Commitment (19 page)

“Well, if you insist, we can go through with the insemination thing, but I think the old-fashioned way would be a lot more fun…”

His mouth was off and running before her use of the word ‘we’ registered with his brain. It took a full minute for that one little word to hit him harder than a bus, a train, and an asteroid combined. For once in his life, Tom lost all power of speech, but his smile was irrepressible as he slid from his chair. Still holding her hand trapped in his, he pulled her to her feet. Maggie stared at him, her eyes locked on his as she swayed toward him. He released her hand to gather her into his arms and planted an exuberant kiss on her parted lips.

“Tom…”

“Say yes, Maggie. Everything else…we’ll work things out. Just say yes,” he prompted.

“Yes.”

The word popped from her mouth. Judging from her stunned expression, she hadn’t given it permission to escape, but Tom was all for aiding and abetting the wayward syllable. He kissed her again, his hand sinking into the mass of paprika-colored curls, his lips melting against the plush heat of hers. The dregs of her wine intoxicated him. His head spun. The tang of garlic set his blood afire. Her scent swirled through his senses, enveloping him in a fog of vanilla, cinnamon, and sugar. She smelled delicious. Comforting. Like home and hearth and…Maggie.

A discretely muffled cough yanked him back into the here and now. He blinked at the hovering waiter then glanced around, realizing half the restaurant was watching them with unabashed interest. Maggie ducked her head, nudging his shoulder with her forehead, her face veiled by flame-kissed curls.

“We’re having a baby!” he announced to the crowd.

Her head popped up, chucking him on the chin. His teeth clacked together as she hissed, “Tom!”

He staggered back, but the blow couldn’t wipe the smile from his face when their fellow diners clapped and called their congratulations. A smile tugged at Maggie’s lips as she shook her head and slumped into her seat, her face crimson but her eyes sparkling.

“Your tiramisu,” the waiter announced, placing the frothy confection in front of her. “Will there be anything else?”

Tom leaned down and whispered, “Do you want to get out of here?” She nodded mutely, and he brushed his hand over her springy curls. “Can we have a box for that, please? And the check?”

The waiter smiled and whisked the plate away, winking when he caught Tom’s eye. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

Maggie made a show of rummaging through her purse, keeping her head down. “That wasn’t mortifying at all.”

He slid back into his chair and stared at her gleaming curls until she dared to peek at him. “I’m so happy, Maggie.”

A worried frown creased her brow. “You know I’m not pregnant yet, right?”

Tom laughed, slouching in his seat and tugging at the knot in his tie. “I think I know how it works,
Mags
.” Patiently, he waited until her eyes met his. He tossed her a leer, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I think we’re
gonna
have a
helluva
lot of fun getting there.”

The crease between her eyebrows disappeared. She blinked, and her bottle-green gaze cooled. “If you really think jerking off into a cup is a good time, who am I to spoil your fun,” she said with a shrug.

Pretty sure his heart came to a full and complete stop, he forced a breath. “You’re kidding, right?” he asked slowly. When she barely even blinked, panic set in. “Please tell me you’re kidding…”

“Oh, look! Here’s our check and my cake,” she cooed as the waiter rushed back to the table.

He rooted for his wallet, watching her carefully and praying she would crack. “Maggie?”

She gathered her purse and the to-go box, fixing him with a bland stare as she rose. “I have a full day tomorrow. Saturdays are our busiest day.”

Dropping a fifty in the folder, he nearly toppled his chair when he shot to his feet, his gaze locked on the sway of her hips. “Maggie,” he hissed, winding his way through the tables in hot pursuit.

She stumbled through the door, pulling her jacket closer and tipping her head back to peer at the night sky. The sharp autumn wind tossed her hair and stole his breath. Or maybe it was the sight of her moonlit profile. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find a star,” she answered, as if it should have been obvious to him.

Willing to go along with whatever she wanted at that point, he tipped his head back. “There.” He nodded to the one twinkling speck of white that dared to defy the glow of a million and one city lights.

She smirked and pointed to the pinpoint of light. “That one?”

“Yeah.” Her lush, vibrant chortle made his heart flip-flop. He stared at the sky, trying to locate the flickering light again. “What? Not good enough?” Her fingers curled around his and he turned toward her. Maggie’s answering smile was brilliant, pouring over him like moonlight but as warm as a ray of summer sun.

“Tom?”

Her porcelain skin distracted him. The smattering of pale freckles dusting her nose held him in thrall. She squeezed his hand, anchoring him to the cracked sidewalk. “Hmm?”

“That’s an airplane.”

A weak smile accompanied his chuckle of embarrassment. He glanced up, scanning the sky for the phantom star. When he came up empty, he met her amused gaze once again. “I’ll get better at this. I promise.”

Maggie squeezed his hand again, stretching onto her toes to peck a soft kiss to his lips. She pulled away, and he swayed like an oak. “We can work on it.” Settling back on her heels, she heaved a sigh and cast another glance at the sky. “Come on. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

He held tight, unwilling to relinquish her hand when he stepped to the curb to search for a passing cab. “I don’t suppose you’ll share that tiramisu,” he ventured.

“What? A baby isn’t enough?” She laughed, and Tom was willing to bet the sound was sweeter and richer than the
Marsala
-drenched cake she clutched to her chest. “Don’t push your luck, buddy.”

****

He was pushing his luck. Maggie dragged the tines of her fork through the tiramisu, tracking white lines through the dusting of cocoa. Every instinct screamed at her. This wasn’t safe. This wasn’t smart. This could all end in heartbreak. She ignored those pesky instincts. They couldn’t be trusted, anyway. All following her instincts had gotten her were a fat cat who terrorized her and a hot date with a turkey baster. Okay, she knew they didn’t really use a baster, but the image of one was burned on her brain now and it wouldn’t be erased without benefit of a sandblaster.

The open collar of Tom’s shirt called to her. Gold-tinged skin shadowed with dark stubble made her mouth water. The hollow of his throat proved infinitely more tempting than the coffee-soaked cake in front of her. She forced herself to take a tiny bite of creamy goodness, but it was hard to concentrate. His suit jacket was slung over the back of the chair. The tie he wore at dinner trailed from his pocket, snaking across the worn linoleum. Fred kept a close eye on it from his spot near his food dish. She kept a close eye on Tom as he scrawled on the tiny pad he kept in his coat pocket.

He looked up and caught her staring. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and, oh, she wanted to take a bite out of him. Instead, she sneaked a peek at his notes. Her eyebrows shot up as she read the words ‘blood test’ and ‘sperm count’ near the top of the page.

She stole a glance at him. “Blood test?”

He flinched. When she nodded to the notepad, he tried to recover with a nonchalant shrug. “I just figure it’s a good idea. Not that I’m worried about anything. I haven’t had unprotected sex since nineteen-eighty-seven.”

She snorted. “Those ‘No glove, no love’ ads really got to you, huh?”

“A girlfriend who wasn’t doing due diligence with the birth control pills got to me, but the threat of disease and death didn’t hurt.” Ducking his head, he went back to work.

His long leg brushed hers when he shifted on the hard wooden seat, stretching beneath the scarred table. Neat block letters filled the lined pages of his tiny notebook. Ink flowed from his pen, making the barest of scratches against the paper. He chewed his bottom lip. His cowlick wobbled as he nodded to himself, adding another item to the pages-long list. His forehead puckered as he glanced around. “Do you think you’ll want to stay here?”

Plunging the fork into the soft cake, she collected a hefty bite. “Huh?”

“I mean, I’m sure it’ll be fine while the baby’s little, but aren’t you
gonna
want a yard? Someplace with some room to run?”

She shoveled the cake into her mouth and chewed slowly, pretending she hadn’t asked herself the same question a dozen times. Her shrug came off herky-jerky. Nonchalance wasn’t her strong suit, but having a mouthful of cake helped a bit. “I guess. Eventually,” she mumbled.

The cowlick fluttered when he nodded. “I’ll put that in here too. I can help with a down payment on a house.”

Licking a stray bit of fluffy cream from the corner of her mouth, Maggie glared at his tiny notebook. “Sounds like you want me to be a kept woman. Like I’m some kind of brood mare you’re buying.” The injury she inflicted flickered across his face. Before he could school his features she was regretting her comment. “Joke,” she offered with a lame laugh.

Too late. Mr. Excited-possible-baby-daddy was gone and Mr. Cool-and-aloof was back. “These are all just options available to you, Maggie. You can choose to use them or not. I’m just putting them out there.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I’m just… Sorry. I’m used to doing things on my own.”

Tom set the pen aside and waited until she met his gaze. “Isn’t that the point of this whole discussion? You don’t have to do this alone. Neither would I. We’d be in this together.”

“Like a partnership.”

Tom hesitated for a split second then nodded. “Yeah, like a partnership.”

Taking her fork, she sliced the remainder of her cake neatly in half, separating the two pieces. He raised a curious eyebrow and she smiled. “Should we seal the deal with some cake?”

A slow, sexy smile curved his mouth. “How about a kiss?”

“After the cake,” she countered, offering him the fork. “And maybe the blood test.”

Chapter Ten

After nearly a week of radio silence, Tom Sullivan had the audacity to tap on The Glass Slipper’s window just after closing time. Maggie looked up from re-stocking the retail shelves and there he was, wearing a smile that made his blue eyes twinkle and crinkle. He had the balls to stand there, briefcase in hand, grinning a grin which reeked of boyish charm. She wanted to slap him almost as much as she ached to kiss him.

Perhaps it was force of habit. Confusion was her new best friend. One minute she was so sure, the next, she didn’t have a clue about anything. A girl doesn’t just forget nearly forty years playing it safe and trying to be good because a guy licks bits of fluff and crumbs from her lips. A woman who is giving serious consideration to setting up a life-long partnership with a man known for ditching previous relationships in accordance with the phases of the moon doesn’t dive in head first, hoping to tread water. Okay, maybe she did once, but at the time she truly thought the night they spent together would be a fling, a fluke, a hot memory to warm cold nights.

He mapped it all out for her the night she’d agreed to think about it. He laid out his strategy for this ‘co-parenting’ thing, adding point after point to the notes he scrawled on that tiny pad of paper. She had to kick him out. She had to make it clear she wasn’t buying what he was selling. He didn’t play fair. One minute he picked apart every detail of her future, the next he drugged her with molten kisses designed to melt all resistance. Scorching heat wafted off him when he pulled her into his lap, intent on devouring her share of their dessert any way he could get it. He cupped her bottom, groaning into her mouth as he pulled her tight against the bulge in his pants.

She almost gave in. Hell, she almost cleared the table with one arm and begged him to take her there and then. Only the flash of red emergency lights and the wail of a siren from the street below saved her. Maggie leapt from his lap, grabbing the back of the chair she’d abandoned along with her inhibitions, and dragging in a steadying breath.

The wooden chair screeched against linoleum. Tom lunged for her and Fred lunged for the necktie trailing from his jacket pocket. The cat swung too wide, catching Tom’s ankle. He yelped, the cat pounced, and the silk tie came out looking like silk shantung. As soon as she was capable of exhaling, Maggie mumbled a litany of excuses and practically pushed him out the apartment door. Again.