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The baby’s head swung around. A fat tongue poked out, wrapped in baby bubbles.
“Yes, you most certainly are a lucky girl. I never knew my real daddy. Odd how one can so desperately miss a person one has never met.”
As she spoke, Claire unwrapped the thin receiving blanket to once again inspect each tiny leg and count the sweet button toes. “Why, there they are again! One, two, three…” She gave an exaggerated gasp, hiking her eyebrows. “Ten of them! Imagine that!”
Lucy gri
Layer by layer, Claire removed fabric, examined the soft, round belly, the reddened skin beneath her little armpits, the perfect fold of a baby ear, the delicate quiver of a fleshy little throat. Every inch was perfect. Every inch.
It was a silly thing, she supposed, this compulsion to constantly reassess the infant. She couldn’t explain the joy it gave her to touch this precious baby, to smooth the soft cotton shirt, caress each delicate baby finger.
Such dark little eyes, so intense, so wise. “You mustn’t worry, precious. Your daddy won’t let anything bad happen to you. And neither will I,” she whispered. “Neither will I.”
As Claire bent forward to kiss the infant’s silky cheek, a tingle slipped down her spine. She straightened slowly in the small chair, instinctively knowing before she gazed toward the doorway what she would see.
Joh
His powerful form filled the doorway, shoulders seeming even more broad by the fit of a dark, tailored business suit that hugged him like a supple second skin. From his perfectly groomed ebony hair to the tips of his gleaming Italian shoes, he exuded grace, power, control. And danger.
Danger for any woman whose heart raced at the sight of him, whose blood steamed in his presence, whose breath backed up in her throat until she feared her lungs might explode.
Most women looked twice at Joh
“Hi.” She cleared the horrifying squeak from her voice, and tried again. “You’re early.”
“Am I?”
“A little.”
His gaze slipped to the infant in her lap. His eyes glowed softly, with wonder. “You’re so good with her.”
“It’s easy to be good with her. She’s such a good baby.” Managing to take in enough air to clear the cobwebs from her brain, Claire gave the blanket a quick wrap and lifted the infant to her shoulder.
As she started to stand, Joh
She swayed briefly, then stood. Her knees did not buckle. But they wanted to. “So…” She sucked a breath, offered a bright smile. “Are you ready to take over your daddy duties?”
“I—” His gaze darted, his lips thi
“Of course.” A rush of relief startled her, although the steely glint in his eye gave her pause. “Is something wrong?”
He ignored the question. “Lucy will be spending more time in my care than I had originally anticipated. I would appreciate some, ah, instruction. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” he added quickly.
“No trouble at all. Lesson number one, holding the baby.” Before he could protest, Claire placed Lucy in his arms, nearly laughing out loud at his horrified expression as he shrugged up his shoulders and hunched forward, awkwardly cradling the baby as if she were a porcelain football.
His eyes rolled frantically, his skin paled and beads of moisture traced his upper lip. “She’s so fragile,” he whispered. “I can barely feel her.”
“You’re doing fine.” The terror in his eyes was perversely endearing. Claire decided one just had to love a man who took fatherhood so seriously. “Lesson number two, we’ve already touched upon. Babies are tougher than they look. They don’t break easily, nor do they bounce, so try not to drop her.”
His head snapped up. He looked as if he might faint.
“Now, on to lesson number three.” Claire shouldered the diaper bag, dug her car keys out of her pocket and dangled them in front of his stu
Joh
Chapter Three
“You have to snap that whatchamacallit into the doohickey, and tighten tension on some kind of switch lever.” Claire turned the instruction sheet over, scratched her head. “That’s if you want to use the portable crib function. If you want to transform it into a playpen, you’re supposed to loosen the lever, unsnap the whatchamacallit and twist the doohickey into the thingamajig. I think.”
“Huh?” Shifting one segment of the mesh-sided portable crib under his arm, Joh
Claire turned the instruction sheet over, angled a sympathetic glance. “It’s a little crowded in here.” The observation was u
Joh
“It’s not for the child—it’s for the parent.” Smiling, Claire glanced around the once tidy room. A screwdriver poked out of an expensive silk-flower arrangement on the polished oak coffee table. A pair of needle-nose pliers sagged against the breast pocket of Joh
For a moment, Claire actually thought he was blushing. His gaze lowered, his lips curved into a half smile that did peculiar things to her insides. Clearly, he was getting used to the idea of fatherhood, but he was also still shaken by it. His smile dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. He squared his shoulders, rearranged his features into an unreadable mask.
Without responding to Claire’s teasing comment, he returned his attention to the assemblage problem, moving his lips as he worked as if giving himself silent support for the effort.
Claire watched him greedily, fascinated by every nuance of expression, every hint of frown or smile. There was something vulnerable about his struggle with the unfamiliar equipment, a nervous determination in his effort that was exquisitely touching. His collar yawned open, his tie was askew and his sleeves were rolled up to expose muscular forearms dusted by a smattering of dark hair. As cool and confident as he’d been in his formal business attire, he was now charmingly befuddled, sitting cross-legged on the floor amid a nest of packing material, cardboard and bubble wrap.