Secrets Of An Old Flame. Jill Limber

“He’s in a playpen on the other side of my bed.”

      Ever since he’d first seen Michael he’d yearned to hold his son, feel the weight of him in his arms. That moment was going to have to wait. Nikki didn’t trust him and she was too fragile just now.

      Joe ran his hand through his hair and groped for something to say to help smooth out their relationship. Nothing came to mind. He had taken a two-week course in communication and hostage negotiation and he couldn’t come up with a simple statement to open up some interaction.

      He tried to shrug some of the tension out of his shoulders. “We’re both tired. We can talk about this in the morning.”

      “There’s nothing to talk about,” he heard Nikki mutter under her breath as she turned her back on him and opened her bedroom door just far enough to slip through, closing it in his face.

      The distinct snick of metal on metal told him she’d locked the door.

      He let her comment pass. He wasn’t about to get into another discussion that would get them nowhere.

      He spoke to her through the heavy wooden panel. “I’ll be downstairs. Make sure your balcony door is locked. Call me if you need me.”

      He got no response from the bedroom.

      Considering how she felt about him, he’d be lucky if she let him know if the house caught fire. She’d probably take the baby and run without waking him.

      Joe made the rounds and checked all the windows upstairs as well as the French doors leading to the balconies off each bedroom. He found bedding in the main linen closet in the hallway. Then, restless and uneasy, he went downstairs and checked all the doors and windows a second time.

      Finally he threw his blanket and pillow on a couch in the TV room off the kitchen. He figured the most vulnerable part of the house to be the windows and doors facing the alley, so he picked a room on the ground floor at the back of the house to bed down. He unstrapped his holster and placed his revolver on the coffee table within easy reach.

      He tried to get comfortable on the too short couch and listened to the night sounds—the occasional car, the rustle of the trees, the bark of a dog. Civilized sounds of a very upscale neighborhood settling in for the night.

      He dozed and awoke to a baby’s cry, and the wonder struck him again.

      He had a son. A baby boy he’d yet to hold in his arms.

      Nikki awoke when Michael stirred in his playpen. Even though she ached all over from the roughing up she’d taken yesterday by the two men who’d broken in, she’d gotten some sleep. She didn’t want to admit it was because of Joe’s reassuring presence in her house.

      Her hands got clammy whenever she thought about what had happened last night. She’d never experienced that kind of terror before. One man had held her arms so tightly behind her back she thought he might wrench them out of their sockets. Her shoulders still ached.

      Early morning sunlight slanted through the blinds at her window. She rolled onto her back as she watched the glow brighten the pale silk wall covering. Here in the bed she’d grown up in, the silent early morning seemed so normal, but she knew it was anything but.

      Joe was somewhere in the house.

      As far as she knew, the police hadn’t caught the men who had broken in and threatened her. They could return any time.

      As bad as the break-in had been, she doubted it would be the hardest thing she would face while she was here.

      Convincing the court to release her trust fund would be beyond difficult. Her father had tied it to the company for tax purposes. She had no evidence to prove her father had not been behind the theft from his now bankrupt company, or an accomplice to the murder of his partner’s secretary. She knew in her heart that he never would commit those crimes, but how could she persuade a court of that?

      The fact that all her money was tied up in her father’s company was one of the things that convinced her that he was innocent. He never would have run off without a word and left her destitute. Her father loved her.

      Nikki pushed the covers back and sat up, shivering in the cold room. Her appointment with her father’s attorney was hours away, but she’d have to take the bus downtown so she needed to get moving.

      She tore her thoughts away from the unpleasantness and turned her stiff body with a groan to watch her son as he wiggled and squirmed his way to wakefulness.

      He was a lot like her. His stomach told him to wake up before he was ready to face the day. She smiled as she watched him stretch and yawn, his eyes still firmly closed.

      Nikki loved Michael beyond comprehension. His well-being would always be her first consideration.

      She’d made a major mistake having a relationship with Joe, but the fact he was Michael’s father couldn’t be changed. It had been her mistake, and her son didn’t need to suffer for it. Michael would need a man in his life as he got older.

      Could she survive being around Joe? Too much history existed between them, too many memories that refused to fade. Their relationship hadn’t lasted long, but had been intense enough to burn indelible pictures into her brain.

      Without a thought, she’d screamed for him when the break-in occurred. She’d wanted to fly into his arms when he’d shown up. If she let her guard down he’d be back in her bed. All he had to do was look at her and her body tingled in all the places he used to touch with such skill.

      Her mother used to tell her life wouldn’t give her more than she could handle. But her mother hadn’t lived long enough to meet Joe.

      Michael opened his eyes and gave her a big toothless smile that never failed to warm her heart. Still sitting on the edge of the mattress, she leaned over the playpen tucked between her bed and the wall. “Hi there, sweetheart. Did you have a good sleep?”

      He gurgled and tried to roll over, a maneuver he hadn’t quite mastered. Nikki picked him up and gave him a hug, nuzzling into his soft neck.

      She scooted back onto the bed and lay him on the mattress beside her. Leaning over him, she said, “You know what? You don’t smell so fresh. Let’s get you cleaned up before you eat.”

      She heard a click and looked over her shoulder.

      “Good morning.” Joe stood in her open doorway.

      A door she’d locked last night. The small feeling of security and seclusion the door afforded evaporated. She had come home hoping for sanctuary. Instead she was living with an enemy who lacked scruples when it came to her privacy.

      He was freshly shaved and dressed, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder, his hair still wet from the shower. Aside from the holster strapped to his left shoulder, he looked good enough to eat.

      She swallowed hard at the thought, remembering how he would taste and smell if she buried her nose in the spot just under his ear.

      She tried to convince herself that the ripples of lust rolling through her body were caused by nothing more than an over-abundance of postnatal hormones. That had to be the reason, given the fact that she hated the man.

      “What do you want?” she snapped, her voice harsh. The unwelcome memories that assailed her made her furious. How could he bring her treacherous body alive by just standing in her bedroom doorway?

      His bland expression didn’t change. “I’ll be gone for about two hours. Stay in, keep the cordless phone with you, and call 911 if you hear any noises you don’t recognize. I’ve got a black-and-white unit patrolling the block.”

      At least there would be police in the neighborhood. Her cordless phone was useless. Her vulnerability to both Joe and the assailants made her angry.

      “Get out.” She turned back to the baby, who was studying his hand as if it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen.

      As soon as he left, she was leaving herself.