Baby Business. Karen Templeton

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СКАЧАТЬ grunted, appreciating the irony of his son, the byproduct of his doing “what comes naturally,” returning the favor. “Glad you’re having such fun at my expense.”

      Dana handed Ethan’s blanket back to him, then padded back toward the door, signaling to C.J. to follow. “They say,” she whispered, “if you don’t play with them when they wake up in the middle of the night, they’re more likely to go back to sleep. Otherwise they’ll think it’s party time. And if it makes you feel any better, he got me good the first night I had him, too.”

      “Yeah?”

      “Oh, yeah.” She started down the hall as C.J. flicked off the light. “I looked like I’d been in a wet T-shirt contest—” Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment, and one hand shoved her hair back from her face. Which probably wasn’t the brightest move in the world on her part in that lightweight gown. “Wow, I’m suddenly starved. What I mean to say is … how about I meet you in the kitchen and we can see what you’ve got. In your refrigerator, I mean.”

      C.J. folded his arms over his bare chest, thoroughly enjoying the moment. Especially the part involving the play of the hall light over all those folds and things. Dear God, the woman had more curves than a mountain road. And C.J. wouldn’t have been human—let alone alive—had he not entertained at least a brief thought involving the words test drive.

      “Oh, I can tell you what I’ve got,” he said evenly, even as You are so screwed blasted through his skull. Because if they kept meeting up at night like this, with her dressed like that, he was gonna have a helluva time remembering she was here strictly for the baby’s sake. And only temporarily, at that.

      Ah, hell. Not the doe eyes. Anything but the doe eyes.

      “Leftover pizza,” he said, and she flinched slightly and said, “What?”

      “What I’ve got. In the refrigerator. Leftover pizza.”

      “Oh,” she said, then smiled brightly. “Fine. Let me grab my robe and I’ll be right there.”

      “You want it hot?” C.J. said to her back as she scurried away. When she spun around, those eyes ever wider (how did she do that?), he grinned. Because, dammit, he was having fun. And okay, because he wanted another glimpse of her before she covered everything up with a robe. “The pizza,” he said.

      Their gazes sparred for a moment or two before she said, in a voice that managed to be sweet and sultry at the same time (and he really wanted to know how she did that), “Don’t put yourself out on my account. I’m perfectly capable of … taking care of myself.” Then she grinned. With her head tilted just … so.

      A doe-eyed, sweet-sultry voiced smart ass. Yeah, he was in trouble, all right.

       Chapter Seven

      “Okay,” Dana said, peering into C.J.’s destroyer-sized refrigerator at the box of leftover pizza, three cans of beer and quart of milk staring balefully back at her. “Somebody’s gotta do some serious shopping tomorrow. This is pitiful. And so—” she hauled out the box of pizza “—clichéd.”

      Speaking of pitiful. And clichéd. What was up with that little do-si-do between them out in the hallway a few minutes ago? Not to mention her reaction to it? Okay, so it had been a while, but … yeesh.

      She stuck a piece of mushroom-and-olive pizza in the microwave, stole a surreptitious glance at the beard-hazed, bed-headed hunk somehow sprawled on a barstool, his elbows propped behind him on the bar, and thought, This will never do. Well, actually, he’d do quite nicely, she imagined, but there, she was definitely not going. Unfortunately, here, she already was, which was why she was having all these wayward, albeit intriguing, thoughts at two-thirty in the morning.

      “So we’ll go shopping,” C.J. said on a yawn, then gave a lazy, not-quite-focused grin. “There you are, you rotten beast,” he said to the cat, who had wandered into the kitchen and was now sitting in the middle of the floor like the world’s largest dust bunny. “So what’s with throwing me over for the first beautiful woman to cross your path?”

      Dana’s gaze hopped from the cat back to C.J. Such a simple sentence to produce so many questions. And, as if sensing the most profound of those questions, C.J. shrugged and said, “You and Ethan are our first overnight guests.”

      “And how long have you been here?”

      “In this house? Two years, give or take. I was previewing it for a client and decided to buy it myself.”

      “I don’t blame you, it’s really spectacular.”

      “What it is, is an investment. In five years, it’ll be worth twice what I paid for it, easily.” The muscles in his face eased, though, when he said, “Funny, though, how I wasn’t even looking for a house.” He tore off a tiny piece of cheese and threw it either to or at the cat, Dana couldn’t tell “Anymore than I was looking for a cat. But I opened the door one stormy night, just to smell the rain, and this soaking wet thing—” another piece of cheese rocketed through the air “—ran inside. And never left. Right, Steve?”

      “Steve?”

      C.J. shrugged. “It seemed to fit, what can I say?”

      The microwave dinged. She retrieved her pizza and leaned against the counter to eat it standing up. “You don’t strike me as a cat person.”

      “I’m not.” He tossed Steve a piece of pepperoni. Dana could hear the cat’s purr from clear across the kitchen.

      “You could have taken him to the pound, you know.”

      “Not once I’d named him.”

      “Of course.”

      He chuckled. “You—” he stabbed the air with his pizza crust for emphasis “—don’t like cats.”

      She smirked. “I think it’s more that they don’t like me.”

      “Why would you think that?”

      “I’ve had, at various times in my life, three cats. They’ve all run away.”

      “Don’t take it personally. Cats are just like that sometimes.”

      “My point exactly. At least with birds you put them in a cage, and there they stay.”

      “Unless they get out. And birds aren’t real good at coming when you call.”

      “Oh, and cats are?”

      “When it suits their purpose, sure. But Steve’s the perfect roomie. Food, water, a patch of sunlight, access to my bed,” he said with a slanted grin, “and he’s good. And best of all, there’s none of that messy emotional stuff to weigh us down.”

      “Ah. One of those no-strings, you-just-sleep-together relationships.”

      “Like I said. Perfect.”

      “Are you deliberately trying to annoy me or what?”

      “Nope. СКАЧАТЬ