Kristin Morgan - Having Gabriel's Baby

Gabriel Lafleur placed his hands on his hips and sighed heavily. “Yeah—well—believe me, I know exactly what you mean.”

Then, in almost the same breath, he said, “Listen up. It seems to me that if we got married last night, then we ought to have some kind of proof—right? I mean, like a marriage certificate—or—or, something.” He turned away from her suddenly, stepped up to the dresser where a few of her personal belongings were on the top and began rummaging through them, searching, no doubt, for some kind of proof. Coming up empty-handed, he turned once again and targeted Joelle with those clear brown eyes of his. “Well, don’t just sit there. Get up and help me look, for heaven’s sake. You said that you didn’t want this to be happening any more than I did.”

The frustration in his voice was enough to spark Joelle into action. “I don’t,” she replied, haughtily. She stood immediately and began searching her hotel room on her own, scanning tabletops…the floor… under the bed. She found her panty and bra, and Gabriel’s tie and Jockey shorts. All four items were hiding beneath the quilted bedspread on the floor at the foot of the bed. She found her white poet’s blouse and the navy blue straight skirt she’d worn to dinner last night thrown on the seat of the chair where his slacks were. With each piece of clothing she found, it became clear to her that both of them had apparently been more than eager to shed their clothes and climb into bed together—with or without the benefit of marriage—and, as a result, her face grew redder and redder with embarrassment. And right along with her renewed embarrassment came a whole new set of memories from last night. Distinct, clear images of her and Gabriel kissing in the elevator as it had taken them up to her floor. And there was another jarring memory of him carrying her across the threshold. Like they were married. And, of course, there was the one of them making love on her bed…

In fact, her memories were now so tantalizingly frank in their recollection of what she and Gabriel had done together, Joelle found herself breaking into a cold sweat as she reached for her shoulder-strap purse that hung on a door knob. She began searching its contents. In truth, she didn’t want to recall the sensuous details of having been in his arms any more than she really wanted to find a marriage certificate declaring them as husband and wife. After all, she’d already made one mistake by getting drunk and sleeping with him. Why compound the problem this morning by hoping to find proof of a marriage that neither of them wanted?

“Find anything?” he asked, coming up right behind her. Her stomach bottomed out.

“Uh…not yet,” she replied, curtly. She could smell the clean freshness of the soap he’d used while showering. Suddenly feeling the need to place added distance between them, she stepped to one side and turned. “How about you?”

“Not yet,” he replied. Joelle noticed that his eyes dropped momentarily to where her hands held the sheet over her breasts and, once again, her stomach quivered.

Joelle gave him a scathing look. Considering that he was wrapped in only a towel, he really had some nerve to look at her as if she was the only one undressed.

Clearing his throat, he ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s probably a good thing. Look, maybe it means that we decided not to get married, after all. Or, maybe we just gave up on the idea because we couldn’t find anyone qualified to perform the ceremony.”

“Maybe,” Joelle grumbled. “But, unfortunately, I don’t think my luck these days is running that high. Considering our inebriated state, we could’ve gotten married and then simply lost the document on our way back here.”

Gabriel frowned, and Joelle could tell from the expression on his face that her theory wasn’t at all to his liking. Well, it certainly wasn’t to hers, either.

Still, she wasn’t quite ready to give up all hope of finding a simple resolution that would allow them to part company without worry or fanfare. Surely one of them would find something to jar their memory and, hopefully, give them both some badly needed peace of mind. With that in mind, Joelle proceeded to check the zipper compartments of her purse, but she found nothing. “Did you look through all your pockets?” she asked.

“I checked my pants. I haven’t found my shirt, yet.”

“Here it is,” Joelle stated, using her middle finger to pick up his wrinkled white dress shirt off the floor by its collar. She turned in his direction and offered it to him. As he reached for it, his eyes met hers, and he smiled.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Look, Joelle, about last night…”

“Forget it. It was as much my fault as it was yours.”

“Yeah…well, that’s not exactly what I was going to say.”

“Oh.”

“Look, I…uh…about the sex…I mean, it was great you know.”

Joelle thought her insides would turn inside-out. Yes, she knew, but she didn’t want to know. “Uh, look, I don’t really remember any of it, okay?” Liar. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Hey, whatever you say,” he replied, shrugging lightly.

Joelle glanced up and their gazes locked. Within moments, though, she realized her mistake in thinking she could handle such a battle of wills with him and she shook herself. What, in heaven’s name, she wondered, did she think she was doing, gazing up at him that way? Here the two of them were, alone and practically strangers, with one of them wrapped in a bath towel, and the other in a bed sheet. Was she completely crazy, or just a glutton for punishment?

She took several steps away from him. He gave her a haunted look as he reached into his shirt pocket and came out a second later with a white folded piece of paper held tightly between his two fingers. Joelle’s heart skipped a beat. “What’s that?” she asked, breathlessly. She was at his side in a flash.

“I don’t know,” he said, releasing an anxious breath. He started to carefully unfold the piece of paper, only to discover that it was just a regular sheet of white, lined, loose-leaf paper. But written on it in a sprawling, amateurish handwriting were yesterday’s date and the words: Gabriel and Joelle, I now pronounce you man and wife. Signed, José Cuervo.

José Cuervo was the brand name of the tequila they had drunk last night.

Dazed for several moments, neither of them spoke. Finally, Joelle couldn’t take the deafening silence another moment. “What does that paper mean?” she asked in a whispered voice. It was as though if she spoke too loudly, the entire world would know her most recent sin.

Still staring down at the piece of paper in his hands, Gabriel Lafleur didn’t answer her. Finally she nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “Lafleur, I need you to answer me. What does the note mean?”

“Hell, if I know,” he grumbled, suddenly crumpling up the piece of paper in one hand and tossing it like a basketball toward a nearby trash can. It fell inside like a dead ringer, and he said, “Bingo. See, now we’re off the hook. It’s in the trash.”

“Are you sure?” Joelle asked, still somewhat stunned from just awakening and finding Gabriel Lafleur in her hotel room, much less the rest of it. She sat down on the edge of the bed in the hopes of giving herself a moment to pull herself back together.

“Look,” he said, turning toward her and placing his hands on his hips. Joelle found herself following his every move. He had such wide, sensuous-looking hands.

Those hands had made love to her body last night.

Over and over, again.

She was breathless at the thought of it.

Swallowing hard, Joelle flicked her eyes back up to his. “What were you saying?” she asked.