Countdown to Baby. Gina Wilkins
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singer crooning the words into the mike. Whenever she heard the song in the future, she would remember this dance and the deliciously shivery sensations running through her.
Geoff was a skilled dancer who made it very easy for her to follow his lead. A smooth turn brought them even closer together, her breasts brushing against his chest, their thighs touching as their feet moved in unison. She felt a tug of response deep inside her, a dull ache that she acknowledged as pure physical desire. It had been much too long since she had indulged that side of herself.
The song ended eventually. Inevitably. Geoff held her for just a moment after the last note faded away, and then he stepped back. “I suppose we should go,” he said as he escorted her back to their table. “It’s getting late, and I know you must be tired.”
She was a bit tired, actually, and her feet were killing her, but she was tempted to ask him to stay a little while longer. Instead, she merely nodded. “It is getting late.”
He stayed close by her side as he walked her out. Cecilia could almost feel eyes watching them leave, and she knew there would be talk tomorrow. She didn’t particularly care.
From her early childhood as one of the town’s few residents of Hispanic descent at that time, she had accepted that people thought of her as different. People had talked when her father died in a senseless whitewater-rafting accident when Cecilia was still in elementary school. They had whispered when her mother bore an out-of-wedlock son when Cecilia was eleven. Maria had raised both children on her own because Eric’s no-good father hadn’t stayed around to help.
Maria had lived quietly, but somewhat defiantly, working as many as three jobs and asking for no help from anyone except Cecilia, who had served almost as surrogate mother to her baby brother. Though she’d had little spare time to devote to her children, Maria’s strength and self-sufficiency had set an example for both Cecilia and Eric to pursue their own goals without being overly influenced by anyone else.
The gossip had started again when Cecilia had impulsively married at nineteen, a marriage that had lasted barely two years. Six years her senior, Gary McGhee had swept her off her feet and into his arms, promising her everything she had ever dreamed of—a loving partner, an encouraging supporter, a caring father for the children she had wanted even then. Someone to take care of her, for a change.
She had discovered quickly enough that what he had really wanted was someone strong to take care of him. An adoring young wife who wouldn’t mind putting her own dreams aside so she could serve as his personal cheerleader while he drifted from one get-rich scheme to another.
She had finally accepted that Gary was all talk and that she had made a mistake to believe any of it. She had come to the decision that she would rather pursue her own goals by herself—like her mother—than to give them up for someone who would never appreciate the sacrifice.
And now people were talking about her family again as her brother prepared to marry a woman who carried another man’s baby. A woman who had, herself, been an illegitimate child of notorious bad-boy Billy Bingham.
Knowing how deeply Eric loved Hannah, and what a good father he would make for her child, Cecilia didn’t care if the gossips talked until their tongues deflated. It was no one’s business but Eric’s who he married or why. Just as it was no one else’s business if Cecilia wanted to enjoy Geoff Bingham’s company for a few delightful hours.
Let them gossip, she thought with a private smile. These memories would be hers to savor for quite some time.
“You’re smiling again,” Geoff observed, turning at her car door to study her in the yellow glow of the parking lot lights.
“I had a lovely time,” she told him, tilting her smile up for him.
“So did I.” Ignoring anyone who might see them, he lowered his head and brushed a quick kiss against her cheek. As relatively innocent as the gesture was, it still made her knees go weak to feel his lips against her skin.
Geoff lifted his head, and though he was still smiling, there was a new heat in his eyes. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
“Did you hear me protest?”
“No.” He bent toward her again. “So maybe you wouldn’t mind if I—”
She moved quickly out of his reach. A disregard for gossip was one thing, but her deeply entrenched sense of privacy prevented her from making a complete spectacle of herself. “This is a little too public for my taste.”
He pushed his hands into his pockets as if to demonstrate that he wouldn’t touch her again without permission. “Would you allow me to see you home? Just to make sure you get there safely?”
Though she wasn’t sure her safety had much to do with the offer, she took a moment to think about it. She supposed there was no harm in allowing him to follow her home. The fifteen-minute drive would give him the satisfaction of making a chivalrous gesture—and her the chance to think about whether she wanted to invite him inside when they got there.
She simply nodded and turned to slide into her car.
By the time she drove into her driveway, she had conducted a full, somewhat heated debate with herself about how she wanted the evening to end. Should she politely thank Geoff again for dinner, then send him on his way? Or should she ask him in for a nightcap and then see what happened?
Just how far was she willing to suspend reality this evening?
Chapter Three
Geoff parked his expensive, new-looking sports car behind the economy sedan Cecilia had bought used four years ago—another sign, she mused, that their lives couldn’t be more different. And then he moved toward her, his face shadowed, his lean, strong, yet somehow elegant body silhouetted by security lighting.
Even the way he walked fascinated her, she thought as she watched him approach. He held his head high and his shoulders squared—an innate air of confidence that probably came with being born a Bingham. It wasn’t arrogance she sensed in him, exactly—more an expectation of being accepted and respected, a feeling that had been lacking in her own background.
This man could have spent the evening anywhere he wanted—and with anyone—but he had chosen to spend it with her. She couldn’t deny that it was a huge boost to her feminine ego.
He stopped in front of her. “Nice neighborhood.”
“Thank you. I enjoy living here.”
It was an older neighborhood, filled with aging houses—and aging residents, many of whom had lived here since Cecilia was a little girl. The teenage girl next door was the youngest resident of the neighborhood since moving in with her grandparents a year ago.
Tall, stately trees guarded the sides of the narrow street, their branches nearly touching over it. Neat yards and flourishing flower beds gave testament to the pride her working-class neighbors took in their homes.
Cecilia had inherited her small white-frame house when her mother passed away three years earlier. Though she had protested, Eric had insisted on signing his half over to her—in gratitude, he had said, for her putting her own life on hold to care for their mother while he completed his education and embarked on his career.
Cecilia’s name was the only one on the deed now, but she still considered it Eric’s home, too. He made a point of keeping up the routine maintenance for her—such as painting the siding and shutters and flower boxes last spring—and he ate lunch with her every Sunday.
At least, he had until very recently, she corrected herself with a little ripple of sadness. Now that Eric was about to be married and was establishing his own family, some of the old routines had to change, Sunday lunches being one of them. As much as she welcomed Hannah into the family, Cecilia couldn’t help regretting a little that her role as the most important woman in Eric’s life had come to an end.
Now she wasn’t the most important person in anyone’s life, she had found herself thinking during the middle of several