Secret Baby Spencer. Jule McBride
inside him tightened as his eyes drifted down to where the sides of a chic, A-lined, thigh-high black leather coat fell open over a tight, powder blue lace top, and by the time Seth’s eyes hit her miniskirt, he was a complete goner. A groan escaped him as he took in the hip-hugging fabric. “What am I going to do with you, lady?” he whispered.
She had the sort of endless, mouth-watering legs that went on for miles, and that seemed to beg a man to bend them and kiss the tender taut flesh behind her knees. Right now those scrumptious legs were encased in silver, black-patterned tights. Tall, skinny, knee-high boots were threaded with red laces that zigzagged up her slender calves.
By some miracle she didn’t look the least bit trampy. Given her clothes, she should have. But Jenna could slip into the most outrageous attire and waltz down a sidewalk looking like a centerfold for Class magazine. Her features were simply too refined to allow for the wrong impression. Her heart-shaped face was delicate and finely boned, and she held her perfectly formed mouth almost primly as if to ensure onlookers that she didn’t put up with any nonsense. The expression wasn’t just for show, either, as Seth well knew. On occasion, Jenna Robinson was a girl who came out—loud and proud—as a girl with attitude.
Her strange mix of prim censure and vampiness had first captured Seth’s attention—and imagination—nearly two years ago. Now his gaze riveted on her eyes, or at least what he could see of them, since they were obscured by round, wire-rimmed sunglasses.
Shifting Gretchen on her hip, she resolutely headed toward the front doors of the bank, making Seth feel more oddly nervous than he had in his whole life. All at once, he was aware that his palms had gotten damp, something that hadn’t even happened during the last stock market crash. Today was different, though. Infinitely more nerve-racking. Not only had the woman he’d left back in New York shown up in Tyler, but she’d apparently come bearing a wedding dress.
“Here’s to you, Ms. Robinson,” he whispered.
“HOW COULD YOU let this happen?” Jenna mouthed worriedly. Once Seth met her in the bank’s lobby and said hello in that smooth, melodious baritone that drove her so wild, she should have known her plans would derail. They always did.
Just looking at him had filled her with hopelessness. How could she tell him she was marrying Dom? Sure, she’d lain awake all night, carefully imagining herself charging into Tyler’s S&L to deliver her rehearsed speech about being pregnant and getting married. She’d practiced until she felt fully prepared for the encounter, buoyed up by Dom’s proposal and the fact that she was six weeks pregnant with a baby who needed a father. Dom loves you, Dom loves you, Dom loves you, she’d reminded herself, the words going through her mind like a mantra this morning as she’d gripped the wheel and rounded the town square in Tyler, driving toward the bank.
“All this time we’ve worked together,” she’d remembered Dom saying, his gentle voice brimming with emotion, “my feelings for you have grown, Jenna. And now that Seth’s back in Tyler, it’s my first real chance to tell you how deeply I feel, to ask you to marry me.”
“Somebody loves me,” she’d whispered when the S&L came into sight. “No matter what Seth says, I won’t forget Dom’s waiting for me in New York.” Countless times this morning, she’d changed clothes, and at least until she’d arrived on Main Street, U.S.A., she’d been sure her outfit was conservative enough for the bank…conservative enough to show Seth she was calm, cool, collected and not the least bit ruffled by how easily he’d left New York and their relationship.
When she’d gotten out of the car in Tyler, however, people had turned to stare, immediately reminding her of why she’d fled Bear Creek, North Carolina, years ago.
Well, let people look, she’d fumed silently as she’d headed inside the bank with Gretchen, working herself into a tizzy, already imagining her final, grand exit. She’d tell Seth, once and for all, that she didn’t need him, that everything was different now. Dom loved her so much he’d proposed, she’d announce boldly, then she’d push through the lobby doors and head straight back to New York. Imagination being what it was, she kept seeing herself hop into something far flashier than the dented Cadillac.
Not that it mattered. Like all best-laid plans, something had gone terribly wrong, and before Jenna could even open her mouth, Seth had chuckled. “Some car you’ve got there. I hope it was free.”
Was that all he intended to say after six weeks of separation? After Jenna had traveled all the way across the country to see him? She’d glared at him. “Are you saying you have a problem with my car?”
“Nope. It’s better entertainment than a movie. Everybody in Tyler’s talking about it. Martha Bauer swears it once belonged to Elvis, and when Jack Moray came in to deposit his weekly checks, he admitted he almost towed it from where it was parked in front of the Kelsey Boarding House last night.”
Curious in spite of herself, she’d said, “Jack Moray?”
Seth had nodded. “He’s a tow-truck owner. He thought it was abandoned, but Michael stopped him.”
“Michael?”
“The minister’s husband.”
“Oh, right. Sarah Baron. She’s the minister who called me,” Jenna had said, hating to admit how much she’d warmed to the show of down-home hospitality. She truly did despise small towns, she’d assured herself, and since Seth Spencer now lived in one, Jenna was very determined to keep it that way.
“And the man at the curb,” he’d continued, “the one staring at your inspection sticker. That’s Cooper Night Hawk. He’s a deputy.”
“I’m legal.”
Leveling her with an assessing male stare that had her fighting a shiver, Seth had softly returned, “You sure as hell don’t look legal, Jenna.”
“Come near me and you’ll get arrested.”
“You brought handcuffs?”
She’d shot Seth a look of censure. “Manacles.”
“Hope you’ll want to throw away the keys.”
At that tantalizing juncture, she’d at least gotten out the first five words of her planned speech. “Seth, we need to talk.”
“We’ll start with sweet nothings and go from there,” he’d assured lightly, the words of promise turning her legs to water.
By the time Jenna found herself standing in his office, she’d decided it was hopeless. Even moments before, as she’d steeled herself against him, Seth had managed to relieve her of Gretchen so quickly that the baby could have been a greased watermelon. He’d placed a guiding hand under Jenna’s elbow in that damnably sexy, gentlemanly gesture she was so determined to forget, the one that made her feel so much like a woman, and the next thing she’d known, he’d been slipping her coat from her shoulders and employing a bank teller to baby-sit Gretchen.
Now Jenna stared around his office. “Well,” she managed dryly, “here we are.”
Smiling, Seth shut the door, then quickly twisted the lock.
Her mouth dropped. She’d missed him physically, but she definitely had more self-respect than this. Holding out her hands, palms up, she schooled herself not to lose her nerve. “What I have to say isn’t that private.” She glared pointedly at the lock.
“No?”
Seth didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked completely, unnervingly in control, reminding Jenna of exactly why she’d come. For once, it would be a pleasure to tell this man she had her own agenda. Her heart missed a beat. Why did the father of her coming baby have to be so handsome and commanding? Ever since she’d first laid eyes on Seth Spencer, she’d found him irresistible. He was a good six inches taller than she—six-foot-two to her five-eight—with dark brown, chocolate-colored hair he kept neatly trimmed over his ears. Slightly spiked bangs jagged onto a high forehead, accentuating brown eyes that shouldn’t have been so interesting, but