The Baby Connection. Dawn Atkins
accident. Not his decision.”
He let her words hang for a few seconds. “When my mother got pregnant, my father married her. He was nineteen, he’d just joined the Army, and the last thing he wanted was to be tied down. He loved the nomad life. If he was stationed somewhere too long, he got irritable and antsy. He should never have married.”
“That’s harsh, don’t you think? He was young.”
“Some people aren’t cut out for families. They’re too restless, too tied up in their work, too selfish maybe. I’m like him that way, but at least I figured it out before I did any real damage.”
“So, no broken hearts in your wake?”
“We parted by mutual agreement.” He gave her a rueful smile. She could see he’d be easy to fall for. He was warm and sexy and so interested in whatever she said. But he was restless and his career came first.
She felt the same way, though when the time was right she wanted a family and a man to share it with, of course. “How do you get along with him now? Your dad?” she asked him.
“He’s gone—killed in a truck crash on the base when I was in college. I hope to hell he never knew what hit him. He would have hated dying so stupidly.”
“Was that hard on you, losing him?”
“I didn’t really know him.” He shrugged.
She understood the feeling well enough. Her father wasn’t dead, but he hadn’t wanted Mel any more than Noah’s father had wanted him. “What about your mom?”
“After he died, Eleanor found her wings, she told me. Started traveling. She has a condo in Florida, but she’s rarely there.”
“Are you close with her?”
“We’re different people. She wasn’t that happy about having a kid, I don’t think, though she did her best and I turned out okay. How about you and your mother?” He clearly didn’t want to talk about this.
“We’re close. She’s my best friend. I’m lucky that way.” She yawned, her body sinking into the mattress, feeling drowsy. She should probably head home before she drifted to sleep.
“You have plans this weekend?” he asked softly.
“Laundry, groceries, sleeping in.” She’d quit the studio job and the free weekend was her graduation gift to herself. “What about you?”
“Background reading and research calls. I fly to Fort Bragg Sunday afternoon, then leave for Iraq two days later.” He ran his fingers lightly along her arm. “What I’d rather do is order room service and enjoy you.” He traced her side, then moved to her thigh. “Stay with me, Mel.”
“Mmm.” She breathed, waking to his touch. Stay? Should she? It was such a non-Mel thing to do, but how could she pass up more time with this glorious man, talking about the work they both loved and having great sex? “I vote yes.”
“That’s settled then.” He shifted so they faced each other, lying on their sides. “So what’s Mel short for? Melanie? Melissa?”
“Melody. Actually, Melodía, but I prefer Mel.”
“Melody is pretty. Melodía even prettier.”
“Exactly. Pretty like a song, la-la-la. No, thanks. I want people to take my work seriously. Plus Mel is gender neutral.”
“One of the toughest reporters I know goes by Chrissie, so I don’t know that that makes much difference. Your work will speak for you, Melodía.”
Her name on his lips didn’t sound weak or frivolous. It sounded like a beautiful, powerful song. He lay back and pulled her on top of him, looking up at her with so much heat it took her breath away.
Noah made love the way he worked, with persistence, curiosity and a hunger to get at her core, her essence, her truth. What better way to launch her new life?
CHAPTER TWO
“MY PLANE LEAVES SOON,” Noah murmured near Mel’s ear, hating the fact that he would have to get out of this bed they’d rarely left all weekend.
Mel snuggled into him with a little moan of pleasure—a fainter version of the sound she made when she climaxed. In response, he went hard as a rock.
Damn, he didn’t want to go yet. He studied her golden skin, the way her dark hair shone in the gray light leaking through the hotel curtains.
She had the best smell—reminding him of that old-school tropical drink, the Zombie—sweet with a peppery stinger. The cocktail was red, too, which felt like Mel’s color. Intense and fire-bright.
He would have to hustle once he got to Fort Bragg to get his advance work done before he flew out with officers headed to Iraq, where U.S. troops remained to advise and train Iraqi soldiers.
Not the way he usually approached a big assignment, but he wasn’t sorry he’d spent his last free days with Melodía Ramirez. She was one of a kind. A straight shooter and passionate as hell, with a laugh like liquid silver.
She reminded him of himself after J school—hard-driving, totally on fire for the work. Which was how she was in bed, too, he’d been happy to discover.
She lifted her head to shove her thick hair out of her face. He helped her with the rest, running his knuckle along her cheek, enjoying the buttery firmness of her skin—strong and soft like her personality and her name. She had the best mouth. What she could do with that sweet tongue of hers…
She noticed the tent he’d raised and smiled, taking hold of him. “How much time do we have?”
“Enough for what you’ve got in mind.” He rolled her onto her back, she shifted her hips and he entered her, easy as breathing.
All weekend long, when they weren’t having sex, they were talking nonstop and they kept at it all the way to the airport. Mel had a million questions and more ideas than that. At the terminal curb, she bounded out of the car. “I had a great time,” she said, clearly trying to sound cheerful despite the wistful mood that had descended on them both.
“Me, too, Mel.” He pulled her against him, holding tight. I’ll miss you. He had the urge to say it. She was a smart, sexy woman who knew who she was and what she wanted. In life and in bed. It didn’t get much better than that.
“I wish I could go with you,” she said, quickly adding, “to take pictures.” As if he might think she was being clingy. Not Mel.
She stood on her own two feet. He liked that about her.
“Me, too,” he said. “Sadly, I’m taking my own shots, since they won’t spring for a photographer. I’m no Mel Ramirez.” But he wanted her along for more than her camera.
Predictable, he supposed. The result of that postcoital glow, when it all seemed perfect. That was where he’d gone wrong with Pat, his girlfriend for almost a year. Because she was a reporter, he’d figured she would roll with the punches, but he would return from weeks on the road to stony silence and slammed doors, then tears and bitterness when she finally did speak. It was a mistake he hadn’t made since. He knew better than to let anyone or any place sink its hooks in him.
“You’re my hero, you know,” she said.
“God, don’t say that. I’m just a news monkey. I’m all about the byline.”
“We both know better than that.”
He’d told her how hard it had been to convince his editor there were still important stories in Iraq. “If I don’t hit this one out of the park, I’m dead.”
“I have no doubt you will.”
“Talking with you has been good. You remind me why I’m in this crazy business. I owe you for that.” To lighten the moment, he added, “And for the sex. Man,