Diana Whitney - Baby Of Convenience

This was not a woman trying to attract attention to herself. On the one hand, Royce was relieved by that. On the other, he was oddly deflated.

“I left the cats’ food and water bowl behind some crates, where they’ll hopefully be out of your way. I, ah—” she paused to skim a wary glance at Dave Henderson, who was grinning at her as if a gift bow had sprouted atop her head “—can’t tell you how much Maggie and I appreciate your generosity.”

Henderson’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “Maggie? How many women do you have stuffed in the basement, anyway?”

The pink tint along Laura’s cheekbones brightened to a vivid fuchsia.

“Maggie is my c-cat,” she whispered with an embarrassed stutter. “She stubbornly transformed Mr. Burton’s basement into a maternity ward, and he has been kind enough to allow me to tend the litter there until the kittens are old enough to leave their mother.”

More annoyed by the unintended insult to Ms. Michaels than by his friend’s thin attempt at humor, Royce cut him with a look that would have frozen most men to the bone.

Unmoved, Henderson merely smiled and thrust a beefy hand at the startled woman. “Dave Henderson, vice president and chief financial officer of Burton Technologies, Ms….?”

The woman licked her lips again, her gaze darting as if seeking escape. “Michaels,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. Juggling the baby to the crook of her left arm, she accepted Henderson’s handshake. “Laura Michaels.”

“Pleased to meet you. I hope you’re finding the hospitality around this gleaming mausoleum to be adequate.”

Clearly uncomfortable, she edged a longing look toward the open basement door. “Mr. Burton has been very kind.”

“Has he now?” Grinning broadly, Henderson angled a smug glance, the meaning of which did not escape Royce’s notice. “Tell me about yourself, Ms. Michaels. Have you lived in Mill Creek long? What is your profession? How old is your son? Is your husband the jealous type?”

Her jaw dropped in shock. “I beg your pardon?”

“Excuse us, Mr. Henderson was just leaving.” Furious, Royce grabbed Henderson’s elbow and hauled him toward the front door.

“She’s perfect,” Henderson whispered a moment before Royce shoved him onto the front porch. “I’ll do some checking into her family’s background, and see what kind of financial arrangements—”

Royce closed the door in his face.

Hovering at the massive carved entry for several seconds, he took a deep breath and tried to formulate an apology that he never had the opportunity to issue.

When he turned around, the foyer was empty. Laura Michaels was gone.

“Feel how soft he is,” she murmured, palming the warm ball of white fluff. “Look, she’s trying to open her little eyes.”

Jamie widened his eyes, curled his small mouth into an O as he reached a flat, stiff baby hand out to pat the kitten’s fluffy head. “Tickles,” he announced, snatching his hand back. He giggled, then thrust out both hands. “Me hold.”

“Let Mama hold the kitten until he gets bigger, sweetie. He’s very fragile right now.”

Thwarted, Jamie scowled and turned his attention toward the wriggling, mewing mass of adorable kittenhood in the straw nest Maggie had chosen for her brood.

“Me want him,” the baby announced, pointing to a mottled orange-and-white tabby whose coloring most resembled his mother’s. “Him Sam.”

“Sam, is it? A fine name.” She laid the white kitten with the soft, angoralike fur back into the nest. “What about this one, sweetie? What shall we name her?”

Laura had no idea if the tiny animal was male or female, since pronouncing the gender of such tiny kittens was difficult even for experts. Still, there was a definitive feminine aura about the precious ball of fluff. “She feels like a fuzzy little bunny rabbit, doesn’t she?”

Jamie nodded so hard he nearly fell over. “Bunny,” he chirped. “Bunny-Cat.”

“All right then, Bunny-Cat it is.” Smiling, she felt a nudge under her elbow. She absently stroked Maggie, who had finished her supper and wandered over to purr proudly. “Yes, you’ve done a wonderful job,” Laura told the blinking mama cat. “A lovely family indeed.”

Maggie licked her paw and proceeded to wash her face while Laura and Jamie continued to admire the kittens.

Along with Sam and Bunny-Cat there was a particularly vocal gray-and-white kitten that Laura dubbed Rascal, a black kitten with a white, tuxedolike bib that she called Cary Grant, and the runt of the litter, a diminutive calico with a quiltlike coat that begged the name Patches.

Jamie was enthralled with each and every one of them. “Bunny-Cat,” he murmured, snatching the white kitten before Laura could stop him. The kitten squeaked a protest as Jamie smacked a juicy kiss on its little head.

“Careful, sweetheart. They are too tiny to be handled much right now.”

The baby giggled happily, issuing no protest as she retrieved the squirming kitten from his grasp, and returned it to the nest. Despite her caution about handling them, she couldn’t keep herself from stroking each of the adorable animals, brushing a tiny ear with her knuckle, lifting a miniature paw with her fingertip.

Laura had always loved animals. She’d never had pets as a child. Her struggling single mom had barely been able to support Laura and her two sisters, let alone keep hungry animals well-fed and cared-for.

“Animals are like children in fur suits,” she’d once told a sobbing Laura, who’d brought home a puppy she wanted desperately to keep. “They are a big responsibility. Yes, they make us happy. But unless we can make them happy as well, it’s not fair of us to keep them from a good home where they’ll have enough to eat and a big yard to play in.”

Laura had understood. Kind of. But she’d never forgotten the agony of carrying that sweet, warm bundle from house to house until a kindly older woman took the puppy in, promising to give him a good home.

It had been the first time Laura had experienced the exquisite pain of a broken heart. It had not been the last.

As she slid a gentle finger down Cary Grant’s sleek black fur, a peculiar tingle warmed her spine. Beside her, Jamie issued a gleeful squeak, followed by a tickled laugh. She knew before she turned what she would see at the top of the stairs.

She wasn’t disappointed.

He was standing there, magnificently silhouetted by the spray of daylight from the upstairs foyer. Outlined, the perfection of his form was even more evident. The strength of his shoulders, the taper of hips that were obviously slender beneath the concealing shape of his expertly tailored suit.

Perhaps it was the angle of her gaze focused upward that made him seem taller than she’d realized, with the top of his head appearing to be only inches below the crest of the doorway.

But it wasn’t what she saw that affected her so deeply. It was what she felt, a radiating heat that she instinctively knew was emanating from his gaze. The aura was as tangible as a touch, and just as stirring. She didn’t have to see his eyes to know that they were focused on her with an intensity that seemed to penetrate every molecule in her body.

She was frozen in place, unable to move, to speak, to tear her gaze away. From what seemed a great distance, she was aware of sounds in the room. Her son’s laughter. Maggie’s proud purr. Mingling mews from the nest of kittens. All were overshadowed by the pounding of her own heartbeat, the frantic swish of her own pulse.

Something pulled on the strap of her tank top. An insistent tug, then another. “Mama, Mama!” Jamie’s voice broke the spell, releasing her from the mesmerizing presence at the top of the stairs. With some difficulty, she turned toward the toddler whose eyes were huge with exuberance. “Daddy’s home!”