Another Man's Baby Page 8

  CHAPTER TEN

  GARRET STARED at her, concern changing to confusion and then pure leeriness. No doubt he was thinking she’d gone off a hormonal cliff. From sad and reflective to happy and talking massages in less than five minutes? She supposed it would freak a few people out, but the sight of him in pain bothered her.

  “No, I haven’t, but it’s okay. You don’t—”

  “I do. You want me to be comfortable here, right?”

  “Right, but—”

  “I can help you. I’m feeling really bad about you getting stuck with me and then—” she waved a hand toward where she’d been sitting “—going all gushy like I did. No guy wants a woman dumping on them, especially not when you look like your head is about to explode.”

  He chuckled and rubbed his neck. “I asked you to dump on me. I could tell something was bothering you and you needed to talk. Better out than in where it upsets Penelope.”

  She made a face at his attempt at a name. Penelope? Unless Cruz was attached to the end of it or there was a lot of cash in the bank account, the kid wouldn’t stand a chance on the playground. It was yet another example of how different their lives were. “I’m not doing anything here but eating your food and kicking you out of your bed.”

  “You haven’t been a problem, Darcy. If I thought you were I would’ve braved the roads today. Ever think of that? But I didn’t because I’ve enjoyed our time together. Maybe too much.”

  Too much? She smiled. “Me, too.”

  “Good. So don’t worry about me sleeping out here. I don’t sleep that well, anyway.”

  “I know.”

  He looked at her, confusion apparent. “How do you know?”

  “I can tell.” She shrugged. “This is what I do, remember? No offense, but you’re as tense as a crossbow. Your head hurts, you keep twisting and turning your head and neck, shrugging your shoulders, and you’ve been blinking a lot, like people do when they’re running on fumes. But I can fix all that and I can practically guarantee that you’ll sleep tonight. Come on, aren’t you just the tiniest bit interested? I’m not offering to do anything kinky or weird.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that.”

  Heat flooded into her face. She’d been joking, but once the words were said she would have sworn he was thinking something along those lines.

  And for one rash, split second she was thinking it, too. Obviously, her hormones were on an upswing. Sex at this stage of her pregnancy? With a man she’d just met? So not going to happen. “Right, I—I wanted to be clear. I charge a hundred dollars or more for my services and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea and think something else is happening. Not that you would.”

  “A hundred bucks?”

  “Yeah.” Oh, he was definitely curious now. “What do you say?”

  “Darcy, this isn’t necessary. You don’t need to repay me.”

  “Look, I know a massage doesn’t come close to making up for all that you’ve done, but it would help you and that would make me feel better.”

  “Why is this so important to you?”

  She could lie and say it wasn’t, but something about the look on his face compelled her to be honest. “Because I’ve been on my own since I was seventeen and I haven’t taken charity from anyone. I don’t want to start now.”

  “Seventeen? Is that why you identified with Nick?”

  Darcy shrugged. She was more than a little ashamed of her upbringing, which Stephen’s parents had combed through, then used to make their points for why she shouldn’t be with him. After hearing Garret talk about his family, she didn’t want him doing the same. “You may not see my staying here as a handout, but I do.” She placed her hands over her belly. “I don’t want Spike to think it’s okay to mooch off people. You’d help me save face with my baby if you agree.”

  Garret regarded her a long moment, a sexy half smile pulling at his lips. “Well, we can’t have Spike thinking that about his mother. What would I have to do?”

  Darcy nibbled her lip, suddenly not sure her hormone-heavy body could handle him stripping down to his skivvies like her other clients. This was her job. One she did well with the utmost professionalism. But Garret was not her ordinary client.

  “Nothing drastic. We’re not set up here for a full massage, but I think your back and shoulders are the biggest problem so, um, just take off your shirt.” She wouldn’t ask for more. It was too intimate, too personal a thing, given the setting. Had they been in a more clinical environment she would be able to view him objectively as a series of body systems in various stages of distress. But with Garret on the couch, in his home…

  He stood before she had time to do more than take in a steadying breath. He unbuttoned the shirt and for some reason the sight left her a little dizzy and thigh-clenchingly aware of him. Yes, she’d noticed how handsome he was, but a lot of guys were handsome. Stephen had been gorgeous with his Latin heritage. She’d worked on models. Even an actor or two. But with every button Garret released, she saw more of his chest and—whew!

  A light dusting of black hair covered Garret’s upper chest and pecs before tapering into the waistband of his pants. He didn’t have a blatant six-pack, but his stomach was tight and firm, defined. He was beautiful. All big boned and raw sensuality.

  She never got nervous when she worked on a client, but Garret was different. After everything that had happened between her and Stephen, she honestly thought it would be a long, long time before she noticed a man again. In any way. Before her pregnancy had started to show, she’d had invitations from guys saying they’d make her forget all about Stephen. She hadn’t been the slightest bit tempted, but right now…

  Before she could entertain more thoughts about exploring all that exposed skin in a purely unprofessional way, she turned to arrange her oils on the coffee table. That done, she grabbed the sheet Garret had slept on the night before and spread it over the expensive leather, busying herself so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “Lie down when you’re ready.”

  She found some gentle-sounding music on the television and waited until she heard Garret lower himself onto the couch. She peeked at the broad expanse of his back, the strength and texture of his skin. So much temptation. But there was no changing her mind now.

  The first step was getting him used to her touch. Darcy grabbed the odorless massage oil, warmed it in her hands, then placed her palms on his shoulders and spread the oil on his skin. Careful to keep the pressure light, she smoothed it down his back, then started at the base of his spine and with increasing force, ran her thumbs up both sides. Just as she’d suspected. Tighter than a drum.

  Starting at the dimpled base of his spine—so cute!—again, she stroked harder and felt Garret stiffen, as if he struggled to suppress a groan. Smiling, she repeated the motion, feeling him tense up whenever she got to the worst spot between his shoulders. Finally he gave in. A rough growl of pleasure emerged, one that had her holding her breath and suppressing yet another shiver.

  “Darcy, that feels…good.”

  “See?” Ordinarily, she kept her voice pitched low so as soothe and not startle her client. Doing so now didn’t require much effort given the surprising huskiness of her tone.

  Moving outward, she found the trigger points in his shoulders and worked out the knotted muscles there. The poor guy was a mess.

  Garret sighed and angled his head away from her, his eyes drifting closed. She could still see his profile, however, and after a few minutes, the tiny lines on his face eased. Guitar music played in the background, the strumming slow and soft. Beautiful songs that blended together with barely a break in rhythm.

  Now that he was relaxed, she could introduce the scented oils. She left one hand on his back to maintain contact and grabbed one of the bottles she’d arranged on the table. Roman chamomile filled the air.

  Darcy brushed her fingertips up his back in light strokes to spread the oil, then firmed her touch at the base and started up again. Reaching his neck, her palms slid o
ver his shoulders and squeezed. Another sexy-rough sigh escaped him. The sound echoed through her and she tuned into the feel of his silky, black hair as it curled over her thumbs, the steely strength of the corded muscles beneath his skin. She shook her head slightly to snap her out of the sensual spell. This was a massage, not a seduction.

  With renewed purpose, she moved her hands in long, rhythmic patterns, gently pulling and loosening the muscles, working out the knots with single-minded determination that she would help him sleep.

  One by one she added more oils and the scents of spruce and blue tansy filled the air. The knots behind his shoulder blades slowly released, as did those in his neck, too. The longer she massaged, the more pliant Garret became, and she loved the husky sounds he made as he lost himself in the experience.

  Certain clients had a hard time relinquishing control because of body image or some other insecurity, but Garret was doing wonderfully. Unfortunately the same couldn’t be said of her. After a while her back began to spasm and pull from leaning over him the way she was. She hesitated, then shifted her hips to perch on the very edge of the couch.

  “Are you tired? You can stop.” Garret’s voice emerged gruff and husky.

  “Just getting comfortable,” she assured him as she returned to her ministrations. His winter-dry skin absorbed the fluid, so she added more massage oil, then kept her pressure and touch steady as she applied the last of the specialized oils she liked to use. Rosewood and lavender, sandalwood. The scents blended well together, a tantalizing, heady fragrance she associated with sleep.

  Once more, Darcy ran her hands up to his neck, and across his back to his shoulders, upper arms and biceps until the muscles were completely lax beneath his skin. Finishing what she could of his arms with one of them scrunched up against the couch near his head, she returned to his back, her hands creating a friction she’d felt many times before, but never like this. She felt every tingle, the play of muscles and bone. The heat.

  Hormones again. Had to be. Women were sexually charged beings during pregnancy, their bodies on overload. But it hadn’t been a problem before now which meant it was…because of Garret? She tried to focus, gave herself another lecture about professionalism and hoped he didn’t notice the slight hitch in her breathing. Still, she found herself pressing her knees together and once again thinking things she shouldn’t be thinking about her host. Luckily Garret’s breathing had eased. Had he fallen asleep? She wasn’t sure, but it was definitely time to end the session.

  She smoothed her hands over his oil-silken skin one last time, moving slowly so as not to disturb him. A portion of the sheet lay between the couch and his side, and she placed the body-warmed material over him. Normally she’d use damp, warm towels to let the oils “bake,” but she’d improvise. Sheet in place, she rubbed her hands along his back to help create warmth through friction. Then she covered him with the lightweight blanket, as well, lingering over the task and knowing without a doubt that when she closed her eyes to sleep tonight she’d dream of Garret.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  GARRET AWOKE to the sound of laughter, throaty and feminine. Darcy. A smile formed on his lips before he opened his eyes. Muffled noises came from the kitchen, then Ethan’s laugh joined Darcy’s.

  Huh?

  He turned his head and squinted toward the clock on the electronics across from the couch. Nine-thirty. Nine-thirty? He hadn’t slept that late in—Not in years. And on a couch?

  Remembering the night before, he put both palms over his face and rubbed. When she’d started the massage everything had been okay. His headache had started to ease, his neck had stopped hurting. But then she’d sat beside him and it was like having a jolt of electricity zap him.

  He didn’t know if it was his abstinence of late, Darcy’s touch or the oils, but he’d been hard instantly. His mind had filled with all of the ways they could make use of those oils, and his body had turned into a furnace. Every stroke made him want to roll over and do some touching of his own.

  After reciting the alphabet—backward—then forcing himself to plow through legal briefs in his head, he’d resorted to faking sleep to end the torture.

  Shrugging off the knowledge that he was one sick puppy to lust after a pregnant woman, he gave himself time to get his body under control and rose, donning his shirt along the way.

  “There’s Sleeping Beauty.”

  Ethan’s tone mocked him from the stool where he sat as Garret entered the kitchen. He yawned and chose not to respond to the teasing. “When did you get home?”

  “An hour ago. Good thing I didn’t call, huh? You were dead to the world when I came in.”

  Darcy turned from the stove to smile at Garret. “I told you I could get you to sleep through the night.”

  Ethan raised a suspicious eyebrow, then sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

  He ignored his brother’s question and Darcy’s amused gaze, and focused on what she was cooking. His stomach growled. “Pancakes?”

  “They’re almost ready. You like them, don’t you?”

  “Love ’em. Do I have time for a quick shower?”

  “Sure. Ten minutes?”

  “I’m going to go get out of these scrubs.” Ethan stood and dogged Garret’s steps all the way into the bedroom.

  Once there, his older brother shut the door and leaned against it. “Are you nuts? I heard all about you rescuing some woman, but I didn’t know you’d brought her home. Why did you?”

  “The state of emergency?”

  “Like that ever stopped anyone from getting on the roads. I made it home, didn’t I?”

  “You risking your neck is one thing. Taking a pregnant woman out there when she’s already had false labor would be the ultimate in stupidity.”

  Ethan’s gaze narrowed. “No, the ultimate in stupidity is having her here in the first place. Does Joss know you brought another woman home?”

  Garret had meant to call her yesterday and tell her what was going on but each time he’d picked up the phone, he couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to upset her since there was nothing he could do about Darcy until the roads cleared, so he’d told himself the conversation could wait. Guilt stirred suggesting that had been a bad decision. “Darcy’s not another woman.”

  “She sure as hell looks like one to me.” Ethan’s voice lowered even more. “When I heard she was pregnant, I pictured a house of a woman with a wedding ring on her finger and some guy named Bubba for a husband. Not a cute blonde who looks like she’s simply hiding a basketball under her shirt and no ring in sight. So level with me. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  Garret struggled to grasp what his brother was asking. Sure, Joss was likely to freak a little when Garret told her about Darcy, but she’d get over it. “What do you mean?”

  Ethan stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Darcy’s baby? Are you the father?”

  “No. Not even close.” Garret grabbed jeans from a drawer, a fresh pullover from the closet. “How can you even think that? I only met Darcy Friday night.”

  “Harry’s going to think the exact same thing and he’s going to go ballistic.”

  “Darcy and I are two adults—strangers—in a snow crisis. Harry and Joss will understand.” Garret frowned, well aware Harry wouldn’t like Darcy’s presence in his house. But Harry was his boss, not his father and—

  And? Harry would be his father-in-law soon. Garret stalked back to the dresser and grabbed underwear. “Eth, she’d just been released from the hospital. What else could I do when all the motels were full?”

  “Hey, I would’ve done the same, but my situation is different in a lot of ways.” He smirked. “No one would’ve thought twice about me picking up a woman. You, on the other hand, are all wrapped up in commitment and obligation. This deal with Darcy looks bad so you’d better be prepared for the fallout. People like a good scandal and this has all the makings of one.”

  “You’re right.” Garret sighed, frustrated. He hated being the objec
t of speculation and having people leap to the wrong conclusions. At the sharp nudge from his guilty conscience he had to admit that, under different circumstances, those conclusions wouldn’t be far from the truth. He was attracted to Darcy. Damn, why hadn’t he thought through the consequences of his actions more thoroughly? He usually was so careful. “Well, you’re here now. That should smooth things over.”

  “You better hope it does.”

  “I’ll take her to a motel as soon as a room opens up.”

  Ethan sniffed again, walking closer to where Garret stood. “What is that smell?” He stopped sniffing and jerked back in horror. “It’s you?”

  “It’s…scented oils. Darcy’s an aromatherapist.” Heat crept into his face at Ethan’s expression.

  “Wait a minute. Are you telling me—”

  “I had a monster headache. She wanted to repay me for helping her out.”

  “So she massaged you?” Ethan’s gaze narrowed. “You were dead to the world when I got home. Are you sure you didn’t get a roofie in your drink? You’d better hope photographs don’t wind up on the Internet.”

  “She didn’t drug me. Trust me when I say I didn’t fall asleep for a long time afterward, all right? I pretended to be asleep so she’d stop.”

  Ethan squeezed his eyes shut with a groan. “This just keeps getting worse. She’s pregnant.”

  “I know. I’ve already called myself every name you can think of and then some.”

  Ethan remained silent for a long moment. “For what it’s worth, you wouldn’t be the only guy getting a stiffy around her—if you don’t look below her chest she’s pretty cute.”

  Garret wanted to take Ethan to task for the statement but couldn’t, not when he’d thought the same himself. “Just take it easy and don’t give her a hard time, okay? Everything is fine.”

  But everything wasn’t fine. Screwed didn’t begin to cover the state of affairs he’d be in if his parents and Harry, not to mention Joss, misconstrued Darcy’s presence. “I’m going to shower. Do me a favor and help her out in the kitchen. Without the attitude, please.”