Mary Wilson - That Night We Made Baby

“Actually, Samantha’s right. It is convenient. You’re both here, so we can get this over with right now.”

Nick actually needed the support of the chair, and if he hadn’t been so distracted by Sam’s unexpected appearance, that would have really annoyed him. “Sure, whatever,” Nick muttered.

“I don’t want anything from Nick,” Sam stated, “so it should be very simple. I just don’t see why we couldn’t have gotten an annulment.”

Danforth looked at Nick. “You never mentioned that.”

“I never thought of it,” he murmured, his hand tightening on the leather chair. “But if Sam wants to do that instead of—”

“Well, you’d need proof of fraud to get an annulment since I assume the marriage was consummated.”

“No, no,” Sam said quickly. “This is almost finished. That would be foolish.”

Nick saw the color in Sam’s cheeks rise even more, and she was staring hard at the envelope in her hand. Fraud? How about stupidity? And the marriage had been consummated—over and over again. Sex had been just about the only thing between them that they had both wanted—except for this divorce.

He felt a treacherous response to the memories as they started to return, and he moved carefully to sink into the chair.

“A divorce is fine,” Sam was saying, holding on to the envelope with her left hand, a hand without a ring. The single diamond was where she’d left it—in the side drawer of his desk. He hadn’t looked at it since she’d walked out. “But I need to read the papers before I sign,” she continued.

“Of course,” Danforth said.

Sam let go of the locket and skimmed her hand behind her neck, lifting her chin slightly and exposing her throat for a flashing instant. Nick was suddenly bombarded with the memory of the feel of her skin against his, that heat and silk, the pleasure that came in waves, the sensation of her pulse against his lips. He cleared his throat abruptly, tightening his hands on the arms of the chair and forcing himself to make small talk. “How’s your work going?”

Her green-eyed gaze turned to him, and the impact made his head swim. “Fine. I’m working on several paintings, actually. They might be picked up for the Orleans series.” He must have looked blank because she went on to explain. “It’s a children’s series of morality books.”

“Morality books,” he repeated.

“Honor, truth, loyalty…doing the right thing.”

He had the strangest idea that she was rebuking him somehow. “It’s a series?”

“Five titles in the planning. They saw some other children’s illustrations I did and they liked them.” She shrugged slightly. “They liked them very much.”

For a moment, he thought she was going to smile and he found himself bracing for the impact. He remembered her smiles, and he remembered what her smile had done to him when he first met her. He remembered and wished he hadn’t.

“Obviously, you’re good,” he murmured. “It sounds as if you’re doing well.”

Looking up at her now, he found himself confused about why he’d let this woman walk out on him. He tried to focus, to grab at a reason, then it came to him in a wrenching thud when she spoke again.

“I am. I love working on things for children.”

Children. At least he remembered one of the many reasons why their marriage had dissolved. They’d been on the beach at dawn, watching the sun rise, and she’d hugged her legs, staring out at the water.

“What a place for kids to grow up.”

He’d made some noncommittal answer like “Yeah, great,” but he’d been paying more attention to her tiny blue bikini and wondering how soon they could get back to the house so he could make love to her.

“I’ve always wanted to raise my kids by the ocean. That was the best time of my life, up in Jensen Pass. The ocean was like freedom to me, and I always knew that when I got married, I’d be by the ocean, and my kids would swim like fish.”

He’d been tracing her jawline with the tip of his finger but stopped. “That’s a nice fantasy,” he’d murmured, hoping he could banish the whole idea that easily.

But nothing about Sam had been easy. “It’s what I want. What I’ve always dreamed of. A husband and children. All the trimmings.”

He couldn’t pass that off as another rough spot in a rushed marriage. They were two people who had met and married in two weeks, two strangers who had desperately tried to reach out to each other. He hid from her words, from a dream life that he didn’t want. All he wanted was her.

He didn’t want children. He didn’t want to be tied down. But he wanted her. He’d stood, lifted her into his arms and carried her to the house. Their lovemaking that time had been explosive, and it had also been the last time he’d touched her.

Their relationship had been too intense and all-consuming. All he’d known while they were together was that nothing else mattered. Not when she smiled. Not when she touched him. At least, not at first while they were lost in each other’s arms.

“Children. Good.” He spoke past an odd tightness in his throat. “I’m glad things are working out for you.” He looked away, the thought of that last day bringing bitterness in a rush. He’d been wrong, so wrong. His mistake. His impulsiveness. His decision. A marriage that should have never been. She’d needed the commitment of marriage, and he’d gone along with it, never thinking about the consequences of two people finally looking at each other and finding out they were strangers. Husband and wife, but strangers.

“How have you been doing?” Sam asked abruptly.

He looked back at her, bracing himself this time, expecting that rush of need and desire that came no matter how rationally he tried to fight it when he was near her. “Working. I keep busy.”

“Of course, I remember,” she said softly. “Still fighting for the bad guy? Giving a defense to those with no defense?”

His headache increased as echoes from the past bombarded him. “How can you defend me when you know darn well that I did all that stuff the judge read to you? I mean, I didn’t intend to do it, but I’m guilty.”

His response now came as easily as the same response had come so long ago. “Everyone deserves a defense and I’m good at it.” He’d gotten her off with a fine, driving school and a restricted license for three months. A slap on the wrist after everything she’d done. “I got you off, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” she said, and his headache grew when her chin lifted just a fraction of an inch. “But then again, I wasn’t a serial killer.”

“You drove like one,” he said.

Sam felt her face burn, and she was furious that she was still so vulnerable to everything Nick said or did. It had to be the shock. When she’d come to Los Angeles, she’d known she wouldn’t be going anywhere near Malibu and she certainly hadn’t expected to see him walk through the door. Not any more than she’d expected that the sight of him would rock the world under her feet.

She turned from him and the way he seemed to fill all the space in the room, the way he’d always filled the space around her. She concentrated on the attorney behind the desk. But nothing she did could stop her from feeling Nick’s presence beside her. She didn’t have to inhale to know that he was so close she almost felt the air stir as he shifted in the leather chair.

She didn’t have to turn to be assailed by his image, an image burned into her mind. The navy suit, the pin-striped shirt with a deep red tie. His hair, a bit longer than it once had been, swept back from a hard face. Angles and planes. Those eyes. The one constant with Nick was that he was as sexy as hell. Even when he looked as if he wasn’t feeling well.