A Baby in the Bargain (17 page)

“How about a sleepover?” her cousin said as if she’d just had a brainstorm.

“Liv! No! Really, I’m okay. But I have to go—somebody is at my door.”

“Keep me on the line while you see who it is, just in case,” Livi ordered.

“Okay.” Jani understood that her family worried about her after what had happened over Reggie. She took the phone with her as she went to peer through the peephole of her front door.

“It’s him!” she whispered when she saw Gideon standing in the light of her front porch.

“Him Gideon? Or him someone scary?” Livi asked, on the verge of alarm.

“It’s Gideon.”

“Do you want to see him?”

More than she wanted air to breathe.

But what she said was, “I guess. Maybe he’s here about something to do with the community center or that article or something.” She didn’t want to get her hopes up that he was there for a better reason.

“Do you want me to come over so you don’t have to be alone with him?”

Being alone with Gideon was something else she wanted desperately. She just wasn’t sure she could bear it if he was only there about business.

But he
was
there. And there was nothing that could keep her from finding out why, even if it meant it was strictly business and hurt her all over again the way his rejection had hurt her last week.

“No, don’t come over. There’s nothing to be afraid of—he’s not one of Reggie’s bookie’s thugs.”

“Call me when he leaves, then,” Livi commanded.

Jani hung up and set the phone on the entry table. As she opened the door, her heart beat so hard and fast she wondered if it was going to beat right out of her chest.

But she put some effort into only showing a questioning surprise at the fact that Gideon was her visitor.

“Hi,” he said as if he knew that sounded feeble.

“Hi,” she parroted.

“Are you busy? Going out? Do you have company?”

“No, none of the above,” she said simply.

“Then can we talk?”

She considered asking what he wanted to talk about so she had some idea of what to expect. But it wasn’t as if she was going to turn him away regardless, so she merely stepped back and said, “Sure. Come in.”

He did, looking ragged around the edges despite the fact that he was clean-shaven and smelled of soap and cologne, telling her that he was fresh from a shower, too. And though he showed signs that he’d had a week as difficult as Jani’s, he still looked bad-boy delicious in jeans and a black turtleneck sweater with his hair combed carelessly and the collar of his coat turned up to his chiseled jawline.

But Jani tried not to revel in the sight of him too much.

She also tried not to let her hopes get too high that he was there for a reason better than business...

Closing the door behind him once he was in her entryway, she said, “Would you like to sit down?”

He didn’t answer, he merely went into the living room. And he didn’t sit. He stood in the center of the room, his hands in the pockets of the long overcoat that flapped open down the front.

Jani joined him but she didn’t sit, either. She just propped one shin on the arm of the first easy chair she came to, keeping her distance.

“Am I too late?” he asked out of the blue.

Jani’s head had been so muddled since she’d left his loft over a week ago that for a moment she thought she might have missed something—an invitation, maybe? She just wasn’t sure what he was talking about. “Are you too late for what?”

“You know—the baby-making. Have you gone through with the artificial insemination?”

For some reason that seemed too personal to talk about to him now so her voice was quiet when she said a simple, “No, not yet.”

What she didn’t tell him was that she could have begun the process but had been so upset about him that she’d opted to let another month go by, even though she knew she shouldn’t waste more of her dwindling time. But she just hadn’t been able to choose someone other than Gideon to be the father of her baby. And she definitely hadn’t thought it was time to attempt to conceive when she was so horribly, hideously unhappy.

“Then you’re not pregnant—great!” he said on a sigh of what sounded like relief.

He was so glad about that that it almost made her cry—for the millionth time since she’d last seen him. Was fate just having a laugh at her expense by making her fall as hard as she had for someone
that
anti-baby? And now what? Had he decided he could overlook her being a Camden if only she could give up having kids?

Don’t ask me to make that choice....

“No, I’m not pregnant,” she confirmed cautiously.

“Then I’m not too late.”

“Because you came to stop me?” she asked, still fearing the worst.

“I came to tell you that I don’t want to spend another week—another minute—like the last week. Without you...” he said.

He went on to tell her how bad the week had actually been for him—reflecting back to her the same kind of gloom and despair and awful mood she’d suffered.

Then he talked about today, tonight, and how he’d finally sorted through the things that were keeping them apart.

“It’s complicated, Jani,” he said. “But you were right about a lot of things and I realized that if I let myself be tied forever to the past I’d be robbing myself of having the future that I want with you—”

“A future with a Camden? Didn’t you say that would mean crossing over to the dark side?”

“Yeah, a little,” he said without hesitation. “I can’t say that I don’t feel some guilt for aligning myself with a Camden. Some disloyalty. I can’t say that there might not be times when I look around at all your family has and think that some of it came at the expense of my family. But what’s between you and me...” He shook his head in awe. “It
is
too good to let anything stand in our way. No matter what happened before between H.J. and my great-grandfather, no matter how that rippled through the other generations, right now, today, I’m in love with you, Jani. I’m more in love with you than I’ve ever been with anyone. And I can’t go through another day of my life without you.”

Jani studied him, touched and overjoyed and thrilled because yes, those
were
some of the words she’d wanted desperately to hear.

But there was still the baby issue and she was also afraid of what might come next. Did he hope she would trade her goal of having a baby for the love he was offering her?

“I want kids...” she whispered, opening that door with dread.

Gideon came to stand in front of her, taking her upper arms in his strong hands and bringing her to her feet so he could pull her closer.

“I know,” he said. “And I also can’t tell you that that doesn’t scare me. But I love you,” he said again. “I love you so much it hurts. And when I think about you having a kid, I can’t stand the thought of it being any kid but mine.”

“That isn’t the same as wanting kids,” Jani pointed out.

“Then I’m saying it wrong because yeah, there’s that, too,” he admitted. “I want kids with you. You were right, I did like being a dad and when I thought about it I could see your point—I could see maybe someday wanting that again—”

“But with me,
someday
needs to be today.”

“I know.” He laughed at her nervousness. “That’s why I want you to marry me. Fast!” he said, lightening the tone. “Because I really do want us to have the whole package. I want us to lock this thing down tight and never let go.” He sobered and she saw his own concerns come to the surface before he said with his heart on his sleeve, “Just tell me we won’t ever let go.”

She knew that that was what he was really worried about and, given his history, she understood that.

“Letting go of you isn’t something I ever want to do,” she said softly, sincerely.

“I hope you mean that. I hope you’ll always mean that,” he whispered.

Jani saw his raw vulnerability and knew that nothing could fully reassure him, that only time would prove what she knew in her heart—that they would be together forever.

But she reached a palm to the side of his face, stood on tiptoe and kissed him before she said, “I love you, Gideon. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. More than I knew I
could
love anyone. I love you the way I imagine that people who spend their whole lives together must love each other. If it will make you feel better, I’ll sign a custody agreement before we even have kids because I’m so sure that it will never have to be used—”

“Instead of a prenup we’ll have a prenatal—that gives a whole new meaning to the word doesn’t it?” he joked.

“Still—”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, smiling that smile that had been so slow in coming when they’d first met, that smile that sent a warm rush through her whenever she saw it. “Just say you’ll marry me and the rest—”

“I will,” Jani answered with a laugh of her own, blinking back happy tears now that it was sinking in that she was getting exactly what she wanted.

Gideon’s smile grew into a grin. He stared into her eyes as if he needed a moment to accept that he was getting what he wanted, too. Then he kissed her again—so firmly it staked his claim on her—before he said hopefully, “Maybe we can put my great-grandfather’s name on something better than a community center—like his first great-great-grandson?”

“Or his first great-great-granddaughter—we could call her Frankie.”

“I like that, too,” Gideon said with a laugh.

Then he kissed her once more, so passionately now that she knew that this was not the night she was going to catch up on her sleep.

When he ended that kiss, rather than whisking her to the bedroom the way she thought he might, he instead held her so close that her head became a shelf for his chin and his arms wrapped around her like a vise, as if to convince himself that all this was genuinely real.

But they couldn’t stay in each other’s arms for long without things heating up, so after a few moments he whispered a sexy whisper into her hair. “With any luck maybe we can get great-great-grand Frankie started tonight.”

Jani laughed. “It
is
prime time. I just couldn’t go through with anything that might have given me a baby that wasn’t yours....”

He kissed the top of her head poignantly but camouflaged that poignancy by saying, “Then let’s see if we can’t get this rolling.”

He let go of her to take her hand and lead her out of the living room to the bedroom.

The bedroom where Jani suddenly felt sure they actually would make a baby. Maybe even bab
ies.

Because she loved him too much to believe that anything would keep her from having what she wanted now that she had him.

This man she loved almost more than she could bear.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
Her New Year’s Fortune
by Allison Leigh.

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Chapter One

N
ew Year’s Eve. A night of mystery.

Just like
she
was mysterious. Beautiful. Exotic. And definitely mysterious.

Dark, auburn hair spilled in waves down her back, kissing the golden spine revealed by the cut-down-to-there black cocktail dress that clung to her lithe figure. Her companion’s dark blue gaze was focused intently on her face...dropping to her lips as she took a small sip of her martini. Slightly dirty, just the way she’d ordered. She lowered the cocktail and leaned a little closer to him, feeling more than slightly naughty. Beneath the table, she slipped her foot out of her sinfully high black heels and subtly slid her toes along his ankle...

“Excuse me, miss. Miss?
Miss?
”

The fantasy spinning inside Sarah-Jane Early’s head popped like a bubble of spent soap and she focused on the tuxedo-clad man standing in front of the hostess station she was manning at Red, looking none too patient. She was there not to daydream, but to help see to the needs of every guest of the wedding reception that had commandeered the popular Mexican restaurant for the night, and she quickly smiled. “Yes, sir, how can I help you?”

The man tugged at his skewed bow tie, casting a glance off to one side. “How do I get to the Red Rock Inn?” His question was hurried, and muttered half under his breath. She could have told him he needn’t have bothered trying to be so quiet. For the past three hours, the music from the reception had made conversations nearly impossible. She leaned a little closer to give him the directions to the hotel. He nodded, and took time to thank her before moving away to hold out his hand to the woman he’d obviously been waiting for.

In seconds, they were hurrying out the front door of the restaurant, the man’s arm wrapped possessively around the woman’s hips. It was obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that the couple couldn’t wait to be alone.

She knew there was no point in envying a couple in love...or even a couple in lust, or she’d be spending her life in a constant state of envy. Still, Sarah-Jane sighed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

Fantasizing about wearing killer heels was one thing. Actually doing it was another. She wished she’d have just worn a pair of shoes from her own closet. She had a pair of black pumps. Admittedly they were nearly ten years old, purchased by her mother who had insisted that Sarah-Jane needed to wear the modestly-heeled things for her high school graduation. But they were leather and having been worn only a few times since, were still in good condition.

She glanced down at the shoes she was currently wearing. If she were honest, the only thing in common
these
shoes had with the old ones in her closet were that they were black. She twisted one foot this way and that, and sighed again, a little wistfully. The shoes that Maria Mendoza had insisted she wear
were
beautiful. The velvety suede was as black as midnight and certainly suited the clinging black cocktail dress she was wearing better than her sensible old pumps.

Just thinking about the dress had Sarah-Jane’s fingertips twitching at the hem of it, as if she could eke out another few inches of cloth where there was none. The hem of the dress stayed midway down her thighs, where it had been since she’d donned the garment earlier that day. She couldn’t do anything about the hem anymore than she could do something about the diagonally-slashed cutout neckline that exposed much more of Sarah-Jane’s cleavage than she liked. If she weren’t positively devoted to Maria, who not only owned the restaurant along with her husband but also owned the knitting shop where Sarah-Jane
really
worked as an assistant manager, there’s no way she’d have worn something so unsuitable out in public. She was a lot more comfortable in the pullover shirts and khaki pants that she wore at The Stocking Stitch. She wouldn’t win any fashion awards, but at least she didn’t have to worry that people might think she believed she could carry off such a look.

Her gaze drifted from the empty lobby area of the restaurant back toward the bar where many of the wedding guests had migrated. Most of the wedding party remained, though Emily Fortune and her brand-new husband, Max Allen, had already departed. As had many of the older guests, leaving the younger crowd to stay on and party into the night.

There wasn’t an unsuitably-clad person in the bunch.

What else would one expect when the bride was part of the wealthy Fortune family? To a one, every single person who’d entered the restaurant that evening had looked like they’d stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine.

Her fingertips searched for her hem and tugged.

“Sarah-Jane.”

The sound of her name had her quickly straightening and she turned to find Marcos Mendoza gesturing from near the kitchen. He managed Red, but was also married to a Fortune of his own, and since that Fortune happened to be the little sister of the bride, he’d also been part of the wedding party. She left her post at the hostess station and hurried toward him. “Yes?”

“I think it’s safe for you to clear out,” he offered. “There’s still a little New Year’s Eve left for you to enjoy.”

She kept her smile in place. “I arranged to be here the entire evening, Marcos.” She certainly didn’t have anything more exciting waiting for her at home. Her roommate, Felicity, was at a party, and there had never been any handsome men in Sarah-Jane’s life who were anxious to ring in anything with her, much less a new year. At least by helping out Maria, she was doing something productive. “I know Maria wanted all of you to be able to enjoy the wedding as guests rather than staff. I can still help out in the kitchen or something.”

He smiled wryly. “Well, I’m not about to turn down willing help. But you’d be a waste in the kitchen dressed like you are.” Off duty and wedding guest or not, he was still clearly in management mode. He quickly scanned the restaurant, then nodded with decision. “Cindy’s slammed at the bar; if you don’t mind grabbing a tray and starting to collect the empties—”

“I don’t mind,” she assured, and was glad to head that way. Being busy was always preferable to standing around letting her wandering mind conjure up silly fantasies of a faceless man who had eyes only for her.

Ignoring her aching feet, she headed toward the bar, crossing between the crowded tables. She would have had to have been blind not to notice the line of men bellied up to the bar as she rounded it, but she kept her gaze focused on the new task at hand. Cindy, the temporary bartender that Maria had hired for the evening, did look slammed, barely glancing at Sarah-Jane when she found the trays behind the bar. She retrieved one and quickly turned back around, heading to the tables once more. In minutes, she’d filled the tray with abandoned glasses, and she aimed toward the swinging door leading to the kitchen. She had to pass by the line of men at the bar again on the way, and as she did, one of them stuck out his arm behind him.

“Here you go, hon.” Even above the music, his voice was deep and filled with a Southern drawl. The man didn’t glance at her, and she automatically took the glass, looking away shyly when her gaze collided with the dark blond-haired man sitting next to him. “Wyatt, what the hell do you mean you’re not coming back to Atlanta?” she heard him demand.

Not wanting to appear to be eavesdropping, she stacked the glass precariously inside another, and aimed for the kitchen again. The tray was too heavy to carry one handed, and she turned, using her hip to push through the swinging door.

Her gaze couldn’t help glancing toward the men at the bar. She’d been the one to seat them at their assigned tables when they’d arrived, so she knew they were all related to the bride, though she wasn’t sure exactly how. There were five of them, all wearing similar black suits that looked as if they’d been born to them. And each one was better looking than the last. They’d arrived without women on their arms, but Sarah-Jane had a hard time believing that they’d all be leaving without one.

At least she’d have plenty of details to give Felicity in the morning.

As if he’d felt her attention, the blond-haired man at the end of the bar sitting next to the glass-giver looked her way. He’d pulled his silver tie loose around his throat and looked like he couldn’t wait to get out of it altogether.

Her breath stopped up in her chest and the door that she’d just nudged open swung back again, bumping her square on her rump. She jumped, feeling her cheeks flush.

But the man who’d seemed to be staring right into her eyes merely lifted the shot glass he was holding and tossed back the amber contents, his focus turning again to his companions.

He hadn’t noticed her at all.

Feeling foolish, she backed through the swinging door and dumped off the empties with the kid manning the dishwasher. What was she thinking? Men like that didn’t give women like Sarah-Jane a second glance. Not a serious one, anyway.

Never had. Never would.

With that reminder firmly in her head, she took her empty tray and went out to fill it again.

* * *

“I mean there’s been a change of plans,” Wyatt repeated patiently, while his cousin Michael eyed him with clear impatience. “We’re staying here in Red Rock.” Wyatt looked past his cousin to his three brothers. First Asher, then Shane, then Sawyer. Willing them to nod. Back him up. They’d already made the decision, and just because his brothers had been drinking steadily since they’d hit the bar didn’t mean anything had changed.

Not back in Atlanta, that was for damn sure.

Asher finally nodded. Sawyer did, too. Shane’s nod was a little slower in coming. “That’s what we said,” he muttered, though he didn’t look any too happy about it.

Wyatt loved his brothers. But if anyone was going to side with their father, it was going to be Shane.

As if he’d heard Wyatt’s thoughts, his brother shot him a look, then gestured toward the pretty bartender with his glass. Without a word, the lanky blonde tipped the bottle of whiskey, pouring out another shot before she turned and filled several margarita glasses for a waiting cocktail waitress.

“You’re telling me you’ve all just up and decided to take unscheduled vacations from JMF Financial?” Michael was still shaking his head, disbelief thinning his lips. “A month ago you were complaining because you didn’t know how to fit in a week to come out here for Emily’s wedding.”

A month ago—hell, even less than that—Wyatt and his brothers had still had a rug firmly under their boots.

Thanks to their father, now they didn’t.

“It’s more than a vacation.” His voice was flat. “We’re not going back. Period.”

Michael frowned, but he was obviously just as confused by the pronouncement as he was annoyed at the change of plans. His cousin didn’t like being left out of the loop, but Wyatt didn’t feel like explaining the reasons behind their decision. Not here at Emily’s wedding reception, anyway, where the loud music was making any kind of conversation more public than he liked.

“What’d you all decide to do? Hang around Red Rock and find yourselves wives?” Michael’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “That’s what everyone else in this family who sticks around in Red Rock for more than a few days seems to do. Puts their heads right into a marital noose.”

“Hell no!” Sawyer visibly shuddered. He was twenty-seven—two years younger than Wyatt—and the idea of marriage was clearly as far from his mind as it was Wyatt’s. Shane was nodding, too. And Asher...well, Asher had already gone through one divorce. He just stared into his drink and said nothing.

“Then what the
hell’s
going on?”

Wyatt’s jaw was so tight, it ached. He looked away from his cousin’s confounded face and his brothers’ stoic ones. The hostess who’d seated them was still moving around the tables, loading up her little round tray with empty glasses. He watched the sway of her shapely backside as she disappeared through the swinging kitchen door with her latest load. She looked about average height—shorter than the tall bartender—and from the gleaming auburn hair that she’d tied back in a knot to the high-heeled shoes she was wearing, she looked anything but average.

Watching her throughout the evening had at least provided a nice diversion when he’d felt his mood turning black.

“Maybe we need to go back to Atlanta,” Shane suggested. “Shutting that door
is
pretty damn permanent, Wy. Even you’ve got to admit that.”

Wyatt eyed his older brother. The eldest of his brothers at thirty-two, Shane was chief operating officer of JMF Financial. Slightly higher up the food chain than Wyatt was, but neither Wyatt’s nor Sawyer’s or Asher’s stake in the future of the company was any less important. “We can discuss it later.”

“But—”

“He’s right,” Asher said quietly. He was only a year younger than Shane, and as was often the case, when he
did
speak up, he was the voice of reason. “This isn’t the place.”

“You’ve all lost your minds,” Michael muttered. He was older than them all, and cousins or not, was used to calling the shots. “What
ever
is going on. You’re just gonna up and leave everything you’ve worked for at JMF. To stay in Red Rock.” He shook his head at what he clearly considered unfathomable, but thankfully dropped the subject and waved his finger over his squat glass. The bartender saw the signal, and poured him yet another shot.

The blonde was good at her job. Efficient. Didn’t linger, listening in. The reception had an open bar, but Wyatt figured he’d still leave the girl a healthy tip. She’d certainly earned it.

The voluptuous hostess slipped past again and Wyatt tracked her progress without really realizing it. The bartender was a pretty blonde who looked like she’d be just as at home batting around a volleyball on the beach as she did working behind the busy bar. In contrast, the hostess was a stunning knockout with enough curves to please a Formula 1 driver.

Wyatt wasn’t a race car driver. And while he usually tended toward tall, athletic women more like the bartender, he found himself definitely appreciating the hostess’s heady curves. Watching her was a lot more pleasurable than dwelling on the mess they’d left behind in Atlanta.