Navy Baby. Debbie Macomber

opulently replenished the pleasure.

      Heat encompassed her, and when it became too much, she moaned and bit into her lip, breathlessly searching, striving for what she didn’t know. In the end, release came, making her senses explode in shattering waves so strong they lifted the upper portion of her body off the bed.

      He held her for a long time afterward; he kissed the crown of her head gently, then rolled onto his side, taking her with him. His arms continued to hold her as he brushed the hair from her face with gentle fingers and wiped the moisture from her eyes. He was full of questions—Hannah sensed them as profoundly as if they were spoken—yet he left them unasked. For a long time he did nothing but hold her, and for then it was more than enough.

      She fell asleep, and woke chilled. Riley was awake still, and when he saw her tremble, he pulled up the covers, then gathered her close into his arms once again.

      “Why?” he asked her, his voice deep and impatient.

      Hannah could think of no way to explain. At least not with words. Tilting back her head, she brushed her lips over his, loving the velvet feel of his mouth and tongue.

      “That doesn’t explain a whole lot.”

      “I know.” She had no answers for him. The emptiness was back—reality so harsh and brutal that she couldn’t bear it a moment longer. Not knowing any other way to ease it, she raised her arms and brought his mouth down to hers and kissed him once more. He wanted answers, not kisses, but soon his physical need overpowered everything else and he made love to her a second time.

      Hannah woke at dawn, sick with guilt and self-recrimination, and quietly slipped from the room. It was the last time she’d seen Riley Murdock.

      She lay in bed, eyes open wide as she stared at the ceiling. The time had come for her to quit fooling herself. The week before, she’d bought a home pregnancy test at the local drugstore, hiding it under a magazine until she’d reached the checkout stand. It was in her underwear drawer now.

      Reading the instructions carefully, she did as they said and waited the longest fifteen minutes of her life for the results.

      Positive.

      She was pregnant. By her best calculations, almost three months. Dear God, what was she going to do? Hannah had no answers. None. If her mother had been alive she might have been able to confide in her, seek her advice. But her mother had died when she was thirteen.

      By rote Hannah set a roast in the oven and waited for her father to return from the church service. At twelve-thirty he walked in the back door, and his gentle eyes brightened when he saw her sitting at the kitchen table.

      “So you’re feeling better?”

      She offered him a feeble smile and clenched her hands together in her lap. “Daddy,” she whispered, her eyes avoiding his, “I…I have something to tell you.”

      Chapter Two

      Riley Murdock had been in one bitch of a mood for nearly three months. He’d done everything within his power to locate the mysterious Hannah and cursed himself a hundred times over that he hadn’t thought to ask for her surname.

      Once he found her, he didn’t know what the hell he intended to do. Strangling her seemed like a damn good idea. The woman had driven him crazy from the moment she first stumbled into him on the festive Seattle sidewalk.

      When he’d woken to find her gone that morning, he’d been devastated with self-recrimination. Then he’d grown furious. In the weeks since, his wrath hadn’t diminished. He didn’t know what game she was playing, but by heaven he intended to find out.

      If there was anyone to blame in this fiasco, Riley noted, it was himself. He’d known from the first that she wasn’t like the other women who frequented waterfront bars. The story she’d told him about a couple of men following her was true. She’d been genuinely frightened, trembling with anxiety. The look in her eyes—damn, but she had beautiful gray eyes—couldn’t easily be fabricated. Why she had opted to approach him, he didn’t know. The woman was full of surprises.

      If he was astonished by the fact she’d chosen to sit at his table, then he should have been a candidate for a heart transplant when he discovered she was a virgin. As many times as Riley had analyzed what happened between them, nothing added up right.

      She’d approached him. She’d been the one to kiss him. Hell, she’d practically seduced him. Seduced by a virgin. No wonder the tally kept coming up inaccurate. He should have realized, should have figured it out. Instead, he’d been left to deal with this incredible sense of guilt. If only she hadn’t disappeared without explaining. Anger tightened his stomach every time he thought about waking up that morning and finding her gone. He’d damn near torn apart the desk manager trying to find out about her. But apparently no one had seen her go.

      Riley blamed himself still. He feared he’d frightened her so badly that she’d fled in horror. Had he hurt her? She’d been so tight and so small. It was all he could do not to slam his fist into the wall every time he thought about their brief encounter, which was damn near every minute of every day. What had happened to her since? Was she sick? Alone? Frightened? Pregnant?

      He’d been in control of their encounter until she’d kissed him. Now it was weeks later and he still reeled at the memory of the gentle, shy way in which she’d pressed her lips to his. He cursed how he could close his eyes and continue to taste her. How sweet she’d been. How warm and delicate. Her lips had molded to his, and her flavor reminded him of cotton candy. That alone was enough to torment him, but it wasn’t all. Her fragrance continued to obsess him. It wasn’t a commercial one he could name. The only way he could think to describe it was to imagine walking waist-deep in a field of wildflowers.

      The woman had somersaulted into his life, sent his senses cartwheeling, and then, without a thought, without a care, had vanished, leaving him bitter and confused.

      The hell with her, Riley decided rashly. He’d wasted enough time, energy and expense trying to find her. He’d return to his well-ordered life and forget her. Which was obviously what she intended to do with him.

      If only he could forget her.

      “Dad,” Hannah pleaded softly, fighting to hold back a sob, “say something.”

      The truth was out, and Hannah hung her head waiting for the backlash of anger and disappointment. It was what she deserved and what she expected.

      To her surprise, her father said nothing. He sat in the chair and stared into space, his face devoid of expression. Then he stood, laboriously, as if he were feeling old and beaten. Without a word he walked out the back door.

      Tears filled Hannah’s eyes as her gaze followed him. He stood on the porch for several moments, his hand wrapped around the support beam, and stared into a cloudless October sky. Then, stepping off the porch, once again with slow and strained movements, he crossed the parsonage lawn and entered the old white church. Hannah sat at the kitchen table and gave him fifteen minutes before she followed him.

      She found her father kneeling at the front of the church, before the altar, his head and shoulders slumped forward. Her heart constricted painfully at the sight of him there on his knees.

      “Daddy,” she whispered, speaking to him as she’d done as a frightened child. She was frightened. Not of what he’d say or of what he’d do, but because the circumstances surrounding this pregnancy were so complex.

      George Raymond opened his eyes and straightened. Placing his hand on his knee, he rose awkwardly to his feet. His gaze rested on her, and she watched as his Adam’s apple moved up and down his throat while he struggled to restrain the emotion. He tried to smile, a weak attempt to comfort her, then took her hand and together they sat in the front pew.

      Hot tears brimmed in Hannah’s eyes, threatening to spill over. The lump in her throat felt as large as a basketball, making swallowing nearly impossible. Her father had every right to be angry with her, to rage at her for