Judith McWilliams - Another Man's Baby

Ginny grimaced. She didn’t think she’d ever feel comfortable around him.

“We can start the process by you touching me.” Philip walked over to where she was sitting, stopping scant inches from her.

She could smell the faint cedary fragrance of the soap he’d just used. It reminded her of Christmas and the anticipation that she always felt. As if something wondrous were about to happen. An anticipation much like that which gripped her now.

Touch him? Ginny considered his command. Where? Her eyes lingered on the contrast between his snowy white towel and the dark tone of his skin. Unconsciously, she rubbed the fingers of her free hand over her skirt to try to stop the tingling sensation that danced over them.

Touching him was definitely not a good idea, her mind decided even while her fingers curled in anticipation. But what could it hurt? Ginny tried to rationalize her growing need. In fact, it might help to speed up the time when her fascination with him would fade. And it wasn’t as if she could do more than touch him. Not while she was cradling a sleeping baby.

Giving in to the temptation, Ginny reached out and poked his thigh with a fingertip. There was no give. He was solid muscle.

“Oh, for the...” Philip grabbed her hand and pressed it flat against his bare thigh.

Heat from his body flowed into her receptive flesh, loosening her inhibitions. Tentatively she moved her hand slightly, shivering as the hair on his leg scraped abrasively over her palm. To her mingled dismay and relief, Philip suddenly stepped back.

“It’s a start,” he muttered, and it seemed to Ginny that his voice was deeper.

Could he have been affected by her touch? Was that why he’d retreated? It was an intriguing thought, but not a relevant one, Ginny told herself. It didn’t matter what Philip felt because she couldn’t allow anything to develop between them. Beth was counting on her to get Jason Papas to acknowledge Damon’s right to the family’s financial support, and she couldn’t do that if she were to become emotionally involved with what appeared to be the main opposition to the idea.

“There’s a nursery at the end of the hall off the kitchen that my sisters use when they stay at the apartment,” Philip said. “The boy can sleep there. Your luggage is in the bedroom beside it.”

Without another word, he turned and left the room. A minute later she heard the sound of his bedroom door slam shut.

“And a good-night to you, too,” Ginny muttered as she got to her feet, being careful not to jar the sleeping baby. Things would be better after a good night’s sleep, she told herself as she went to find the nursery. At least she had the comfort of knowing that they couldn’t get much worse!

Absently, Philip pulled his towel off and dropped it on the thick plush carpet. Her continued insistence that Creon was the boy’s father annoyed him, but didn’t really surprise him. Having come this far, she would hardly be likely to change her story simply because he told her he knew that she was lying. She was probably thinking that she would have better luck at convincing a lonely old man that the boy was his grandson.

Philip shoved his fingers through his damp hair in frustration. He knew she was lying. She had to be. Creon couldn’t have had an affair with another woman because Lydia would have said something about it. She would have asked his advice about what to do, and she hadn’t. She’d never said a word against Creon.

He paused as he suddenly realized something. Lydia had never discussed Creon with him. She mentioned Jason occasionally, and she was always talking about her daughters, but he couldn’t ever remember her saying anything about Creon. A trickle of unease oozed through him. Was there some significance to her silence?

He didn’t know, and there was no way he could ask her without revealing what he was trying to hide. And he couldn’t risk that. Lydia had always been the most sensitive of his sisters. The most vulnerable. Creon’s death had hit her very hard. She’d lost weight she couldn’t afford to lose, and her always reserved personality had become almost withdrawn. If she were to find out that a beautiful woman had suddenly appeared, claiming to have had Creon’s son, it could push her so deeply into her shell she might never be able to climb out. A feeling of desperation gripped him.

He had to protect Lydia. But could he? For the moment, Ginny Alton was willing to go along with the charade that the boy was his, but how long her cooperation would last was anyone’s guess.

Philip dressed as he considered his limited options. He needed a lever to use against her, but what? Maybe the fact that Creon hadn’t been seeing her while he’d been in New York? It wasn’t much, but if he could find out how Creon had spent his time when he’d been in New York last year, perhaps it would convince Ginny that her claim wouldn’t stand up to an investigation.

Philip picked up the phone and dialed the number of his company’s New York office. His manager wouldn’t be there at this time of night, but he could leave a message on Essing’s voice mail telling him what he wanted him to do. With luck he’d have a report by tomorrow.

In the meantime, he’d simply have to keep as close to Ginny as he could to make sure she didn’t do or say anything to upset Lydia. He’d stay very close. Philip felt a surge of anticipation that made him vaguely uneasy. Since he couldn’t explain it, he ignored it and went to his study to go over the latest developments in the labor problems at one of his Athens’ factories.

The following day dawned clear and sunny, unlike Ginny’s mood. To her dismay, even though she was now well rested, her first view of Philip over the breakfast table was enough to convince her that a good night’s sleep hadn’t changed anything. He still had a very unsettling effect on her central nervous system. Even the fact that he was casually dressed in tan slacks and a powder blue knit shirt didn’t help.

Sitting down across from Philip, she gave Damon his bottle. That meant that the only thing she could do was to simply wait her compulsion out.

“Don’t you ever feed the boy any real food?”

Ginny looked up to see Philip frowning at Damon’s bottle.

“Damon. His name is Damon. And this is real food if you happen to be four months old.”

“He needs solid food,” Philip insisted. “Some cereal like this.” He held up a spoonful of the oatmeal he was eating.

Ginny fixed him with the gimlet stare she used on irrational clients who wanted to plunge into the stock market with no plan of action. “He has already shown signs of some nasty allergies, so if you even come near him with that stuff, I’ll...”

Philip looked at her ferocious expression and was hard-pressed not to laugh. She looked like an angry lioness about to defend her lone cub from mortal danger. A flicker of tenderness unexpectedly curled through him. She really was a good mother. It was too bad she hadn’t been as careful about who she went to bed with. Her lover couldn’t have been much of a man to have gotten her pregnant and then deserted her.

“You’ll what?” he asked curiously, when she didn’t finish her sentence.

“You’ll see.” Ginny promised darkly, having no idea what kind of threat might work on him. Probably none, she conceded. Philip Lysander appeared to be a man who was used to having his every whim catered to. Much as Creon had been.

To her surprise, his lips suddenly tightened. “If you repeat one word of your lies about Creon to Lydia, I’ll make you rue the day you were born.”

“And here I was afraid to descend to clichés,” she scoffed.

“I mean it! As far as Lydia is concerned, the boy is mine.” His voice was cold enough to freeze water.