And together the two of them would be just fine.

That’s what Amber repeated to herself as she strode breathlessly to the elevator and hit the button for the second floor. It didn’t matter that they were unwanted-Amber by her father, Taylor by hers.

They would survive.

As she waited, she smiled at her daughter and wondered for the thousandth time if Taylor had her daddy’s eyes. Were the light, crystal clear baby blues, the kind one could drown in, from Dax?

It still hurt, the not knowing. She’d tried, she reassured herself. The day after the earthquake, after she’d made the rash decision to go to Mexico for an extended vacation that had turned into a yearlong leave of absence, she’d attempted to see Dax.

In spite of her embarrassment at having to face the man she’d thrown herself at, she’d wanted to thank him for saving her life, for she held no illusions. She never would have survived without him, without his quick thinking and razor-sharp instincts, without his warm, safe arms and incredibly soothing voice.

She had no idea where he lived, but knew that as a fire inspector, he had to work out of the main fire house downtown. Somehow she’d summoned her courage to thank him in person, but when she’d gotten there, most of her bravery had faded in the face of reality.

She’d found him all right. He’d been in the break room with one of the firefighters. A woman. And they’d been laughing and teasing and flirting.

She’d prepared herself for anything, anything but that. Standing in the doorway watching, yearning, she thought she’d never seen anyone so open, so absolutely full of life.

He was definitely far more man than she was equipped to handle, and with her words of thanks stuck in her throat, she’d turned tail and run. Not exactly mature, but it was done. To make up for her silliness, she’d sent a thank-you card and flowers before she’d left town.

It hadn’t been until later, much later, that she’d discovered her condition.

Her pregnant condition.

The elevator doors of the medical building opened and Amber got on, straightening her shoulders and hugging Taylor close. To her credit, she had indeed again tried to reach Dax, and at that memory, she reddened with embarrassment.

She’d called his office from Mexico, not wanting anything from him, just needing to tell him. She figured she owed him that. He had a right to know.

He’d been in Montana, helping to fight the out-of-control range fires there. She’d left a message with an unsympathetic secretary, explaining where she was and only that she needed to talk to Dax.

He hadn’t returned the call.

She understood. He’d moved on.

Yet whatever his faults, he’d once been compassionate and caring to her, and because of that, he needed to hear the truth from her own lips. In person. Though it had been easier to hide all this time, she couldn’t continue it.

He had to know about Taylor.

And he would, she promised herself, now that she was back in town-just as soon as she figured out how to do it right.

The elevator doors opened and she entered a huge reception area, filled with women; young and old, sick and healthy, and very pregnant. Most had little children with them. Resigned to a long wait, Amber signed in and stood there, surveying the grumpy crowd, trying to find an empty seat. In her arms, a wide-awake Taylor shifted, stared at all the chaos around her, and let out a happy little gurgle.

“Glad someone’s so cheery,” Amber said with a helpless laugh. She dropped the heavy diaper bag to the floor and sighed in relief at the loss of the weight. Another grateful sigh came when she sank into an empty chair. Sitting had never felt so good.

But then, from across the room, a sea of waiting people between them, stood a man. Not just any man, but the one who could stop her heart cold.

Dax McCall.

And, oh God, he was staring right at her. What should she do?

All semblance of control flew out the window. So did reasoning. Sure, she could run, but even if her legs were working, running seemed so undignified. She could lie, but that was no good, either. Not only was she horrible at lying, she could never live with herself.

No, she alone had brought on this awkward situation, she would face it. Easier said than done, she thought wildly, still pierced by Dax’s unwavering, highly personal stare.

For a second she allowed herself to think-hope-he wouldn’t recognize her. After all, the last time he’d seen her, she’d been covered in dirt and debris, battered and afraid, and very unlike herself. And then after that, he’d not returned her call, nor acknowledged her card and flowers.

She should have known better. He recognized her.

Strangely enough, around them life went on. Babies cried, though not Taylor, who was blessedly silent. Parents chatted. Moms-to-be flipped through baby magazines. Medical staff buzzed noisily, going about their rounds and duties.

Amber saw and heard none of it, her gaze held prisoner by Dax’s stare. He was exactly as he’d been in her dreams-tall, powerfully built. Unforgettable. He wore snug, faded jeans that fit his athletic physique, and a plaid flannel shirt, open and untucked over a simple white T-shirt.

Plain clothes, not such a plain man.

It didn’t help that Amber could remember exactly what lay under those clothes. Though she had never actually seen him in all his naked glory, she’d felt him, every single inch, and what magnificent inches they had been. She knew his every muscle intimately, had personally run her hands over those broad shoulders, his wide chest, his flat stomach, those long, tough thighs…and what lay between.

In her mind she was back there, back beneath that desk, hot and panting for him. If she remembered right, and she was horribly certain she did, she’d actually begged him to take her. Begged.

Heat flooded her face and she was thankful he couldn’t read her mind.

Still, he stood there, strong and silent. Charismatic. Even now, as he remained frozen, there were any number of women in the room shooting him frank glances of admiration.

He didn’t appear to notice. In fact, he seemed to notice nothing but her.

Unsure, weak in the knees, Amber smiled feebly and was thankful she’d found a chair. The urge to fling her arms around his neck shocked her, and she decided it was some sort of delayed reaction to what they’d been through last year. After all, there’d been a time, a very brief time, when he’d been her entire world.

He moved toward her, and she held her breath. She saw the exact moment he registered what she was holding-or rather, whom.

Hunkering down beside her chair, he gazed with awe and wonder into Taylor’s sweet face. “Yours?” he asked.

God, that voice. It should be illegal to combine that mixture of compassion and sexuality. Her pulse beat like a drum as she nodded.

Reverently, he reached out and touched Taylor’s pink blanket.

Amber closed her eyes to the sight of him, big and powerful, kneeling by his baby. His baby. This couldn’t be happening, not like this, God, not like this. How could she still yearn for him, so much that it was a physical ache?

Her heart thundered in her chest, her blood pumping so loudly she could hardly hear herself think.

What to say? How to make this all okay?

How to make him understand?

Dammit, why hadn’t she called him again? Yes, his secretary had been rude and aloof, but what if he hadn’t received the message? How could she have been so irresponsible, just because of her own stupid fears?

“How old is she?”

“Three months. Dax…”

“At least you remembered my name.” He let out a tight smile. “I wasn’t sure there for a moment.”

Shame heated her face, but she didn’t let it show. She’d lost her control once around him. She wouldn’t do it again. “I’ve never forgotten.”

“You’ve obviously forgotten some of it, or you would have contacted me.”

“That goes both ways.”

“Do you really think I didn’t try to find you?”

A thrill shot through her, and it was completely inappropriate. “I tried, too.” But the feeble excuse faded at his expression. And then at his words.

“Three months,” he said slowly. “You said she was three months-But that would make her…Oh my God,” he said hoarsely, staring at Taylor. “Oh my God. She’s mine.”

The pain in his voice was real, very real, and Amber had never known such regret and grief in her life. “Dax.”

“How could you not tell me?” he demanded in a hushed, serrated voice. “Did I hurt you that much? Were you that unwilling? Did you need revenge?”

“No.” His hurt registered and cut like a knife to her heart. She had no idea what to do, how to make this right.

Where was her easy sophistication now, the distance she needed to pull this off? It deserted her in the face of his utterly honest reaction.

In all her life, she’d never purposely hurt another. She’d never had the power. Her father had always been impenetrable that way. Roy, her ex-fiancé, had been her father’s emotional twin, or non-emotional. She couldn’t have hurt either of them if she’d tried.

There’d been no one else, until Dax. When he hadn’t returned her call, she’d figured he was much the same as the other men in her life, but she’d been wrong. Dax wasn’t the cold, unfeeling sort, not at all, and she should have known. He was deeply caring and wildly passionate. She imagined he was that way about his work, his playtime, his life, everything.

He’d never hold back, never ruthlessly control himself.

She admired that. Admired it, and feared it.

He didn’t move, just stood staring down at his daughter with a combination of awe and fear and devastating sorrow.