She smiled, his obvious discomfiture settling her own nerves a hair or two. “Accessories, you mean?”
“Yeah. All those little touches that make a house a real home. Like your apartment.”
What a funny guy, she mused, then said gently, “It’s not the stuff that make a house a home, C. J. It’s the people who live there.”
He nodded, then apparently noticed she was about to drop the baby. “Urn … well, I suppose I should show you where you and Ethan are going to sleep.”
“Good idea. Although …” She hefted the baby toward him. “Here, he’s gettin’ heavier by the second.”
“Oh … sure.” After only a moment’s hesitation while he apparently tried to figure out the best way to make the transfer, C.J. gingerly slipped his hands under the baby’s armpits, giving her a relieved smile once the baby was securely settled against his chest, rubbing his nose into the soft gray fabric of his daddy’s shirt. C.J.’s eyes shot to Dana’s. “Does he need a tissue or something?”
Dana laughed, even as her insides did a little hop-skip at the mixture of tenderness and panic on C.J.’s face. “No, I think that means he’s sleepy. We’d better get the crib set up pretty soon so we can put him down.”
“Crib. Right. Follow me.”
C. J. loped down the hall leading off the foyer, Ethan clearly enjoying the view from this new, and much higher, vantage point. Dana trotted dutifully along behind, catching glimpses of a simply furnished dining room, a massive kitchen given to heavy use of granite and brushed steel and a family room with a billboard-sized, flat-panel TV.
“I thought we could put the baby in here,” he said, as she followed him into a large, completely empty bedroom with plush, wheat-colored carpeting and a view of the golf course … and the pool. Of course. “And then this room,” C.J. said, barely giving Dana the chance to register that he’d already bought a beautiful wooden changing table and matching chest of drawers, “is yours.” She double-stepped to catch up.
“Oh!”
Not at all what she’d expected, given the masculine minimalism in the rest of the house. And certainly the cinnabar-hued walls were a shock after the inoffensive real-estate neutrals in her own apartment. But the rich color, the honeyed pine headboard on the high double bed, the poufy, snowy-white comforter and masses of pillows, immediately brought a grin to her lips.
“Blame the decorator,” he said behind her.
“Thank the decorator, you mean,” she said, unable to resist skimming a hand across the cool, smooth surface of the comforter. She could sense him watching her; she didn’t allow herself the luxury of contemplating what he might be thinking. That he’d been invaded, most likely.
“Well,” he said. “That’s good, then. Okay. Well. Here,” he said, handing back the baby. “I’ll go bring in the rest of the stuff.”
Jiggling Ethan, she stuck her head into the adjoining bathroom, shaking her head at the expanse of marble and the multiheaded shower stall that looked far grander than anything that utilitarian had a right to look. “Heck, you can even see the entire city from the john,” she murmured to the baby, who had decided prying off her nose would be amusing. “Is that weird or what?”
But then, so was this whole setup. Moving in with a man she barely knew wasn’t exactly something she did on a regular basis. Heck, moving in with any man wasn’t something she did on any kind of basis. But still. As weird setups went, this was about as classy as they came.
Once back in the bedroom, she stopped dead at the sight of the gargantuan, charcoal-gray cat sitting smack dab in the middle of the bed. Pale green eyes—curious, bored—assessed her with unnerving calm. C.J. had a cat? A cat who undoubtedly made walls tremble when he walked through the house. A cat who—the thing yawned, sucking up half the air in the room—probably lived for catching and eating things. Like mice. Chihuahuas.
Tasty little finches.
With another yawn, the beast fell over on his side and began to clean one paw. “You are so not sleeping with me,” Dana said, then carted the baby out of the cat-infested room and back to his own, where C.J. had set up the portacrib in a corner close to one window.
“Do we need to change him or something?” C.J. asked.
“Nope. Already did that before we left the apartment, so he’s good. Okay, sweetie,” she whispered to the tiny boy, nuzzling his corn-silk head before lowering him into the crib. “It’s night-night time. Get that white blanket out of the diaper bag, would you? Yes, that’s it,” she said to C.J. Except instead of reaching for it, she said, “On second thought, why don’t you give it to him?”
“Me? Why?”
“Because it’s his ‘lovey.’ It makes him feel secure. So he’ll start associating feeling safe with you.”
“Uh, gee, Dana. I don’t know….”
“C.J.” she said firmly. “The idea’s to make him feel safe. Not you.”
Those blue eyes, gone a soft gray in the twilight, grazed hers for a moment before he nodded, then lowered the blanket into the crib. The baby grabbed it and keeled over, his eyes shutting almost immediately. C.J. stood as though paralyzed, gripping the railing.
“Good God,” he breathed, his voice littered with the shrapnel of confusion, amazement, shock. “There’s a baby sleeping in my house.”
“Now you know how I felt the past two nights. Except he didn’t do a whole lot of sleeping. Come on, we can finish up in here later.”
But when she got to the door, she turned to find C.J. still rooted to the spot, his gaze glued to the now-sleeping infant.
She opened her mouth to call him again, only to tiptoe away instead.
Hours later, C.J. lay in bed, his hands linked behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Had he ever had—what had Dana called it? A “lovey?”—when he’d been a baby? Somehow, he doubted it. Although, from what she’d said when he asked her about it over pizza a little later, most babies had something they use to soothe themselves when they were by themselves—a blanket, a stuffed toy, a small pillow.
Actually, she was a font of information, especially for someone who insisted she knew nothing, really, about taking care of babies. With a pang of sympathy, he wondered how long she’d been studying up, in anticipation of being a mother herself someday. How cheated she must have felt to have had that particular opportunity ripped from her. And yet, when he’d questioned her about it, there’d been no bitterness in her voice that he could tell. Just acceptance.
Grace, he thought it was called.
C.J. hauled himself upright, his abs having plenty to say about how long it had been since he’d even set foot inside the state-of-the-art exercise room next to his bedroom. Still, there was no denying the wonder in Dana’s eyes when she looked at Ethan. Or the longing. And watching the two of them, the way they seemed to mold themselves to each other, he’d felt … ashamed. Inadequate.
And, again, envious.
He forked his hand through his hair three times in rapid succession, it finally registering that the cat had abandoned him sometime during the night. At the same time, a tiny sound came from the baby monitor next to his bed—his nod to gallantry, since Dana had been clearly dead on her feet. In the dark, C.J. stared at it, not breathing.
There it was again. Not exactly distressed, he didn’t think, but definitely a call for attention. Sort of a questioning gurgle. On a sigh, C.J. got up, adjusted the tie on his sleep pants and plodded to the other end of the house, flicking on the hall light to peer into Ethan’s room. The wide-awake baby inside turned his head toward the light, then flipped over onto his tummy, giving C.J. a broad grin through the mesh of the portable crib. A second later, C.J. caught