One Night With You (The Heart of the City Series, Book 1)

By Candace Schuler

For Desi, it was a chance to make her fantasies come true. For Jake, it was a night of mind-blowing sex. It wasn’t supposed to lead to anything more.

Now Desi and Jake must decide if that one night of passion—and a baby girl—can turn into a lifetime of love.

Previously titled: Desire's Child

REVIEWS:
"Top read of the month... nicely executed." ~Romantic Times
"Candace Schuler is a maestro at developing real characters." ~Affaire de Coeur

HEART IN THE CITY, in series order
One Night With You
The Night Remembers
All Night Long

OTHER TITLES by Candace Schuler
Lovers & Strangers (Hollywood Nights, Book 1)
Seduced & Betrayed (Hollywood Nights, Book 2)
Passion & Scandal (Hollywood Nights, Book 3)

• Language: English
• Publisher: ePublishing Works
• Release date: Jul 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781614174318

Candace Schuler

Candace credits her husband, Joe, and her innate love of writing with starting her on a career as a romance author. It was Joe's comments on a letter describing a trip to New Orleans that made her realize she might actually have the talent necessary to write something other than office memos and computer manuals. When her first book made number seven on Waldenbooks' Romance Bestseller List at about the same time her second novel was contracted, Candace decided to chuck the nine-to-five business world in favor of a freelance writing career. It turned out to the best decision she'd made since marrying Joe. "Most of the time," she says, "I get to work at home with the cat sleeping in the sun on the window ledge above my desk, and the dog curled up in her bed beside it. What could be better?" Candace was born in Santa Cruz, California, but spent most of her childhood years on a farm in Hayward (a little town across the bay from San Francisco), where she milked a cow and fed the chickens every morning before going to school. Since meeting and marrying Joe - after a two-month whirlwind courtship! - Candace has lived in almost every corner of the United States. Places she called home include a schooner anchored in Hawaii's Ala Wai harbor, a loft in New York's Greenwich Village, the Maryland suburbs outside Washington, D.C., and the foot of Mount Bachelor in Oregon. She's also resided deep in the heart of Dallas, Texas, and in the home of Thoroughbreds and blue grass in Louisville, Kentucky, as well as the heart of California's wine country in the beautiful Sonoma Valley. Currently, home is the frequently frozen tundra of Minnesota, where she and husband Joe live with one outrageously spoiled cat and an 80-pound Doberman who thinks she's a lap dog. Candace and Joe have also traveled extensively, visiting many foreign and exotic locales. In between packing and unpacking, Candace has written 26 contemporary romance novels and kept up a thriving career as a freelance technical writer. She has also written a cookbook (as yet unpublished) based on her father's 50-plus years of experience as a professional chef. When she's not writing or traveling, Candace enjoys reading, gardening, cooking, hosting dinner parties, and going to plays, concerts, and movies. She also likes to attend classes and seminars. "The more offbeat, the better," she says, "because you never know when some interesting bit of information will come in handy for a new book." Among her more memorable classes were: How to Be a Private Detective, Limousine Driver Training, Handgun Use, Chinese Cooking, and Past Life Regression. "All subjects," she says, "which have - or will - come up in one of my books. For me, research is one of the special joys of a writing career. I love really digging into a subject and learning new things." Candace also loves to hear from her fans and makes it a point to answer every letter and email. You can reach here through her web site at www.CandaceSchuler.com

Book preview

One Night With You

The Heart of the City Series

Book One

by

Candace Schuler

Bestselling, award-winning Author

ONE NIGHT WITH YOU

Reviews & Accolades

Top read... nicely executed.

~Romantic Times

Candace Schuler is a maestro at developing real characters.

~Affaire de Coeur

Previously titled: Desire's Child

Published by ePublishing Works!

www.epublishingworks.com

ISBN: 978-1-61417-431-1

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Please Note

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Chapter 1

Go home, urged Dr. Craig gently when Desi just sat there, stunned at his news. Give yourself a few days to think it over. But not too long. Just a few days and call me when you make a decision.

You're sure? was all Desi could say, her wide blue eyes raised hopefully to his.

Positive, he said.

Desi's hand moved unconsciously to her stomach, feeling for the roundness that was not yet evident, an expression that mingled worry and wonderment creasing her smooth forehead.

You really had no idea, did you, Desi?

"Well, that's not quite true, she admitted, feeling like a prize fool. I mean, somewhere in the back of my mind I realized it was a possibility. But that's all. Just a.... Her voice faded for a moment. Just a very remote possibility. I know that must sound incredibly naïve or just plain stupid but— she waved a graceful hand distractedly —it just never occurred to me in any real sense. No, that's not true, either. I didn't want to see it. I made excuses. I mean, I'm on birth control and it was only that once... Her voice trailed off and she colored in embarrassment because it had not been just one isolated incident as her words implied, but several uncounted times during one glorious abandoned weekend. That was what she had meant by once"—one weekend.

Oh, Lord, how could she have been so incredibly stupid?

No birth control is 100% effective, said Dr. Craig gently.

I know that, Desi said. I do know that, but...well, you know I've never had what anyone would call a regular cycle and I haven't been sick in the mornings or anything, so when I didn't get my period I just thought it was just business as usual, she said, or that it was something terminal. You know, like cancer or something. She looked up then, her inborn irrepressible sense of humor coming to her aid. In a way it's a relief. People don't usually die from being pregnant. She laughed, a bright, sharp sound, not at all like her usual warm chuckle. Hysteria hovered on the edge, waiting, and she stopped abruptly, refusing to let the emotion rise any further.

Well, thank you for the extra time today, Dr. Craig, she said, rising, and slung the strap of a large, well-worn leather satchel over her shoulder.

Dr. Craig came around the desk and captured her hands as they fidgeted, adjusting the bright-striped knit scarf looped around her neck, smoothing the front of her navy sweater over the still nonexistent swell of her stomach.

Call me in a few days, he said. If you're going to terminate the pregnancy, the earlier you do it, the better.

Desi shook her head. No, she said, surprising herself with the vehemence of the word. She shook her head again, pulling her hands away from his. No.

Don't say no yet, he urged. Think about it. You're young, Desi, with your whole life in front of you. It sounds trite, I know, but being trite doesn't make it any less true. Don't let one foolish mistake ruin your life.

It wasn't a mistake, she flared. And she blushed again, feeling the heat rise from her throat, staining her pale redhead's complexion with betraying color. It was foolish, I admit that, but... She shrugged and reached for the doorknob. How could she explain to this kind caring man, who had known her all her life, what had happened?

She simply couldn't look at this pregnancy as a mistake. It would mean that everything leading up to it had been a mistake, too. And it wasn't. She had gone into it, grabbing at a dream, with her eyes wide open. Well, almost wide open, she admitted ruefully, a small smile of self-deprecation curving her lips. Because not for one brief minute had she ever really considered the possible consequences. Foolish, yes, but not a mistake. Never could she admit that it had been a mistake.

Will the father... I mean are you contemplating marriage then? asked Dr. Craig.

Marriage? Desi turned in the doorway, honestly amused, and a warm chuckle escaped her. No, 'fraid not. He doesn't know and I'm not going to tell him.

But surely, Desi, he has a right to know.

Not in this case, she said. No promises were made or expected. Not on either side. This is strictly my problem, okay?

Okay, he conceded reluctantly, recognizing the stubborn light in her blue eyes. Stubbornness, pride, willfulness—call it what you will, it had gotten her, uncomplaining, through childhood bumps and scrapes, broken bones and a long convalescence after a bad car accident in her teens. He hoped it would get her through this.

Think about what I've said, he called after her. She half turned, smiled and shook her head, causing wavy tendrils of coppery hair to bounce gently against her pale cheeks. Then see my nurse about a referral, you stubborn child, he said, turning back toward his office.

A referral? Desi frowned, her voice halting him.

You still live in San Francisco, don't you?

Desi nodded.

Well, then, you're going to need a local doctor, he explained patiently. Driving eighty miles for every appointment, especially during the last months, wouldn't be very practical. And you'll need someone close by in case of an emergency. Not that I anticipate any kind of emergency, he added, as she began to frown again. You're young and very healthy. I don't anticipate any problems at all, but it's always wise not to take any unnecessary chances. And having your doctor eighty miles away is an unnecessary chance. Agreed?

Yes, agreed. Desi smiled and let him return to his office and his other patients.

She was given the name of two San Francisco obstetricians along with a prescription for vitamins, a calcium supplement and a list of do's and don'ts for supposedly fragile pregnant ladies. She stuffed them all into her satchel and went outside, heading toward the parking lot and her baby-blue Spitfire convertible.

She didn't feel especially fragile, she decided as she struggled to put up the recalcitrant top on her car. On the contrary, she felt healthy as a horse, full of energy, strong. Physically, that is. Her emotions were another matter entirely.

Emotionally she felt stupid and foolish and incredibly naive. She simply had not considered this happening. Had not allowed herself to consider that it could happen. Pregnancy had seemed so far from that weekend. So removed from what was happening between them.

Face it, she said to her reflection in the rearview mirror, you were stupid. And now you're scared.

She surveyed herself in the narrow mirror. Yes, definitely scared. She could see her eyes reflected back at her. Wide and blue and uncharacteristically shadowed, with two creases furrowing the smooth surface between her brows. She wasn't prepared for this, she thought, a little wildly. She wasn't ready. It was too soon. She needed more time!

But there wasn't more time and, ready or not, it was most definitely happening.

She looked down at her hands, clenched tightly around the steering wheel, and slowly released her grip. Coffee, she thought. I need a cup of coffee before I drive back.

And maybe something to eat, she decided, thinking that lunch seemed as if it had been days ago instead of merely a few hours. She had been ravenously hungry lately and now she knew why.

She drove carefully, as if her belly were already protruding enough to hinder her movements, and parked in front of one of her favorite seafood restaurants on the Santa Cruz wharf. It was nearly empty and she chose a booth next to the plate-glass window, where she had an unimpeded view of the fishing boats tied up to the wharf.

She had always loved to watch the gulls and the pelicans swooping low over the water, bickering over the scraps of fish tossed to them as the fishermen cleaned their catch. Her father used to bring her there to lunch when she was a child. Grown-up lunches, just him and her. It had always made her feel important and special.

I'll have coffee, she said when the waitress came to take her order. No, make that tea, she amended. Pregnant women probably shouldn't drink coffee. Hot tea and a bowl of clam chowder with extra butter for the sourdough, please, she added, thinking vaguely that dairy products were supposed to be good for you.

She sipped absently at the chowder when it came and drank the strong hot tea gratefully, feeling its warmth spread slowly through her body. As she sat there, pretending to eat, she tried to analyze exactly what it was that she was scared of. Exactly. No vague fears permitted.

Well, number one, she enumerated silently, what did she know about bringing up a child? Did she know how? No, that was too vague. Besides, everyone who has ever been pregnant has worried about that. Losing her job? No, the movie crowd she worked with would barely bat an eye, although a few eyebrows might be raised at her decision to go through with it. Terminating the pregnancy would seem the more logical choice to most of them.

Well, she asked herself, wasn't it the most logical choice for a woman in her situation? It was still early enough, she was single and there was no one else—no man—involved. Not now, anyway, she thought wryly. So why not?

She tried to look at it logically and without emotion and failed. No, it just wasn't something she could do. And that left raising the child herself, because having a baby and then giving it up was also something she could never bring herself to do. No matter how logical or sensible it might seem.

But why change tactics now, she asked herself, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, when nothing about this whole affair, from beginning to end, had any foundation in logic. Even being here, now, was not logical. Logic would have been seeing a doctor in San Francisco, where she lived. But she had been honestly worried, having fooled herself into thinking that there was something seriously amiss with her female plumbing—as her mother referred to it—and she had instinctively wanted the reassurance of the familiar and the trusted.

That meant, to Desi, Dr. Craig, who had tended to her medical needs all her life. So she had hopped into her Spitfire and driven the eighty miles south to her hometown of Santa Cruz.

And that was not only illogical, she thought, it was dangerous. Santa Cruz was a sleepy seaside town, at least in the wintertime when all of the tourists and summer residents had gone home. If anyone happened to see her who knew her mother—well, enough said. And almost everyone in Santa Cruz knew her mother, who was active in all the local women's clubs, or her father, who was a local attorney, or the youngest of her three brothers, Court, the only one of the four Weston children still living at home.

Almost anyone she might run into in town would know at least one of her family and would naturally mention that they had seen her. And then her mother would call, wanting to know why she had driven all the way down from San Francisco and not stopped by to see her family. And if not to visit her family, then why make the drive? All asked in the nicest way possible, of course, between bits of gossip and family news and with loving concern.

And Desi would have to lie. She wasn't a very good liar, but over the phone, away from her mother's eagle eye, she could do a convincing job of it. But it would be only a delaying tactic at best because, sooner or later, they would have to know.

How she hated the thought of telling them. Not that there would be a scene, no screaming or tears or how could you do this to me's. Her mother would be all loving concern and her brothers, being of her own generation, would accept it as a part of today's morals, but she could already see the disappointment in her father's face.

She, as the only daughter among three sons, was the apple of her father's eye and, despite her twenty-four years, she knew he still thought of her as his little girl. It would be different if her pregnancy was the result of a long-term relationship and if she was planning to marry the father. It would certainly be easier to explain. Telling her father his first grandchild was the result of what amounted to a one-night stand would just about break his heart.

The waitress came by to offer more hot water for her tea and Desi, startled from her unhappy reverie, covered the cup with her hand, shaking her head. Just the check, please, she said, digging into her satchel for her wallet.

Rising from the booth, she turned toward the exit and then paused as she caught sight of herself reflected faintly in the plate-glass window. A tall slim woman with flaming red hair caught up in a fashionably untidy knot on top of her head stared back at her. She didn't look any different, she thought, than she had when she left home earlier. Dressed in well-worn straight leg jeans, high-heeled ankle boots, and a sleek navy cashmere sweater with a bulky knit scarf looped around her neck, she looked like the same woman who had stood in front of the bedroom mirror at eleven this morning telling herself everything was going to be just fine. Dr. Craig wasn't going to find anything wrong with her. Instinctively she turned sideways, looking for changes in her figure but there wasn't even a hint of a baby bump—although, maybe, her breasts were a bit fuller?

With a sigh she turned away from her reflection in the window and headed out of the restaurant to her car, suddenly wanting very much to be home in her own cozy little apartment on California Street, where she could burrow down under the covers of her big brass bed and indulge in a good cry.

She only got as far as Scott's Valley before she turned the Spitfire around and retraced the thirty miles back to Santa Cruz—and her parents' house. They'd be at dinner about now, her parents and her youngest brother, Court. Just as badly as she had wanted to be at her apartment, she now wanted to see all of them. To tell them about her pregnancy now, before her courage failed her or before someone else could tell them first. She wanted to share her fears and uncertainties with someone, yes. But even more, she realized, she wanted a chance to share and explore those faint stirrings of wonder and joy she had felt in those first few moments after Dr. Craig had confirmed her pregnancy. Those were the important feelings, the most real. Her first instinctive reaction to the news had been happiness.

A baby—his baby—the tangible result of those two heavenly days.

Hold that thought, she said to herself as she parked the Spitfire in front of her parents' house, a Victorian on West Cliff Drive with an unimpeded view of Monterey Bay.

She paused for a moment by the car to stare out over the cliffs at the sparkling blue sea. There were a few die-hard surfers sitting on their boards out past the breakers, talking and waiting for the perfect wave. Hardy souls, she thought with a smile, to be out there at all, even in their wet suits, because, despite the mild summerlike weather it was still only February and that water was cold. She knew because she had surfed off this point, too, in the days when she had been a young teenager determined to do everything her brothers did.

Lord, that suddenly seemed such a long, long time ago.

Sighing, she went through the front gate and walked around the house to the back door of her parents' home.

Mom? she called as she pushed open the screen leading into her mother's immaculate apple-green-and-white kitchen. Dad? Anybody home?

In here, her mother replied. Desi heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back as her mother rose and hurried toward the sound of her daughter's voice. We're just finishing dinner, dear. Have you eaten yet?

Mmm-hmm, I had some chowder at Stagnaro's about an hour or so ago.

Well, I hardly call that dinner, Mrs. Weston said, linking her arm affectionately through Desi's. They were much the same height, with Desi being perhaps a half inch taller and several pounds lighter. They had the same coloring, too, except Mrs. Weston's hair was not so coppery a red as her daughter's, being liberally sprinkled with gray that she refused to color, and not nearly so wildly curly. The curls had come from Mr. Weston's side of the family.

Come eat and tell us what we've done to deserve the unexpected honor of your company.

Oh, mom, she said, smiling. Really. You'd think I never come home anymore.

"Not