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Baby's First Christmas
Marie Ferrarella


Okay, so Mommy didn't get pregnant the old-fashioned way. After all, she's a modern woman–and, unfortunately, has no time for a social life. And even though a sperm bank might seem a cold, artificial way to have a baby, Mommy's heart is warm and loving. Then Sullivan Travis entered our lives.He wants custody of me–and I think he likes Mommy, too. Boy, it's all so confusing. Could Sullivan also be my daddy? I guess I'll find out around Christmastime, because that's when I'm due to arrive….









“What’s that?”


Belatedly Sullivan remembered the letter he had asked his lawyer to draft. But he had instructed the man to show it to him first, not mail it. “You weren’t supposed to get this now.”

“Then when?” she demanded. “Just when is a good time to tell me that you intend to rip this child out of my arms no matter what?”

“Marlene,” he began, then stopped. Given the situation, he would have expected her to be turning red. But she was a very deathly shade of white. “You’re turning pale.” Sullivan grabbed her arm as Marlene’s knees suddenly buckled beneath her. “What is it?” he demanded.

“I don’t know.” She was bewildered. “I—” Her eyes flew open. “Oh, my God.”

And then he saw what had caused her to gasp. “Marlene…I think your water broke.”


Marie Ferrarella earned a master’s degree in Shakespearean comedy, and, perhaps as a result, her writing is distinguished by humor and natural dialogue. This RITA


Award-winning author’s goal is to entertain and to make people laugh and feel good. She has written over one hundred books for Silhouette, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide and have been translated into Spanish, Italian, German, Russian, Polish, Japanese and Korean.




Baby’s First Christmas

Marie Ferrarella





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Isabel Swift, Leslie Wainger, Tara Gavin, Anne Canadeo, Lucia Macro & Melissa Senate. Thank you for letting me do this.

Love, Marie




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

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen




Chapter One


“W hat do you mean, you don’t have it?”

Sullivan Travis’s voice thundered off the small office’s glass walls, filtering out into the stark white reception area of the Hawley-Richman Institute. All sorts of horrifying ramifications occurred to him as he looked at the lab coat clad technician. There had to be some mistake.

“If you don’t have it, where is it? Is it lost?” If it was lost, no one could use it, he reasoned. He began to relax. Lost. All right, that would be the end of it, then.

The young woman looked up at him, torn between being annoyed and being intimidated. The tall, dark-haired man on the other side of her desk had a commanding presence that unnerved her. She eyed the security buzzer on the underside of her desk. They didn’t get many irate people at the sperm bank. At least, none since she’d been there, but there was a guard on duty just in case. She wondered if this was going to be that kind of “case.”

He was literally leaning over her desk. In an effort to keep things calm, she rose, shoving her hands deep into her pockets so he wouldn’t notice that they were shaking. Martha Riley cleared her voice and tried to sound official.

“It’s been used, Mr. Travis.” What had he thought they would do with his “donation”? After all, he had been paid for his contribution. It was the Institute’s property now, not his.

One look at his face told her that he wasn’t ready to accept that line of reasoning.

“Great, just great.” He blew out a breath, momentarily stumped. Now what?

Sullivan ran his hand through his hair as he sighed. He looked up toward the ceiling, metaphorically seeking heavenly guidance. It seemed rather ironic when he thought of it. Heaven had never figured into the path that his older brother had chosen. A rebel from the moment he formed his first words, Derek Travis had been one of a kind. He had been the epitome of the prodigal son, except that he had never returned home to make amends.

He’d reveled in discord for discord’s sake, and the pieces that were left in his wake were something that Sullivan was always required to reconstruct. Or, when that failed, to sweep away.

But this latest stunt defied description. It was outrageous, even for Derek. How could he have done this? What could he possibly have been thinking?

Sullivan had still been reeling from his brother’s sudden death when he had come across the letter from the sperm bank among Derek’s possessions. He’d stared at it for several minutes, stunned. What made it all the more bewildering was that the letter hadn’t been addressed to Derek. It had been addressed to him, care of Derek.

Reading it, Sullivan had sunk down on the lumpy mattress in his brother’s meager studio apartment, his knees buckling beneath him. He read and reread the letter several times, but the words remained the same each time. Derek had sold his connection to the future, his potential offspring, for what amounted to a few dollars. Sullivan assumed he’d done it to buy art supplies. Getting back at his father was only an added bonus.

Derek and Oliver Travis had never been on the same side of a conversation. It seemed to Sullivan that Derek had always gone out of his way to upset their father.

But this…this was beyond understanding.

Though Derek had pulled some really stupid stunts in his time, Sullivan hadn’t thought for one moment that he had actually sold his genes when he had thrown that up to their father in what amounted to their last argument. Sullivan had assumed that Derek only said it because family heritage and image had always been important to their father. It was easy enough to believe that, like everything else, he’d said what he had only to annoy the old man.

But Derek had not only done it, he had put Sullivan’s name to it, compounding the embarrassment.

Pocketing the letter, Sullivan had lost no time in locating the sperm bank. He’d gone there, determined to pay whatever amount that it took to undo Derek’s reckless folly.

Now it looked as if he’d arrived too late. He stared unseeingly at a commemorative plaque on the wall behind the woman.

Well, it looks like you’ve really gone and done it this time, Derek. You finally made a mess that’s impossible for me to clean up.

The technician touched his arm hesitantly. “Are you all right? I mean, that is why you donated the sperm, isn’t it? So it could be used?”

Sullivan thought of saying that he hadn’t donated any part of himself to this high-tech, antiseptic recycling institute, that it was his brother who had done it and then, to add insult to injury, or perhaps to give vent to some macabre sense of humor, signed his name to the form.

But that would be making a stranger privy to his own inner turmoil and the tensions that existed within his family. That just wasn’t Sullivan’s style. He had always handled his brother’s transgressions with a minimum of fanfare.

Sullivan searched for patience. Somehow the situation had to be salvaged, no matter what sort of damage control he had to exercise. There had to be a way.

“That’s just it. I’ve changed my mind. I want to buy it back.” He paused significantly. Maybe she’d made a mistake and confused his file with someone else’s. “At any cost.”

The woman keyed in something on the computer. A moment later she shook her head, looking sincerely regretful. “According to my records, your…”

Raising her eyes to his, Martha blushed, then flustered, began again. “It was implanted March twenty-fifth.” Her fingers slipped from the keyboard. “I’m afraid that it really is too late.”

Yes, it certainly is.

Sullivan scrubbed his hand over his face, wondering how many paramedics it would take to revive his father once Oliver Travis learned the extent of his oldest son’s latest sin. Since he had suffered a stroke last year, his father had become a shadow of the man he had once been, bound to a wheelchair and the past. Sullivan sighed. Dead and gone, and Derek was still getting back at the family.

Nice work, Derek.

Sullivan looked at the technician, his expression softening. It wasn’t her fault that the Travis family had given birth to a black sheep. “All right, who was the recipient?”

The woman shook her head. “I’m afraid I really can’t tell you that. It’s against our confidentiality policy.”

He could appreciate her dilemma, but he had a larger one to consider. There was still such a thing as family honor, even in this day and age. And obligations. “I realize that there are rules and regulations—”

She looked at him apologetically. Her hands were tied. Sullivan took out his wallet, his eyes on hers.

“Very strict rules and regulations,” she breathed watching him absently sort through a large wad of bills.

He nodded. “But these are extenuating circumstances, and—”

Her eyes were glued to the hundred dollar bill Sullivan carefully laid out on her desk. She wavered, then looked around to see if anyone was within eyeshot. They were alone, but that didn’t seem to put her at ease.

She chewed on her lower lip. “It would mean my job if I showed you.”

He added a second hundred to the first, carefully flattening a curled edge. “I’m not asking you to show me the name,” he assured her. His eyes shifted to the computer. “You could, however, pull up the right screen, and then perhaps…”

He glanced around the room as if he were searching for the right word. He did it for effect. Words had never been a problem for Sullivan. He always knew exactly what he was going to say, exactly what he needed to do. His life had been mapped out for him at an early age by a father who had been filled with great dreams. Dreams that had flourished. The Travis Corporation was the leading land development company in the state. A fourth-generation family business, it had risen to the top of its field due largely to his father’s efforts in the early years. He ran it now. The mantle Sullivan wore had been intended for Derek’s shoulders, but Derek had refused even to try it on.

“Drop your pencil on the floor,” he finally suggested. “If it rolled under the desk, it might take you a few seconds to locate it.”

He discreetly moved the hundred dollar bills toward her, separating them from his fingers as if they had never been there at all.

The woman stared at the bills, tempted. Debating. The debate was summarily terminated when a third bill joined the first two.

She moved her swivel chair around and typed out a few words on the keyboard. The keys clicked quickly, accentuated by the sound of her agitated breathing.

On the monitor, screens blinked, scrolled and finally came to a halt at the right one. She glanced around once more. There was no one passing by her office. It was now or never. Eyes hooded, Martha leaned an elbow on her desk and sent a pen tumbling to the carpet.

This was one woman who would never qualify for high-tech espionage, Sullivan thought with a grim smile. He leaned forward, tucking the three bills under the corner of the woman’s blotter as he scanned the screen.

Within moments he had a name, an address and a telephone number, as well as a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Marlene Bailey, whoever she was, was now carrying his brother’s child. If the offspring turned out anything like its father, Sullivan could almost feel sorry for the faceless Marlene.

The feeling passed quickly, though, replaced by annoyance. Annoyance at his brother, at the burden now placed on him, and at Marlene Bailey. What kind of woman went to a sperm bank to get impregnated, anyway? It sounded so cold, so calculating. Like ordering a child from a menu.

Maybe that would make his job easier in the long run.

Marlene Bailey’s personality and peculiarities were not his concern, he reminded himself. The Travis name, and his father’s health, were. The sooner he got this cleared up, the better.

Martha, her runaway pen in her hand, sat up and nervously looked at Sullivan. With an almost imperceptible nod of his head, he rose.

“Thank you, Ms.—” Sullivan glanced down at the name-plate on the woman’s desk “—Riley. You’ve been a great help.”

Her sweaty palm curved over the bills, and she looked at him uncertainly. “You won’t tell…?”

“Tell what?” he asked, the soul of innocence. “As far as I’m concerned, you were the unshakable pinnacle of integrity.”

With that he walked out of the office. He heard her sigh of relief in the background.

Too many people could be bought, he thought, as he hurried out of the building. The fact saddened him even though it did make his life easier. At times it seemed as if there was no honor left in the world, no principles. But then, he supposed, that was a given.

What was also a given, he decided as he got into his car, was that he intended to have Ms. Marlene Bailey sign over custody of her unborn child.

There was no other option open to him. His brother’s death last month had hit his father very hard. It had sent the already infirm man into a spiraling depression. Having a grandchild, Derek’s child, around might help fill the gaping hole he was carrying around in his heart.

At least he could hope that it might, Sullivan thought. Besides, he’d been taught that family always came first. He only wished that Derek had remembered that once in a while.

No use dwelling on what was in the past, he told himself, pulling out of the lot. He needed to concentrate on the present. The child would be a Travis, entitled to everything that went with the name.

He wondered just how much Marlene Bailey would hold out for before caving in.



Sally clutched her chest, her spidery fingers spread over her heart. Her crepe soles squeaked as she took a step back on the gray-and-white glazed tile in the foyer. Squinting, she looked up at the person she had known for thirty years, acting as if she didn’t recognize her.

“My God, you’re home, and it’s not even dark out yet. Did the office burn down?” The biting sarcasm abated as her expression suddenly grew serious, making her withered cheeks sink in even further. “Or are you…?” Her eyes darted to the pronounced outline of Marlene’s abdomen.

“No, I am not.” Mimicking Sally, Marlene deliberately left the end of the sentence hanging. “I’m home because I’m meeting someone here.”

Sally closed the door and followed Marlene into the living room. She moved very quickly for a woman who only shuffled. “A man?”

Marlene ignored the incredulous yet hopeful note in her housekeeper’s voice. “Yes.”

Sally sniffed, as if to hide what Marlene knew was her secret wish that Marlene would find someone to settle down with, someone who could finally take care of her the way she deserved to be cared for. After all, she wasn’t getting any younger, as Sally frequently told her.

Sally stared at Marlene’s protruding silhouette. “Should have thought of that before—”

Obviously Sally wasn’t going to give this up until she told her. “No romantic assignations, Sally. I’m expecting a private investigator.”

Sally’s brows knit together in a wiggly line of confusion. “What do you need a private investigator for?”

Marlene knew that it would never occur to Sally that the answer to that question was none of her business. Sally had been in the family’s employ since before Marlene was born, and had become even more integral in their lives after Marlene’s mother had walked out on them. For years Sally had been the only maternal influence she and her sister Nicole had had in their lives. She was their buffer against James Bailey’s paternal demands. If the woman was a little rough around the edges, that could be forgiven. After all, love didn’t always come neatly packaged in shiny gold foil.

“I’ve decided to try to find out who the baby’s father is.”

Marlene placed a protective hand over her belly, the way she did each time she and Sally discussed the baby. Sally had very vocally disapproved of her method of entering into the state of motherhood, but then, Sally hadn’t been the one to experience the yearnings that insistently battered her.

Her father’s untimely death thirteen months before had caused Marlene to stop and take stock of her life. At a juncture where most women already had families, Marlene stood barren and alone. The life she had was meaningless unless there was someone to be shaping her legacy for. Unless there was someone to come home to. But since she’d never had time for relationships, that left her decidedly short of one would-be father.

Never one to hang back and leave things to fate, Marlene had taken matters into her own hands. She had remedied the situation the best way she knew how. And she had no regrets.

Sally’s frown deepened. “You would have known that if you had gone about it the way God had intended you to.”

Marlene sighed. She felt especially tired today. She’d pushed hard to wrap up an ad campaign before taking the rest of the day off. When she had originally made up her mind to become pregnant, she had sworn to herself that she wasn’t going to let her condition slow her down or change her life beyond weight gain and the sweet satisfaction of knowing she was carrying another life within her body. Pregnancy, like everything else, became a challenge for her to overcome. Each day was business as usual.

To that end, she made certain that her makeup was meticulously applied each morning without fail. And she still wore the same three-inch heels she had always favored. God, in his infinite kindness, hadn’t sent down an onslaught of varicose veins to plague her or puffy ankles to slow her down.

The only plague she had to deal with was on the home front: Sally and her disapproval.

“We’ve been through this, Sally. That’s all behind us,” she said patiently.

The smirk took years off Sally’s age. “No, that’s all in front of us, especially you.”

Marlene raised an eyebrow and simultaneously lowered her voice. “Sally—”

The housekeeper threw up her hands, not so much in surrender as in disgust. Marlene knew just what she was thinking. If only the girls had had a normal upbringing, Marlene would have a husband in the picture by now. And Nicole wouldn’t have run off with that worthless bum.

“I know, I know, butt out.” A smile that would have made the Mona Lisa envious graced the old woman’s thin lips. “You should be so lucky.” Sally cocked her head, studying Marlene, reminding her of a gray-haired sparrow. “What brought this on? I thought you told Nicole that it didn’t matter to you who the baby’s father was?”

That had been true in the beginning, Marlene acknowledged. But curiosity had nibbled at her incessantly until it had worn a hole right through her. Besides, there were other reasons to know.

“It doesn’t,” Marlene insisted. “But someday my baby might want to know who its father is. I want to be able to offer a name, a history. A picture. He—or she—deserves that.”

Sally snorted. “You don’t deliberately start out being a one-parent family if you can help it. That baby deserves a father who isn’t just a resumé or an eight by ten glossy.”

With anyone else, Marlene would have been defensive. But Sally knew the story. She’d been there as it was unfolding.

“I never have the time to meet anyone, Sally. You know that.”

“You would have if you hadn’t spent all your time trying to please your father.” She shook her head, remembering. “Sooner get blood from a stone than win that man’s respect and affection.”

Marlene sank down in the wing chair, the firmest one in the room. She was bone weary and didn’t have the stamina to go into this now. Whatever James Bailey had been didn’t change the fact that he was her father and that she loved him.

“If you felt that way about him, why did you work for him all those years?”

“Same reason I’m still here. You. And your sister, when she lived here. I figured that you two needed someone in your corner, and that I’d do until someone better came along.”

Touched, Marlene rose and kissed her wrinkled cheek. “No one better than you will ever come along.”

Sally shrugged self-consciously. Having worked for James Bailey all these years, she had little experience dealing with praise. She shuffled out of the room. There was still dinner to deal with.

“Don’t think that means you’re getting out of buying me a Christmas present,” Sally huffed over her narrow shoulder.

Marlene laughed. Sally was one of a kind. Probably by popular demand. “I’ve got it picked out already,” she called after the woman.

Sally stopped in the doorway and turned toward Marlene. Maternal concern softened the harsher contours of her thin face. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Sandwich?”

Marlene shook her head. “I’m fine, Sally.”

Sally smiled to herself. “Yeah, I guess you are at that,” she murmured under her breath.

The doorbell rang just as she was about to disappear into the kitchen. With a sigh, she turned on her heel.

Marlene glanced at her watch. The private investigator was early, though not by much.

He had said that he might be late because of the traffic. The infamous El Toro Y, located south of her home, tended to knot up between the hours of three-thirty and seven. Since he had to come from that general direction, he’d obviously allotted extra time.

Or maybe all the holiday shoppers were out at the malls and not on the freeway today, she mused. She waved Sally back to the kitchen.

“Don’t bother. I’ll get it,” she told her as she passed Sally on the way to the door.

Bony shoulders rose and fell. “Suit yourself. My pay’s the same whether I answer doors or not.” Sally moved back toward the kitchen, then stopped, hovering on the threshold between the two rooms as Marlene opened the front door.

He wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting, Marlene thought. As far as she knew, detectives weren’t supposed to arrive wearing expensive three-piece suits, but then, she thought ruefully, she’d been raised on TV detectives. Endearingly mussed PI’s who were filled with snappy patter and caught their man, half the time by accident, before the last commercial aired.

Marlene put out her hand. “Hello, I’m Marlene Bailey. You’re early.”

As if in a trance, Sullivan took her hand. Whatever he’d been going to say flew out of his head. Her words had caught him completely off guard.

As did her appearance. She was the most pregnant woman he had ever seen. At least, the most pregnant woman he had ever seen from such a close vantage point. But that wasn’t what had words curling up on his tongue. The woman was gorgeous.

Not only that, but she had class written all over her, from her tilted cleft chin to her tailored, pale blue suit. It was the kind of class that came from bloodlines, from pampering and from never having to worry about paying bills, no matter how large they were.

Why would a beautiful woman have to resort to a sperm bank in order to conceive a child?

“I am?” he finally said, mystified by her reaction. How could she have been expecting him?

Unless, he suddenly realized, the woman at the Institute had had a change of heart and called her, warning her that he was coming.

Marlene had made up her mind not to feel awkward about this. All the way home from the office, she had rehearsed what she was going to say to the investigator. Though she suspected that her request did not exactly run along the lines of the mundane, she was certain that he probably dealt with a great many strange requests. And successfully, if his clothes were any reflection of his track record.

She glanced expectantly over her shoulder at Sally. Muttering, the older woman withdrew. Marlene led the man into her living room.

“Yes, I didn’t expect you for a while.”

She did know, he thought. The Riley woman must have told her he was coming. Dollar signs were probably dancing in her head.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at the woman before him. Unaccountable disappointment washed over him. He’d thought himself securely jaded by now, but this situation generated a really bad taste in his mouth. She looked honest, genuine and, despite her very obvious condition, pure. So much for first impressions.

“Then this isn’t a surprise?” he asked darkly.

He was acting very odd, Marlene thought. “No, why should it be?” she asked. She gestured toward the sofa. The entire room was done in light pastels, complementing the airy effect created by the cathedral ceilings.

Following her lead, Sullivan sat down, waiting for her to continue.

They hadn’t talked about his fee on the telephone, and she thought it best to get that out of the way first. “Perhaps we should get the financial end of things cleared up first. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement that you would find to your liking.”

She knew who he was, all right, he thought. The woman had nerve, he would give her that. She didn’t look like an operator, but then, maybe that was how she had acquired this house to begin with. You just never knew.

“To my liking,” he repeated.

Every word tasted like acid on his tongue. If his brother hadn’t already been dead, he would have wrung Derek’s neck for putting him through this. It was beyond him how he could have ever worshiped Derek when they were both younger, how he had actually envied him his freedom. It was only later that he had recognized that desire for freedom for what it was. Pure, selfish recklessness.

Marlene was beginning to have second thoughts about hiring this man. Maybe she should have researched his credentials a little more thoroughly. He really was behaving very oddly.

“Well, yes,” she said slowly. “It’s only fair that we both get something from this arrangement.”

He leaned back, his arms crossed before him. “And just what do you expect out of this arrangement, Ms. Bailey?”

Was he kidding? “I expect you to deliver, of course.”

She was referring to the money. Didn’t waste any time, did she? Sullivan pressed his lips together grimly. “Of course.”

She had the definite impression that he was mocking her. The man had to be doing very well indeed to be so high-handed. Still, he did have an impressive track record, according to one of the VPs at her company.

“I mean, I realize that these things can’t be guaranteed, but you do have a reputation.”

Now they were getting down to it. “Yes, I do.”

Why was he scowling at her like that? He was a very handsome man, but he looked like Zeus about to unleash a thunderbolt on a group of mortals who had displeased him.

She squared her shoulders. “And I assume that there is some amount of truth in it.”

He nodded, prepared to concede very little. “To a degree.”

He was being awfully cagey. She wondered if this was his normal mode of operation, or if the fact that she was the head of a very successful ad agency had something to do with it. “Why don’t you give me a price, and then I’ll tell you what I think of it?”

He wanted to tell her exactly what he thought of her, but he managed to maintain his control.

“Why don’t you start the bidding?” he suggested genially, but his smile fell short of his eyes.

“Bidding?” Marlene repeated. What was he talking about? Didn’t he have set rates? She was beginning to smell a setup. Her doubts about him continued to escalate.

But he was here, and she might as well see this thing through. “All right, how does a hundred dollars a day sound?”

Was she serious? Did she really intend to sell her child for a daily fee? Just what kind of a monster was she?

“A hundred dollars a day,” he repeated grimly.

Was that too little? It would help if he gave her some kind of a ballpark figure to work with. “Plus expenses.”

“Expenses?” This was getting worse and worse. Just how long did she intend to bilk them? “And for how long?”

Boy, talk about wanting to play a good thing out. “As long as it takes.” Her eyes narrowed. “Within reason, of course.”

“Reason?” He’d heard of unmitigated gall, but the worst offender he had dealt with was a humble saint in comparison to her. The burden of years of cleaning up after Derek finally took its toll, and he shouted, “I don’t think the word reason has anything to do with this.”

He had completely lost her. She had no idea what he was talking about, or why he had suddenly raised his voice to her, but she wasn’t about to take it.

“Why are you yelling?” she shouted back at him.

It was completely out of character for him. Generally he was the calm within the stormy family. Sullivan paused, but he couldn’t regain the control he sought. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I always yell when someone is trying to sell me a baby.”

Marlene’s lips formed a perfect circle as her eyes grew wide. She stared at him, utterly speechless for what was possibly the first time in her life.




Chapter Two


“W hat are you talking about?” Marlene demanded.

This whole conversation was taking on surrealistic overtones. Sell her baby? She’d moved heaven and earth and endured censure from people close to her to have this child. She would sooner sell her soul than sell her baby.

He could almost believe that the shocked indignation on Marlene’s face was genuine. But he had been privy to some elaborate double-dealing in his career, and he wasn’t about to let himself be taken in by a pair of wide indigo eyes and a full mouth.

His look cut her dead. “Don’t play innocent with me now, Ms. Bailey. It’s a little late for that.” His eyes narrowed. This had to be the dirtiest scam he’d ever come across. “I’ve seen some cool customers in my time, but you really take the cake.”

How dare he stand there, pontificating about some delusional thought that was floating through his head? She knew all she had to do was let out one scream and Sally would be punching out the numbers to the police on the telephone in the next heartbeat. But she didn’t want it to come to that. She was going to handle this hustler on her own.

“Listen, mister, if I had a cake, you’d be wearing it right now. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Aren’t you Mr. Spencer?”

Sullivan suddenly had an inkling that a horrible mistake had been made, and that he had been the one to make it. Some of his anger abated. He stared at her like someone who had opened the wrong door and found the tiger, not the lady, waiting for him.

“No, I’m not. Who’s Mr. Spencer?”

“John Spencer. He’s a private investigator—” Marlene stopped abruptly. “Why am I explaining this to you?” She certainly didn’t owe him an explanation. She didn’t even know who he was. All she did know was that he had to be deranged. Taking a step back, she raised her voice. “Sally—”

The woman had never gone more than a few steps into the next room. “I’m already calling 911,” Sally assured her as she hurried to the phone.

“No, wait,” Sullivan called out. It was an order, not a protest.

Like a feisty bantam rooster, Sally bobbed into the doorway. “Why should I?” she demanded. “The way I see it, you could be dangerous.”

Men had called him that, but the description had been issued across a bargaining table. It had never been applied to him in the sense that this small troll of a woman meant it.

He leveled a look at Sally that was meant to freeze her in her tracks. “Hardly.”

“I don’t know about that.” Marlene folded her arms before her as she regarded him coldly. “Most deranged people are dangerous to some degree.”

“I am not deranged.” Although after years of having to deal with Derek’s indiscretions, he probably had a right to be. Sullivan looked at Sally expectantly, waiting for the woman to go. “Ms. Bailey and I have some business to discuss, so if you don’t mind leaving…”

“Stay where you are, Sally,” Marlene ordered. Her eyes flashed as she looked at Sullivan. “We have nothing at all to discuss. How could I have any business with you? I don’t even know who you are.”

His eyes swept over her form. “In a manner of speaking, you do.”

If she hadn’t been waiting for Spencer, if overwhelming curiosity hadn’t kept her up at night and wiggled its way into the structure of her workday like a tenacious gopher burrowing its way through the ground, the thought wouldn’t have occurred to her. But it did, coming to her riding a lightning bolt.

Marlene’s mouth dropped open. Her hand splayed across her abdomen as if that could somehow protect the baby from this. In the last month she’d imagined the baby’s father over and over again. At times he was tall, dark and handsome, just like the man standing in her living room. But never once had she envisioned a ranting madman.

“You don’t mean that you’re…?” Her voice trailed away. She was unable, unwilling, to complete the thought and give it credence.

The last bit of doubt that she had in any way known the name of the donor disappeared. “No, my brother is.”

She didn’t understand how he could have known that, or what he was doing here. The Institute prided itself on secrecy and discretion. That was why she had chosen it in the first place, and why, eight months later, she’d been forced to hire a private investigator to uncover the information she now wanted. They had refused, politely but firmly, to give a name to her.

Marlene struggled to pull together the scattered pieces of information into the semblance of a whole. “Do you want to start this at the beginning?”

Sally drew closer until she was at Marlene’s elbow, an old, protective pit bull whose teeth were still sharp enough to be reckoned with. “Why don’t I just make myself comfortable here?” she suggested to Marlene.

Instinctively Marlene knew she had nothing to fear from the stranger, at least not physically. Emotionally might be a completely different story, but she needed to get to the bottom of this. “It’s all right, Sally.”

But Sally stubbornly remained where she was, unconvinced. “He looks shifty to me.”

Despite the situation, Sullivan couldn’t help laughing. Now that was a new adjective for him. He was hard and tough when he had to be, but no one had ever accused him of being shifty.

“I assure you that you have nothing to worry about from me.”

Marlene wasn’t altogether sure about that. Fear worked on many levels, and there was something in the man’s eyes that made her feel uneasy, although she couldn’t quite say why. Still, she knew that she wasn’t going to find out anything more as long as Sally remained in the room like a hovering harpy. His bearing made that clear.

“I can take care of this, Sally.”

Reluctantly, Sally withdrew for the second time. “All right, but I’ll be within earshot if you decide that you need me.”

Marlene’s eyes remained fixed on the stranger’s. Never let your opponent know that he had intimidated you. That had been one of her father’s prime rules of thumb. And whatever else this man was, he was her opponent. It was written all over him.

“Fine,” she told Sally.

“With the dogs,” Sally added as a postscript. Her small eyes narrowed to slits as she looked at the man standing in the living room. “Hungry dogs.” With that, she shuffled out of sight.

Marlene saw what appeared to be amusement flicker across the stranger’s face. “We don’t have any dogs,” she said. But she had a feeling he already knew that.

A hint of a smile curved his mouth. The old woman was as protective of her as Osborne was of his father. It was nice to know that there were still people like that out there, even if it was getting in his way now. “I didn’t think so.”

Marlene silently indicated the sofa again. He sat down, waiting for her to do the same. Rather than join him, she took a seat in the wing chair opposite him. He noticed that she was gripping the arms.

First things first. She couldn’t keep thinking of him as “the stranger.” “You seem to know my name, but I still don’t have a clue as to who you are, or why you’re here in my house, ranting at me.”

“I am not ranting.” Sullivan caught himself before his voice had an opportunity to rise again. Taking a breath, he started over. “My name is Sullivan Travis.” He paused, waiting. There was no recognition in her eyes.

He obviously thought that piece of information was supposed to create an impression on her. “Should that mean something to me?”

“It should if you’re involved in land development or know anything about it.”

The company’s acquisitions and developments periodically made the newspaper columns. Among other accomplishments, they had all but single-handedly developed an entire city in Orange County.

Marlene looked at him in surprise. He couldn’t be that Travis. “I’m involved in advertising,” she informed him. She glanced down at her stomach before continuing. Oh baby, if this is true, what roots I’ve inadvertently given you. “Are you by any chance related to Oliver Travis?”

He tried to read her expression and couldn’t. He nodded. “About as closely as possible. Oliver Travis is my father.”

Though his tone was formal, there was warmth in the words. Marlene couldn’t help wondering what that had to feel like, to feel warmth when you spoke of your father instead of just experiencing an incredible void.

Though she’d never stopped trying until the end, Marlene had long ago come to terms with the fact that she would never really get through to her father.

She was under no illusion that James Bailey had ever felt anything for her or her sister. The only thing that had ever mattered to him was his company, his work. After Robby had died, the advertising company her father had built up had become his legacy. Thirteen months ago he had died at his desk, while crossing out lines in a report she had just sweated over. He’d died just the way he wanted to, working and trying to make her feel inferior.

She collected herself and looked at Sullivan squarely. “I’m impressed, but I still don’t see what that has to do with me.”

She was telling the truth. Sullivan flattered himself that he could see through a ruse, even one executed by someone as apparently sophisticated as the woman sitting opposite him.

Because caution was second nature to him, he qualified his statement. “If my information is correct, and I see no reason to doubt that it is,” his eyes dipped toward her stomach, “you’re carrying his grandchild. My brother Derek’s child.”

None of this was making any sense. Though they were somewhat out of her league, it was a known fact that the Travis family was exceptionally well off. She had only his word that he was who he said he was. She began to wonder if this was a scam of some sort. Or an elaborate joke. Nicole had a warped sense of humor at times. If this was Nicole’s handiwork, she was going to kill her.

“Forgive me, but your father’s company—”

He’d worked long and hard to earn his place within the company. Nothing had been handed to him. Oliver Travis didn’t believe in being soft. You had to earn his respect. In the last year, Sullivan had almost completely taken over the reins.

“Our company,” Sullivan corrected her.

Touchy. She knew how that could be. Her father hadn’t allowed her her true place within the firm until after he was dead. Then it had been accorded her via the will. One “well done” or a single “thank you” would have done far more for her.

“Your company,” she amended, “is written up in Fortune 500. Why would your brother donate his—” she searched for a delicate way to put it “—genes—to a sperm bank for money?”

Sullivan couldn’t fault her for the incredulous look on her face. It was hard for him to believe, and he had been there to watch the circumstances of his brother’s unorthodox life unfold.

“It’s a long, involved story.”

Holding on to the arms of the chair for support, Marlene crossed her legs. The action drew Sullivan’s eyes to them. He was surprised that they weren’t puffy, and that she was wearing such high heels. She probably had the greatest pair of legs he’d ever seen, he realized. He forced himself to raise his eyes to her face again.

Marlene smiled to herself at the silent compliment his eyes had accorded her. “I usually don’t have any time, but today you’re in luck. Tell me,” she urged. “I’m curious.” She was more than curious, given that her baby’s father was the topic under discussion.

A private person by nature, Sullivan didn’t believe in baring his soul or airing his family’s problems in public, especially not to a stranger. Not to mention that he was still trying to figure out a way to break this news to his father.

Sullivan shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s a private matter.”

Fine, she didn’t have to know. But neither did she have to suffer his being in her house if he wasn’t going to tell her anything. “So why are you here?”

The quicker he resolved this, the better. He hoped that it might help to ease his father’s shock if he had good news to counterbalance the bad. “To make you an offer.”

Marlene had a feeling that she wasn’t going to like what she was about to hear. Instinctively defensive, she stood up, as if height could somehow give her the added leverage she felt she needed.

“It had better be a nice one, Mr. Travis,” she said guardedly. There was no smile on her lips.

Sullivan had the distinct feeling that he was picking his way through a minefield. It wouldn’t be the first time. “That all depends on your point of view.”

“Go on,” she said quietly.

Had he known her, he would have been able to recognize the Approaching Gale signs going up. But the bulk of Sullivan’s dealings took place in the corporate world. Socializing or, more to the point, women, was predominately Derek’s domain. His own relationships never lasted long enough for arguments to break out.

Though the consequences were more important, for Sullivan the matter was almost routine. He was cleaning up after his brother. It was nothing he hadn’t done countless times before. He proceeded the way he always did, honestly, straight from the shoulder.

“My brother, Derek, fancied himself an artist. He enjoyed having the sort of reputation that went with his chosen lifestyle. He especially enjoyed it when it irritated my father. I think he hit a new high, or low, with this last trick.”

Sullivan saw Marlene raise one eyebrow and knew that he’d chosen the wrong word. But he pressed on to the crux of his visit.

“I went to the sperm bank to buy back my brother’s �donation,’ if you will.” He looked at her pointedly. God, he hoped she would be cooperative, although he didn’t see why she shouldn’t be. It wasn’t as if the child Marlene was carrying was a love child created in the heat of passion. She’d gone to an institute and ordered a baby. There couldn’t be very much emotion involved in that. “They informed me that I was too late.”

Her expression remained unchanged. “Obviously.”

For a reason he couldn’t quite fathom, he felt himself flinching inwardly. “Now there seems to be an heir in the offing.”

So that was it. He was afraid that she was going to try to make money off them. Perhaps sue them for a share of their fortune. This really was becoming surreal.

“Let me set your mind at ease, Mr. Travis. Until you descended on my doorstep, I had no idea who the father of my baby was, although I have to confess that I was going to try to find out.” She saw a look she couldn’t read entering Sullivan’s eyes. “Purely for academic reasons,” she hastened to add. “I had no intention of getting in contact with him.”

Right, and he was really Elvis. Everyone wanted something. It was a sad fact of human nature. “Then why did you want to know who the father was?” he challenged mildly.

She thought of telling him that it was none of his business. But maybe it was. Since he had told her the baby’s genealogy, saving her the trouble and the expense of finding out, she supposed she owed him one.

“It’s very simple. So that if someday my child asked, I could give him an answer.” She saw the dubious look on his face. “But until that day arrived—if ever—there would have been no mention of the �donor’ and certainly no contact with him. Believe me, your brother has nothing to worry about. He can rest in peace.”

It was an ironic choice of words, Sullivan thought. “My brother is going to be resting for all eternity, Ms. Bailey. He’s dead.”

He said it entirely without emotion, as if he were reading a stock market report out loud. But she saw something flicker in his eyes, something that told her he was human after all. You couldn’t have something like that happen without it leaving an indelible mark.

“I’m sorry. I lost a brother, too. Years ago.” And it still hurt, she thought.

Sullivan hadn’t expected Marlene to share anything so personal with him. It took him aback for a moment.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he muttered awkwardly, echoing her sentiment. He wasn’t any good at condolences, not when the need to express them was sprung on him without warning. He took a breath. “My brother isn’t the reason I’m here.”

“He’s not?” No, this was definitely not Nicole’s handiwork. This was real. Marlene felt nervous. Where was this all leading?

“No, my father is.”

Oh, the seat of power and money. She thought of her own father and the way his mind had worked. Blackmail would have been the first word on his lips.

“I have no intention of bothering him, either. I’m very comfortable, thank you, and this baby is all I want.”

She expected him to terminate the visit at that point. When he didn’t, she wondered if he wanted her assurance in writing. Some sort of prenatal agreement to hand over to his lawyer would probably satisfy him.

He began to get an inkling that this wasn’t going to go as smoothly as he had hoped. He spoke as earnestly as he could.

“My father has no grandchildren, Ms. Bailey. My brother’s death hit him very hard. They were two very different people and had a great deal of difficulty getting along. Periodically, they were estranged. They were in one of those periods when my brother was killed in a drive-by shooting.”

He saw the genuine horror spring to her eyes. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so difficult after all. Clearly she could empathize with the situation.

“My father never got to make his peace with Derek.”

She thought of Nicole and their father. Their differences hadn’t been resolved at the time of his death, either.

“I’m very sorry to hear that.”

She really was, he thought. Why should it make any difference to her? He found himself wanting to know. “Why?”

She shrugged. Why did he need it explained when it was self-evident?

“Because it’s sad. Because unresolved conflicts always remain with you if the other person dies.” But he hadn’t come here to discuss any of this. He was obviously uncomfortable with the topic. So why was he here? “What is it you want from me, Mr. Travis?”

It was time to stop beating around the bush. “Your son. Or daughter.”

She stared at him. There had to be some mistake. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was saying. That sort of thing only happened on movies of the week. “What?”

She was making this very difficult for him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was an ogre. “I want your child.”

Marlene leaned forward. There had to be a different meaning to his words. “Want it how? To visit your father?”

Damn, but this felt awkward. He was only doing what was right. What would ultimately be right for everyone, especially the baby.

“To stay. To be legally adopted.” Sullivan supposed that was the way to go. He would have to consult with his lawyer, of course, but since the child was a documented Travis, he didn’t foresee any difficulties cropping up in that area.

But then, he hadn’t foreseen Marlene.

Her eyes lost their sheen and grew hard. “That means I would have to give up custody.”

Now she understood. “Exactly.”

She felt like pacing to rid herself of the sudden edginess that had seized her. But pacing seemed too much like running, and that would let him see that he was unnerving her. She remained where she was.

“I don’t know if you’re crazy, or if the air here is a little too clean for you after all this L.A. smog and it’s clouded your brain. Either way, I have no intention of giving up this baby.” She glared at him. “It wasn’t easy for me to make up my mind to go this route, but I’ve done it. This baby is mine.”

She was still young, there would be other babies for her. But there would never be another piece of Derek, and his legacy would mean the world to his father. “You would be compensated.”

If he had tried, he couldn’t have come up with a worse thing to say. Her expression turned stony as she pressed her lips together. “I think you’d better go.”

He had to try again and make her see reason. “Ms. Bailey—”

She was through being nice. “Go, or I swear I’ll have Sally borrow some hungry dogs and have them satisfy their appetite on your carcass.”

She was babbling. He chalked it up to her condition. “There’s no reason to get nasty—”

Her mouth went dry. “No reason? No reason?” With the flat of her hand planted on his chest, she caught him off guard and pushed him toward the door. “Have you been paying attention to your end of the conversation, Mr. Travis?” Marlene’s voice went up an octave as she pushed him again. “You’ve just asked me to make a profit on my baby. Not even my father was that unfeeling, and he pretty much set the standard for being cold-blooded.”

He had to make her understand. He wasn’t being cold-blooded. He was being the exact opposite. He was attempting to prevent his father’s heartbreak and give the child a heritage. “This grandchild will mean a great deal to my father.”

She wanted him out. Now. “Fine, we’ll visit. Often, if necessary.” Her hand on the doorknob, she conceded one small point. “The baby could use a grandfather. Now get out of here before I forget that I am a lady—a very large lady, but a lady nonetheless.”

He had no intention of leaving yet. He examined the situation. His resolution to gain custody didn’t waiver, but there were more things to be gotten with honey than with vinegar, and no one appreciated that more than he did. His agitation over the situation had made him temporarily lose sight of that.

Sullivan tried again. “Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot—”

Maybe? “That wouldn’t be an understatement even if you were a centipede.” Her expression remained cold. “I’d like you to leave my house.”

He couldn’t leave, not until he felt certain they at least were making some headway. Sullivan damned his brother from the bottom of his soul for placing him in this miserable position. “Perhaps—”

There was no “perhaps” about it. Her hand tightened around the knob as she prepared to yank the door open. If she could have, she would have booted him out.

“Now!”

The doorbell rang just then, an answer to a silent prayer. Marlene swung the door open, ready to enlist the aid of anyone on the other side.

The tall, slender man in the black turtleneck sweater, black slacks and blue-gray windbreaker looked from Travis to Marlene. From his expression, he was accustomed to domestic discord. His eyes rested on Marlene.

“Mrs. Bailey?”

“Ms.,” she corrected with more verve than she customarily would have. It was men like Travis who made her grateful that she’d never married. “But you have the surname right.” She looked pointedly at Sullivan. “It’s Bailey.” She said the name with emphasis. “And it’s going to remain that way.”

She wasn’t talking about herself, she was talking about the baby, Sullivan knew. He wasn’t going to get anywhere today. Resigned, he took his wallet out of his breast pocket and extracted a pearl gray business card. He held it out to her. “This is my number.”

Marlene took the card and folded it in half without looking at it.

The action piqued his temper, but he held on to it. Flaring tempers were for children. People in his position didn’t have the luxury of losing their tempers, and he knew that the harder he pushed, the more it would make her dig in. She needed time to think this over; he could appreciate that. In time, he felt confident she would arrive at the right choice.

“We’ll get together and discuss this further when you’re feeling more rational.”

The pompous ass. Did he think that money entitled him to destroy lives? “I’m afraid that day will never come, Travis. This is about as rational as I get with people who want to buy my baby.”

Spencer scowled. “Problem?” he asked Marlene.

“It was just leaving,” Marlene said sweetly. “Weren’t you, Mr. Travis?”

There was nothing to be gained at the moment by remaining. “For the time being.”

“I think the lady means forever,” Spencer observed mildly.

Marlene looked at the man on her doorstep. Travis had made her so angry, she’d nearly forgotten about her meeting with the private investigator. “John Spencer, I presume?”

A smile brought out the creases around his mouth. “At your service.”

Murphy’s law. All these years, nothing. Now suddenly the house was overflowing with men. Why hadn’t this happened nine months ago, when she had made up her mind that her life wasn’t going to be an empty shell any longer?

She turned toward the private investigator. She no longer needed him to discover the identity of her baby’s father, but there might be a few things she did want him to look into. “You’re just in time to help me show Mr. Travis out.”

Spencer smiled. “My pleasure.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Sullivan told him. He crossed the threshold, then turned and looked at Marlene. “Keep the card, Ms. Bailey, and call me. We really do need to talk.”

With an exaggerated motion, Marlene tore the card in half as Spencer obligingly closed the door on Sullivan for her.

“I wouldn’t sit by the telephone waiting if I were you,” she called through the door.



This definitely did not have the earmarks of something that was going to shape up well, Sullivan thought as he exited the freeway. Marlene Bailey was not going to be easy to win over. More than likely, she would be downright impossible.

The difficult we do immediately; the impossible takes a little longer. He should really have those words branded somewhere on his anatomy after a life of being Derek’s guardian angel.

Derek. Damn, but he was going to miss that heartless son of a bitch.

Sullivan brushed a tear from his cheek as if it were an uninvited intruder. He tried not to think what a waste it all was, dying at thirty-two in a neighborhood his brother had no business living.

Damn you, Derek.

He had another errand to see to before he finally went home.

Sullivan had put off talking to his father as long as possible, hoping that he could temper the bad with the good when he finally told the old man what he’d discovered. Now he was going to have to give it to his father straight.

He wasn’t looking forward to it.



When Sullivan entered the living room, Oliver Travis appeared to be dozing over his side of a chess board. Sullivan arched an inquiring eyebrow toward Osborne, his father’s housekeeper. The thin man shrugged.

Tomorrow, Sullivan thought. This could definitely keep until tomorrow. Maybe by tomorrow, Marlene would have a change of heart. He turned quietly on his heel.

“Don’t skulk away.” His father’s voice stopped him just as Sullivan reached the threshold. “I’m just meditating. Can’t a man close his eyes without everyone thinking he’s asleep, or dead?” Oliver pressed the controls on his armrest and brought the motorized wheelchair around. “Well, you certainly took your time coming to me.” He didn’t wait for Sullivan’s reply. “So, did you go through Derek’s effects?”

“Yes.” Damn, this was hard. He knew how his father was going to take the news, and he dreaded what it would do to him.

“And it was just another one of his cruel jokes, right?” Watery green eyes looked up at him hopefully, charging him to give an affirmative answer. “He didn’t sell himself, did he?”

It would be a great deal easier to lie and say it had all been a cruel hoax. But then he would have to eat those words should the information ever come to light. Sullivan exchanged looks with Osborne.

The old man knew, he thought. Somehow, he knew. But then, he’d always had an uncanny ability to see through them all.

“No, it wasn’t a joke, Dad. Derek really did go to a sperm bank.”

Oliver’s jaw slackened, and anger colored his shallow cheeks. “Buy it back!” he thundered. “Hang the cost, just buy it back.”

Sullivan shook his head. “It’s too late for that.”

“Too late?” Oliver uttered the question as if air were leaking out of him. “What do you mean, it’s too late? How late?”

“A woman’s already been impregnated.”

For a moment Sullivan was afraid that his father was suffering another stroke. The old man’s face turned red, and he looked as if he were struggling to breathe. But he waved both men back when they approached him.

“Who is she? What kind of woman would do that? No, never mind who she is. I don’t care. The less I know, the better.” Oliver seemed to make up his mind instantly. “I want that child, Sullivan. Do what you have to do. Offer her the moon, whatever she wants, but I want that child.”

Momentarily energized, he swung his chair around to face Osborne. “We can turn Derek’s old room into a nursery.”

Sullivan knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as that. He didn’t want his father riding for a fall.

“Dad—” he began.

Oliver didn’t want to hear any protests. He was old and had earned the right to have things his way. His oldest son was gone, and now here was another chance to make things right, to do things for Derek’s child the way he hadn’t been able to do for Derek.

It was as if Providence had smiled down on him again, giving him a second opportunity.

“Just do it,” Oliver ordered, turning his piercing gaze to the chess board. “I don’t want to play that silly game any more, Osborne. I’m tired. Take me to my room.”

The pencil-thin man in the black livery rose. “Very good, sir.” The look Osborne gave Sullivan was one filled with compassion.

Sullivan was left standing in the living room, feeling bone tired.




Chapter Three


I t had been one of those extremely long days that felt as if it would never end. Marlene sighed as she kicked off her high heels and entered the living room. The thick rug felt good beneath her stockinged feet, and she allowed herself to absorb the sensation, letting it settle over her. It always took her a while to unwind.

She had thought, once she had gotten through her fourth month, that she would cease to feel so tired. But she supposed she hadn’t taken into account marathon days that began at six and lasted until seven in the evening. Tonight she felt like the rag that had been used to wipe the benches at Dodger Stadium.

Sinking down in the wing chair, she raised her feet onto the ottoman. Even that little movement was a tremendous effort.

She knew she really should make more of an attempt to cut back on her hours. Dr. Pollack had been pretty adamant about it, saying that if she wasn’t careful, she ran the risk of coming down with toxemia. Then she would really be out of commission. That warning had put the fear of God into her. Temporarily. Marlene had compromised by restructuring her work day—down to ten hours from sixteen.

Except for today.

A rueful smile lifted the corners of her mouth. God knew she tried, but in reality she didn’t know how not to work. And she had completely forgotten how to actually relax for more than a few minutes at a time. Her usual pattern was to work until she was numb and then collapse into bed.

Just like Father, she remembered ruefully. The comparison didn’t please her.

Marlene lifted her hair from her neck. It was the end of November, but she felt uncomfortably warm. She hoped it wasn’t a warning sign that something was wrong.

Her thoughts returned to her father, making her frown. She liked to think that she was different from James Bailey. Yet here she was, working long hours and still living in the family house, just as he had continued to do after her mother had left.

The house was hers now, just as the business was. She hadn’t been able to convince him to divide it equally between Nicole and herself in his will. He’d hung on to the feud with Nicole until the day he died.

After his death, Marlene had tried to persuade Nicole to move in with her, especially after Craig had been killed in a race car accident. But, widowed and pregnant, Nicole had remained stubbornly against it. To this day she wanted nothing to do with her father’s things and insisted on going it alone. There were times when Nicole could be maddeningly independent, Marlene mused.

Just as she was.

It was a Bailey trait, Marlene supposed. But it did tend to get in the way when the Baileys’ dealt with each other. It would have been better for Nicole to have moved back in. Just as it would have been better if she had never run off to marry Craig in the first place.

Marlene let her head drop back against the padded chair. That was all in the past, she thought. Her hand rested on her abdomen. And this was her future, at least a very important part of it.

The house was almost eerily quiet. Sally had gone to bed after straightening up the kitchen, complaining about the meager dinner Marlene had consumed.

“You’re doing harm to the baby, see if you’re not,” Sally had announced, her dark brows forming a single accusing line over the bridge of her hawklike nose.

Marlene had let her grumble. She knew Sally enjoyed fussing over her. The old woman anticipated the birth of the baby almost more than she did. Sally liked to boast that after the baby’s arrival, she was going to add nanny to her résumé, right after housekeeper.

Sally didn’t need a résumé, Marlene thought. She intended to keep the woman on forever. Without Sally, she would be lost.

She passed her hand over her eyes. The beginning of a headache was taking hold. It did nothing to improve her mood. She hated these mood swings that insisted on battering her. Something else she had been unprepared for in this pregnancy.

One more month to go, she promised herself. It seemed endless when she thought of it in single minutes.

The phone rang, startling her. Habit had her glancing at her watch before answering. Nine o’clock. She wondered if it was Harris calling from London. She’d sent him there a week ago to handle the final negotiations of their first transatlantic account.

She preferred handling everything on her own and had wanted to make the trip herself. But her due date was less than a month away, and she didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances. She wanted nothing to ruin this precious opportunity she had at becoming a mother.

If that meant trusting someone else to take care of the negotiations for the agency, so be it. If this deal fell through, then there would be other contracts. But there was never going to be another child for her. This one was it.

That feeling alone, she thought, separated her from her father. Nothing had ever gotten in the way of negotiations for James Bailey. Not his children, not his wife, not the death of his father. It was always business—first, last and always.

If Robby had lived, perhaps things would have been different.

She was getting maudlin. This had to stop. Marlene jerked up the receiver on the third ring, shaking off her mood. “Yes?”

She snapped out greetings like a commando. He wondered if it was going to set the tone of their conversation. “Ms. Bailey?”

The rich voice that filled the receiver didn’t belong to Harris. His was higher with an undertone of nervousness that never left him. She knew instantly who it was. The man whose calls she’d refused to return at the office.

Marlene tensed. “Why are you calling me at home?”

“I would think that would be obvious. You won’t return my calls during office hours.” He had left a dozen messages in the last three days. She hadn’t returned any of them.

She had hoped that he would get the point and tire of calling her. Wishful thinking. “How did you get this number?” she demanded.

He laughed and the sound was oddly warming, like wine drunk too quickly on an empty stomach. Marlene pressed her hand to her forehead. She was more tired than she’d thought.

Getting her number had been relatively easy with his connections. “To quote a cliché,” which might be more than apt here, he thought, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, Ms. Bailey.”

“Not always,” she snapped. Why didn’t he just go away?

Charming to the end, he mused. And yet, there was something about her that was compelling.

He read the message in her voice loud and clear, then disregarded it. “You’ve had a few days to think about our conversation. I’d like the opportunity to discuss it further with you. How about lunch tomorrow?”

When hell freezes over. “Sorry, I’m busy.”

“All right, dinner then.” He had a previous engagement, but this was more important than attending one of Alan and Cynthia Breckinridge’s parties.

She smiled smugly. Usually, her evenings were free, but not tomorrow night. It spared her the trouble of lying. She’d accepted the invitation to the party over a month ago. “I’m sorry, I have a social function I have to attend tomorrow evening.”

“Black tie?” he guessed.

She didn’t see why that would make a difference to him. “Yes.”

“Lucky for you I own one.”

Marlene sat upright, removing her feet from the ottoman. Was he actually inviting himself along? “What you have in your closet doesn’t interest me, Travis. You’re not invited.”

He could easily swing an invitation, too, if necessary. Almost anyone throwing what Marlene termed a social function had to be on his list of acquaintances. If not his, then his father’s.

“You need an escort, don’t you?”

There was no end to this man’s gall. “What makes you think I don’t have one?”

He laughed. This time, the sound annoyed the hell out of her. “You went to a sperm bank to become pregnant, Marlene. I think it’s safe to assume that you do a lot of things by yourself. So, when do I pick you up?”

He’d called her Marlene, not Ms. Bailey. He was getting way too personal.

“You don’t.” With that, she broke the connection and left the receiver off the hook. She let out a long breath. That should stop him from annoying her tonight.

Tomorrow was something she would deal with when the time came—and it would come all too soon. Right now, she didn’t want to think about it.



Nicole eased the door open and slipped quietly across the threshold into the office. Marlene’s secretary, Wanda, had momentarily stepped away from her desk, so there was no one to announce her. She liked it that way.

She observed her older sister for a moment before she greeted her. Marlene was so immersed in her work, she was oblivious to the fact that there was anyone else in the office with her.

Marlene worked too hard, Nicole thought reprovingly. She’d always worked too hard. There’d never been a financial need to do so, but Nicole knew that for Marlene there had been an emotional one.

As if James Bailey had ever noticed.

Nicole remained in the doorway and crossed her arms over the swell of her abdomen. It’d been a little over a year since their father had died, but it still felt odd seeing Marlene sitting behind that desk.

The few times that she had been ushered into this office along with her brother and sister, her father had been sitting in that very chair. Like as not, he would be bent over his work, just as Marlene was now. He would ignore their presence until the last possible moment, even when one of them made a noise to catch his attention.

Whether it was to put them in their place or because he really was so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn’t notice them, Nicole never knew. But even as a child, she’d been aware of being angry. Angry because he was making all of them feel so insignificant.

Or trying to.

And now Marlene was sitting there in his place, frowning over a report just the way their father had done countless times before.

Nicole felt like taking her sister and shaking some sense into her, forcing her to realize what she was in danger of becoming. Making her stop before it was too late. Before Marlene traveled down the same road their father had.

Nicole sighed quietly. Maybe things would change once the baby finally arrived.

At least she hoped so.

Nicole closed the door behind her and walked over to the desk. She cleared her throat loudly. “You realize, of course, that you are going to have to stop working long enough to give birth. Two, three hours might be forever lost.”

Marlene looked up, startled. She hadn’t heard her sister come in. Nodding a greeting to Nicole, Marlene straightened, pressing her back against the chair’s padded upholstery. She flexed her shoulders slightly. There was a crick in them that traveled down the entire length of her spine.

“I’m trying to work that into my schedule.” Marlene smiled fondly at her sister. She blinked, clearing her mind of statistics. It wasn’t easy. They seemed to cram her head just like the baby crammed her body. “What are you doing here?”

Nicole glanced at Marlene’s desk. The surface was an ode to compulsive organization, folders all neatly piled and placed parallel to the edge of the desk. No flurry of papers the way there would have been if she was working here instead.

But advertising campaigns weren’t her forte. Neither was neatness. They would have clashed inside of a day. It was better this way.

Nicole moved a folder with the tip of her index finger, her eyes on Marlene’s. “Well, I thought that since Mohammed wouldn’t come to the mountain, the mountain would come to Mohammed.”

Very carefully, Marlene returned the folder to its original position. It made her feel better to have things exactly where she wanted them. Where she could easily put her hands on them when she needed them. It was comforting. The reason the company ran so smoothly was due to creativity, but it also owed its success in no small part to organization. Her organization. That meant a great deal to her.

Marlene nodded at her sister’s widened waist. “More like the mountain coming to the mountain and forming a huge range.”

Holding on to the armrests, Nicole lowered herself into the chair before Marlene’s desk. Due roughly a couple of weeks after her sister, she was larger and appeared even more so because she was almost three inches shorter.

She let out a long sigh of relief as she sat back. “I’m on my lunch break, and since you haven’t taken one in five years unless it involved a client, the odds were that I’d find you in, so I decided to pop by.”

That still didn’t explain what Nicole was doing here. Marlene knew firsthand that these days it was difficult for Nicole to just “pop by” anywhere. There had to be a reason behind this so-called spontaneous visit.

Marlene rose from her desk and rounded it until she was beside her sister. Only concern about Nicole’s welfare ever managed to get her mind off her ever increasing mound of work. “Is anything wrong?”

Nicole shrugged casually, shifting the point of focus back to her sister. “I was going to ask you the same question.”

Marlene looked at her, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

It wasn’t actually the main reason she’d stopped by, but now that she’d thought of it, Nicole followed up. “You didn’t make any sense on the telephone when I talked to you yesterday. I thought maybe things might sound a little clearer if I watched your lips while you talked.”

Marlene laughed shortly. She supposed she had sounded a little distraught when she told Nicole about Travis’s appearance. She’d meant to keep the whole thing to herself, but Nicole’s call had caught her at a bad time and part of the story had tumbled out. Not wanting to upset Nicole, she had glossed over the rest of it.

“Believe me, it won’t sound any clearer now.” She thought of Travis and the annoying phone call last night. “All I know is that my unborn child’s uncle is an ass.”

“He just appeared out of the blue? For no reason?”

“Oh, there’s a reason, all right. I told you, he wants custody.” Just talking about it had her throat tightening. “The bastard is willing to make �compensations.’ As if I’d sell my baby.”

Nicole knew that look in Marlene’s eyes and could almost feel sorry for Sullivan Travis. She had no doubts that Marlene had put him in his place royally. “Do you think he’ll try to bother you again?”

“I don’t think, I know.” She sighed, exasperated. “I’ve been refusing his phone calls, but he got through last night at the house and wanted to meet with me again now that I’ve had �time to think it over.”’

“Did you tell him to go to hell?”

“I think he got the message.” Marlene rested her bottom against the top of the desk. She tried very hard not to let pregnancy slow her down, but there were times when it seemed to hit her right between the eyes. Or a little lower, she thought in momentary amusement.

“Do you think you should get in contact with Monty?” Nicole asked, referring to their family lawyer.

“Not yet, but I will if I have to. Right now, I’m not going to think about Travis. The holidays are coming. I’m pregnant, and I’ve got a social function to attend tonight.” Her mouth curved as she remembered. “One he wanted to �escort’ me to. That’s when I hung up on him.”

“That sounds like you.” Nicole looked at her sister’s face. “You look tired, Marlene. Why don’t you stay home tonight instead of going out?”

Marlene knew exactly what Nicole thought of the social get-togethers she attended. Her sister felt that they were full of pompous people who liked to hear themselves talk. Who liked to have other people hear them talk. She thought the assessment unfair. But whether it was true or not, business was business. She had to attend. Besides, she had promised Cynthia.

“It’s the best place to make connections, Nic,” she reminded her.

Nicole rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, those almighty connections. Where would we be without them?”

A wall materialized between them, the one that always rose when their diverse approaches to life came up. “Don’t use that tone with me, Nicole. You sound just the way you did when you talked to Father.”

Nicole’s eyes held her sister’s. James Bailey had been heartless; Marlene wasn’t. She couldn’t stand to see her sister waste her life away in some office. There were more important things than work. Marlene had to know that, or why else would she have gone to the trouble of getting pregnant?

She frowned. “Maybe that’s because sometimes you sound just like Father. Like now.”

Marlene retreated behind the desk. Splaying her hands across the chair’s high leather back, she drew herself up. “You’re pregnant and your hormones are running havoc on your judgment, so I’ll overlook that remark.”

“Don’t overlook it, take it to heart.” It was a frustrated plea.

And then she relented. Nicole rarely employed retreat, but she knew its value. Because Marlene was her sister and she hadn’t come by to antagonize her, she dropped the subject.

Nicole rose slowly from her chair. Another couple of minutes and she wouldn’t be able to get up at all. Her leg felt as though it had fallen asleep. The baby, ever restless, had apparently shifted its elephantine weight over a nerve. “Maybe I’d better get going and let you do what you do best.”

Marlene frowned as the buzzer sounded on her desk. She depressed the speaker button. “Yes, Wanda?”

Her secretary’s crisp British accent filled the air. “You wanted me to remind you of your twelve-thirty meeting, Ms. Bailey.”

Marlene mechanically reached for the folder she’d been reviewing earlier. Where had the morning gone? She’d meant to finish up the idea she was working on before joining the others for a brainstorming session to revamp a car manufacturer’s stodgy image. She’d always liked being prepared, but it still wasn’t completed.

“I’m already on my way.” Marlene’s finger slipped from the small key, and Wanda’s presence instantly vanished. Marlene could feel Nicole’s eyes on her, studying her critically.

“Slow down, Marlene, or this baby you’re about to have isn’t going to have a mother to help him or her celebrate a first birthday.”

Marlene opened her mouth, then closed it again, reshuffling the words that were on the tip of her tongue. Nicole was only being concerned. And sometimes, it did feel good to have someone care if she ran herself into the ground.

“You’re right, I am doing too much. It’s just that—”

“You can’t let go.” Their father had always said that. Nicole’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but those aren’t original words.”

Marlene had been at the office since six, and she wasn’t in the mood to argue. “Stop hinting that I’m Father.”

“Who’s hinting? Aren’t you listening? I’m stating it outright.”

The baby kicked hard, hitting something that felt very vital. Marlene winced. “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

Nicole merely nodded as she began walking toward the door. Almost there, she stopped and turned around. “Oh, and by the way…”

Her tone was far too nonchalant for Marlene to be fooled. Now they were getting down to it, she thought, crossing to where she stood. Now they were getting to the real reason that Nicole had come by.

“Yes?”

Nicole dug into her purse and produced an envelope. “This came yesterday.” She held it up to her sister. “I’m sure it was sent in error.”

Marlene didn’t have to look at the contents to know what her sister was talking about. She’d mailed the envelope herself the day before yesterday. It contained a single piece of paper. A check against Nicole’s trust fund.

Exasperation shimmied through her. Nicole could be so damn stubborn. Marlene made no move to take the envelope from her. “So that’s why you’re here?”

“That’s why I’m here.” Crossing to the desk, Nicole dropped the envelope on top of a folder.

Marlene struggled not to lose her temper. “Nic, grandmother’s money must be gone by now.”

Nicole shook her head. “Not yet,” she answered mildly. “There’s still some left.”

Nicole’s tone belied the feelings of frustration churning within her. She hadn’t wanted to wind up in these circumstances, pregnant and widowed, on the threshold of the rest of her life but caught in a holding pattern. But she would be damned if she was going to take handouts. She had always wanted to earn her own way, and she was going to do just that. Very soon.

“I stretched it,” she told Marlene. An ironic smile curved her soft mouth. “Some things I did pick up while living under James T. Bailey’s reign of terror.”

It felt right referring to her father by his given name, more so than calling him Father. He’d never been that to any of them. Only biology had made him a father, not love. Never love.

Nicole shrugged. “Being frugal comes in handy these days. And,” she added needlessly, “I do work at the art gallery.”

That wasn’t earning her anything and they both knew it. “A few days a week.”

Nicole remained unfazed by her sister’s sharp tone. “The holidays are here. I’m almost full-time. It all adds up.”

Marlene felt her temper sharpening. Lately, it took very little to set her off. “Why will you accept the art gallery owner’s money and not that?” She waved a hand at her desk to where the check lay. “It’s rightfully yours, you know.”

The money was part of a trust fund that had taken all of Marlene’s best negotiating skills to set up. Initially her father had staunchly refused to allow it. He’d wanted to cut Nicole off without a penny after she’d run off. But Marlene had finally convinced him, utilizing his vanity as a tool. How would it look, his cutting off his penniless daughter? He had always been concerned with what others thought of him. In that light, he’d thought of his children as extensions of himself. So he had agreed, and Nicole had benefited—if she would only accept the money.

“Answer to question one…” Nicole said, holding up a finger. “Because I work for Lawrence, and what I get from him is a paycheck, not charity. Answer to question two…” A second finger joined the first. “It’s rightfully mine when I’m thirty, not now. I can get by, Marlene. And I really don’t want his money.”

It always came back to that. The feud. “He’s dead, Nicole, can’t you forgive him?”

“No.” Nicole snapped, then relented. “Not yet.”

Marlene felt the clock ticking away the minutes between her and the pending meeting. Still, she couldn’t let this matter go just yet. “At least come live at the house.”

Nicole smiled at Marlene, but she remained adamant on that point as well, even though the invitation was extended to her almost weekly. “No way.”

For all intents and purposes, their parents were gone. Their father was dead and their mother had disappeared out of their lives years ago. There was no one in the house but her and Sally. Marlene’s voice lowered. She didn’t hear the trace of wistfulness in it. But Nicole did. “I’m not that bad company.”

Nicole didn’t want to hurt Marlene, but she couldn’t turn her back on what she felt was right, either. “You have nothing to do with it. Call it stubborn pride. Call it not wanting to encounter the ghost of our �beloved father,’ whispering, �I told you you’d come crawling back.”’

“Nic—” Marlene reached out to touch Nicole’s shoulder, but Nicole moved aside.

“Call it whatever you want,” she continued, “but I want to do this on my own—financially.” She tempered her voice and looked at her sister. “Just let me lean on you emotionally once in a while and I’ll be fine.”

Marlene smiled at Nicole. This was what she wanted, to have Nicole turn to her. If they did it in degrees, that didn’t change things. For now, they were all the family they had. Until the babies were born.

She shook her head at Nicole, her expression a fond one. “God, but you are stubborn.”

Nicole agreed readily. “Also learned at Ye Old Inn of Sadness. Besides,” she said, nodding at Marlene’s desk, “I wouldn’t throw any rocks if I were you.”

The buzzer sounded again like an angry goose that had been ignored. Nicole sighed.

“Try to enjoy yourself tonight, Marlene.” She patted Marlene’s arm as she slipped by her into the hall.

Marlene thought of the hours she would be on her feet and sighed inwardly. “I’ll do my best.”



Marlene slowly slipped on her black pumps.

She really didn’t want to go to this party. She felt tired and heavy tonight.

If she could, she would have just collapsed onto the bed and closed her eyes. But even as the idea suggested itself, she knew it was impossible. She had responsibilities. Clients to socialize with and new ones to garner.

She looked into the mirror, slowly running her hands along the outline of her stomach, trying to visualize the occupant housed within. The one who made her so tired all the time.

Never had eight months taken so long to drag by. Part of her couldn’t wait for the baby to be born, and part of her, the part that secretly feared the unknown, could hang on just a while longer until she was more prepared.

She sighed. It felt as if she had been pregnant forever.

Marlene focused on her reflection. Her hair was piled up high on her head, with tendrils curling along her neck. She knew she looked attractive, but that didn’t change things. She still didn’t feel like attending the party. The prospect of talking about nothing but business wearied her before the night had even begun.

Not that she wasn’t good at networking. Despite what her father had implied, she had a flair for it. It was a gift. She was good at dreaming up campaigns that could take a flagging product and boost its sales until the manufacturer made an exceptional showing on the market. Schooled at her father’s unbending knee, Marlene had a knack of tuning in to the right buzz words, the right attributes to showcase a product and capture the public’s attention.

She supposed that it might seem odd to some that with a knack like that, she couldn’t manage to transfer it directly to people. But she couldn’t.

She’d never had time to relate to people and their natural foibles. Whatever friendships she had were all work related.

Marlene curled one stubborn wisp until it fell like the others along her neck. Maybe if she had succeeded in getting her father’s approval just once, she wouldn’t have been so intensely involved in work.

Marlene smiled to herself. It was a sad, knowing smile. If she had succeeded once, she probably would have tried even harder, hoping lightning would strike twice.

In the privacy of her own room, in the shadows of her own mind, there was no denying the hunger she had always had to win his approval. To win his love. She had believed—hoped really—that there was more to him than he outwardly showed. That was why she had tried so hard to relate to him on his own territory.

Marlene glanced one last time at her image in the full-length mirror. The flared black velvet evening jacket gracefully camouflaged the fact that she was bordering on something that Greenpeace was taking under its protective wing. Beneath the jacket she wore a wide, floor-length black velvet skirt and a crimson camisole that flowed over it. It was flattering and made her feel a little less like a Sherman tank.

But not by much.

Sally looked up as Marlene descended the stairs. “You look like a knockout,” she told her matter-of-factly, and Marlene knew she meant the compliment.

Sally never wasted time with words she didn’t mean. She was more like a drill sergeant than a housekeeper, but she had her soft edges. Marlene loved her because she felt that Sally always told her the truth, whether it was good or bad.

“You’re wasting it on those bozos tonight.”

Leave it to Sally to take everyone down to a common denominator. “I don’t think the head of Acme Oil sees himself as a bozo.”

Sally grinned as she handed Marlene her purse. “That makes the title all the more fitting. I sure hope you’re not going to be doing this once the baby’s here.”

Once the baby was here, everything would change. “No, I promise you, the pace will lessen.” She smiled. “You sound like Nicole.”

“The girl makes sense. Well, if you’re determined to go, go.” Sally shooed Marlene to the door. “Have a good time.”

Marlene leaned over to brush her lips over the old woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Just for you, Sally.”

She grinned as she heard the woman muttering under her breath as she closed the door behind her.




Chapter Four


S he had barely crossed the threshold to Breckinridge’s ballroom when she saw him.

Sullivan Travis, looking suave in the black tie he had told her about. Even from across the crowded room, she could appreciate the figure he cut in his suit, black, like his hair. There was a strawberry blonde wearing a dress one size too small who appeared to be hanging on to his every word.

Probably mesmerized by his blue eyes.

God, listen to her. She was writing an ode to a man who was out to cold-bloodedly separate her from her child. What was the matter with her?

A combination of being overworked and pregnant, she decided, watching Sullivan. By his bearing, he reminded her of someone who, as the old expression went, was “to the manor born.”

Well, she wasn’t planning on being some peasant he could just plow under.

For a moment Marlene wavered, undecided whether or not to just leave. It certainly would be the easier way out, just beg off because of her condition. But that would mean hiding behind it, something she swore never to do, and besides, it was tantamount to running. Also something she refused to do.

Instead, she crossed the floor, coming at Sullivan like an arrow intent on a target. Bull’s-eye.

Sullivan looked in her direction a moment before she reached him. He was as surprised to see her as she was him, but he hid it better. He’d learned to allow very little to register on his face. It made for better negotiations when the time came.

With a swift, gentle movement, he extracted his arm from the woman beside him.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have someone I need to talk to,” he murmured.

Sullivan welcomed the reprieve. Janice DuBarry seemed to have her sights set on acquiring a piece of the Travis Corporation, namely him. It was something he was accustomed to and never cared for. Every woman he had ever met saw him only as part of the Travis dynasty, never as Sullivan.

“What are you doing here?” Marlene demanded in a hushed, angry whisper.

She looked loaded for bear, he thought. All in all, the lady was some piece of goods. He felt sorry for any man who would become involved with her. Fortunately, that man wouldn’t be him.

He took her arm, turning her away from Janice, who was very obviously trying to eavesdrop. “I was invited. How about you?”

Marlene was tempted to say “Like hell you were,” but given his position, he probably had been. Just her luck that she hadn’t thought to obtain a guest list from Cynthia beforehand.

He didn’t look as if he was smirking at her, but she knew that beneath that smooth exterior, that was exactly what he was doing.

“I suppose who Cynthia and Alan want to socialize with is their own business.” Now that she knew he wasn’t merely stalking her, she wanted to get away from him. It was a large room, a large party. If she was careful, she didn’t have to cross his path again. “Have a nice time,” she told him icily.

With that, she began to turn away, but Sullivan took her arm. She stopped, unwilling to cause a scene.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if her anger ever rechanneled itself into passion. If it did, she would be more than a handful for that same unfortunate man he’d pitied earlier.

“Since opportunity seems to have knocked on my door, I’d be remiss in not opening it.” He waited for her to contradict him.

“Open any door you please, as long as it’s not near me.” If she was forced to pull her arm away from him in order to get away, she would. She didn’t want to spoil the evening by getting into a discussion with him.

From out of nowhere, Cynthia Breckinridge swooped down on them with the unerring instinct of a woman who had been bred to be a hostess from early on.

“Hello, darling.” She kissed the air near Marlene’s cheek. “I’m so glad you could make it, given your situation and all.”

Her eyes swept over Marlene in a quick appraisal, before turning her attention to Sullivan.

“I didn’t know that you two knew each other.” She hooked an arm through Marlene’s, simultaneously slipping the other through Sullivan’s.

“Not really,” Marlene politely corrected. “We’ve only just met.” She saw that the information somehow pleased Cynthia rather than deterred her.

Very carefully, Marlene extricated her arm and turned her back on Sullivan, cutting him out of her range. “Cynthia, I was wondering—”

“—If I could have a word with Ms. Bailey,” Sullivan concluded the sentence. Very smoothly, he moved to Marlene’s side. Marlene gave him a murderous look.

With a look that bordered on elation, Cynthia spread her hands benevolently.

“That’s what parties are for. Talk away.” Her eyes almost danced with gleeful anticipation. “Go forth, mingle. I’d say �be fruitful,’ but our Marlene already seems to have covered that area.”

If she didn’t like Cynthia so much, Marlene would have been tempted to strangle her. She redirected her anger to the man beside her. She turned on him as soon as Cynthia was out of earshot, fluttering away to tend to her other guests.

Marlene struggled to keep her voice low as she allowed Sullivan to usher her off to the side. “Is that how you and your father built up your company? By strong-arming people?”

“Only if they refuse to return my calls and won’t meet with me.” She was wearing some sort of heady perfume that managed, even in this crowd, to be distinctive. He felt it subtly surrounding him and struggled to block out its effect.

Marlene disengaged her arm from his grasp. “I’ve already told you, we have nothing to discuss—especially if you take that tone with me.”

Maybe he did sound a little high-handed. It happened when his temper became frayed. But that didn’t change matters between them. “You’re carrying my brother’s child.”

“We’ve already established that—according to you,” she said pointedly.

She didn’t add that she had retained Spencer to look into Sullivan’s background for her. Though there seemed to be no real reason to doubt Travis, she wanted verification that he was who he claimed to be and that the situation was exactly the way he presented it.

Why in heaven’s name would he make any of this up? “What does that mean?”

Marlene shrugged. “What proof do I have that you’re not conducting some elaborate ruse?”

She knew it sounded as if she were fishing, but stranger things had happened. Not all uncanny situations took place in the pages of a book.

Now she was being absurd. He took a small step backward. Anything more would have caused him to bump into the wall. “Do I honestly look like a man conducting a ruse?”

Marlene strove to look bored. In truth, she was growing uneasy. She looked around for someone to rescue her from Travis.

“I don’t know. People don’t come with labels stuck to their foreheads.” She thought of a newspaper story she’d read recently about the breakup of a black market that dealt in selling stolen babies to desperate, childless couples. “You might not be who you say you are. For all I know, you might be involved in some sort of blackmail scheme.”

“And what is Cynthia?” he asked mildly. “My front woman?”

He made her feel like an idiot. He had managed to rattle her so that she wasn’t making any sense. Something else to hold against him.

“I have to admit,” she said primly, silently damning him to hell, “your knowing Cynthia does verify your identity.”

“Thank you.” With Marlene, it was going to be one small step at a time. He had no other choice if he wanted to settle this without publicity. “So now are you willing to listen to my proposition?”

She raised her chin, a cool smile on her lips. She would be willing to bet that he was just as averse to a scene as she was. Escape would be simple as long as she kept her head.

“I wouldn’t go that far. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Work?” He looked around the room with its elegantly dressed people and tastefully arranged Christmas decorations. Cynthia Breckinridge had been determined to throw the first holiday party of the season, and she had succeeded royally. “But this is a party.”




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