Pipe Dreams(37)

"Lauren," she said, smiling at Jackie, who wore an empty baby sling over  her dress and munched on a carrot stick. "I'm happy to hold him."

"Still. I was trying to get my brother to do a little aversion therapy.  How am I ever going to get any free babysitting out of him if he's  afraid of the baby?"

"I'm not afraid," Castro sniffed. "Just . . . inexperienced. And Lauren asked."                       
       
           



       

"I'm sure you put up a big fight," Jackie teased.

"He did," Lauren lied. "But I was adamant. In fact, I'm tempted to tuck him into my carry-on and take him home with me."

"She does that," a big, brassy voice cut in. "The baby is a boy, right?  So be careful. Lauren is famous for helping herself to men that aren't  hers."

Lauren's face began to flame even before she heard other conversations  stop around them. Embarrassed, she lifted her chin and squared her  shoulders. "Miranda," Lauren said icily. "How've you been for the past  two years?" She gave her old adversary the once-over. The woman was  draped in diamonds, because her husband had had a good run in the NHL  before he retired from the team last year.

Miranda Chancer tossed her hair and grinned. "Good," she said with a chuckle. "Same old, same old."

"Is that right?" Lauren said, easing little Xavier back into his  mother's arms, because her hands had begun to shake. "I would ask if you  had any new hobbies. But I can tell that spreading lies is still your  favorite pastime."

In the dreadful silence which followed, Lauren turned away, her heart  racing. She took three steps toward the elevator banks, but someone  squeezed her elbow. Hyped up on adrenaline, she whirled toward her  captor.

Mike.

"Hey," he said. "God. That was . . . Are you all right?"

She didn't let him finish. "I'm fine." She jerked her arm out of his grasp and made her escape.

He followed her, but Lauren was fast. She made it into an elevator, and  as the doors slid closed she saw him halt, his worried face studying her  as she disappeared.

Lauren felt a hot slap of shame for sinking to Miranda Chancer's level.  She'd delivered an artless insult-even less clever than the one a  thirteen-year-old had delivered only moments earlier. And, hell. At  least Elsa had a shot at growing out of such uncouth behavior.

Damn it. She'd lost her cool, and right in front of the team. And Mike.

As the elevator slid higher, she wondered how much he'd heard, and whether he'd seen her fawning over that baby, too.

Life was simpler five weeks ago when he wasn't around all the time.  Please, Lord, she prayed. Let them win this next round in five? I'm  trying to move on, here. But I need your help.

An hour later she'd managed to relax. This was accomplished via the  overpriced single-serving bottle of cabernet she'd removed from the  minibar, and the spread of magazines across her lap. The television was  tuned to a singing competition of some kind. It wasn't interesting but  the laughter made her feel less alone.

She heard a rapping sound, like someone knocking on the door.

Lauren muted the TV to see if it would repeat.

It did.

With a sigh, she tiptoed into the suite's living room and crept closer  to the peephole. Since her phone was off, she had no idea if Nate was  looking for her.

It wasn't Nate. Lauren froze there and waited for Mike Beacon to give up and retreat back down the hall.

But he knocked again. "Come on, Lo. I heard the TV mute. It was one of those talent shows you used to watch. Open the door."

Damn him. "Don't kill my buzz," she said through the door. "I'm over it  already, if you came to apologize for . . ." Miranda? Elsa? Abandonment?  He could really take his pick. ". . . for whatever."

He chuckled. "Just let me in, okay? I just want to see you."

She closed her eyes and clenched her fists against the urge to open the  door. But he was right there on the other side, asking to come in. Was  there any chance she was about to send him away?

Something went thunk against the door.

"What was that?" she asked.

"My forehead."

"Are you drunk?"

"Not at all. Just miss you."

Somehow those were the magic words. She reached for the door knob and opened it. "Want to get drunk?"

He chuckled. "Maybe? Rough day? Want to talk about it?"

She tried on that idea in her head. I was hoping to be pregnant right  now, so I shamed Chancey's wife. Nope. That sounded too crazy to say out  loud. "I'll be fine. I missed a doctor's appointment in New York today.  No big deal. It's just that things just didn't work out like I  planned." Again.

"This time it's not my fault," he said, tossing his tie onto the coffee table. "Where's the TV?"

She pointed at the bedroom.

He shrugged off his jacket and kicked off his shoes. Then he went to sit  on the bed. She watched as he grabbed the clicker and unmuted the TV,  where a man's voice began to belt out Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive."                       
       
           



       

Mike made a face. "He's not gonna win! Listen to that."

For a second she was just frozen there on the carpet, trying to wrap her  head around this moment. It might have been any night from the happiest  year of her life. The TV on. Idle chatter. Mike looking pleasantly  weary from one game or another.

It was like traveling backward in time.

She had to work to unstick herself and walk toward him. "Want a beer from the mini bar?"

"Am I breathing?"

Another knife to the heart. He used to say that all the time.

She fetched him a bottle of Dos Equis, opened the top and brought it to  him. With her wineglass in her hand, she climbed carefully onto the  other side of the bed and sat beside him. "Where's your family?" she  asked, watching the singer strut around on the stage.

"They went to bed."

She gave him a sidelong glance, wondering what he expected to happen now. "We can't have sex," she blurted out.

His eyes didn't leave the screen, but he covered her hand with his. "Why?"

"I could get pregnant right now."

His chin whipped toward hers. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice almost inaudible.

He gave a sexy little growl and shifted his hips. "And why is that a  problem? Is that the doctor's appointment you missed today?"

Lauren shivered slightly. She grabbed the clicker and bumped up the volume on the TV.

He let her have the distraction for a moment. But then his thumb began  to slowly stroke her wrist. That jerk. He knew she'd have trouble  resisting his caresses.

She pulled her hand back. "I can't be casual about this."

"It's not casual at all. Not to me."

"But if I conceive, then there's a new person who's smack in the middle  of all our old troubles. It's complicated. I need to think about that."

Now he turned to look her in the eye. "So you are thinking about it, then?"

Busted. It had been hard to think of anything else, but she didn't admit it. She just held his gaze.

Mike looked away first. "You take all the time you need. I'll just sit here and mind my own business. Forget I'm even here."

He took a swig of his beer, and a different singer waltzed onto the stage to a round of applause.

Lauren tried to watch the show. But his nearness was the mother of all  distractions. And he took her hand again. A couple of minutes later he  dragged a roughened finger up the sensitive skin at the inside of her  forearm. When he reached her inner elbow, she stopped breathing. And  when he lifted her palm to his lips, she bit the inside of her cheek.

The new singer was, if possible, worse than the first. She had a warbly  voice and she'd chosen an old jazz standard that deserved better.

Mike let out a giant groan.

"Something the matter?" Lauren asked, her voice a little rougher than it had been a few minutes ago.

"Yeah, there is. We could be making a baby right now, and we're watching this."

"That's just the postgame horniness talking," she said with as much nonchalance as she could summon.

"Oh, it's talking. But not so loudly that I can't hear myself think."

"Mike, I need time."

He looked at his watch, and then back at the screen. When approximately  one minute had passed, he muted the show, then leaned in and kissed her  neck.

"Mike," she warned. His lips moved sensuously down her neck, dropping  soft kisses. His beard tickled her collarbone and the shiver that  resulted seemed to vibrate everywhere.

"You want to send me home?" He tongued her earlobe, then sucked it into his mouth.

She didn't want to send him home-not when he was making love to the  sensitive patch of skin beneath her ear. Her hands found their way onto  his chest. He covered them with one of his and then his mouth covered  hers, hot and determined. With a moan, she opened for him. Their tongues  met and melded.