Dad by Default. Jacqueline Diamond

did the painting of the Allens, didn’t you?” That was where she’d seen the style before.

      “Guilty as charged.”

      “Incredible.” She indicated the pictures on the easels. “Do you always work from photographs?”

      “Mostly.” His cheek, she noticed, bore a colorful smear.

      His subjects were all people. No landscapes or abstracts.

      Yvonne circled to examine a nearby work in progress. Charcoal lines roughed out the figure of a woman walking a small dog directly toward the viewer. Even at this incomplete stage, she could visualize the alluring sway of the lady’s hips and hear the click of the dog’s toenails on the sidewalk. “You’re brilliant.”

      “That’s very flattering.” He seemed uncomfortable at being complimented.

      “I don’t flatter people. It happens to be true.”

      “Thanks.”

      Another painting, completed and hung on the wall, showed a rear view of a partially draped female. To Yvonne, the style appeared less developed than his current work, so perhaps it stemmed from an earlier period. Yet it had a nearly three-dimensional quality lacking in the pictures derived from photos. “Was that a live model?”

      A nod. “From art class.”

      “You ought to use more models. They give your work extra depth.”

      “It isn’t practical,” Connor replied. “Too expensive. It’s not as if I were a serious artist.”

      “You could’ve fooled me.”

      “I don’t suppose you’d…” He shook off the notion. “Never mind.”

      “I’d what?” Had he nearly asked her to model? The prospect gave her a small thrill.

      Even now, she felt his artistic eye examining the contours of her body as if he were touching her through the light summer dress. Her breasts tingled as she imagined his strong hands arranging her in a pose.

      When he met her gaze, Yvonne caught an answering glint of hunger. He was seeing her as a woman now rather than as a model.

      In the quiet room, she could hear his heart beating. Or was that her own pulse?

      She wished he would…do what? Nothing she dared put into words.

      Despite her reservations, she treasured the awareness of sexual allure. A man hadn’t appealed to her this strongly since…ever.

      Yet he was Connor Hardison. Dr. Wrong.

      He blinked as if pulling back, and cleared his throat. “So you’re doing a good deed for your great-uncle. You planning to drop by the house every night?”

      Oh, right. She hadn’t explained the ticklish part. “I’m staying here for a few weeks.”

      Judging by Connor’s stunned expression, that rocked him. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’d never have signed a six-month lease if I’d known.”

      “Beau got the screwy idea that his family owes him something,” she explained. “It came out of nowhere.”

      He gave a reluctant chuckle. “I may have accidentally reinforced that idea yesterday. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but he ended up firing his aide, and now this.”

      “You must have quite a way with words.” She didn’t know whether to resent Connor’s interference or be glad he’d found her a place to stay. “He went from considering me a pariah to insisting I move in.”

      “You could have said no.”

      “I did, at first.” She shrugged. “My apartment suffered water damage this afternoon. I figure Bethany was better off here than at a motel. And Beau’s taken a liking to her.”

      “You brought your daughter?”

      His surprise annoyed Yvonne. “What should I do? Leave her in a storage locker?”

      “I didn’t mean it that way.” After collecting his brushes, Connor moved to the sink. “Still, holding down a job and raising a baby must be hard enough without taking on additional responsibilities. Are you sure you aren’t overdoing it?”

      “I’ll manage,” she persisted. “I always have.”

      “It can’t be easy.”

      “Life isn’t easy.” Instinctively, she withdrew into the cynicism that had served her well these past two years.

      Water swirled over the brushes. “That’s understandable. In an unplanned pregnancy, adoption is usually in the child’s best interest. And the mother’s, too.” He’d transformed without warning from the sexy painter into the stuffy doctor Yvonne knew and disliked

      It was almost as if there were two different Connors. She suspected this control freak was the real him and the other a temporary aberration.

      “Let’s get something straight.” She planted herself where he couldn’t avoid her stare. “At the clinic, you’re Dr. Hardison and I say ‘Yes, Doctor,’ and ‘No, Doctor.’ At home, you’re the raccoon who rents an attic from my pain-in-the-neck great-uncle. Got that?”

      “No problem.” Losing his grip on one of the brushes, Connor accidentally flipped it. It flew to the floor, splattering soapy water across his shirt en route. He grabbed a roll of paper towels and blotted the mess. “By the way, that remark about adoption didn’t come out the way I’d intended.”

      “Glad to hear it.”

      Connor’s cell phone rang. Clearly irked, he pulled it from his shirt pocket. “I should have turned the thing off, since I’m not on call.”

      “There could be an emergency,” she conceded.

      He angled away as he flipped it open. “Dr. Hardison…I’m sorry, who?” His forehead furrowed. “Well, sure I remember her. What’s this about?”

      It sounded personal. Yvonne started for the exit.

      His last few remarks had confirmed her original negative impression. She couldn’t believe she’d actually been attracted to the man. She of all people understood how dangerous passion could be with a man who held power over her.

      She would bury that moment of weakness in the same dark pit that had claimed her innocence. Like his mentor, Connor Hardison must never, never be trusted.

      As she crossed the room, she heard him say, “Yes, I’m free…I don’t understand why you won’t just tell me…I’m sorry to hear that.”

      Definitely an intriguing call, especially given the reference to “her.” However, his private life was none of her business.

      And she meant to keep it that way.

      Chapter Four

      After dinner, as he drove toward the motel where he’d arranged to meet the mysterious caller, Connor replayed what had happened between him and Yvonne.

      With her creamy skin and expressive face, he was now certain she would make a superb model. He’d become so fascinated that admiration had shifted into fierce arousal. And she’d noticed.

      He had to be careful. That sort of involvement was highly inappropriate.

      The problem was that she’d surprised him in the midst of painting. Normally, he only indulged his creative side when free from observation—or, he supposed, temptation. Like the Mr. Hyde who had dwelled in a secret compartment of Dr. Jekyll’s brain, the artist persona defied rational behavior.

      Upon snapping out of his daze, Connor had overreacted by blurting a remark about adoption. Although in his opinion it was the best course for most single mothers, he’d deserved the rebuke.

      While