Sara Orwig - Shut Up And Kiss Me

Mike showered, dressed in a navy sport shirt and jeans, then went downstairs to meet his friends in the hotel lobby. He spotted the two tall men the instant he stepped out of the elevator. After greeting one another, they went to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. It wasn’t until they’d ordered that the talk turned to their respective legacies, Mike’s in particular.

“So how’s it feel to suddenly become a father?” Jonah asked.

Mike shook his head and met Jonah’s gaze squarely. “I’m not going to do it.”

“You’re turning down your bequest?” Boone asked in disbelief.

“I can’t take care of a baby,” Mike said. “Maybe one of you guys?”

“What? Swap inheritances?” Boone’s eyes danced with amusement. “I don’t think the lady lawyer would go for that. She’s all business.”

“She’s as tough as my dad,” Jonah remarked dryly. “No messing with her.”

“Well, count me out, anyway,” Boone said as he leaned back in his seat. “I’ve been there and done that with my kid brothers and sisters. No thank you.”

“Boone, you’re the oldest of nine. You’d be perfect.”

“The hell you say!” Boone snapped. “No more changing diapers for me. I’ve been a daddy eight times. Forget it.”

“How about you?” Mike asked, looking at Jonah.

Jonah shook his head. “I’m going home to Oklahoma, and from there I’ve got to go overseas in four days. Besides, the thought of a ranch is kinda intriguing.”

“What do you know about ranching?” Boone teased. “Next to nothing.”

“Not exactly. My granddaddy had a ranch and I lived with him off and on when I was a kid. Besides, ranching runs in my Comanche blood,” Jonah replied with a grin of his own.

“Oh, sure,” Boone said with a brief laugh, shifting his attention back to Mike. “Looks like you’re stuck, pal. Sorry.”

“I’ll get out of it,” Mike said grimly, more of a promise to himself than his buddies.

“And give up all that money?”

“The money’s not worth it. I’ll make my own money.”

The waiter brought their breakfasts, and Mike looked at his friends. Jonah was the same as the last time Mike had seen him, except it was only April and already the sun had darkened his skin considerably. His straight black hair was cut short and neatly combed, and the T-shirt he wore revealed powerful muscles, proving that Jonah was still in top physical form. As for Boone, his skin was darkened, too, by the sun, and gone was his shaggy brown hair. Although still thick and wavy, it had been trimmed considerably, well above his collar.

“Where are you working now, Jonah?”

“Okmulgee Oil. I’m two weeks in an Algerian oilfield, two weeks home.”

“So you’re finally using that engineering degree,” Boone said.

“I used it in the military. Engineering is a good background for defusing bombs. Better than a marketing degree. So what are you doing, Boone?” Jonah asked.

Boone grinned. “I live about twenty miles out of Kansas City, Missouri, and have my own charter service. I fly everywhere and anywhere.”

“You couldn’t give it up, could you,” Jonah said. “Are you still in, Mike?”

“Nope. I got out two months ago. I’ve got an offer from the CIA and I plan to take it. I’m living in D.C. now. So, is anybody married?”

His two buddies looked at each other, but Mike saw the flash of pain in Jonah’s eyes and guessed that he still hadn’t gotten over his divorce. His marriage had ended while they were all in the service together.

“Remember that night in Fort Lauderdale?” Boone said to break the sudden pall in the mood, and in minutes they were reminiscing about those times. They continued until Mike realized he would have to hurry to make his ten o’clock appointment with Savannah Clay.

“Guys, I gotta run.”

“I’ll get the check. I certainly can afford it with my newfound fortune,” Boone announced. “The famous quarter-horse ranch that I intend to sell.”

“Thanks, Boone.” Mike pulled out a card. “Here’s my address in D.C. and my home and cell-phone numbers. Let’s keep in touch this time. If any of you are around the hotel at lunchtime, let’s get together.” The men agreed and Mike hurried outside to get a valet to bring his rental car.

Minutes later, he was striding toward Savannah Clay’s office. He had dreamed unwanted dreams about her last night. Enticing dreams where she had been soft, willing and sexy in his arms. In real life, she was none of the above, he reminded himself. Instantly, he had to admit that his assessment was unfair. She probably was soft and sexy. Willing, on the other hand, with him never. When he opened the office door, the brunette receptionist flashed him a smile.

“Good morning, Colonel Remington. Miss Clay is expecting you. I’ll tell her you’re here, if you’ll please be seated.”

He sat in a brown, leather chair and moments later, the receptionist said, “Go on in. First door—”

“On the right,” he finished, smiling at her. He reached the open door and was struck again by Savannah’s beauty, restrained by her businesslike demeanor. She was standing in front of her desk, dressed in a tailored navy suit and navy blouse, her hair once again in a twist at the back of her head. But he remembered that cascade of silky, golden hair and the figure beneath the tailored suit jacket. Her skirt ended just above her knees, giving him a good view of her long legs.

She met his eyes and his pulse speeded up a notch. “Colonel Remington,” she said politely, smiling at him. “Come in.” She took his arm and wound it through hers, standing with their shoulders and hips touching, so close to him that he could feel her warmth. He could smell her perfume and was as dazzled by her as if he were fifteen years old again with a first crush.

Suddenly he became aware that they weren’t the only people in the room. “Mike,” she said, “I want you to meet Melanie Bradford, Jessie’s caseworker.”

He turned to shake hands with a brown-haired, fortyish woman, then stopped. The woman was holding a baby.

“And this is Jessie,” Savannah announced, taking the baby and placing her swiftly in his arms.

Startled, he looked down at the baby he held so awkwardly. Big blue eyes gazed up at him as she pursed her rosebud mouth. She was soft, sweet-smelling and dressed in a frilly pink dress with a tiny pink hair bow in her wispy brown curls. She waved a fist at him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Melanie Bradford said to him. “If you two will excuse me a moment, I need to call my office.” When she left the room, Savannah closed the door behind her and leaned against it.

“This isn’t going to make any difference,” he said to Savannah.

“Will you just look at her? And think—over a million in cash in your account, a trust for you to raise her, which means a very generous income. Also, you get the house. Hire a nanny, for heaven’s sake! You don’t have to be tied down.” Savannah’s voice was low and seductive, trying to convince him.

When she walked over to him, he held out the baby for her to take.

“You hold her,” Savannah insisted. “Look into her eyes and tell her that you’re going to make her a ward of the state and let her be shuffled around to foster homes. Think of her dad and the trust and faith he placed in you.” Now her voice held steel in it, and a good measure of anger, too.

“Stop trying to sell me on this, because it isn’t going to work,” Mike said tightly. “I’m not becoming guardian of a baby.”

“Can you look at her and tell her that?”

He gazed down into wide blue eyes and remembered John Frates. “Dammit, leave me alone, Savannah. You don’t push someone into parenthood,” he said, his anger growing.