Baby Business. Karen Templeton
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hall sliced across the bed, where she lay sprawled in a tangle of sheets and nightgown, making cute little snuffling sounds. With an unmistakable “What the hell?” expression, the cat’s head popped up from behind the crook of her knees.
From the other room, Ethan made a noise that sounded like “Da?”
“Dana?” C.J. whispered.
Nothing. Out like a light. Although the cat prrrped at him. And Ethan let out another, more insistent, “Da?” Or maybe it was “Ba?” Hard to tell.
Resigning himself to the inevitable, C.J. released another breath and returned to the baby, who was now lying on his back, thoughtfully examining his toes with a scrunched-up expression that made C.J. chuckle in spite of … everything. Ethan swung his head around, his entire face lighting up in a huge, nearly toothless smile of welcome. Or maybe gratitude.
And way deep inside C.J.’s gut, something twinged. Like unexpectedly pulling a previously unused muscle.
“I suppose you need your diaper changed,” he said, turning on the light. Ethan, now beside himself with anticipation, started madly flapping his arms and kicking his legs, which wasn’t doing a whole lot for the smell factor.
Okay, he could do this. Just as soon as he figured out what the hell half the things in the diaper bag were for. C.J. rummaged around in the bag for a few seconds, pulling out some kind of pad thing that looked reasonable to spread underneath the kid on the changing table, followed by a diaper, powder, wipes and lotions. There. That should do it. Then he sucked in a huge breath, hauled Mr. Stinky out of the crib and over to the table, and got to it, trying to picture his own father doing this for him. Somehow, he wasn’t seeing it.
A minute or so and roughly half a container of wipes later, he heard Dana’s huge yawn behind him.
“Now you show up,” C.J. muttered, stashing the last of the wipes inside the gross diaper and cramming the whole mess into what he hoped was a bag for that purpose. But, judging from Ethan’s kicks and little squeals, the kid was clearly enjoying being sprung from the nastiness so much C.J. hadn’t had the heart to put the clean diaper on him yet.
“Sorry,” she said on another yawn. “I was really out. Uh, C.J.?”
He twisted around and thought, simply, Uh, boy. Heavy-lidded eyes. Masses of sleep-tangled hair in a thousand shades of red, brown, gold. Pale shoulders, nearly bare save for the skinny little straps holding up that nightgown. A plain thing, nothing but yards of thin white fabric skimming her unconfined breasts, falling in deeply shadowed folds to the tops of her naked feet, revealing toenails like ten little rubies. Except for where it clung just enough, here and there, to stir all sorts of unrepentantly male thoughts and musings and such. C.J. mentally shook his head. “What on earth have you been feeding this kid?”
“Food. C.J., really, this isn’t a criticism, but you might want to—”
“Oh, crap!” he yelled as a warm stream hit him square in the chest.
“—not let the air get to his … him like that.”
C. J. yanked one of the wipes from the container and started swabbing himself off. “Don’t you dare laugh.”
He heard her clear her throat. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” The gown billowed at her feet as she crossed the room. “Go get cleaned up,” she said, laughter bubbling at the edges of her words. “I’ll finish up here.”
When C.J. returned a minute later, she was bent over the crib, babbling at the baby, her voice soft and warm as a summer breeze, radiating enough femininity to drown a man in all things good and bad and everything in between. When she smiled up at him, he frowned. She misinterpreted.
“Oh, don’t be such a grump,” she gently chided. “It’s just a little baby pee. Isn’t it, sweetie?” she cooed to Ethan. “You were just doin’ what comes naturally, weren’t you?”
C.J. grunted, appreciating the irony of his son, the byproduct of his doing “what comes naturally,” returning the favor. “Glad you’re having such fun at my expense.”
Dana handed Ethan’s blanket back to him, then padded back toward the door, signaling to C.J. to follow. “They say,” she whispered, “if you don’t play with them when they wake up in the middle of the night, they’re more likely to go back to sleep. Otherwise they’ll think it’s party time. And if it makes you feel any better, he got me good the first night I had him, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.” She started down the hall as C.J. flicked off the light. “I looked like I’d been in a wet T-shirt contest—” Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment, and one hand shoved her hair back from her face. Which probably wasn’t the brightest move in the world on her part in that lightweight gown. “Wow, I’m suddenly starved. What I mean to say is … how about I meet you in the kitchen and we can see what you’ve got. In your refrigerator, I mean.”
C.J. folded his arms over his bare chest, thoroughly enjoying the moment. Especially the part involving the play of the hall light over all those folds and things. Dear God, the woman had more curves than a mountain road. And C.J. wouldn’t have been human—let alone alive—had he not entertained at least a brief thought involving the words test drive.
“Oh, I can tell you what I’ve got,” he said evenly, even as You are so screwed blasted through his skull. Because if they kept meeting up at night like this, with her dressed like that, he was gonna have a helluva time remembering she was here strictly for the baby’s sake. And only temporarily, at that.
Ah, hell. Not the doe eyes. Anything but the doe eyes.
“Leftover pizza,” he said, and she flinched slightly and said, “What?”
“What I’ve got. In the refrigerator. Leftover pizza.”
“Oh,” she said, then smiled brightly. “Fine. Let me grab my robe and I’ll be right there.”
“You want it hot?” C.J. said to her back as she scurried away. When she spun around, those eyes ever wider (how did she do that?), he grinned. Because, dammit, he was having fun. And okay, because he wanted another glimpse of her before she covered everything up with a robe. “The pizza,” he said.
Their gazes sparred for a moment or two before she said, in a voice that managed to be sweet and sultry at the same time (and he really wanted to know how she did that), “Don’t put yourself out on my account. I’m perfectly capable of … taking care of myself.” Then she grinned. With her head tilted just … so.
A doe-eyed, sweet-sultry voiced smart ass. Yeah, he was in trouble, all right.
Chapter Seven
“Okay,” Dana said, peering into C.J.’s destroyer-sized refrigerator at the box of leftover pizza, three cans of beer and quart of milk staring balefully back at her. “Somebody’s gotta do some serious shopping tomorrow. This is pitiful. And so—” she hauled out the box of pizza “—clichéd.”
Speaking of pitiful. And clichéd. What was up with that little do-si-do between them out in the hallway a few minutes ago? Not to mention her reaction to it? Okay, so it had been a while, but … yeesh.
She stuck a piece of mushroom-and-olive pizza in the microwave, stole a surreptitious glance at the beard-hazed, bed-headed hunk somehow sprawled on a barstool, his elbows propped behind him on the bar, and thought, This will never do. Well, actually, he’d do quite nicely, she imagined, but there, she was definitely not going. Unfortunately, here, she already was, which was why she was having all these wayward, albeit intriguing, thoughts at two-thirty in the morning.
“So we’ll go shopping,” C.J. said on a yawn, then gave a lazy, not-quite-focused grin. “There you are, you rotten beast,” he said to the cat, who had wandered into the kitchen and was now sitting in the middle of the floor like the world’s