Her Baby's Hero. Karen Sandler

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      But watching him with the scissors and construction paper, that blond hair still in desperate need of mussing, she knew she couldn’t hold up barriers against him for very long. She just didn’t have his knack of keeping people at arm’s length.

      His angular body might not fit well in the mini-size chair, knees nearly to his chin, broad shoulders towering over the chair back, but he seemed surprisingly at home tracing and cutting out leaves Ashley’s students would be using their first week of class. He focused on the activity as he did everything else—single-mindedly and with precision, as if his company’s bottom line depended on the completion of the task.

      Some men might have considered such a trivial chore beneath them. He hadn’t complained, hadn’t argued, had just sat down to do it.

      Her stomach rumbled, and she realized she never had gotten around to eating that banana. When she’d refused Jason’s offer of breakfast, she hadn’t been completely honest. While her body didn’t always respond well to rich food, even in her sixth month, she wouldn’t have said no to a pastry from Archer’s Bakery if her sister had bought it for her. It was harder to accept Jason’s generosity.

      But her stomach’s call for sustenance trumped her misgivings over the significance of Jason’s gesture. Something buttery and sweet from that pink bakery box would be absolute heaven.

      “Jason.”

      He looked up at her, setting aside the scissors and flexing his hands. “Ten more to do in brown and orange.”

      “I’d be glad to finish them if you’ll go get the pastries.”

      The tiny chair tipped over as he rose, and he righted it before straightening. He winced as he stretched his shoulders back.

      Ashley pushed to her feet. “I’m sorry. I never should have had you sit in that chair.”

      He squeezed the back of his neck with his long fingers. “Just a little stiff.”

      “Come sit here.” She gestured to her cushioned desk chair. “I’ll get the kinks out for you.”

      Dropping his hand, he took a half step back. “No.”

      She should let it go. He was always tense, and the occasional neck rubs she’d given him at Berkeley had never made much of a difference. It was something she’d always done for Sara, to ease some of her sister’s stress. When she’d massaged Jason’s tight muscles at the end of a long day at the university, it had been just as innocent.

      Until that fiery night in his arms. Now nothing between them seemed innocent anymore.

      Despite her better judgment, she pulled her wheeled chair out and beckoned him. “Come here.”

      He moved toward her with slow steps and settled in the chair. Resting her hands on his shoulders, she ran her thumbs along the tense muscles there. His heat radiated through the knit of his shirt.

      Her heart rate kicked into high gear as she worked her fingers toward the strong column of his neck. He sucked in a breath when she first touched bare skin. “Are my hands cold?”

      He shook his head. Trying to ignore the sensual awareness that sparked deep inside her, she dug deep with her fingertips on either side of his neck. The tautness of his muscles persisted against her ministrations, as if he resisted even the slightest bit of comfort she offered. Back at school she could usually cajole him into a modicum of relaxation with her gentle massages. Today she suspected nothing would persuade him to let go.

      Except a kiss. A shock went through her at the thought of pressing her lips to the side of his neck, feeling the warm flesh against her mouth. She wondered at his reaction, whether he’d push her away or turn the chair to pull her into his lap.

      She realized her deep massage had changed, that she’d begun stroking his neck instead, grazing his skin in sensual caresses. She could hear his harsh breathing, feel arousal coiling under her hands. It crossed her mind she should pull her hands away, cease touching him. But the sensation of skin against skin had her mesmerized.

      His hands fell on hers, stopping her. His shoulders rose and fell, his muscles, if anything, tighter than when she’d started. Then he pulled away, pushing the chair aside, facing her.

      His fingers curved around her upper arms, and he held her there, not pulling her closer but not pushing her away, either. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and the expectation that he might kiss her sent a fever through her.

      But then he stumbled back, breaking the contact. He strode toward the door, yanking it open and slamming it behind him.

      Dazed, Ashley made her way to the chair where Jason had been working, and eased herself into it. A mistake, she realized the moment she stretched her legs out under the equally small-scale table. She’d have to struggle to get herself back up without help.

      But Jason would come back, wouldn’t he? They’d settled nothing about the babies, hadn’t even started to discuss it. He wouldn’t leave now.

      Thirty minutes later she’d cut out the last of the construction-paper autumn leaves when she heard the rattle of the door opening. Jason stepped inside with the pink bakery box and a brown paper bag in his hands, hesitating in the doorway before he crossed the room toward her.

      He set his burdens down and opened the box for her. “I remembered you like bear claws.”

      There were four of her favorite pastries in the box, lined up beside two cheese and two raspberry danishes. She laughed. “I’m as big as a house as it is. Are you trying to fatten me up even more?”

      “You need to eat.” He handed her a bear claw, then took a raspberry danish for himself.

      She took a bite of the sweet, buttery pastry, sighing with pleasure. Sitting on the edge of the table, Jason leaned forward and brushed at the corner of her mouth. “Some sugar,” he said, his voice low.

      The pressure of his thumb lingered. Ashley resisted the temptation to lick the spot he’d touched, to see if she could taste him. “There are paper towels back there by the sink. Could you get us a couple?”

      Setting the danish on the box lid, he went for the paper towels. He set one sheet on the table in front of her and another in her lap. He did nothing out of line as he spread the towel over her legs, but she imagined his touch nonetheless.

      “Orange juice or milk?” He opened the brown paper bag and pulled out a small carton of each.

      He’d gone back into town after all. “Milk would be great.”

      He opened the carton for her and took the juice for himself. “You finished the leaves. Thanks.”

      “I should be thanking you. They’re for my students.”

      “But I said I’d do it. It was my responsibility to finish the job.”

      Was everything a responsibility, a duty? She wondered if he ever did anything for the sheer pleasure of it, then remembered their night together.

      Once she’d polished off the bear claw and milk, she wiped her face and stuffed the paper towels into the milk carton. He took her СКАЧАТЬ