Catherine Mann - Beachcombers 01 - Baby Im Yours.pdf - Catherine Mann - SilverWitch

MannPDFBaby, I’m Yours

CATHERINE MANN

Baby, I’m Yours

Published by Silhouette Books

America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

To Melissa Jeglinski—a gifted editor, a wonderful person and a treasured friend. Thank you for

everything!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

About the Author

Coming Next Month

Prologue

“A h, hell, it broke.”

The second the stunned words fell out of Vic Jansen’s mouth he wanted to recall them for something

more composed. But what was the mannerly way to tell the naked woman straddling his lap that their

birth control had suffered a catastrophic failure?

This wasn’t supposed to happen to two over-thirty adults.

“What do you mean, it broke? ” Claire’s horrified whisper steamed over his chest as they sat tangled

together. The steamy gust stirred a fire down south when he should have been long past recovery after

their weekend of marathon sex.

Lifting her off and to the side, Vic squinted in the darkness to see his friend of six months and lover of

three days. Years of veterinary practice had prepped him for hostile horses and spitting-mad cats, but at

the moment he felt damned unprepared to cope with Claire McDermott and a possible pregnancy.

Coping with memories of the daughter he’d lost proved even tougher. He shoved aside images of pigtails,

Barbie dolls—funeral wreaths.

“Exactly what I said.” He swiped a wrist across his forehead, flinging aside sweat in spite of the

forty-degree weather of a southern January evening. “The condom tore.”

“There’s absolutely no way it should have broken.” Panic pitching her voice higher, breathier, Claire

snatched her dress from beside her feet and clutched it to her bare breasts he wanted to unveil and kiss

all over again. “I know they only have a ninety-six percent reliability factor, but that four percent

encompasses idiots who don’t know how to use the things.”

“Well, lady, tonight we two idiots just blew those stats right out of the water—as it were.” Vic gripped

the steel rim of the bass boat, the plastic fishing chair chilling his skin. “Be still, will ya? You’re going to tip

us over.”

Claire puffed a breath of air upward, blowing away a lank lock dangling in her face, puffed again, then

finally combed shaking fingers through her tousled caramel-colored hair. He couldn’t let himself think

about threading his hands through her silky strands as he held her curvy body against his or he would lose

his focus.

She untangled a gelatinous lure and flicked it onto the tackle box. “Are you sure you didn’t catch the

condom on a hook or something?”

“Jeez, Claire.” Vic clasped her shoulders, her soft scented skin sending a fresh jolt of heat through him.

“Don’t you think I would know if I had a hook in it?”

“Good point.” She dodged the cooler, leaning over the seat, which displayed a flash of tempting flesh

before she straightened, her lacy bra and panties in hand. “That’s the last time you get to supply birth

control.”

“I feel compelled to point out that it’s one I snagged from your bedside table—” he tugged on his jeans “

—since we’d used up mine.”

The slap and crash of waves against the shore filled the silence while Claire shimmied into her underwear.

Vic grimaced at her extended quiet. Theirs had been an unlikely friendship of opposites—classic Claire

with all her pretty lace, and he with his flannel, rough-around-the-edges ways. But a friendship he’d come

to value in the past six months since he’d sold his vet practice in North Dakota and relocated to

Charleston, South Carolina, away from all reminders of his daughter and ex-wife.

Yet, in spite of his vow for a rootless existence living on a sailboat, more and more often he’d found

himself walking across the marina dock to Beachcombers restaurant for Claire’s home-cooked meal, a

glass of sweet tea—and her smile.

Claire suddenly seemed overly interested in how her dress buttoned up the front. “Those condoms in my

bedside table were old. I, uh, haven’t been with anyone for a long time.”

“Really?”

She swayed toward him. “Really.”

Damn, she never failed to capsize his control with her unexpected moments of vulnerability peeking

through her unflappable shield. Vic pulled her against his chest. She resisted half-heartedly, then relented.

He smoothed his hands over her back, down her spine while resisting the tempting curve of her bottom.

“I don’t have any diseases you need to worry about, if that makes you feel better.”

“A little.” Her full lips curved into a hesitant smile against his skin. “Me neither, by the way, no surprise

given my non-existent sex life…up to now.”

She eased free, the boat lurching in response. Once steadied, Claire slipped her feet into her pumps.

“What are the odds, given the timing of your cycle?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Are you sure? Never mind.” Stupid question.

The risk of having another kid scared the pants right back off him, but Claire deserved some kind of

reassurance. “Let’s take this a day at a time. There’s no need to get in a frenzy about something that may

not even happen. We’ll discuss it when and if we need to, but I’ll be there for you.”

Claire stared back at him in the dark, waiting…for what? Finally, she shook her head. “Like you said, we

’ll discuss it later.”

She snatched up her sweater and leaped from the boat onto the asphalt.

Sliding open the garage door, she revealed the marina parking lot and her restaurant/home up the hill

overlooking docked crafts bobbing in the harbor.

They’d been on their way to his forty-two-foot sailboat when they’d been delayed by a spontaneous

make-out session against a string of garages for marina residents. And hey, since he owned the truck and

bass boat inside, why wait?

Zipping his pants, he tracked her sweet butt hauling up the planked walkway toward the two-story

restaurant she co-owned with her sisters. A few leftover Christmas lights illuminated her double-time

progress away from him. He considered simply letting her go and giving them both some space. But even

as frustrated as he was over her deep freeze, he owed Claire for challenging him back to life after years

of numbed emotions.

That meant he couldn’t let her walk away scared.

Snagging his shirt, he vaulted over the side of the boat. He stuffed his arms through the flannel softness

that now carried Claire’s lilac scent, along with a few ripped buttonholes from her frantic hands.

“Hold on.” He dashed after her, the tails of his open shirt flapping behind him.

The need for a better end to their weekend raked aside everything else, including shoes. He thudded

barefoot past the marina office onto her property, across the patchy sandy lawn.

Toes darn-near frostbitten, Vic made it to her front porch a hairbreadth behind her. He braced a hand

just beside her and rested his cheek against the back of her head, nuzzling against her tangled hair. She

tensed, but she didn’t move, gasping in the humid night.

His brain scrambled for the right words, a way to shift them back to what they’d shared before he’d

ruined it by taking her to bed—or to his boat. “I know you needed me to say something, and I fell short

of the mark.”

The tense brace of her shoulders sent alarms through him. Claire was beyond upset. She was in a blind

panic. What fears of her own was she carrying around that she hadn’t shared with him any more than he’

d told her about his?

And what a time to realize they hadn’t been friends in any meaningful manner after all. Just meal-sharing

acquaintances who’d gotten naked together. “God almighty, lady, you’re the most exasperating and

incredible woman I’ve ever met. But I’m not very good at the pretty words.”

Slowly, she turned, tilting her chin defensively. She reached, her hand hovering between them almost

touching his bare chest, but settling on the open shirt instead. “I need to be alone right now. But I promise

I’ll let you know if I’m…”

She didn’t need to finish. Her shuttered expression said it all. They couldn’t go back to what little they’d

had. Disappointment chugged through him, more than he would have expected three short days ago.

His hands slid from her face. “Okay, I’ll be waiting to hear from you then. You know where to find me.”

He stepped back from the porch, Claire, her smile. Déjà vu swept over him as she sprinted up the steps

and into her antebellum restaurant/home. How many times would he watch people he cared about fade

from his life?

Damned if numb wasn’t better after all.

One

Charleston, S.C.: Three-and-a-half months later

“C laire, if you handle a man with as much finesse as you’re using on that swizzle stick, it’s no wonder

you sleep alone.”

Tucked in a corner of her bustling restaurant kitchen, Claire surrendered the pitcher of mint juleps to her

sister before she sloshed ice onto the counter. “Swizzle stick? Either you’re more innocent than you let on

or you’ve just insulted some poor guy in a big—or would that be little?—way.”

“Guilty as charged,” Starr answered ambiguously as she assumed control of the fragrant mixed drink,

sprinkling fresh mint leaves on top before passing it over to a waitress.

Claire picked through her herb garden in the open window while stifling the urge to blurt how she’d

handled one man a little too well three-and-a-half months ago. Now, she had a permanent reminder of

that weekend-long sensual feast last January.

Her hands shook as she snagged the empty bowl for parsley sprigs. “I’m too busy for a love life.”

Today in particular, she had enough on her plate feeding the Beachcombers Bar and Grill Saturday lunch

crowd while prepping for the packed week of catering events. Even with the help of her two foster

sisters, co-owners in the business, soon she would be busier still with a baby on her hip. Not that she

intended to let that information leak to the kitchen full of staff clanging pots and filling orders.

She had to tell the baby’s daddy first.

And she would—after this week passed and she could compose herself with a long bubble bath. She’d

only been delaying telling Vic out of practicality. Right? Ever reasonable, she always made the practical

decision.

Except for once, and that whopper had landed her in the same shoes as her pregnant unwed mama.

However, unlike her mama, Claire was blessed with resources and choices. No one would force her to

hand over her child.

Starr rolled silverware inside napkins with lightning speed, pouring more of that frenetic energy into

swaying along with beach music thrumming through the sound system. “Who said anything about love? I’

m only talking about you getting out more, dating. Pencil in some fun time on that perfectly ordered daily

agenda of yours.”

Even Starr’s dark hair snapped with energy, curls straining to pop free from the constraining long braid

while Claire felt more like one of the wrung-out rags in the industrial sink.

“I am enjoying life since I love my work.” Huffing a lank wisp off her forehead, she scooched closer to

the counter to make way for a waiter balancing a cornbread-stuffed catfish special.

Vic’s favorite.

Her hand drifted downward. She stopped shy of her stomach, shooting a quick glance at her younger

foster sister. Starr’s eagle eye missed nothing, a skill gained from her time on the streets before she

landed in the same foster home as Claire and their other foster sister, Ashley.

Claire eyed the swinging door with longing. If only she could dash out of the humid kitchen, away from

too-discerning questions. But she couldn’t risk leaving for at least an hour since Vic Jansen had parked

his fine butt in her dining room for lunch.

“Work,” Starr snorted. “Work won’t sizzle you with a look or have you ready to climb out of your skin

after a kiss.”

Do not think of Vic. Vic’s kiss. Vic’s hard-muscled body under her hands, his tall strength covering her

with such seductive gentleness and utter confidence in every deep stroke.

Uh-oh. Hormone alert.

Claire clipped a fistful of chives, ran them under the faucet and fanned them along the butcher block.

“Cooking is relaxing.” Order in the middle of chaos. “I had a blast decorating that baby shower cake last

night, listening to the spring rain patter.”

Catherine Mann - Beachcombers 01 - Baby Im Yours.pdf

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