Baby By Chance. M.J. Rodgers

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СКАЧАТЬ all the while what the hell he was doing.

      “My office is through here. What do you take in your coffee, Ms. Carter?”

      SUSAN CRADLED THE WARM cup in her cold hands. She could smell the freshly ground beans, the rich cream, the sweetness of the sugar.

      David had prepared her coffee just as she had asked, but she had yet to take a sip. As she tried to get comfortable on the guest chair in his office, she willed her jumpy stomach to settle.

      At his request, she’d filled out a card with her address and telephone number. He held that card now as he sat across from her, an immaculate, black marble desk between them. He wore a polite expression of openness and patience. And the way he leaned back in his black leather chair, the thick steam rising from his refilled cup, spoke of a man at ease.

      But every nerve in Susan’s body told her he was not.

      She found his face more rugged than handsome—bold forehead, bold cheekbones, bold chin. His skin had been weathered by time spent in outdoor pursuits. From the lines across his forehead and around his mouth, she estimated him to be somewhere in his middle thirties.

      But his eyes—as chilly a gray as the overcast spring day—his eyes were older, wiser and wary. Every time she looked into them, she had the oddest sensation that it was she who made him most wary.

      She could have convinced herself that she was imagining things if she hadn’t seen the unguarded expression on his face when he’d spilled his coffee. David Knight hadn’t just been surprised to see her. He’d been disturbed in some personal way.

      Susan normally wasn’t reticent about asking questions, but there was a quality to this man that didn’t invite probing. Even his office was intimidating—heavy, dark furniture, ponderous drapes, a carpet the color of granite, and not a personal photograph anywhere. In a corner display case, a massive Ironman trophy stood solemnly erect on a sturdy glass shelf.

      A man who had won one of those grueling competitions was the kind who went all out and pulled no punches.

      “Perhaps you’d like to start by telling me about yourself,” he said. Even now, beneath his artfully projected calm and courtesy, she sensed the controlled tension in the man.

      “Your business suit implies that you are employed outside the home,” he said.

      “I’m a nature photographer,” she replied, relieved to start on a less sensitive subject.

      “Freelance?”

      “I’m on staff at True Nature magazine.”

      One of his thick eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “That’s a top-notch publication.”

      His surprise that she worked for such a prestigious magazine did not sit well with Susan. “Thank you. I think so, too,” she said with a politeness that she frequently used to insulate sparks of irritation.

      “How long have you been with them?”

      “Nine years.”

      “That long? I wouldn’t have guessed you had that much experience. May I ask how old you are?”

      She deliberately straightened in her chair before answering, the better to emphasize every inch of her five-foot five-inch frame. “I’m thirty-two. As of the eighth of last month.”

      “You say that as though daring me to disagree.”

      “I realize that most women would be happy to be taken for younger than they are, Mr. Knight. I am not like most women.”

      “What are you like?”

      His tone carried no inflection, but she felt the subtle, unspoken challenge that lay beneath his words. She could not have explained how he’d conveyed that challenge, but it was as real to her as her own breath.

      “I was graduated at the top of my class with a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Photography and a B.S. in Wildlife Science,” she said. Try as she might to remain unemotional, she still heard the defensiveness in her voice. “I started out as a copy and caption editor. Each time an opening for photographer came up, I applied. But each time I was turned down while others with less education and experience got the jobs.”

      “And why do you think that was?”

      She set her untouched coffee down on the table beside her chair. “I don’t think, Mr. Knight, I know. People attribute less competence to a person who looks deceptively young, despite their actual chronological age and abilities. I have had to fight to be taken seriously.”

      “So you went to a voice trainer.”

      She was silent for a moment, able to do no more than blink. “And just how did you know that?”

      “Few women under fifty have a voice as deep as yours.”

      He was so calm and reasonable that she was immediately annoyed with herself for having become defensive, and just a mite suspicious that he had pinpointed her sensitive spot and deliberately irritated her so he could see how she’d respond.

      “If your youthful looks bother you so much, why don’t you use makeup?”

      “I have very uncooperative skin. Makeup just sits on my face like curdled milk. Since the alternative is to look like I’m past my expiration date, I’m stuck with what nature provided.”

      “I doubt stuck is the word most people would use,” he said.

      She didn’t know whether he was trying to be polite or trying to minimize her concern over her youthful appearance. She suspected the latter. Not surprising. What could a man who looked as formidable as this one know about the difficulties of looking too fragile?

      He took a sip of his coffee as he regarded her once again. “So, you finally became a photographer after you completed the voice lessons and got a new boss.”

      “Four years ago,” she said, feeling once again oddly off balance by his assessment. “Just how much of that was a guess?”

      “I’m not in the habit of guessing, Ms. Carter. First impressions are hard to reverse.”

      “Meaning?”

      “Even with your new voice, an old boss could still not get past your youthful appearance. It would take a new boss to really see the new you.”

      “You appear to have an understanding of human nature.”

      He set down his cup and leaned forward in his chair. “I understand that whatever is bothering you is of recent origin and is keeping you from sleeping at night. You would prefer to keep the matter to yourself. You are a very private person, despite the facade of openness you project. You pride yourself on handling things. Coming here to ask for help is out of character for you. You still wish there was some way you could have avoided doing so.”

      She stared at him as the dead-on accuracy of everything he’d said sent the nerves of her back quivering. She wasn’t used to someone being able to read her so well.

      He casually settled back in his chair. “Don’t let my skills upset you. They’re СКАЧАТЬ