Expecting His Baby
Expecting His Baby
Sandra Field
“That kiss had nothing to do with technique.”
“No—it was about power! About winning. Because you can’t bear to lose. Especially to a woman.”
Judd took a long, shuddering breath. “Maybe it was about feelings.”
She wasn’t going to go there, not with Judd, so she said, “Maybe it was about ownership.”
But the bitterness in his voice had shocked Lise. If she weren’t pregnant by him, might she have softened, asked him what he meant by “feelings”? But all her intuition screamed that if Judd knew she was pregnant, he would insist on marrying her—because it was his child she was carrying.
His. Ownership indeed.
Relax and enjoy our fabulous series about couples whose passion results in pregnancies…sometimes unexpected! Of course, the birth of a baby is always a joyful event, and we can guarantee that our characters will become besotted moms and dads—but what happened in those nine months before?
Share the surprises, emotions, drama and suspense as our parents-to-be come to terms with the prospect of bringing a new life into the world. All will discover that the business of making babies brings with it the most special love of all….
Look out for another EXPECTING! title,
coming soon!
The Pregnant Bride
by Catherine Spencer
#2269 on sale August
Expecting His Baby
Sandra Field
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
THERE was a woman in the bed.
An astonishingly beautiful woman.
Judd Harwood stood still, gazing at the sleeping figure under the white hospital bedspread. He must have the wrong room. It was a man he was looking for, not a woman. Yet instead of leaving and asking someone for better directions, Judd stayed exactly where he was, his slate-gray eyes focused on the bed’s occupant. Her right shoulder and upper arm were swathed in an ice pack. Her face was very pale; the livid bruise marring the sweet curve of her jawline stood out in sharp contrast to the creamy skin. Had she been in a car accident, or fallen on the ice encrusting the city streets? Or had it been something worse? Surely she hadn’t been assaulted.
His fists curled at his sides in impotent anger. Could it have been her husband? Her lover? He’d flatten the bastard if he ever got his hands on him. Flatten him and ask questions afterward. And how was that for a crazy reaction? A woman he’d never even met, knew nothing about.
He wasn’t into protecting strange women. He had better things to do with his time.
His jaw a hard line, Judd continued his scrutiny. The woman’s brows were delicate as wings, her cheekbones softly hollowed; he found himself longing to stroke the silken slope from the corner of her eye to the corner of her mouth. An infinitely kissable mouth, he thought, his own mouth dry. Her eyes were closed; he found himself intensely curious to know what color they were. Gray as storm clouds? The rich brown of wet earth? Her hair was red, although that word in no way did justice to a tumble of curls vivid as flame.
Flame…
Blanking from his mind a surge of nightmare images, Judd gave himself a shake. He didn’t have the time for this; he needed to find the fireman who’d saved Emmy. Thank him as best he could and then go back to his daughter’s bedside. Emmy was sedated, the doctor had assured him of that, and wouldn’t wake for hours. But Judd wasn’t taking any chances.
So why was he still standing here?
Scowling, purposely not looking for the woman’s name on the chart at the foot of the bed, Judd strode out of the room. A nurse was hurrying toward him, her flowered uniform a splash of color in the bare corridor. He said, “Excuse me—I’m looking for the fireman who was admitted earlier this evening…he rescued my daughter and I need to thank him. But I don’t even know his name.”
The nurse gave him an harassed smile. “Actually it was a woman,” she said. “I don’t believe—”
“A woman?” Judd repeated blankly.
“That’s right.” Her smile was a shade less friendly. “They do have women on the fire and rescue squads, you know. Room 214. Although I don’t believe she’s recovered consciousness yet.”
Room 214 was the room he’d already been in. The room with the woman lying so still on the bed. Trying to regain some semblance of his normal self-control, Judd said abruptly, “I shouldn’t have made the assumption it was a man. Thanks for your help.”
“If you need to talk to her, tomorrow would be better. She won’t be released before midmorning.”
“Okay—thanks again.”
The nurse disappeared into a room across the hall. Slowly Judd walked back into Room 214. The woman was lying exactly as she had been a few moments ago, the smooth line of the sheet rising and falling gently with her breathing. He walked closer to the bed, staring at her as though he could imprint every aspect of her appearance in his mind, teased by a strange sense that she resembled someone he knew. But who? He couldn’t put a finger on it, and he prided himself on his memory. Surely he’d never seen her before; he could scarcely have forgotten her. The purity of her bone structure. The gentle jut of her wrist bones. Her long, capable fingers, curled defencelessly on the woven coverlet.
Ringless fingers. Did that mean she didn’t have a husband?
Her fingernails were dirty. Well, of course they were. She was a firefighter, wasn’t she?
This was the woman who’d saved his daughter’s life; Judd didn’t even have to close his eyes to remember the horrific scene that had greeted him when the cab from Montreal’s Dorval airport had dropped him off in the driveway of his house.
Clutching his briefcase, Judd saw three fire trucks parked on the lawn, their red lights flashing into the darkness. Yellow-jacketed firefighters shouted back and forth, barking orders into two-way radios. Water hissed from coiled gray hoses. Great billows of black smoke, rising from the roof, were licked by flames that appeared and disappeared with the wicked unpredictability of vipers. For a moment Judd was stunned, his feet rooted to the ground, his heart thudding in heavy strokes that overrode all the other sounds. He’d known fear before. Of course he had. Some of the situations he persisted in subjecting himself to saw to that. But he’d never known anything as devastating as the terror that clamped itself to every nerve and muscle in his body when he pictured Emmy trapped in that heat, in the choking smoke and vicious destruction of fire.
A tall metal ladder was angled against the wall of the house, reaching toward the windows of the family wing. The wing where Emmy slept…
Judd ran forward, yelling her name. Four policemen jumped him, grabbing his arms as they fought to restrain him. A fifth went flying when Judd flung him aside. And then Judd saw a small bundled figure thrust through the window into the waiting arms of the firefighter on the ladder. He gave a hoarse shout, and as the fireman passed the bundle to another man waiting further down the ladder, the policemen finally released him.
He ran across the frozen, snow-patched lawn faster than he’d ever run in his life. As the fireman transferred Emmy to his arms, the panic in her eyes cut him like a knife, the small weight of her catching at his heartstrings.
Holding her with fierce protectiveness, he climbed into the back of the waiting ambulance. But as he did so, Judd threw a quick glance over his shoulder, in time to catch part of the roof collapsing in a shower of sparks that under any other circumstances might have been eerily beautiful. A blackened beam struck the firefighter who’d shoved Emmy through the window. The helmeted figure staggered and almost fell, and in dreadful fascination Judd watched the fireman at the top of the ladder seize a yellow sleeve, hauling the other firefighter’s body over the charred sill by sheer, brute force. A cheer went up from the watchers on the ground. Then Judd turned away, shielding Emmy from the leaping flames and surreal, flickering lights…
Judd came back to the present with a jolt, licking his lips. Emmy had been pronounced out of danger from the smoke she’d inhaled. Because of her sedative-induced sleep, he’d taken this opportunity to find the firefighter to whom he owed a debt of gratitude that could never be repaid.
The woman on the bed.
She couldn’t be much over five-seven or five-eight. Her features lacked the perfection of Angeline’s: her nose slightly crooked, her mouth a touch too generous. Angeline was his ex-wife, mother of Emmy. An internationally known model, who wouldn’t have been caught dead with dirty fingernails.
He didn’t want to think about Angeline, her poise and stunning looks, her seductive body and cool, midnight-blue eyes. Not now. He’d divorced her four years ago, and had seen almost nothing of her since then.
The woman on the bed stirred a little, muttering something under her breath. Her lashes flickered. But then her breath sighed in her chest and she settled again. Somehow, in the midst of a maelstrom of smoke and flame and the night’s darkness, this woman had found Emmy and carried her to the ladder, into the waiting arms of the other firefighter. To safety.
Judd walked to the foot of the bed, frowning slightly as he started reading the neatly typed words on the chart. Then the woman’s name leaped out at him. Lise Charbonneau. Age twenty-eight.
His frown deepened, his eyes intent in a way some of his business associates would have recognized. Angeline still went by her own name, which was also Charbonneau. And Angeline’s young cousin had been called Lise. He’d met her at the wedding, all those years ago.
It couldn’t be the same person. That would be stretching coincidence too far.
But Lise at the age of thirteen or so had had flaming, unruly red hair, and cheekbones that even then gave promise of an elegance to come. She’d also had braces on her teeth and the gawkiness of a foal new to the field, and no social graces whatsoever. Her eyes, though, had been as green as spring grass, almond-shaped eyes that were already beautiful.
He searched his memory. Hadn’t she been living with Angeline and Marthe, Angeline’s mother, because her own parents had died tragically? And hadn’t they died in a house fire?
Was that why Lise Charbonneau had become a firefighter?
Angeline’s cousin responsible for saving Angeline’s daughter…what a strange and unbelievable irony. Speaking of which, he’d better try to reach Angeline. He himself was always fodder for journalists; he didn’t want Angeline hearing about Emmy’s escape on the late-night television news.
But then the woman in the bed shifted again, moaning slightly under her breath. He stiffened to attention, going over to stand by the bed, watching her struggle toward consciousness. And to pain by the look of it, he thought grimly, reaching for the buzzer that was pinned to the pillow by her head, and with an effort restraining himself from taking a strand of her vivid hair between his fingers. Hair that could warm a man’s heart. He said gently, “It’s okay, I’m calling the nurse.”
Her eyes flickered open, closed again, then opened more widely, focusing on him with difficulty. They were a clear, brilliant green, exquisitely shaped. Tension rippling along his nerves, Judd waited for her to speak.
The man’s outline was blurred, throbbing in tandem with the throbbing in her shoulder. Lise blinked, trying to clear her vision of a haze of pain and sedatives, and this time he was more distinct. More distinct and instantly recognizable.
Judd. Judd Harwood. Standing beside her bed, gazing at her with an intensity that made her heart lurch in her breast. He’d come for her, she thought dizzily. Finally. Her knight in shining armor, her gallant prince… How many times, as a teenager, had she fantasized just such an awakening? His big body, so broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, his square jaw and fierce vitality: she’d known them—so she’d thought—as well as she’d known her own body. Known them and longed for them. Hopelessly. Because all those years ago Judd had been in love with Angeline.
But now it was as though all her adolescent dreams had coalesced, and she’d woken to find the first man she’d ever fallen for watching her in a way that curled heat through every limb. She’d been madly and inarticulately in love with him back then, no matter that he was married to her cousin. How could she not have loved him? To a lonely and impressionable teenager, his looks and personality had had the impact of an ax blade, splintering her innocence. Since then, of course, she’d been hugely disillusioned, all her trite little daydreams shattered on the hard rocks of adult reality.
Judd Harwood. Unfaithful husband of her beloved cousin Angeline. The man who had refused Angeline custody of her own daughter, who’d been too busy amassing his fortune to be anything other than an absentee husband and father. The jet-setter with a woman in every major city in the world.
But what, she wondered frantically, fighting to overcome the fuzziness of her thoughts, was he doing standing by her bed? And where was she anyway? Because this was no dream. The dull, thudding pain in her shoulder and the sharp needles of agony behind her eyes were all too real. So was he, of course. His thick black hair now had threads of gray over the ears, she noticed in confusion. But his eyes were still that chameleon shade between blue and gray, and his jawline was as arrogant as ever.
“Where—” she croaked.
“I’ve called the nurse,” he said in the deep baritone that she now realized she’d never forgotten. “Just lie still, she’ll be here in a minute.”
“But what are you—”
The door swung open and on soft rubber heels a nurse came in the room. She went straight to the bed, smiling at Lise. “So you’re awake—good. And not feeling so great by the look of you. I’ll give you another shot, that’ll help the pain in your shoulder.” With calm efficiency, she checked Lise’s pulse and temperature, asked a few questions and gave her the requisite painkiller. “It’ll take a few moments to take effect,” she said briskly, and glanced up at Judd. “Perhaps you could stay until she’s asleep again?”
“Certainly,” Judd said.
With a last smile at Lise, the nurse left the room. Judd said evenly, “You’re the Lise I met years ago, aren’t you? Angeline’s cousin? Do you remember me? Judd Harwood.”
Oh, yes, she remembered him. Lise said, “I don’t want to talk to you.”
She’d planned for this to come out crisply and decisively, edged with all the contempt she harbored for him. But her tongue felt like a sponge in her mouth, and her words were scarcely audible even to herself. In huge frustration, she tried again, struggling to marshal her thoughts in a brain stuffed with cotton wool. “I have nothing to say to you,” she whispered, then let exhaustion flatten her to the pillow.
“Lise…” Judd bent closer, so close she could see the cleanly sculpted curve of his mouth and the small dent in his chin. A wave of panic washed over her. She turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut. “Go away,” she mumbled.
He said tightly, “I’ll come back tomorrow morning. But I want you to know how grateful—oh hell, what kind of a word is that? You saved my daughter’s life, Lise, at the risk of your own. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
Her eyes flew open. She gaped up at him, trying to take in what he was saying, remembering the nightmare search from room to room, the dash up the attic stairs and the child huddled at bay in the corner. “You mean the fire was at your house?” she gasped. He nodded. In growing agitation she said, “All I heard was that the owner was away and there was a baby-sitter and a little girl. No names.”
“My daughter. Emmy.”
“Angeline’s daughter—she’s Angeline’s just as much as yours!”
“Angeline left when Emmy was three,” Judd said in a hard voice.
“You refused her custody.”
“She didn’t want it.”
“That’s not what she told me.”
“Look,” Judd said flatly, “this is no time for an autopsy on my divorce. You saved Emmy’s life. You showed enormous courage.” Briefly he rested his hand over hers. “Thank you. That’s all I wanted to say.”
His fingers were warm, with a latent strength that seemed to race through Lise’s body as flame could race along an exposed wire. “Do you really think I need your gratitude?” she cried, hating his nearness, despising herself for being so achingly aware of it. She was damned if she was going to respond to him like the lovesick adolescent she’d been; she was twenty-eight years old, she’d been around. And he was nothing to her. Nothing. She tried to pull her hand away from his, felt agony lance from her elbow to her shoulder, and gave an inarticulate yelp of pain.
Judd said tautly, “For God’s sake, lie still. You’re acting as though you hate me.”
With faint surprise that he could be so obtuse, she said, “Why wouldn’t I hate you?”
To her infinite relief, he straightened, his hand falling to his side. An emotion she couldn’t possibly have defined flickered across his face. In a neutral voice he said, “You grew up with Angeline.”
“I adored her,” Lise announced defiantly. “She was everything I always wanted to be, and she was kind to me at a time when I badly needed it.” Kind in a rather distant, amused fashion, and kind only when it didn’t inconvenience Angeline; as an adult, Lise had come to see these distinctions. Nevertheless, during a period in her life when she’d been horribly lonely, her cousin had taken the trouble to teach her how to dance, and given her advice on her complexion and how to talk to boys. Had paid attention to her. Which was more than Marthe, Angeline’s mother, had done.
“Adoration isn’t the most clear-eyed of emotions,” Judd said.
“What would you know about emotions?”
“Just what do you mean by that?”
“Figure it out, Judd,” Lise said wearily. The drugs were starting to take effect, the throbbing in her shoulder lessening; her eyes felt heavy, her body full of lassitude, and all she wanted was for him to go away. Then the door swung smoothly on its hinges again, and with a flood of relief she saw Dave’s familiar face.
Dave McDowell was her co-worker, almost always on the same shifts as she. She liked him enormously for his calmness under pressure, and for his rock-solid dependability. He was still wearing the navy-blue coveralls that went under their outer gear; he looked worn-out. She said warmly, “Dave…good thing you were on that ladder.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You were really pushing it, Lise.”
“The little girl wasn’t in her room. For some reason she’d slept in the attic. So it took me a while to find her.”
Judd made a small sound in his throat. Emmy slept in the attic when she was lonely, she’d told him that once. And he’d been away for four days. So if she’d died in the fire because she couldn’t be found, the blame could have been laid squarely on his own shoulders.
Unable to face his own thoughts, Judd turned to Dave. “My name’s Judd Harwood—it’s my daughter Lise rescued. If you were the man on the ladder—then I owe you a debt of thanks, too.”
“Dave McDowell,” Dave said with a friendly grin that lit up his brown eyes. “We make a good team, Lise and I. Except she doesn’t always go by the manual.”
“Rules are made to be bent,” Lise muttered.
“One of these days, you’ll bend them too often,” Dave said with a touch of grimness.
“Dave, I weigh less than the guys and I can go places they can’t. And I got her out, didn’t I?”
“You scare the tar out of me sometimes, that’s all.”
Lise said a very pithy word under her breath. Dave raised his eyebrows and produced a rather battered bouquet of flowers from behind his back. “Picked these up on the way over. Although you’ll be going home tomorrow, they say.”
“Come and get me?” Lise asked.
“Sure will.”
“Good,” she said contentedly.
“Might even clean up your apartment for you.”
Lise said with considerable dignity, “A messy room is the sign of a creative mind.”
“It’s the sign of someone who’d rather read mystery novels than do housework.”
“Makes total sense to me.” Lise grinned.
Judd shifted his position. The easy camaraderie between the two of them made him obscurely angry in a way he couldn’t analyse. So Dave was familiar with Lise’s apartment. Was he her lover as well as her cohort at work? And what if he was? Why should that matter to him, Judd? Other than being the woman who’d saved Emmy’s life, Lise Charbonneau was nothing to him.
Yet she was beautiful in a way Angeline could never be. A beauty that was much more than skin deep, that was rooted not only in courage but in emotion. He said brusquely, “I’ll be staying in the hospital overnight with my daughter. I’ll drop by in the morning, Lise, to see how you are.”
“Please don’t,” she said sharply. “You’ve thanked me. There’s nothing more to say.”
As Dave raised his brows again, Judd said implacably, “Then I’ll be in touch with you later on. McDowell, thanks again—your team did a great job.”
“No sweat, man.”
Judd marched out of the room and down the corridor toward the elevator. He wasn’t used to being given the brush-off. Hey, who was he kidding? He was never given the brush-off. Women seemed to find his looks, coupled with his money, a potent combination, so much so that he was the one used to handing out brush-offs. Politely. Diplomatically. But the message was almost always the same. Hands off.
Lise Charbonneau hated his guts. No doubt about that. Dammit, she’d been scarcely conscious and she’d found the energy to let him know she thought he was the lowest of the low. And all because of Angeline. Who in the end had dumped him as unceremoniously as if he’d been a pair of boots she was tired of wearing. Trouble is, at the time that had hurt. Hurt rather more than he was prepared to admit. During the eleven years it had lasted, he’d done his level best to hold his marriage together, and to preserve the intensity of emotion that had poleaxed him when he’d first met Angeline. But he’d failed on both counts. Hence his propensity for brush-offs whenever a woman showed any signs of getting too close, or having any ambitions toward matrimony.
Been there. Done that.
He’d have to phone Angeline first thing in the morning: assuming that she was home in the elegant chateau on the Loire that was the principal residence of her second husband, Henri. Who was, incidentally, no longer richer than Judd. Judd, however, couldn’t lay claim to a string of counts and dukes in his ancestry. Far from it. If he rarely thought about Angeline, he even more rarely recalled his upbringing on the sordid tenements of Manhattan’s lower east side.
The elevator seemed to take forever to arrive, but finally he was pushing open the door to Emmy’s room. The little girl was lying peacefully asleep, just as he’d left her. She had her mother’s dark blue eyes and heart-shaped face; but her long, straight hair was as black as his, and she’d inherited both his quickness of mind and ability to keep her own counsel. He’d loved her from the moment she’d been born. But only rarely did he know exactly what she was thinking.
As he reached over and smoothed her hair back from her face, she didn’t even stir. He’d wanted to make the same gesture with Lise, although from very different motives. Motives nowhere near as pure as the love of a father for his daughter.
He hadn’t seen the last of Lise. He knew that in his bones. Although if she were involved with Dave, he’d be one heck of a lot smarter to keep his distance. If he hadn’t liked the first brush-off, why would he like the second any better? And he’d never tried forcing himself between a woman and her lover. Never had to, and he wasn’t about to start now.
Put Lise Charbonneau out of your mind, he told himself, and focus on getting some sleep. Tomorrow he had to look after Emmy, insurance agents, the police and contractors for repairs. He didn’t need the distraction of a flame-haired woman who thought he was the scum of the earth. Scowling, Judd lay down on the cot that the nurses had provided and stared up at the ceiling. But it was a long time before he fell asleep, because two images kept circling in his brain.
Emmy sleeping in the attic because she was lonely.
And the dirt under Lise’s fingernails. Dirt from a fire in which she’d risked her life for Emmy’s sake.
CHAPTER TWO
THREE days after the fire and her shoulder was still killing her, Lise thought irritably. She hated being off work and having so much time to think. And even more she hated feeling so helpless and ineffective. It was nearly noon, and all she’d accomplished so far today was to have a shower, make her bed and buy a few groceries. The cabbie had been kind enough to carry them upstairs to her apartment door. But she’d had to put them away, one thing at a time, because she could only use her left arm. She wasn’t sleeping well, she’d watched far too much TV the last three days, she’d read until her eyes ached, and yes, she was in a foul mood.
She pulled a chair over to the counter, climbed up and reached for the package of rice. But as she lifted it in her good hand, she bumped her sore shoulder on the edge of the cupboard door. Pain lanced the whole length of her arm. With a sharp cry, she dropped the rice. It hit a can of tomatoes, the bag split and rice showered over the counter and the floor.
Lise knew a great many swearwords, working as she did with a team of men. But not one of them seemed even remotely adequate. Tears of frustration flooding her eyes, she leaned her forehead against the cupboard door. What was wrong with her? Why did she suddenly feel like crying her eyes out?
She needed a change. That was one reason. Desperately and immediately, she needed to alter her lifestyle.
It wasn’t the first time she’d had this thought. But its intensity was new. New and frightening, because if she quit her job at the fire station, what else would she do? She’d worked there for nearly ten years. She didn’t have a university degree, she had not one speck of artistic talent, and anything to do with the world of commerce reduced her to a blithering idiot. She couldn’t even balance her checkbook, for Pete’s sake.
So how could she quit her job?
With her good hand, she reached for the box of tissues on the counter; but as she tugged one free, more rice pellets rattled to the counter. The counter needed wiping. The sink was full of dirty dishes. Her whole life was a mess, Lise thought, blowing her nose and clambering down from the chair. And how she loathed self-pitying women. Maybe she’d make herself a large cherry milk shake and eat six brownies in a row. That might give her the energy to clean up the rice. If not the refrigerator.
Somewhat cheered by the thought of the brownies—she’d made them from a packaged mix, with considerable difficulty, yesterday—Lise pulled the pan out from on top of the bread bin. But as she opened the drawer for a knife, someone knocked on her door.
It was a very decisive knock. Puzzled, she walked to the door and peered through the peephole.
Judd Harwood was standing on the other side of the door.
The last person in the world she wanted visiting her.
She yanked the door open, said furiously, “No, I do not want to see you and how did you get past security?”
“Waited until someone else opened the main door,” he said mildly. “You look god-awful, Lise.”
“Make my day.”
“Looks like someone ought to, and it might as well be me.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
But as she tried to push the door shut, he neatly inserted his foot in the gap and pried it further open. She seethed, “Judd, I’ll holler blue murder if you don’t go away.”
He gave her a charming smile, although his eyes, she noticed, were cool and watchful. “I’ve got a favor to ask you,” he said. “It concerns Emmy, not me, and it’s important. Won’t you at least hear me out?”
“Do you always use other people to gain your own ends?”
In a voice like steel, he said, “I happen to be telling the truth. Or is that a commodity you don’t recognize?”
“In you, no.”
“If we’re going to have a no-holds-barred, drag-’em-out fight, let’s at least do it in the privacy of your apartment,” he said, and pushed past her to stand in the hallway.
He was six inches taller than she, and probably seventy pounds heavier. Not to mention his muscles. Lise slammed the door shut and leaned back against it. “So what’s the favor and make it fast.”
He stepped closer. “You’ve been crying.”
Between gritted teeth she said, “The favor, Judd.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything. I can’t go back to work for a whole week, my right arm’s useless and I’m going nuts. Do you know what I did all day yesterday? Watched reruns of Star Wars—for the third time. And what else would you like to know? What are you doing here anyway—slumming?”
“I told you—I have a favor to ask you.”
“I’ve read about you. In Fortune and Time magazine. About all your fancy houses, your cars and planes, your women. The international airlines you own. All of which are euphemisms for power. Power and money. And you expect me to believe that I can be of use to you? Don’t make me laugh.”
In sudden amusement Judd said, “You don’t have red hair for nothing, do you? I didn’t have time for coffee this morning—how about I put on a pot and we sit down like two civilized human beings and have a reasonable conversation.”
“I don’t feel even remotely reasonable when I’m anywhere in your vicinity,” Lise snapped, then instantly wished the words unsaid.
“Don’t you? Now that’s interesting,” Judd said silkily.
She couldn’t back away from him: her shoulder blades were pressed into the door as it was. “Judd, let’s get something straight. I don’t like you. I don’t like what you did to Angeline. So there’s no room for small talk between you and me. Tell me what the favor is, I’ll decide if I want to do it and then you can leave.”
“I’ll leave when I’m ready.”
She tossed her head. “Macho stuff. I get a dose of that at work, I don’t need it at home.”
“Are you ever at a loss for words?”
“I can’t afford to be—I work with men,” she retorted. As, unexpectedly, he began to laugh, his sheer vitality seemed to shrink the hallway; she caught her breath between her teeth, wishing she’d gone out for coffee this morning and was anywhere but here. But Judd would have tracked her down sooner or later: that much she knew. Realizing she was conceding defeat, swearing it would be only temporary, she said grudgingly, “Caffeinated or decaf?”
“Doesn’t matter. Where’s the kitchen?”
She winced. “The living room’s through there. I’ll only be a minute.”
“Got a man hidden behind the stove, Lise?”
The gleam of humor in his slate-gray eyes was irresistible, and suddenly she heard herself laughing. Laughing as if she liked him, she thought in panic. “Behind my stove is not a place any self-respecting man would want to go,” she said, adding, “Watch where you step,” as she led the way into the narrow galley kitchen.
Judd stopped in the doorway. “Well,” he said, looking around. “If Dave cleaned up your apartment the other day, he’s a better firefighter than a Molly Maid.”
“Dave doesn’t live here!”
“Is he your lover?”
“What gives you the right to ask a personal question like that?”
He hesitated perceptibly. “I’m not sure. Are you and Dave lovers?”
Not for anything was she going to expose the relationship between her and Dave to Judd Harwood’s knife-blade gaze. “No comment,” she said stonily.
“I see…in that case, I take my coffee black,” Judd said. “With honey if you have any. Did you throw the rice at the wall?”
She rolled her eyes. “I was trying to put away the groceries, banged my shoulder on the cupboard and dropped the rice. The bag burst. As you see.”
“Rice is a symbol of fertility,” Judd said lightly. “Isn’t that why they throw it at weddings?”
“Did they throw it at yours?”
His lashes flickered. “No. Angeline was into gold-leaf confetti. Nothing as ordinary as rice.” Angeline had never wanted to have a baby; her figure had been more important to her than her husband’s longing for children. Emmy’s conception had been an accident, plain and simple.
For a moment Lise would have sworn there’d been genuine pain underlying Judd’s voice. But the next moment his eyes were guarded, impenetrable as pewter. She’d imagined it. Of course she had. Judd Harwood hurt because of something she’d said? What a joke.
He said casually, “Where do you keep your vacuum cleaner? I’d better get rid of this mess before you slip on it and break your neck.”
He owned the largest and most luxurious airlines in the world; she couldn’t pick up a daily paper and not know that. And he was about to vacuum her kitchen floor? Something so ordinary—to use his own word—had never figured among her romantic fantasies all those years ago. As a teenager, she’d been more apt to picture him maddened by desire, carrying her in his strong arms away from Marthe, from the ugly brick house in Outremont, and the boredom of homework and appointments with the orthodontist.
“The vacuum’s in the hall cupboard,” Lise said edgily. “I’ll wipe all the rice that’s on the counters onto the floor.”
“You do that.”
As he left the room, she stared after him. Her whole nervous system was on high alert; any remnants of self-pity had fled the minute Judd had pushed his way into her apartment. But she could handle him. She wasn’t an impressionable and innocent teenager anymore; she’d been around the block a few times and learned a thing or two. No, she was more than a match for Judd Harwood. Scowling, Lise fished a cloth from among the dishes piled in the sink and started pushing the rice grains onto the floor. Which could do with a darn good scrubbing.
When Judd came back in, he’d shed his leather bomber jacket and was rolling up the sleeves of a blue cotton shirt. His jeans were faded with wear, fitting his hips snugly. Her gaze skewed away. She said rapidly, “I still can’t use my right arm—I feel such a klutz.”
“No permanent damage, though?” he asked; she would have sworn his concern was real.
“Nope. Just a Technicolor shoulder,” she said, and watched his gaze drop.
She was wearing a T-shirt that had shrunk in the drier; it was turquoise with orange hummingbirds flitting across her breasts. The bruise on her jaw was a putrid shade of yellow. How to impress the man of your dreams, Lise thought dryly, and said, “I’ll get out of the way while you vacuum. This kitchen’s never been big enough for two.”
Reaching for the plug, Judd remarked, “Perhaps that’s why you haven’t married?”
Cordially she responded, “Why couldn’t you be faithful to Angeline?”
“I was.”
She snorted. “You’ll have to do under the cupboards…you wouldn’t think one bag of rice could make such a mess.”
“Changing the subject, Lise?”
“You’re quick,” she said with a saucy grin.
“You’re so goddamned beautiful,” he said with sudden violence.
He couldn’t mean it; flattery must be his standard practice when he was anywhere near a woman. Nevertheless, Lise flushed to the roots of her hair. “Me? I’m a mess.”
“Thank you, Judd. That’s considered a more appropriate response.”
“Maybe in the circles you move in. But I don’t want your compliments, Judd. They’re as useless as your wedding vows.”
He straightened to his full height. “While we were married, I was never unfaithful to Angeline.”
“Tell it to someone who cares.”
“I could make you care,” he said softly.
Her breath caught in her throat. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you daring me, Lise?”
“No, Judd. I’m telling you I’m out-of-bounds as far as you’re concerned. Off-limits. Uninterested.”
“We’ll see,” he said with that same dangerous softness. “You’d better move—this kitchen, as you so rightly remarked, isn’t big enough for the two of us.”
Something in his steady gaze caused her to back up. With as much dignity as she could muster, Lise retreated to the bathroom, where she dragged a brush through her tumbled curls and pulled on a loose sweatshirt over her T-shirt. How to stop feeling sorry for yourself, she thought, poking out her tongue at her reflection. Invite a cougar into your apartment. A starving, highly predatory cougar.
Uneasily she gazed in the mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed and her eyes were shining. Stop it, she told herself. He’s not a knight in shining armor come to rescue you. His breastplate’s tarnished and he abused his vows. Just you remember that.
Unfortunately he was still the most vibrantly masculine man she’d ever laid eyes on. That hadn’t changed. Sexy didn’t begin to describe him. It went deeper than that to a confidence that was bone-deep, an unconscious aura of power as much a part of him as his thick black hair and deep-set, changeable eyes.
Why did it have to be his daughter she’d rescued? She didn’t need Judd in her life. He frightened her, she who could force her way through choking smoke and the crackle of flame.
The vacuum cleaner had been turned off. Steeling herself, Lise went back to the kitchen, said politely, “Thank you,” and reached for the coffee beans, which were in the container marked Flour. But she couldn’t unscrew the lid with one hand.
Judd said, “Here, let me,” and took it from her. In utter fascination she watched the play of muscles in his wrist as his lean fingers undid the jar. “Where’s the grinder?” he asked.
This was all so domesticated, she thought wildly. As though they were married. “In the cupboard by the sink. Ignore the muddle.”
As he opened the cupboard, two cookie sheets clattered to the floor. “You live as dangerously at home as you do at work,” Judd said, and fished out the grinder.
She blurted, “What’s the favor, Judd?”
“Coffee first.”
With bad grace Lise hauled out the pot, shoved in a filter and located mugs, cream and sugar. “You sure like getting your own way.”
“It’s how you get to the top—knowing what you want and going after it.”
“Judd Harwood’s Philosophy of Life?”
Standing very close to her, yet not touching her, Judd said, “You’ve got a problem with that?”
“What happens to the people you climb over on the way up?”
“You see me as a real monster, don’t you?” He grabbed the pot, poured water in it and plugged it in. “The favor’s this. Emmy’s having nightmares. About the fire. She wakes up screaming that someone in a mask is coming after her. I thought if she could meet you, it might help.”
Lise said slowly, “I was wearing an oxygen mask, because of the smoke. And our clothes are very bulky. So I must have looked pretty scary.”
“Would you come to the house, Lise?” Judd raked his fingers through his hair. “I know it’s asking a lot—using your spare time for something related to work. I just can’t stand hearing her scream like that in the middle of the night.”
His voice was rough with emotion. And if he was faking that, she was a monkey’s uncle. Knowing she had no choice, knowing simultaneously that she was taking a huge risk, far bigger than when she’d blundered her way to the attic, Lise said, “Yes, I’ll come.”
“You will?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I wondered.”
“I’m not a monster, Judd. When do you want me to come—today?”
“The sooner the better. She gets home from school around three-thirty.”
“Then I’ll arrive at four.”
“That’s astonishingly generous of you.”
His smile filled her with a mixture of feelings she couldn’t possibly have analyzed. She shifted uncomfortably. “No, it’s not. She’s a child, Judd, and I know about—well, never mind.”
“Your parents died in a fire, didn’t they?”
A muscle twitched in her jaw. “I’ve said I’ll come. Don’t push your luck.”
“I’ll send a car for you.”
“I’ll get a cab.”
“Is independence your middle name?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said mockingly, and reached up in the cupboard for a couple of mugs. But at the same time Judd stepped closer. Her hand brushed his arm, the contact shivering through her. Then, with one finger, he traced her cheekbone to her hairline, tugging gently on a loose red curl, his every movement etched into her skin. “You’re an enigma to me, you know that?” he said huskily.
He was near enough that she could see the small dark flecks in his irises; his closeness seemed to penetrate all her defences, leaving her exposed and vulnerable in a way she hated. She tried to pull back, but somehow his other arm was around her waist, warm and heavy against her hip. Her heart was hammering in her rib cage, a staccato rhythm that further disoriented her. He drew her closer, his gaze pinioning her. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to run. Resting one hand on his chest, Lise tried to push back; but the heat of his body seeped through his cotton shirt, burning her fingers. Heat, the tautness of muscle and bone, and the hard pounding of his heart…she fought for control, for common sense and caution, and all the while was losing herself in the deep pools of his eyes. Then Judd lowered his head and with a thrill of mingled terror and joy Lise knew he was going to kiss her.
She tried once more to extricate herself, pushing back against his encircling arm. “Judd, don’t,” she gasped. “Please—don’t.”
His answer was to find her mouth with his own, closing off her words with his lips. And at the first touch Lise was lost, for fantasy had fused with reality, and reality was the passionate warmth of a man’s mouth sealed to her own, seeking her response, demanding it. Her good arm slid up his chest, her fingers burying themselves in the silky dark hair at his nape. Her body swayed into his, soft and pliant. She parted her lips to the urgency of his tongue, welcoming its invasion; he pulled her against his chest as his kiss deepened. Raw hunger blossomed within her, hunger such as she’d never known before. It did away with constraint, made nonsense of caution. Blind with need, she dug her fingers into his scalp and felt the hardness of his erection against her belly.
The shock rippled through her. She heard him groan her name in between a storm of brief, fierce kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her closed eyelids. As though he were exploring her, she thought dimly, as a mariner would explore the inlets, coves and shores of a newly discovered land. Her breasts were soft to his chest, and the turmoil of desire that pervaded her whole body was like a conflagration. She didn’t want to fight it. She wanted to go with it, follow into whatever dangers the flames might lead her.
Break all the rules. As Dave so often accused her of doing.
Like a dash of cold water, the image of Dave’s pleasant face thrust itself between her and Judd. She’d sometimes wondered if Dave was falling in love with her; certainly he was her best friend, a man she’d worked with and knew through and through, as only those who work in constant danger can know one another. But Judd…Judd was her enemy. What was she thinking of to kiss him this way, so wantonly? So cheaply?
With a whimper of pure distress, Lise shoved hard against Judd’s chest. Like a knife wound, agony ripped its way along her right arm to her shoulder. She cried out with pain, turning her face away from him, involuntary tears filling her eyes.
“Lise—what’s the matter?”
“Let go of me,” she said raggedly. “Just let go!”
“For God’s sake, don’t cry,” he said hoarsely.
“Judd, let me go!”
As he released her, she sagged against the edge of the counter, her breath sobbing in her throat, and said the first thing that came into her head. “You didn’t have to kiss me like that—I’d already agreed to go and see Emmy.”
“You think I kissed you as a kind of insurance policy?” he snarled. “Is that what you think?”
“What else am I supposed to think?”
“I kissed you because I wanted to! Because you’re utterly beautiful and you’ve got a temper like a wildcat and you’re courageous and generous. Because I craved to taste your mouth and touch your skin. To tangle my fingers in your hair.”
Lise’s cheeks flared scarlet. Judd was telling the truth, she thought faintly. Every word he’d just said was the simple truth. Or the not so simple truth. “You—you can’t do that,” she stammered. “You’re the man who was married to my cousin. I don’t like you, and we live in totally different environments—we’re worlds apart in every way that matters. Yes, I’ll come and see Emmy this afternoon. But that’s it. No more contact. Ever.”
“Do you respond to Dave the way you just responded to me?”
“That’s none of your business!”
“Come clean, Lise.”
“It’s lust, Judd, between you and me—that’s all. Nothing we’re going to act on and how do you think I feel kissing a man I despise? Lousy, that’s how.”
“You don’t even know me!”
“I know Angeline.”
“Impasse,” Judd said softly.
“So why don’t we skip the coffee?” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I’m sure not in the mood for small talk.”
“What happened between you and me just then is rarer than you might—”
“Ask the expert,” she said nastily.
“Don’t, Lise,” he said in a raw voice. “We don’t need to trade cheap shots. Both of us deserve better than that.”
“In your opinion.”
His jaw tightened. “You’re not going to listen to reason, are you? Your mind’s made up that I’m the villain of the piece and Angeline—” he gave a harsh laugh “—why, Angeline’s the blond-haired angel. Grow up, Lise. No marriage breaks up with all the fault on one side. Especially when a child’s involved.”
“Why wouldn’t you give Angeline custody?” Lise demanded. “And don’t tell me it’s because she didn’t want it.”
“What else am I supposed to tell you? It happens to be true.”
She gave an impatient sigh. “And why were you away when the fire started? It was a business trip, wasn’t it?”
For once she’d knocked Judd off balance. He stared at her blankly. “You could say so.”
She pounced. “You were away with a woman, weren’t you? Why else would you be hedging?”
“I was not!”
“You know what I hate about this?” Lise flared. “You’re lying to me, Judd. About Angeline. About the women in your life. And yet you expect me to fall into your arms as though none of that matters.” Gripping the edge of the counter so hard her knuckles were white, she said, “I wish you’d go. I’ve had enough of this. More than enough.”
“It’s not over, Lise,” he said with menacing quietness. “Don’t kid yourself on that score.”
“There’s nothing to be over—because there’s nothing between us!”
“You’re dead wrong. I’ll see myself out.”
He pivoted and a moment later the door closed behind him. Lise stood very still. Her knees were trembling as though she’d been running uphill for half an hour; her heartbeat sounded very loud in the sudden silence. One kiss, she thought numbly. How could one kiss turn her life upside down?
When Dave kissed her, she never felt anything remotely like the fierce hunger that had enveloped her just now and that had made nonsense of all her rules. Dave’s kisses were as pleasant as the man himself. Which might be one reason why she and Dave had never gone to bed together.
She’d go to Judd’s house this afternoon, do her best to allay Emmy’s fears and then she’d leave. And that would be that. If Emmy was there, Judd could hardly kiss her again.
But if he did, what would she do?
CHAPTER THREE
PROMPTLY at four o’clock the cab turned into Judd’s driveway. The ornate iron gates were open, leading into stands of mature birch, oak and evergreens, where the snow lay in soft drifts: a small forest in the midst of the city. Then Lise was dropped off in front of the house. Except it wasn’t a house. It was a mansion.
Right out of her league.
The night of the fire she hadn’t taken time for anything other than working out where the bedrooms were in the family wing. Now she stood for a few moments, gazing upward. Despite the trampled grass, and the scaffolding against the damaged wing, it was a beautiful house, U-shaped, the lower story built of gray stone, the upper shingled in sage-green cedar. Rhododendrons and azaleas were clustered against the stonework; immaculate snow lay over an expanse of lawn bordered by tall pines. A tree house nestled in the branches of a maple, while a small pond had been cleared for skating. For Emmy, thought Lise, admiring the way the late afternoon sun gleamed orange and gold on the windows.
It was a very welcoming house.
It didn’t fit what she knew of Judd Harwood.
She carried her bag of gear across the driveway, climbed the front steps and rang the doorbell. Almost immediately, Judd opened the door. “Please come in,” he said formally. “I told Emmy you’d be here soon.”
He was wearing dark trousers with a teal-blue sweater. No man should look that good, Lise thought. It simply wasn’t fair. His features were too strongly carved to be considered handsome; it was the underlying energy, his sheer masculinity that was so overpowering. She said with a careful lack of warmth, “Hello, Judd, nice to see you,” and walked past him into the house.
The foyer with its expanse of oak flooring was painted sunshine-yellow, a graceful spiral staircase drawing her eye upward. An eclectic array of modern paintings intrigued her instantly with their strong colors and sense of design. By the tall windows, the delicate branches of a fig tree overhung clay pots of amaryllis in brilliant bloom.
Color. Warmth. Welcome. The only jarring note was, elusively, the smell of smoke. Confused and disarmed, Lise blurted, “But it’s beautiful.”
“What were you expecting? Medieval armor and poisoned arrows?”
Patches of red on her cheeks, she looked him full in the eye. “Where’s Emmy?”
“In the guest wing—we’ve had to seal off the family wing. So the playroom’s makeshift, and a lot of her favorite toys couldn’t be rescued.” His mouth tightened. “She was clutching her favorite bear when you found her…she won’t let it out of her sight even though it stinks of smoke and I’m sure acts as a constant reminder.”
“Plush,” Lise said. “She told me his name while I was carrying her out of the attic.”
For a moment Judd’s eyes were those of a man in torment. “The fire chief figures it was a fault in the wiring. The housekeeper and her husband raised the alarm—they live in a cottage just behind the house, they had family visiting them that night. The baby-sitter had a headache, she’d taken so many painkillers she was out like a light on the couch. If it hadn’t been for you, Lise…”
Lise couldn’t stand the look on his face; with an actual physical effort, she kept her hands by her side when all she wanted to do was smooth the lines of strain from around his mouth. “If it hadn’t been me, it would have been Dave or one of the other firefighters,” she said noncommittally. “Why don’t you take me to the playroom?”
“Yeah…Maryann, the housekeeper, is up there with Emmy.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “What’s in the bag?”
“You’ll see.”
“Here, let me take your coat.”
As he reached out for her sheepskin jacket, she quickly slid out of it, not wanting him to touch her. He said, “So you haven’t forgotten.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “There’ll be no repeat.”
“Not here. Not now.”
“Nowhere. Ever.”
He raised one brow. “Are you daring me, by any chance?”
“Emmy, Judd.”
“I didn’t get where I am today without taking a risk or two—you might want to remember that.”
She said amiably, “Oh, I take risks, too. But I choose my risks. Show some discrimination.”
“Whereas I go after every available female?”
“Plus a few that aren’t. Me, for instance.”
“Lise,” Judd said flatly, “are you involved with Dave?”
She could lie, tell him that she and Dave were a number. And if she did, she had the feeling Judd would leave her strictly alone. But she’d never been any good at lying, and she’d waited too long. “There’s no easy answer to that question. Yes. No. Neither one cuts it.”
“I don’t think you are,” Judd drawled. “Just as well, considering the way you kissed me.”
“And how many women are you involved with, Judd?”
“Platonically, several. But I don’t have a lover, if that’s what you mean. Haven’t had for some time.”
His eyes were fastened on her face; he must have been aware of her quickened breathing. “Do you expect me to believe that?”
“Yes,” he said in a hard voice, “as a matter of fact, I do.”
“Then you’re clean out of luck.”
“The media can make a hotbed of romance out of a handshake, it’s how they earn their keep—you might want to remember that.”
She said coolly, “No smoke without a fire.”
He had the audacity to laugh. “I shouldn’t argue with the expert—but there’s no fire without some basic chemistry. Until you came along, I’d been doing just fine without either one.”
Into her mind flashed an image she’d never been able to forget: Judd and Angeline in the back garden in Outremont. Locked in each other’s arms, kissing in a way that had shattered her adolescent naiveté. “You and Angeline had chemistry.”
“Initially, yes.”
“So it doesn’t last.”
“Not if there’s too little else to support it.”
“Not if one of the partners transfers it elsewhere,” she flashed. “Even if I am arguing with the expert.”
“You listen to me for a minute! I’m a very rich man—money equals power in our society, and power’s an aphrodisiac. So yes, there are women after me. All the time. But, like you, I prefer to exercise choice. And what’s easily available isn’t always what’s desired.”
“I’m not playing some sort of hard-to-get game!”
“I never thought you were.” Briefly Judd touched her cheek, removing his hand before she could back off. “I have the feeling you’re just being yourself. And you have no idea how refreshing that is, after the circles I move in.”
“Who else would I be but myself?” she said with some asperity.
“When we’re talking my kind of money, you’d be surprised what hoops people will jump through.” Restlessly he moved his shoulders. “Let’s go find Emmy—I’ll carry your bag.”
She trailed up the stairs behind him, wondering if she’d ever had such a disturbing or inconclusive conversation. Had it been a drawing of battle lines? A stating of two mutually incompatible points of view? Or of Judd’s intention to pursue her regardless of her wishes?
Did she want the answer?
The stairs opened into another generous hallway with an exquisite Persian carpet in faded shades of red and blue. The two paintings, unless she was mistaken, were a Matisse and a Modigliani. She should be wearing something by Chanel or Dior, Lise thought with wry humor. Not khaki pants, a tangerine sweater and loafers, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Then Judd opened a paneled door. “Emmy?” he called. “Lise is here.” And Lise followed him into the room.
It was a charming room, painted eggshell blue, with a child’s four-poster bed canopied in white muslin. Lise’s feet sank into the carpet. “Hello, Emmy,” she said.
Emmy was dressed in denim overalls, her straight dark hair shining in the light. Her blue eyes—Angeline’s eyes, Lise thought with a twist of her heart—were fastened on the bear in her arms. Plush. Who still reeked of the smoke of her nightmares. “Hello,” Emmy said, and didn’t look up.
Lise hadn’t rehearsed any course of action, trusting she’d know what to do when she got there. She watched Judd drop her bag on the carpet and walked over to Emmy, hunkering down beside her. “Your dad says you’re having nightmares about the fire.”
“Mmm.”
Still no eye contact. “I expect I looked very scary,” Lise said matter-of-factly. “So I brought my uniform with me, so you can see what it’s all for. Why I have to dress up in all that stuff.”
Trying not to favor her sore arm too obviously, she pulled out her long waterproof pants with their silver braces, and the boots with the strips of fluorescent tape on them, and began talking about them in a quiet, uninflected voice. She moved to the jacket, the straps for the oxygen tank, and her helmet with its protective shield, trying them all on as she went; and was steadily aware that Emmy was listening, even though the child was giving nothing away. Then, finally, she took out her mask, and saw Emmy’s dark lashes flicker. “See, these are the head straps, they’re adjustable. And this black coil connects with the oxygen tank I carry on my back. Feel it, you can make it longer and shorter. Sort of like a Slinky toy, did you ever have one of those?”
Tentatively Emmy reached out her hand, poking at the coil. “It changes the way I look,” Lise said, and held it up, putting her face behind it. “But it’s still me. Nobody scary. Nobody who needs to be in a nightmare.” Lowering the mask, she put all the reassurance she possibly could into her smile.
“It’s too big for me,” Emmy said.
“Yes, it is. It might fit Plush, though.”
Emmy blinked. “Do you think he wants to wear it? Isn’t he scared of it, too?”
“Why don’t we try it on and see?”
With some reluctance, the little girl passed over her bear. Carefully Lise fastened the mask to his face, tightening the straps around his caramel colored fur. “There,” she said. “He doesn’t seem to mind it, does he? In fact, he looks rather dashing, don’t you think?”
“Maryann wants to put Plush in the washing machine with lots of soap so he won’t smell of smoke,” Emmy said in a rush. “But I don’t want her to. I keep him around all the time. That’s why he was in the attic with me.”
Emmy had given Lise the perfect opportunity to satisfy her curiosity. “Were you in the attic because you were running away from the fire?” she asked with a careful lack of emphasis.
For the first time, Emmy looked right at her. “Oh, no. When my dad’s away and I’m lonesome, I sleep in the attic.”
And does that happen often?
Fortunately Lise hadn’t asked the question: merely thought it. But she was aware of a steady burn of anger that Judd could so cavalierly leave his daughter alone while he went off on business trips. Or so-called business trips, the ones where he was with a woman. How could he?
“Well,” she said easily, “I’m really glad it was me who found you and Plush. You were both very brave to keep each other company. He’s earned a pot or two of honey for that, I’d say—if he’s anything like Pooh Bear.”
As Emmy gave a small chuckle, Lise’s lips curved in response. “A little something at eleven,” Emmy said shyly.
To her dismay, Lise wanted very badly to hug Emmy; and knew it would be the wrong move. Too soon. Too much. She said gently, “Would you like to take Plush’s mask off?”
Her small fingers very nimble, Emmy loosened the clasps and eased the mask away from the bear. “He likes it better without it,” she said.
Lise laughed. “So do I. It has its uses, but it’s not what you’d call comfortable.” With no ceremony, she started shoving all her gear back in the bag. “All these clothes make me as fat as Pooh the time he got stuck in Rabbit’s front door.”
If she’d hoped for another of those sweet smiles from Emmy, Lise was disappointed. The child was clutching Plush to her chest, and in some very real way had retreated from her. Had she, Lise, reached Emmy? Helped in any way that would be lasting?
A tap came at the door, and a plump elderly woman in a flowered housedress came in the door carrying a tray of tea and cookies. Judd introduced Lise to Maryann, the housekeeper, who gave her a disconcertingly keen look before leaving the tray and closing the door behind her. Emmy drank a glass of milk and ate an oatmeal cookie, answering Lise’s artless questions with unfailing politeness and no warmth whatsoever. In the course of her job, Lise often visited schools, and rather prided herself on her rapport with children. But whatever her gifts in that direction, they weren’t working today, she thought unhappily, wondering why it should matter so much that a small, blue-eyed girl should rebuff her.
It was a relief when Judd got up and said casually, “I’m going to carry Lise’s gear downstairs, Emmy, and drive her home. Maryann’s in the kitchen and I’ll be back in a few minutes. Say goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” Emmy said, looking at Lise’s shoes rather than her face. “Thank you for coming.”
“You’re welcome,” Lise said, infusing her voice with genuine warmth. “It was nice to meet you, Emmy.”
Emmy, pointedly, said nothing. Lise trudged downstairs behind Judd. Standing in the gracious foyer, she asked, “Do you think I did any good?”
Judd said ruefully, “I very rarely know what my daughter’s thinking, and yes, I would suspect you did. You handled it beautifully, Lise, thanks so much…and now I’ll drive you home.”
Lise didn’t want Judd within fifty feet of her apartment. Not after the last time. “I have a couple of errands to run,” she said, “I’d rather get a cab. And I’m sure Emmy needs you more than I do. So she won’t get lonesome again.”
“Do you think I’m not blaming myself?” Judd said harshly. “Give me a break.”
“Angeline always complained about how much you were away.”
His lips tightened. “I’m sure she did.”
“Is there a phone nearby? For the cab?”
“You’re in an almighty rush to be out of here.”
She was; she was terrified he might touch her again, and the alchemy of his body transform her into a woman she scarcely knew. Then Judd took her by the arm, and Lise’s whole body tensed. He said tautly, “I have a proposal…and hear me out before you say anything. Emmy’s out of school for the next few days, it’s March break. I want to get her away from the house and the smell of smoke and all the repairs, so we’re going to Dominica—I have a property there. I want you to come with us.”
“Me?” Lise squawked. “Are you nuts?”
“I’m both sober and in my right mind,” Judd said curtly. “For one thing, I’d like you to be around in case the nightmares persist. Secondly, it’s a small way I can thank you for saving her life. And thirdly, you’re on sick leave and very obviously at a loose end. I could even add a fourth incentive. It’s March in Montreal—wouldn’t anyone rather be on a beach in the West Indies?”
Lise had never been south. Never lazed on a tropical beach or swum in a sea the color of turquoise. For a moment sheer longing to do something so irresponsible, so remote from her normal life, caught her in its grip. Palm trees. Papayas and mangoes. A holiday. A real holiday away from emergencies and sirens and the tragedies that inevitably went with the job. Away from weeping women, charred ruins, smashed cars on an icy highway. Away from the three or four men at the station who would never accept her as someone who could do the job as well as they, no matter how hard she tried. She was so tired of it all. Ten years’ tired.
A holiday with Judd.
How could she even be contemplating such a move? She was the one who was nuts. Trying to tug free, Lise said in a raw voice, “I can’t, it’s a ridiculous idea.”
“Give me one good reason why you can’t go.”
For a horrible moment Lise couldn’t think of one. “Emmy doesn’t want me around,” she blurted.
“She’d get over it.”
“I’d be using you.”
“You let me worry about that.”
“Judd, I can’t go! I’ve never in my life gone away with a man who’s a stranger and I’m not going to start now.”
“Come on, we met years ago, I’m not exactly a stranger.”
She stared up at him. He was smiling at her, a smile of such calculated charm that all her alarm bells went off. Judd was obviously expecting her to capitulate. In bed and out? she wondered, and heard herself say, “Anyway, there’s Dave.”
“There’s also the chemistry, Lise. Between you and me. The kind that starts conflagrations.”
Willing her knees not to tremble, Lise glared up at him. “Let’s have some plain talk here, Judd Harwood. I’ll spell it out for you. You’re quite a guy. Tall, dark and handsome nowhere near describes you. You’re sexy, rich and powerful, your smile’s pure dynamite and your body would drive any woman from sixteen to sixty stark-raving mad. Why wouldn’t I respond to you? I’d have to be dead in my grave not to. But it doesn’t mean a darn thing—I don’t even like you, for Pete’s sake. So please don’t feel flattered that I just about fell into your arms, it’s nothing to—”
Judd said flatly, “Great snow job, and I don’t believe a word of it.”
“That’s your ego talking!”
“Dammit, Lise,” he exploded, “there’s something about you that’s different. I don’t normally ask a woman I’ve spent less than three hours with to go away with me and my daughter. Especially my daughter. You can trust me on that one.”
“Whether I trust a single word you say is completely irrelevant. I’m not going to Dominica with you. I’m not going to the local grocery store with you. Now will you please call me a cab?”
Judd stood very still, looking down at her. Her eyes were as brilliant as emeralds in sunlight, and her face was passionate with conviction. She wasn’t playing hard to get, he knew that in his bones. But she was wrong. Dead wrong.
What was Dave to her? And what had Angeline told her over the years?
He couldn’t answer either question. All he could do was add two more. When was the last time a woman had said no to him? Or had turned down an all-expenses trip to a tropical paradise?
Never.
He didn’t like it one bit. So what was this all about? His bruised ego, as Lise had suggested?
He was damned if this was just a question of hurt pride. It had to be about more than that.
About more than the ache in his groin and his passionate hunger to possess her? His thoughts stopped short. He said tightly, “I’ll call a cab. If Emmy has more nightmares, will you come back?”
“If you’re in Dominica, I won’t be able to, will I?” Lise said, tossing her head.
The light through the tall windows caught in her hair, an alchemy of gold and copper. His body hardened involuntarily and with an impatient exclamation Judd turned away, taking his cell phone out of his pocket and dialing the nearest cab station. Four minutes, he was promised. So he had four minutes to persuade a stubborn, red-haired woman to change her mind. Casually he turned back to face her. “You’re right,” he said, “it was a crazy idea, I allowed my concern for Emmy to override my common sense. Sorry about that. Anyway, you must have been south before, lots of times.”
“No. How long before the taxi comes?”
“A couple of minutes. Come off it, Lise, you must have been to Bermuda or the Bahamas. Or at least to Florida.”
“The furthest south I’ve been is Boston and who do you think would take me on a romantic tryst to the tropics? The fire chief?”
Why not Dave? “You don’t need me telling you you’re a beautiful woman. So don’t pretend there haven’t been men in your life,” Judd said tersely.
“Sure there have been. They stick around until the first time I get called out on emergency and I’m gone for six hours. Or until my first string of night shifts when I come home exhausted at 6:00 a.m. and have to sleep all day so I won’t be a basket case the next night. Or until they get jealous of me spending all my working hours with men. Be honest, Judd—you wouldn’t like it any better than the rest of them.”
Her hours of work didn’t bother Judd in the slightest; he could put in some pretty horrific hours himself. It was the danger she was exposed to that made the blood run cold in his veins. But he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Dave knows the score,” he said, “he works shifts as well. So why haven’t you gone south with Dave?”
“He’s never asked me,” Lise said airily. “Oh, there’s the cab. Bye, Judd.”
He picked up her bag of gear and followed her outdoors. “We haven’t seen the last of each other.”
She gave him a dazzling smile as she opened the door of the taxi. “Have a great time in Dominica.”
He reached in front of her and deposited the bag on the back seat. When she stooped to follow it, he pulled her into his arms, twisting her around and kissing her hard on the mouth. Before he could lose control, he stepped back, letting his arms fall to his sides. “See you,” he said.
Her nostrils flared; her cheeks were bright patches of color. “Over my dead body,” she snapped, clambered into the back seat with none of her usual grace and slammed the door. The cab disappeared into the trees round the curve of the driveway.
Ordinarily Judd’s next move would be to send an extravagant spray of orchids. Or a bottle of Dom Pérignon along with a big box of the world’s most expensive chocolates. Or all three. Somehow he didn’t think any of the above would cut much ice with Lise.
So what was he going to do? Let a female firefighter defeat him? Cut his losses and forget he’d ever met her?
He’d seen another side of her upstairs in Emmy’s bedroom; allied to a volatile mixture of courage and passion, he could now add sensitivity, warmth and humor. She’d even made Emmy smile. Perhaps, he thought painfully, Emmy needed Lise as much or more than he did.
Need her? He, Judd Harwood, needing a woman? All he needed was Lise’s body. He’d better not forget that. If he could only slake his hunger for her, make love to her the night through, he’d be able to put her behind him and forget about her, just as he always had with every other woman but Angeline.
He’d vowed after Angeline left that he’d never fall in love again, and he’d meant every word of it.
The woman wasn’t born who could change his mind on that score.
CHAPTER FOUR
LISE leaned her head back on the seat of the taxi. She’d been exaggerating when she’d told Judd she had errands to do. She didn’t, not really. She had precisely nothing to do. That was the trouble. She rubbed at her lips with the back of her hand, trying to erase the fierce pressure of his mouth on hers, remembering all too clearly how her heart had leaped in her breast and how every cell in her body had urged her to respond.
Dominica? With Judd? She’d be better off leaping from the top floor of a burning building.
She’d given the cabbie the address of her apartment. So what was she going to do? Go home and scrub the kitchen floor with her one good arm? Watch Star Wars for the fourth time?
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/sandra-field/expecting-his-baby-42425258/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Sandra Field
“That kiss had nothing to do with technique.”
“No—it was about power! About winning. Because you can’t bear to lose. Especially to a woman.”
Judd took a long, shuddering breath. “Maybe it was about feelings.”
She wasn’t going to go there, not with Judd, so she said, “Maybe it was about ownership.”
But the bitterness in his voice had shocked Lise. If she weren’t pregnant by him, might she have softened, asked him what he meant by “feelings”? But all her intuition screamed that if Judd knew she was pregnant, he would insist on marrying her—because it was his child she was carrying.
His. Ownership indeed.
Relax and enjoy our fabulous series about couples whose passion results in pregnancies…sometimes unexpected! Of course, the birth of a baby is always a joyful event, and we can guarantee that our characters will become besotted moms and dads—but what happened in those nine months before?
Share the surprises, emotions, drama and suspense as our parents-to-be come to terms with the prospect of bringing a new life into the world. All will discover that the business of making babies brings with it the most special love of all….
Look out for another EXPECTING! title,
coming soon!
The Pregnant Bride
by Catherine Spencer
#2269 on sale August
Expecting His Baby
Sandra Field
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
THERE was a woman in the bed.
An astonishingly beautiful woman.
Judd Harwood stood still, gazing at the sleeping figure under the white hospital bedspread. He must have the wrong room. It was a man he was looking for, not a woman. Yet instead of leaving and asking someone for better directions, Judd stayed exactly where he was, his slate-gray eyes focused on the bed’s occupant. Her right shoulder and upper arm were swathed in an ice pack. Her face was very pale; the livid bruise marring the sweet curve of her jawline stood out in sharp contrast to the creamy skin. Had she been in a car accident, or fallen on the ice encrusting the city streets? Or had it been something worse? Surely she hadn’t been assaulted.
His fists curled at his sides in impotent anger. Could it have been her husband? Her lover? He’d flatten the bastard if he ever got his hands on him. Flatten him and ask questions afterward. And how was that for a crazy reaction? A woman he’d never even met, knew nothing about.
He wasn’t into protecting strange women. He had better things to do with his time.
His jaw a hard line, Judd continued his scrutiny. The woman’s brows were delicate as wings, her cheekbones softly hollowed; he found himself longing to stroke the silken slope from the corner of her eye to the corner of her mouth. An infinitely kissable mouth, he thought, his own mouth dry. Her eyes were closed; he found himself intensely curious to know what color they were. Gray as storm clouds? The rich brown of wet earth? Her hair was red, although that word in no way did justice to a tumble of curls vivid as flame.
Flame…
Blanking from his mind a surge of nightmare images, Judd gave himself a shake. He didn’t have the time for this; he needed to find the fireman who’d saved Emmy. Thank him as best he could and then go back to his daughter’s bedside. Emmy was sedated, the doctor had assured him of that, and wouldn’t wake for hours. But Judd wasn’t taking any chances.
So why was he still standing here?
Scowling, purposely not looking for the woman’s name on the chart at the foot of the bed, Judd strode out of the room. A nurse was hurrying toward him, her flowered uniform a splash of color in the bare corridor. He said, “Excuse me—I’m looking for the fireman who was admitted earlier this evening…he rescued my daughter and I need to thank him. But I don’t even know his name.”
The nurse gave him an harassed smile. “Actually it was a woman,” she said. “I don’t believe—”
“A woman?” Judd repeated blankly.
“That’s right.” Her smile was a shade less friendly. “They do have women on the fire and rescue squads, you know. Room 214. Although I don’t believe she’s recovered consciousness yet.”
Room 214 was the room he’d already been in. The room with the woman lying so still on the bed. Trying to regain some semblance of his normal self-control, Judd said abruptly, “I shouldn’t have made the assumption it was a man. Thanks for your help.”
“If you need to talk to her, tomorrow would be better. She won’t be released before midmorning.”
“Okay—thanks again.”
The nurse disappeared into a room across the hall. Slowly Judd walked back into Room 214. The woman was lying exactly as she had been a few moments ago, the smooth line of the sheet rising and falling gently with her breathing. He walked closer to the bed, staring at her as though he could imprint every aspect of her appearance in his mind, teased by a strange sense that she resembled someone he knew. But who? He couldn’t put a finger on it, and he prided himself on his memory. Surely he’d never seen her before; he could scarcely have forgotten her. The purity of her bone structure. The gentle jut of her wrist bones. Her long, capable fingers, curled defencelessly on the woven coverlet.
Ringless fingers. Did that mean she didn’t have a husband?
Her fingernails were dirty. Well, of course they were. She was a firefighter, wasn’t she?
This was the woman who’d saved his daughter’s life; Judd didn’t even have to close his eyes to remember the horrific scene that had greeted him when the cab from Montreal’s Dorval airport had dropped him off in the driveway of his house.
Clutching his briefcase, Judd saw three fire trucks parked on the lawn, their red lights flashing into the darkness. Yellow-jacketed firefighters shouted back and forth, barking orders into two-way radios. Water hissed from coiled gray hoses. Great billows of black smoke, rising from the roof, were licked by flames that appeared and disappeared with the wicked unpredictability of vipers. For a moment Judd was stunned, his feet rooted to the ground, his heart thudding in heavy strokes that overrode all the other sounds. He’d known fear before. Of course he had. Some of the situations he persisted in subjecting himself to saw to that. But he’d never known anything as devastating as the terror that clamped itself to every nerve and muscle in his body when he pictured Emmy trapped in that heat, in the choking smoke and vicious destruction of fire.
A tall metal ladder was angled against the wall of the house, reaching toward the windows of the family wing. The wing where Emmy slept…
Judd ran forward, yelling her name. Four policemen jumped him, grabbing his arms as they fought to restrain him. A fifth went flying when Judd flung him aside. And then Judd saw a small bundled figure thrust through the window into the waiting arms of the firefighter on the ladder. He gave a hoarse shout, and as the fireman passed the bundle to another man waiting further down the ladder, the policemen finally released him.
He ran across the frozen, snow-patched lawn faster than he’d ever run in his life. As the fireman transferred Emmy to his arms, the panic in her eyes cut him like a knife, the small weight of her catching at his heartstrings.
Holding her with fierce protectiveness, he climbed into the back of the waiting ambulance. But as he did so, Judd threw a quick glance over his shoulder, in time to catch part of the roof collapsing in a shower of sparks that under any other circumstances might have been eerily beautiful. A blackened beam struck the firefighter who’d shoved Emmy through the window. The helmeted figure staggered and almost fell, and in dreadful fascination Judd watched the fireman at the top of the ladder seize a yellow sleeve, hauling the other firefighter’s body over the charred sill by sheer, brute force. A cheer went up from the watchers on the ground. Then Judd turned away, shielding Emmy from the leaping flames and surreal, flickering lights…
Judd came back to the present with a jolt, licking his lips. Emmy had been pronounced out of danger from the smoke she’d inhaled. Because of her sedative-induced sleep, he’d taken this opportunity to find the firefighter to whom he owed a debt of gratitude that could never be repaid.
The woman on the bed.
She couldn’t be much over five-seven or five-eight. Her features lacked the perfection of Angeline’s: her nose slightly crooked, her mouth a touch too generous. Angeline was his ex-wife, mother of Emmy. An internationally known model, who wouldn’t have been caught dead with dirty fingernails.
He didn’t want to think about Angeline, her poise and stunning looks, her seductive body and cool, midnight-blue eyes. Not now. He’d divorced her four years ago, and had seen almost nothing of her since then.
The woman on the bed stirred a little, muttering something under her breath. Her lashes flickered. But then her breath sighed in her chest and she settled again. Somehow, in the midst of a maelstrom of smoke and flame and the night’s darkness, this woman had found Emmy and carried her to the ladder, into the waiting arms of the other firefighter. To safety.
Judd walked to the foot of the bed, frowning slightly as he started reading the neatly typed words on the chart. Then the woman’s name leaped out at him. Lise Charbonneau. Age twenty-eight.
His frown deepened, his eyes intent in a way some of his business associates would have recognized. Angeline still went by her own name, which was also Charbonneau. And Angeline’s young cousin had been called Lise. He’d met her at the wedding, all those years ago.
It couldn’t be the same person. That would be stretching coincidence too far.
But Lise at the age of thirteen or so had had flaming, unruly red hair, and cheekbones that even then gave promise of an elegance to come. She’d also had braces on her teeth and the gawkiness of a foal new to the field, and no social graces whatsoever. Her eyes, though, had been as green as spring grass, almond-shaped eyes that were already beautiful.
He searched his memory. Hadn’t she been living with Angeline and Marthe, Angeline’s mother, because her own parents had died tragically? And hadn’t they died in a house fire?
Was that why Lise Charbonneau had become a firefighter?
Angeline’s cousin responsible for saving Angeline’s daughter…what a strange and unbelievable irony. Speaking of which, he’d better try to reach Angeline. He himself was always fodder for journalists; he didn’t want Angeline hearing about Emmy’s escape on the late-night television news.
But then the woman in the bed shifted again, moaning slightly under her breath. He stiffened to attention, going over to stand by the bed, watching her struggle toward consciousness. And to pain by the look of it, he thought grimly, reaching for the buzzer that was pinned to the pillow by her head, and with an effort restraining himself from taking a strand of her vivid hair between his fingers. Hair that could warm a man’s heart. He said gently, “It’s okay, I’m calling the nurse.”
Her eyes flickered open, closed again, then opened more widely, focusing on him with difficulty. They were a clear, brilliant green, exquisitely shaped. Tension rippling along his nerves, Judd waited for her to speak.
The man’s outline was blurred, throbbing in tandem with the throbbing in her shoulder. Lise blinked, trying to clear her vision of a haze of pain and sedatives, and this time he was more distinct. More distinct and instantly recognizable.
Judd. Judd Harwood. Standing beside her bed, gazing at her with an intensity that made her heart lurch in her breast. He’d come for her, she thought dizzily. Finally. Her knight in shining armor, her gallant prince… How many times, as a teenager, had she fantasized just such an awakening? His big body, so broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, his square jaw and fierce vitality: she’d known them—so she’d thought—as well as she’d known her own body. Known them and longed for them. Hopelessly. Because all those years ago Judd had been in love with Angeline.
But now it was as though all her adolescent dreams had coalesced, and she’d woken to find the first man she’d ever fallen for watching her in a way that curled heat through every limb. She’d been madly and inarticulately in love with him back then, no matter that he was married to her cousin. How could she not have loved him? To a lonely and impressionable teenager, his looks and personality had had the impact of an ax blade, splintering her innocence. Since then, of course, she’d been hugely disillusioned, all her trite little daydreams shattered on the hard rocks of adult reality.
Judd Harwood. Unfaithful husband of her beloved cousin Angeline. The man who had refused Angeline custody of her own daughter, who’d been too busy amassing his fortune to be anything other than an absentee husband and father. The jet-setter with a woman in every major city in the world.
But what, she wondered frantically, fighting to overcome the fuzziness of her thoughts, was he doing standing by her bed? And where was she anyway? Because this was no dream. The dull, thudding pain in her shoulder and the sharp needles of agony behind her eyes were all too real. So was he, of course. His thick black hair now had threads of gray over the ears, she noticed in confusion. But his eyes were still that chameleon shade between blue and gray, and his jawline was as arrogant as ever.
“Where—” she croaked.
“I’ve called the nurse,” he said in the deep baritone that she now realized she’d never forgotten. “Just lie still, she’ll be here in a minute.”
“But what are you—”
The door swung open and on soft rubber heels a nurse came in the room. She went straight to the bed, smiling at Lise. “So you’re awake—good. And not feeling so great by the look of you. I’ll give you another shot, that’ll help the pain in your shoulder.” With calm efficiency, she checked Lise’s pulse and temperature, asked a few questions and gave her the requisite painkiller. “It’ll take a few moments to take effect,” she said briskly, and glanced up at Judd. “Perhaps you could stay until she’s asleep again?”
“Certainly,” Judd said.
With a last smile at Lise, the nurse left the room. Judd said evenly, “You’re the Lise I met years ago, aren’t you? Angeline’s cousin? Do you remember me? Judd Harwood.”
Oh, yes, she remembered him. Lise said, “I don’t want to talk to you.”
She’d planned for this to come out crisply and decisively, edged with all the contempt she harbored for him. But her tongue felt like a sponge in her mouth, and her words were scarcely audible even to herself. In huge frustration, she tried again, struggling to marshal her thoughts in a brain stuffed with cotton wool. “I have nothing to say to you,” she whispered, then let exhaustion flatten her to the pillow.
“Lise…” Judd bent closer, so close she could see the cleanly sculpted curve of his mouth and the small dent in his chin. A wave of panic washed over her. She turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut. “Go away,” she mumbled.
He said tightly, “I’ll come back tomorrow morning. But I want you to know how grateful—oh hell, what kind of a word is that? You saved my daughter’s life, Lise, at the risk of your own. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
Her eyes flew open. She gaped up at him, trying to take in what he was saying, remembering the nightmare search from room to room, the dash up the attic stairs and the child huddled at bay in the corner. “You mean the fire was at your house?” she gasped. He nodded. In growing agitation she said, “All I heard was that the owner was away and there was a baby-sitter and a little girl. No names.”
“My daughter. Emmy.”
“Angeline’s daughter—she’s Angeline’s just as much as yours!”
“Angeline left when Emmy was three,” Judd said in a hard voice.
“You refused her custody.”
“She didn’t want it.”
“That’s not what she told me.”
“Look,” Judd said flatly, “this is no time for an autopsy on my divorce. You saved Emmy’s life. You showed enormous courage.” Briefly he rested his hand over hers. “Thank you. That’s all I wanted to say.”
His fingers were warm, with a latent strength that seemed to race through Lise’s body as flame could race along an exposed wire. “Do you really think I need your gratitude?” she cried, hating his nearness, despising herself for being so achingly aware of it. She was damned if she was going to respond to him like the lovesick adolescent she’d been; she was twenty-eight years old, she’d been around. And he was nothing to her. Nothing. She tried to pull her hand away from his, felt agony lance from her elbow to her shoulder, and gave an inarticulate yelp of pain.
Judd said tautly, “For God’s sake, lie still. You’re acting as though you hate me.”
With faint surprise that he could be so obtuse, she said, “Why wouldn’t I hate you?”
To her infinite relief, he straightened, his hand falling to his side. An emotion she couldn’t possibly have defined flickered across his face. In a neutral voice he said, “You grew up with Angeline.”
“I adored her,” Lise announced defiantly. “She was everything I always wanted to be, and she was kind to me at a time when I badly needed it.” Kind in a rather distant, amused fashion, and kind only when it didn’t inconvenience Angeline; as an adult, Lise had come to see these distinctions. Nevertheless, during a period in her life when she’d been horribly lonely, her cousin had taken the trouble to teach her how to dance, and given her advice on her complexion and how to talk to boys. Had paid attention to her. Which was more than Marthe, Angeline’s mother, had done.
“Adoration isn’t the most clear-eyed of emotions,” Judd said.
“What would you know about emotions?”
“Just what do you mean by that?”
“Figure it out, Judd,” Lise said wearily. The drugs were starting to take effect, the throbbing in her shoulder lessening; her eyes felt heavy, her body full of lassitude, and all she wanted was for him to go away. Then the door swung smoothly on its hinges again, and with a flood of relief she saw Dave’s familiar face.
Dave McDowell was her co-worker, almost always on the same shifts as she. She liked him enormously for his calmness under pressure, and for his rock-solid dependability. He was still wearing the navy-blue coveralls that went under their outer gear; he looked worn-out. She said warmly, “Dave…good thing you were on that ladder.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You were really pushing it, Lise.”
“The little girl wasn’t in her room. For some reason she’d slept in the attic. So it took me a while to find her.”
Judd made a small sound in his throat. Emmy slept in the attic when she was lonely, she’d told him that once. And he’d been away for four days. So if she’d died in the fire because she couldn’t be found, the blame could have been laid squarely on his own shoulders.
Unable to face his own thoughts, Judd turned to Dave. “My name’s Judd Harwood—it’s my daughter Lise rescued. If you were the man on the ladder—then I owe you a debt of thanks, too.”
“Dave McDowell,” Dave said with a friendly grin that lit up his brown eyes. “We make a good team, Lise and I. Except she doesn’t always go by the manual.”
“Rules are made to be bent,” Lise muttered.
“One of these days, you’ll bend them too often,” Dave said with a touch of grimness.
“Dave, I weigh less than the guys and I can go places they can’t. And I got her out, didn’t I?”
“You scare the tar out of me sometimes, that’s all.”
Lise said a very pithy word under her breath. Dave raised his eyebrows and produced a rather battered bouquet of flowers from behind his back. “Picked these up on the way over. Although you’ll be going home tomorrow, they say.”
“Come and get me?” Lise asked.
“Sure will.”
“Good,” she said contentedly.
“Might even clean up your apartment for you.”
Lise said with considerable dignity, “A messy room is the sign of a creative mind.”
“It’s the sign of someone who’d rather read mystery novels than do housework.”
“Makes total sense to me.” Lise grinned.
Judd shifted his position. The easy camaraderie between the two of them made him obscurely angry in a way he couldn’t analyse. So Dave was familiar with Lise’s apartment. Was he her lover as well as her cohort at work? And what if he was? Why should that matter to him, Judd? Other than being the woman who’d saved Emmy’s life, Lise Charbonneau was nothing to him.
Yet she was beautiful in a way Angeline could never be. A beauty that was much more than skin deep, that was rooted not only in courage but in emotion. He said brusquely, “I’ll be staying in the hospital overnight with my daughter. I’ll drop by in the morning, Lise, to see how you are.”
“Please don’t,” she said sharply. “You’ve thanked me. There’s nothing more to say.”
As Dave raised his brows again, Judd said implacably, “Then I’ll be in touch with you later on. McDowell, thanks again—your team did a great job.”
“No sweat, man.”
Judd marched out of the room and down the corridor toward the elevator. He wasn’t used to being given the brush-off. Hey, who was he kidding? He was never given the brush-off. Women seemed to find his looks, coupled with his money, a potent combination, so much so that he was the one used to handing out brush-offs. Politely. Diplomatically. But the message was almost always the same. Hands off.
Lise Charbonneau hated his guts. No doubt about that. Dammit, she’d been scarcely conscious and she’d found the energy to let him know she thought he was the lowest of the low. And all because of Angeline. Who in the end had dumped him as unceremoniously as if he’d been a pair of boots she was tired of wearing. Trouble is, at the time that had hurt. Hurt rather more than he was prepared to admit. During the eleven years it had lasted, he’d done his level best to hold his marriage together, and to preserve the intensity of emotion that had poleaxed him when he’d first met Angeline. But he’d failed on both counts. Hence his propensity for brush-offs whenever a woman showed any signs of getting too close, or having any ambitions toward matrimony.
Been there. Done that.
He’d have to phone Angeline first thing in the morning: assuming that she was home in the elegant chateau on the Loire that was the principal residence of her second husband, Henri. Who was, incidentally, no longer richer than Judd. Judd, however, couldn’t lay claim to a string of counts and dukes in his ancestry. Far from it. If he rarely thought about Angeline, he even more rarely recalled his upbringing on the sordid tenements of Manhattan’s lower east side.
The elevator seemed to take forever to arrive, but finally he was pushing open the door to Emmy’s room. The little girl was lying peacefully asleep, just as he’d left her. She had her mother’s dark blue eyes and heart-shaped face; but her long, straight hair was as black as his, and she’d inherited both his quickness of mind and ability to keep her own counsel. He’d loved her from the moment she’d been born. But only rarely did he know exactly what she was thinking.
As he reached over and smoothed her hair back from her face, she didn’t even stir. He’d wanted to make the same gesture with Lise, although from very different motives. Motives nowhere near as pure as the love of a father for his daughter.
He hadn’t seen the last of Lise. He knew that in his bones. Although if she were involved with Dave, he’d be one heck of a lot smarter to keep his distance. If he hadn’t liked the first brush-off, why would he like the second any better? And he’d never tried forcing himself between a woman and her lover. Never had to, and he wasn’t about to start now.
Put Lise Charbonneau out of your mind, he told himself, and focus on getting some sleep. Tomorrow he had to look after Emmy, insurance agents, the police and contractors for repairs. He didn’t need the distraction of a flame-haired woman who thought he was the scum of the earth. Scowling, Judd lay down on the cot that the nurses had provided and stared up at the ceiling. But it was a long time before he fell asleep, because two images kept circling in his brain.
Emmy sleeping in the attic because she was lonely.
And the dirt under Lise’s fingernails. Dirt from a fire in which she’d risked her life for Emmy’s sake.
CHAPTER TWO
THREE days after the fire and her shoulder was still killing her, Lise thought irritably. She hated being off work and having so much time to think. And even more she hated feeling so helpless and ineffective. It was nearly noon, and all she’d accomplished so far today was to have a shower, make her bed and buy a few groceries. The cabbie had been kind enough to carry them upstairs to her apartment door. But she’d had to put them away, one thing at a time, because she could only use her left arm. She wasn’t sleeping well, she’d watched far too much TV the last three days, she’d read until her eyes ached, and yes, she was in a foul mood.
She pulled a chair over to the counter, climbed up and reached for the package of rice. But as she lifted it in her good hand, she bumped her sore shoulder on the edge of the cupboard door. Pain lanced the whole length of her arm. With a sharp cry, she dropped the rice. It hit a can of tomatoes, the bag split and rice showered over the counter and the floor.
Lise knew a great many swearwords, working as she did with a team of men. But not one of them seemed even remotely adequate. Tears of frustration flooding her eyes, she leaned her forehead against the cupboard door. What was wrong with her? Why did she suddenly feel like crying her eyes out?
She needed a change. That was one reason. Desperately and immediately, she needed to alter her lifestyle.
It wasn’t the first time she’d had this thought. But its intensity was new. New and frightening, because if she quit her job at the fire station, what else would she do? She’d worked there for nearly ten years. She didn’t have a university degree, she had not one speck of artistic talent, and anything to do with the world of commerce reduced her to a blithering idiot. She couldn’t even balance her checkbook, for Pete’s sake.
So how could she quit her job?
With her good hand, she reached for the box of tissues on the counter; but as she tugged one free, more rice pellets rattled to the counter. The counter needed wiping. The sink was full of dirty dishes. Her whole life was a mess, Lise thought, blowing her nose and clambering down from the chair. And how she loathed self-pitying women. Maybe she’d make herself a large cherry milk shake and eat six brownies in a row. That might give her the energy to clean up the rice. If not the refrigerator.
Somewhat cheered by the thought of the brownies—she’d made them from a packaged mix, with considerable difficulty, yesterday—Lise pulled the pan out from on top of the bread bin. But as she opened the drawer for a knife, someone knocked on her door.
It was a very decisive knock. Puzzled, she walked to the door and peered through the peephole.
Judd Harwood was standing on the other side of the door.
The last person in the world she wanted visiting her.
She yanked the door open, said furiously, “No, I do not want to see you and how did you get past security?”
“Waited until someone else opened the main door,” he said mildly. “You look god-awful, Lise.”
“Make my day.”
“Looks like someone ought to, and it might as well be me.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
But as she tried to push the door shut, he neatly inserted his foot in the gap and pried it further open. She seethed, “Judd, I’ll holler blue murder if you don’t go away.”
He gave her a charming smile, although his eyes, she noticed, were cool and watchful. “I’ve got a favor to ask you,” he said. “It concerns Emmy, not me, and it’s important. Won’t you at least hear me out?”
“Do you always use other people to gain your own ends?”
In a voice like steel, he said, “I happen to be telling the truth. Or is that a commodity you don’t recognize?”
“In you, no.”
“If we’re going to have a no-holds-barred, drag-’em-out fight, let’s at least do it in the privacy of your apartment,” he said, and pushed past her to stand in the hallway.
He was six inches taller than she, and probably seventy pounds heavier. Not to mention his muscles. Lise slammed the door shut and leaned back against it. “So what’s the favor and make it fast.”
He stepped closer. “You’ve been crying.”
Between gritted teeth she said, “The favor, Judd.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything. I can’t go back to work for a whole week, my right arm’s useless and I’m going nuts. Do you know what I did all day yesterday? Watched reruns of Star Wars—for the third time. And what else would you like to know? What are you doing here anyway—slumming?”
“I told you—I have a favor to ask you.”
“I’ve read about you. In Fortune and Time magazine. About all your fancy houses, your cars and planes, your women. The international airlines you own. All of which are euphemisms for power. Power and money. And you expect me to believe that I can be of use to you? Don’t make me laugh.”
In sudden amusement Judd said, “You don’t have red hair for nothing, do you? I didn’t have time for coffee this morning—how about I put on a pot and we sit down like two civilized human beings and have a reasonable conversation.”
“I don’t feel even remotely reasonable when I’m anywhere in your vicinity,” Lise snapped, then instantly wished the words unsaid.
“Don’t you? Now that’s interesting,” Judd said silkily.
She couldn’t back away from him: her shoulder blades were pressed into the door as it was. “Judd, let’s get something straight. I don’t like you. I don’t like what you did to Angeline. So there’s no room for small talk between you and me. Tell me what the favor is, I’ll decide if I want to do it and then you can leave.”
“I’ll leave when I’m ready.”
She tossed her head. “Macho stuff. I get a dose of that at work, I don’t need it at home.”
“Are you ever at a loss for words?”
“I can’t afford to be—I work with men,” she retorted. As, unexpectedly, he began to laugh, his sheer vitality seemed to shrink the hallway; she caught her breath between her teeth, wishing she’d gone out for coffee this morning and was anywhere but here. But Judd would have tracked her down sooner or later: that much she knew. Realizing she was conceding defeat, swearing it would be only temporary, she said grudgingly, “Caffeinated or decaf?”
“Doesn’t matter. Where’s the kitchen?”
She winced. “The living room’s through there. I’ll only be a minute.”
“Got a man hidden behind the stove, Lise?”
The gleam of humor in his slate-gray eyes was irresistible, and suddenly she heard herself laughing. Laughing as if she liked him, she thought in panic. “Behind my stove is not a place any self-respecting man would want to go,” she said, adding, “Watch where you step,” as she led the way into the narrow galley kitchen.
Judd stopped in the doorway. “Well,” he said, looking around. “If Dave cleaned up your apartment the other day, he’s a better firefighter than a Molly Maid.”
“Dave doesn’t live here!”
“Is he your lover?”
“What gives you the right to ask a personal question like that?”
He hesitated perceptibly. “I’m not sure. Are you and Dave lovers?”
Not for anything was she going to expose the relationship between her and Dave to Judd Harwood’s knife-blade gaze. “No comment,” she said stonily.
“I see…in that case, I take my coffee black,” Judd said. “With honey if you have any. Did you throw the rice at the wall?”
She rolled her eyes. “I was trying to put away the groceries, banged my shoulder on the cupboard and dropped the rice. The bag burst. As you see.”
“Rice is a symbol of fertility,” Judd said lightly. “Isn’t that why they throw it at weddings?”
“Did they throw it at yours?”
His lashes flickered. “No. Angeline was into gold-leaf confetti. Nothing as ordinary as rice.” Angeline had never wanted to have a baby; her figure had been more important to her than her husband’s longing for children. Emmy’s conception had been an accident, plain and simple.
For a moment Lise would have sworn there’d been genuine pain underlying Judd’s voice. But the next moment his eyes were guarded, impenetrable as pewter. She’d imagined it. Of course she had. Judd Harwood hurt because of something she’d said? What a joke.
He said casually, “Where do you keep your vacuum cleaner? I’d better get rid of this mess before you slip on it and break your neck.”
He owned the largest and most luxurious airlines in the world; she couldn’t pick up a daily paper and not know that. And he was about to vacuum her kitchen floor? Something so ordinary—to use his own word—had never figured among her romantic fantasies all those years ago. As a teenager, she’d been more apt to picture him maddened by desire, carrying her in his strong arms away from Marthe, from the ugly brick house in Outremont, and the boredom of homework and appointments with the orthodontist.
“The vacuum’s in the hall cupboard,” Lise said edgily. “I’ll wipe all the rice that’s on the counters onto the floor.”
“You do that.”
As he left the room, she stared after him. Her whole nervous system was on high alert; any remnants of self-pity had fled the minute Judd had pushed his way into her apartment. But she could handle him. She wasn’t an impressionable and innocent teenager anymore; she’d been around the block a few times and learned a thing or two. No, she was more than a match for Judd Harwood. Scowling, Lise fished a cloth from among the dishes piled in the sink and started pushing the rice grains onto the floor. Which could do with a darn good scrubbing.
When Judd came back in, he’d shed his leather bomber jacket and was rolling up the sleeves of a blue cotton shirt. His jeans were faded with wear, fitting his hips snugly. Her gaze skewed away. She said rapidly, “I still can’t use my right arm—I feel such a klutz.”
“No permanent damage, though?” he asked; she would have sworn his concern was real.
“Nope. Just a Technicolor shoulder,” she said, and watched his gaze drop.
She was wearing a T-shirt that had shrunk in the drier; it was turquoise with orange hummingbirds flitting across her breasts. The bruise on her jaw was a putrid shade of yellow. How to impress the man of your dreams, Lise thought dryly, and said, “I’ll get out of the way while you vacuum. This kitchen’s never been big enough for two.”
Reaching for the plug, Judd remarked, “Perhaps that’s why you haven’t married?”
Cordially she responded, “Why couldn’t you be faithful to Angeline?”
“I was.”
She snorted. “You’ll have to do under the cupboards…you wouldn’t think one bag of rice could make such a mess.”
“Changing the subject, Lise?”
“You’re quick,” she said with a saucy grin.
“You’re so goddamned beautiful,” he said with sudden violence.
He couldn’t mean it; flattery must be his standard practice when he was anywhere near a woman. Nevertheless, Lise flushed to the roots of her hair. “Me? I’m a mess.”
“Thank you, Judd. That’s considered a more appropriate response.”
“Maybe in the circles you move in. But I don’t want your compliments, Judd. They’re as useless as your wedding vows.”
He straightened to his full height. “While we were married, I was never unfaithful to Angeline.”
“Tell it to someone who cares.”
“I could make you care,” he said softly.
Her breath caught in her throat. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you daring me, Lise?”
“No, Judd. I’m telling you I’m out-of-bounds as far as you’re concerned. Off-limits. Uninterested.”
“We’ll see,” he said with that same dangerous softness. “You’d better move—this kitchen, as you so rightly remarked, isn’t big enough for the two of us.”
Something in his steady gaze caused her to back up. With as much dignity as she could muster, Lise retreated to the bathroom, where she dragged a brush through her tumbled curls and pulled on a loose sweatshirt over her T-shirt. How to stop feeling sorry for yourself, she thought, poking out her tongue at her reflection. Invite a cougar into your apartment. A starving, highly predatory cougar.
Uneasily she gazed in the mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed and her eyes were shining. Stop it, she told herself. He’s not a knight in shining armor come to rescue you. His breastplate’s tarnished and he abused his vows. Just you remember that.
Unfortunately he was still the most vibrantly masculine man she’d ever laid eyes on. That hadn’t changed. Sexy didn’t begin to describe him. It went deeper than that to a confidence that was bone-deep, an unconscious aura of power as much a part of him as his thick black hair and deep-set, changeable eyes.
Why did it have to be his daughter she’d rescued? She didn’t need Judd in her life. He frightened her, she who could force her way through choking smoke and the crackle of flame.
The vacuum cleaner had been turned off. Steeling herself, Lise went back to the kitchen, said politely, “Thank you,” and reached for the coffee beans, which were in the container marked Flour. But she couldn’t unscrew the lid with one hand.
Judd said, “Here, let me,” and took it from her. In utter fascination she watched the play of muscles in his wrist as his lean fingers undid the jar. “Where’s the grinder?” he asked.
This was all so domesticated, she thought wildly. As though they were married. “In the cupboard by the sink. Ignore the muddle.”
As he opened the cupboard, two cookie sheets clattered to the floor. “You live as dangerously at home as you do at work,” Judd said, and fished out the grinder.
She blurted, “What’s the favor, Judd?”
“Coffee first.”
With bad grace Lise hauled out the pot, shoved in a filter and located mugs, cream and sugar. “You sure like getting your own way.”
“It’s how you get to the top—knowing what you want and going after it.”
“Judd Harwood’s Philosophy of Life?”
Standing very close to her, yet not touching her, Judd said, “You’ve got a problem with that?”
“What happens to the people you climb over on the way up?”
“You see me as a real monster, don’t you?” He grabbed the pot, poured water in it and plugged it in. “The favor’s this. Emmy’s having nightmares. About the fire. She wakes up screaming that someone in a mask is coming after her. I thought if she could meet you, it might help.”
Lise said slowly, “I was wearing an oxygen mask, because of the smoke. And our clothes are very bulky. So I must have looked pretty scary.”
“Would you come to the house, Lise?” Judd raked his fingers through his hair. “I know it’s asking a lot—using your spare time for something related to work. I just can’t stand hearing her scream like that in the middle of the night.”
His voice was rough with emotion. And if he was faking that, she was a monkey’s uncle. Knowing she had no choice, knowing simultaneously that she was taking a huge risk, far bigger than when she’d blundered her way to the attic, Lise said, “Yes, I’ll come.”
“You will?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I wondered.”
“I’m not a monster, Judd. When do you want me to come—today?”
“The sooner the better. She gets home from school around three-thirty.”
“Then I’ll arrive at four.”
“That’s astonishingly generous of you.”
His smile filled her with a mixture of feelings she couldn’t possibly have analyzed. She shifted uncomfortably. “No, it’s not. She’s a child, Judd, and I know about—well, never mind.”
“Your parents died in a fire, didn’t they?”
A muscle twitched in her jaw. “I’ve said I’ll come. Don’t push your luck.”
“I’ll send a car for you.”
“I’ll get a cab.”
“Is independence your middle name?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said mockingly, and reached up in the cupboard for a couple of mugs. But at the same time Judd stepped closer. Her hand brushed his arm, the contact shivering through her. Then, with one finger, he traced her cheekbone to her hairline, tugging gently on a loose red curl, his every movement etched into her skin. “You’re an enigma to me, you know that?” he said huskily.
He was near enough that she could see the small dark flecks in his irises; his closeness seemed to penetrate all her defences, leaving her exposed and vulnerable in a way she hated. She tried to pull back, but somehow his other arm was around her waist, warm and heavy against her hip. Her heart was hammering in her rib cage, a staccato rhythm that further disoriented her. He drew her closer, his gaze pinioning her. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to run. Resting one hand on his chest, Lise tried to push back; but the heat of his body seeped through his cotton shirt, burning her fingers. Heat, the tautness of muscle and bone, and the hard pounding of his heart…she fought for control, for common sense and caution, and all the while was losing herself in the deep pools of his eyes. Then Judd lowered his head and with a thrill of mingled terror and joy Lise knew he was going to kiss her.
She tried once more to extricate herself, pushing back against his encircling arm. “Judd, don’t,” she gasped. “Please—don’t.”
His answer was to find her mouth with his own, closing off her words with his lips. And at the first touch Lise was lost, for fantasy had fused with reality, and reality was the passionate warmth of a man’s mouth sealed to her own, seeking her response, demanding it. Her good arm slid up his chest, her fingers burying themselves in the silky dark hair at his nape. Her body swayed into his, soft and pliant. She parted her lips to the urgency of his tongue, welcoming its invasion; he pulled her against his chest as his kiss deepened. Raw hunger blossomed within her, hunger such as she’d never known before. It did away with constraint, made nonsense of caution. Blind with need, she dug her fingers into his scalp and felt the hardness of his erection against her belly.
The shock rippled through her. She heard him groan her name in between a storm of brief, fierce kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her closed eyelids. As though he were exploring her, she thought dimly, as a mariner would explore the inlets, coves and shores of a newly discovered land. Her breasts were soft to his chest, and the turmoil of desire that pervaded her whole body was like a conflagration. She didn’t want to fight it. She wanted to go with it, follow into whatever dangers the flames might lead her.
Break all the rules. As Dave so often accused her of doing.
Like a dash of cold water, the image of Dave’s pleasant face thrust itself between her and Judd. She’d sometimes wondered if Dave was falling in love with her; certainly he was her best friend, a man she’d worked with and knew through and through, as only those who work in constant danger can know one another. But Judd…Judd was her enemy. What was she thinking of to kiss him this way, so wantonly? So cheaply?
With a whimper of pure distress, Lise shoved hard against Judd’s chest. Like a knife wound, agony ripped its way along her right arm to her shoulder. She cried out with pain, turning her face away from him, involuntary tears filling her eyes.
“Lise—what’s the matter?”
“Let go of me,” she said raggedly. “Just let go!”
“For God’s sake, don’t cry,” he said hoarsely.
“Judd, let me go!”
As he released her, she sagged against the edge of the counter, her breath sobbing in her throat, and said the first thing that came into her head. “You didn’t have to kiss me like that—I’d already agreed to go and see Emmy.”
“You think I kissed you as a kind of insurance policy?” he snarled. “Is that what you think?”
“What else am I supposed to think?”
“I kissed you because I wanted to! Because you’re utterly beautiful and you’ve got a temper like a wildcat and you’re courageous and generous. Because I craved to taste your mouth and touch your skin. To tangle my fingers in your hair.”
Lise’s cheeks flared scarlet. Judd was telling the truth, she thought faintly. Every word he’d just said was the simple truth. Or the not so simple truth. “You—you can’t do that,” she stammered. “You’re the man who was married to my cousin. I don’t like you, and we live in totally different environments—we’re worlds apart in every way that matters. Yes, I’ll come and see Emmy this afternoon. But that’s it. No more contact. Ever.”
“Do you respond to Dave the way you just responded to me?”
“That’s none of your business!”
“Come clean, Lise.”
“It’s lust, Judd, between you and me—that’s all. Nothing we’re going to act on and how do you think I feel kissing a man I despise? Lousy, that’s how.”
“You don’t even know me!”
“I know Angeline.”
“Impasse,” Judd said softly.
“So why don’t we skip the coffee?” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I’m sure not in the mood for small talk.”
“What happened between you and me just then is rarer than you might—”
“Ask the expert,” she said nastily.
“Don’t, Lise,” he said in a raw voice. “We don’t need to trade cheap shots. Both of us deserve better than that.”
“In your opinion.”
His jaw tightened. “You’re not going to listen to reason, are you? Your mind’s made up that I’m the villain of the piece and Angeline—” he gave a harsh laugh “—why, Angeline’s the blond-haired angel. Grow up, Lise. No marriage breaks up with all the fault on one side. Especially when a child’s involved.”
“Why wouldn’t you give Angeline custody?” Lise demanded. “And don’t tell me it’s because she didn’t want it.”
“What else am I supposed to tell you? It happens to be true.”
She gave an impatient sigh. “And why were you away when the fire started? It was a business trip, wasn’t it?”
For once she’d knocked Judd off balance. He stared at her blankly. “You could say so.”
She pounced. “You were away with a woman, weren’t you? Why else would you be hedging?”
“I was not!”
“You know what I hate about this?” Lise flared. “You’re lying to me, Judd. About Angeline. About the women in your life. And yet you expect me to fall into your arms as though none of that matters.” Gripping the edge of the counter so hard her knuckles were white, she said, “I wish you’d go. I’ve had enough of this. More than enough.”
“It’s not over, Lise,” he said with menacing quietness. “Don’t kid yourself on that score.”
“There’s nothing to be over—because there’s nothing between us!”
“You’re dead wrong. I’ll see myself out.”
He pivoted and a moment later the door closed behind him. Lise stood very still. Her knees were trembling as though she’d been running uphill for half an hour; her heartbeat sounded very loud in the sudden silence. One kiss, she thought numbly. How could one kiss turn her life upside down?
When Dave kissed her, she never felt anything remotely like the fierce hunger that had enveloped her just now and that had made nonsense of all her rules. Dave’s kisses were as pleasant as the man himself. Which might be one reason why she and Dave had never gone to bed together.
She’d go to Judd’s house this afternoon, do her best to allay Emmy’s fears and then she’d leave. And that would be that. If Emmy was there, Judd could hardly kiss her again.
But if he did, what would she do?
CHAPTER THREE
PROMPTLY at four o’clock the cab turned into Judd’s driveway. The ornate iron gates were open, leading into stands of mature birch, oak and evergreens, where the snow lay in soft drifts: a small forest in the midst of the city. Then Lise was dropped off in front of the house. Except it wasn’t a house. It was a mansion.
Right out of her league.
The night of the fire she hadn’t taken time for anything other than working out where the bedrooms were in the family wing. Now she stood for a few moments, gazing upward. Despite the trampled grass, and the scaffolding against the damaged wing, it was a beautiful house, U-shaped, the lower story built of gray stone, the upper shingled in sage-green cedar. Rhododendrons and azaleas were clustered against the stonework; immaculate snow lay over an expanse of lawn bordered by tall pines. A tree house nestled in the branches of a maple, while a small pond had been cleared for skating. For Emmy, thought Lise, admiring the way the late afternoon sun gleamed orange and gold on the windows.
It was a very welcoming house.
It didn’t fit what she knew of Judd Harwood.
She carried her bag of gear across the driveway, climbed the front steps and rang the doorbell. Almost immediately, Judd opened the door. “Please come in,” he said formally. “I told Emmy you’d be here soon.”
He was wearing dark trousers with a teal-blue sweater. No man should look that good, Lise thought. It simply wasn’t fair. His features were too strongly carved to be considered handsome; it was the underlying energy, his sheer masculinity that was so overpowering. She said with a careful lack of warmth, “Hello, Judd, nice to see you,” and walked past him into the house.
The foyer with its expanse of oak flooring was painted sunshine-yellow, a graceful spiral staircase drawing her eye upward. An eclectic array of modern paintings intrigued her instantly with their strong colors and sense of design. By the tall windows, the delicate branches of a fig tree overhung clay pots of amaryllis in brilliant bloom.
Color. Warmth. Welcome. The only jarring note was, elusively, the smell of smoke. Confused and disarmed, Lise blurted, “But it’s beautiful.”
“What were you expecting? Medieval armor and poisoned arrows?”
Patches of red on her cheeks, she looked him full in the eye. “Where’s Emmy?”
“In the guest wing—we’ve had to seal off the family wing. So the playroom’s makeshift, and a lot of her favorite toys couldn’t be rescued.” His mouth tightened. “She was clutching her favorite bear when you found her…she won’t let it out of her sight even though it stinks of smoke and I’m sure acts as a constant reminder.”
“Plush,” Lise said. “She told me his name while I was carrying her out of the attic.”
For a moment Judd’s eyes were those of a man in torment. “The fire chief figures it was a fault in the wiring. The housekeeper and her husband raised the alarm—they live in a cottage just behind the house, they had family visiting them that night. The baby-sitter had a headache, she’d taken so many painkillers she was out like a light on the couch. If it hadn’t been for you, Lise…”
Lise couldn’t stand the look on his face; with an actual physical effort, she kept her hands by her side when all she wanted to do was smooth the lines of strain from around his mouth. “If it hadn’t been me, it would have been Dave or one of the other firefighters,” she said noncommittally. “Why don’t you take me to the playroom?”
“Yeah…Maryann, the housekeeper, is up there with Emmy.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “What’s in the bag?”
“You’ll see.”
“Here, let me take your coat.”
As he reached out for her sheepskin jacket, she quickly slid out of it, not wanting him to touch her. He said, “So you haven’t forgotten.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “There’ll be no repeat.”
“Not here. Not now.”
“Nowhere. Ever.”
He raised one brow. “Are you daring me, by any chance?”
“Emmy, Judd.”
“I didn’t get where I am today without taking a risk or two—you might want to remember that.”
She said amiably, “Oh, I take risks, too. But I choose my risks. Show some discrimination.”
“Whereas I go after every available female?”
“Plus a few that aren’t. Me, for instance.”
“Lise,” Judd said flatly, “are you involved with Dave?”
She could lie, tell him that she and Dave were a number. And if she did, she had the feeling Judd would leave her strictly alone. But she’d never been any good at lying, and she’d waited too long. “There’s no easy answer to that question. Yes. No. Neither one cuts it.”
“I don’t think you are,” Judd drawled. “Just as well, considering the way you kissed me.”
“And how many women are you involved with, Judd?”
“Platonically, several. But I don’t have a lover, if that’s what you mean. Haven’t had for some time.”
His eyes were fastened on her face; he must have been aware of her quickened breathing. “Do you expect me to believe that?”
“Yes,” he said in a hard voice, “as a matter of fact, I do.”
“Then you’re clean out of luck.”
“The media can make a hotbed of romance out of a handshake, it’s how they earn their keep—you might want to remember that.”
She said coolly, “No smoke without a fire.”
He had the audacity to laugh. “I shouldn’t argue with the expert—but there’s no fire without some basic chemistry. Until you came along, I’d been doing just fine without either one.”
Into her mind flashed an image she’d never been able to forget: Judd and Angeline in the back garden in Outremont. Locked in each other’s arms, kissing in a way that had shattered her adolescent naiveté. “You and Angeline had chemistry.”
“Initially, yes.”
“So it doesn’t last.”
“Not if there’s too little else to support it.”
“Not if one of the partners transfers it elsewhere,” she flashed. “Even if I am arguing with the expert.”
“You listen to me for a minute! I’m a very rich man—money equals power in our society, and power’s an aphrodisiac. So yes, there are women after me. All the time. But, like you, I prefer to exercise choice. And what’s easily available isn’t always what’s desired.”
“I’m not playing some sort of hard-to-get game!”
“I never thought you were.” Briefly Judd touched her cheek, removing his hand before she could back off. “I have the feeling you’re just being yourself. And you have no idea how refreshing that is, after the circles I move in.”
“Who else would I be but myself?” she said with some asperity.
“When we’re talking my kind of money, you’d be surprised what hoops people will jump through.” Restlessly he moved his shoulders. “Let’s go find Emmy—I’ll carry your bag.”
She trailed up the stairs behind him, wondering if she’d ever had such a disturbing or inconclusive conversation. Had it been a drawing of battle lines? A stating of two mutually incompatible points of view? Or of Judd’s intention to pursue her regardless of her wishes?
Did she want the answer?
The stairs opened into another generous hallway with an exquisite Persian carpet in faded shades of red and blue. The two paintings, unless she was mistaken, were a Matisse and a Modigliani. She should be wearing something by Chanel or Dior, Lise thought with wry humor. Not khaki pants, a tangerine sweater and loafers, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Then Judd opened a paneled door. “Emmy?” he called. “Lise is here.” And Lise followed him into the room.
It was a charming room, painted eggshell blue, with a child’s four-poster bed canopied in white muslin. Lise’s feet sank into the carpet. “Hello, Emmy,” she said.
Emmy was dressed in denim overalls, her straight dark hair shining in the light. Her blue eyes—Angeline’s eyes, Lise thought with a twist of her heart—were fastened on the bear in her arms. Plush. Who still reeked of the smoke of her nightmares. “Hello,” Emmy said, and didn’t look up.
Lise hadn’t rehearsed any course of action, trusting she’d know what to do when she got there. She watched Judd drop her bag on the carpet and walked over to Emmy, hunkering down beside her. “Your dad says you’re having nightmares about the fire.”
“Mmm.”
Still no eye contact. “I expect I looked very scary,” Lise said matter-of-factly. “So I brought my uniform with me, so you can see what it’s all for. Why I have to dress up in all that stuff.”
Trying not to favor her sore arm too obviously, she pulled out her long waterproof pants with their silver braces, and the boots with the strips of fluorescent tape on them, and began talking about them in a quiet, uninflected voice. She moved to the jacket, the straps for the oxygen tank, and her helmet with its protective shield, trying them all on as she went; and was steadily aware that Emmy was listening, even though the child was giving nothing away. Then, finally, she took out her mask, and saw Emmy’s dark lashes flicker. “See, these are the head straps, they’re adjustable. And this black coil connects with the oxygen tank I carry on my back. Feel it, you can make it longer and shorter. Sort of like a Slinky toy, did you ever have one of those?”
Tentatively Emmy reached out her hand, poking at the coil. “It changes the way I look,” Lise said, and held it up, putting her face behind it. “But it’s still me. Nobody scary. Nobody who needs to be in a nightmare.” Lowering the mask, she put all the reassurance she possibly could into her smile.
“It’s too big for me,” Emmy said.
“Yes, it is. It might fit Plush, though.”
Emmy blinked. “Do you think he wants to wear it? Isn’t he scared of it, too?”
“Why don’t we try it on and see?”
With some reluctance, the little girl passed over her bear. Carefully Lise fastened the mask to his face, tightening the straps around his caramel colored fur. “There,” she said. “He doesn’t seem to mind it, does he? In fact, he looks rather dashing, don’t you think?”
“Maryann wants to put Plush in the washing machine with lots of soap so he won’t smell of smoke,” Emmy said in a rush. “But I don’t want her to. I keep him around all the time. That’s why he was in the attic with me.”
Emmy had given Lise the perfect opportunity to satisfy her curiosity. “Were you in the attic because you were running away from the fire?” she asked with a careful lack of emphasis.
For the first time, Emmy looked right at her. “Oh, no. When my dad’s away and I’m lonesome, I sleep in the attic.”
And does that happen often?
Fortunately Lise hadn’t asked the question: merely thought it. But she was aware of a steady burn of anger that Judd could so cavalierly leave his daughter alone while he went off on business trips. Or so-called business trips, the ones where he was with a woman. How could he?
“Well,” she said easily, “I’m really glad it was me who found you and Plush. You were both very brave to keep each other company. He’s earned a pot or two of honey for that, I’d say—if he’s anything like Pooh Bear.”
As Emmy gave a small chuckle, Lise’s lips curved in response. “A little something at eleven,” Emmy said shyly.
To her dismay, Lise wanted very badly to hug Emmy; and knew it would be the wrong move. Too soon. Too much. She said gently, “Would you like to take Plush’s mask off?”
Her small fingers very nimble, Emmy loosened the clasps and eased the mask away from the bear. “He likes it better without it,” she said.
Lise laughed. “So do I. It has its uses, but it’s not what you’d call comfortable.” With no ceremony, she started shoving all her gear back in the bag. “All these clothes make me as fat as Pooh the time he got stuck in Rabbit’s front door.”
If she’d hoped for another of those sweet smiles from Emmy, Lise was disappointed. The child was clutching Plush to her chest, and in some very real way had retreated from her. Had she, Lise, reached Emmy? Helped in any way that would be lasting?
A tap came at the door, and a plump elderly woman in a flowered housedress came in the door carrying a tray of tea and cookies. Judd introduced Lise to Maryann, the housekeeper, who gave her a disconcertingly keen look before leaving the tray and closing the door behind her. Emmy drank a glass of milk and ate an oatmeal cookie, answering Lise’s artless questions with unfailing politeness and no warmth whatsoever. In the course of her job, Lise often visited schools, and rather prided herself on her rapport with children. But whatever her gifts in that direction, they weren’t working today, she thought unhappily, wondering why it should matter so much that a small, blue-eyed girl should rebuff her.
It was a relief when Judd got up and said casually, “I’m going to carry Lise’s gear downstairs, Emmy, and drive her home. Maryann’s in the kitchen and I’ll be back in a few minutes. Say goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” Emmy said, looking at Lise’s shoes rather than her face. “Thank you for coming.”
“You’re welcome,” Lise said, infusing her voice with genuine warmth. “It was nice to meet you, Emmy.”
Emmy, pointedly, said nothing. Lise trudged downstairs behind Judd. Standing in the gracious foyer, she asked, “Do you think I did any good?”
Judd said ruefully, “I very rarely know what my daughter’s thinking, and yes, I would suspect you did. You handled it beautifully, Lise, thanks so much…and now I’ll drive you home.”
Lise didn’t want Judd within fifty feet of her apartment. Not after the last time. “I have a couple of errands to run,” she said, “I’d rather get a cab. And I’m sure Emmy needs you more than I do. So she won’t get lonesome again.”
“Do you think I’m not blaming myself?” Judd said harshly. “Give me a break.”
“Angeline always complained about how much you were away.”
His lips tightened. “I’m sure she did.”
“Is there a phone nearby? For the cab?”
“You’re in an almighty rush to be out of here.”
She was; she was terrified he might touch her again, and the alchemy of his body transform her into a woman she scarcely knew. Then Judd took her by the arm, and Lise’s whole body tensed. He said tautly, “I have a proposal…and hear me out before you say anything. Emmy’s out of school for the next few days, it’s March break. I want to get her away from the house and the smell of smoke and all the repairs, so we’re going to Dominica—I have a property there. I want you to come with us.”
“Me?” Lise squawked. “Are you nuts?”
“I’m both sober and in my right mind,” Judd said curtly. “For one thing, I’d like you to be around in case the nightmares persist. Secondly, it’s a small way I can thank you for saving her life. And thirdly, you’re on sick leave and very obviously at a loose end. I could even add a fourth incentive. It’s March in Montreal—wouldn’t anyone rather be on a beach in the West Indies?”
Lise had never been south. Never lazed on a tropical beach or swum in a sea the color of turquoise. For a moment sheer longing to do something so irresponsible, so remote from her normal life, caught her in its grip. Palm trees. Papayas and mangoes. A holiday. A real holiday away from emergencies and sirens and the tragedies that inevitably went with the job. Away from weeping women, charred ruins, smashed cars on an icy highway. Away from the three or four men at the station who would never accept her as someone who could do the job as well as they, no matter how hard she tried. She was so tired of it all. Ten years’ tired.
A holiday with Judd.
How could she even be contemplating such a move? She was the one who was nuts. Trying to tug free, Lise said in a raw voice, “I can’t, it’s a ridiculous idea.”
“Give me one good reason why you can’t go.”
For a horrible moment Lise couldn’t think of one. “Emmy doesn’t want me around,” she blurted.
“She’d get over it.”
“I’d be using you.”
“You let me worry about that.”
“Judd, I can’t go! I’ve never in my life gone away with a man who’s a stranger and I’m not going to start now.”
“Come on, we met years ago, I’m not exactly a stranger.”
She stared up at him. He was smiling at her, a smile of such calculated charm that all her alarm bells went off. Judd was obviously expecting her to capitulate. In bed and out? she wondered, and heard herself say, “Anyway, there’s Dave.”
“There’s also the chemistry, Lise. Between you and me. The kind that starts conflagrations.”
Willing her knees not to tremble, Lise glared up at him. “Let’s have some plain talk here, Judd Harwood. I’ll spell it out for you. You’re quite a guy. Tall, dark and handsome nowhere near describes you. You’re sexy, rich and powerful, your smile’s pure dynamite and your body would drive any woman from sixteen to sixty stark-raving mad. Why wouldn’t I respond to you? I’d have to be dead in my grave not to. But it doesn’t mean a darn thing—I don’t even like you, for Pete’s sake. So please don’t feel flattered that I just about fell into your arms, it’s nothing to—”
Judd said flatly, “Great snow job, and I don’t believe a word of it.”
“That’s your ego talking!”
“Dammit, Lise,” he exploded, “there’s something about you that’s different. I don’t normally ask a woman I’ve spent less than three hours with to go away with me and my daughter. Especially my daughter. You can trust me on that one.”
“Whether I trust a single word you say is completely irrelevant. I’m not going to Dominica with you. I’m not going to the local grocery store with you. Now will you please call me a cab?”
Judd stood very still, looking down at her. Her eyes were as brilliant as emeralds in sunlight, and her face was passionate with conviction. She wasn’t playing hard to get, he knew that in his bones. But she was wrong. Dead wrong.
What was Dave to her? And what had Angeline told her over the years?
He couldn’t answer either question. All he could do was add two more. When was the last time a woman had said no to him? Or had turned down an all-expenses trip to a tropical paradise?
Never.
He didn’t like it one bit. So what was this all about? His bruised ego, as Lise had suggested?
He was damned if this was just a question of hurt pride. It had to be about more than that.
About more than the ache in his groin and his passionate hunger to possess her? His thoughts stopped short. He said tightly, “I’ll call a cab. If Emmy has more nightmares, will you come back?”
“If you’re in Dominica, I won’t be able to, will I?” Lise said, tossing her head.
The light through the tall windows caught in her hair, an alchemy of gold and copper. His body hardened involuntarily and with an impatient exclamation Judd turned away, taking his cell phone out of his pocket and dialing the nearest cab station. Four minutes, he was promised. So he had four minutes to persuade a stubborn, red-haired woman to change her mind. Casually he turned back to face her. “You’re right,” he said, “it was a crazy idea, I allowed my concern for Emmy to override my common sense. Sorry about that. Anyway, you must have been south before, lots of times.”
“No. How long before the taxi comes?”
“A couple of minutes. Come off it, Lise, you must have been to Bermuda or the Bahamas. Or at least to Florida.”
“The furthest south I’ve been is Boston and who do you think would take me on a romantic tryst to the tropics? The fire chief?”
Why not Dave? “You don’t need me telling you you’re a beautiful woman. So don’t pretend there haven’t been men in your life,” Judd said tersely.
“Sure there have been. They stick around until the first time I get called out on emergency and I’m gone for six hours. Or until my first string of night shifts when I come home exhausted at 6:00 a.m. and have to sleep all day so I won’t be a basket case the next night. Or until they get jealous of me spending all my working hours with men. Be honest, Judd—you wouldn’t like it any better than the rest of them.”
Her hours of work didn’t bother Judd in the slightest; he could put in some pretty horrific hours himself. It was the danger she was exposed to that made the blood run cold in his veins. But he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Dave knows the score,” he said, “he works shifts as well. So why haven’t you gone south with Dave?”
“He’s never asked me,” Lise said airily. “Oh, there’s the cab. Bye, Judd.”
He picked up her bag of gear and followed her outdoors. “We haven’t seen the last of each other.”
She gave him a dazzling smile as she opened the door of the taxi. “Have a great time in Dominica.”
He reached in front of her and deposited the bag on the back seat. When she stooped to follow it, he pulled her into his arms, twisting her around and kissing her hard on the mouth. Before he could lose control, he stepped back, letting his arms fall to his sides. “See you,” he said.
Her nostrils flared; her cheeks were bright patches of color. “Over my dead body,” she snapped, clambered into the back seat with none of her usual grace and slammed the door. The cab disappeared into the trees round the curve of the driveway.
Ordinarily Judd’s next move would be to send an extravagant spray of orchids. Or a bottle of Dom Pérignon along with a big box of the world’s most expensive chocolates. Or all three. Somehow he didn’t think any of the above would cut much ice with Lise.
So what was he going to do? Let a female firefighter defeat him? Cut his losses and forget he’d ever met her?
He’d seen another side of her upstairs in Emmy’s bedroom; allied to a volatile mixture of courage and passion, he could now add sensitivity, warmth and humor. She’d even made Emmy smile. Perhaps, he thought painfully, Emmy needed Lise as much or more than he did.
Need her? He, Judd Harwood, needing a woman? All he needed was Lise’s body. He’d better not forget that. If he could only slake his hunger for her, make love to her the night through, he’d be able to put her behind him and forget about her, just as he always had with every other woman but Angeline.
He’d vowed after Angeline left that he’d never fall in love again, and he’d meant every word of it.
The woman wasn’t born who could change his mind on that score.
CHAPTER FOUR
LISE leaned her head back on the seat of the taxi. She’d been exaggerating when she’d told Judd she had errands to do. She didn’t, not really. She had precisely nothing to do. That was the trouble. She rubbed at her lips with the back of her hand, trying to erase the fierce pressure of his mouth on hers, remembering all too clearly how her heart had leaped in her breast and how every cell in her body had urged her to respond.
Dominica? With Judd? She’d be better off leaping from the top floor of a burning building.
She’d given the cabbie the address of her apartment. So what was she going to do? Go home and scrub the kitchen floor with her one good arm? Watch Star Wars for the fourth time?
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/sandra-field/expecting-his-baby-42425258/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Sandra Field
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: Expecting His Baby, электронная книга автора Sandra Field на английском языке, в жанре современная зарубежная литература