One Night With You (24 page)

"Did you think it was safe to tell me now that you had me hooked? Now that I'd admitted how I feel about you?"

"No!" Her denial was shocked and vehement and totally unfeigned. If he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own pain and bewilderment, he might have seen that. "No, Jake, I—"

"Did you think I'd just say 'Gee, isn't that nice.' A daughter!" His voice rose harshly on the last word, echoing through the room.

"Please, Jake." Desi's hand went out to him warningly. "She's asleep."

But the warning came too late. They both heard the thin wail that came from the other room. Desi stilled for a minute, holding her breath. Maybe she'd fall back to sleep. But no, the whimper became a full-fledged cry for immediate attention.

"I have to go to her. She's teething." Desi hurried past Jake into her daughter's room.

"There, there, darling," she soothed, lifting the crying baby from her crib. "Hush, darling, mommie's here." She held the baby against her shoulder, gently rubbing her back in an effort to quiet her tears, all the while desperately fighting tears of her own. When that didn't work she turned Stephanie, cradling the baby in the crook of one arm, and applied gentle pressure to her irritated gums. Almost immediately the crying stopped as Stephanie began to suck contentedly on her mother's finger.

"Poor little angel," she crooned softly. "You need some more medicine on those sore gums, don't you?" Desi turned from the crib with the baby in her arms to see Jake standing in the doorway, silently watching her.

She almost quailed before the look on his face, but then her shoulders stiffened and she crossed the room, brushing past him on her way to the bathroom for Stephanie's medication. He followed, watching as she sat down on the edge of the bathtub to apply the numbing cream to the baby's gums.

"She looks like you," he said after a minute.

"Yes, she does." Desi's voice was as controlled as his but she didn't look up. "She has your eyes, though."

"Does she?" He folded his arms across his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. Almost, Desi thought, as if he was afraid he might reach out to touch one of them if he didn't. "I don't see the resemblance myself."

"I didn't think you would," she murmured. She gave Stephanie another dose of liquid baby aspirin and stood up. Again, Jake followed her as she returned to the baby's room to put Stephanie back into her crib.

"What did you say her name was?" he asked from behind her as she smoothed a light quilt over the drowsy baby.

Desi's hand touched her daughter's head briefly, brushing back a few curling tufts of red hair that were still damp with fever-induced perspiration. The baby's face was lightly flushed from crying, and she looked incredibly sweet and angelic.

"Stephanie," Desi said softly, her eyes on her daughter.

"Stephanie what?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Weston," she said firmly.

"And who did you put down as the father?"

He meant the birth certificate, she realized. That was still a very sore point with her. She had hated to do what she did, but at the time it had seemed like the best thing to do. Putting the name Jake Lancing down as her baby's father would have resulted in unbearable publicity. Birth certificates were a matter of public record, if anyone cared to investigate. It would have made the front page of every scandal sheet in the country.

"Well—what name?"

"Unknown," she said softly, still looking down at her daughter.

"What?" He made her repeat it.

"Unknown." She looked up at him defiantly. "I wrote, 'Father unknown.' What else would you expect? You know what would have happened if I'd put your name on it."

There was a strange, cold smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes. "Well, that solves one problem, at least."

"What's that?" she asked suspiciously, not trusting that smile.

"It will save me the trouble of going to court to have it changed."

He didn't believe her. He didn't believe Stephanie was his daughter.! So, okay, what else had she expected? She drew herself up proudly.

"It will save you any trouble at all," she said. "It may have escaped your notice, but I haven't asked you for anything." She turned away quickly, heading for the nursery door, and so missed the momentary expression of confusion, or doubt, that crossed his face.

I will not cry
, she told herself, fighting tears.
I will not cry or explain or plead
. She turned back to face him when they reached the living room. Her eyes were dry. "I think you'd better go, Jake."

He didn't make a move toward the door. "Not until I know what you're up to."

"I'm not up to anything. I told you that. If I was up to something, wouldn't I have made my move long before now? Stephanie is almost five months old. Five months, Jake. The time for me to bring the paternity suit you're so obviously afraid of was when she was born, not now."

"When
was
she born—exactly?"

"July 10," she answered him absently, anxious to get back to what she considered a more important question. "I don't intend to bring suit, Jake, I..." Her voice trailed off.

She could almost see him doing the calculations in his head. A look of something very like disappointment crossed his face for the merest instant, but it was replaced almost immediately by anger—anger and a frighteningly cold sort of contempt.

"So you were already pregnant when you picked me up that night on the plane." There was complete conviction in his voice.

"No," she denied automatically, forgetting her resolve not to explain or plead. "Stephanie was premature. Six weeks premature." But she could see that he didn't believe her.

"Did you plan it all?" he wanted to know. "Did you intend to use me? Or was it just a spur-of-the-moment idea? An opportunity too good to pass up? Hmm?" he said with a curl of his lip. "I'd be curious to know just how you planned to work this out."

"I didn't plan anything," she denied. Her voice was a mere whisper. "You've got to believe me, Jake. I never used you. Stephanie
was
premature—"

"Just how stupid do you think I am?" he exploded. "My God, Desiree, that's one of the oldest tricks in the book."

"It isn't a trick," she insisted, but she knew it was no use. Jake wasn't listening to anything she had to say. He was too angry to listen. Maybe he would always be too angry to listen.

"Did you really expect me to just take your word for it? Be so overjoyed that you had supplied me with a daughter that I wouldn't ask any unpleasant questions?"

If you only knew what I'd thought
, she wanted to say but she didn't.

"You should have done your homework better," he taunted. "That particular little scheme has been tried before, and by more experienced hustlers than you."

Desi covered her ears with her hands. "That's enough, Jake. Enough." She lowered her hands, and her fists clenched tightly at her sides. She could feel the smooth ovals of her nails digging into her palms, but it didn't seem to matter. All that mattered at this moment was making him understand a few important facts.

"Stephanie is your daughter," she said slowly, carefully enunciating each word so that he would be sure to understand. "You can believe that or not. I don't care one way or the other," she lied.

"You can bet I don't believe it," he cut in savagely.

"Fine," she shot back. "As far as I'm concerned, it's your loss. Not ours." She turned away again, trembling now. Her self-control was almost at an end. "I'd appreciate it if you'd leave now, Jake."

"Not until I know what you plan to do."

"I told you what I plan to do.
Nothing
is what I plan to do." She turned back to face him once more. "Are you listening, Jake? Nothing! My daughter's name is Stephanie Weston. It will stay Weston. We don't need you," she flung at him, struggling with her tears. "We don't want you. Just go. Please!"

"Desiree," he said, a strange note coloring his deep voice. His hand reached out and touched her shoulder.

She shook him off, moving away from his dangerous touch. If he stayed any longer she would break down and do what she had promised herself she wouldn't do. She would start to cry and explain and plead.

"Please go," she repeated. "There's nothing more to say."

He went, closing the door softly behind him. Desi stood where she was in the middle of her comfortable living room, holding herself together by sheer effort of will. She heard his footsteps on the stairs and then the outermost door slammed shut. Something in her broke then. Whatever it was that had been holding her together during this past year finally just gave way. She had held tight through the long lonely months of her pregnancy, through the complicated birth and the early fears for her premature baby, through these last tension-filled months on the set, pretending that Jake was no more to her than an employer. But, suddenly, she just let go.

Desi crumbled into a chair, racked by sobs. Deep wrenching sobs that came up from her stomach, making her gasp for each breath, until there were simply no more tears left to cry.

To have what she had wanted, had dreamed of, for so long. To hear Jake say those three wonderful words, and then to lose him again, all in the space of a day. To see his eyes go from warm and loving to cold and contemptuous. To hear him say those hateful things. Liar, he had called her. Why, oh why, hadn't she told him sooner? Why? But there were no answers in the silent room. None.

She got up from the chair, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, and went in to look at Stephanie. She needed to see her baby...her anchor.

"Well, your daddy didn't want us," she said to the sleeping baby. "But don't worry about it, angel. We can get along just fine without him. We have so far, haven't we?"

Chapter 13

Desi struggled up from the depths of sleep, her one thought to stop the noise, quickly, before it woke Stephanie. She reached out groggily to shut off the alarm, and her hand hit against the tray of cold coffee and uneaten sandwiches. For a minute she was disoriented, and then she remembered. She was on the sofa, curled up under Stephanie's quilt. The noise wasn't her alarm, it was the doorbell. It sounded again, louder this time it seemed, and she jumped up, wrapping the quilt around her shoulders, and stumbled toward the door.

"Hold it down, will you. The baby's asleep," she rasped as she pulled open the door. She pushed the hair out of her eyes with one hand, peering out into the dim hall with tear-swollen eyes. Jake stared back at her.

"Go away," she said, trying to close the door on him.

His foot stopped her. "Desiree, we have to talk."

"We've talked." She pushed against the door. "Now go away."

Please go away
, she pleaded silently.
Let me start getting over you again
.

"We've got to talk," he repeated.

Desi remained silent, leaning her full weight against the door but he didn't budge.

"I'll stand here all night if I have to."

Wearily she heaved herself away from the door, swinging it open, and stared up at him. "So talk," she said rudely.

"Can I come in?"

"You're in, aren't you?" Quickly she turned away, hunching herself farther into the pastel baby quilt, before her hands could disobey her and reach out to touch him.

He looked tired—as tired as she felt—and there was a shadow of stubble on his lean jaw. His beautiful dark eyes held an expression she couldn't read. Good, she didn't want to read it.

I don't care
, she told herself.
I don't care
.

But she did, and God help her, she probably always would.

"What do you want?" she said, throwing the words over her shoulder as she moved across the room, away from him, to stand staring sightlessly out the window at the moonlit San Francisco night.

"To talk to you."

"About what?" She knew she sounded rude and nasty, but that seemed to be her only defense against him. She turned from the window and found him standing right behind her.

He reached out one hand and gently touched her tear-streaked face. "You've been crying," he said softly. His thumb caressed her cheek.

For just a second, the space of a heartbeat only, she allowed herself the tenderness of his touch, and then she jerked out of his reach as if he had burned her. In a way, she thought, he had.

"My tears surprise you?" she said.

She glared defiantly up into his face for an instant and then quickly looked away. It was a mistake to look too closely into his eyes. There were questions there and a strange expression that bordered on pain. She didn't want to know about his pain. Not now. She had enough pain of her own.

"What did you expect?" she said then, moving to the safety of the cane rocker. She sat down, wrapping the quilt around her bent knees. "It's not every day that someone calls me a hustler—" her voice began to shake "—and a liar." She flung the words at him bitterly.

Jake made a sound like a groan, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry for that, Desiree. I'd give anything to have those words unsaid."