A Bravo Christmas Reunion. Christine Rimmer
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of reason. “I’m here, now, today, and ready to do what you wanted. You left me because I wouldn’t marry you. And now I want to marry you. I want to give you exactly what you were asking for all along. I don’t understand why you have to be difficult about this. You’re not behaving rationally. And one of your finest qualities has always been your ability to step back and assess a situation logically. I advise you to do that. Now.”
“Marcus.”
He hated when she said his name like that. So patiently. As if he were a not-very-bright oversize child. It was supremely annoying, the way she got to him, the way he let her get to him. He’d graduated from Stanford at the top of his class; he’d built a billion-dollar corporation from virtually nothing. He knew how to deal with people, how to get along and get what he wanted.
But with Hayley, somehow, since she’d decided she loved him and wanted to marry him, he hadn’t known how to deal at all. First, she left him because he wouldn’t marry her. And now that he said he would marry her, she was turning him down.
And she was talking again. All patience and gentleness, trying to make him understand. “No. You don’t want to marry me. You want to take care of your child—and the mother of your child. You think marrying me is the best way to do that, to take care of us. I admire you for that. I truly do. You are a fine man and I’m proud to be having your baby. But that kind of marriage—marriage you want because it’s the right thing? Uh-uh. That’s just not what I want. And it’s not what our baby needs, either. Our baby needs—no. Our baby deserves a loving home, a happy home. How can our baby have that if you’re resentful because you felt you had to marry me?”
“Whoa.” He waited, just to be sure she was going to stop talking and listen for a moment. When she stayed quiet, he said slowly and clearly, “Don’t characterize me. Please. I’m not resentful. Not in the least. And you know me well enough by now to know that I never do anything because I have to. I never do anything I don’t want to do.”
She was shaking her head. “All right. Have it your way. You want to marry me. Because you feel that you have to.”
He stood. “Hayley.”
She gazed up at him, her expression angelic. “What?”
“I’m going to go now.” Before my head explodes.
“Oh, Marcus…”
He went to the closet by the door and got his coat. “We can…work this out tomorrow.” He’d regroup, come at this problem in a fresh, new way—true, at this point he hadn’t a clue what that way might be. But something would come to him, some way to get through to her, to make her see reason.
“There’s nothing to work out,” she said brightly. “Not when it comes to marriage, anyway—and where are you staying?”
He named his hotel. “Tomorrow, then.”
She was on her feet, her hands pressed together as if in prayer, her expression verging on tender, her eyes at that moment sea-blue. He wanted to cover the distance between them, sweep her into his arms and taste those lips he’d been missing for so many months.
But no. Later for kissing. After she realized he was right about this. After she agreed to marry him and come home with him where he could take care of her, where she—and their baby—belonged.
In his hotel suite, Marcus checked his messages. There were several, each representing a different potential disaster. He made a string of calls to his associates. They brainstormed and came up with the necessary steps to eradicate the issues before they became catastrophes. By the time he hung up from the final call of the night, he was reassured that things in Seattle were as under control as they were likely to get until he could handle this situation with Hayley and return to work.
Next, he checked his e-mail, one eye on CNN as he made his replies, keeping a couple of IM conversations going at the same time, taking two more calls and answering questions as he worked. At last, with the phone quiet and the replies made, he put on his gym clothes and went down to the guest gym to work out.
Aside from the night before, when he had learned about the baby, Marcus never touched liquor—or drugs of any kind. His father had been a hopeless and violent drunk and Marcus was determined, above all, not to follow in the old man’s footsteps. But his high-stress lifestyle demanded he find some way to relax and blow off steam. So he worked out.
An hour and a half later, dripping sweat, his legs and arms rubbery from pushing every muscle to the limit, he returned to his rooms and hit the shower. It was after one when he went to bed. By then he’d decided on his next move with Hayley and his confidence had returned.
Tomorrow, she would see things his way and agree to be his wife. They could be married in Nevada ASAP. And then she could return to Seattle with him and take it easy until the baby was born. They would have a good life, a full life.
He’d long ago accepted that he would never be a father. But now that it was happening, he was realizing he really didn’t mind at all.
At seven the next morning, when Hayley opened the blinds on the living room window, she saw Marcus sitting out there on her balcony next to the miniature tree. She was tempted, just for the sake of being contrary, to let him sit there.
But it was cold out. Even from the far side of the window, with him facing away from her toward the central courtyard, she could see the way his breath plumed in the air.
It just wouldn’t be right, to let her baby’s father freeze to death on her landing.
She went and opened the door. At the sound, he turned and looked at her. Once again, she was forced to ignore the shiver of pleasure that skittered through her, just from meeting those watchful green eyes.
“I thought you’d never get up.”
She gathered her robe a little closer around her and spoke in a tone meant to show he didn’t thrill her in the least. “How do you keep slipping through the security gate, that’s what I’d like to know?”
His fine mouth hinted at a wry smile as he stood. “Nobody keeps me out when I’m determined to get in.” His eyes said he was talking about more than a locked gate. Another shiver. She told herself it was the cold. “Make me some coffee?”
She couldn’t help teasing him, “You know, there’s a Starbucks just two blocks away on—”
“Very funny.” He asked again—or rather demanded, “Coffee. I need coffee.”
“Oh, all right.”
He followed her in, put his coat in the closet, then sat at the table and got out his PDA as she ground the beans and got the pot started. He poked at the tiny keys a mile a minute while she heated the water for her own special pregnant-lady herbal tea blend.
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