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“You should at least have one last fling before settling down.”
“A fling?” she repeated suspiciously. “I don’t have flings.”
“What? Never?”
“You mean like a one-night stand with a complete stranger? No. No way.”
“Not a one-night stand with a stranger. Just a fling with someone you’re attracted to—without attaching forever after, babies and a fiftieth wedding anniversary to the package.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Can’t I have a fling with someone I’m attracted to—and attach the whole package, too?”
“Sure. If you find one.”
“Good. Let’s just work on that, then.”
“Okay. You’re the boss. But I still think a fling is just what you need.”
Interesting suggestion, Tom, his conscience taunted. And just who did you have in mind for her “last fling”?
Shut up, he told himself.
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Mission: Marriage
Hannah Bernard
MILLS & BOON
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
BABIES are obnoxious, Lea decided, balancing her friend’s eleven-month-old on her lap. Yes. Totally obnoxious. Not only did bringing them into this world involve hours—if not nine months—of suffering, but once they were there, they were loud, filthy, demanding, and never gave a moment’s peace from cleaning and feeding and everything else that needed to be done. They consumed their parents’ lives, swallowed them up whole, leaving no time or energy for anything else. Then they grew up to be sullen, ungrateful, troublesome teenagers, who after years of turning their parents’ hair gray, finally became adults, left the nest, and never bothered to call or visit with their own little brats.
Yes. Babies were obnoxious.
And, God, how she wanted one.
Unexpected moisture in her eyes blurred the sight of obnoxious little Danny, and the bowl of food she was currently try to get on the inside of him. What was wrong with her? She ripped a tissue out of her purse and managed to get rid of the tears under the pretext of cleaning some of the mashed bananas from the tip of Danny’s snubby little nose.
“Everything okay?” Anne chirped from where she was loading the fridge with groceries.
“Why shouldn’t everything be okay?” Lea snapped back, nerves suddenly too fragile to deal with her friend’s inquisitions. Anne raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Danny isn’t always fond of bananas,” she said. “Sometimes he spits everything out. I was just wondering if he was behaving.”
Lea shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. Yeah, he’s eating.” Eating was one way of putting it. The mashed banana was on his face, in his downy black hair, on his chest—not to mention all over her own shirt—but she did believe some of it had made it into his mouth. From there, some of it had probably followed the standard path down to his stomach, but percentage wise, it wasn’t a lot of the original product. She added another negative thing to her I’m-better-off-without-a-baby list: inefficient eating habits.
“He tends to eat more when strangers feed him, actually,” Anne said. “Gives him something to think about other than finding new ways to make us tear our hair out in frustration.”
Lea tilted another spoonful of banana into Danny’s mouth and watched half of it slide down his chin and drop onto his colorful terry bib. The child slapped the glob with his fist, splashing some on the wall and on Lea’s face. For a moment she wondered about the status of the floor, but decided not to look down. Ignorance really was bliss. “He’s a lot of work, isn’t he?”
“Endless,” Anne sighed with a smile and plopped down in a chair on the other side of the table. “And will be even more work once he’s moving around on his own. But he’s sleeping through the night now, did I tell you?” Excitement made her nearly bounce in her seat. “Last