Commitment (17 page)

“Come on, Maggie, you have to admit it’s a little odd—”

“It’s none of your damn business.”

“Donor sperm. How do you know for sure who the guy is—”

“I’m dealing with a reputable clinic. Each donor is rigorously screened,” she said, subjecting his cheeks and forehead to an equally rigorous scrubbing.

“Doing it this way is for when the guy can’t do the job or for women who can’t get a man.”

Maggie tossed a dry towel at his face and pushed back from the table. “I guess I fall into the second category.”

Tom mopped his face and sat up, clutching the towel to his chest. “Why aren’t you married?”

She gaped at him, her mind racing. “What kind of question is that?”

“I’m assuming it’s by choice. It can’t be because you can’t find a guy.”

“You assume wrong.”

“Bullshit. Jesus, look at you! You’re beautiful, intelligent, successful… What guy wouldn’t want you?”

“You think I haven’t tried?” she cried, exasperated. “I’ve been dating since I was sixteen! I’ve done it all! Church groups, the bar scene, personal ads, online dating… Hell, I was even engaged once—for about five minutes!”

“Really?”

“I was so careful. I was so good. I chose the right guys, I said the right things, I did everything right!”

“What happened? Why didn’t you marry him?”

Pushing, pushing… Maggie knew he had to be great in the courtroom, he just kept pushing. “Because I didn’t love him!”

Tom blew out a breath, shaking his head. “Really? Did that matter?”

“What do you mean ‘Did it matter?’ Of course it mattered!”

“Were you compatible? Did you like spending time with him? Did he make you laugh?”

Maggie crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s it to you?”

“Love,” he murmured, savoring the word like wine. “Love doesn’t last, Maggie. You know that as well as I do. You said you were good. You said you did everything right—”

“I don’t have to listen to this. Get dressed. We talked. I answered your nosy questions. We’re done.”

She tried to brush past him, but the damn room was too small. He snagged her wrist and pulled her close. “Stop trying so hard to get it right, Maggie.” His voice was deep and seductive, those eyes dark and penetrating. “Don’t you know that being good never gets you what you want?”

Her voice cracked. “What do you want me to do?”

“Get it wrong, Maggie. Pick me.”

Her blood buzzed in her ears. “Pick you for what?”

“Let me be the one.”

“The one to what?” she cried.

Tom loosened his hold on her wrist and gathered her hand in both of his. “Choose me. Don’t pick a stranger. You know me… You know my family….”

She blinked, trying to chase away the swarm of bees making it hard to think clearly. “What are you asking me?”

Tom clasped her hand tightly and stared into her eyes. “Maggie McCann, will you have my baby?”

Chapter Nine

Tom wasn’t sure what reaction he expected from Maggie, but he sure as shit didn’t think she’d slap his face, toss his clothes at him, and kick him out. He fell into his empty bed that night and stared up at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure when he eventually drifted off, but the last time he checked the clock he’d passed the four hour mark—a new record for sleeplessness in an otherwise sleep-filled life.

His cell rang, vibrating its way across the nightstand. Tom groaned but rolled over. Whatever doze he had managed was blown. Panic gripped him. Middle of the night phone calls never brought good news. An image of his elderly mother flashed in his head. He was wide awake before the phone touched his ear.

“Ma?”

“No. And if I agree to this cockamamie scheme of yours, you do not get to refer to me as Ma, Mother, or Mommy,” Maggie said without preamble.

“Maggie?” He sat up and rubbed the cheek he swore still stung with the imprint of her hand.

“Why are you doing this, Tom?”

The creak in her voice made his chest ache. “Maggie, I—”

“Is my life some kind of joke to you?”

“No!”

He huffed, elbowing the pillow out of his way and wincing when his bare back hit the cool wood of the headboard. “I just…I got to thinking…” Tom let stale oxygen seep from his lungs and struggled to draw fresh breath. “Women can do that. Guys can’t. You decide you want a kid, you just go make one and have one.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“For a guy it’s impossible.”

Maggie hummed softly. “There are ways.”

“But not ways of my choosing.” He stared into the dark, blank void of the flat screen TV atop the dresser. Taking a deep breath, he forged ahead. “Maggie, I knew from the time I was fifteen I’d never get married. Everything I’ve seen since then… Well, I think it’s the right decision for me. But I never really thought about…kids.”

He ran his hand through his hair and switched the phone to the opposite ear. “And you know what? That sucks. I love kids. You know I do. Sean and Tracy’s kids…I always thought I’d be to them what my Uncle George was to me and Sean. But they don’t need a George-type person in their lives. Hell, not only do they have the real Uncle George, they have both Sean and Tracy, and no matter how screwed up things are between them, that will never change.”

“No, it won’t.”

“And I want that for them. I don’t ever want them to need me the way Sean and I needed George.”

“I know you don’t.”

“When you said you were having a baby…”

Maggie chuckled. “You freaked.”

Tom laughed too. “I did. But after I was done freaking, I was…jealous.”

“You were?”

He closed his eyes and bit his cheek, nodding mutely. The silence stretched for a moment before it occurred to him that she couldn’t see him. “So jealous.”

“Of the baby?”

Opening his eyes, he searched the gloom of the room. “Of you. You have a choice. You can do this if you want.”

“There’s no guarantee it’ll work.”

“You still have a better shot at it than I do.”

Silence stretched taut between them. Tom smiled when he picked up the faint hum of Fred’s motor running.

“When Tracy told me she and Sean were having trouble…for just one minute…I was happy,” Maggie admitted in a whisper.

Tom sank down onto the pillow once more. “I’ll deny it if you ever repeat this, but…me too. With Sean….”

“Are we horrible people?”

“No,” he breathed. “Just human.”

“I wanted it all so bad… Everything Tracy had… Everything she’s throwing away.”

“I wanted to be right. I wanted Sean to have to step out of his self-righteous little bubble and admit he was wrong.”

“About?” she prompted.

He ran his thumbnail along the seam of the duvet bunched around his hips. “The happily ever after crap.”

“You don’t think they can fix it?”

“Do you?”

She hesitated, and he winced for her when he heard the breath catch in her throat. The wince turned into a full-blown grimace at the tears in her voice. “Tracy wants to,” she croaked. “She just doesn’t know how.”

He blew out a breath and switched ears, sinking deeper into his pillow. “Well, maybe they will, then. I know Sean isn’t leaving.” Her quiet hum of acknowledgement soothed him. He let his drooping eyelids fall, welcoming the relief of darkness but clinging to the thread of her voice. “Tell me about the donor guy.”

Her smile bounced off the satellite signal and trickled through the earpiece. “I’ve narrowed it down to three.”

“Leading characteristics?”

“Red hair and green eyes,” she answered.

His eyes popped open. “Genetic engineering, Ms. McCann?”

She laughed. “Well, I don’t remember much from seventh-grade science, but I do know I’m a mass of recessive genes. I thought I’d give it my best shot.”

“Again, no guarantees,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, well…That’s life, right?”

His fingers tightened on the phone. “Just hear what I have to say, Maggie,” he coaxed in a low voice. “You can still say no. Just hear me out.”

She chuckled softly, but it didn’t ring true. “This is like one of those pacts you make with your guy friend when you’re twenty. You know, the ‘If you’re not married and I’m not married’ thing.”

“Neither of us is married and neither of us has kids, but I’m not talking in hypotheticals, Maggie.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she whispered.

“Have dinner with me, and we can talk.” He stared at the ceiling, searching his mental rolodex for a fresh, new, tragically ill-lit and hip restaurant to tempt her. “Hey, there’s that new Brazilian-Thai place on Ontario. We could go there….”

She snorted. “Brazilian-Thai? No thanks. I don’t like my food fused.”

Tom perked up a bit. “How do you feel about lighting that actually lets you read the menu?”

“I like it. I figure those other places are either too cheap to play the electric, or they don’t want you to know what you’re actually ordering.”

“
Gianetti’s
?” he asked, hoping she’d bite. The family-style Italian restaurant was sufficiently bright and boasted a menu of good old-fashioned comfort food in case things didn’t go well. “I can pick you up or meet you there.”

“I’ll meet you. What time?”

“Would seven work?”

“Seven would work,” she conceded.

“Good.” Tom pulled the comforter over his stomach. “So, while I have you, can I ask you something?”

“I’m wearing pajamas.”

Tom laughed, and damn it was good. Even better, she joined him with a rich, husky chuckle that tickled his eardrum. “Damn.”

“Goodnight, Tom.”

“Sweet dreams, Maggie.”

****

Maggie studied the menu even though most of it was committed to memory long ago.
Gianetti’s
ranked number two on her speed dial, just after her voicemail, but there was no need for Tom to know that. Gnawing her lip, she wavered between the five-cheese lasagna she really wanted and the chopped salad her hip-span deserved. She glanced up when their waiter approached, drink tray in hand. A beer for Tom, water with lemon for her, and two glasses of chianti for the lucky couple at the next table.

“Order a glass.” His voice jolted her from her grape-lust. When her startled gaze met his, he shrugged. “You’re not pregnant yet.”

“The water’s fine.” She flashed a bright smile when the waiter deposited her glass.

Tom closed his menu. “Just so you know, if you want the garlic bread you’ll have to order your own. I don’t share.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Chopped salad. House Italian, please.”

Her dinner companion rolled his eyes. “I’ll have the five-cheese lasagna and an order of garlic bread. Oh, and bring an extra plate too, will you?”

When the waiter disappeared, she raised an eyebrow. “Extra plate?”

He shook his head. “I know what’s
gonna
happen when you get
your
food, and I get
mine
.”

“I thought you didn’t share.”

“I’d make an effort to share with
you
.”

She shifted in her seat and turned her attention to a small group of women cozied around a table in the bar. “I need to watch what I eat, or I blow up like a balloon.”

“You’re perfect the way you are, and I like watching you eat.”

The simple statement captured her attention. “Watching me eat?”

His charming smile did nothing to mask the gleam in his eyes. “You have no idea.”

“What? Are you some kind of freaky foodie?”