“Protective? Of whom?”

“You.”

“You’re protecting me from you?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Well, stop it,” she said caustically, gunning her engine. “Sex doesn’t have to be any more emotionally significant than a really charged football game.”

The words exploded into the air like fireworks, but she didn’t believe them, and she knew that he knew she didn’t believe it. What was she trying to do? Why couldn’t she abandon this idea of him and her, one more time, or two or three? What was she? A masochist?

“Mary-”

“Go prove my point to Allison in there,” she said bitingly before shoving the car into Reverse and taking off down the quiet, wooded drive.

Four

Mary sat in Little Bo and Peep’s baby shop, up to her eyeballs in terry cloth, stretch cotton, bouncy seats and black and white mobiles. For the past twenty minutes, she hadn’t been able to pick out a single thing for the nursery. She knew exactly what clothes she loved, what crib and bassinet she wanted, she even knew the drawer pulls she would pick out if this were all real. But designing a nursery for a child that didn’t exist was next to impossible. She felt like a total fraud and she wanted to give up.

The doorbell over the shop entrance jangled merrily, and Mary watched a young couple come through the door with excited grins. They oohed and aahed as they moved from one quaint set of nursery furniture set to the next, hands clasped tightly, the woman’s round stomach looking like a sweet watermelon. She wanted that. A real relationship, a real baby…something impossible to have with Ethan Curtis. Mary’s mind rolled back to the party and how it had ended. For the past two days she’d thought of nothing but him and that blonde, and her own irrational need to be with him again. She’d wondered what had happened after she’d left. Had Ethan met her by the pool? Did they go for a swim together? Allisonn-two Ls, two Ns-hadn’t seemed like the kind of woman who thought swimsuits were all that important.

Beside her, the young mother pointed at a tiny Minnesota Twins baseball cap and squealed with delight, catching Mary’s eye in the process. Mary forced a smile, then moved on to look at bathtubs and safety accessories. Why the hell did she care what Ethan did? Or who he did, for that matter? She had to get over this.

The saleswoman walked by her again with that look all salespeople give a person when they think you’re lingering without purpose.

Are you stealing or just indecisive?

“Right, I get it,” Mary grumbled under her breath as she abandoned the bath supplies and headed to the front of the store. Nothing was going to happen today. She wasn’t about to do any work on the nursery in her state of mind. If Ethan asked her how she was progressing, she’d just have to stall and-

“Mary?”

Coming into the shop just as Mary was exiting was a very elegant woman in her midseventies, dressed in a thin crepe navy blue suit, her white hair swept off her mildly wrinkled face in a tightly pinned chignon.

“Grandmother? What are you doing here?”

Grace Harrington surveyed her granddaughter, her perfectly arched brows lifting at the sight of Mary’s plain black pantsuit and slightly scuffed heels. To Grace Harrington, clothes were like Ziplock baggies, only good for one use.

“Pearl Edicott’s granddaughter is expecting twins,” her grandmother said in a pinched tone. “Pearl has the most horrific taste. It’s a very good thing she knows it.”

“Very good thing,” Mary repeated, smiling in spite of herself. Grace Harrington was an over-the-top snob, and if Mary had any sense, she’d probably detest her. After all, Grace wasn’t all that warm either, more days than not she found something wrong with Mary’s clothing or hairstyle, and she treated her help like they didn’t breathe the same air as she did. And then there was the fact that she had cut Mary’s mother out of her life when she’d married Hugh.

Yet, with all of that, Mary felt a connection with her, a strange admiration that went far beyond her wealth. Grace was smart, well-read and a stickler for speaking her mind. Mary could really respect that. She and her grandparents were rarely simpatico, but they were her blood, and had always wanted to be a part of her life, and strangely Mary’s mother had never discouraged her from seeing them.

Grace picked up two twin chenille baby robes that cost a hundred dollars each and eyed them closely. “And what are you doing here, my dear?”

“Designing a nursery for a client.”

“Ah, yes, your business. How is that going?”

“Great.”

Grace forgot about the robes for a moment and focused on Mary, her lips pursed. “This isn’t for one of those two-father homes, is it?”

“Not this time.”

“A couple, then?” She didn’t give Mary a chance to answer as she clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “A mother who doesn’t want to create her own child’s room. How modern.”

Mary was about to ask her grandmother if she herself had actually designed her own daughter’s nursery or if she’d hired three or four interior designers to make it happen, but she knew she’d probably get an answer that resembled something like, “It was my vision. As usual, the help was only there to execute it.”

“The nursery is for a single father actually,” Mary told her.

“Anyone I know?”

Mary’s brow lifted. “Now how many single fathers do you socialize with, Grandmother?”

Grace gave her a blank look. “None…that I know of.” Spotting a beautiful pink-and-blue blanket draped over one of the handcrafted armchairs, Grace turned her back on Mary. “Well, this chenille is lovely. It reminds me of the very one your mother carried around for years. If the maid even spoke of washing it, she would…” Grace stopped abruptly and cleared her throat.

Mary was grateful not to have to see the woman’s face in that moment. Turning toward a row of onesies, she quickly changed the subject. “Babies are really no bigger than dolls, are they?”

“For a short time, yes,” Grace replied softly. “But before you even realize it they are grown and deciding what they will wear and who they will marry without any input from you.”

“There you are.” A booming male voice broke through all the femininity. “I called your office and Olivia said you’d be-”

“Ethan?” In the heaviness of her conversation with Grace, Mary hadn’t heard the bell over the door. If she had heard-and seen-who was about to enter the shop, she would’ve been out the door in a matter of seconds. This was not good.

Ethan spotted Grace and changed instantly from casual guy to cynical business mogul. “Mrs. Harrington. What a pleasant surprise.”

“I doubt that,” the older woman said dryly.

Before her grandmother could connect the single father with Ethan, Mary said quickly, “I’m organizing several functions for Mr. Curtis.”

“Is that so?” Grace said, pursing her lips as if she’d just gotten a whiff of rotting fish, or as if the thought of her blue-blooded granddaughter working for the upstart who had basically stolen her family’s company made her want to throw up. “When did he hire you?”

In other words, how long has this been going on and why was I not informed?

“Just a few weeks ago,” Mary replied.

“And he has a meeting with you in a baby boutique?”

“No.”

No doubt sensing that Mary was floundering, Ethan jumped in to save her. “We were supposed to meet at the restaurant next door, but I saw your granddaughter in here and wanted to start early. As you know, Mrs. Harrington, I have little patience and zero time. I was in the neighborhood seeing a client and there was something I needed to discuss with Miss Kelley that couldn’t wait. Luckily she agreed to meet with me.”

“Luckily for you she agreed to take you on as a client, Mr. Curtis,” Grace said frigidly.

He nodded. “Your granddaughter is very talented.”

“A fact of which I am well aware.”

“Knowing that your granddaughter is planning the event, maybe you’ll reconsider the brunch on Saturday.”

“Perhaps,” she said tightly, then turned to Mary. “I have to run, my dear.”

“But the gift for the twins…”

“This shop is a little too new money for my taste, and you know how I despise that.” She didn’t have to look at Ethan to get her point across. “Your father is out of harm’s way now, I hear.”

“Yes,” Mary said, surprised her grandmother would bring something like that up, much less care.

“Nasty business, that. But we were in no position to help, unfortunately.” After two air kisses to Mary’s cheeks and nothing whatever for Ethan, she left them.

“That woman couldn’t hate me more if I spit on her shoe,” Ethan muttered.

“Oh, yes she could, but I wouldn’t advise trying it.”

“You’d think I stole the company right out from under their noses.”

“Didn’t you?”

He gave her a haughty look. “Harrington Corp. was in trouble. Your grandfather was really slipping. Clients weren’t getting serviced the way they had in the past and many were threatening to walk. I didn’t steal anything. If anything I saved that damn company.”

“Pretty much the same as stealing it, to my grandparents.” Mary took her cell phone out of her pocket and showed it to him. “Now, you have my phone number, right?”

“Yes.”

“Couldn’t you have called me instead of tracking me down?”

“Why? Did I embarrass you?” he asked coldly.

“Don’t be so thick, Curtis. I’m in a baby shop. I had to dance fast with my grandmother about why I was here, then why you were here-”

“I danced fast on that one,” he interrupted.

She ignored him. “You know I want to keep this quiet. I thought we both did.”

“I never said I wanted to keep anything quiet-”

“Hello, there.” The saleswoman who had been watching Mary for the past thirty minutes in annoyance joined them, completely smiley-faced and enthusiastic at the sight of Ethan. “Daddy’s here.”

Ethan looked pleased with the comment and nodded. “He is.”

“Would you and your wife like some lemonade before you get started?”

Mary snorted derisively and said, “I’m not his-”

“Yes, we would,” Ethan said, cutting her off before following the saleswoman to a small refreshment area.

For the next twenty minutes Mary sat beside Ethan and watched as the saleswoman laid blankets and rugs, hats and booties, washtubs and soothing lullaby CDs at Ethan’s feet as though he were the sultan of Bruni.

Feeling close to exploding if she stayed in the shop one more minute, Mary leaned in and whispered to Ethan, “I have to get back to the office,” then grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

He caught up with her, placing his hand on her arm. “We need to talk.”

“About?” she asked, trying to ignore the heat of his fingers searing into her skin.

“The brunch.”

“Call my office and we’ll set something up for tomorrow-”

“No, I’m the client. You can come to my office.” His jaw hardened, letting her know there was no denying his command. “Today, four-thirty.”

As she struggled to maintain her calm exterior, Mary fought the desire that simmered beneath. “Fine. Four-thirty.”

“You look exhausted.”

Not exactly the first thing a woman wants to hear when the man she finds overwhelmingly attractive opens his office door.

“Thanks,” Mary uttered sarcastically.

Ethan grinned, gestured toward the chocolate brown leather couch. “Sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“We’re not going to discuss the brunch while you stand. This could take a while.”

“How long are you estimating?”

“Why? Do you have a date or something?”

Standing on either side of the coffee table, like two gunslingers, they stared at each other.

“Not the best joke I’ve made this week.”

“No.”

“Come on, have a seat,” Ethan said, dropping onto the plush leather and grinning.

On a weary sigh, she plunked down on the couch. “Okay, I’m sitting, now let’s start with the menu. I think we should go for a southern theme. Olivia has this New Mexican menu-Wait, what are you doing?”

Before Mary could stop him, Ethan had taken off her shoes and placed her feet in his lap. “I’m helping you to relax.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“I’ll tell you why not. I’m here for business not for pl-” She came to screeching halt, which made Ethan’s eyes glitter even more wickedly.

“If this helps,” he began. “Rubbing your aching feet is business. echnically.”

“I can’t wait to hear this.”

“It’s my job, my duty-my business, if you will. Or so I’ve read.”

She looked surprised. “You’ve been reading books on…”

“Pregnancy? Yep.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded. “Pregnancy, baby care, labor, postpartum, breastfeeding-”