Friends, Lovers...And Babies! (The Baby Bet #2) Read online

  But now she knew that.

  She had facts that would enable her to maintain control of her very unsettling passion when she was with Ryan. She’d panicked at first from her reactions to him, but she was under control now, doing fine. What continually happened between her and Ryan was a chemical thing, was…lust—nothing more.

  Oh, boy, would Ryan be fuming if he realized she was in charge of the present scenario. She would get him to make needed changes in his life, and he’d never know what hit him.

  Men might be physically stronger than women, but engage in mental shenanigans? They didn’t stand a chance.

  “Oh, yes,” Deedee said cheerfully, “it’s a beautiful day.”

  * * *

  Friday evening, Deedee stood in front of her closet, thoughtfully tapping one fingertip against her chin. She was wrapped in a towel, having just finished showering and washing her hair.

  What should she wear for her date with Ryan? He’d simply said they’d go out to dinner, giving no clue as to what type of restaurant he had in mind.

  Actually, this wasn’t a date, as in date. This was a meeting, scheduled so they could discuss the progress made reevaluating their individual lives.

  So what did a person wear to a meeting date? Another question to ponder was what in the heck was she going to discuss?

  Ryan would pitch a holy fit if she said her plans for the future were centered on increasing her inventory of rare books. Not good, not good at all. He’d want to hear an admission that she yearned for a husband and a pink rabbit. Well, forget that.

  “I’ll wing it,” she said aloud. “But what should I wear?”

  If they went the fast-food route, it called for jeans and a sport top. A family restaurant meant slacks and a sweater. If they were going to “dine,” then a fancy dress was in order.

  “Well, darn,” she said, frowning, “how can I dress so I’ll be prepared for anything?”

  Okay, she’d split the difference. She’d wear the peach-colored sweater with the lacy inserts, winterwhite slacks, and medium heels.

  The last time she wore the peach sweater on a date, she’d added a full-length black skirt and had been dressed to the nines. The outfit she’d just mentally assembled would be halfway between superfancy and very laid-back.

  Forty-five minutes later, her hair dried and brushed into soft curls and makeup applied, she looked smashing, if she did say so herself. All she needed was a couple of spritzes of cologne, and she’d be ready to go.

  The flowery cologne applied, she turned off the bedroom light and went into the living room, humming softly.

  A few minutes later, a knock sounded at the door and she went to answer it, the smile on her face genuine. When she opened the door, the smile slid right off her chin as she stared at Ryan.

  Merciful saints, her mind thundered, Ryan MacAllister was absolutely gorgeous.

  He was wearing a charcoal gray suit with a navy blue shirt and gray tie. A navy silk handkerchief peeked above his jacket pocket. The rich colors did marvelous things, sinful things, for his tan, and his shoulders looked a block wide.

  “Hello, Deedee,” Ryan said, not smiling. “May I come in?”

  Deedee blinked. “What? Oh. Come in? Of course you may come in. Hello, Ryan, come in.”

  “You’re babbling,” he said dryly, moving past her. “Do you have a problem?”

  She closed the door and turned to face him, willing her smile back into place.

  “No,” she said brightly, “I don’t have a problem. Nope, not me.”

  He sure as hell did, Ryan thought with a flash of anger. Deedee looked sensational, exquisite, fantastic, and heat had rocketed through his body the moment she’d opened the door.

  That sweater she was wearing was a teaser, by damn. A sweater was supposed to be a sweater, not a peekaboo thing with lace whatevers that gave enticing glimpses of the tantalizing woman beneath. Oh, man, this could very well turn into an extremely long evening.

  “Are you ready to go?” he said gruffly.

  Deedee frowned. “You don’t sound very thrilled about the idea. You look about as pleased as a person might if he was leaving for the dentist’s office to have a root canal done.”

  Ryan started to retort, then changed his mind, taking a deep breath instead. He let it out slowly, ran one hand down his tie and squared his shoulders.

  “There,” he said, smiling. “That’s better. I had a hectic day, lots of tedious details to tend to. I didn’t have time to ‘chill out,’ as the kids say, before I came over here. I’m perfectly fine now.” Bull! “So if you’ll get your purse, we’ll be on our way.”

  “Right,” she said, eyeing him warily.

  The restaurant was a step above “family outing” and a step below “waiters in tuxedos.”

  She’d dressed appropriately, Deedee decided when they’d been seated.

  They ordered from menus offering a wide variety, then Ryan selected, tasted and approved the wine.

  “Now then,” he said, “we discussed the weather during the drive over here, as well as the royal family of England. Let’s get to the nitty-gritty, shall we?”

  “Certainly.”

  Several long seconds ticked by as they looked at each other expectantly.

  “Well?” Ryan finally said. “What’s your report, Deedee? How far have you gotten in reevaluating your life?”

  “Me? Oh, I think you should go first, Ryan. After all, this is your plan, your idea.”

  “No, I—”

  “I insist.” She smiled, propped her elbows on the table and folded her hands beneath her chin. “I’m all ears.”

  No, he thought dismally, she was all woman, and he was a dying man. The drive from Deedee’s apartment to the restaurant had been pure agony. Her flowery perfume, the lilting sound of her laughter, the very essence of her femininity, had seemed to fill the interior of the vehicle to overflowing. His body had declared war against his common sense.

  Oh, man, how he wanted to make love with Deedee Hamilton.

  “Ryan?”

  “Hmm?” he said, a rather vague expression on his face.

  She leaned slightly toward him. “Are you with me here? What do you have to report?”

  “Your salads,” the waiter said, suddenly appearing. “Would you care for ground pepper?”

  After the waiter had moved away, Deedee picked up her fork and took a bite of crisp lettuce.

  “Did you see the size of that pepper grinder?” Ryan said. “The thing must have been three feet long. I should tell that guy that I’m a cop, and he has twenty-four hours to register it as a lethal weapon.”

  “Well, my goodness,” Deedee said, “that is a very interesting observation.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You want to be a police officer again.”

  “I didn’t say…” he said, much too loudly. He glanced quickly around, then lowered the volume of his voice. “I didn’t say I wanted to be a cop again.”

  “Ryan, Ryan, Ryan,” Deedee said, shaking her head, “you amaze me. You’re the one who is so big on your subconscious sending messages that your conscious mind might not yet be aware of as being facts. That does apply to you, too, you know.”

  “So?”

  “So you didn’t say you used to be a cop, you said, ‘I should tell that guy that I’m a cop.’ Present tense, as in now. Therefore—” she pointed her fork at him “—you’re saying that you’ve discovered you want to rejoin the police force. I think that’s wonderful. Everyone says you were a terrific cop. Will you and Ted be able to be partners again?”

  Ryan sank back in his chair and stared at Deedee as though she’d just grown an extra nose. She smiled at him pleasantly, then took another bite of salad.

  Somehow, he thought, narrowing his eyes, Deedee had gained the upper hand here, was calling the shots. How had she managed to do that? Lord, women were difficult to deal with.

  The really rotten part of all this was that she was right. He did want to be a c
op again. He had no intention of pursuing that desire, but a part of him honestly did want to.

  Damn it, what was he going to say? He was a MacAllister, and MacAllisters had been raised to tell the truth. They did not tell bold-faced lies.

  “Ryan?”

  He moved forward again, pushed his salad plate to one side and crossed his arms on the top of the table.

  “You’re quick, Deedee Hamilton,” he said. “You’d be a good cop yourself.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Let’s get something straight here. Whatever we tell each other is to be held in strict confidence and goes no further than the two of us. Agreed?”

  Deedee nodded. “Agreed.”

  Ryan drummed the fingers of one hand on the tabletop, attempting and failing to discover a way to not address the issue of his wanting, or not wanting, to rejoin the police force.

  “Hell,” he muttered.

  “Ryan, you’re stalling.”

  He straightened and folded his arms on his chest.

  “You’re right,” he said, “I am stalling. I’m not accustomed to talking about myself, what is, or isn’t, on my mind. This isn’t that easy to do.”

  “Ryan,” Deedee said gently, “in the past two years you’ve hardly talked at all. You closed down, shut yourself away behind very solid walls.”

  “Yeah, I suppose I did.”

  “It’s true, and you know it. Believe me, I understand and can thoroughly relate to it. I did the same for the year following my husband’s death. But there comes a time when you have to move forward. I think, I hope, you’re beginning to realize that.”

  “How long were you married, Deedee?”

  “About eighteen months.” She paused. “Jim was on temporary duty in Germany for six months of that, but I wasn’t allowed to go with him because it wasn’t a permanent assignment. Later he was overseas again for four months, but I never knew exactly where or why. He was an expert pilot, with top-secret security clearance.”

  “Whew. The air force really took a chunk out of your time together. Had you known him long before you were married?”

  “Three weeks,” she said, smiling. “We had a classic case of love at first sight. It actually does happen to people.”

  “Now wait a minute. You knew him for three weeks, were married approximately eighteen months, and he was away for a total of ten months of that year and a half?”

  “Yes,” she said, obviously confused by Ryan’s verbal tally.

  He leaned forward again, resting his arms on the table, a deep frown on his face.

  “Deedee, for cripe sake, you’re refusing to even consider marrying again because you had the ‘perfect’ marriage? You and Jim weren’t together enough to find out more than that you had great sex. I assume you two were sexually compatible?”

  “Yes, we were,” she said, feeling a warm flush of embarrassment on her cheeks, “but that’s not a topic I care to discuss, thank you. What exactly is your point?”

  “My point is, when you and your Jim managed to have the opportunity to live under the same roof, the little stuff probably didn’t matter because you were never certain when he’d have to leave again.”

  “What kind of little stuff?” she said, a slight edge to her voice.

  “Did he pick up his socks? Squeeze the toothpaste in the middle of the tube? Leave a wet towel on the bathroom floor after his shower? Did he help you with the household chores? Take out the trash? Did he remember your birthday? Anniversary? Was he romantic, thoughtful? Did he listen to you, really listen, when you had something on your mind that was important to you?”

  “Ryan, that’s enough,” Deedee said, her eyes flashing with anger. “I’m not going to sit here and allow you to diminish what I had with my husband. You’re picking it apart like…like dissecting a frog, or something.”

  “I’m spelling it out in realistic terms, instead of looking at it as the perfect fairy-tale romance and marriage the way you are. Add ten years since it all took place, and any rough edges there might have been have definitely been smoothed over.

  “Based on this…memory, you’ve sentenced yourself to a life alone? Deedee, come on, wake up here. You’re hiding in a fantasy.”

  “Ryan MacAllister, you have no right to pass judgment on—”

  “Excuse me,” the waiter said. “Your dinners.”

  “What?” Ryan said, snapping his head around to look at the man. “Oh, yes, of course. Fine.”

  Deedee busied herself by moving her salad plate out of the way, smoothing her napkin—which was already smooth—on her lap, then taking a sip of wine. What she did not do, was look at Ryan.

  How dare he pass such harsh censure on her marriage to Jim? she fumed. Ryan was being cruel and cold. It was as though he wouldn’t rest until he’d shattered her beautiful and precious memories into a million pieces.

  Not only that, but he was insinuating—no, it was worse than that—he was stating in no uncertain terms that she was hiding in a world of fantasy that she’d constructed with rose-colored memories of her marriage.

  That wasn’t true. It…was…not…true. What she’d shared with Jim had been perfect.

  It had been very understandable that he hadn’t helped with the household chores. His daily routine was so much more exhausting and stressful than her clerical job at the library.

  And the time he’d totally forgotten it was her birthday? Well, he’d explained that. He’d had a rookie pilot with the jitters, who had needed some one-on-one man talk and encouragement. She and Jim had celebrated her birthday on another night.

  Hadn’t they?

  Surely they had, but why couldn’t she remember what they’d done together to make it special?

  Damn Ryan. For two cents she’d punch him smackdab in the nose. They hadn’t even been discussing her. She had zeroed in on his slip of the tongue regarding his being a police officer, rather than having been one. She thought she had control of the direction of the conversation.

  But Ryan had somehow, the sneaky beast, turned things around and begun hammering at her about her marriage. How had he managed to do that? It probably stemmed from the training he’d had in interrogation. All that was missing was a bare light bulb hanging above her head.

  Oh-h-h, he was infuriating.

  Deedee took a nibble of flaky fish, not really tasting it.

  Calm down, she told herself. Regroup. Get it together. She had agreed to reconsider her life. That her existence was fine and dandy exactly as it was now was not a declaration she could stand on a chair and holler at the top of her lungs.

  If she did, Ryan would no doubt declare his life to be in order, as well, and cancel the whole exercise. Not good. His life was nothing more than a shallow existence.

  So okay, she’d have to grin and bear Ryan’s scrutiny of her life so she could have equal time to push him to look closely at his.

  Brother, whose dumb idea had this been?

  Except…

  She really did wish she could remember if she and Jim had actually celebrated her neglected birthday.

  “Deedee,” Ryan said quietly.

  She looked up at him. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry if I upset you. I came on pretty strong, I guess. It’s just that I truly believe that you should be embracing life, have more than you do. You should be…” He stopped speaking, searching his mind for the words he wanted. “You should be dancing with butterflies.”

  Deedee blinked, then drew what she realized was a trembling breath. A warmth suffused her, swept through her like rich brandy, then tiptoed around her heart with a gentle caress.

  “That,” she said, her voice unsteady, “was one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever said to me.”

  “Yeah, well,” he said, shifting in his chair a bit as he was hit with a wave of embarrassment, “I don’t usually say gushy things like that.” But that dream was still haunting him, damn it. “But you need to take a hard look at your marriage, as well as your present existence. Do
you understand what I mean?”

  Deedee nodded. “I think so.”

  “Good, that’s very good. You have a lot of things to sift and sort through before we get together again.”

  “Yes, I certainly do.” She paused. “Ryan, we were discussing your wanting to rejoin the police force.”

  “True. You pointed out that my saying I am a cop, rather than I was a cop was a message from my subconscious. I need some time to think about that.”

  “Oh, well, that makes sense. You have your assignment, so to speak, just as I do. You need to concentrate on that topic until we meet again. Right?”

  “Right. Now, we’ve covered the serious business for tonight, so we can relax and enjoy the rest of the evening.” He smiled. “Would you care for some more wine, ma’am?”

  Chapter Eight

  The brain, Deedee mused an hour later, was a strange blob of gray matter. From the moment Ryan had declared they should now relax and enjoy the evening, she’d begun to do exactly that.

  There was, she supposed, the possibility that she’d grabbed hold of his statement like a lifeline, only too happy to escape from the overload of thoughts that were tumbling in a tangled maze in her mind.

  She did not want to examine her marriage to Jim, or her present and future existence, under a mental microscope. She was going to spend the remainder of the evening in the now, savoring each moment, one tick at a time.

  Ryan was charming, witty and attentive, and the conversation flowed easily from one interesting topic to the next as they finished their dinners. They topped off the delicious meal with coffee and small snifters of rich brandy.

  “More coffee?” the waiter said, appearing at their table.

  Ryan looked at Deedee questioningly.

  “No, thank you,” she said, smiling. “I’ll pop a seam if I have anything more. Everything was excellent, very delicious.”

  “May I have the check, please?” Ryan said.

  “Certainly, sir,” the man said. “There’s a combo playing in the Malibu Ballroom down the hall if you’d care to dance this evening. I’ll bring you the check.” He hurried away.