Tara Quinn - Just Around The Corner

And had been honestly, greatly relieved—despite a slightly damaged ego—that she hadn’t. Apparently he’d lost his touch with women; under the circumstances, that was nothing but a blessing.

“You can come in,” he said when she continued to hover. He didn’t want her anywhere near him or his office, but she was making him edgy, just standing there silently full of something to say.

That same sexy scent—the one that had lured him to insanity last month—drifted in with her as she took a seat on the other side of his desk. Phyllis Langford didn’t perch on the edge of her chair as many women did—at least in his office. There was nothing tentative or uncertain in the way she sat, somehow commanding the space around her with her model-slim body. She’d had on black lycra bell-bottom pants the day he’d spent with her. Today she was wearing a circumspect, honey-colored business suit.

He wasn’t sure which he found sexier.

“I’m pregnant.”

Matt blinked. Froze inside. “Pardon?”

“I’m pregnant.”

He waited.

“I just thought you should know.” Dr. Langford, as he preferred to think of her, looked far too calm sitting there, her honey-colored purse, which matched her honey-colored shoes, still slung over her shoulder.

Her hair, a red version of Meg Ryan’s stylishly messy do, distracted him.

“I don’t understand why I’m the one you’re telling,” he said carefully, studying that hair. He knew it wasn’t polite to ask a woman who the father of her child was, but what did a guy say when it wasn’t him? He might have lost a good piece of his mind that Saturday in the theater, but not so much that he hadn’t protected himself, and her, from any and all consequences.

“Because you’re the only man I’ve had sex with since I divorced my husband four years ago.”

He shook his head, not thinking her a liar, just knowing his stuff. “I pulled on that condom before I got anywhere near you.”

“Condoms fail.”

“Not likely.”

“Read the box next time you pick some up,” she said, still appearing far too calm, too undemanding, to be telling him what he thought he was hearing. “They’re ninety-seven percent safe. Which leaves three percent for us to fall into.”

No.

“Added to the fact that, once I thought back on it, I realized the wrapper you took from your wallet didn’t look exactly new.”

It hadn’t been. But the damn things didn’t come with “use by” dates. For a reason.

“How long was it in there?” she asked.

He shrugged, uncomfortable. His private life was off-limits. Period.

Or it had been until last month, when he’d pulled down the zipper on the front of his jeans in the Performing Arts Center. Every swearword he could think of—his time in prison had given him quite a repertoire—passed through his mind. Attached to each one was a barb aimed directly at the guilty part of his anatomy.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “A year, maybe more.”

Like, maybe three more. It’d been a long, long time since he’d relaxed enough to give in to a sexual urge.

“A year’s worth of being smooshed and sat on could definitely do it,” she said.

Damn, the woman sounded as though they were discussing nothing more earth-shattering than a rained-out game of Little League. Didn’t she get it? They had an untenable situation on their hands.

Matt didn’t even know how to be a friend. There was no way he could be a father.

“I…” He paused, wondering what to say to her, to make her understand.

“Don’t worry.” She jumped into the pause. “I’m not asking anything from you. I don’t want anything. What happened last month was a one-time, no-strings-attached episode. And that hasn’t changed.”

Episode. They’d had some of the most incredible sex of his life. They’d apparently made a baby. And she called it an episode?

Was that all the baby was to her, too? An episode? Easy come, easy go? The thought made him feel a little sick.

He opened his mouth to tell her so.

Whoa. He stopped just in time.

A few minutes ago he’d been looking for a way to bail. He could hardly blame her, a single woman with a prominent position at a prestigious college, for wanting to do the same.

Admittedly, bailing was a little more convenient for him than it would be for her.

“Do you mind if I ask what your plans are?” He’d pay whatever expenses she incurred. Money was the one thing he had to give.

For the first time since taking a seat, she looked down, and he saw the chink in her armor. Was oddly relieved to find it there.

“I haven’t really made any plans yet,” she told him. “I’m still getting used to the idea that I’m going to be a mother.”

Going to be a mother. Why did his mind keep repeating everything she said? You’d think he was dense or something.

“You’re planning to have the baby, then?”

Her head shot back up. “Of course. And before you ask, I’m not even considering the alternative, so you can save your breath.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

IT WAS GOING much better than she’d expected. And worse. She’d prepared herself for anger, denial, blame.

What she hadn’t prepared for was a thoughtful, concerned man. Inexplicably, his humanness made the whole thing so much harder to get through. He was supposed to be little more than a fly at her picnic. She’d swat him away and get on with it.

He wasn’t letting that happen—wasn’t letting her discount him as easily as she’d thought.

“So you’re definitely going to have the baby.” He was fooling with a paper clip on his desk. Bending it into odd shapes with two fingers of his left hand. Did that mean he was left-handed? She hadn’t noticed before.

Did that mean her baby might be left-handed, as well?

“Yes, I’m going to have it.” She swallowed. Her baby. And this man’s.

He looked up, head cocked to one side, eyes narrowed. “I can’t be a father.”

The sigh of relief escaped Phyllis before she could prevent it. “Who asked you to be?”

Back to his paper clip. She wondered if he was staring at it so intently because he was really trying to create some particular design—or because he didn’t want to look at her.

“I’ll pay for everything.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

A baby. A baby with her traits and his, all mixed together. Growing inside her body.

He raised his head, frowning. “Of course it’s necessary. I’m responsible. I pay.”

Two could play that game. “I’m responsible. I pay.”

“Well, then, we’re both responsible. We split the bills fifty-fifty.”

No! That wasn’t the plan. She was doing this alone.

But he had her. They were both responsible. She just hadn’t figured he’d care. How was she to know he had a streak of responsibility in his reclusive body?

“Have you been to the doctor yet?”

Phyllis shook her head. Don’t do this, she silently begged him. Don’t confuse me. Don’t weaken me by carrying any of my load, or I might not be able to carry it all when you walk away.

“You’ll let me know when your appointment is?”

She couldn’t breathe. Needed to get outside, let the cool October air chill her skin. Remind herself that she was okay.

“Why?” Somehow her voice sounded almost normal.

He shrugged. “I’m half-responsible. I should know stuff like that.”

“Just how much are you counting on here? What exactly will you want to know?”

“Not sure.” He’d picked up another paper clip. This one with his right hand. “I’m new at this, too. I guess when something costs money, I should know about it.”

That wasn’t as bad as she’d begun to think. It wasn’t personal. Merely financial.

“I’ll see that you get copies of the bills.”

His face expressionless, he nodded.

“There’s one other thing,” she added quickly.

Matt looked up at her, his eyes wary, questioning.

“Cassie Montford knows you’re the father—it seemed necessary that someone know in case something happens—but she’s been sworn to secrecy. I don’t want anyone else knowing.”

He seemed to consider that for several moments. “It would probably make things easier on both of us,” he said at last.

Phyllis stood, satisfied. “That’s what I thought.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Well, send me the bills.” Tossing the paper clip, he stood, too.

“I will.”

“Okay, see ya.” He’d followed her to the door.

“Goodbye.” Phyllis spoke with finality.

If she had her way, they’d never see each other again.

He made her tremble. He made her crazy and just a little angry. She absolutely refused to let him become part of her life.

She didn’t want or need his financial contributions.

This time it was the bills and not the check that would get mysteriously lost in the mail.

THE KICKING BAG went down. And came back up. Then went down again. Turning, Matt caught it with a perfectly placed side kick, knocking it into the corner of the wall. And, with hands properly angled in front of him, he turned and landed another perfect blow with the opposite foot.

Sweat dripped down the sides of his face. He didn’t bother wiping it off. It burned his eyes, but he ignored the pain, which was only the minutest portion of the punishment he deserved.

After more than an hour in his home gym, he wasn’t even close to the worn-out state he was working toward.

How could he have done it? He of all people?

Had life taught him nothing? The time he’d never be able to recapture. The humiliation and abuse. The lost dreams. Lost innocence. Had it all been for nothing?

Another smack on the bag, and the sand-weighted bottom scooted along the floor.

He just couldn’t believe what was happening. Couldn’t have imagined a worse day than the one he’d just had.

He’d made a woman pregnant. A perfectly respectable doctor of psychology was facing a complete and permanent upheaval in her life because of him.

Forgetting himself to the point of lost discipline, Matt hauled off and slugged the kicking bag with both fists, over and over, like a novice and completely unskilled boxer, rather than the Tae Kwon Do black belt he was. Logically he knew he was solving nothing. That he was probably going to hurt himself.

But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t harness the anger, the despair and disappointment coursing through him. Didn’t know what to do next, except wear himself out, force himself into complete exhaustion. How was he going to live with himself?

He’d just begun to find a measure of internal peace. Maybe even forgiveness. And in the span of a ten-minute office visit, years of hard work, of unrelenting self-control and mental promises, had been shot to hell.

He’d been in Shelter Valley for four years. Pretending to himself that he was building a new life, becoming the man he’d always expected himself to be.

When instead, he was exactly what he’d been before Will Parsons had been kind enough to give him this job, this chance.

A man who’d spent years in prison. He hadn’t been guilty of the statutory rape of which he’d been convicted. But he hadn’t been entirely blameless, either. He’d allowed that girl—a student—to think he found her desirable. He hadn’t intended to; he’d only meant to offer a confused young girl a measure of confidence, a sense of approval. In his own idealistic ignorance, he’d tried to help someone and had only confused her more.

Slumping to the carpet, sweat dripping down his back and chest beneath the soaked T-shirt he was wearing, Matt grabbed his aching head between both fists.