The Baby Consultant. Anne Marie Winston
sweetie. How’s my girl today? I bet you’re having fun with your uncle Jack.” She used the special voice she reserved for teeny ones as she clucked and murmured.
Jack chuckled. “I don’t know if we’re having fun, but we’re managing.”
Alexa yawned and grimaced, and her blue eyes focused intently on Frannie’s. Then her tiny face crinkled in a wide grin.
Could a person’s heart melt? Frannie felt as if her whole being suddenly had softened as a rush of maternal delight swept over her. “Oh, look! She’s smiling at me.”
“She’ll smile at anything right now.”
“Thanks a lot. That was flattering.”
“I guess that didn’t come out quite right.” He chuckled again. “One of my clients brought her a rag doll that’s almost the size she is. I set it in the corner of the crib and every time she catches sight of its face, she smiles.”
Frannie rocked the baby as Alexa stretched and cooed. “You know a friendly face when you see one, don’t you, chickadee?” Holding Alexa up, she brushed her cheek across the down-covered scalp, then lifted her head to smile at Jack. “This has got to be my favorite age. I adore them when they’re tiny and helpless and they look at you like you’re God. Then again, toddlers are delightful, too. Just in a different way. And they’re really fun when they hit school age....”
Her voice trailed away. He was still standing too close, but she’d forgotten when she’d been absorbed in the baby. Now she remembered.
He was looking at her mouth as she spoke. It was a silly thing, but it struck her as unbelievably seductive. Even when she stopped speaking, he didn’t meet her eyes, but continued to watch her lips.
Time stopped. Her breath stopped. Deep in her abdomen, she felt a flower of warmth blossoming, unsettling her, the excitement of arousal stirring and softening her in a manner totally different from the maternal feelings she had for Alexa.
Slowly he lifted one big hand, up and up and up until it was hovering at her cheek. His index finger feathered a whisper of sensation along the bow of her upper lip; his gaze followed the motion.
She kept her own eyes on his face, studying its blunt contours, the broad sweep of his brow, the sandy lashes that formed a thick screen about his eyes. Had she ever seen a man so beautifully formed before?
Jack lifted his gaze to hers. Time stretched and sagged around them while he silently seduced her; in the depths of those bottomless silvery eyes she read a multitude of messages. All of them conveyed arousal, and a desire that curled her toes inside the comfortable flats she was wearing.
Alexa chose that moment to utter a full, resounding belch worthy of the bowling alley or the golf course.
Frannie jumped and looked down at Alexa.
Jack’s gaze flew to the baby, too. Slowly that heart-stopping smile spread over his face as he looked back at Frannie. “Wow. If she were a man, I’d consider that a challenge.”
Frannie laughed, feeling the tension of the last few moments shatter as she handed the baby back to him. “Here. You’d better take her. I seem to have an adverse effect on her.”
“Hardly.” Jack’s voice dropped to a lower pitch. “You’ve had a great effect on her. And on me.”
Butterflies rose in a flurry of sensation in her stomach. Doggone it. He was the worst flirt she’d ever met. Mentally she kicked herself for succumbing to his charm, if only for a moment, and willed herself to ignore the mad beating of butterfly wings. “Well, thanks for stopping by. It was nice to see you both. I hope the adjustment period continues to go as smoothly.”
In the act of resettling Alexa in her little sack, Jack paused. “Um, Frannie?”
For a moment she’d swear a look of...almost guilt, she supposed, crossed his face. Then it was gone, and he was affable, incredibly attractive Jack again. “I really have to get back to work now,” she told him.
“I know. This will only take a minute. I have something I’d like you to think about.”
Think? He wanted her to think? I think seeing you again, even in a chance meeting, is a really bad idea, she told him silently. He could make her forget too much, offer too much—
“I need to find someone to baby-sit for Alexa while I work. Would you consider keeping her?”
“Would I...?” It took a moment to sink in. Frost swept through her, and the butterflies died in the chill, becoming a dead weight in her stomach. Outrage rose. There was little she disliked more than men who used their charm to wheedle women into doing them “a favor.” She felt like she’d hopped onto a carousel horse that kept bringing her around to the same old point again and again. Did she have a sign stamped on her forehead that read Nursemaid or Housekeeper?
It was a struggle to keep her expression blank. “Who’s keeping her now?” she asked carefully. Beneath the surface, anger began to consume her, boiling higher and higher every second.
“I’ve been taking her to work with me,” he said. “Between Marlene and me—she’s my secretary—we’ve been managing, but it’s just too hectic. She really needs to be with someone who has more time for her.”
“So what makes you think I have the time?”
There was a bite in her voice now, and Jack looked cautious, as if he’d wandered into the middle of a minefield and was trying desperately to pick his way out intact. He looked around and spread his hands to indicate her shop. “I just—this is attached to your home, isn’t it? You sew, which doesn’t require dealing with people constantly, and you’re fantastic with her—I know you love children.”
She dug both hands into her hair to keep from putting them around his thick neck. “Yes, Jack, this is attached to my home. Do you know why? Because during the big bridal season, I’m too busy to even take time to drive to work and back.” Her voice rose. “And just how do you suppose I make clothing that fits my clients?”
“I don’t—”
“I have people wandering in and out of here all day long for fittings and design sessions and fabric consultations. I have customers scheduled right up until eight o’clock tonight. Come here.”
She turned and marched to the back of the shop and pushed through the doors into the fitting and sewing room, seeing it through Jack’s eyes as he followed her.
A three-way mirror with a platform in front for viewing clothing was mounted at one end of the room. One wall was filled with shelving on which were sewing supplies, dozens of different fabrics, bridal magazines and accessories. Hats, veils, shoes, hosiery, frilly white parasols and clever little beaded purses filled shelves to overflow. The wall opposite the mirror was one enormous closet. When the doors were folded back as they were now, more than fifty dresses in various stages of completion could be seen hanging. Against the fourth wall were three sewing machines. Directly behind them was an enormous, custom-designed worktable on which April was pinning a pattern to a swath of satin. Two ironing boards stood beside it Everything was neat and tidy, but it was clear this was a busy place to be.
“Does this look like I have time to baby-sit?” she demanded, turning back to Jack.
Behind her, April said, “Hi, I’m April. Are you Roses-Jack?”
“That’s me,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you, April. Do me a favor and tell the coroner I died from having large quantities of roses stuffed down my throat.”
April laughed, clearly delighted, and Frannie thought bitterly that he could get most women to do just about anything. Too bad for him, she wasn’t most women. Anymore.
“April, take a break. Go drink a soda, take a walk, go in the house and watch a soap opera,” Frannie told her.
April’s eyes rounded. “Yes, ma’am.” She laid down her shears and exited