Susan Mallery - To Love and Protect

“How did you do that?” he asked. Was it the curve of the fingers, the shadows? Thirty minutes ago he’d never held a baby in his life. Based on this drawing, he’d been doing it for years.

“I drew the baby first,” Liz said as she settled the little girl into the bassinet on wheels. “While I talked, your hold on her changed. I can’t explain it, but you just connected to what I was saying. I waited until you were really into it, then drew like crazy.”

She looked up and smiled. “The talking thing is a technique I learned in a class. The instructor said the best way to get a subject to do exactly what you want is to make him feel what you want people to feel when they look at the drawing. Sounds strange, but sometimes it works.”

She picked up the sketchbook. “They’re going to love this. Which means you’re officially my model and I need you to sign a release.”

The baby whimpered. Liz shook her head.

“Someone is waking up and I’m guessing neither of us is ready to take responsibility for actually dealing with her. Let me run our star back to the nursery, then I’ll get you a release form. Oh, and I have expenses on this job. I can even pay you.”

“Money?”

“That is the generally accepted means.” Her green eyes widened with amusement and anticipation. “Did you have something else in mind?”

Where she was concerned? Absolutely. “Lunch.”

“You’re on.”

David picked a small bistro down by the river. It was not the kind of place dirt-poor, struggling commercial illustrators frequented so Liz was determined to enjoy every second. The trick was going to be focusing on something other than the man sitting opposite her. It wasn’t just that he was handsome and nice and funny, it was the way he looked at her, as if he’d just discovered something amazing about her, and the way he moved his hands when he talked. She had a real thing for his hands.

“Tell me about being a commercial illustrator,” he said when they were seated. “Is all your work freelance?”

It was late, nearly one-thirty, and most of the lunch crowd had already come and gone. She and David had the front of the restaurant to themselves.

She brushed her fingers against the thick white tablecloth and stared longingly at the basket of bread. She’d skipped breakfast, more out of financial necessity than a desire to lose weight, and she was starved.

She nodded in response to his question. “No, boss.” As the waiter appeared with a pitcher of ice water, she explained, “No regular paycheck, either. I find my own jobs, work my own hours. I’m trying to build a portfolio of just the right work, which means I’m picky about the assignments I take. Times can be lean, but I get by.”

“Where does Children’s Connection fit into your plans?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not doing it for the money. There’s very little pay. But the exposure and publicity opportunity is huge. Plus I’m a fan of what they do.”

He leaned toward her. “Were you adopted?”

“No, but my grandmother was. She was Russian. When her parents were killed during the Second World War, she had nowhere to go. Some aid workers took her in and she ended up in Poland. There she met an American nurse who wanted to bring her here.”

His dark gaze moved to her face. “So that explains the great cheekbones.”

“Aren’t you the slick one? Complimenting my appearance while getting information on my past.”

“I have my ways.”

She liked his ways. “Enough about me. What do you do?”

Before he could answer, the waiter returned to take their orders. Liz chose a club sandwich, knowing she could take at least half of it home for dinner, and added on a cup of soup. David picked the burger.

“So typically guy,” she said. “A burger and fries.”

“I have to get my fix while I can.”

She picked up her water glass. “Because you’ll soon be forbidden to eat red meat?”

“Because I’m heading to Europe in about—” He checked his watch. “Eleven hours.”

“You’re what?”

He lowered his voice. “I’m a spy and the government is sending me to Russia.”

“Oh, please.”

He grinned. “It’s half true. I really am going to Moscow, but not as a spy. I work for the State Department.”

“Like I’m buying that. How old are you?”

“Twenty-five. I was recruited out of college.” He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m a low-level flunky. Trust me, they hire guys my age. Someone has to do the grunt work.”

“An overseas assignment is hardly grunt work.” She thought about her nana. “But to see Moscow…” Someday, she promised herself. Because she wanted to and because she’d told Nana she would.

“Have you been?” he asked.

“No. We talked about going, but Nana’s health was never great. Not that there was tons of money.”

“She must be very proud of you.”

“She was.” Liz reached for the bread. “She died three years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

David’s words were a simple, expected courtesy, yet he spoke them as if he meant them. As if he understood loss.

“Thanks.” She looked at him. “So what exactly is grunt work for the State Department? I don’t guess you carry packages across the border or anything?”

“Sorry, no. But I can probably get you a decoder ring.”

She laughed. “I’d like that. Oh, and maybe some disappearing ink.”

“I’ll check the supply cabinet when I get there.”

“How long are you posted overseas?” she asked.

“It can be years. I’ll be in Moscow at least three.”

Liz felt a twinge of something low in her stomach. Regret? Maybe. She liked David more than she’d liked anyone in a long time.

“What does your family say about that?” she asked.

“I’m one of five kids, so they’re used to their children having lives. Besides, my folks are great. They want me to be happy.”

Nana would have wanted that for her, too, Liz thought fondly. Happiness and lots of babies. To her grandmother, they were forever linked. Unfortunately, Nana had only had one son and that son had only produced one child.

The waiter appeared with their meals. When he was gone, Liz picked up her soup spoon and glanced at David. “Logan, huh? As in ‘the Logans’? The rich computer company family who contribute millions to Children’s Connection?”

David sighed. “I believe it’s very important to give back.” He grinned. “At least I will when I make my fortune. For now, my folks are the generous ones.”

More than generous, she thought. She’d heard great things about the family. Based on how terrific David was, she would guess they were true.

“I assume there’s no Mrs. Logan accompanying you to Russia?” she asked.

He regarded her seriously. “Nope. Mom’s going to stay home, although she did sew my name into the collars of all my dress shirts.”

She grinned. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m not married, Liz. If I was, I wouldn’t be having lunch with you like this.”

“Good. I’m not married, either. Although there are two large ex-football players waiting for me back at the apartment.”

His mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding.”

“No, but don’t sweat it. They’re just roommates.”

“Why do I know that’s a line?”

“I have no idea. I’m telling the truth. They only have eyes for each other.”

After a lengthy lunch they tussled over the bill.

“It’s on me,” Liz said as she reached for the slip of paper David held. “It’s in exchange for you modeling for me. I’m putting it on my expense account, I swear.”

David shook his head. “It’s my treat. I don’t have lunch with a beautiful woman all that often.”