encounter a cold, untouched pillow beside his own. Shahna whose body fitted so well with his, whose mouth was a miracle of softness and passion, whose lightest touch could bring him to instant responsiveness, whose subtle woman-scent had lingered in his apartment, catching him unawares when he opened his wardrobe long after she’d removed the clothing once stored there, or the drawer from which she’d forgotten to take several lace-and-silk scraps of underwear, or the bathroom cupboard that still held a perfumed body spray. Perhaps she’d left it on purpose because he had given it to her. Just as she’d scrupulously left the several pieces of jewelry that had been his gifts on her birthday or at Christmas, the only times she’d been willing to take anything expensive. Her rejection of the fruits of his wealth had maddened him, but he recognized and respected the integrity behind it.
Removing his hands from the chair back, he studied the red marks on his palms. He could hear the baby cooing, and Shahna murmuring words he couldn’t catch. An unpleasant, peculiar dread churned his stomach.
Then she appeared in the doorway, carrying the child.
Kier didn’t know much about babies, but this one wasn’t newly born. Its sturdy little legs splayed as Shahna held it firmly on her hip with one arm, the other hand supporting a plump bottom encased in some kind of red-and-white-checked overall worn with a tiny yellow T-shirt.
It struck Kier immediately, with a sense of unreality, how competent she looked, how—motherly. He had never seen Shahna with a child in her arms before.
The baby turned a round head capped with dark, loose curls, stared at him for a second with big deep-blue eyes, and then buried its face in Shahna’s shoulder.
“This is Samuel,” she told Kier. “Commonly known as Scamp.”
Shahna made herself meet Kier’s eyes squarely. There was no getting out of this now.
Kier looked poleaxed. He was still standing where she had left him, and he stared as though he’d never seen a baby before.
Samuel turned his head for another peek. But when she would have put him down he clung to her, nervous of the stranger. She walked across the small living area to the settle and sat with him in her lap, letting him inspect their visitor from a safe distance.
She saw Kier pull air into his lungs, and then he said raggedly, “You should have told me.”
Maybe she should have, instead of hoping he would be long gone before Samuel woke, avoiding any need for explanation. Now Kier was bound to ask questions—questions she didn’t want to answer.
Samuel looked up at her inquiringly and she smiled at him, reassuring him that everything was all right, that she wouldn’t let the big, angry man hurt him.
Because Kier was angry. She could see it in the telltale jut of his jaw, the blue fire burning in his eyes, the tight-drawn contour of his mouth. His voice when he spoke was raw and iron-hard. “You buried yourself in this place because of him? A bit extreme, isn’t it?”
She said, stung to defiance, “I’m not ashamed of him, if that’s what you mean. Lots of people know I’m a solo mother. Everyone around here.”
But no one from her old life. Shahna knew she was begging the question.
Kier seemingly made an effort to calm himself, but his mouth remained tight and his eyes were storm clouds. “I didn’t,” he bit out.
Samuel looked at Shahna again, puzzled. She took his hand. “It’s all right, Scamp. We have a visitor.” She looked up at Kier and the baby followed her gaze.
Apparently deciding there was no danger, Samuel wriggled, indicating he wanted to get down, and Shahna lowered him to the floor. Immediately he turned over on all fours and took off with remarkable speed toward Kier, bent on a closer investigation.
Kier watched his approach with something like trepidation, until Samuel’s head almost butted against his jeans. The baby’s fingers found the laces of the expensive walking boots temptingly in front of his nose, and tugged, freeing one end that promptly went into his mouth as he sat back with a grunt.
“Should he do that?” Kier asked Shahna, but didn’t wait for her answer. Obeying some instinct, he stooped to pick up the child, holding the small body awkwardly between his hands before he hooked out the chair again with a foot and sat down.
Instead of subsiding on his knees, Samuel straightened his legs and waved his arms, making encouraging noises. He wanted to bounce.
Fumbling a little, Kier soon got the idea, and Samuel giggled, enjoying the game.
Kier’s rigid expression gradually relaxed. He looked bemused and almost startled. Shahna very nearly giggled herself.
“He’s strong,” Kier said, surprised, as Samuel pushed off once more against his thighs, waving his arms enthusiastically.
Shahna smiled, proud of her son. There had been a few anxious weeks after his birth, but now he was full of energy and had even begun trying to walk around the furniture, looking terribly pleased every time he hauled himself to his feet. But he still found crawling a more efficient means of locomotion.
Tiring of the game, Samuel plumped down on his bottom and tipped his head back to study Kier’s face, lifted a dimpled hand to pat the man’s cheek, and said something incomprehensible in a satisfied tone. Then he took a fistful of Kier’s T-shirt and began sucking on it.
“Hey!” Kier tried to gently disengage the death grip on his shirt. “That’s not edible.”
“Give him one of those,” Shahna suggested, indicating the coconut cookies on the table.
Kier obliged, and Samuel grabbed the proffered treat, losing interest in the shirt. He bit a piece off the cookie, then offered the remainder to Kier. “Uh?”
“No, thanks.” Kier shook his head. He was staring at Samuel as though the child were an alien species.
“Uh?” Samuel persisted, generously.
Shahna got up. “Here, I’ll take him.” She pulled a wheeled high chair from its corner by the fridge, where it had been hidden from Kier’s view, and popped Samuel into it, fastening the tray.
Kier didn’t seem
