Maybe Baby Read online

  Maybe Baby

  Maybe This Time

  Jolie Moore

  Also by Jolie Moore

  Maybe Baby

  Maybe Him

  Maybe Again

  Maybe Now

  Maybe You

  * * *

  Taming the Bad Boy

  The Secrets She Keeps

  Her Secret Crush

  * * *

  What Was Perfect

  What Was Lost

  What Was True

  * * *

  Release

  First Must Burn

  * * *

  Fifty First Dates

  One

  Holly Prentice wished that a flashing neon sign had put her on alert before her sex life went on hiatus. Maybe she would have paid more attention, perhaps coaxing one more orgasm from her ex. Instead, life without sex had crept up on her silently, stealthily. Two years, one month, and three days had come and gone without any physical satisfaction that she didn’t have to initiate and fulfill on her own. Not that she was counting.

  Pulling her gaze back to the antique mirror as she sat at her well-worn mahogany vanity, Holly tugged a wide-tooth comb through her wet corkscrew curls and tried to focus her thoughts on the evening ahead. Thirty-two was too damn old to be Sally Field cute. Giving up on hair taming, Holly pulled the dark strands into a loose ponytail and scrutinized herself. Despite her frizzy hair, or maybe because of it, she had to admit she looked younger than her age. Her peaches and cream complexion was smooth and unlined—her face unblemished. Her features were well proportioned. Though she had always found her generous mouth to be a little too wide and her nose more cute than aristocratic.

  Applying mascara to the lashes surrounding amber eyes the color of rich honey, she supposed that she was attractive enough. She wouldn’t let her smallish breasts or a bit of junk in the trunk keep her at home. She was too old to be insecure over the little things.

  Glancing at the brass wind-up clock on her nightstand, she hurried her preparation. It was already seven thirty. Her friend Sophie would be there any minute. She knew her best friend was right. It was time to get out among the living.

  More than a year had passed since Holly and her girlfriends made a champagne toast to her new life on the day her divorce became final. She fell out of love with Drew at least two years before she got up the courage to imagine her life without him. He was married to his career as a television executive. She had been eager to settle down, have a baby. Marriage hadn’t suited him, and when she told him she wanted more out of life than dinner by the glow of the television—or breakfast with the latest overnight ratings—he had asked for a divorce.

  Surprisingly, she was not unhappy by the sudden turn of events. In a way, it had seemed inevitable. The end of their four-year marriage was anti-climactic. She and Drew had amicably divvied up their belongings and gone their separate ways.

  They had sold the modern glass and steel showplace they’d called a home for a tidy profit, riding the crest of the last real estate wave in southern California. Holly had socked away her share of the equity for a rainy day. For now, she was happily settled in the top floor apartment of a turn-of-the-century duplex, contemplating her next move. Her next home would be permanent.

  Holly heard a soft rapping on the front door and reached down to zip up the soft, brown calfskin boots she’d slipped into before rushing to the living room entrance.

  “Girl!” Sophie cried, by way of greeting, and burst into the room. “Are you ready to party?”

  Sophie Reid had been Holly’s best friend since the day they’d met on the set of one of Drew’s nighttime dramas. Looking at the two of them, a stranger would not expect they had much in common. But Holly kept Sophie down to earth, and Sophie added a spirit of adventure to Holly’s life.

  At a time like this, Sophie was the kind of gal pal Holly needed. She was cute, friendly, and best of all, outgoing. Plus, Sophie had single-handedly taken on the onerous task of getting Holly out among the living, though Holly put on the brakes when it came to blind dating. Like a lot of her peers, she’d put up a picture and profile on popular dating web sites, but she couldn’t see dating any of the guys who responded. Half seemed to have no gainful employment, and the other half did not seem interested in her personality. They just sent nude pictures of themselves looking for a one-night hook up. Not a turn-on by any stretch of the imagination.

  “Is this okay?” Holly asked pointing to herself and her last minute clothing choice. Donned in snug jeans she had just pulled from the dryer, she had decided on a sheer cashmere sweater over a modest lace camisole. She was hoping she had achieved the casually elegant but still sexy look that dominated nightlife in Los Angeles.

  “It’s perfect,” Sophie said appreciatively. “Though I think you’re not wearing a bra.” She raised her eyebrows.

  Holly laughed, pointing at her breasts, which barely filled an A cup. “Who am I kidding? I only wear a bra to work these days, and that’s just for nipple coverage.”

  Similarly endowed, Sophie laughed and dipped her head knowingly. “No need to dim the headlights tonight,” she said laughing. More seriously, she added, “Girl, you’re looking really good these days. All that yoga agrees with you.”

  Not one to sweat it out at the overcrowded gyms that dominated L.A., Holly spent her evenings and weekends on her mat, stretching her muscles and soothing her soul. The result had been a leaner body and a stronger mind. The intense focus on the mind-body exercise had helped her cope with the emotional ups and downs from her divorce. She had tried running on the treadmill at the local gym, but she felt like a hamster on a wheel, in a too-loud disco. Plus, she did not like the insincere come-ons from the unemployed actors who never seemed to stop working out.

  Holly grabbed her small, Nova Check Burberry purse—her one nod to luxury in name brand obsessed L.A.—and locked her apartment, following Sophie through the bougainvillea-scented courtyard to her car.

  When Holly had gotten the online invite to tonight’s cocktail party, she had been set to click the “my glass is empty” button to decline when Sophie wrestled the mouse from her hand.

  “Why aren’t you going to this party? It sounds like fun.”

  Before she answered aloud, a million reasons went through her mind. The housewarming party was being given by a mutual acquaintance of her ex. She would have to navigate the dark, windy roads through the Santa Monica Mountains while studying her Thomas Guide, a driving hazard. Those seemed two excellent reasons to avoid anyone who knew her as Mrs. Drew Burke. Mostly, it would mean socializing with folks from her former married life, and she did not know if she was ready to do that.

  “I’m just not ready,” was the excuse that came to her lips.

  “That’s bull. You can’t avoid Drew forever,” Sophie had said. “They were your friends, too.”

  Before Holly could protest, Sophie had clicked “I’ll drink to that,” added herself as a guest, and sent the electronic response. “I’ll be here Saturday night to pick you up. No way are you weaseling out of this one.”

  In the car’s dark interior, Holly pulled at her curls nervously as they made their way to the party. She navigated while Sophie drove her sunflower yellow Volkswagen Beetle convertible. Once they wove their way north above Sunset, the city lights gave way to darkness. Following the sharp curves of Benedict Canyon, they made a turn onto Portola Drive, and parked behind a row of cars on the soft shoulder of the road.

  The housewarming, or more accurately, a restoration celebration, was at Asha and Hayes’ renovated house. Her old friends had purchased one of the former hunting lodges that dotted the hills and canyons of Los Angeles. Holly could appreciate the beautifully subtle lighting and landscaping of the older homes above Beverly Hills.

/>   A number of these wood cabins were built when Los Angeles was a summer vacation destination of the East Coast rich. None of them were originally suited for year round occupancy, but as Los Angeles quietly moved from one hundred thousand to four million souls in a century, every home became a year-round home.

  When she and Drew married, she wanted to purchase a house much like this one or restore one of the beautiful old Craftsman homes near the newly vibrant downtown area. Drew wanted something brand new. He would only consider a showplace of a home to wow his friends and colleagues.

  They had ended up in a boxy modern structure with floor-to-ceiling glass windows in the pricey 90210 zip code. Her ex had no sooner hired a Swedish designer than her cherished family heirlooms and comfortable furniture were relegated to permanent storage in exchange for minimalist couches and spindly chairs. She’d never felt comfortable there, so selling their home had been relatively painless. It was if she had never moved in.

  “Your friends have a nice looking place,” Sophie said, her voice shaded with admiration.

  When they walked through the open door at the top of the steep wooden stairs, Holly immediately felt old. The “thumpa, thumpa” bass beat of the music and clinking glasses made her feel like the chaperone at a college frat party. Fortunately, Asha was near the door, eliminating the need to seek out the hostess among the sea of people.

  “Asha, it looks like a new house.” Holly had to raise her voice to be heard over the music. She thrust her warehouse store bottle at the leggy hostess, hoping no one would read the label and realize she knew nothing about Spanish wine, a request of the hosts.

  “I’m so glad you could stop by,” Asha said breathily. Asha said everything breathily. She was a beautiful, tall, olive-skinned brunette, with glossy hair falling to her waist, and the faintest hint of a lilting foreign accent. “Please show yourself around. It’s small, but we like it. Tonight we have pomegranate martinis. Hayes is tending bar,” she finished, winking.

  Holly felt Sophie fidgeting behind her.

  “Asha, I’m sure you remember Sophie.”

  “Yes, lovely to see you again,” she said, air kissing Sophie’s cheeks before drifting off to mingle with other newly arriving guests.

  There seemed to be more than fifty people crammed into the small space. Sophie led the way to the farmhouse table where Hayes was shaking and pouring jewel red martinis.

  Hayes came from around the table and gave Holly a warm hug.

  “It’s so good to see you. How’s Drew?” he asked automatically before pausing, when Holly just shrugged.

  “I really stuck my foot in it, didn’t I?” Hayes said shamefacedly, resuming his pouring duties as guests snapped up the fruity drinks. “Well, he was a fool to lose you. Please, have a drink and mingle.” He added bright green lime wedges to drinks he had just mixed and handed one each to her and Sophie.

  Even though they did not move in the same social circles—it seemed that Sophie knew everyone in town—a boisterous group of below-the-line crew swept her friend into their circle, leaving Holly alone.

  Sipping her martini, Holly decided to give herself a tour of the small home. Built into the hillside, all the rooms were on the second and third floors. Holly loved the couple’s attention to detail in the remodeling effort. The freshly decorated bedrooms had gleaming oak floors, polished golden, and antique brass beds.

  Not ready to join the crowd downstairs, she tucked herself quietly into a cushioned Adirondack chair on the deck off the master bedroom. She could feel the vibration of the music and the dancing of the people on the landing just below. Holly blotted them out as she finished her martini and looked up at the few stars she could see twinkling in the night sky.

  Despite the crowd below, Holly thought she had picked an isolated spot. She was startled when Sophie came out onto the deck carrying fresh drinks.

  “I knew you’d be holed up somewhere. You should come on down. Everybody’s having a great time.”

  Holly pushed her curls back from her face and shook her head. “I’ll mingle in a bit. I’m not ready to have everyone ask me about Drew and his latest project.”

  When Sophie gave her a hard look, Holly tilted her head, relenting. “I promise. I’ll come down.” Sophie did not push, but gave her a squeeze on the shoulder before rejoining the party. Holly drew up her legs and listened to the distant howling of dogs, coyotes, or some kind of feral animals.

  She sighed audibly. It was all so hard. She had been part of Holly and Drew—or “The Burkes”—for so long, it was difficult to think of herself as a single person. God knows, she was lonely at night but could not imagine answering any of those creepy Internet dating ads or going through a series of bad blind dates in search of Mr. Right.

  When she heard footsteps coming toward the deck this time, she assumed it was Sophie coming back to cajole her into a better mood, but she was surprised instead to see the profile of a man, his face obscured by the darkness.

  From what she could see, he was hot with a capital H. Why couldn’t someone like this tall drink of water spill into her life? The casual knit shirt he wore, pulled across his broad chest, and lay across a washboard flat stomach. Was that a sexy bomber jacket, too? She loved long, thick, dark hair, and his fell over his forehead in such a way that her hands itched to brush it back. His distressed jeans hugged him in all the right places. He had bad boy written all over him. She’d always been a good girl with bad boy fantasies. Maybe it was time to end her celibate period and indulge in a few.

  Right now.

  Tonight.

  “Holly, is that you?”

  Wait, she knew that voice.

  “Nick?” she asked uncertainly.

  When he stepped fully onto the deck, Holly’s breath stuck in her throat, then hissed out slowly.

  Thank goodness.

  It was just Nick.

  She could put off a close encounter with an available member of the opposite sex for another day.

  Nick Andreis had worked with her husband before Drew had made the jump from cable television to network, and Nick had moved from TV to documentaries. But he had been more than just a colleague of her husband’s. He had been one of their good friends. She didn’t realize until that moment how much she missed his company and that of their other mutual friends. Sophie had been right about her coming to this party.

  She’d met Nick about five years before, when he was fresh out of college and her ex was mentoring him at the network. She and Drew had sort of taken Nick under their wing. He’d been that young guy who came over for home cooked meals dozens of times. She’d seen movies with Nick and palled around with him while her ex-husband had been working. None of that history could explain the sudden flutter in her heart. It wasn’t as if Nick were some attractive guy she’d just met for the first time at a party. He was just Nick, really. Still, tonight, for reasons Holly couldn’t quite put her finger on, Nick took her breath away. Had he been this handsome and virile all these years? Had she been this lonely and shamelessly hard-up before?

  Surreptitiously, she gave him a good once over. Life was obviously agreeing with him. He was all planes and angles, hard muscles, and beautiful hair. She’d always treated him like a little brother, but the feelings he inspired this evening were anything but fraternal.

  Holly put her empty martini glass on the table and stood up to hug him. When he enveloped her in his strong arms, she hoped he didn’t notice her quick intake of breath or feel the acceleration of her pulse.

  “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you,” she said, her voice muffled by his broad chest. He felt so warm and smelled wonderful—like soap and man. The embrace, which should have been customarily brief, went on a beat too long, her thoughts straying to warm nights and hot sheets.

  Pulling away, she shook her head trying to dispel her wayward thoughts. Suddenly aware of a nervousness she hadn’t felt in years around a man, she shoved her jittery hands in her back pockets. The loneliness of her self-imposed celi
bacy must be getting to her.

  “What are you doing up here all by yourself?” he asked.

  “Just enjoying the night,” she said. “It’s weird how age affects you. Suddenly you wake up one day, you’re past thirty, and it feels like music at parties is too loud and drinks are too strong.” They were each quiet for a few moments, the tension between them suddenly as thick as pea soup.

  “Holly, it’s great to see you,” Nick said breaking the silence. “You never answered any of my emails.”

  When had his voice gotten so deep? His rich baritone resonated within her, and she felt a responsive quiver far down in her stomach. She’d clearly missed Nick’s transformation from college graduate to full-fledged man.

  “I…”

  “No need to explain,” he said, seating himself in the middle of the rattan couch, drawing her cold hands from her pockets, and pulling her down next to him. “It’s just good to see you. You look great. I mean you look really good,” he said earnestly.

  Something about the way he complimented her seemed more than superficial, but she didn’t probe it and scooted a few inches from him on the couch so she could look directly into his vivid green eyes.

  “How’s your—”

  “What are you—”

  Their words crashed into each other, and they both laughed, dispelling some of the awkwardness. They’d been friends for years; she didn’t know why she was suddenly feeling uncomfortable around Nick.

  “You first,” she said, pulling her hand back and rubbing both of them together for warmth.

  He clasped her hands in his large ones again, massaging them briskly this time. “You’re cold. Here, take my jacket.”

  Before she could protest, he stood and removed the sexy-as-hell brown bomber jacket from his broad shoulders and wrapped it around her. He then rubbed her arms for good measure. His touch alone warmed her. Correction: his touch made her hot. She loved being wrapped in his jacket, even though she didn’t need it to keep her warm. As long as he was near, her body generated enough body heat to ward off the desert night chill. The jacket smelled of leather, saddle soap, and Nick. She couldn’t remember being this turned on just sitting next to, and not even touching, a man.