might not be flattering. His gaze strayed to the low neckline of her pale yellow nightgown. Oh, hell, he thought, sliding his hands along her neck. It would be worth a broken nose to get a good – morning kiss.
Megan stood absolutely still at the touch of his hands, barely breathing, wondering at the sensations flooding through her, a paralyzing mixture of desire, guilt, and anger. There was something else, too, a ridiculous delusion that she actually was Mrs. Hunter.
It felt perfectly natural to be standing in her nightgown and robe, waiting for Pat to kiss her. She tipped her head toward him and instinctively parted her lips, thinking that he was really very nice in the morning. Warm and cuddly, with that endearing, teasing grin. She watched him slowly move closer and felt his lips barely skim across hers. Much better than getting tweaked on the nose, she thought dreamily. This wasn’t a boring, taken for- granted kiss. This was a friendly kiss.
His hands slid down her arms and she was suddenly crushed to him. His hands moved across her back. He whispered her name and kissed her ear, then her neck just below the earlobe. She gasped at her body’s fiery reaction. She hadn’t expected this. Not so fast. Not so intense.
“Whoa,” she said, pushing against him. “Time out.Just a darn minute.”
He stared at her in a haze of desire. “Whoa?”
“You have some nerve, having an innocent little nose like that and then kissing like Conan the Barbarian.” She swallowed and put her hand to her chest to help keep her heart from breaking through the skin. “And in front of the baby! What will he think?”
Shoot, Pat thought. Now he’d done it. He’d attacked her like some kind of animal. Hunter, he silently shouted, you’re such a weenie! He wrapped the blue robe tightly around her and tied the belt in a double knot, then looked at his watch.
“Damn, I’m late. I’ll pick up the kid at six.”
He bolted through the doorway, then paused. “About that kiss. I don’t want you to think I’m easy.”
“I don’t think you’re easy. I think you’re nuts. I think you’re a sex maniac.”
He grinned and waved. “Good. I was worried.”
She listened to his car pull out of the driveway and turned to the sleeping Tim. “You know what I really think? I think he’s magic. No one’s ever kissed me like that.
She put the water on for coffee and sat down to read the helpful hints, but her thoughts kept returning to Pat. She wondered if she was just licking her wounds from her relationship with Dave. Was this just a reaction from her bruised ego? No, she thought. When Pat had touched her, it had been magical. No other explanation. She’d gone gooney – brained.
Tim awoke, saw the strange woman looking down at him, and began to howl.
Almost twelve hours later Megan glared at Tim and wiped a splot of smushed green beans off her nose. The baby seemed to have become adjusted to her during this long day.
“So, how old are you, kid? Nine, ten months?
You think you’re a match for a twenty – seven year- old college graduate? Hah! Gotcha.”
She successfully spooned a load of green beans into the little mouth.
“Brrrph,” Tim said, spewing green beans across the table and into Megan’s hair.
Pat chugged into the driveway in his old tan Dodge van and made a quick assessment of Megan’s house in the fading light. He’d found out she was house – sitting for a member of the William and Mary faculty who was on sabbatical. On the outskirts of town, the house was surrounded by several acres of land. A barn and a large fenced – in pasture stood behind it. It was a neat two – story colonial, painted a traditional Williamsburg butternut yellow, with trim in two shades of green. A battered car was parked by the garage. The car was a faded maroon color, and was missing a back bumper and a front left fender. Possibly the only car in Williamsburg uglier than his, he thought.
He let himself into the unlocked house. “Hello,” he called from the front door. “Anybody home?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Having fun?”
She scowled at him as he walked into the kitchen, and pointed at her green – speckled hair. “You think this is fun?”
Pat made an effort not to laugh. Being a new mother could be a trying experience.
Megan leaned back in her chair. “Well, I suppose it has been fun. You know what he did today? He said cookie. This kid is so smart.” She wiped Timmy’s face clean with a wet cloth.
“The problem is, I’m not getting anything done! This is a busy time of the year for me.” She lifted a teapot from the counter and handed it to Pat. “I’m a potter. I make these tea sets, and a little boutique in Old Town Alexandria sells them for me. They have a big order in for the Christmas season.”
“You made this? It’s beautiful.”
She took it from him and ran her finger over the white – and – blue glaze. “Thanks. My really pretty pieces I save for a gallery in Washington. I’m going to have my first one – woman show in January.”
Pat looked at the little boy tied to a kitchen chair with an apron and felt guilty. He hadn’t known about Megan’s pottery. Somehow he had to make things easier for her. “Maybe I should hire a different baby – sitter. I didn’t realize you had these commitments.”
Megan noticed he was wearing the sneakers with the sutures again. He didn’t have any money, she guessed. He was just starting out, like her, and he was probably getting by day to day. Where would he find the money to pay a baby – sitter? Besides, she liked Timmy. She wouldn’t trust just anyone to take care of him. She shook her head and opened a jar of beige gook.
“No way. We made a deal. This kid doesn’t get to spit beans on anybody but me… or you. Here.” She handed the gook to Pat. “You get to feed him dessert. Rice pudding.”
“Looks pretty good. Do we have an extra jar? I didn’t have time for lunch.”
“Sorry. We have junior beef stew and smashed beets.” She looked in her freezer. “Turkey dinner, ham and sweet potato, veal parmigiana.”
“Veal parmigiana. You weren’t kidding when you said you couldn’t cook? Do you always eat frozen dinners?”
“No. Mostly I eat peanut – butter – and – jelly sandwiches. Why is this kid eating his food for you? Why isn’t he decorating your face with it?”
“Would you spit out dessert?”
Pat certainly had chosen the right profession, Megan thought as she sat down across from him. He was great with babies.
“Are you a pediatrician because you know a lot about kids? Or do you know a lot about kids because you’re a pediatrician?”
“A little bit of both. I have an older brother and three younger sisters. I guess I did my share of baby – sitting.”
“Do they live around here?”
“My parents live in San Diego. My brother and his wife and kids live in Connecticut. My oldest sister is a graduate student at Berkeley. My two younger sisters go to UCLA.” He grimaced. “Everyone’s coming here for Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, boy.”
“It seemed like a good idea two weeks ago. A real, old – fashioned Thanksgiving in Williamsburg.” He thunked the spoon into the empty pudding jar and stared at the steaming frozen dinner she slid in front of him. “You sure you don’t know how to cook?”
“I know better than to burn applesauce.”
