The Baby Track (2 page)

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Courtney grated. “Jarrell Harcourt is the sister of a man I’ve dated. Now, will you
please—”

“And she doesn’t like you or the fact that you date her brother,” Connor surmised. “Why not?”

Courtney knew she shouldn’t answer him. She should completely ignore him before he took any sort of response at all for encouragement. The last thing this brash barbarian needed was encouragement of any kind. Having reached that conclusion, she was stunned to hear herself snap, “Since you’re so quick on the uptake I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out for yourself.”

“Hmm. Let me scope it out.” He glanced from her to the paper bag and can of soda pop on her desk. “I do have a few clues. For instance, wouldn’t a stuck-up snob eat something equally insufferable? Something like pate and watercress on toast points from some upscale, trendy place? And of course, the beverage of choice wouldn’t be good old all-American cola like you have here, it would have to be the latest in designer spring water or something similarly snotty.”

He picked up the oily bag and read the name printed on it. “Herman’s Deli. I know the place. It’s a hole-in-the-wall in a downscale, decidedly nontrendy area of the city, but they deliver anywhere. Even here, it seems.”

Connor frowned thoughtfully. “So I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that the reason why the Harcourt broad doesn’t like you dating her brother is because she doesn’t approve of you. Your patronage of Herman’s Deli and those big gypsy eyes of yours give you away, Courtney Carey. You might be one of NPB’s cerebral highbrows, but you’re not a rich, upper-class snob whose birth certificate entitles you to travel in the Harcourts’ blue-blooded circles.” He arched his dark, thick brows and smiled sardonically. “Though you damn well wish you were.”

He’d zeroed in with unerring accuracy on the reason for Jarrell Harcourt’s disapproval of her, but he was way off the mark otherwise. “I do
not
want to be a rich snob, and I resent your accusation as much as I resent Jarrell Harcourt’s suspicions that I’m out to snare her defenseless brother.” Courtney shot him a look of pure dislike. “I’ve humored you long enough,
Connor.
” She scornfully emphasized his first name to underscore her contempt for his unwarranted familiarity. “Get out of my office. Right now.”

Instead of leaving, he dropped into her desk chair. “You cut me to the quick, honey. I don’t mind you ordering me out of your office, but dropping the respectful Mr. McKay for
Connor
was a low blow.” He shook his head. “It’s going to take me a long time to recover from that one.”

Courtney flushed. She was humiliated. And furious. And frustrated. She was getting nowhere with this disrespectful smart aleck, while he was having a field day mocking her. What was even worse was the uneasy notion that she was ably assisting him in making a fool of her.

“Who are you?” she ground out, clenching her fingers into fists. Her palms were itching with the urge to slap that handsome face of his, to wipe off the mocking smile. It was a totally uncharacteristic impulse for her, for she loathed violence of any sort. Why, every holiday season she picketed the office of a toy store chain protesting their sale of war toys and martial arts items!

She was committed to settling disputes with words, but at this moment, she very much wanted to smack the sarcastic smile off Connor McKay’s face. Horrified, Courtney put her hands behind her back.

“I already told you my name,” Connor said, shrugging dismissively, seemingly unaware of her inner turmoil. Or if he were aware, it didn’t bother him in the least. Her anger rose with alarming force. “Then
what
are you?” “I’m something of a private investigator,” he replied nonchalantly.

Courtney stared at him, momentarily agog. “You mean, like a policeman?”

“No, Gypsy. Nothing at all like a policeman.”

“Stop being so oblique. And don’t call me Gypsy.”

“You look like a gypsy girl. Sultry, sexy. Hot dark eyes.” “You’re the one with the hot eyes,” she snapped. “Don’t think I’m not aware of the way you’ve been looking at me, stripping me naked—” She abruptly broke off, horrified with her admission.
What on earth was the matter with her?
She never blurted out her thoughts, had never once had an embarrassing slip of the tongue. Until now, in the infuriating, wicked presence of Connor McKay.

“I plead guilty to stripping you with my eyes,” Connor admitted with a cool, sexy smile. “I wouldn’t mind doing it with my hands, either, Gypsy. But imagine you noticing and then commenting on it! I think I’m beginning to see why Jarrell doesn’t approve of you as an aspiring Harcourt.” Courtney, heralded by everybody who knew her for never losing her temper, finally lost it. She grabbed the nearest hurlable object, a large thick book on Celtic legends that had been the basis for a critically acclaimed television program last fall on NPB. Unfortunately it had suffered the usual NPB curse of dismal ratings. She drew back her arm to throw.

“As I said—hot eyes, hot-blooded.” Connor’s sea-green eyes gleamed. “Go ahead, throw it, baby. That’ll give me cause to come after you. Like this.” He sprang from the chair, as swift and lithe as a leopard.

Courtney scarcely had time to blink before he was standing directly in front of her.

“And then I’ll retaliate. Like this.” His big hands cupped her shoulders and he pulled her against him with one deft movement.

She was so shocked that the book fell from her suddenly nerveless fingers. It landed on the carpet with a thud. Just as quickly and unexpectedly as he’d grabbed her, Connor released her. He bent down and picked up the book, then set it carefully on the top of the desk.

“But since you didn’t throw the book, after all, I have no reason to retaliate, do I, Courtney?” His voice was low and husky.

They were still standing close together, and warmth pooled deep in his groin as he stared down at her, taking thorough inventory of her—her big brown eyes, that gorgeous mouth, her breasts, her slender, well-shaped legs in the sheer, cream-tinted nylons. Her dark green leather shoes were as dainty and as sexy as her small, slim feet. He inhaled the clean, fresh scent of her hair and had to restrain himself from reaching out to stroke it.

This little game was beginning to get out of hand, he realized with a start. Playing with the deceptively prim Miss Carey was too arousing, and entirely too engaging. His efficient bachelor alarm sounded. An arousing, engaging woman led to involvement, involvement inevitably meant demands and promises that swiftly escalated into commitment. He wanted none of it, not any of it.

He had let her go'because he’d been astonished by how badly he wanted to keep her in his arms, but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from her. Another danger signal.

Cotirtney’s heart began to thud. His gaze burned her, hot as fire, and she backed away from him. She could still feel the imprint of his warm, strong hands on her shoulders, her breasts were tingling from that momentary collision with the hard muscular wall of his chest. He was too big, too close, too intimidatingly male, and she felt scared and off balance. And furious that he could affect her in such an elemental, primitive way.

“Mr. McKay—” she began tightly.

“You are all shook up, aren’t you?” Connor schooled his features into a coolly amused mask. He was relieved that she did not know how very far from cool he really was.

“If your nemesis Jarrell Harcourt actually had hired me,I definitely would’ve earned my salary.” He laughed a pleased-with-himself laugh that set her teeth on edge.

Oh, she really did not like this man! “You’ve taken up enough of my time,” Courtney fairly snarled. “If you don’t get out immediately, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Calling security and throwing a book at me have already been ruled out. Exactly what are your other options, Gypsy?” He should stop this at once, Connor reprimanded himself. A few more sparks and the electricity crackling between them would blow a fuse. But he couldn’t seem to stop baiting her.

“Don’t call me Gypsy! And
this
is my other option,” she added dramatically, storming out of the office and slamming the door behind her. Her knees were shaking and her heartbeat thundered in her head.

She was halfway down the hall before she admitted the true reason why she had removed herself from her own office. If she hadn’t left, she would’ve done something very physical—to him. The urge to run at him like a battering ram had been almost overwhelming. And if she had...

It didn’t take much imagination to visualize herself • crashing into him, and Courtney had always had a very active imagination. She carried the scenario further in her mind. He would catch her, wrapping his arms around her to brace himself against the furious thrust of her. And then he would look down at her with those hot, hungry green eyes of his. And she would—

“Courtney, what’s going on? Where is that intrusive pest?”

Courtney started violently as she came face-to-face with Mimi Ditmar. “I—um—left him in my office,” she said weakly.

“What does he want?” asked Mimi. “Is he selling something?”

It occurred to Courtney that she had no idea what Connor McKay really wanted or why he’d come to her office. They had kept getting sidetracked from that little issue. Her cheeks pinked. She had behaved atrociously, she reproved herself, like a headstrong, impulsive adolescent instead of the jack-of-all-trades—writer, editor and programming/ production assistant—that she was. Working in public television, particularly for a new network, meant doing a little, sometimes a lot, of everything.

Connor McKay, a salesman? That hadn’t even occurred to her. “I came out here to get—” Courtney stared at Mimi’s desk, saw the stack of papers and improvised “—a copy of the transcript of our show on the early days of the American cinema.” She snatched a copy from the top of the pile.

“He’s interested in the early days of American cinema?” Mimi appeared stunned. “What is he, a filmmaker? One of those wild nonconformist types from Hollywood?”

There had never actually been a wild nonconformist type from Hollywood in the Washington, D.C., office of NPB, but Courtney supposed that Connor McKay might be Mimi’s idea of one. She almost smiled.

But she didn’t. She had left a stranger in her office while she’d run off like a high-strung schoolgirl, she reminded herself. A sobering thought, indeed.

“I don’t know what to make of him, Mimi,” she said frankly. She did know that he’d had a powerful impact on her, that she had never met another man who affected her so viscerally, so physically. And that made him dangerous, indeed.

He was also still in her office and she had no other choice but to return and deal with him. Courtney squared her shoulders and headed back down the corridor toward her office, the transcript in her hand.

It would be just her luck if Connor McKay turned out to be who he had claimed he was when he’d first entered her office—an eccentric billionaire with a seven-figure check to donate to National Public Broadcasting, a sum that would catapult the struggling three-year-old network out of the red and into the heady zones of profit.

Courtney found herself half believing it by the time she’d reached her office. She opened the door and stepped inside.

Two

He was sitting behind her desk, eating her cheesesteak.

“It’s great.” Connor held up the other, untouched half of the sandwich. “Have some.”

Courtney reached an irrevocable conclusion. ‘ ‘ Whoever— and whatever—you are, you are definitely
not
an eccentric billionaire with a generous donation for the network.”

He laughed. “Don’t tell me you actually thought I was? Say, would you like to buy some oceanfront property in Nebraska?”

She walked over to her desk and snatched the other half of her cheesesteak. “I don’t recall asking you to join me for lunch. And I certainly didn’t invite you to
eat
my lunch.” “You couldn’t eat the whole thing by yourself. This is a big sandwich for such a little girl.”

Courtney rolled her eyes heavenward. “I’m twenty-five year? old, I’m self-supporting and a taxpayer. What I am
not
is a little girl.”

“Twenty-five, huh? You look younger.”

“If that’s a compliment, thank you. If it’s an insult, consider it ignored.” She sat down on the only other chair in her small office, which was placed alongside her desk. “And the reason why I ordered the full-sized cheesesteak is precisely because I
can
eat the whole thing myself. I’m starving. I had no breakfast this morning and very little dinner last night.” She took a generous bite of the sandwich. What was the point of standing on ceremony with this office-crashing lunch-napper?

“Harcourt was too stingy to spring for dinner, wore you out in bed and then cheaped-out on breakfast, too, huh?” Her head jerked up and her eyes collided with his. To her everlasting consternation, she blushed. “That is none of your business, Mr. McKay.”

“This Harcourt guy sounds like a major pain, Gypsy. He’s cheap, he has a sister who doesn’t like you. Is he really worth your time?”

“I refuse to discuss Emery Harcourt with—”

“Emery?
You’ve got to be kidding. His name is Emery Harcourt? Honey, he’d better be dynamite in the sack to make up for that.”

Courtney tossed down her sandwich and jumped to her feet. “He is not dynamite in the sack! And I—”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Connor cut in gleefully. “But no sorrier than you, I’m sure. So, you’re after him strictly for his money, hmm?”

“You’re deliberately misinterpreting everything I say!” Courtney accused. Part of her acknowledged that she was overreacting to his teasing and that he was reveling in her heated responses, but she promptly absolved herself. The man frustrated her beyond endurance!

Connor finished his half of the sandwich and took a long swallow from the can of cola. “What’s to misinterpret, Courtney? It all seems pretty clear-cut to me. You’re an ambitious, social-climbing gold digger who doesn’t mind putting up with cheap, impotent Emery Harcourt because—”

“He is not impotent! That is, even if he is, I wouldn’t know because I’ve never slept with him.” She glowered forbiddingly, trying to stem the insidious blush suffusing her cheeks. She could not remember ever being quite this mortified. “I’ve known him for several years and—”