Kristi Gold - Hotel Marchand 04 by Damage Control

pushed aside the red plastic basket containing the remains of her burger and fries. “I’m just having a difficult time imagining you changing Adam’s diapers and feeding him strained peas.”
    “It took me a while to get all that down, but I don’t think he suffered too much damage.” He laughed. “Trish wasn’t too thrilled that his first words were ‘cut’ and ‘roll ’em.’”
    “I imagine she would have preferred he’d said ‘mama’ first.”
    Renee noted another flash of sadness in his eyes, but he quickly covered it with a smile. “You know what I want to do now?”
    “I’m almost afraid to ask.” And she was, for fear that she wouldn’t be strong enough to deny him anything.
    “I want to dance with you.”
    That was definitely a first. “I didn’t realize you could dance.”
    “I’m no Fred Astaire, but I can hold my own as long as it’s a slow dance.”
    A slow dance meant having his arms around her. Being up close and very personal. Grasping for an excuse to turn down the offer, Renee glanced to her left to find the miniscule dance floor fortunately crowded. “Looks like a traffic jam to me.”
    Pete downed his beer, pushed away from the table and stood. “We’ll find a spot away from the crowd.”
    When he held out his hand, Renee considered issuing a protest. Instead, she said, “Let me go to the ladies’ room first, then I’ll give you my answer.”
    He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “And while you’re doing that, I’ll check on Adam.”
    “Good idea.” And it was. If Adam happened to be missing his uncle, then that could mean cutting the evening short, before she did something she might regret.
    Renee grabbed her purse from the chair beside her and worked her way through the tables, heading for the neon green sign that pointed the way to her refuge. When she entered the restroom and fortunately found it deserted, she snatched a paper towel from the metal holder, wet it and dabbed it over her forehead.
    Things were progressing too fast and furious. She needed to pull back, stay resolute, even if she now had some understanding of why he’d left her high and dry. She needed to remember that once he was finished scouting locations, he would leave New Orleans. Leave her again. Could she continue down the inevitable path and land back in his arms, and possibly his bed, without losing herself to him completely? But with Adam in the picture, she highly doubted they would have an opportunity to be truly alone. Adam could be her saving grace.
    After giving herself a quick mental pep talk, she left the room feeling much stronger. Yet her tenacity began to tumble when she caught sight of Pete sitting back in his chair, his hand wrapped around the beer, one thumb slowly passing up and down the label, reminding her of his touch.
    As she moved forward, Renee felt as if she walked through a waking dream, or right into a made-for-television melodrama. There he was, the handsome hero seated at the table, a man of substance beneath the pretty playboy exterior. A man who had flowed in and out of her thoughts for years, as steady as the Pacific tide. A man who had come back into her life, expecting to take up where they’d left off. And what did that make her? The foolhardy, conflicted woman engaged in a serious battle to resist him, one that she was losing.
    “Hey, sweetheart. Where are you going?” came from the bar to her left.
    Enter sleazebag with lovin’ on his mind. Renee couldn’t have scripted the scene any better.
    She raised her gaze from the beefy hand now gripping her arm to the face sporting a shaggy handlebar mustache that framed a seedy grin. She took a quick glance at Pete, who shoved the chair back and stood, ready to ride in like a knight in shining tuxedo. Well, she didn’t need a man to rescue her. She never had.
    She sent Pete a quelling look, and through a fair-maiden smile and gritted teeth, she told the barfly, “Look, I’ve had a really difficult week