A man reached the front door the same time she did. He pulled the door open and waited politely for her to exit first. Liz stumbled to a stop as she studied his strong fingers and broad palms. His hands looked more than capable—they looked safe. She could see them cradling the baby, offering shelter and security and the perfect resting place for a tired, trusting infant.
“Change your mind?” the man asked.
“Huh?” Liz blinked at him, then realized he was still holding open the door. Was he leaving?
“Wait! You can’t go.” Without thinking, she grabbed the sleeve of his leather jacket. “Are you leaving? Do you have a few minutes? Okay, maybe an hour, but no longer. The baby is going to wake up after that. But I’ve got at least an hour, if you do.”
As she spoke, she looked from the man’s hands to his face. He was young, maybe in his mid-twenties. Handsome. Confident. Intriguing. Brown eyes regarded her quizzically while a firm, sensual mouth curved up slightly at the corners.
“What?” she asked, aware that she might not have made as much sense as she could have.
“I’m debating between deranged and charming,” he told her.
She released his jacket. “I suggest charming. It’s more flattering and accurate. I’m occasionally temperamental but almost never crazy. You should hear me out.”
“Fair enough.” He released the door and stepped back.
As he tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, Liz became aware of a subtle tension crackling between them. Not a surprise, she thought ruefully. Dark-haired guys with broad shoulders were totally her type. Combine that with an air of mystery and an easy disposition and she was almost always open to the possibilities.
“Elizabeth Duncan,” she said, holding out her hand. “Liz. I’m a commercial illustrator hired by Children’s Connection to do some artwork for their new brochure. If they love my design enough, they’ll start using it on letterhead and publicity materials.”
“David Logan.” His hand engulfed hers. “I can draw a stick figure that would make you green with envy.”
She chuckled even as she ignored the slightly crooked, very charming tilt to his smile and the way the warmth from his fingers made her want to purr. She was on a schedule, not just because of her deadline but because her other model—the baby—wouldn’t sleep forever.
“So here’s the thing,” she said. “I have approval for my idea, which was a woman holding a sleeping baby. The drawing focuses on the baby, so we only see the woman’s forearms and hands. But when I did a preliminary sketch, it looked all wrong.” She tried to look as innocent as possible. “I need a man instead.”
One eyebrow rose. “Of course you do.”
“I’m serious. You have great hands. The baby is asleep, so all you have to do is hold her. It’s maybe an hour out of your life. Just think, if the people in charge love my design, your hands could be famous. That would have to help with women.”
He chuckled. “What makes you think I need help?”
She had a feeling he didn’t at all. “Okay, fine. It will give you an edge.”
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and glanced at his watch. “Just an hour?”
“I swear. I work fast.”
Twenty minutes later David Logan had to concede that Liz was nothing if not determined. She’d collected a sleeping baby from the nursery and brought both of them to a small, empty office with a huge south-facing window. Sunlight poured in—a rare thing for a mid-October day in Portland, Oregon.
“The light’s great in here,” she said as she slipped off her worn suede jacket. “It’s also quiet so we won’t be disturbed.”
She fussed with the leather executive chair, moving it around until she was happy with the placement. David watched her work, admiring both her ability to focus and the way the light turned her long, wavy auburn hair first gold then red then back to gold.
Liz was beautiful in a fiery, explosive kind of way. Petite, yet curvy, she wore her black jeans skintight and her dark green shirt unbuttoned far enough to show the lace of her bra. Silver earrings dangled nearly to her shoulders.
Her body had been built to drive men insane, but she had the face of an angel. Wide-eyed, full-lipped and innocent. It was a combination that would have caused him to look twice in any circumstances.
She settled him in the chair and then positioned the baby in his arms. He liked Liz’s light touch and the way she got lost in her work. He liked her close enough to cloud his judgment.
“You’re not comfortable,” she said as he held the baby stiffly.
“No kidding. I don’t want to break her.”
“You won’t. Think of this as practice for your future family. Plus, she’s too young to judge and I won’t tell anyone if you mess up.”
“How comforting.”
After she’d fussed a few minutes, rolling up the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt, then unrolling them, she repositioned him again and reached for her sketch pad.
“Stay as still as you can,” she said as she began drawing. “Take deep breaths to relax. Don’t think about me drawing, instead think about that little girl in your arms. She’s so tiny and you’re the only person in the world she can depend upon.”
David glanced down at the baby. He’d never much thought about kids one way or the other, and he wasn’t comfortable holding this one. The only person she could depend on?
“Kid, you’re in trouble,” he muttered.
Liz chuckled. “So not true, David. You’ll be a great dad. Imagine her grown up a little. Maybe three or four. You come in the door from work and she runs toward you. Her whole face lights up with love and excitement. Her daddy’s home.”
Her voice and her words created a powerful image in his mind. He could almost see the little girl racing toward him.
“She’s seven,” Liz continued, her voice low and compelling. “You’re teaching her to throw a ball. This is your daughter and there’s no way she’s going to throw like a girl.”
He grinned. “What if I throw like a girl?”
“Oh, sure. That’s likely.”
He studied the baby he held. Her skin was soft and pale, her mouth a perfect rosebud. Tufts of hair draped across her forehead. He wondered who she was and how she’d come to be at Children’s Connection. Was she being adopted? Did she belong to one of the employees?
“She’s twelve,” Liz said. “Tall and skinny and really awkward. You can see how beautiful she’s going to be, but no one else can. The boys are teasing her and she comes home in tears. It’s been a while since she’s wanted to be daddy’s little girl, but she’s hurt and she crawls into your lap. When you hug her, she feels so small, as if the harsh words could break her. And you want to do anything you can to protect her.”
David felt himself tensing, as if there really was a preteen for him to defend. As if this child was his.
“Why the stories?” he asked.
“All questions will be answered later. Just go with me, okay?”
“Sure. I’m about to find those guys and beat the crap out of them.”
“I like that in a father. Now she’s sixteen and going to her first school dance. She’s as beautiful as you always knew she would be. But she’s growing up and slipping away and even though you