LITMIR.BIZ

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was staring at him as if he’d arrived from another planet.

      “Yes?”

      “There’s no way you’re supporting me,” she said flatly. “No way in the wide world. Thank you for the offer, but no, thanks. I’ve saved. I can support me and my baby until I can go back to work.”

      “Okay, then.” He spread his hands as if surrendering. “Fine by me. I’m offering marriage, though, Jenny. If it’ll help.”

      She gazed at him for a long, long moment. “Do you have any idea what you’re letting yourself in for?” she asked. “Marrying a pregnant woman, offering to support her, even offering to share your apartment—with a baby?”

      “The guest room is on the other side of my living quarters and downstairs from my room,” he told her, still in efficient mode. “I don’t expect I’d hear it. I only use the place to crash at night.”

      This was like a business proposition. Calm. Considered. Crazy!

      “You think we could run separate lives?”

      “I do. Otherwise I wouldn’t offer. I mean…you loved your husband, right?”

      “Right.”

      “Then you don’t want another relationship yet, either. It could suit us both.” He grinned. “Hey, and it’d get my family off my back. My sisters are always trying to set me up with some woman.”

      “But I can’t…” She closed her eyes, and her fingers touched the band of gold on her left hand. “I don’t…” For the life of her she couldn’t stop her fingers trembling.

      He reached out and closed his fingers over hers, stopping her shaking. For the first time a hint of tenderness came through the efficiency. “You can. It would work.”

      “You don’t want to marry me.”

      “I don’t mind. Honest.” He tilted her chin so she was forced to look at him, and the smile in his eyes was infinitely gentle. It gave her a massive jolt.

      On one level this Michael was just as calm and in control as the man she worked for—but on another level he was about a zillion miles from the aloof Michael Lord she knew at Maitland Maternity.

      “It could work, Jenny,” he told her. “And don’t look too worried. It’s not forever, so let’s not push this too far. In time you’ll be over Peter and want to be free, and maybe…well, maybe I’m wrong and maybe I’ll want a life, too. So then we divorce. But as long as we can stick it for a couple of years and your baby’s born into our marriage, then you’ll have a little U.S. citizen as a baby and you’ll be safe. Meanwhile, tell me what your options are. Run? I don’t think so.”

      “I can.”

      “You can’t.” He lowered his broad hand to the rising bulge of her pregnancy and placed it there almost unconsciously. It was a gesture of comfort and warmth, nothing more, but it set every fiber in Jenny’s body tingling in response. “You have a baby to think about. I have a stupidly gained fortune I don’t mind supporting you with. It’d take the edge off my guilt a bit. And once you’re married to me, your dreaded Gloria can’t touch you.”

      His smile faded, and the look in his eyes was suddenly dangerous. “The worst she could do is give us a bit of unwanted publicity, but it’ll fade. There’s no way she can touch you if you’re my wife,” he repeated. “I’d like to see her try.”

      “But…” Jenny’s eyes searched his, troubled. “Michael, I don’t want to be beholden.”

      “Can you cook?”

      “I…yes.”

      “Then there’s our deal,” he said triumphantly. “Let’s leave the beholden bit out of it. I hate eating out, but I do it all the time because I’ve been known to burn baked beans. You cook for me, and we’ll live happily ever after.”

      “I’m not living with you.” There was an edge of panic in her voice.

      “No?”

      “No! No way. Not in a million years.”

      “Jenny, this is not for a million years,” he said as he watched the confusion in her eyes mount to panic. “It’s just until we have your immigration legalized, this baby safely born and Gloria off your back. It’s just until you have a breathing space to figure out what you want to do with your life. If you raise this baby in the U.S. there’s not a lot Gloria can do to control you. You can raise him the way you want, and then when he’s old enough, he can make his own decisions about his inheritance. But you’ll be the one who’s influenced him.”

      She took a deep breath. She couldn’t think. She was so confused….

      The temptation to let this man take charge was irresistible, but to be so indebted… The thought was unbearable.

      “Michael, are you sure? I mean…”

      “I’m sure.” He wasn’t. He was as confused as she was, but he wasn’t letting on. Somehow he made his voice firm, and he looked down and saw the bulge beneath her dress move all on its own. His eyes widened, and he grinned.

      “I’m guessing your son’s in agreement, too,” he said. “Will you look at that?”

      Jenny wasn’t looking at her bulge. She was looking straight at Michael. “You realize if we’re married—if people found out that you’ve married me, and they will—then people might assume you’re his father. I mean, why else would you marry me? And the immigration people… I don’t know what we’d tell them. But you’ll have a pregnant wife. Even the person who marries us will assume it’s a shotgun affair. That this is your baby. That’s why he’d be a U.S. citizen. I don’t want you to face that. It isn’t fair.”

      Michael’s eyes widened.

      Hey, things were happening too quickly here, he realized, doubts surfacing thick and fast. He hadn’t thought this through.

      But an image, insidious in its strength, slid into his mind and stayed—an image that had been with him all his life. A woman walking toward Maitland Maternity and leaving four babies on the steps.

      And then walking away.

      Jenny was fighting every way she knew to keep this baby. She wasn’t walking away, and by marrying her, he’d give her the only chance she had.

      “I can handle that,” he said, and if his voice didn’t sound so sure to himself, it was convincing enough to cause a flood of gratitude and absolute relief to wash across Jenny’s face.

      “You really mean it?”

      “I mean it.” He grinned, lessening the tension. “Hey, there’s a few things we should clear up before we make a final pact.” He thought hard. “Like, I hate custard.”

      “We’re not living together!”

      “Maybe we have to, for a while at least. Tell me you won’t make me eat custard.”

      She choked. “Hey, it’s good for you.”

      “You make custard, and the deal’s off.”

      She managed a wavering smile. “You drive a hard bargain. But okay. As long as I don’t have to eat pumpkin.”

      “No pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving?” He sounded shocked, and she chuckled.

      “I’ll make you Spotted Dick instead,” she promised, and his brows rose.

      “Spotted Dick?”

      “My very favorite dessert. England’s soul food.”

      “You eat something called Spotted Dick?”

      “Sure do.” She chuckled. “And so will you.”

      “What am I letting myself in for? Aagh!” He clutched his stomach in mock

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