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Her body had been built to drive men insane, but she had the face of an angel. Wide-eyed, full-lipped and innocent. It was a combination that would have caused him to look twice in any circumstances.
She settled him in the chair and then positioned the baby in his arms. He liked Liz’s light touch and the way she got lost in her work. He liked her close enough to cloud his judgment.
“You’re not comfortable,” she said as he held the baby stiffly.
“No kidding. I don’t want to break her.”
“You won’t. Think of this as practice for your future family. Plus, she’s too young to judge and I won’t tell anyone if you mess up.”
“How comforting.”
After she’d fussed a few minutes, rolling up the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt, then unrolling them, she repositioned him again and reached for her sketch pad.
“Stay as still as you can,” she said as she began drawing. “Take deep breaths to relax. Don’t think about me drawing, instead think about that little girl in your arms. She’s so tiny and you’re the only person in the world she can depend upon.”
David glanced down at the baby. He’d never much thought about kids one way or the other, and he wasn’t comfortable holding this one. The only person she could depend on?
“Kid, you’re in trouble,” he muttered.
Liz chuckled. “So not true, David. You’ll be a great dad. Imagine her grown up a little. Maybe three or four. You come in the door from work and she runs toward you. Her whole face lights up with love and excitement. Her daddy’s home.”
Her voice and her words created a powerful image in his mind. He could almost see the little girl racing toward him.
“She’s seven,” Liz continued, her voice low and compelling. “You’re teaching her to throw a ball. This is your daughter and there’s no way she’s going to throw like a girl.”
He grinned. “What if I throw like a girl?”
“Oh, sure. That’s likely.”
He studied the baby he held. Her skin was soft and pale, her mouth a perfect rosebud. Tufts of hair draped across her forehead. He wondered who she was and how she’d come to be at Children’s Connection. Was she being adopted? Did she belong to one of the employees?
“She’s twelve,” Liz said. “Tall and skinny and really awkward. You can see how beautiful she’s going to be, but no one else can. The boys are teasing her and she comes home in tears. It’s been a while since she’s wanted to be daddy’s little girl, but she’s hurt and she crawls into your lap. When you hug her, she feels so small, as if the harsh words could break her. And you want to do anything you can to protect her.”
David felt himself tensing, as if there really was a preteen for him to defend. As if this child was his.
“Why the stories?” he asked.
“All questions will be answered later. Just go with me, okay?”
“Sure. I’m about to find those guys and beat the crap out of them.”
“I like that in a father. Now she’s sixteen and going to her first school dance. She’s as beautiful as you always knew she would be. But she’s growing up and slipping away and even though you know in your head she’ll always be your daughter, in your heart you feel like everything’s different.”
Without thinking, David tightened his hold on the baby. She couldn’t be grown up yet. Not so fast. Not while—
“Done,” Liz said, sounding both triumphant and slightly stunned. “This was fast, even for me. I guess I got caught up in the story, too. You can relax.”
For the first time David realized his muscles ached from holding so still. He shifted the baby against his chest and moved his arm under her.
“I’ll take her,” Liz said as she set the sketch pad down on the table and reached for the baby.
David handed her over, then glanced at the picture.
“That’s amazing,” he said honestly as he gazed at the sketch.
It was exactly as she’d described—a man’s hands holding a baby. Simple, minimalistic, yet evocative. There was power in the drawing. The man’s hands—his hands—supported the baby in such a way that he could feel the protectiveness and the love. This was not a father who would let anyone mess with his kid.
“How did you do that?” he asked. Was it the curve of the fingers, the shadows? Thirty minutes ago he’d never held a baby in his life. Based on this drawing, he’d been doing it for years.
“I drew the baby first,” Liz said as she settled the little girl into the bassinet on wheels. “While I talked, your hold on her changed. I can’t explain it, but you just connected to what I was saying. I waited until you were really into it, then drew like crazy.”
She looked up and smiled. “The talking thing is a technique I learned in a class. The instructor said the best way to get a subject to do exactly what you want is to make him feel what you want people to feel when they look at the drawing. Sounds strange, but sometimes it works.”
She picked up the sketchbook. “They’re going to love this. Which means you’re officially my model and I need you to sign a release.”
The baby whimpered. Liz shook her head.
“Someone is waking up and I’m guessing neither of us is ready to take responsibility for actually dealing with her. Let me run our star back to the nursery, then I’ll get you a release form. Oh, and I have expenses on this job. I can even pay you.”
“Money?”
“That is the generally accepted means.” Her green eyes widened with amusement and anticipation. “Did you have something else in mind?”
Where she was concerned? Absolutely. “Lunch.”
“You’re on.”
David picked a small bistro down by the river. It was not the kind of place dirt-poor, struggling commercial illustrators frequented so Liz was determined to enjoy every second. The trick was going to be focusing on something other than the man sitting opposite her. It wasn’t just that he was handsome and nice and funny, it was the way he looked at her, as if he’d just discovered something amazing about her, and the way he moved his hands when he talked. She had a real thing for his hands.
“Tell me about being a commercial illustrator,” he said when they were seated. “Is all your work freelance?”
It was late, nearly one-thirty, and most of the lunch crowd had already come and gone. She and David had the front of the restaurant to themselves.
She brushed her fingers against the thick white tablecloth and stared longingly at the basket of bread. She’d skipped breakfast, more out of financial necessity than a desire to lose weight, and she was starved.
She nodded in response to his question. “No, boss.” As the waiter appeared with a pitcher of ice water, she explained, “No regular paycheck, either. I find my own jobs, work my own hours. I’m trying to build a portfolio of just the right work, which means I’m picky about the assignments I take. Times can be lean, but I get by.”
“Where does Children’s Connection fit into your plans?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not doing it for the money. There’s very little pay. But the exposure and publicity opportunity is huge. Plus I’m a fan of what they do.”
He leaned toward her. “Were you adopted?”
“No, but my grandmother was. She was Russian. When her parents were killed during the Second World War, she had nowhere to go. Some aid workers took her in and she ended up in Poland. There she met an American nurse who wanted to bring her here.”
His dark gaze moved to her face. “So that explains the great cheekbones.”
“Aren’t you the slick one? Complimenting my appearance while getting information on my past.”
“I have my ways.”
She liked his ways. “Enough about me. What do you do?”
Before he could answer, the waiter returned to take their orders. Liz chose a club sandwich, knowing she could take at least half of it home for dinner, and added on a cup of soup. David picked the burger.
“So typically guy,” she said. “A burger and fries.”
“I have to get my fix while I can.”
She picked up her water glass. “Because you’ll soon be forbidden to eat red meat?”
“Because I’m heading to Europe in about—” He checked his watch. “Eleven hours.”
“You’re what?”
He lowered his voice. “I’m a spy and the government is sending me to Russia.”
“Oh, please.”
He grinned. “It’s half true. I really am going to Moscow, but not as a spy. I work for the State Department.”
“Like I’m buying that. How old are you?”
“Twenty-five. I was recruited out of college.” He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m a low-level flunky. Trust me, they hire guys my age. Someone has to do the grunt work.”
“An overseas assignment is hardly grunt work.” She thought about her nana. “But to see Moscow…” Someday, she promised herself. Because she wanted to and because she’d told Nana she would.
“Have you been?” he asked.
“No. We talked about going, but Nana’s health was never great. Not that there was tons of money.”
“She must be very proud of you.”
“She was.” Liz reached for the bread. “She died three years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
David’s words were a simple, expected courtesy, yet he spoke them as if he meant them. As if he understood loss.
“Thanks.” She looked at him. “So what exactly is grunt work for the State Department? I don’t guess you carry packages across the border or anything?”
“Sorry, no. But I can probably get you a decoder ring.”
She laughed. “I’d like that. Oh, and maybe some disappearing ink.”
“I’ll check the supply cabinet when I get there.”
“How long are you posted overseas?” she asked.
“It can be years. I’ll be in Moscow at least three.”
Liz felt a twinge of something low in her stomach. Regret? Maybe. She liked David more than she’d liked anyone in a long time.
“What does your family say about that?” she asked.
“I’m one of five kids, so they’re used to their children having lives. Besides, my folks are great. They want me to be happy.”
Nana would have wanted that for her, too, Liz thought fondly. Happiness and lots of babies. To her grandmother, they were forever linked. Unfortunately, Nana had only had one son and that son had only produced one child.
The waiter appeared with their meals. When he was gone, Liz picked up her soup spoon and glanced at David. “Logan, huh? As in ‘the Logans’? The rich computer company family who contribute millions to Children’s Connection?”
David sighed. “I believe it’s very important to give back.” He grinned. “At least I will when I make my fortune. For now, my folks are the generous ones.”
More than generous, she thought. She’d heard great things about the family. Based on how terrific David was, she would guess they were true.
“I assume there’s no Mrs. Logan accompanying you to Russia?” she asked.
He regarded her seriously. “Nope. Mom’s going to stay home, although she did sew my name into the collars of all my dress shirts.”
She grinned. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m not married, Liz. If I was, I wouldn’t be having lunch with you like this.”
“Good. I’m not married, either. Although there are two large ex-football players waiting for me back at the apartment.”
His mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding.”
“No, but don’t sweat it. They’re just roommates.”
“Why do I know that’s a line?”
“I have no idea. I’m telling the truth. They only have eyes for each other.”
After a lengthy lunch they tussled over the bill.
“It’s on me,” Liz said as she reached for the slip of paper David held. “It’s in exchange for you modeling for me. I’m putting it on my expense account, I swear.”
David shook his head. “It’s my treat. I don’t have lunch with a beautiful woman all that often.”
He was so lying, she thought humorously.
“I’m on to you,” she said as he handed the waiter his credit card. “You act all gentle and charming, but the truth is you’re a serious player in the man-woman game. You know all the moves and I doubt you ever spend a night home alone, except by choice.”
He winced. “That’s unfair.”
“But is it wrong?”
He looked at her and smiled. “What about you, Red?” He fingered the fringe on the brown suede jacket she’d just put on. “You play the starving artist, but with really great accessories. I’m going to guess that guys fall all over themselves to stare into those big green eyes of yours.” He lowered his voice. “Tell me that you’ve never done a quick sketch just to impress a potential conquest.”
