AFTER THREE DAYS of attempting to keep up with Sarah, Reece was exhausted. It was the middle of the night and he should be sound asleep. Instead, he lay in an un familiar bed, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling.
How did Sarah do it all, day after day? Already he wanted to throw in the towel and beg for mercy. She got up at four-thirty, when Rose cried for a bottle. After feeding the baby and setting her in the swing, Sarah would work until the boys woke.
At that point, she would feed and dress the kids be fore dropping Justin and Johnny at school then coming home to start on the never-ending chores—laundry, doing dishes, scrubbing bathrooms, tidying the cars and action figures and trains that littered every space. Among those tasks, Sarah put in time on her clients’ projects, cared for Rose and cooked, before picking up the boys from school. The evenings were a frenzy of eating, bath ing and playing until the boys went to bed and Sarah spent another couple of hours on her business.
The routine was a delicate balance that depended on Sarah working eighteen or nineteen hours straight, then going to bed for two or three hours before the baby woke and the cycle started again. He didn’t know how she did it. Didn’t want to know, to tell the truth.
All he really wanted to know was how to fix it.
But he didn’t have a clue where to start.
Was a housekeeper the answer? A nanny? He’d hire one or the other—or both—if he thought Sarah would let him get away with it. He had the money for it, but Sarah was stubborn about things like this. After Mike left, he remembered Vanessa trying to convince Sarah to hire some help around the house. She’d said she liked to do things herself and she didn’t want some stranger taking care of her children.
But surely a cleaning person once or twice a week wouldn’t upset Sarah’s sense of independence. He’d broach the subject tomorrow.
He was drifting, halfway between sleep and wakefulness, when he heard Rose crying. Part of him wanted to roll over and ignore the sound—Sarah was good at getting the baby quickly—but guilt prodded him. Hadn’t he just decided that Sarah needed help?
The crying wasn’t stopping. In fact, it was getting louder. He sprang out of bed, reaching for the unfamiliar pajama bottoms he now kept close. He all but ran to the nursery. Something must be very wrong.
Rose was enraged. Her legs were tangled in the light blanket Sarah always covered her with and her fists flailed furiously as she struggled to roll onto her tummy.
He crossed the room, bent over the crib and picked up the angry baby. Tucking her against his chest, like Sarah had taught him, he closed his eyes in sheer relief as she gave one shuddering breath then buried her face against his neck.
He stood, cuddling Rose for long moments. Letting her sweet baby scent calm his thundering heart and panicked mind. Savoring the feel of her in his arms.
Eventually she began to squirm against him, little mewls escaping her perfect rosebud lips. She was hungry.
He would have to feed her.
Even while he wrestled with his doubts about this task and a part of him wondered where Sarah was—she never ignored the baby—he crept down the stairs with Rosie still cradled against his chest. Sarah always made a bottle before going to bed and stored it in the refrigerator. Surely he could manage to heat it up with out any major catastrophes.
Getting the bottle from the fridge without dropping the baby proved trickier than he thought. But he got it uncapped and into the microwave. As he set the appliance at the correct power and time, he experienced a sense of relief, and triumph. Maybe not rocket science, but he accomplished it.
While the bottle heated up, he changed Rosie’s diaper. It wasn’t the prettiest—or quickest—diaper change on record, but he was inordinately pleased with his effort.
He was doing this. He was taking care of his daughter, by himself. For a man who designed signature buildings all over the world, the realization was humbling. And he wasn’t finished. Rose was starting to whimper and the microwave had dinged a few minutes before.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “You’re really getting this fatherhood thing down.”
He settled into the rocking chair in Rosie’s room to feed her. There was something soothing in the ritual, something calming for him as well as the baby. Even as he worried about her choking on the milk and obsessed about getting her to burp, it felt right.
As he laid Rose in her crib, he thought about Vanessa. She should have been here. It should have been her rocking and soothing the baby. Bathing her. Feeding her. Loving her.
And that’s how it would have been. Vanessa would have cared for Rose exclusively while he continued to pour himself into his work. There would have been few shared moments and little sense they were in this parenting thing together.
The way he was already feeling with Sarah.
The thought felt wrong, disloyal, even though it was true. He did feel close to Sarah, as though they had a special connection. One he’d rarely experienced with his wife no matter how much he’d loved her.
He froze as he realized he hadn’t thought of Vanessa all day until now. How could that be? It had only been seven months. Seven months since he’d held his wife. Kissed her. Made love to her. He couldn’t be forget ting about her. Couldn’t be thinking about Sarah—with her stunning eyes and generous spirit—far too often.
Yet he was.
What kind of husband did that make him? He’d never fully supported Vanessa’s longing for a child—to the point a rift developed in their relationship—yet here he was embracing not only that child, but also her mother as if he’d never wanted to be anywhere else.
He owed Vanessa so much and had no way to make amends. The guilt assailed him. What the hell was he supposed to do?
* * *
SARAH STARED AT REECE hovering over the baby’s crib, her heart thundering in her chest.
He had taken care of the baby?
By himself?
Without her?
The pain pierced. She was no longer solely responsible for her little girl’s life. Rose’s father also had the ability to take care of her, to soothe her hurts and rock her to sleep. It was a powerful realization, one that nearly crippled Sarah.
She’d been on her own for too long—taking care of the boys, then doing the same for Rose. Taking care of Tad and her mother after her dad had left. Even taking care of Vanessa, when things got too much for her to handle. How daunting then for Sarah to admit she had someone to lean on. Someone to take the burden from her when it got too heavy—at least for as long as Reece hung around. That he was willing to take care of her, if she let him.
Maybe it was because of those thoughts that she noticed, for the first time, the play of light and shadows over Reece’s bare chest as he shifted. His very attractive, very well-muscled chest.
Maybe it was because she was looking at him as the father of her child. Not as Vanessa’s husband.
Whatever the reason was—shock, grief or simple biology—Sarah gasped as her nipples hardened. As her body responded once again to the nearness and warmth of this man.
Reece turned at her gasp, gave her a little smile that had her stomach tightening.
What was wrong with her? This was Vanessa’s husband. How could Sarah possibly, even for a second, have noticed—
“I didn’t want to wake you.” His words invaded her self-flagellation. “You’ve been so tired.”
“Thanks.” She cleared her throat, sought to control the unruly reaction of her body. “Did you feed her?” she whispered, walking closer to look at her perfect little girl.
“I did. And I changed her diaper.”
He sounded so proud. And, lord, what that domestic prowess did to the hormones rocketing through her. Hormones that reminded her how long it had been since she’d been this close to a half-naked man.
But for how long would he stay interested in playing house, the cynical little voice inside of her asked. He was helpful now, but what happened when Rose got sick, as babies did? What happened when he found a woman—one who didn’t want a baby that wasn’t her own? What happened when work—and life—interfered?
Rose and the boys and Sarah would come in last. Just like always.
Thankfully, her macabre thoughts killed the sparks of desire. Her body might not understand all the reasons Reece was so incredibly bad for her, but her mind certainly did. And at the moment, her mind was firmly in control.
“I appreciate your help.” Her voice was stilted, cold and she could see that the difference registered on Reece as she backed away from the crib. From him.
“No problem.” He kept his voice low, nearly toneless, but his eyes were filled with questions—questions she had no desire to answer. Questions she wasn’t even sure she could answer.
Retreating from the room as quickly and soundlessly as she could, Sarah headed for the safety of her room. But Reece was right behind her and he caught her elbow to stop her flight.
“Are you okay?”
“It’s the middle of the night, Reece. I’m not really at my best right now.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” His grip tightened, not to the point of pain, but definitely enough for her to know that he meant business.
The dominance of the gesture set her teeth on edge, especially as he had no right to it. This was her house. These were her children and her problems.
He was the interloper with his too-masculine chest and too-pretty face. He was the one making her hormones jump around like frogs on speed. And he was the one who had come into this equation seven months too late.
Sarah was shocked at the vehemence of her thoughts.
She had been so sure she was over this.
So where was the resistance coming from? Where had this anger been lurking?
She didn’t want to be like this, didn’t want to be so angry. She had always rolled with the punches. Even when Mike left her, six months pregnant, she hadn’t been this bitter. This furious.
So why now? Why with Reece, who had done nothing but try to help her?
Even as she told herself to calm down, to let go of the irrational burden, she felt her fury ratchet higher.
“You’re going to want to let go of me, Reece.” She spoke through her teeth as she tried to yank her elbow from his grip.
He watched her for long seconds before his fingers slowly uncurled. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”
To his credit, he did look bewildered. As if this sudden shift in their relationship—from cordial friends to something deeper, darker—was as surprising to him as it was to her.
Once again her stomach flipped, and once again she ignored it, refusing to acknowledge anything.
“Don’t do it again.” She shot him a look that said she meant business—it was the same look she’d used on Mike when he’d overstepped his boundaries with her. Then, knowing nothing good could happen if she remained in such proximity to Reece, she shut herself behind the relative safety of her bedroom door.