“Lauren—” he measured his words as carefully as he had in any million-dollar presentation “—I’ve worked with you for over a year and I haven’t seen anything to lead me to believe you have similar issues. I may not have any kind of psych degree, but I do know enough about you to be sure if there was ever a problem, you would do everything possible to take care of it.”
Her throat moved in a long swallow as she blinked back tears. “I appreciate that. I like to believe that about myself. But when people learn about her illness, I feel like they look at me differently, as if my feelings are discounted because I’m just—”
“Hey—” he reached for her hand, unable to resist touching “—I take you seriously.” And he did, personally and professionally. He trusted his judgment and for a year he’d seen the depth of her stability. If anything, he wondered how to break through her calm stoicism.
“Thank you.” Linking their fingers, she squeezed his hand, her engagement ring and wedding band glinting in the low lighting overhead. “So far the doctors have all said they see no signs of bipolar disease in me. It usually crops up in your teens and twenties. I know there are no guarantees, but you won’t hear me complain about turning thirty.”
“That must have been a relief to hear.”
“More than you can imagine.” She curved her hand over her stomach. “Although now I’m worrying all over again. What if I’ve passed along the gene to our child?”
How did he feel about it? He’d barely processed he had a kid on the way. His thoughts had been focused on securing the baby’s future, luring Lauren to California, steering clear of a career crash for both of them.
There were so many aspects of his child’s life to worry about. And there were some things he absolutely couldn’t control. His energies were best spent focused on dealing with what he could control.
“You’re aware. I’m aware. We’ll watch and provide whatever help our kid needs if the occasion arises.” He squeezed her hand, enjoying the way her pulse leaped under his thumb. Or was that his heartbeat kicking up a notch at the feel of her silky-soft skin? “Hell, I’ve got a family history full of diabetics and a sister with dyslexia. There are few families with perfect medical histories.”
A tear trickled down her cheek. “God, you can be so wonderfully logical and sweet both at the same time.”
“Sweet? That’s a new one for me.”
“Hey, I’m serious here.” She slid her fingers free and cupped his face in her hands. “Somehow you knew just the right thing to say and I could tell you meant every word.”
“Just this morning you told me I’m the consummate ad man, good at making the sale even if I have to lie.” He wasn’t sure why he would try to wave a damn red flag in front of her when she was finally seeing something worthwhile in him. Since when was he into self-sabotage?
And then it hit him. Lauren was too important to him to be anything but completely honest. Could it be that he wanted more than just this wedding night from her?
He forced his focus back on her words, tough to do when it felt like the deck was rolling under his feet even though he knew the plane was flying steady on.
Her hands caressed his face lightly. “Maybe I’m starting to trust my instincts more and my instincts are telling me you’re a good man.”
She pressed her lips to his.
Her fingers slid back into his hair and he angled his head sideways for a better, fuller fit. The soft give of her mouth against him stirred a barely banked fire. He’d wanted her—hell, dreamed about being with her—since that night in her office. As much as he’d tried to tell himself he was merely immersed in the mayhem of starting a new, high-powered job, no one caught his eye or attention the way she had.
The way she still did.
Lauren leaned into him, her amazing curves pressing close. He burned to get his hands on her again. Skin to skin, touching and traversing every dip and valley, watching her skin flush from wanting him.
Damn it, his hands were shaking.
She smiled against his mouth a second before she eased away. The kiss wasn’t an invitation into her bed, but it was a step in the right direction.
“Good night, Jason,” she whispered, her hands gliding off him as she settled into her seat again. Her lashes fluttered closed and that fast she was asleep.
He, on the other hand, was wide-awake on their wedding night. Jason adjusted his pants, not that it helped ease the pinch of erection straining at his fly. Not much he could do about that now. He’d been so focused on working that wedding band onto her finger and getting her into bed, he hadn’t realized the tougher part was still ahead of him.
Keeping the ring in place.
How would she just pick up her old life in a couple of weeks?
Lauren sagged onto the edge of the bed, alone on her wedding night. What was left of it, anyway. By the time the chartered flight had landed and Jason drove them back to the house, the sun was already fighting to break over the horizon, oranges and yellows painting a hazy glow in the distance. She would have liked to watch the dawn with him, but he was already showering before he left for the office—some unmissable meeting, he said, but he vowed to come home early. She’d assured him she had business calls and work on her computer.
Strange wedding day. Strange honeymoon. Yet neither of them could afford to take time off. They were both struggling to launch careers. It was silly to want something more.
Too restless to go back to sleep just yet, she kicked off her shoes and wandered back into the upstairs hall. She didn’t dare go near where Jason showered. She wasn’t sure she could resist the temptation to slide under the spray with him in his luxuriously remodeled bathroom. Everything she’d seen in the house thus far was top-of-the-line, from the kitchen to the three bathrooms, to the master suite with a sitting area. She hadn’t checked out the other bedrooms, but suspected they were just as sleek.
She creaked open the room to the door next to the master suite. Empty. Just hardwood floors, intricate crown molding and a few packing boxes. The view would make it a lovely guest room.
The next room—equally as empty—had a domed ceiling that called to her fingers to create a little Sistine Chapel with angels for a nursery. Swallowing hard, she closed the door behind her.
One bedroom left. She opened the door and found he actually had furniture here. Not much. Just a cherry table with an elaborate computer, printer and fax machine set up. A tangle of wires led to a power bar on the floor.
A nautical scene scrolled across the screen. Jason had talked about being near recreation, but the only personal items she saw in his house were business suits and work materials. As much as she understood the satisfaction work could bring, a part of her itched to fill his house—his world—with more. Furniture. Plants.
Lazy mornings watching a sunrise.
Sunbeams eased thicker and stronger through the sheers in the window. She needed sleep, for the baby if not herself. She pivoted on her heel—
And stopped short when a frame on the wall snagged her attention. It couldn’t be. She stepped back into the room, closer until she saw clearly. Her stomach tightened. Framed on the wall across from the desk…
… the pen-and-ink drawing of a sailboat for a cologne campaign, a drawing created by her.
Her hand shaking, she traced the edges of the image and thought back