Her Best Friend's Baby. Vicki Lewis Thompson

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      “I know.” His eyes searched hers. “And after six years, I still didn’t feel that I really knew her. We shared a house, a marriage, a bed, but she never really let me get close to her.”

      She understood the gift he was giving her, to reveal something so stark and hurtful. Placing her hands over his, she mirrored his tenderness, cradling his hands against her face. Effortlessly she sank into the depths of his gaze, connecting with him on that same elemental level they’d reached the night before.

      “I have to believe you knew her far better than I ever did,” he said, his tone raw and vulnerable. “So you must be in worse shape than I am.”

      “Nobody really knew Arielle,” she whispered. It was something she’d never admitted to herself, let alone said out loud.

      Confusion shadowed his eyes. “But surely, in the years when she was like a mother to you, she—”

      Mary Jane swallowed. “She was like the perfect china teacups she collected,” she said in a hoarse voice. “No one ever saw a crack or a chip anywhere. I loved her, idolized her, wanted to be like her, but I knew I couldn’t ever make it. I was too…too…”

      “Human?”

      “Yeah.” She smiled sadly. “Way too human.”

      “I guess that makes two of us.” The warmth in his eyes shifted subtly, taking on a different gleam. His grip tightened, and his attention drifted to her mouth.

      She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d wanted a kiss more. But if she let Morgan kiss her in her present state of mind, or in his, they’d make love right on these stairs. Then they’d continue making love until finally she had to go back to work day after tomorrow. Yes, it would take away the sharp pain they both struggled with, but afterward they might never be able to forgive themselves.

      She reached up and pressed two fingers against his mouth. A wonderful velvet mouth that would feel like heaven against hers. “No,” she said quietly.

      He released her so fast she nearly tumbled forward into his arms. “Damn!” He steadied her quickly before letting go of her shoulders. Then he moved down a couple of steps and collapsed with his back against the railing. “I can’t imagine the opinion you have of me now.”

      She took a shaky breath. “The same opinion I’ve always had. You’re a good guy stuck with no one to comfort you except me. And I’m—well, I’m sort of a babe. Your urges are perfectly natural.” She glanced at him. “And that’s babe, not baby.”

      His mouth turned up. “You’re a whole bunch of things, Mary Jane, including a babe.”

      “I wouldn’t even care if you kissed me,” she said. “Except I know where that would lead, and you’d hate yourself afterward.”

      “You’ve got that right.” He closed his eyes. “Maybe you should take me to the airport this afternoon.”

      The thought of him leaving abruptly made her stomach tighten. “I’d rather take you rowing on Town Lake.”

      “And throw me overboard?”

      “Not in those new clothes.” She wiped at her eyes. “I’ll go repair my makeup and then we’ll see the sights.”

      He sighed. “Mary Jane, I don’t think I should stay. I—”

      “Please stay. We have to work out how we’re going to be with each other, considering that I’ll want to keep in touch with this baby in the years ahead. If you go running off before we figure it out, we might feel awkward about our relationship for a long time. That wouldn’t be good for us or for the baby.”

      He glanced up at her. “You sure are smart.”

      “For a twenty-two-year-old?” She couldn’t resist.

      “For any age. Okay, I’ll stay another day or two. And I promise to keep my hands off you. But you don’t have to play tour guide.”

      “Look, you don’t know the area,” she said. “You didn’t come here with any props. No books to read, no projects to do. I’m not crazy about having the TV on during the day.”

      “Good. Me, neither.”

      “Then unless you want me to teach you how to crochet, I think sight-seeing is the best option.”

      He smiled. “I’m no good at needlework. But how do you usually spend your days off? What would you be doing if I hadn’t shown up?”

      “You don’t want to know.”

      “Sure, I do.”

      “I’d probably be lolling around upstairs in my jammies, reading tabloids and painting my toenails.”

      The poor guy’s tongue was nearly hanging out before he got himself under control. He cleared his throat. “Well, if that’s your usual routine, don’t mind me. I can—”

      “Morgan, I’m not going to follow my usual routine. We’re dealing with unusual circumstances. Besides, I like my city. I enjoy showing it off.”

      “Okay. But I’m beginning to feel like a leech, especially after you bought breakfast and groceries. Can I take you someplace really nice for dinner? Don’t forget I’m the proud owner of a gold card. What’s the most exclusive restaurant in Austin?”

      He really was a sweetie. Arielle had talked about being treated like a queen, and Mary Jane could see how that was a real possibility with a guy like Morgan. Arielle had obviously loved all this wining and dining, but she hadn’t worked in a restaurant five or six days out of every week, either.

      “That’s a nice thought,” she said, “and I appreciate it. But to tell you the truth, I’d rather rent a movie and order a pizza tonight. I suppose that doesn’t sound very exciting to someone from New York City, though.”

      His gaze, usually so open, became unreadable. “You might be surprised.”

      THE EMOTIONAL SHOCK of Arielle’s death must have shaken something loose in his brain, Morgan decided a couple of hours later as he pulled on the oars of the boat he and Mary Jane had rented. He was supposed to be admiring the Austin skyline visible at the far end of the lake, but instead he was admiring Mary Jane in the bow of the boat, and wondering how he’d get through another night in her town house without hitting on her. He didn’t remember being this obsessed with sex even as a sixteen-year-old.

      She seemed unaware of his preoccupation, and he was sure she was making no effort to be provocative. Probably just the opposite. For the boat ride she’d changed into some lightweight drawstring pants, a faded, roomy T-shirt with the Texas Longhorns mascot on the front, and red sandals.

      Maybe it was the sandals. Her exotically painted toenails peeked out from under the strap across her instep. Each chili-pepper-red toenail had a silver star in the middle that winked at him. She’d been barefoot when she’d come to the door last night, and although he didn’t remember paying any attention to her feet, part of his brain must have recorded those toenails and associated them with what went on later in her bed.

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