The Baby Surprise. Victoria Pade
than she felt, and rang the doorbell.
She didn’t have to wait long before the door opened and when it did she was slightly taken aback at her first glimpse of the man standing on the other side. Not because he was frightening. He was just that good-looking.
He was tall—over six feet to her five foot five—and extremely well built, with long legs, a narrow waist and hips, and shoulders and pectorals that seemed to go on forever. And all of it was attached to a dream of a face that was angular and sharp-edged, with deep-set blue eyes the color of new denim, a straight nose, agile lips with just a hint of a sardonic upturn to their corners, and dark brown hair that was cut short and left slightly mussed on top.
“Can I help you?” he asked when she just stood there gawking instead of introducing herself.
It took Keely a moment to realize she was staring and not speaking. Finally she yanked her wits back in order and said, “I’m looking for Devon Tarlington.”
Now why had her voice come out sounding like a lame-duck freshman addressing the senior captain of the football team who also happened to be the class president voted most hunky boy in the school?
And it didn’t help when those nimble lips eased into a sexy, sexy half smile. Or when, in a second taste of deep, rich baritone, he said, “That’s me.”
Keely reminded herself why she was there, drew herself up a second time, put on her most professional face and said, “My name is Keely Gilhooley—”
He laughed.
The jerk had the nerve to laugh at her name.
“Keely Gilhooley?” he repeated. “And with that flaming red hair? You wouldn’t happen to be a little Irish, would you?”
“A little,” she said facetiously, trying to maintain her pique when his half smile turned into an endearing grin and he stretched a long arm up the edge of the door, shifting his weight more to one hip than the other with an innate sensuality.
“It’s great hair, by the way,” he said then, not like a come-on but as if he genuinely liked her hair. Which put power to the compliment.
But again Keely reminded herself that this was not some kind of social event and that, considering what she’d come to tell this man, he was about the last guy on earth she would want anything to do with even if he was traffic-stoppingly handsome and disarmingly charming.
“May I come in?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Why do you want to?” he countered.
Keely took out one of her business cards and handed it to him.
He took it and read from it. “Where Are They Now?”
“We’re a people-locating service,” Keely informed him.
“Is somebody looking for me or are you just going door-to-door to drum up business?”
“Someone is looking for you.”
“Who?”
“Well, actually, me. But it would be better if we talked inside, in private.”
The grin reappeared. “You’re who’s looking for me and you want privacy?”
Keely ignored the insinuation—and the fact that he seemed to be enjoying himself so much. “Yes, I’m who’s looking for you. Sort of. And it’s privacy I think you’ll want for what I have to tell you.”
Slightly full eyebrows arched, but only in mock wariness. “That sounds ominous. Or maybe it’s just supposed to so I’ll let you inside and then you’ll hit me over the head and have your way with me.”
The idea of having her way with him lit a bit of a spark somewhere in the recesses of Keely. But she ignored it. “Could we just go inside and talk?”
“Is it something I’m going to want to hear?”
“I don’t know you, so I really couldn’t say.”
“It must not be that I’ve won a million dollars or something.”
“No, it isn’t that you’ve won a million dollars.”
“And you don’t know if it’s something I’ll think is bad or not?”
“No, I don’t know that.”
“But it could be that I’ll think it’s good?”
He was toying with her and already she knew that Devon Tarlington was incorrigible.
And she was also already wishing that that obvious streak of bad boy wasn’t so appealing.
But once more she fought to rise above that appeal.
“Do you want to know what I have to tell you or not?” she said, bluffing because there was no way she was leaving here without telling him what she’d come to tell him.
“Let’s see…” He pretended to think about it, studying her face the entire time and—to his credit—not once letting those denim-blue eyes drop below her chin. “A fiery redhead shows up at my door unannounced and wants a secret meeting with me to tell me something important enough for her to have put effort into finding me….”
“I don’t need a secret meeting with you. Just a private one,” she amended.
But the amendment didn’t seem to matter to him because he went on scrutinizing her a moment longer before he pushed off the door and said, “Okay. I can’t resist.” Then he swept an arm in belated invitation and tacked on, “Please, come in.”
Finally, Keely thought as she stepped into his entryway, waiting near the staircase directly ahead of the door while he closed it and turned to face her.
“Would the living room be private enough?” he asked with a poke of his sculpted chin in that direction.
“I think so,” she said, preceding him when he waited for her to.
The room that went with the picture window had clearly been decorated without a woman’s touch. There weren’t any knickknacks or plants or pictures on the walls. There was only a large brown leather sofa and matching overstuffed chair, a coffee table littered with remote controls and TV listings, and an entertainment center complete with big-screen television, VCR, DVD player and an array of stereo equipment that Keely thought she’d need a six-month training course to operate.
“Have a seat, Keely Gilhooley,” he suggested.
Keely ignored the teasing repetition of her name and chose the overstuffed chair to sit on while he perched on the closest arm of the sofa, angled in her direction.
“Now, tell me why you ‘sort of’ came looking for me,” he said, using the words she’d said to him.
“I was looking for you, but not on my own behalf,” she qualified.
“And on whose behalf were you looking for me?” he asked as if this were all nothing more than an amusement to break up an afternoon.
“On behalf of Clarissa Coburn.”
Devon Tarlington didn’t find that name so amusing. His face sobered into a full-out scowl and his blue eyes clouded with instant anger.
“Clarissa Coburn and I have nothing to say to each other,” he said flatly, definitively, devoid of any of the warmth that had been in his voice a split second earlier.
“I’m afraid it isn’t that simple,” Keely said. She was no longer worried that Devon Tarlington might be the kind of man who would strike out at her. She could tell he wasn’t. But that still didn’t make what she had to say any easier.
“It seems pretty simple to me,” he said. “Clarissa Coburn is history and there isn’t anything—anything—to do with her that I’m interested in.”
“She has a son,” Keely said, dropping the bomb to halt