Borrowed Baby by Marie Ferrarella Page A

freed. He couldn't free them, couldn't let them loose. But for a moment, for one brief, shining moment, he could give in to temptation.
    He wanted to lose himself in her. To pretend that the past hadn't happened, to pretend that his life had begun the moment she had swept into it, sliding past that stop sign in that dusty, absurd little car of hers.
    But he couldn't. Not for long. The past had too good a hold on him, had been forged out of too strong a steel to give up its grip. He was a product of it.
    He was who he was and he knew that there were no happy endings, not in this life. Not for him. If you gave your heart, it was returned, more than slightly damaged and totally unwanted. He had learned that lesson over and over again until he had sworn to himself that no one and nothing would ever hurt him again.
    Especially not a woman with lips that tasted of all the sweet things he had ever longed for when he was still young enough to dream.
    She sensed the withdrawal, could feel him thinks ing.
    Don't think, damn you, feel. For once in your life, feel, she wanted to cry. But she knew she couldn't hurry him, or them. That was a step that was going to have to evolve. Just like trust.
    He took her face between his hands and looked down into her eyes. He saw his reflection mirrored there, small and lost. Yes, he could get lost there—at a price. "I think it's time for bed."
    She smiled, letting him know that she understood—even if she didn't entirely. "I'll be in Casie's room if you need me."
    He watched her go.
    I do need you, Liz. But it would be the worst thing in the world for me to give in to that.
    Quietly, he switched off the light and went to bed alone.

Chapter Eight
    Coffee?
    Was that coffee that he smeïled?
    No, he had to be still dreaming. He was in his own bed. Coffee didn't just make itself.
    As the early-morning haze of sleep began to lift from his brain, the aroma of coffee continued to seep into his room. Subconsciously, his mind related the presence of coffee to there being something different, something out of the norm happening.
    And then he remembered.
    She was still here.
    It was coffee.
    Griff bolted upright, knocking the blanket off his bare shoulders.
    There was a knock on his door just as last night came back to him. Liz. A thousand jumbled thoughts and feelings assaulted him at once. It was too early to deal with any of them. Or her. Even fresh and alert, he had difficulty dealing with her.
    "Foster, are you decent—clotheswise I mean?" It was basically a simple, honest question. Yet just the sound of her low, whiskey-smoldering voice wafting through the door unsettled him. "I already have the answer to any other meaning."
    Six-thirty in the morning and she was already making wisecracks. It figured.
    "Yeah." He ran his hand through his hair, wishing he had time to pull himself together mentally before facing her, then decided that there probably wasn't that much time available in the world. "Listen, why don't you come back in a few—? "
    She didn't wait for him to finish his sentence. The word come was all she needed. She opened the door and took a step in, then stopped. Griff was sitting up in bed, the blanket gathered down around his waist. He was naked from the waist up, possibly from the waist down, she thought as a warm, electric sensation danced through her. With his hair in his eyes and sleep etching his face, he still exuded sensuality from every pore. Liz stayed where she was, telling her pulse to settle down.
    He hadn't thought she'd come barging in, but then, he knew he should have. That she remained in the doorway seemed almost out of character, but he was grateful for it. She wasn't alone, either. On her hip, resting comfortably as if she had been created there, was Casie. The baby was obviously in better spirits than she had been last night. But it wasn't Casie who held his attention. It was Liz. She was wearing a bathrobe.
    Liz saw him staring at her. She looked down, following his