He was all wrong for her—he’d just proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. He’d never let her retain the financial and emotional independence she’d fought so hard to attain. He’d want a woman who he could control and command. A woman who would give up work at his demand. And that would never be her.
She would never risk being at the mercy of a man’s whims. Like her mother had been. It wasn’t only the woman who suffered, but her children too. She had first-hand experience of what happened when children paid the price of impulsive passion.
But she wasn’t about to lose custody of the only son she’d ever have. So Victoria said carefully, “Yes. And I’m going to take a leaf out of your book and delegate more—hire a junior to assist me. That’s just one more thing I need to discuss with Bridget.”
Chapter Six
After Connor had gone, Victoria called Bridget Edge.
The assurance that Victoria would be at work the following day was met with a sigh of undisguised relief. And after a small pause Bridget had agreed to Victoria’s suggestion that hiring a junior accountant would be a good idea—provided, of course, that Victoria’s client base kept growing.
Victoria set the phone down and closed her eyes. For the first time since learning of Michael and Suzy’s deaths her sense of optimism blossomed again.
Everything was going to work out.
She quashed the growing apprehension that Connor would not be happy with the outcome.
The next day, Victoria dropped Dylan at the day care center that Suzy had enrolled Dylan in. Leaving him was a terrible wrench, but she assuaged her guilt by slipping out during lunch time to check on him. One of the young day care employees murmured that the baby hadn’t settled and appeared to be fretting.
Of course Dylan was fretting.
Poor baby! Victoria picked him up, inhaling the scent of powder and baby. Dylan was missing Suzy and Michael. And she’d left him in this unfamiliar place. Guilt overwhelmed her. She’d added to his sense of dislocation—but what other choice did she have?
Connor, a little voice said, she could have called Connor for help. He’d offered to take the baby. But if she called him he would crow in victory—and claim Dylan.
She would lose her baby.
And Connor wouldn’t look after the baby personally, either. He’d simply hire a nanny, which was no different from what she was doing. Dylan wriggled in her arms. Victoria kissed his head apologetically and loosened her grip.
But what if she confided in Connor that she was Dylan’s biological mother? Would he understand … would he be prepared to compromise? She nuzzled Dylan’s soft baby hair and thought of the Connor North she knew.…
Hard. Decisive. Ruthless. There wasn’t a compromising bone in that strong, too-male body.
No. She couldn’t tell him.
She would have to get through this by herself.
The rest of the day passed in a rush. And Victoria, who’d intended to leave not long after lunch for the first time in her life, left work far later than she’d intended.
Dylan still hadn’t settled by the Victoria went to collect him. But the staff were sure Monday would be better.
The weekend went by in a blur of sleepless exhaustion. Victoria missed a call from Connor while she and Dylan napped, and after listening to the recording of his deep, provocative voice saying, “Just wanted to see if you’re coping,” decided against phoning him back.
So he thought she wasn’t coping?
Well, she certainly wasn’t going to cry for help.
By the following Tuesday Dylan was visibly querulous, and one of the day care workers called to say he was running a slight temperature.
Panic flooded Victoria and she wasted no time getting to the day care center.
“He didn’t drink his last bottle.” The day care attendant looked concerned. “If his temperature rises further you may want to take him to the doctor.”
By the time Victoria got Dylan home, after an hour in peak-hour traffic, he was hot and flushed. Pausing only to take his temperature, which had rocketed alarmingly, she faced the fact that this was more than grief and dislocation. Dylan was ill.
A call to her doctor garnered his pager. Victoria swore. But within minutes a doctor on call had phoned and told her to take the baby to the nearest medical center. Berating herself for leaving it so long, she hoisted Dylan into the baby seat, secured him and hurried to the front door.
Connor had been waiting all week for Victoria to phone and beg him to take Dylan, to admit defeat. But she hadn’t. To his annoyance she hadn’t even responded to the message he’d left on her answering service. And Connor was left wishing he’d never allowed the hollowness in her eyes to persuade him to leave Dylan in her care. What had he been thinking? Dylan was the most important person in his life.
Five days had passed since the funeral, and he couldn’t wait any longer. The driving urge to see Dylan—a primal, deeply-rooted need to reassure himself that his baby was happy—dominated him. Yet as the Maserati ate up the now-familiar route Connor admitted it wasn’t only Dylan he’d been missing—he wanted to see Victoria, too.
It was perfectly normal, this desire to spend time with her. Right. It was perfectly normal to crave the presence of someone who drove you crazy?
Connor’s mouth slanted.
They’d each lost someone they loved—an aching loss that the other understood better than anyone else in existence. That made sense. But it wasn’t convincing. It sure didn’t explain why the shape of her wide mouth haunted him when he should’ve been thinking about work. Or why the memory of her slender body bending over Dylan’s car seat could wake him in the middle of the night, even though he’d always preferred blondes with hourglass curves. Or why he kept fantasizing about the silken softness of her skin under his fingertips.
Hell, he’d even wondered how she’d coped with telling Bridget she was taking more time off work to look after the baby. He’d actually considered calling earlier in the week to see if she needed support.
But he’d managed to hold out.
Until now.
As he lifted his hand to ring her doorbell the front door flew open.
“Oh, you startled me.”
His first thought was that he must have been blind. Victoria was beautiful. How had he ever missed it? How had he ever thought her plain?
Her long hair swirled about a face that was simply perfect. Straight, uncompromising brows, direct hazel eyes and a wide mouth of such delicious rosy-red that he fought the urge to kiss it.
Then he saw that she was upset.
His gaze dropped to the infant seat. “Are you going out?”
“Dylan isn’t well. I’m taking him to the medical center.”
Connor didn’t ask questions. “We’ll go in my car.”
When she looked like she wanted to protest, he added, “If I drive you can look after Dylan.”
She nodded.
Once he’d made sure she and Dylan were comfortably ensconced in the back seat of the Maserati, Connor pulled out his cell phone and made a call, before climbing into the driver’s seat.
“This isn’t the medical center I meant,” Victoria said sharply fifteen minutes later.
Connor felt the impact of her accusing gaze on the back of his head, but he didn’t shift his eyes from the road ahead. “I called a friend who’s a pediatrician. He’s meeting us at his rooms—he understands the background.”
Chuck had known Michael, and knew Connor had been named guardian of his child. Chuck even knew the truth about Dylan’s paternity. “If it’s necessary Chuck will admit Dylan to Starship,” he said, referring to the well-known children’s hospital.
“Chuck?” She sounded doubtful. “How do you know him?”
“His name is Charles Drysdale, if that’s any better. We play squash at the same club.” A stab of pain pierced Connor at the thought of visiting the courts without Michael. “And he’s one of the best pediatricians in town. You’ll be charmed—most women are.”
Charles—or Chuck—Drysdale had twinkling eyes and a way of putting patients at ease within minutes of meeting him. Victoria liked him at once.
“Tell me what you noticed, Victoria,” he asked when she’d taken Dylan out of the infant seat and sat down with him on her lap.
Victoria shifted guiltily in the chair, all too conscious of Connor hovering anxiously behind her. “Dylan has been a little crabby for a couple of days.”
Connor came closer and scowled. “You never let me know.”
“I thought he was missing his parents,” she said defensively.
“He’d certainly notice that,” Chuck said. “So two days? That’s how long he’s been crabby?”
Victoria thought back to how demanding the baby had been over the weekend, how only holding him had settled him. “Maybe a little longer—from Friday perhaps. The funeral was on Thursday and he seemed fine then. But I can’t say for sure.”
Chuck made a note on the pad in front of him. “Did you notice anything else?”
“Li called me at work earlier. Dylan had a temperature and—”
“Who is Li?” Connor paced closer.
Victoria shrank into the chair. “She’s one of the caregivers in the day care center.”
“Day care center? What’s Dylan doing in a day care center?” Connor’s eyes glittered with the kind of rage she’d never seen. “We’ve never discussed putting Dylan in a day care center.”
Chuck held up a hand. “Connor, save it for later. Let’s see what’s wrong with the baby first.” The doctor rose to his feet and crossed the room to an examining couch. He gave Victoria a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t you bring Dylan here?”
Victoria felt totally wretched as she laid Dylan down on the bed. Every doubt she’d ever had about mothering crashed in on her. “I’m not doing a good job, am I?”
“You’re doing just fine. Most new mothers feel a little frazzled and uncertain when their baby becomes ill.”
He asked some more questions while he examined Dylan. Finally he said, “Have you ever had chicken pox, Victoria?”
“Chicken pox? That’s what Dylan has?”
“Certainly looks like it. It’s not common for such young babies to get chicken pox, but it does happen, and the symptoms fit—the temperature, not drinking … and see here?”
She stared down to where he pointed to a small pink dot on Dylan’s chest. “And here.” He indicated another spot, this one with a small scab.
“I saw that—I thought it was an insect bite. But shouldn’t there be more spots?”
“Not necessarily. Some cases only have a few spots here and there.”
Lifting her head, she said, “But I thought chicken pox spots were watery blisters.”
“That one,” he gestured to the pink dot, “will blister soon. Then it will scab over.”
Victoria stared at Chuck, conscious of an overwhelming sense of relief. Dylan wasn’t going to die. It wasn’t scarlet fever or convulsions or some incurable disease. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?”
“Plenty of fluids, calamine lotion and cool baths. I’ll prescribe some acetaminophen for Dylan and a mild sedative for you. Is there anyone to help you with the baby? He’ll need to stay home for a week. And you need some rest.”
Oh, no. She gave a groan. “I need to go to work.”
“I’ll give you a note.”
What would Bridget and the rest of the partners say? “I can’t, I’ve taken too much time off already.”
“Your body needs rest if you’ve been up the kind of hours I suspect this young man has been keeping.” Chuck drew a card from a holder on the nearby table. “This is for a nursing service. They’ll be able to assist you over the next week, although he can go back to the day care center once he’s better.”
“That must be where he picked this up,” Connor growled from behind her.
Victoria felt awful, and remorse set in afresh.
“He could’ve come into contact with the virus anywhere.” Chuck shrugged. “But the incubation period is ten to twenty days, so given the time he’s been at the day care center it’s highly unlikely he contracted chicken pox there.”
Victoria could’ve kissed Chuck. It wasn’t her fault. But the feeling of relief that numbed her knees turned to horror as she heard Chuck ask Connor, “Have you had chicken pox?”
Connor nodded.
“Good, then you can help Victoria.”
Connor’s angry gaze bored into her. “Don’t worry, I intend to.”
Misery sank like a dark cloud over Victoria. He would take Dylan away from her. She really didn’t need the only kind of help Connor was prepared to give.
“Thanks so much for taking us to Charles Drysdale. He’s such a nice doctor.”
Connor listened to Victoria’s polite babble as she whipped the sleeping Dylan through the front door, set the infant seat down on the white carpet and swung the door closed in Connor’s face.
Before it could click shut he threw his full weight forward against the wood. “Not so fast,” he growled, sticking a foot in the crack.
Folding her arms, she blocked the gap he’d leveraged open. “If you don’t mind I need to see to the baby.”
“I mind very much,” he said with slow menace that caused her hazel eyes to turn gold in startled fear.
“It’s late, Connor. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”
“No!” He’d done with compromise. Now they would do things his way.
He shouldered the door open. She shrank back. Damn right she should be scared. Right now he was too furious to pay much attention to her fears.
“What are you going to do tomorrow? Take more leave?”
“I can’t—I’m in the middle of …” Her voice trailed away as his frown deepened. Then she drew a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair. “To be honest, I haven’t had a chance to think what I’m going to do. Perhaps I’ll hire a nurse.”