The Marriage Contract
Until he smiled. And thank God he didn’t do that more often, because he went from sexy in an abstract way to holy-crap hot.
So she’d do everything in her power to not make him smile for however long he planned to grace her with his presence. Hopefully that would only be a few minutes. If she’d known he was going to make an appearance, she’d have brought something to cover her wet swimsuit, like a full suit of armor made of inch-thick chain mail.
The way he was looking at her made her feel exposed.
She settled for a towel, draping it around her torso like a makeshift toga, which at least covered her pointy nipples, and sat on the next lounge chair, facing him.
Desmond was wearing a white button-down shirt today, with the sleeves rolled to his forearms and, despite teasing him the other day about his fashion sense, he had such a strange, magnetic aura that she scarcely noticed anything extraneous like clothes. All she saw was him.
“Are you settling in okay?” he asked.
She had the sense the question wasn’t small talk. “Sure. What’s not to like?”
His eyebrows quirked. “The fact that you’re here in the first place.”
“You’re making it worth my while, remember?”
That shouldn’t have come out so sarcastically. After all, she’d been the one to shake her head at monetary compensation, which he’d likely have readily ponied up.
But he was making her twitchy with his shadowy gaze. After visiting his workshop, she’d looked up the things he’d invented and his mind was definitely not like other people’s. Innovation after innovation in the areas of robotics and machinery had spilled onto her screen along with published papers full of his endless theoretical ideas.
She was not a stupid person by any stretch, having graduated with a bachelor’s degree in biology and a 3.5 grade point average, but Desmond Pierce existed on another plane. And that made him thoroughly out of reach to mere mortals like her.
But he was still oh, so intriguing. And they were married. Funny how that had become front and center in her mind all at once.
He nodded. “I’m sorry my request has delayed your own plans.”
Clearly he didn’t get offended by her jokes that weren’t funny. That was a good thing.
“I have my whole life to be a doctor. Conner will only be a newborn for this small stretch of time.”
It was a huge concession, and she had her own reasons for being there, none of which she planned to share with Conner’s father. But her pathetic gratefulness for this time with her son wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard she tried to think of breast-feeding as a task instead of the bonding experience it was proving to be.
Conner would not be her son legally once Desmond filed the divorce decree that spelled out the custody arrangement—she’d give up all rights. Period. End of story. She hated how often she had to remind herself of that. She was already dreading the inevitable goodbye that would be here long before she wished.
“That’s true. I do appreciate your willingness, regardless.”
“Is that the only reason you popped in here? To thank me?” She flashed a grin before thinking better of it. They weren’t friends hanging out, even though it seemed too easy to forget that. “I would have taken a text message.”
“I despise text messages.”
“Really?” Curiously, she eyed him. “Electronic communication seems like it would be right up your alley.”
He shifted uncomfortably, breaking eye contact. “Why, because I’m not as verbally equipped as others?”
“Please.” She snorted before realizing he was serious. “There’s nothing about you that’s ill equipped. I meant because you’re the Frankenstein of electronics.”
Thoughtfully, he absorbed that comment and she could see it pinging around in his brain, looking for a place to land. Then he shrugged. “I don’t like text messages because they’re intrusive and distracting, forcing me to respond.”
“You can ignore them if you want,” she advised and bit back another smile. Sometimes he was so cute. “There’s no rule.”
“There is. It’s like a social contract I have to fulfill. The message sits there and blinks and blinks until I read it. And then I know exactly who is sitting on the other end waiting on me to complete the transaction. I can’t just let that go.” His brows came together. “That’s why I don’t give people my cell phone number.”
“I have your cell phone number.”
“You’re not people.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. And that apparently gave him permission to smile, which was so gorgeous she had a purely physical reaction to it. Somehow he must have picked up on the sharp tug through her insides because the vibe between them got very heavy, very fast.
Mesmerized, she stared at him as the smiles slipped off both their faces.
Why was she so attracted to him? He wasn’t her type. Actually she didn’t have a type because she’d spent the last six years working her ass off to earn a four-year degree, putting herself through college with as many flexible retail and restaurant jobs as she could score. She couldn’t do the same for medical school, not unless she wanted to be fifty when she graduated.
She had to remember that this man held the keys to her future and to keep her wits about her.
Desmond cleared his throat and the moment faded. “I didn’t seek you out to talk about text messages. I wanted to let you know that Larissa has resigned her position. Effective immediately.”
“The nanny quit?” That sucked. She’d liked Larissa and had thoroughly approved of Desmond’s choice. “And with no notice? Nice. Did she at least give you a reason?”
“Her mother had a stroke. She felt compelled to be the one managing her mother’s care.”
“Well, okay. That gets a pass.”
Unexpectedly, McKenna’s eyelids pricked in sympathy as she imagined her own mother in a similar circumstance, lifeless and hooked up to machines as the doctors performed analysis to determine the extent of the brain damage the stroke had caused. Of course, her mother would have refused to be cared for in a real hospital, stubborn to the end, even if it led to her own grave. Like it had for Grandfather, who had shared the beliefs of their community.
McKenna was the outcast who put her faith in science and technology.
“She did the right thing,” McKenna said. “Have you started the process of hiring a replacement?”
“I have. I contacted the service I used to find Larissa and they’re sending me the résumés of some candidates. I’d hoped you’d review them with me.”
“Me?” Oh, God. He wanted her to help him pick the woman who would essentially raise her child? How could she do that?
A thousand emotions flew through her at once as Desmond nodded.
“It would be helpful if you would, yes,” he said, oblivious to her shock and disquiet.
“You did fine the first time without me,” she squawked and cleared her throat. “You don’t need my help.”
“The first time I had nine months to select the right person for the job,” he countered. “I have one day this time. And I trust your judgment.”
“You do?” That set her back so much that she sagged against the weave of the lounge chair.
“Of course. You’re intelligent, or you wouldn’t have been accepted into medical school, and you have a unique ability to understand people.”
She frowned. “I do not. Mostly I piss people off.”
Her mouth was far too fast to express exactly what was on her mind, and she did not suffer fools easily. Neither made her very popular with men, which was fine by her. Men were just roadblocks she did not have time for.
Desmond cocked his head in the way she’d come to realize meant he was processing what she’d just said. “You don’t make me mad.”
“That’s because I like you,” she muttered before thinking through how that might come across. Case in point. Her mouth often operated independently of her brain.
His expression closed in, dropping shadows between them again. “That will change soon enough. I’m not easy to get along with, nor should you try. There’s a reason I asked you to be my son’s surrogate.”
She should let it go. The shadows weren’t her business and he’d pretty much just told her to back off. But the mystery of Desmond Pierce had caught her by the throat and she couldn’t stop herself from asking since he’d brought up the subject.
“Why did you ask me?”
Surely a rich, good-looking guy could have women crawling out of the woodwork to be his baby mama with the snap of his fingers. Obviously that wasn’t what he’d wanted.
Coolly, he surveyed her. “Because I dislike not having control. Our agreement means you have no rights and no ability to affect what happens to Conner.”
“But I do,” she countered quietly. “You put me in exactly that position by asking me to breast-feed him. I could walk away tomorrow and it would be devastating for you both.”
“Yes. It is an unfortunate paradox. But it should give you an idea how greatly I care about my son that I am willing to make such a concession. I didn’t do it lightly.”
Geez. His jaw was like granite and she had an inkling why he considered himself difficult to get along with. Desmond didn’t want a mother for his son because he wasn’t much of a sharer.
Good to know. Domineering geniuses weren’t her cup of tea. “Well, we have no problems, then. I’m not interested in pulling the parental rug out from under you. I’m helping you out because I’m the only one who can, but I’m really looking forward to medical school.”
This time with Conner and Desmond was just a detour. It had to be, no matter how deep her son might sink his emotional hooks.
Desmond nodded. “That is why I picked you. Mr. Lively did a thorough screening of all the potential surrogates and your drive to help people put you head and shoulders above the rest. Your principles are your most attractive quality.”
Um...what? She blinked, but the sincerity in his expression didn’t change. Had he just called her attractive because of her stubborn need to do things her own way? That was a first. And it warmed her dangerously fast.
Her parents had lambasted those same principles for as long as she could recall, begging her to date one of the men who lived in their community and have a lot of babies, never mind that she had less than no interest in either concept. The men bored her to tears, not to mention they embraced her parents’ love of alternative medicine, which meant she had nothing in common with them.
How great was it that the man she’d ultimately married appreciated her desire to become a medical doctor instead of a homeopathic healer?
And how terrible to realize that Desmond Pierce had chosen her strictly because he expected she’d easily leave her child without a backward glance.
He was right—she would do it because she’d given her word. But there wasn’t going to be anything easy about it.
Three
Since the nanny had left him high and dry, Desmond was the one stuck sorting out his son’s 3:00 a.m. meltdown. Conner woke yowling for God knew what reason. Larissa had always taken care of that in the past, leaving Des blessedly ignorant to his son’s needs.
Unfortunately, after twenty minutes of rocking, soothing, toys and terse commands, nothing had worked to stop the crying. If he’d known Conner would pull this kind of stunt, Des would have gone to bed before 1:00 a.m. Two hours of sleep did not make this easier, that was for sure.
Desmond finally conceded that he no longer had the luxury of pretending McKenna didn’t exist just to keep his growing attraction to her under wraps. Larissa’s printed instructions clearly said the baby nursed at night. He’d been hoping for a miracle that would prevent him from having to disturb Conner’s mother. That did not happen.
So that’s how he found himself knocking on her door in the dead of night with a crying baby in his arms. Definitely not the way he’d envisioned seeing McKenna Moore in a bedroom. And he’d had more than a few fantasies about McKenna and a bed.
She answered a minute later, dressed in a conservative white robe that shouldn’t have been the slightest bit alluring. It absolutely was, flashing elegant bits of leg as she leaned into the puddle of light from the hall.
“Woke up hungry, did he?” she said with more humor than Des expected at three in the morning. “Give him here,” she instructed and, when he handed over the baby, cradled him to her bosom, murmuring as she floated to an overstuffed recliner in the corner of her room.
Funny. He hadn’t realized until this moment that she sat in it to feed Conner. He’d envisioned her snuggling deep into the crevices to read a book or to chat on the phone with her legs draped over the sides. McKenna seemed like the type to lounge in a chair instead of sitting in it properly.
The lamp on the small end table cast a circle of warmth over the chair as she settled into it and worked open her robe to feed the baby. Instantly, Conner latched on and grew quiet.
“You can come in if you want,” McKenna called to Desmond as he stood like an idiot at the door, completely extraneous and completely unable to walk away.
“I would...like to come in,” he clarified and cleared his throat because his voice sounded like a hundred frogs had crawled down his windpipe. Gingerly, he sat on the bed because the love seat that matched the recliner was too close to mother and child.
Similar to the other times he’d watched McKenna breast-feed, he couldn’t quite get over the initial shock of the mechanics. It was one thing to have an academic understanding of lactation, but quite another to see it in action.
Especially when he had such a strong reaction, like he was witnessing something divine.
The beauty of it filled him and he couldn’t look away, even as she repositioned the baby and her dark nipple flashed. God, that shouldn’t be so affecting. This woman was feeding his son in the most sacrificial of ways. But neither could he deny the purely physical reaction he had to her naked breast.
He couldn’t stop being unnaturally attracted to her any more than he could stop the sun from rising. Seeing her with Conner only heightened that attraction.
Mother and child together created a package he liked.
He shouldn’t have stayed. But he couldn’t have left.
This quandary he was in had to stop. McKenna would be out of his life in two months and he’d insist that she not contact him again. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have to insist. She was resolute in her goal of becoming a doctor, as they’d discussed at the pool yesterday.
In the meantime he’d drive himself insane if he didn’t get their relationship, such as it was, on better footing. There was absolutely no reason they couldn’t have a working rapport as they took care of the baby together. At least until he hired a new nanny.
“Is it okay that I brought him to you?” he asked gruffly. “I don’t know what you worked out with Larissa.”
He felt like he should be doing more to care for his son. But all he could do was make sure the woman who could feed him was happy.
“Perfectly fine. She’s been trying a bottle at night with different types of formula to see if she can get his stomach to accept it when he’s good and hungry. Hasn’t worked so far.” McKenna shrugged one shoulder, far too chipper for having been woken unceremoniously in the middle of the night. “So I take over when she gets frustrated.”
“She didn’t mention that in her instructions.” Probably distracted with trying to pack and deal with travel arrangements on such short notice. So he reeled back his annoyance that he hadn’t followed the routine his son was probably used to. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.
Clearly he needed to take a more active role in caring for Conner. This was the perfect opportunity to get clued in on whatever Larissa and McKenna had been doing thus far.
“Taking care of a baby is kind of a moving target,” she said.
“Speaking from your years of experience?” He hadn’t meant for that to come out sarcastically.
But she just laughed, which he appreciated far more than he should.
“I come from a very tight-knit community. We raise our babies together. I’ve been taking care of other people’s children for as long as I can remember.”
Mr. Lively had briefed him thoroughly on the cooperative community tucked into the outskirts of the Clatsop Forest where McKenna had grown up. Her unusual upbringing had been one of the reasons she’d stood out among the women he’d considered for his surrogate. “Surprising, then, that you’d be willing to give one up.”
She contemplated him for a moment. “But that’s why I was willing. I’ve seen firsthand what having a child does to a mother’s time and energy. You become its everything and there’s little left over for anything else, like your husband, let alone medical school, a grueling residency and then setting up a practice.”
“It’s not like that for you here, is it?”
“No, of course not.” She flashed him a smile. “For one, we’re not involved.”
He couldn’t resist pulling that thread. “What if we were?”
The concept hung there, writhing between them like a live thing, begging to be explored. And he wasn’t going to take it back. He wanted to know more about her, what made her tick.
“What? Involved?”
The idea intrigued her. He could read it in her expressive eyes. But then she banked it.
“That’s the whole point, Desmond. We never would have had a child together under any other circumstances. You wanted to be a single father for your own reasons, but whatever they are, the reality is that neither of us has room in our lives for getting involved.”
A timely reminder, one he shouldn’t have needed.
Even so, he couldn’t help thinking he was going about this process wrong. Instead of hiding out in his lab until he’d fully analyzed his attraction to McKenna, he should create an environment to explore it. That was the only way he could understand it well enough to make it stop. What better conditions could he ask for than plenty of time together and an impending divorce?
“As long as you’re happy while you’re here,” he said as his mind instantly turned that over. “That’s all that matters to me.”
He was nothing if not imaginative, and when he wanted something, there was little that could stop him from devising a way to get it. One of the many benefits of being a genius.
She glanced up at him after repositioning the baby. “You know what would make me happy? Finding a nanny with an expertise in weaning when the baby has formula allergies.”
“Then, tomorrow, that’s what we’ll do,” he promised her.
And if that endeavor included getting to know his child’s mother in a much more intimate way, then everyone would be happy.
* * *
The next morning, McKenna woke to a beep that signaled an incoming text message.
She sat up and reached for her phone, instantly awake despite having rolled around restlessly for an hour after Desmond had left her room with the baby.
Definitely not the way she’d envisioned him visiting her bedroom in the middle of the night, though she shouldn’t be having such vivid fantasies about her husband. Hard not to when she’d developed a weird habit of dreaming about him—especially when she was awake—and fantasies weren’t so easy to shut off when she had little to occupy her time other than feeding the baby.
Desmond’s name leaped out at her from the screen. He’d sent her a text message.
That shouldn’t make her smile. But she couldn’t help picturing him phone in hand as he fat-fingered his way through what should be simple communication.
Come to my workshop when you’re free.
God, he was so adorable. Why that made her mushy inside, she had no clue. But, obviously, he didn’t realize she was bored out of her mind pretty much all the time. She was definitely free. Especially if it meant she got to visit Frankenstein’s wonderland again.
She brushed her hair and washed her face. Rarely did she bother with cosmetics as she’d been blessed with really great skin that needed little to stay supple and blemish free. Why mess with it?
In less than five minutes, she was ready to go downstairs. Desmond glanced up from his computer nearly the moment she walked through the glass door of his workshop. “That was fast.”
She shrugged casually, or as casually as she could when faced with a man she’d last seen in the middle of the night while she’d been half-naked. “I’m at your beck and call, right?”
Something flashed through his expression that added a few degrees to the temperature. “Are you? I thought you were here for Conner.”
“That’s what I meant,” she corrected hastily, lest he get the wrong idea.
Though judging by the way he was looking at her, it was already too late. He was such a strange mix of personality, sometimes warm and inviting, other times prickly. But always fascinating. And she liked pushing his buttons.
She shouldn’t be pushing any buttons.
Desmond was not her type. There were far too many complications at play here to indulge in the rising heat between them. “But apparently I can be persuaded to make myself available to his father, as well. Pending the subject of discussion, of course.”
Desmond crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, his expression decidedly warmer. “What would you like to talk about?”
She shrugged and bit back the flirtatious comment on the tip of her tongue. She was pretty sure he hadn’t summoned her to pick up where they’d left off the last time she’d made the mistake of cornering him in his workshop—when she’d been convinced he was about to kiss her.
“I figured you had something specific you wanted. Since you crawled out of the Dark Ages to send me a text.”
The corners of his mouth lifted in a small smile that shouldn’t have tingled her spine the way it did.
“Isn’t that your preferred method of communication? I can adapt.”
The ambience in the workshop was definitely different than the normal vibe between them. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was flirting with her. “You don’t strike me as overly flexible. Maybe I should be adapting to you.”
His gaze narrowed, sharpening, making her feel very much like a small, tasty rabbit. Never one to let a man make her feel hunted, she breached the space between them, skirting the long end of the worktable to put herself on the same side as Desmond.
Apparently she was going to let him push her buttons instead.
Last time she’d cornered him, he’d been guarded. Not this time. His crossed arms unknotted and fell to his sides, opening him to her perusal, and that was so interesting, she looked her fill. The man was beautifully built, with a long, lean torso and a classically handsome face made all the more dashing by a sparse beard. It was a perfect complement to his high cheekbones, allowing his gorgeous eyes to be the focal point.
“What would that look like?” he murmured. “If you adapted to me?”
“Oh, um... I don’t know. How do you like to communicate?”
He jerked his head toward the back of the workshop without taking his eyes off of her. “I build things. Shape them, put the pieces where they go based on the images I have in my head. I communicate through my hands.”
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