Baby, Don't Go Page 27
So she set about packing her stuff. She hadn’t realized, until she began gathering her belongings, just how comfortable she’d gotten here. Her possessions were scattered throughout the apartment.
A shaft of sunlight broke through the late morning gloom outside. Refracted by the mullioned windows, it picked out the russet and bronze highlights in Nick’s brown hair as he stood watching her, his hips propped against the windowsill, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “So, this is it, then?” he demanded when she made the mistake of meeting his gaze. “You’re just going to run away?” His lip lifted in an expression of disdain that stabbed her right through the heart. “Funny, I never figured you for a chickenshit.”
Her spine snapped erect. It was one thing to privately acknowledge her cowardice; he didn’t get to throw it in her face. But damned if she’d make a liar out of herself by denying it.
“Hell, yes, I’m scared—I’d be a fool not to be! I still recall the last time I handed myself into your tender keeping, Coltrane. I gave you everything, and you told me you loved me then, too, remember? But it wasn’t enough to make you stick around.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but she roared right over him. “The minute you got yours, you sure as hell changed your story in a hurry. What was it you said—that people would say anything in the heat of the moment and I oughtta grow up?”
“I was an idiot.”
“No, I was the idiot for believing you in the first place.”
“Where is this coming from, Daisy? I thought we’d worked our way past it.”
“Well, that would certainly be convenient for you, wouldn’t it?
“Convenient?” He was suddenly towering over her, eyes like blue flames, and the look that caused those flames made her feet back up nervously. He stalked her step for step, and the next thing she knew, her backside had hit the back of the couch. Gripping it to anchor herself, she thrust her chin up at him. He thrust his right back at her, and they were suddenly nose to nose. “Trust me on this, Blondie,” he snarled through his teeth, “there’s not a damn thing about loving you that’s convenient. You’re a hotheaded, armed-to-the-teeth smart-ass, and if I were the least bit intelligent, I’d run as far from you as I could get.”
“Nobody could ever accuse you of being intelligent, though, could they, Coltrane, because here you are, getting all aggressive with me anyway.” Dear God, where had that come from? It sounded almost…commendatory.
“That’s the God’s honest truth, Parker, so don’t go thinking you can shake me now by giving me attitude.” The aggression abruptly left his stance and he reached out to brush gentle fingertips down her cheek to the belligerent thrust of her chin. “I ran scared the night I took your virginity, Daise, but I’m not the terrified kid I was then. I’ve grown up; I’m no longer afraid of what I feel. I love you. I think we should get married.”
“What?” Joy such as she’d never known exploded in her chest, and it scared the bejesus out of her. She pushed him back. “Are you crazy?”
“Crazy in love.”
“No, just plain crazy! It would never work. Look at your dad; look at my mom.”
“That’s them. Where is it written that you and I have to make their mistakes? Everyone has choices to make, Blondie, and we can choose to do something entirely different. We could actually fight for our marriage and work things out when we hit a rough patch, instead of caving at the first sign of trouble.”
“There’s a concept.” She straightened her spine. “But it wouldn’t work.”
“Yes, dammit, it would. If we put some real effort into it.” He bent his head and gave her a light kiss on the lips. “I love you, Daisy.”
“We’re too different.”
He kissed her again, in a deeper, more leisurely manner. Raising his head, he said, “Not in the ways that matter, we aren’t. I love you.”
He bent his head to kiss her once again, and this time she couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him back for all she was worth. Then, tearing her mouth free, she said, “You lied to me.”
“And I swear to you I’ll never do it again.”
Looking into his eyes, she believed him. And yet…“Even so, we are different. In every way, Nick.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not bull—it’s a fact.”
“Give me one for-instance.”
“Okay. Say for just a minute that I actually said I’d marry you. I bet we couldn’t even agree on what kind of wedding to have.”
“What—do you think I’d insist on some hoop-de-do-dah society affair? Because if you want to get married by the justice of the peace, doll face, we’ll do that—”
“Ick! I don’t want some sterile, bureaucratic office wedding.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know—something intimate and warm. Where I could wear one of those really froufrou wedding gowns.”
“No kidding?” The tenderness of his smile turned her knees to cream cheese. “That’s the last thing I would have expected.”
“Why? Just because I’m not a girlie-girl doesn’t mean I haven’t peeked at Bride magazine once or twice…or dreamed of wearing one of those gorgeous dresses.” Then, terrified she was losing ground, she shot off the definitive volley. “And, of course, any wedding of mine wouldn’t be complete without Reggie and the boys.”
Nick narrowed his eyes at her. “I suppose Benny would insist on wearing a bridesmaid’s dress.”
“Yep.” There went her wedding. She’d known bringing up the boys would scotch the deal—so where was the triumph in being right? Still, if he couldn’t accept her for who she was—
“Works for me,” he said. “But he buys new shoes, or the deal’s off. Those heels he wears are a disgrace.”
She felt her chin drop and closed her mouth with a snap. “Are you crazy? You’d lose half your business if San Francisco society found out you had a transvestite in your wedding!”
Nick shrugged. “Hey, as The Divine Miss M used to say before she went all mainstream, ‘Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke.’” He grasped her by the hips and set her on the back of the couch, nudging her legs apart to step between them. “I’m not marrying you to advance my career—”
“No fooling!”
“—I’m marrying you because my life’s had so much more color in it since we got together. I love you, cupcake. Do you love me?”
She longed to deny it, to protect herself against future pain. But she couldn’t. “Yes.”
His smile was blindingly white, and he kissed her, hard. “That’s all that matters, then. Our wedding is our business and no one else’s. Our wedding is our business and no one else’s. You want Benny as an attendant, we’ll have Benny.”
“I’m really scared, Nick.”
“Ah, no,” he crooned and kissed her eyebrow, the bridge of her nose, her lips. Pulling back, he rearranged several spikes of hair into a pattern that seemed to please him. “Don’t be scared. I want this so much, Blondie.”
“It’s such a huge step for two people with our family histories.”
“Yeah, it is. But we’re tough—we can make it through anything life throws at us. Besides, we’ve got a secret weapon.”
“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”
“Your stubborn streak. Once you’ve made up your mind that something’s gonna work, face it, Blondie, you’re too damn stubborn to ever back down.”
The grin that flashed across her face was a pale imitation of the pure happiness that bloomed in her breast. “Oh, God. That’s true.” She kissed him so hard they toppled over the back of the couch onto the cushions. “I love you, Nicholas Coltrane. Only you could take one of my worst character faults and turn it into a virtue.”
He pulled the ribbon that fastened her pink cardigan between her breasts. “Is this a match made in heaven, or what?”
“Precisely. And I get to be the alpha angel.” She wrestled with the buttons on his shirt.
&nbs
p; He made a rude noise as he peeled her out of her sweaters. “Not on your life, Blondie.” He unfastened her bra and murmured appreciation for the bounty he uncovered. Then he smiled into her eyes. “But I’m always happy to provide you with lots of opportunities to give it your best shot.”
EPILOGUE
NICK pressed Daisy up against the door and kissed her feverishly while he fumbled with the card key to the tenth-floor room at the Mark Hopkins. The door handle suddenly gave beneath his palm and they nearly fell into the room. Breaking apart, they looked at each other and laughed. Then Nick swept her up in a rustle of organza and lace and stepped over the threshold.
Setting her on her feet on the other side, he closed the door and leaned back against it. “Did I tell you what a spectacular bride you are, Mrs. Coltrane?”
“Yes, but tell me more.” Standing proud and erect in front of him, she flashed a cocky grin and crooked her fingers at him in a gimme gesture. “I can take it.”
“You’re beautiful. Magnificent.” And their wedding had turned out great. It had been small and intimate, just the way she’d wanted, and it had even ended up being fairly traditional since Benny had elected to wear a tux instead of a gown. Nick hated to admit it but he was kind of relieved, even though he’d been sincere when he’d told Daisy that Benny could wear any damn thing he wanted as long as she married him.
Her mom had been there, too, with her new husband, and she’d fussed and cried buckets to a degree he’d thought rather extreme. But Daisy had been tickled to see her, so who was he to complain about a few theatrics?
He smiled tenderly at his newly wedded wife, watching her take in their surroundings as he pushed away from the door.
She looked back at him, her eyebrows raised. “Am I having one of those déjá vu moments, or is this actually…?”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, then raised his head. “I thought you might appreciate it if I got things right this time.” Waltzing her into the same room they’d used nine years ago, he delivered them with a dramatic flourish to the room service cart, where he dipped her, brought her back upright, and yanked her flush with his body to give her another kiss. Then he set her free. Plucking a bottle of wine out of the silver bucket where it had been chilling, he turned it to present the label. “Madam.”
“Oh, my God—this is too good.” Staring at the bottle he’d used to coldcock Blunt Face that night in J. Fitzgerald’s wine cellar, she laughed a deep, bawdy belly laugh. “This is just too perfect. That’s what I like about you, Coltrane—you’ve got style.”
“I thought we could drink one toast to Doug lass, since he was responsible for getting us back together again. Then the old bastard’s history for all time.” He couldn’t prevent a satisfied grin. “I was bluffing when I told him his goons were singing like canaries. Who knew I’d turn out to be a freaking prophet?”
No-Neck had had two prior convictions and no burning desire to spend ten-to-twenty in the state pen while Douglass lived free and high on the hog. Compared to what No-Neck faced, the older man’s losing the ambassadorship hadn’t seemed all that tragic to him, apparently. So he’d spilled his guts.
And the kicker was, it hadn’t been the first time the “saint” of San Francisco had hired himself a little muscle to clean up after a mess he’d made. It turned out he’d had his fingers in more slippery situations, both business and personal, than you could shake a stick at.
“He wasn’t very smart,” Daisy said. “But he was clever enough that folks are still reeling.”
Nick handed her a glass and clinked it with his own. “So here’s to him. May he spend years and years in the slammer.”
They took a sip. Then, wine flute held aloft once again, Daisy entwined their arms. “More importantly—here’s to us. May our lives together and our love for each other prosper forever.”
They drained their glasses.
And their lives were prospering. It turned out Nick had captured J. Fitzgerald’s arrogance in the shot he’d taken the night of Douglass’ bash, and it had become the photograph to accompany first the scandal, then the trial coverage, on the news and in the Times, Chronicle, and Examiner. When people remembered the way Nick had gotten physical with Douglass the night the photo was taken—coupled with the discovery of Daisy’s occupation—they’d assumed he must have known more than he was telling all along. He kept his mouth shut and let the rumors run their course. But a side benefit was the sudden inundation of clients for Blondie.
Nick looked at his new bride—something he’d been doing a lot of, since exchanging the I-do’s. Her cheeks were flushed and her dark eyes shone as she smiled back at him, and he reached out to trace her lower lip with his thumb. “I love you, Daisy Parker Coltrane.”
Her face lit up even more. “I love you, too. Take off your pants.”
His dick jumped to attention. “Oh, man, I love a forceful woman. You want me bad, huh?”
“Yeah, that, too. But the pants are my insurance policy. If you get a sudden urge to bolt this time, it’s gonna be with the thinker there dangling out for all the world to see.”
“Trust me, sweetheart, neither the Big Guy nor I are going anywhere.” But he kicked out of his slacks and tossed them to her. Then he went to work on his shirt studs. “Love your gown, doll face, but you’ve got way too many clothes on.”
She grinned and presented him with her back to undo the hidden zipper. As he slid it down, she looked at him over her shoulder. “That was pretty great news about Mo, huh?”
“Yeah, how about that? I’m going to be an uncle—that’s pretty fresh.”
“Reid sure is over the moon.”
“No kidding. It’s almost embarrassing, how much.” Tossing his shirt aside, he looked up to find she’d beat him once again in the race to get naked. He tumbled them both onto the bed and rolled to his side to look down at her.
“If you ever get pregnant, I hope to hell I act cooler than that.” He stroked her flat stomach as gently as if his child did rest within. Then he looked into her lambent chocolate-colored eyes and smiled wryly. “But when I stop and actually think about it?”
He shrugged. “I have to tell you, cupcake—I have my doubts.”
About the Author
SUSAN ANDERSEN
The things that are important to me are fairly simple, though sometimes rare: a husband of thirty plus years with whom I’ve yet to run out of things to talk about, a grown son who, deep in my heart, will forever remain my sweet baby boy, a warm and supportive extended family, a few good friends, skate-skiing, in-line skating, and a cat who requires only that I remove the lid from the Pounce can so he can fish his treats out for himself.
I love to hear from my readers, so please feel free to write me at P.O. Box 47375, Seattle, WA 98146, or email me at susanandersen@seanet.com. To be kept apprised of upcoming novels by email, sign up under my name at www.onelist.com. Those desiring a reply to their letters via the good ol’ United States Postal Service, please include a self-addressed, stamped envelope and I’ll respond as quickly as I possibly can.
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Avon Contemporary Romances by
Susan Andersen
ALL SHOOK UP
BABY, DON’T GO
BABY, I’M YOURS
BE MY BABY
GETTING LUCKY
HEAD OVER HEELS
SHADOW DANCE
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
BABY, DON’T GO. Copyright © 2006 by Susan Andersen. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text
may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition December 2006 ISBN 9780061738531
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
1
2