Debbie Macomber Navy Series Box Set. Debbie Macomber

      Steve stood, unmoving, in the entryway. Inches from him, Carol felt an inner yearning more potent than anything she’d ever experienced engulf her, filling her heart with regret. Once more she would have to watch the man she loved walk away from her. Once more she must freely allow him to go.

      Steve must have sensed the intense longing, because he gently rested his hands on the curve of her shoulders. She smiled and tilted her chin toward him, silently offering him her mouth.

      Slowly, without hurry, Steve lowered his face to hers, drawing out each second as though he were relaxing a hold on his considerable pride, admitting his need to kiss her. It was as if he had to prove, if only to himself, that he had control of the situation.

      Then his mouth grazed hers. Lightly. Briefly. Coming back for more when it became apparent the teasing kisses weren’t going to satisfy either of them.

      What shocked Carol most was the gentleness of his kiss. He touched and held her as he would a delicate piece of porcelain, slipping his arms around her waist, drawing her close against him.

      He broke off the kiss and Carol tucked her forehead against his chest. “Have a safe trip.” Silently she prayed for his protection and that he would come back to her.

      “If you want, I’ll phone when I return. That is … if you think I should?”

      Maybe she could tell him about the baby then, depending on how things went between them. “Yes, by all means, phone and let me know that you made it back in one piece.”

      His gaze centered on her mouth and again he bent his head toward her. This time his kiss was hungry, lingering, insistent. Carol whimpered when his tongue, like a soft flame, entered her mouth, sending hot sparks of desire shooting up her spine. Her knees weakened and she nearly collapsed when Steve abruptly released her.

      “For once, maybe you could miss me,” he said, with a sad note of bitterness.

      The following morning, Carol woke feeling queasy. It’d been that way almost since Christmas morning. She reached for the two soda crackers on the nightstand and nibbled on them before climbing out of bed. Her hand rested lovingly on her flat stomach.

      She’d wanted to schedule an appointment with the doctor, but the receptionist had told her to wait until her monthly cycle was a week late. She was only overdue by a day, but naturally she wouldn’t be having her period. As far as Carol was concerned, another week was too long to wait, even if she was certain she bore the desired fruit from her night with Steve.

      In an effort to confirm what she already knew, Carol had purchased a home-pregnancy test. Now she climbed out of bed, read the instructions through twice, did what the package told her and waited.

      The waiting was the worst part. Thirty minutes had never seemed to take so long.

      Humming a catchy tune, she dressed for work, poured herself a glass of milk, then went back to the bathroom to read the test results.

      She felt so cocky, so sure of what the test would tell her that her heart was already pounding with excitement.

      The negative reading claimed her breath. She blinked, certain she’d misread it.

      Stunned, she sat on the edge of the bathtub and took several deep breaths. She started to tremble, and tears of disappointment filled her eyes. She must be pregnant—she had to be. All the symptoms were there—everything she’d read had supported her belief.

      Once more she examined the test results.

      Negative.

      After everything she’d gone through, after all the sweet potatoes she’d forced down her throat, after the weeks of planning, the plotting, the scheduling …

      There wasn’t going to be any baby. There never had been. Her plan had failed.

      There was only one thing left to do.

      Try again.

       Five

      It took courage for Carol to drive to Steve’s apartment. Someone should award medals for this brand of lionheartedness, she murmured to herself—although she was more interested in playing the role of a tigress than a lion. If this second venture was anything like the first, Steve wouldn’t know what hit him. At least, she hoped he wouldn’t guess.

      She straightened her shoulders, pinched some color into her cheeks and pasted on a smile. Then she rang the doorbell.

      To say Steve looked surprised to see her when he opened the door would be an understatement, Carol acknowledged. His eyes rounded, his mouth relaxed and fell open, and for a moment he was utterly speechless. “Carol?”

      “I suppose I should have phoned first …”

      “No, come in.” He stepped aside so that she could enter the apartment.

      Beyond his obvious astonishment, Carol found it difficult to read Steve’s reaction. She stepped inside gingerly, praying that her plastic smile wouldn’t crack. The first thing she noticed was the large picture window in the living room, offering an unobstructed view of the Seattle waterfront. It made Elliott Bay seem close, so vivid that she could almost smell the seaweed and feel the salty spray in the air. A large green-and-white ferry boat plowed its way through the dark waters, enhancing the picture.

      “Oh … this is nice.” Carol turned around to face him. “Have you lived here long?”

      He nodded. “Rush had the apartment first. I moved in after you and I split and sort of inherited it when Rush and Lindy moved into their own place recently.”

      The last thing Carol wanted to remind him of was their divorce, and she quickly steered the conversation to the reason for her visit. “I found something I thought might be yours,” she said hurriedly, fumbling with the snap of her eel-skin purse to bring out the button. It was a weak excuse, but she was desperate. Retrieving the small gray button from inside her coin purse, she handed it over to him.

      Steve’s brow pleated into a frown and he stiffened. “No … this isn’t mine. It must belong to another man,” he said coldly.

      A bad move, Carol realized, taking back the button. “There’s only been one man at my house, and that’s you,” she said, trying to stay calm. “If it isn’t yours, then it must have fallen off something of my own.”

      Hands in his pockets, Steve nodded.

      An uneasy pause followed.

      Steve didn’t suggest she take off her coat, didn’t offer her any refreshment or any excuse to linger. Feeling crestfallen and defeated, Carol knew there was nothing more to do but leave.

      “Well, I suppose I should think about getting myself some dinner. There’s a new Mexican restaurant close to here I thought I might try,” she said with feigned enthusiasm, and glanced up at him through thick lashes. Steve loved enchiladas, and she prayed he would take the bait. God knew, she couldn’t have been any more obvious had she issued the invitation straight out.

      “I ate earlier,” he announced starkly.

      Steve rarely had dinner before six. He was either wise to her ways or lying.

      “I see.” She took a step toward the exit, wondering what else she could do to delay the inevitable. “When does the Atlantis leave?”

      “Monday.”

      Three days. She had only three days to carry out her plan. Three days to get him into bed and convince him it was all his idea. Three miserable days. Her fingers curled into impotent fists of frustration inside her coat pocket.

      “Have a safe trip, Steve,” she said softly. “I’ll … I’ll be thinking of you.”

      It had been a mistake to come to his place, a mistake not to have plotted the evening more carefully. It was apparent from the stiff