Daddy's Double Due Date. Belinda Barnes

slid into the opposite side of the booth. She refused to turn to see how many of the restaurant patrons were members of the legal community. It was ridiculous to hope no one had noticed Hunter’s arrival, or his destination. The man stood as tall as an oak tree and had dark good looks that naturally drew attention. Not hers, but others. “What do you think you’re doing?”

      “Eating lunch with the prettiest woman in Hale, Texas,” he said, flashing her a crooked smile that sent a jolt of awareness through her.

      It was just the raging hormones she’d heard all pregnant women experienced. Under normal conditions, she wouldn’t notice the tantalizing scent of his cologne—a heady mix of arrogance and potent male—or find him the least bit attractive. But from the moment the assistant district attorney had stormed into the conference room and staked his claim, nothing had been normal. And in spite of knowing better, she couldn’t stop the warmth that spiraled through her or the welcoming smile that worked its way to her lips. “Don’t try to sweet-talk me, Hunter Morgan. I’m on to you. It won’t work.”

      He chuckled, a low rumbling sound that plucked a chord of need deep inside her. “In that case, I won’t bother telling you how that leopard print brings out the little gold flecks in your eyes. If you were a prosecution witness, I’d send you home to change into basic black, something conservative that buttons all the way to the neck and has long sleeves.”

      “Why?” she heard herself ask, intrigued by the slant of the conversation and the way he watched her, the way he made her feel all warm and tingly on the inside.

      His blue eyes darkened. His expression turned serious. “The way you’re dressed now,” he said, his gaze assessing, lingering here and there in a most disconcerting manner, “is quite distracting. All the men on the jury would be so busy ogling you, they wouldn’t hear a word of your testimony.”

      It was working. Darn him. In spite of who he was and what she knew he was after, his seductive charm was doing a number on her. Hormones, she reminded herself. It was only a rush of hormones. No, it was more than that. More like an earthquake, a volcanic eruption or a tornado.

      “I suppose I can see where, assuming the jurors are all males of reproductive age, they might be somewhat distracted by certain clothing on a woman,” she said.

      “A very attractive woman.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “And what age group do you consider to fall into that reproductive stage?”

      Oh, dear. She cleared her throat as she considered his question. “I assume that would be college—”

      “Lower.”

      “High school—”

      “Lower.”

      She blinked. “I, uh, wasn’t fortunate enough to have any brothers, so I’m rather ill equipped—”

      “Oh, I think you’re very well equipped.” He flashed her a wicked smile that warned her he was up to no good. “Try junior high.”

      Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she fought the urge to cover her face with her hands. “Really?”

      “Pretty close.” His blue eyes danced with mirth. “Go on.”

      How had she gotten herself into this? “All right, Mr. M—”

      “Hunter.”

      “Very well, Hunter. From junior high school to…” She thought about it a moment, then smiled. “From junior high to sixty-five.”

      One brow arched, and he shook his head.

      “Seventy?”

      Nothing.

      “Eighty?”

      Still nothing.

      She frowned at him. “Death?”

      “Exactly. So you can see how we have to pay careful attention to what a witness wears. If the woman is a looker, like you, then it’s really a problem.”

      A looker? Her?

      Thankfully, a waitress who barely looked old enough to be out of school sauntered to their table and settled a huge glass of iced tea in front of Hunter. “You want the usual?”

      “Sure thing.”

      She nodded and moved to the next booth.

      “You come here often?” Ashley asked, hoping to distract him from their earlier topic. Funny how his smile and easy banter had almost made her forget why he was hounding her. Almost.

      He took a drink from the glass and shrugged. “Couple of times a week.”

      “Do you always sit with available women, or is it just that you’re getting even with me for last night?”

      “Getting even?”

      “Once my boss hears we’ve had lunch together, he’ll probably fire me. I’m sure he would never believe we talked about witnesses.”

      “And sex,” Hunter added with a devilish grin.

      “Yes, and that.” Ashley cleared her throat and met his gaze. “Isn’t there some other woman in Hale you could pester? Why me?”

      “Because you’re pregnant with my child.”

      Ashley looked around to see if anyone paid them any attention. “Don’t say that so loud.”

      “Why not? It’s true.”

      She sighed. “Hunter, why are you here? What do you want from me?”

      “You know what I want. Since you weren’t interested in my last offer, I thought we might negotiate, but if you would rather I go, then—”

      “No.” In her haste to stop him from leaving, she knocked over her glass of milk, sending its contents into his lap.

      Hunter righted the glass, then slid from the booth and picked up his napkin, still wrapped around his silverware.

      Mortified by what she had done, Ashley grabbed her own napkin from her lap and stood. When she tried to dab at the milk soaking his pants, he caught her wrist. “I’m not sure you really want to do that.”

      The waitress who had rushed to mop up the spill smiled as she smoothed the towel over the table before walking away.

      Ashley shoved the napkin in his hand and returned to her seat, unable to look him in the face. Her cheeks burned at the thought of what she had almost done, what she had almost touched. She groaned, wondering if anyone would notice if she crawled under the table.

      When Hunter slipped into the booth, he sat watching her, but she refused to have anything further to do with him.

      “Ashley, look at me.” His fingers cupped her chin and turned her head. “Don’t worry about the pants. I have plenty of time to change before court resumes.”

      “Have your suit cleaned and send me the bill.” She couldn’t remember when she’d been more embarrassed. “I believe you mentioned wanting to negotiate.” She wanted to change the subject and try to forget she had just dumped milk in the assistant D.A.’s lap.

      “I still think the six-month split would work, but since you aren’t receptive, how would you feel about me taking summers and every other weekend? On even years, I’d get Thanksgiving, Fourth of July and Christmas holidays. And Easter, Labor Day, Memorial Day, spring break and birthdays on odd years.”

      That wasn’t what she had hoped to hear. Her idea of a negotiation was him deciding a supervised dinner once a year would suffice. “I know you think I’m not being fair, but darn it, Hunter, my dream of having a family didn’t include you.”

      “Then you’re rejecting my offer?”

      “No, I haven’t rejected it…exactly. It’s just going to take a little time for me to get used to the idea of having to share my child.” Then again, it might take forever.

      “So