him.
The church also rang out with Caroline's sniffling tears for she proved to be an exceptionally sentimental godmother. Her voice shook when she made her pledge to watch over little James Andrew O'Rourke for all the days of his life. One month ago the meaning of those words wouldn't have had quite the resonance they had now that a new life was growing within her. Twice she had caught Charles looking at her as she stood at the baptismal font with the godfather, Sam's brother, and twice she had felt a telltale crimson blush stain her cheeks.
A terrible thought burst in to her mind like an explosion. He probably thinks I'm some slut who sleeps with any man who stumbles into my fur vault. The passion they'd shared that night in the storage room had been as incendiary as it was unexpected. Why on earth would a man like Charlie Donohue believe it to be an uncommon occurrence when she had spent so much time and energy building her reputation as a sophisticated world-class flirt? Sometimes she found her relentless celibacy hard to believe herself.
The church ceremony was only the beginning. Sam, whose upscale catering service was the rage of Princetonian commuters, had decided to avail herself of her own talents and invite everyone back to the house for an old-fashioned outdoor celebration. Murphy strutted around the backyard like a peacock, impossibly proud of his new baby boy. Patty, Sam's first-born, was equally proud of her brother and her status as older sister.
It should be like this for everyone, thought Caroline, eyes once again misting with tears. A baby should be wanted. Welcomed. Loved wholeheartedly with no reservations and no uncertainties. Sam had been ecstatic the day she discovered her pregnancy with James, not sniffling into her grape juice like Caroline was. Even as an unmarried teenager, Sam had carried Patty with joy despite the difficult situation.
This should be one of the happiest days of Caroline's life, yet there she was wishing she could blink her eyes and make reality disappear. Gently she touched her still-flat stomach with the palm of her hand and sighed. One thing was certain: with every second reality became just a little bit harder to ignore.
#
As for Charlie, he couldn't take his eyes off Caroline--and it wasn't for lack of trying. Something was different, he thought, studying her delicate face and form. The angles of her cheekbones were softer somehow; the swell of her breasts more rounded. There was a more womanly aspect to her that he couldn't quite define except to chalk it up to the fact she was holding Sam and Murphy's son in her arms. Even if a man spent about as much time thinking about children as he spent thinking about souffle pans, which added up to exactly no time at all.
But even a man like Charlie had to admit there was something downright dangerous about the sight of a beautiful woman with an infant in her arms. It conjured up thoughts of sunny kitchens and home-baked bread and gingham curtains at the windows, none of which were likely to appeal to Caroline Bradley.
Although she seemed as enamored of the infant as everyone else, Charlie suspected Caroline wasn't exactly mother-of-the-year material. You didn't walk around in perfectly tailored white linen suits if you expected to spend much time with small fry. He grinned at the thought of sticky peanut-butter-and-jelly fingerprints on her pristine skirt.
No, she was probably a hell of a lot like he was. A loner. Someone who made friends easily but kept most of those friends an arm's length away. He'd sensed that about her the night in the fur vault. Vulnerable. Lonely. Sweet and passionate and--
Forget it, Donohue. He was certain she already had put it from her mind. Other than a pleasant smile and nod of her head, the elegant Ms. Bradley hadn't so much as acknowledged that they'd ever done more than shake hands. He tried not to, but there was still enough of the old double standard alive and well in Charlie to
The church also rang out with Caroline's sniffling tears for she proved to be an exceptionally sentimental godmother. Her voice shook when she made her pledge to watch over little James Andrew O'Rourke for all the days of his life. One month ago the meaning of those words wouldn't have had quite the resonance they had now that a new life was growing within her. Twice she had caught Charles looking at her as she stood at the baptismal font with the godfather, Sam's brother, and twice she had felt a telltale crimson blush stain her cheeks.
A terrible thought burst in to her mind like an explosion. He probably thinks I'm some slut who sleeps with any man who stumbles into my fur vault. The passion they'd shared that night in the storage room had been as incendiary as it was unexpected. Why on earth would a man like Charlie Donohue believe it to be an uncommon occurrence when she had spent so much time and energy building her reputation as a sophisticated world-class flirt? Sometimes she found her relentless celibacy hard to believe herself.
The church ceremony was only the beginning. Sam, whose upscale catering service was the rage of Princetonian commuters, had decided to avail herself of her own talents and invite everyone back to the house for an old-fashioned outdoor celebration. Murphy strutted around the backyard like a peacock, impossibly proud of his new baby boy. Patty, Sam's first-born, was equally proud of her brother and her status as older sister.
It should be like this for everyone, thought Caroline, eyes once again misting with tears. A baby should be wanted. Welcomed. Loved wholeheartedly with no reservations and no uncertainties. Sam had been ecstatic the day she discovered her pregnancy with James, not sniffling into her grape juice like Caroline was. Even as an unmarried teenager, Sam had carried Patty with joy despite the difficult situation.
This should be one of the happiest days of Caroline's life, yet there she was wishing she could blink her eyes and make reality disappear. Gently she touched her still-flat stomach with the palm of her hand and sighed. One thing was certain: with every second reality became just a little bit harder to ignore.
#
As for Charlie, he couldn't take his eyes off Caroline--and it wasn't for lack of trying. Something was different, he thought, studying her delicate face and form. The angles of her cheekbones were softer somehow; the swell of her breasts more rounded. There was a more womanly aspect to her that he couldn't quite define except to chalk it up to the fact she was holding Sam and Murphy's son in her arms. Even if a man spent about as much time thinking about children as he spent thinking about souffle pans, which added up to exactly no time at all.
But even a man like Charlie had to admit there was something downright dangerous about the sight of a beautiful woman with an infant in her arms. It conjured up thoughts of sunny kitchens and home-baked bread and gingham curtains at the windows, none of which were likely to appeal to Caroline Bradley.
Although she seemed as enamored of the infant as everyone else, Charlie suspected Caroline wasn't exactly mother-of-the-year material. You didn't walk around in perfectly tailored white linen suits if you expected to spend much time with small fry. He grinned at the thought of sticky peanut-butter-and-jelly fingerprints on her pristine skirt.
No, she was probably a hell of a lot like he was. A loner. Someone who made friends easily but kept most of those friends an arm's length away. He'd sensed that about her the night in the fur vault. Vulnerable. Lonely. Sweet and passionate and--
Forget it, Donohue. He was certain she already had put it from her mind. Other than a pleasant smile and nod of her head, the elegant Ms. Bradley hadn't so much as acknowledged that they'd ever done more than shake hands. He tried not to, but there was still enough of the old double standard alive and well in Charlie to
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