He’d been lucky to find Letha, who was Voncile’s sister-in-law and, like Voncile, a widow. She’d raised three of her own children and taken care of numerous grandchildren. She was as skinny as Voncile was stout, with improbably dyed frizzy red hair and pale blue eyes. Letha was calm and loving and untroubled by Sophie’s bouts of colic and sleeplessness. But even with Letha hovering nearby, Sophie seemed to prefer Mason’s presence to her nanny’s. For the first six months after he’d brought her home, he’d fallen asleep in a chair beside her crib more nights than he could count, with the fretful infant hugged tightly to his chest.

Mason wondered what Sophie’s reaction would be to having another baby supplant her in his affections. Sibling rivalry? And how would Celia treat Sophie after her own baby was born? She’d never really seemed the maternal type to him. He’d somehow managed to sublimate that during the short time they’d been dating. Celia was fun, she was lively, she was undeniably attractive, and undeniably attracted to him.

But there was an undercurrent there, a layer of dark and cold he could never pierce, and didn’t actually care to try.

Sophie stirred and he laid a hand on her back. Her face relaxed, and he felt himself responding in kind. He wound one of the silky corkscrew curls around his finger. Finding out about Sophie’s existence had been a shock, but now he couldn’t imagine his life without her. He had to believe that he would come to feel this way about Celia’s baby, too. Even if he knew he would never actually love her the way he’d always expected he would one day love the mother of his children. That love, Mason thought, belonged to another. To Annajane.

Sophie turned slightly, and the shift exposed her pocketbook, which she’d hidden beneath her bedsheet. It had been a birthday gift from Annajane last year and had quickly become his daughter’s most treasured possession, which she rarely let out of her sight. Whenever anything small disappeared around the house, they all knew to check Sophie’s pocketbook. She was especially fond of anything shiny. More than once he’d had to retrieve from the pink plastic purse a favorite silver Mont Blanc cartridge pen, various keys, and even a small antique sterling silver penknife that had been a high school graduation gift from his grandfather.

Soon now, he thought, they would have to discourage her unauthorized acquisitions. But for now, Sophie’s hoarding of trinkets was harmless. He leaned down, planted a kiss on the top of her head, and stood up. He was suddenly exhausted.

Inside the master suite, he placed his watch, wallet, and cell phone on the bathroom vanity. He brushed his teeth and stripped to his boxers, leaving his clothing in a heap on the floor, reverting to his messy bachelor habits.

Mason dropped onto his unmade bed and pulled the sheet up at the same time he glanced at the clock radio on the nightstand. It was just after 11:00 P.M. He bunched his pillow under his head. The pillowcase was warm! He turned on his side and a pair of sinuous bare arms wrapped around his own bare shoulders.

“Surprise!” Celia whispered.

“Jesus H.!” Mason exclaimed. He sat bolt upright in the bed and switched on the lamp. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Celia blinked rapidly. “For goodness sake,” she said, laughing. “It’s not like I broke in. I have a key, remember?”

She gave him a lazy smile and raised the hem of the sheet to show him that she was completely nude. “I didn’t think you’d mind,” she said, propping herself up on one elbow to give him an even better vantage point. She reached for his hand and placed it on her right breast.

He snatched it back.

“This isn’t funny, Celia,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s not supposed to be funny, darling,” she said slowly. “It’s supposed to be a turn-on. Do you have any idea how many men fantasize about coming home and finding a nude blonde in their beds?”

“I am not one of those guys,” Mason said flatly.

She sat up in the bed, allowing the sheet to fall around her waist to give him a better understanding of the extent of her endowment. And she was admittedly gifted in that particular department. Celia’s breasts would probably be considered one of the seven wonders of the modern world to any other man with a pulse. But right now they didn’t do a thing for him. God help him. She parted her lips slightly and gave him a come-hither look that had once had an appalling effect on him. Now? Nada.

“Don’t do this,” he said.

“Do what?” She slid closer to him on the bed and casually rested her hand on his crotch. He jumped as though he’d been bitten by a rattlesnake.

He picked her hand up and dropped it onto the sheet. “That,” he said, frowning. “I’ve had a hell of a long day, and I am really not in the mood for this kind of a stunt.”

“It’s not a stunt,” she said, looking hurt. “I’m trying to remind you of why we got together in the first place. It’s been so long. I love you and I’ve missed you. Is that a crime?”

He shook his head. “Does Sophie know you’re here?”

“No,” she said. “She and Letha were both sound asleep when I let myself in an hour ago. Which reminds me. Where have you been all night? And don’t tell me you were at the office, because I checked, and your car was gone.” She leaned in closer and sniffed. “You’ve been drinking wine?”

“I was out,” Mason said. “Having dinner with Annajane.” Maybe, he thought, his mood black, if he infuriated her enough, Celia would leave.

“Oh Annajane,” Celia said with a dismissive shrug. “Did you tell her about the baby? Or are we going to let Bonnie Kelsey break the news to her?”

“She knows,” Mason said. He stood up, looked around, and saw where she’d neatly folded her clothes on the armchair at the foot of the bed. He snatched them up and threw them at her. “Come on, Celia. Get dressed. I don’t want Sophie to wake up and find you here.”

“Darling, please come back to bed and stop being such a prude,” Celia said, patting the mattress. “We’ve made love lots of times right here in this bed with her in the next room, and it never bothered you before.”

It actually had bothered him, he thought ruefully. But not enough to induce him to turn Celia out of his bed.

“I was a hypocrite,” Mason said. “That stops now.” He jerked his head in the direction of the door. “Please go.”

“And what if I won’t?” Celia said playfully. “Are you going to pick me up and bodily throw me out of the house? With Sophie and Letha sleeping right next door?” She gave a look of mock horror.

Mason’s face hardened. He stomped into the bathroom and pulled on the clothes he’d just removed. He went back to the bedroom and sat on the armchair.

“Look,” he said. “Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be. You and I are going to have to come to some kind of an arrangement.”

“I can’t wait to hear this,” Celia said. “Do explain.”

He hesitated. “I am willing to marry you, and be a father to our child. But that will be the extent of my obligation to you. I’m not in love with you, and I won’t pretend to be.”

She arched an eyebrow. “So … you’re telling me you’ll live with me, but you won’t make love to me?”

He recoiled for a moment. “If that’s how you choose to put it, yes.”

Celia laughed. “That’s so noble of you, Mason. So gentlemanly. And what if I tell you I don’t want to marry you under those conditions? In fact, what would you say if I told you I might decide not to have the baby after all?”

He felt his heart contract. “You wouldn’t do that,” Mason said. “Because that baby is the only hold you have over me.” He looked at her coolly. “I no longer kid myself that you’re infatuated with me. I realize you only got involved with me because you had some notion of a payday.”

“You have such a low opinion of yourself,” Celia said. “It never occurred to you I fell in love with you?”