A Baby Affair (Parent Portal 2)

Craig Harmon had blond hair, a bit long, and she kind of liked it that way, with a little wayward piece behind his ear curling slightly. His eyes, when she finally met his gaze, were as blue as the ocean on a perfect day. No doubt blue. Pure. And they seemed to look right inside her.

She couldn’t have that.

“I just can’t help feeling that you have an ulterior motive here,” she told him, more because she felt the need to push him away than because she was ready to have this conversation. “You say you want no part of my child’s life, and yet, here you are.”

“I am halfway responsible for the life you are creating. That child is my biological responsibility.”

He wasn’t making her feel any better.

“I completely understand...and sympathize with...the tragedy you’ve been through. Losing not only your life partner, but the child you’d raised as a son...and then finding yourself powerless when you knew he was being mistreated... I get it. I really do. I just...it occurs to me that you could be trying to fill some of the holes left in your life. You lost your son because he wasn’t biologically yours, so now you’re trying connect with the child that is a result of your biological component.”

No more than that. A test-tube contribution. Science.

He bent his head, elbows on his spread knees, hands clasped.

His fingers were long, on hands that looked like they could take on the world, or a tiny hand, with equal success.

She wondered what those long legs would look like in jeans? And that torso, without an extra pound anywhere...shirtless.

She shook her head. So it was kind of pleasant to know that her offspring had a handsome father—his state of dress was nothing to her.

Nothing.

His head raised abruptly, before she could pull her gaze away. Those blue eyes caught her staring.

“All I want is freedom,” he told her. “The situation with Gavin...it just hit home...that not all kids are born to good parents. There’s so much out of my control.”

Her baby being one of them, she wanted to say. And didn’t want to say, too. The man was truly struggling. And she wasn’t a heartless bitch, even though she tried to pretend to be sometimes. Being prickly kept people away. The fewer people she let get close, the less chance she had of screwing up again. Of becoming all in and letting her actions be controlled by her feelings for another. Making choices that maybe weren’t the best ones just to keep someone else happy.

She couldn’t make Craig Harmon happy. He wasn’t her responsibility. Her life.

“I just couldn’t stop thinking how irresponsible I was to just give someone, anyone, the ability to have my child. That I could have been party to a child living with needless pain, while I’m out here living the good life. It wasn’t my goal, or intention, at all, when I donated. I just didn’t think... Like I said before, haven’t you ever done anything that you so deeply regret you can’t let it go? I’m just trying to make it right. Again, I’m here for freedom.”

Oh, God. She felt those words clear to her soul. All the way inside, as deep as it got. Hell, yes, she’d done something that she regretted so deeply she couldn’t let it go. She’d let a man she’d thought she’d loved convince her to turn her back on her sister. Her friends. She’d ditched them all because Mike had told her she had to think of him, put him first, because of the “family” they were going to be, to create, for the rest of their lives.

She’d listened so exclusively to him she’d been deaf when Angie had called, devastated and needing her, the day Duane had burst into her room and told her she was a cancer in all their lives. She knew Duane said horrible things when he was drunk. Angie knew it, too. They’d both lived through them more times than she could count.

She hadn’t known that that day was different. That Angie had been home alone with Duane. That even when he’d seen her standing there in pajama bottoms and a bra, in the process of changing, he hadn’t turned his back or left her room. He’d stood there humiliating her with verbal abuse...

Standing, she went to the pretty cherrywood desk across and down from them, grabbed the folder, which was the only nondecorative item on top. No computer screen in the library, though her laptop was on the keyboard shelf just beneath the desktop.

“Here,” she said, handing him the folder she’d only just then decided for sure to give to him. She’d been debating. Had had it ready...

“That’s everything I could think of to show you that you have no need to worry. You can see by my home that I’m financially secure. Or—” she cocked her head “—I suppose I could be living above my means, in over my head, but you can look us up. My sister and I own Feel Good, a company and brand of apparel and household items for women. We’re privately owned, but we still file profit and loss statements.”

He didn’t open the folder. Seemed more interested in her taking her seat next to him again. The look in his eye—kind...and appreciative?—made her want to smile. She nodded toward the folder instead.

“In there you’ll find how conscientious and aware I am. How willing I am to do everything possible to provide for every chance of well-being for my baby. I’ve opted to have every test I can have at this point—all the screenings and blood work, even those that were optional. I’m sure you’re far more familiar with them than I am, but all of the results are there, along with my medical records, which will show you that I live a healthy lifestyle. You also see the paperwork in there showing that I’ve already arranged to bank the cord blood, which isn’t inexpensive, and I hope that will help assure you that I am educating myself and taking all available options in the event that my baby is faced with medical challenges. I’ve got a man coming two weeks from today to install all of the baby-safe latches on my drawers and cupboards, and a security camera for the nursery that will show on a monitor in my room.”

She planned to have the baby in a portable crib in her room for the first few months, as recommended to her at the new parenting class she’d taken.

“You can take as long as you like to look over everything,” she told him. “I’m going for some juice—would you like anything? Tea? Coffee? I can do a cup at a time.”

“What kind of juice?” He seemed to be absorbed by the folder.

And she kind of felt like she’d pulled her pants down or something. Not totally in a bad way.

“I have several,” she said, not sure she was talking just about juice at that point. She had several thoughts about him. Several desires, too, all of a sudden, which were totally inappropriate and not what she was going to offer him. “Cranberry-orange, pineapple-coconut, strawberry-banana...”