The Baby Bet: The Royal MacAllister Part 3

Trip yawned as she hung her sweater on the designated hook in the rear of the kitchen of the Pop In Cafe early the next morning. Her hand lingering on the sweater, she stared into s.p.a.ce, a soft smile forming on her lips as the lilting melody of the song "Look at Us" floated dreamily through her mind.

Last night, she mused, had been...well, heavenly. She'd had such a marvelous time with Brent, had thoroughly enjoyed the entire evening. She'd even been more relaxed while in the company of her huge family.

And dancing with Brent? Oh, gracious, there were hardly words to describe how feminine, cherished and desired she'd felt, while held in Brent's embrace. The sensual mist that had encased them in their private world had been like nothing she'd experienced before.

It had taken every bit of her willpower to firmly state that Brent was to remain in the taxi when it stopped in front of her apartment building. She'd blithered on about how late it was, how early she had to get up, how she was perfectly safe going inside alone because there was a security guard on duty at a desk in the lobby. So, thank you, Brent, for a lovely time and...

And then he'd kissed her.

Trip sighed.

That kiss, she thought, had been incredible. Brent had slid his hand to the nape of her neck, lowered his head and claimed her lips with his...right there in the taxi for anyone who cared to look to be a witness. Mmm. That kiss. Heat had coursed through her with such intensity she was convinced that her bones were dissolving and she'd just slither into a puddle on the sidewalk when she attempted to walk to the door of the building.

That kiss had caused her to desire Brent Bardow to the point that she had instant visions of making sweet, slow love with him through the remaining hours of the night. She'd managed, somehow, to sort of slide out of the cab, dash across the sidewalk and into the lobby.

Oh, my, that kiss had been so...

"Say goodbye to your sweater, Alice," a voice said. "There are hungry customers in your station."

Trip jerked and returned to the reality of the shabby little cafe, pulling her hand quickly away from the silly sweater.

"Hi, Hilda," she said to a plump woman in her forties who was wearing the same bright pink uniform Trip was. "I was daydreaming, I guess. Sorry."

Hilda laughed. "You were hanging on to that sweater like it was an adult form of a security blanket."

"I just forgot to let go of it," Trip said, smiling. "I'm a tad tired this morning. Why does this place have to start serving breakfast at 6 a. m.?"

"Because that's when people get hungry," a man said, then turned bacon on a griddle. "You ladies ready to earn the big bucks I pay you?"

"Big bucks?" Hilda said with a hoot of laughter. "You're so full of bull, Poppy. This must be a labor of love on our part, because we sure aren't doing it for the money, you tightfisted b.u.m."

Poppy, an extremely skinny man in his sixties, chuckled. "Labor of love? That I know to be the truth. The ladies have been after my body since I hit p.u.b.erty. What can I say? I'm irresistible. But instead of ravis.h.i.+ng me, go wait on the customers. Shoo."

"Going, going, going," Trip said, then hurried across the room and through the swinging doors leading to the outer area of the cafe.

She zoomed past the counter where several men were sitting on stools covered in red leather, and headed for the booths she was in charge of. Then she stopped so quickly she teetered, her eyes widening.

"Brent?" she said, walking forward slowly. She stopped next to the booth where he was sitting. "What...what are you doing here?"

"Having breakfast," he said, smiling up at her.

"Here?" Trip said incredulously.

"Why not?" he said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. He retrieved the plastic-covered menu from behind the metal napkin holder. "What's good?"

"I have no idea," she said, still staring at him. "I've only eaten the pie, remember? I...you really want to have breakfast...here?"

"What I really want," he said quietly, meeting her gaze, "is to say good morning to you, see you, hear your laughter, share another kiss with you."

"Shh." Trip glanced quickly around. "Go back to the breakfast thing. Coffee?"

Brent nodded. "And a number three, with the eggs over easy."

"Right," Trip said, then turned and rushed away.

Alice was fl.u.s.tered, Brent thought, watching her. He was obviously the last person she expected to find in this crummy place this morning.

But...so, okay, he'd admit it to himself. He just didn't want to have to wait until their dinner date tonight to see Alice MacAllister. The image of her in his mind had caused him to toss and turn through the few remaining hours of the night when he'd returned to his hotel. The remembrance of the kiss...

That kiss, Brent mused, looking out the grimy window of the cafe. That kiss he'd shared with Alice in the cab had been sensational. And shared was an important word there, because Alice had returned his kiss in total abandon. Sensational. Man, oh, man, how he'd wanted her, wanted to make love with her for hours, wanted...

Brent s.h.i.+fted in the booth as heat rocketed through his body and looked up to see Alice approaching with a coffeepot and a mug. She plunked the mug on the table and began to fill it.

"I would have thought you'd be sleeping. I mean, you were suffering from jet lag, then we were out late dancing and... You should have done that, you know. Slept. Not gotten up at the crack of dawn and-"

"Alice..." Brent said.

"-and come to this place for breakfast when you could have had room service in your hotel, I a.s.sume, and rested because-"

"Alice," Brent said, grabbing a handful of napkins out of the holder, "the mug is overflowing."

"Oh!" she said. "Oh, dear me, I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention and...I'll get you a clean mug and wipe up the table and..."

"Am I upsetting you by being here?" Brent said, raising his eyebrows.

"Of course, you are, you dolt. I mean, for Pete's sake, members of royal families don't eat in this dump. And I was just thinking about you, and then here you are, and it's like I conjured you up by mentally dwelling on the kiss and the dancing to our song, and the..." She smacked her free hand against her forehead. "I can't believe I just said all that." She sighed. "Okay, fine. I'm totally mortified. I'll go get your number three, and I hope it tastes terrible."

"Our song? Hey, I like that. It's kind of teenage corny, but...I really like that. We have a special song that is ours. And I'm delighted to hear that you were thinking about me, the dancing, the kiss. We're still on the same wavelength the morning after."

"This is not a morning after," Trip whispered, leaning toward him. "You're making it sound as though we... What I mean is... You know."

"Alice," Poppy yelled through the pa.s.s-through window to the kitchen. "You want this number three, or what?"

Trip glared at Brent, spun around and stomped off, a s.h.i.+ver slithering down her spine as she heard his throaty chuckle behind her.

"Who's the hunk of stuff?" Hilda said as Trip retrieved Brent's breakfast plate from the ledge.

"A member of the royal family of the Island of Wils.h.i.+re. He's the cousin to the prince, who is the heir to the throne."

"Oh, okay," Hilda said, laughing. "Can I be Madonna? No, wait. I'll be Julia Roberts because she's got that cute guy, what's his name. Who are you this morning?"

"Me? Oh, what the heck. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. I, my dear Hilda, am Alice in Wonderland."

Hours later, refreshed from a nap and a long soak in a bubble bath, Trip smoothed the waistband of a red string sweater over her navy blue slacks.

At the cafe that morning, Brent had said he was hungry for some good ole U.S.A. pizza and they'd agreed that they would go to a pizza place for dinner. He'd then declared that his breakfast was delicious, an announcement that had caused her eyes to widen in surprise.

Trip walked from behind the decorative screens that created the sleeping area of her loft, then stopped, sweeping her gaze over the large expanse.

A chill coursed through her, and she wrapped her arms around her elbows.

No, she thought. She was not emotionally prepared, just not ready, for anyone in her family to see this. And she most definitely didn't intend to invite Brent Bardow to enter her sanctum.

Trip sank onto the puffy sofa and sighed as she leaned her head on the top and stared at the ceiling.

But, she thought, how many excuses could she come up with as to why Brent should bid her adieu out in the hall?

How many times did she wish to end an evening with the lingering feel of Brent's lips on hers, just that kiss and nothing more? How many times? None. She wanted Brent. She wanted to make love with him, hold and kiss, touch and taste him.

"You're a wanton woman, Trip MacAllister," she said, raising her head.

But she didn't care how brazen and out of character her pa.s.sion for Brent was. It was there, it was real, and it made her feel alive and vital, acutely aware of her womanliness.

She and Brent were on measured, borrowed time, with a date clearly marked on the calendar saying when he would return home. Even though she'd travel to the island a month after that, her stay there would be short, and it might even be impossible to escape from the families and be alone with each other.

She'd never been in a situation like this before, Trip mused. She'd never engaged in an affair that would be over because one of the partic.i.p.ants flew off to the other side of the world.

She was usually the one in the few-very few-relations.h.i.+ps she'd engaged in in the past to end things when they became too serious, when she began to feel pressured, smothered, was having more asked of her than she was willing, able to give.

Actually, there was nothing ordinary about this... this whatever it was...with Brent, Trip thought, getting to her feet. From the very moment she'd seen him fumbling with his tie, it was as though everything was magnified and moving at fast forward. So, it stood to reason that her determination to make love with him, a man she'd known such a short length of time, was out of the ordinary as well. That made sense. It really did.

"Fine," Trip said, planting her hands on her hips. "I want to make love with Brent, but I can't invite him into my home, and I really don't want to share that intimate act with him out in the hall."

But... but she wasn't ready to have him come through that door and see...

Trip glanced quickly at her watch, her mind racing. She ran to the door, then down the hall to the next one, knocking loudly when she arrived. The door was opened by a nice-looking man in his mid-thirties.

"Hey, Trip," he said, "what's doin'?"

"I'm about to ask you for a really big favor, Denny," she said. "I need your muscles and some s.p.a.ce in your loft to stash some stuff...now. I'm in a major rush."

"May I ask why?" Denny said.

"No."

"Got it." Denny shrugged. "Okay, whatever. Let's do it."

"Oh, thank you," Trip said, grabbing his arm and hauling him forward. "Thank you, Denny."

Trip was waiting for Brent in the lobby of the building as planned and went outside when she saw him start to get out of a taxi that had arrived at the curb.

"I'm ready to go," she said, as Brent rose to stand in front of her. "Pizza. Mmm. I'm starving, too."

"Well, okay," he said, frowning slightly, "but I would have come in and gotten you at your apartment, you know." He smiled. "My mother would give me a stern lecture on my gentlemanly manners because I didn't collect you at the door to your home."

"We won't tell her," Trip said, matching his smile. "Your mother is so nice. She's fun and-"

"Trip," a voice called, causing Trip and Brent to turn in the direction the sound had come from.

Bobby MacAllister came trotting down the street, stopped in front of them and took a much-needed breath.

"Whew, I'm sure out of shape," he said. "Okay, I can breathe again. Look, Trip, I know you told the family that we shouldn't just drop by your new place unannounced, but this is an emergency. Besides, you're not in your place, you're standing on the sidewalk outside your place, so..."

"Bobby, what's wrong? What's the emergency?"

"Oh. Diane went to the doctor today and he said the baby could come any time now. So, I went out and rented cell phones for everyone in the family who doesn't have one so I can contact you when the big event happens." He extended one hand toward Trip. "Here's your phone. Man, I'm a wreck. I am coming unglued. Diane is so calm it's driving me crazy. She just pats her stomach and tells the kid to come on out whenever it's ready. I swear, Trip, I'm not going to survive this."

Trip took the cell phone and put it in her purse. "This is a marvelous idea, Bobby. I'm...I'm very touched that you thought of me when you... thank you."

"Hey, sweet cousin," he said, "you're a very important part of this family. We've really missed having you with us all these years, and Diane and I hope you'll stay on in Ventura and be a spoil-you-rotten auntie-type person to our child. n.o.body is torked at you about the past. This is now. Okay?"

"Yes," Trip said quietly. "I'm struggling with that theory, but I'm trying to fit in, Bobby. Tell Diane I'm thinking of her. I'll be waiting for this phone to ring and...my goodness, this is exciting. This is the first time I'll be going to the hospital for the birth of one of the MacAllister babies."

"Yep. Nice to see you again, Brent. For the record, I can't say I'm surprised you're with Trip. That won't be a big news flash to anyone in the family after last night at the restaurant and... Hey, I don't have time to chat. I've got phones to deliver, then I gotta get home and have Diane hold my hand so I'll get it together. Bye."

"Bye, Bobby," Trip called, as her cousin sprinted off down the sidewalk in the direction he'd come from.

"You folks going someplace, or what?" the taxi driver yelled.

"Oops," Trip said, then slid onto the back seat of the cab. She leaned forward and gave the driver the address of the restaurant as Brent settled next to her and pulled the door closed.

"Wasn't Bobby cute? Talk about a fl.u.s.tered daddy-to-be."

"Mmm," Brent said.

"Bobby has had months to prepare for the arrival of the baby and now he's a blithering idiot. I think that's so adorable."

"Mmm."

"I wonder if it's a girl or a boy?" Trip rambled on. "If it was me, I wouldn't care either way if it was healthy and...But I don't envision myself getting married and having babies, so that's a moot point. Bobby and Diane have a long list of possible names for their firstborn. Some were very strange. I wonder what they'll-"

"Alice," Brent said quietly.

Trip turned to look at Brent questioningly. "Yes, Brent?"

"Could we back up here a bit to some of the things your cousin said?" he said. "Like...your family is not to drop by your new place. No one is holding a grudge about the past. They all hope you'll stay on in Ventura, but apparently they're not convinced you will." Brent paused. "Let's toss in why you don't see yourself marrying and having babies, too, while we're at it."

A flash of anger coursed through Trip, then kept right on going and disappeared, leaving her feeling very vulnerable and exposed. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed.

"I was hoping you wouldn't pick up on all of that," she said, not looking at Brent as she fiddled with the clasp on her purse. "I could say it's none of your business."

"Yes, you could," Brent said, nodding, "but that sure would build a high wall between us, Alice, that you'd be hiding behind. Getting to know each other better would stop right here and now. That's not good. Not good at all. But, well, it's up to you as to whether you wish to share more of who you are with me. I can't force you to do it."

"Pizza," the taxi driver said, coming to a screeching halt. "Hey, buddy, all women have secrets. You're better off not knowing what they are the majority of the time, because then you're supposed to automatically know how to deal with their feminine person, or whatever the h.e.l.l they call it."

Brent leaned forward and gave the man a bill. "Keep the change."