He waved away her apology with his hand, his jaw a little too tight. “It’s not important. What is important however is that my child has a place to sleep. So? Is this agreeable to you?”
This wasn’t a bizarre request for an NRR client. She’d designed over twenty nurseries and children’s rooms over the past five years. Single fathers, gay fathers who had to admit they had no taste, even busy moms on occasion.
“I thought you might enjoy this,” Ethan said, coming to his feet.
“Did you?” He wanted her to decorate her own child’s room. A child that didn’t exist.
She turned away from Ethan and closed her eyes, took a deep breath. What was she thinking? What was she thinking lying to someone about something so important, something as sacred as having a baby? This was getting out of hand. Yes, she’d had to protect her father, and now that he was out of danger, wasn’t it time to tell Ethan Curtis that he was not going to be a daddy, suffer his censure, his threats, and get on with her life?
Fear darted into her gut. But what if he refiled charges? That was entirely possible—maybe even probable given how angry and spiteful he’d be if he learned the truth. Her father couldn’t survive another arrest. No, there was no way she was allowing that to happen.
Mary fingered a swatch of green gingham fabric. It would work wonderfully for a boy or a girl. Tears sat behind her throat. She wasn’t the most maternal person in the world, but she wanted a child. Someday. With a man who loved her…
“Mary?”
She turned and looked at Ethan. “Okay.”
“Hello, there.” A very perky blond sales clerk appeared before them, her round brown eyes wide with excitement. “So, when’s our baby due?”
Before Mary could even open her mouth to say that they were just looking around, Ethan chimed in with “Early to mid April.”
Mary’s head whipped around so fast she wondered if she’d given herself whiplash.
Ethan shrugged. “I did the calculations.”
“A spring baby,” the salesgirl said, beaming at Ethan as though he were a candidate for father of the year already. “How about we start with a crib?”
Ethan gestured to Mary. “The lady’s in charge.”
The girl looked expectantly at Mary. “Traditional? Round? Any thoughts?”
“No thoughts,” Mary said, feeling weak all of a sudden. “Not today.”
The girl looked sympathetic and lowered her voice. “Mom’s tired.”
You have no idea, lady.
“I tried to get her to sit down,” Ethan said with a frustrated shake of the head.
The girl nodded as if to say, I’ve seen many a pregnant woman and understood their moods. “We can do this another day.”
Mary nodded. “Another day is good.” Another year might be good to.
Ethan checked his watch. “It’s after one.” He eyed Mary with a concerned frown. “Have you eaten lunch?”
Mary shook her head. “Not yet, but I’ll get something back at the office—”
“You need to eat now. You wait here. I’ll go get the car.”
“I have my car,” she said, but he was already halfway out the door.
To make matters worse, the salesgirl sidled up to Mary, clasped her hands together and sighed. “You’re so lucky.”
“Why?”
She looked at Mary as though she was crazy or just plain mean. “That man is going to make a great daddy.”
“If he can stop ordering people around long enough,” Mary muttered to herself.
“Excuse me?”
Mary smiled at the girl, shook her head, then followed Ethan out the door.
“You know, there was an iffy-looking Thai place next to that baby store,” Mary said, sipping lemonade and munching on perfectly tender chicken picata and fresh spinach salad.
Across from her, Ethan waved his fork. “This is better.”
Mary shrugged, a trace of a smile in her voice. “Well, sure, if you like quiet, great food and a killer view.”
Under the guise of work, Ethan had taken her to his home for some lunch. Worn-out from the experience at the baby shop, and more than a little bit curious about what kind of home a man like this one would choose, she hadn’t put up much of a fuss. And her curiosity was well rewarded.
She had expected Ethan’s home to mirror his office—glass and chrome and modern—but maybe she should’ve taken a clue from his rooftop garden instead. There was absolutely nothing modern about the estate. It was enchanting and secluded, complete with a charming wooded drive that led straight up to the massive French-country style home.
Inside was nothing less than spectacular, but not in a showy, uptight way. Though it was sparsely furnished, the rooms were warm and rustic with lots of brick and hardwood.
Mary sipped her lemonade, taking in the soft summer afternoon on the sprawling deck that nestled right up to the edge of a private lake.
“I thought you should see the space you’ll be working with,” Ethan said, finishing off his last bite of chicken.
Mary nodded. “You’re nothing if not helpful, Mr. Curtis.”
A breeze kicked up around them, sending pre-autumn leaves swirling over the edge of the deck into the water.
“Hey, I thought we talked about this back at the baby shop. You were going to call me Ethan—”
“I only agreed to that to get you to stop talking.”
“What?” he said, chuckling.
“You were bringing up the past and I wasn’t interested in going there.”
“The very recent past.”
She attempted to look confused. “Was it? Feels like ages ago, like it didn’t happen at all.”
He glared at her belly. “Oh, it happened, Mary.”
Heat flooded her skin, but she forced her expression to remain impassive.
His gaze found hers again and he studied her. “You’ve got quite an attitude on you.”
“With you, yes.”
“I’m sure I’m not the only one,” he said, one brow raised sardonically.
“Don’t you have a room to show me?”
He sighed. “Come on, Mary, can we make peace here? Maybe even start again? Friends?”
Inside the confines of his office, where she could remember who and what he was, Mary felt safe. She had her walls up, double thick. Even on his rooftop or at the baby shop, he still seemed arrogant and ever the dictator. But here, in his home, with nature and softness surrounding him, it was different. His skin seemed bronze and highly touchable, his eyes glistened like two inviting lakes beckoning her to jump in, and his clothes seemed highly unnecessary. Mary felt her defenses slipping. Forget being friends; she wanted him to kiss her again—just once so she could prove to herself that it wasn’t as good as she remembered. Sure, he had more depth than he let on, but she could make no mistake about it—Ethan Curtis was a selfish, misguided man, who was solely out for himself.
She put down her napkin and tried not to stare at the lush curve of his lower lip. “I won’t pretend that we’re friends, or even friendly.”
“Fine,