And Babies Make Four Read Online Free

reached into the dark interior, to the back corner where he kept his most prized possession—his tackle box. Fishing was the closest thing Sam had to a religion, and he did his best thinking while he was casting line. He intended to spend the next hour in well-deserved solitude onthe rock jetty below his bungalow, deciding how best to present the doctor’s case to Papa Guinea. It wouldn’t be easy since the island’s views on women were right out of the Middle Ages. Still, getting her access to the sacred grounds was part of his job. The other was keeping her undeniably shapely little rear end out of trouble until—
    His thoughts ended abruptly as his fingers closed, not on the metallic hardness of the tackle box, but on a mass of soft, silky material. Jerking back his arm, he extracted a handful of frilly feminine underwear. “What the hell is this!”
    “Garters and camisoles,” a helpful nearby voice replied. “Victoria’s Secret’s Spring Sale. Excellent buy.”
    Donovan started. He glanced around, assuring himself that he was the only one in the room. Yet someone had spoken, and the tinny voice definitely didn’t belong to the doc. “Who said that?”
    “I did, dude,” the voice replied, this time accompanied by a short, mechanical whir. “What’s shakin’?”
    The whir gave the speaker away. Processing chips. Following the sound, Sam glanced over at the ironwork table near his bedroom’s wide French doors. Currently, the antique table was piled high with very modern computer equipment, which gleamed like newly minted coins in the slanting rays of the afternoon sun.
    In the midst of the scattered equipment were a couple of notebook PCs and multimedia speakers,surmounted by an ultralight camcorder on a small tripod stand. As he watched, the camcorder slanted forty-five degrees to the side, in a strangely human simulation of a person cocking his head.
    Sam moved closer, his anger momentarily overridden by wonder. “Einstein?”
    The camcorder jerked up and down. “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out. And you’re Sam Donovan, the ‘Lucky Irish.’ ”
    Sam rubbed his chin. “You know about that nickname?”
    “Sure do. And I know about Syria, and the assassination plot in Germany, and saving the dozen people in—”
    “Okay, I believe you.” Sam had forgotten the computer had access to all his records.
All
his records, he thought as a frown creased his forehead. The last thing he wanted was to have his self-righteous employer find out about the months following his stint in the army—months he’d spent the last two years trying to forget. “Let’s just keep my past between the two of us. Still, I guess you’d better call me Sam, considering how much you know about me.”
    “Sure thing. Pleased to meet ya, Sam, and so’s PINK. Aren’t you, babe?”
    “Charmed,” agreed a higher-pitched voice from a speaker on the far side of the table. “You’re the cat’s pajamas.”
    “Thanks, I think,” Sam answered. Fagen had sent him material on the prototypes’ technical features, but he hadn’t warned him that they were quite so,well, human. He peered at the equipment and took another step closer, intrigued.
It’s been a long time since anything’s made me this curious.
    Not that long. He glanced down at the frilly and delicate underthings still clutched in his fist, and thought about their leggy, brainy, and completely perplexing owner. She’d been a puzzle right from the start. The lady had the body of a centerfold and enough letters after her name to start her own alphabet, but her mouth seemed permanently fixed in a frown. He’d never seen a mouth more in need of a smile. Or a kiss.
    PINK’s camcorder spun in a tight arc, focusing on his chest. “Interesting. You don’t look the least bit dirty.”
    He looked down, giving himself a quick scan. His jeans were a little dusty from the trip, but that was all. “Why should I be d—”
    “And you don’t look beastly, either,”