The Baby Came C.O.D. Part 9

Evan laughed dryly. He'd heard that often enough. "Like night and day." Devin was day, while he was night Women generally preferred the day.

Differences were what made things interesting. She wondered if his brother lived anywhere close.

"It must have been nice, though, having someone to talk to when you were growing up." She'd spent her entire childhood wishing she'd had a brother or sister to share the loneliness with. It hurt horribly to discover that she had had one all along without knowing it, without being able to do anything about finding her. "I imagine you must have been close at one point." She finished washing off his plate and set it next to the pan to dry.

Evan considered for a minute. "Maybe. I was closer to one of my sisters, really."

"Sisters?" She dried her hands and draped the towel over the back of the chair before sitting down again. "How many are there in your family?"

She sounded as if she was really interested, he thought, and wondered why. "Four, counting me, not counting my parents. How many in yours?"

The question seemed to come of its own accord. As a rule, he didn't delve into people's private lives. He simply had no curiosity about others to prompt the questions, not the way Devin had.

But Claire was different. She made him curious. Maybe because the circ.u.mstances he found himself in with her were so unusual.

"Two," she said firmly. "Libby and me."

He had the strangest feeling a door had just shut. "I meant-"

"I know what you meant," she said tersely. The rest came out as if she were reciting it. "I was an only child." There was no point in telling him about the sister she'd never known. "My mother died when I was six. My father was a surgeon. I hardly ever saw him."

He picked up on the crucial word. "'Was'?"

"Was," she repeated. "He died, too, before Libby was born."

She had no grandfather to give her daughter, and no grandmother. That bothered her at times, although it didn't seem to faze Libby any more than not having a father did. She was one terrific little girl, Claire thought warmly.

"So," Claire concluded briskly, "in a way, that makes her my whole family."

There was more here, he thought, deciding to turn the tables on her and press. "'In a way'?"

She shrugged, looking off. There was no reason this should make her uncomfortable, except, perhaps, in the manner it had been revealed to her. Like some dark secret to be atoned for. But then, that had been her father's doing.

"I was adopted," she said matter-of-factly. "Maybe that's why I relate so much to Rachel. We were both given away." She realized that there was more emotion in her voice than she had intended and was quick to remedy that. "My birth mother gave me away, and my adoptive father couldn't find it in his heart to get close to me."

The smile on her face was sad, Evan thought. It stirred something within him, a desire to comfort, to protect. It was, he realized, a first for him. He rather liked it, although for the time being, he didn't explore why. Life was complicated enough for him right now as it was.

"When I was little, I used to think it was because of something I had done. Oh, he was a nice man and all that," Claire added quickly. "I had all the creature comforts a kid could want. Except for love." And without love, she thought, none of the rest had really meant anything. "He just couldn't find it in his heart to love a stranger. That was the way he always thought of me, he said, as a stranger. I didn't know that until he was dying. He made a confession to me. A dramatic deathbed scene during which he asked my forgiveness."

She pressed her lips together. It seemed foolish to let this hurt now. It was years in the past But it made no difference. She had had so much love to give her father, and he'd never wanted it. It had all gone to waste.

"It seemed that he'd never wanted to adopt me. It was all his wife's idea. And then she died and left him to take care of me. Poor man, he was never cut out to be a father. He had a lousy bedside manner, too."

A sad smile turned to one of compa.s.sion as she thought of Douglas Walker. It hadn't been his fault, either. He just didn't have it in him to love anyone other than his wife.

"He was a really great neurosurgeon, but not a man to shoot the breeze with. Or derive any comfort from."

"And you forgave him?"

"Sure. What else could I do? Besides, I was so relieved that it wasn't because of anything I had done."

Another woman, he thought, would have withheld forgiveness, feeling that revenge was her due.

Claire blew out a breath. She'd talked way too much. "All right, there you have it, my life story."

"Not quite." Evan looked toward the living room. She knew he was thinking of Libby.

"We'll save that for another time." With an air of finality, Claire rose and pushed her chair against the table. "All right, if you're sufficiently fed and rested, Libby and I have to be going."

The thought of her leaving didn't rest any better with him now than it did last night.

"Um, look, I have to check in with my office. Not physically, just over the telephone," he explained quickly before she could get it into her head to deliver another lecture, or worse, just turn on her heel and leave. He put himself on the line and asked, "Could you hang around until I finish?"

She felt uncomfortable after what she'd just told him. There was no reason for her to have said all that she had. It wasn't as if she'd been reacting to his compa.s.sion or sympathy. If anything, she'd been reacting to Rachel's dilemma.

Right now, all she wanted to do was go home. "How long a conversation?"

He wasn't about to give her an exact time frame. This way, if he ran over, she'd still stay.

"Not long."

There was nothing pressing for her to do now that she had fed Libby. She was still running on empty as far as work went, and staring at the blank screen would only de-press her.

"All right, I guess I can manage that. Go ahead, make your call. And while you're at it," she added just as he began to leave, "squeeze in a shower and change your clothes."

She was being gracious again. Evan looked down. Accustomed to always being impeccably dressed, he knew he should feel self-conscious, but for some reason, he didn't. Not around her. He wondered what that meant. "I guess I do look pretty awful."

Claire smiled. "Not awful, just wrinkled and stained." She smoothed out his shirt collar, but it was hopeless at this point. The whole shirt needed to be cleaned and pressed. "I'll see if I can get some of this out for you."

He placed his hand over hers to stop her fingers from fluttering and from causing his breakfast to churn in a stomach suddenly gone tight. He was going to tell her that she didn't have to, then stopped himself when he realized that he wanted her to.

"I'd appreciate that." The words dripped from his lips, his eyes on hers.

He wasn't finished; she could tell by the way he left the end hanging. "And?" she prodded, waiting.

Something had been bothering him all the time she'd been sitting across from him. All the time he'd been looking at her. Unfinished business.

"And, I'd like to kiss you again. This time, not by accident."

Claire felt her pulse jump. It always did when she was asking for trouble. And this was probably a double helping. The smart thing would be just to walk away. Quickly.

It was a hard thing to admit about herself, but she wasn't always smart.

"All right." Her hand brushed against his collar, threading along the back of his neck. "Will that be with or without starch?"

"Without," he answered as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Chapter Seven.

It wouldn't have been easy for Evan to put what he was experiencing into words. It didn't matter. Whatever words he would have used wouldn't have been sufficient. Wouldn't have begun to describe what was really happening.

Except, perhaps, the word more.

For kissing Claire was more than anything he'd ever experienced. Sweeter, s.e.xier, more exciting, more seductive.

More.

So much more that it left Evan in awe. How could something as simple as a kiss make him momentarily forget everything else? His surroundings, his dilemma, the fact that the last thing in the world he needed right now was to become entangled with another woman. After all, if that little bundle from heaven really did turn out to be his, there would be her mother to deal with. There was a moral responsibility Evan meant to face up to. One that any lawyer he might have engaged would have cringed at. But Evan didn't believe in shunning his obligations. If Rachel was his, he meant to take care of her and her mother financially.

That didn't change what was going on now.

He was entangled. From that moment on, whether he liked it or not, Evan Quartermain knew that he had come face-to-face with his undoing and it stood about fve foot three. He sensed it the way a parachutist sensed the thrill of his first jump a moment before he leaped from the airplane.

Evan jumped. There really was little else he could do. He wound his arms around Claire, pressing her to him, and he jumped. Right into the heart of the kiss. Right into no- man's-land.

And lost himself in her.

He deepened the kiss, savoring her taste, her scent, the feel of her body against his, and embraced his undoing.

The room was spinning around Claire. Shaking? San Francisco had never fully breathed a sigh of relief since the last earthquake and always slept with one eye opened. Was this another earthquake? she wondered.

It surely felt like one. If not one of the land, then of the soul. Rather than run for a door frame for shelter, Claire clung to the only thing that gave her stability.

The origin of the quake itself.

Like a blind person trying to see, Claire slipped her hands along Evan's face, committing everything to memory within her mind's eye. She wound her fingers into his thick dark hair and gloried in the way his body pressed against hers.

This was what that faint brush of lips had hinted at. Pa.s.sion and fire, comfort and disquietude. In short, a one-stop haven for everything.

Somewhere, from a galaxy far, far away, a small voice called to her. "Mama, Rachel's hungry."

Rachel wasn't the only one, Evan thought, dazed. Libby's urgent call succeeded in peeling them apart. Shaken, stunned, Evan drew back, too numbed to say any thing at first. All he could do was look at Claire in abject wonder. She was attractive-he'd been aware of that from the beginning-with straight, long blond hair, a tidy, athletic body that would have set any man's mind wandering and legs that would make his mouth water. But there was no way he would have thought she packed such a wallop.

His stomach still felt as if it was quaking.

All systems were not go. Claire could have sworn she felt her blood scrambling in her veins, running for high ground against the flood of feelings Evan's kiss had let loose. Feelings she had to rein in before they threatened to make a complete mess of the life she had so carefully constructed for herself and Libby.

She didn't want to pull at the reins; she wanted to feel, and that was the very real problem.

"Maybe I'd better go feed her," Claire mumbled. She backed away from him and out of the room with as much grace as she could muster, given the circ.u.mstances.

He nodded as feeling returned to his limbs. "Maybe you'd better."

And maybe, Evan thought as he watched her walk quickly into the next room, he had better take another shower. A much colder one than the one he'd taken earlier.

Hands wrapped around the doorjamb, her feet pressed tightly to one side against the corner, Libby swung to and fro, watching her mother work. Impatience was written all over her fair face.

"Isn't it time yet, Mama?" She'd been popping into Claire's office, asking the same question every few minutes for the past two hours.

Tenaciously hanging on to her train of thought, Claire looked up from the screen. For the first time since Evan Quartermain and the baby he refused to refer to as his daughter had entered her life a week ago, she was actually making headway on the presentation she was supposed to have been working on since the beginning of the month. The deadline was next week. Appropriately enough, she was to hand it in just before Thanksgiving. If Aesthetic Athletics, a company that manufactured everything from running shoes to major gym equipment, liked what she put together for them, they were going to put her on their payroll. That would be something to really be thankful for.

Claire liked freelancing, but there was something to be said for steady money and Aesthetic Athletics had a great deal of it. It would mean a lot to her and Libby as far as stability went So she really wasn't in the mood for interruptions, especially when those interruptions had anything to do with Evan Quartermain.

d.a.m.n it she couldn't even think of his name without feeling a tiny tremor rippling through her. Which was just the trouble. She didn't need or want tremors, tiny or oth-erwise, rippling through her. Ever since he'd shaken up her life, she'd done her best to maintain a polite, helpful but definite distance from him.

It hadn't been easy, especially since for the first few days of his "forced vacation"-as he referred to the time off he'd taken-he had been on the telephone to her on the average of once every seventy minutes, asking for advice, asking for help or just plain asking. It was a matter, she understood, of trying to keep his sanity when confronted with a completely unfamiliar set of circ.u.mstances. Just because he'd made it through one night didn't make him a veteran, or even ensure that he could get through another night intact She sympathized, but she left her barriers up.

True to her word, Claire had responded to each and every call, giving him advice, support and a.s.surance. Most of the time, she wound up coming over to help in person rather than coaching over the phone. It was easier that way, at least as far as helping to care for Rachel went. Claire had the consolation of knowing that even if she was uncom-fortable, Libby loved it.

And, she had to admit, caring for Rachel was a joy. She loved holding a sweet, cuddly baby in her arms. But it was also a problem. The problem was that she knew she was getting much too close to a child she had no business having feelings for.

At the very best, this was all just temporary. Once Evan's brother located Rachel's mother, one of any number of things could happen. And Claire didn't figure into any of the solutions. She would be left on the outside, missing a baby who wasn't hers.

But it was hard not melting at the sight of a smile that lit up a room. And by now, Rachel recognized her; Claire was sure of it. The baby extended her arms to her whenever Claire entered the room. Once or twice would have been a coincidence. Several times was not. Rachel knew her, responded to her. It would have taken an iron heart to remain under wraps.

And Claire's heart was definitely not made of iron.

Being around Evan proved that to her. Despite her best intentions, Claire could feel herself tingle whenever he entered a room, her body bracing for what she knew she shouldn't want, shouldn't have.

For what she desperately desired.

She wanted him to kiss her again. To have him hold her as if she were something precious.

Looking back, Claire knew that she had merely fooled herself into thinking she no longer wanted that kind of affection. The funny thing was, she had actually believed she didn't need it. Until she had come face-to-face with it again. Now she knew that she'd only been trying to sell herself a tissue of lies.

Though she adored Libby and loved her work, there was still a part of Claire that was empty, a part of her that felt needy. That same part that had never really been filled. She'd once thought that she'd found her answer in Jack-she'd believed that his love would make up for the emptiness she had endured all her young life.

But what she'd thought was love had turned out to be something less, something as disposable as the diapers she'd once used for Libby. It wasn't meant to endure, or to fulfill.

And neither, she upbraided herself now, was what she felt, or thought she felt, when Evan kissed her. It was a fluke, nothing more. She'd overreacted because she hadn't been with a man in any sort of intimate fashion since Jack had walked out on her. h.e.l.l, she hadn't been with a man without her graphic-arts portfolio between them in years. But that was her choice, and intellectually, it was a good one.

Her body had other ideas, but her body, Claire thought ruefully, had been her undoing before. She didn't want to be undone again. This time, she knew, she might not be able to glue back the pieces into any sort of working order.

Besides, Evan obviously wasn't interested in her in any other capacity than that of an impromptu nanny for his baby, or whatever it was he preferred to think of Rachel as being. If he were the least bit interested, he would have tried to kiss her again. Would have at least picked up on the fact that she wanted to be kissed again. Men were sup-posed to have radar about things like that.

But Evan Quartermain, d.a.m.n him, had made no moves whatsoever in that direction.

Which was, she told herself, actually a very good thing, given the nature of her vulnerability. Getting involved with him wouldn't be a smart thing to do. The situation was far too complicated for her to just walk into. Evan had a baby and a responsibility to that baby's mother, wherever and whoever she was. There was no place for Claire in that kind of equation. Whatever else she might be, she knew she wasn't the other-woman type.

It was better this way for her. A lot better.

Claire punched a key on the keyboard. If it was so much better, why did she feel so d.a.m.n restless?