Laura Wright - Baby and The Beast

He graced her with a slash of a smile. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

“That’s a very generous thing to say. But you don’t owe me anything. One night’s stay is all I’ll be—”

“We’ll see about that,” he interrupted. “We’ll see what the doctor says tomorrow.”

“All right, Michael,” she said, too tired to argue. “But I don’t want to take your room from you. I can move into a guest room or—”

“That’s not necessary.” His smoky gaze briefly scanned hers. “You look very comfortable right here in my bed.”

Her eyes widened. One night. Just one night.

He regarded her for a moment; then he turned to leave.

“It’s good to see you again,” she called after him.

He paused in the doorframe but didn’t look back. “It’s good to see you, too, Bella.”

Dear Reader,

’Tis the season to read six passionate, powerful and provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire!

Savor A Cowboy & a Gentleman (#1477), December’s MAN OF THE MONTH, by beloved author Ann Major. A lonesome cowboy rekindles an old flame in this final title of our MAN OF THE MONTH promotion. MAN OF THE MONTH has had a memorable fourteen-year run and now it’s time to make room for other exciting innovations, such as DYNASTIES: THE BARONES, a Boston-based Romeo-and-Juliet continuity with a happy ending, which launches next month, and—starting in June 2003—Desire’s three-book sequel to Silhouette’s out-of-series continuity THE LONE STAR COUNTRY CLUB. Desire’s popular TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB continuity also returns in 2003, beginning in November.

This month DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS concludes with Cherokee Marriage Dare (#1478) by Sheri WhiteFeather, a riveting tale featuring a former Green Beret who rescues the youngest Connelly daughter from kidnappers. Award-winning, bestselling romance novelist Rochelle Alers debuts in Desire with A Younger Man (#1479), the compelling story of a widow’s sensual renaissance. Barbara McCauley’s Royally Pregnant (#1480) offers a fabulous finale to Silhouette’s cross-line CROWN AND GLORY series, while a feisty rancher corrals the sexy cowboy-next-door in Her Texas Temptation (#1481) by Shirley Rogers. And a blizzard forces a lone wolf to deliver his hometown sweetheart’s infant in Baby & the Beast (#1482) by Laura Wright.

Here’s hoping you find all six of these supersensual Silhouette Desire titles in your Christmas stocking.

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

has spent most of her life immersed in the world of acting, singing and competitive ballroom dancing. But when she started writing romance, she knew she’d found the true desire of her heart! Although born and raised in Minneapolis, Laura has also lived in New York City, Milwaukee and Columbus, Ohio. Currently, she is happy to have set down her bags and made Los Angeles her home. And a blissful home it is—one that she shares with her theatrical production manager husband, Daniel, and three spoiled dogs. During those few hours of downtime from her beloved writing, Laura enjoys going to art galleries and movies, cooking for her hubby, walking in the woods, lazing around lakes, puttering in the kitchen and frolicking with her animals. Laura would love to hear from you. You can write to her at P.O. Box 5811 Sherman Oaks, CA 91413 or e-mail her at laurawright@laurawright.com.

To my wonderful editor, Stephanie Maurer—

here’s to our beloved “Beasts!”

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Snow fell relentlessly from a gunmetal-gray sky, coating the naked trees with an icy frosting.

Isabella Spencer pulled her wool hat down over her ears, trying to ignore the wintry glaze forming on the scarf that covered her neck and mouth. Pushing back a mounting sense of worry, she closed the door on the remaining warmth inside her lifeless car and stepped out onto the deserted road. She was two hours outside Minneapolis—and thirty miles from the small town she wanted so desperately to return to.

But fate seemed to have other ideas.

It was barely November, yet the frigid morning wind whipped at her face like tiny knives, batting her from side to side as though she were nothing more than a crumpled ball of newspaper.

Flares. Go get the flares. Someone will be by soon.

Her center of gravity newly broadened by several inches, she trudged carefully through a foot of snow to the trunk of her car, cursing the imbeciles at the weather station for their false predictions, cursing her cell phone with its short-lived battery. And as she rooted out several orange flares, lit them and laid them in the snow, she cursed the car that her husband had assured her was in fine working order.

Of course, that had been more than seven months ago. Before Rick had left her for the freedom divorce provided, before he’d gotten drunk, plowed into a telephone pole and died just a few hours later.

The shiver that ran through her had nothing to do with the cold this time. Her husband was gone. He hadn’t wanted her and he hadn’t wanted the child growing inside her, and the sooner she put that stinging piece of knowledge behind her the better. She was going home, back to Fielding, to start a new life with the new year. And she’d be damned if she was going to let a snowstorm and ghosts from the past stop her.

As the now familiar jabs of pain invaded her hips, then shot downward, Isabella slipped back inside her car, being careful of her protruding belly. The car’s interior was only slightly warmer than outside, but at least she was free of the raw wind. Whatever had caused her car to break down had nothing to do with the battery, thank God. She turned the key and switched the heat to high. The delicious warmth that shot from the vents could only last for a few minutes, she reminded herself. Then she’d have to turn it off, conserve as much as she could for as long as she could.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Isabella cooed, laying a hand on her belly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Her child gave a healthy kick, urging its mother to ignore the chill in her chest and legs and the scratch of what felt like icicles in her throat. She would fight for warmth. She would fight for her child.

Her gaze lifted. First to heaven, asking her late father for help, then lower to the windshield. Snow pelted the glass, shutting her off from the outside world one perfect snowflake at a time.

Michael Wulf glanced out the tinted rearside window of the town car whisking him home from the airport. Beyond the car’s warm borders, the wind roared, causing the car to pitch slightly.

Just yesterday he’d been in Los Angeles, chuckling at the paltry first offer he’d received from Micronics to purchase a prototype of his vocal-command software. The heads of corporations never fully understood whom they were dealing with when they first met with him. They’d heard rumors that he was a mystery, a hermit, a genius, but they were never certain how to play the game.

Michael taught them quickly enough.

He’d finally left the warm sunshine with a very profitable deal closed, returning home to freezing temperatures. But the early-season snowstorm that met his plane wasn’t an unwelcome sight. He appreciated Minnesota and its climate, valued the hibernation, the solitude, the solace. Although he did miss the long daylight hours now that the beginnings of winter were here.

It was only early afternoon and yet the gray sky and unrelenting snowfall had turned the surrounding landscape dim. It was hard to see fifty feet in front of the car. But even with the hazardous conditions and his position in the back seat, Michael’s gaze caught sight of a faint orange light glowing against the snow in the distance. And near it, on the side of the road, something resembling an igloo with side mirrors and an Illinois license plate sat in ice-coated silence.

“What the hell is that?” he muttered.

The driver slowed, glancing to his right. “Looks like an abandoned car, sir.”

Abandoned. That word fisted around Michael’s gut, warning him that things weren’t always as they seemed. It would take all of five seconds to see if the car truly was abandoned. Five seconds he was willing to risk even in such a blizzard. “Stop.”

The driver did as he was instructed, pulling over in front of the car. In a flash, Michael was out the door, his bad leg stiffening in the cold as he trekked the few feet to the car. But he hardly noticed the dull ache. He was alert as he swept several inches of snow from the window, intent to see for himself that no one remained inside.

Suddenly his breath came out in a rush of fog. A woman sat in the driver’s seat. She was bundled from head to foot in down and wool, asleep—or at least he hoped she was asleep.

“Miss? Miss? Can you hear me?” He yanked open the door and ripped off his glove, then bent down and dipped a hand inside her scarf. A strong, steady pulse beat against his fingers.

She stirred then, her eyes fluttering open. She stared up at him with large, deep-blue orbs that, though shrouded with uncertainty, spoke directly to his soul.

Deep-blue windows he’d seen somewhere before.

Her lips parted. “You found me.”

And that voice. It was scratchy and raw, but he knew that voice.

The snow swirled around him like an ominous cyclone. Michael quickly shoved aside the questions forming in his mind. He needed to get her out of the car and to safety. But where? The hospital was forty-five minutes away. Too far.

“The heater stopped working…maybe half hour ago,” she said softly, slowly. “I must’ve fallen asleep.”

“You’re damn lucky,” he said, easing her out of the car then helping her to stand. “Another half hour and…” And that car would’ve become an arctic tomb. He didn’t say it.

The wind burned his face and neck as he stripped off his coat and covered her. “You’re going to be fine. Hang on.”

“All right,” she whispered.

He picked her up and started toward the town car just as the driver rushed up beside him to help.

“Sir, would you like me to carry—”

Michael ignored the offer. “Turn the heat on high and get us home as quickly as you can.”

The man nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Once tucked safely inside the car, Michael stripped off the woman’s boots and rubbed her cold toes.

“Feels good,” she said. “Itchy, but good.”

After her feet were warm, he slid off her gloves and rubbed her small hands between his large ones. Then he gathered her in his arms and held her close.

“How long were you out there?” he asked.

The woman let her head fall against his shoulder as she answered with a sigh, “Since ten. This morning.”

Five hours.

He cursed softly. “Just try to relax. You’re safe now.” Although a trace disoriented, she was going to be okay, he knew it somehow. But still, deep worry pricked at him. Her padded down coat couldn’t hide what he could feel against his side.