Borrowed Baby by Marie Ferrarella

emerging out of some deep, dark cave into the bright sunlight.
    Was he crazy? Had he lost his mind? He was babbling nonsense to himself and yet that was the way he felt, as though he were bathed in sunlight after an eternity of darkness. He sounded like a kid. Like some damned adolescent trembling on the brink of his first love.
    Love.
    He moved back from her so abruptly she nearly pitched forward.
    Liz struggled to catch her breath. "Was—was it something I said?" she asked in a hoarse whisper, her eyes wide.
    It took a minute to refocus, a long minute to fight the urge to sweep her back into his arms, to get her out of that maddening dress with its beads that pressed against his flesh, and into his bed.
    "We shouldn't be doing this."
    She refused to show her disappointment, but that didn't mean she didn't need to know what made him turn from her so suddenly. She had felt his passion. It was no less than her own. "Why?"
    Because I can't love you, he answered silently to himself. I can't love anything. It's all dead inside.
    But he couldn't tell her that.
    "Do you always have to ask questions?" he retorted.
    "It helps to clear things up. Although in your case, I'm not so sure." She fought to keep her emotions from spilling out. Hurt feelings weren't going to help.
    Almost afraid to, Liz reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. "Griff, I'd like to understand."
    He shrugged off her hand. "Understand what?"
    Because he wouldn't turn to face her, she walked around until she faced him. "What it is you're afraid of. It can't be me "
    The hell it can't. "I'm not afraid of anything. You don't know what you're talking about."
    Look at me, Griff. Look at me. "Then tell me."
    "It's late—"
    "It was late five minutes ago. That doesn't change the subject."
    "You're making something out of nothing."
    He struggled to sound as though what had just happened between them hadn't shaken him to the core of his existence, hadn't made him face his devils and come up wanting.
    "You're attractive. You're falling out of your dress," he told her, trying to pull himself back into control. "And maybe I got a little carried away."
    For a moment, she hated him for the wall he was putting between them. Glaring at him, Liz pulled up the sinking décolletage.
    "Besides, men kiss women all the time."
    He began to walk toward his bedroom. She was obviously not invited.
    Quickly, Liz stepped around in front of him and put her hand on his chest to keep him in his place. There was now fire in her eyes. "Yes, they do. But you're forgetting something."
    No, not a damn thing could be forgotten, not the way your body feels, or your mouth, or the honey in your hair. Or the fact that it will all turn to ashes if I reach for it. "What?"
    "I was there for that kiss, Foster. That wasn't 'nothing.' You didn't exactly phone it in."
    Don't, Liz. Let it go. For both our sakes. "It was purely physical."
    "Not exclusively." As she was tossing her head, the remaining pins in her hair came loose and the sea of blond silk finally tumbled down to her shoulders. He almost reached out to touch it, to run it through his fingers. He clenched his fists at his sides. "What makes you such an expert?"
    She looked him squarely in the eye, daring him to deny it. "Intuition."
    He did. "Well, your intuition is wrong."
    Liz shook her head. "I don't think so. Tell me you didn't feel anything just then."
    It was easy to say the words as long as he didn't look at her warm and tempting mouth. "I didn't feel anything."
    "I don't believe you."
    "That's your problem." He looked at her and knew he had lost. "And mine." She was more than his match. He seized her into his arms. "Damn you, anyway...."
    Laughter highlighted her eyes. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
    Because it was the only way to stop her mouth, he kissed her. Kissed her long and hard with all the loneliness and longing that he had suddenly become aware of. There were barriers within him, barriers that begged to be