A Baby of Her Own. Brenda Novak
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heartened already. Grabbing her purse, she slid off the stool. “What are you going to do while I’m…while I’m…busy?” she asked.
Rebecca frowned at the cowboy waiting for her at the table. “I’m going to lose Lover-boy there and get a room. I’ll leave you a key with my room number at the front desk.”
“Okay. I’ll be in room 431. With Conner,” Delaney added. Then she squared her shoulders and started for the door, her eyes on the elevators beyond, but Rebecca called her back.
“Will you be all right, Laney? You’re whiter than a sheet.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“The hard part’s over, you know. You’ve just gotta—”
Delaney raised a hand. “I really don’t want a pep talk at the moment. Not for this.” She frowned. “I keep expecting to wake up and realize I’ve been dreaming.”
“You’ll thank me later.”
“If it works.”
“Just play your cards right, and it will.”
Play her cards right? She was a virgin. She didn’t know how to play this game at all. But she hadn’t taken those assertiveness classes for nothing.
The lobby was empty except for a night clerk standing behind the check-in counter. He was clicking away on a computer and didn’t look up as Delaney passed, despite the echo of her heels on the marble floor. She was glad; she didn’t want to have to smile and nod and pretend she wasn’t going to a stranger’s room.
She kept her mind carefully blank as she rode the elevator and navigated the long narrow corridors of the fourth floor, but all her fears came flooding back when she finally stood in front of room 431.
This is it. Tomorrow I might be pregnant or I might be sorry.
With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she told herself to take a risk for once. This could bring her a baby. A baby! And Conner would never miss what he was giving her. He’d never even know.
On the other hand, there’d be no going back….
She was still hovering in indecision when a bellman came around the corner.
“You having trouble getting into your room, ma’am?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
“Okay. Have a good night.” He passed, pulling an empty luggage cart, and turned toward the elevators, but Conner must have heard their exchange because he opened his door.
“I thought that might be you. I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t hear your knock.”
Delaney didn’t mention that she hadn’t knocked, that she might never have knocked. She was too busy trying not to stare. Conner had taken a shower. He stood before her wearing nothing but a pair of faded blue jeans that had obviously been donned quickly—the top button was undone. His hair was combed but still wet, and she could tell he’d shaved, but it was his chest that made her mouth go dry. Broad and sculptured, with just a sprinkling of hair that narrowed into a thin line intersecting his navel, it looked like something she might’ve seen in a fitness magazine. Steam rolled out of the bathroom behind him, adding a bit of atmosphere, and Delaney could smell dampness and the scent of his shampoo.
“Smells good,” she said before she could think.
He smiled, and this time it wasn’t the social smile she’d seen fleetingly downstairs. It was sexy and sweet and nearly made her heart stop.
“I’ve been traveling all day, and I wanted to shave,” he said.
That was nice of him. Nicer than she would’ve expected.
“Are you coming in?” he asked.
She glanced toward the elevator. A simple no could still end this. But Conner reached out to her, and she let him draw her inside.
The Bellemont was probably the nicest hotel in Boise. It was certainly more expensive than any Delaney had stayed in, but then she’d only stayed in one. When she was nine, Aunt Millie and some of the ladies from the Rotary Club had taken her to Disneyland. They’d rented a cheap motel because no one had much money, but there’d been a swimming pool and it had seemed like a castle to Delaney.
She circled the room, noting the striped wallpaper and crown molding, the king-size bed, the mahogany desk with rolling chair, the entertainment center that housed the television and snack bar, two nightstands with big brass lamps and an overstuffed chair next to a table on which lay a menu for room service. Picking up the menu, she leafed through it, as Conner folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall to watch her.
“You hungry?” he asked.
She looked up at him, then hurriedly away because he made such a spectacular sight with his powerful-looking shoulders and arms. “No. I’ve…I’ve never had room service before. I was just wondering what it’s like.”
“It’s generally not the best food in the world, but it’s convenient,” he said. His voice was amiable, kind, but there was curiosity in his eyes and he seemed to be taking in little things about her that she didn’t even know she was giving away.
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” She gazed down the list of omelettes and pancakes, sandwiches and pasta entrées. “Looks like they have quite a selection. It’s expensive, though, huh?”
“I take it you haven’t traveled much.”
“My mother moved around a lot, but we didn’t stay in the kinds of places that have room service. Once we landed in Idaho, she was getting sick, so we stayed put. I’ve been to Disneyland, though.” She smiled at the memory, which was one of the best of her life. “I’ve always wanted to go back,” she admitted. Then, to counter the wistfulness of her words, she added, “I mean, when I have kids of my own.”
She set the menu down. “Speaking of kids, do you want children someday?” She held her breath, thinking that his answer to this question would decide whether she stayed or quickly excused herself.
He shrugged, still leaning against the wall. “Maybe someday, but I’m certainly in no hurry. I have a lot to do before I’d be ready for something as monumental as that.”
She nodded and some of the guilt twisting through her eased. See? He didn’t want children right now. From the sound of it, he didn’t want children for a long, long time. She wouldn’t be denying him anything. And she had no guarantee that tonight would produce a baby, anyway. It would put an end to her virginity, however, and now that she was this close, that was reason enough to remain. Thirty years of celibacy was enough.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asked.
Delaney shook her head. She didn’t dare drink more, even though the tequila didn’t seem to be having any effect. “No, thanks. I think we should, you know, get started.”
He frowned. “Are you in some sort of hurry?”
She wanted to face the obstacle before her head-on, endure what was about to happen and put it behind her, but she couldn’t say that, and she couldn’t think of anything she could claim was pressing—not at midnight. “No, not really.”
“Then, why don’t you sit down and tell me a little about yourself first?”
“There’s really nothing to tell,” she said. The room suddenly seemed incredibly small, and she didn’t know what else to do with herself so she perched on the edge of the bed.
“What happened to your mother? You said she was sick. I hope she got well.” He casually shoved away from the wall and came to sit beside her, loosely folding his hands between his spread knees as they talked.
“No, she died when I was seven.”
“I’m sorry.”
Delaney followed his lead and clasped her hands