Vicki Thompson - Her Best Friend's Baby

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.

Or maybe it was the way she was leaning back against the end of the boat, her elbows on the rail, her knees slightly apart. Or his new black cowboy hat on her head. When he’d nearly lost it in the lake they’d decided that whoever wasn’t rowing should wear the hat, so they could keep one hand on it if the wind picked up.

So they’d traded, and he now wore her wire-rimmed sunglasses to shade his eyes and she wore the hat, pulling it low over her brow the way a desperado might. She looked so damn cute in that hat. The breeze was tangling her hair, which she’d left loose around her shoulders, and the sun was reflecting off the curls that escaped from the shade of the hat.

She clapped a hand over the crown and tilted her head to let a little sun fall directly on her face. “I spend too much time under artificial light,” she said. “It’s the only thing I regret about my job.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve often wished I could set up a booth in Central Park and see my patients there.”

She glanced at him with a smile. “Wouldn’t that be cool? I’ll bet kids wouldn’t mind coming to the doctor’s office so much if they didn’t have to sit in those scary little waiting rooms. You could call yourself the Doc in the Park. I think you should try it.”

“I’m pretty sure my insurance agent would have a heart attack.”

She waved a hand. “Minor detail. I’ll bet you could revolutionize pediatrics with a gig like that.” She sat up straighter. “Okay, my turn to row again.”

He didn’t want to give up the oars. For one thing, it kept his hands busy. “It can’t be. I just got started.”

“You’ve been rowing for at least fifteen minutes, and I admit you’re better at it than I thought you’d be, considering you’re such a city boy.”

“I keep telling you I was on the rowing team in college.”

“Yeah, yeah, but that doesn’t give you special privileges. Come on. Trade places with me. The rowing’s the fun part.”

“Another five minutes. Then we’ll switch.” He’d quickly discovered that physical exercise was exactly what he needed. Besides, rowing the boat across a section of water gave him a sense of accomplishment and control. Apparently he’d needed that, too.

Of course, Mary Jane needed and wanted those rewards as much as he did. He’d figured out right away that she wasn’t the type to sit in the boat and let the guy take the oars, no matter how many rowing medals he had stashed in his closet at home. She’d gone so far as to push back the sleeve of her T-shirt and flex her muscles for him to prove that she was capable of rowing them across the lake.

He’d never had a woman insist on doing her share of the manual labor, and he’d tried to talk her out of it, even using her pregnancy as a reason. She’d laughed and mentioned the heavy trays she carried at work every day. Finally he’d run out of arguments and had let her take the first turn at the oars, much to her delight.