Prince Charming in Dress Blues (6 page)

“No,” she said firmly, and pushed herself to her feet. “Nothing’s wrong. Lisa’s just worried about me.”

“Lisa’s a born worrier.”

“Yeah, she is. But she means well.” Just as she’d meant well telling Annie to not start mooning over John Paretti. It wasn’t her fault the warning had come too late.

John frowned slightly as he studied her, and she wondered what he was thinking even while she told herself it really didn’t matter. She didn’t need to understand him. Didn’t need to know that he was a ladies’ man. Didn’t need to idly daydream or to speculate as to just what his kiss would be like.

These few days in the cabin were nothing more than stolen time. Snatched from the everyday world, they’d both been thrown into an unusual situation that would be ending all too soon.

When it ended, they’d go back to their own lives. And in reality, John Paretti would never look at her twice. Not that she would be looking, either. Of course not. She didn’t need anyone else now.

She had Jordan.

And together the two of them were the only family they’d ever need.

“W
hat’re you working on?” John came up behind her and looked over her shoulder.

Never taking her gaze from the screen, Annie said, “A new Web site for a prospective client.”

Her fingers flew over the keys, and occasionally she tapped the mouse and colors streamed across the laptop screen. Then she’d mutter, chew at her bottom lip and start all over again. And he was becoming way too fond of watching her chew that lip of hers. In fact, he was dangerously close to offering to chew it
for
her.

Reining his hormones in, he told himself to get a grip and asked, “Why’d you delete that?” as he pulled a chair up and sank onto it. “It looked good.” Not that he knew much about storks carrying babies, but it looked pretty good to him.

Now she did glance at him. “Good but not great.” She sighed and added, “And I
need
great.”

Night crouched outside at the window, but inside the cabin, warmth and light surrounded them. The baby was asleep in the next room, and Annie’d been ignoring him for too long. So, since she seemed determined to work, John had decided to help. Or at least bug her enough that she’d talk to him.

Pitiful, Paretti, he told himself. Simply pitiful. But, hey, could he help it if she was just so damned attractive? It’s not as though he was
trying
to get turned on. It just sort of happened. Anytime she came into a room, God help him. He inhaled the pure, soft scent of soap and water and told himself he’d never again be able to take a shower without thinking of how that soap smelled on her skin. Oh, he was in deep trouble here and sinking too fast to yell for help.

If he’d wanted help…which he was pretty sure he didn’t.

“What’s so special about this client?” he asked, determined to keep his mind off showers and wet bodies and tangled limbs and—damn it.

“Oh, let’s see.” She tapped one finger against her chin as if she was having to give that question some real thought. Then she looked at him. “Only that if I can land this account, it could
make
my business.”

He glanced at the screen. “Tidy Didy Diaper Service? This is a make-or-break thing?”

“Hey,” she told him, “it’s a big company. If they hire me to update their site and maintain it for them, not only is it a personal and professional coup, the money will make my checkbook look
way
less pathetic.”

Okay, now he felt guilty. Here he was thinking only
of getting her into bed, and she was actually thinking of her future. He shouldn’t be taking shots at what looked like a silly company, when it clearly meant everything to Annie. As a single mother, of course she’d be interested in doing whatever it took to grow her company and her bank account. Determination glittered in her eyes, and he thought he saw just a shadow of fear there, too. A fear that she wouldn’t succeed. That she might let down the baby who was so dependent on her. And his insides twisted. She shouldn’t be having to do this alone. That ex-boyfriend of hers should be doing his share, too. And like an idiot, he said so.

“Why don’t you make Jordan’s father pay child support at least?”

She went perfectly still. And after a long, slow moment or two, she swiveled her head to look at him. Those deep-blue eyes of hers looked hard as marbles. “I don’t want anything from him. I don’t
need
anything from him.”

“What about what Jordan needs?” he asked before he could think better of it.

She damn near flinched at the unspoken accusation, and an arrow of shame shot right through his heart. “I’m her mother. I’ll give her what she needs.”

“By working yourself to death for it?”

A short, sharp laugh shot from her throat. “To death? I’m sitting here in my robe at a kitchen table, tapping on some keys. For the first time in days, I might add.”

Okay fine, so this was the first time he’d seen her actually working. But for God’s sake. She just had a baby. “Yeah, well,” he said pointedly, “you’ve been fairly busy.”

“True. And now I’m working. So if you don’t mind…”
She turned around again and concentrated on the screen and the flickering logo of a weirdly dancing diaper she’d just created.

“You know…” he said as he watched the screen from over her shoulder.

“What?” Irritation colored that one word and a smarter man might have backed off. But he’d been raised in an Italian household, where shouting came as easily as hugging. A good fight or two never hurt anything.

“Maybe it would be better to have a dancing baby instead of a diaper?”

She slid him a glance. “He’s not selling babies. He’s selling diapers.”

“True, but babies
wear
them.”

“Yes, but—”

“That empty diaper just looks too weird. Like there’s an invisible baby or something.” He gave a mock shudder.

“I thought you were a Marine, not an advertising executive.”

“Hey,” he said, leaning his forearm on the back of her chair, “I’m a consumer.”

“Of diapers?”

“It was just a suggestion.” Why did she have to smell so damn good? Lifting one hand, he took a piece of her hair between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed it gently. It felt like silk, all clean and soft and shining. And he wondered what in the hell she’d say if she knew he was just enjoying the feel of her hair against his skin. At that thought, he moved his hand and sat back, deliberately keeping a bit more distance between them. Not enough distance, he told himself, but silently admitted that to feel safe right now, he’d have to be in
California with her in Rhode Island, and that wasn’t likely.

“A baby, huh?” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

“Why not?”

“Worth a try,” she said and hit a few more keys. When nothing happened, she muttered an oath, hissed at the computer and slumped back in her chair, arms folded across her chest.

“Problem?”

“This stupid computer just isn’t fast enough.”

“Why use it then?” he asked as his gaze automatically went to the bottom lefthand corner of the screen’s frame, searching for the computer’s brand name. When he saw it, he winced.

“Because it’s the best,” she grumbled, and sat up to poke at a couple more keys.

“The best, huh? But not fast enough?”

“Nope.” She tossed him a glance, then went back to the keyboard, her fingers flying like a concert pianist at Carnegie Hall. “Still, the P3 has better graphics, easier menus and a bigger memory than most of its class.”

“Is that right?” John asked, smiling to himself.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, tapping and clicking and humming to herself. “With a little more work and a bit more imagination, the P3 could take over the lion’s share of the personal computer industry.”

“Really?” Oh, he was enjoying this.

“It’s a relatively small company right now,” she was saying. “Family held. What they need is to expand. Get some fresh blood in there.”

“Younger blood, you mean.”

“Not necessarily, though from what I hear, the old
man who founded the company doesn’t take kindly to change.”

“How do you know so much about it?” he wondered aloud.

“I read the business section of the paper,” she said. “Come on, sweetheart,” she cooed to the computer, “one little baby, that’s all I’m asking. Anyway,” she went on talking as she worked, “apparently the old man wants his sons to take over, but they’re not interested, and right now, he’s trying to protect himself from a takeover. Though why his sons aren’t interested is beyond me.”

“Actually, that’s the easy part,” John told her. “None of us wants to leave the Corps for a desk job peddling computers.”

Annie’s fingers stopped dead on the keyboard, her right index finger poised over the letter
h.
“Us,” he’d said. None of
us.
P3. Paretti Computer Corporation. John Paretti.

Oh, good God.

Slowly she turned around to look at him, hoping she was wrong. But one look into his pale-blue eyes, dancing with suppressed humor, told her she wasn’t.

“You’re one of
those
Parettis?” she asked unnecessarily.

“Yep. Surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Sorry about that.”

He didn’t
look
sorry. “You could have said something.”

“I don’t usually open up conversations by saying, ‘I’m John Paretti, of the computer Paretti’s.’”

“Okay, fine,” she said, willing to give him that much.
“But once I started complaining about the stupid thing, you could have said something.”

“Why? I don’t make ‘em.”

“Your father does.”

“Don’t I know it. And he’s pretty much just how you described him, too. Hardheaded. Wants his own way. Doesn’t like change. Wants his sons to come into the company and take it over. Fighting off bigger names who want to swallow the company.”

“And this doesn’t interest you?” Complete bafflement colored her tone. She heard it herself. But how could she help it? What kind of person didn’t want to be involved in the family business? Especially
this
business?

He frowned slightly. “Not until recently.”

“What changed?”

John pushed up from the chair, walked across the small kitchen floor to the counter and turned around, leaning his backside against it. Folding his arms across his chest, he looked at her, and Annie tried not to notice how well that green sweater fit him. Or just how long his legs looked, encased in those worn jeans of his. Heck, if he’d been wearing cowboy boots instead of tennis shoes, she might have climaxed just looking at him.

Whoops! Where had that come from?

Then he started talking, and she told herself to concentrate on his voice and his words.

“My dad’s getting older. Although—” he paused and sighed “—I can’t see him
ever
retiring. The point is, he needs us. Or at least one of us.”

He didn’t sound very happy about that at all. “And I’m guessing that you’re considering throwing yourself on the sacrificial altar?”

He winced slightly and shook his head. “Okay, it might not be that bad, but still…”

“That bad?” Annie got up, too, and walked closer to him. Not
too
close, mind you. But close enough. “How can you not be interested in building that company? P3 is the best new computer to have come out in years.”

“So Dad’s always telling us,” he said wryly.

“He’s right,” she said quickly.

“Excuse me,” he told her, “weren’t you just cussing at it a minute ago?”

She waved that aside. Everyone cursed at machinery. Technology was the devil. Still, it beat the heck out of chipping messages into a stone tablet with a hammer and drill. “Yes, but I didn’t mean it. And your father built this company himself?”

“Yep,” John said and let his head fall back. Staring at the ceiling, he went on. “Worked nights and weekends until he had it perfected. Then got a loan to start up the business, then left the Corps to run it. Now he wants
us
to leave the Corps to take over for him.”

“And you don’t want to.”

“Hell,
none
of us wants to,” John said. “This company isn’t our dream. It’s Dad’s. We
like
being Marines.”

“But it’s your family business. How can you
not
want to be a part of it?”

He tilted his head to one side, studied her for a long moment, then asked, “And are you just busting to get into Daddy’s archaeological digs?”

Direct hit. “No, but that’s not really the same thing, is it?”

“Why?” he countered. “Because archaeology doesn’t interest you.”

“Exactly.”

“Yeah, well,” he told her flatly, “computers don’t interest me.”

“To each his own, I guess,” she said, though she really couldn’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to be in on the ground floor of something as exciting as the computer industry. After all, the future was in technology, whether people liked it or not.

“That’s what I always thought,” John said, shifting his gaze until he was looking right at her. “But lately I’ve been thinking that one of us owes it to the old man to do what he wants.”

“Meaning you,” she said, instinctively knowing that John had already decided that he would be the brother to give up his dream for their father’s sake.

He shrugged, but his eyes couldn’t quite carry off the nonchalant attitude. There were shadows there. Deep, dark shadows, and she knew he wasn’t at all pleased with the decision he was going to make. “Sam and Nick are married now. Starting families.”

“Then wouldn’t one of them make the more logical choice to leave the Marines and settle down?”

He laughed to himself at the notion of either one of his brothers as civilians. Not a chance. “No. They’ve already worked out the logistics of married life in the Corps. Their wives are with them on it. No sense in disrupting lots of lives when I’m by myself.”

“Even if you’re miserable?” she asked, seeing the truth in his face, his eyes.

“Hell, misery doesn’t last forever. Maybe once I figure out how to work the damn computer, it won’t be so bad running the show.”

“Amazing,” she said, thoughts whirling through her mind. Her own family couldn’t be bothered to call and
check on her. The last time she’d spoken to them, she’d been four months pregnant. Their disapproval of their unmarried, pregnant daughter had been palpable even on the phone lines, and they’d underlined that disapproval by not bothering to call her since.

Yet here John was, with a family that wanted him. Needed him. And he was doing everything he could to avoid being involved.

“I suppose you’d jump at the chance to run P3.”

“You bet,” she said instantly. Then a moment later she asked, “I’ve always wondered. Why P3? How’d your father come up with that name?”

“
P
for Paretti and the
3
for his sons.”

“Ahh…”

He nodded. “Masters at guilt, we Italians. Even when he was starting out, I guess he figured that naming the computer after us would bring us all in on it.”

“And he was wrong.”

“Up until now.”

“So you’ve already made up your mind,” she said, watching his face. “You’re going to leave the Marine Corps.”