Excuse Me? Whose Baby?: Excuse Me? Whose Baby? / Follow That Baby!. Jacqueline Diamond
back an unexpected sheen of moisture. “There’s more to happiness than a fancy house and a view from the balcony. There’s love and understanding and emotional support.”
“And I’m going to give them to her,” Jim said.
But if she’s like me, she’ll know from the start that she doesn’t belong here.
Dex had to trust her instincts. This house, and this man, filled her with such panic that she couldn’t bear to leave her baby here. “Whether you agree or not, Annie’s a miniature version of me. Anyone can see it,” she said. “She won’t fit in. And the other kids’ digs and snubs will hurt more than you’ll ever know.”
“Annie’s half me,” Jim said quietly. “She will fit in. She’ll love it here. Please listen…”
His grip on Dex’s shoulder tightened just as she swung around to go inside. The contact threw her off balance, and she stumbled against him.
Instinctively, Dex threw up her hands and braced herself against his chest. She’d forgotten how clearly defined his muscles were, how solid he was and how secure she felt in his grasp, as if nothing could uproot her.
Jim’s arms wrapped around her, and her chin lifted instinctively. His mouth closed over hers, tasting of wine and sultry longing.
Dex indulged herself by cupping his cheek in her palm and then ruffling his hair. Jim guided her inside the house, away from public view, then kissed her more deeply.
The sudden cessation of wind and the flick of his tongue sent heat flooding through her. Pulled tightly against him, Dex discovered that he was completely aroused and experienced the same rush of abandon as on the night of the party.
Feeling his hand move beneath her sweater and touch her bare waist, she ached for him to reach her breasts. His hard, fast breathing matched her own. Dex knew they ought to stop. But not yet.
A happy gurgling caught her attention. The baby! She glanced over and saw Annie standing in her crib, watching them.
“More,” said the baby.
Dex didn’t know whether to laugh or blush. Jim burst into a deep chuckle. “She’s got that right,” he said.
“No.” With a sigh, she moved away. “We can’t do that. You’re practically a married man.”
“I’m not even engaged,” Jim said. “But even though Nancy hasn’t made a decision yet, I do owe her my loyalty.”
She was glad to hear that, despite being the town’s best-known playboy, he had scruples. “In any case,” Dex added for good measure, “we both agree that we’re incompatible.”
“Not in bed,” he pointed out.
“We already have one child,” she said. “Isn’t that enough trouble for one relationship?”
Besides, now that she was regarding this tall, strong-featured man from a slight distance, she remembered all the reasons he intimidated her. And all the reasons she had no intention of showing it.
“I agree, the situation’s complicated.” Jim ran one hand through his hair. “You’re right, I suppose. We need to keep things platonic.”
Although he didn’t look happy about it, he withdrew. Dex stood motionless until she heard the door to the master bedroom close.
“Da da,” said Annie conversationally.
Dex scooped the baby from the crib and sat in the rocking chair, cradling her daughter. She couldn’t believe she’d kissed Jim Bonderoff. If Annie hadn’t interrupted, they might have…
She rocked slowly. Why did she nearly lose control around the man? No doubt he had that effect on a lot of women. She could understand why, but that was no excuse for her own weakness.
It wouldn’t happen again. At least, she didn’t think so.
The chair moved smoothly, lulling both the baby and Dex. She discovered she was crooning a lullaby. She couldn’t identify the song at first, until she came to the chorus. “Hi Lili, Hi Lo.”
It was the theme from an old Leslie Caron movie, Lili. When she was a child, Dex had watched it on TV with her mother, who mentioned having seen it years earlier.
The theme song had sounded familiar then, and it had burst forth while Dex was rocking her baby. There was only one possible explanation. Her own mother must have sung it to her as a child.
How odd. Sarah Fenton wasn’t the sort of woman one pictured singing to a baby. She wore her frizzy hair cut so short it was almost a buzz cut, and smiled only fleetingly. Her tastes in entertainment ran to Wagner operas and Russian ballet, and whatever tenderness she’d shown had vanished by her children’s teen years.
Dex rocked the baby some more and sang some more and wished that, unlike her mother, she could nourish these gentle feelings forever. But history had a way of repeating itself.
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