“Harper, can I ask you something?” I was pulling on my pants, as she lay unmoving on the bed behind me.
“You just made me come so hard, I think I saw the sun explode. You can ask me for anything right now.”
I grinned. It was always good to hear I’d satisfied her as much as she rocked my world. “At the risk of being thrown out again . . . but now that we know each other a little better . . . you don’t really think that you’re less talented than your brother and sister, do you?”
She rolled over, and I saw the flash of hurt on her face. But she didn’t yell, and she didn’t get mad.
“I know that I’m excellent in my field. I know that I was meant to be a chef, and I don’t have any doubts about being where I am.” She paused. “But I’m also smart enough and aware enough to know that my parents see it differently. They see Jordan and Lila’s work as permanent and lasting. Mine is fleeting and temporary. Plus, they think I’m destined to be the help at their friends’ parties, even though I’ve never worked catering a day in my life.”
“That sucks.” I leaned against the bed and stroked her hair, winding a strand around my finger. “But what they say and think isn’t valid or true. I think you’re fucking amazing, and so talented . . . you’re a star, sugar. Don’t let them take that away from you.”
She stared up at me, blinking. “Thank you.”
I dropped a quick kiss on her nose. “No thanks necessary for the truth. And this is not at all related to what I just said. But do you know how to make chocolate syrup? Like the real kind, from scratch?”
She wrinkled her forehead, looking up at me curiously. “Yeah, of course I do. Why do you ask?”
I waggled my eyebrows at her. “I was thinking that it might be a fun addition to our kitchen repertoire. You know . . .” I trailed a finger down her chest and pinched one stiff nipple. “I could draw on you with it and then lick it off, a little at a time.” I leaned down and whispered into her ear. “Now that, baby, is artistry.”
She began laughing, but at the same time, she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me hard, upside down.
“Jake Robinson, you’re crazy. But you’re my kind of crazy.”
I dug into my purse to find my car keys, biting the corner of my lip as I felt around for them, making a mental note to clean out the dang handbag when I got home. Walking as I searched, I nearly ran into the bumper of a black Jeep parked two spots over from my own sensible sedan.
“Whoa there.” A warm and vaguely familiar voice startled me. “You better watch where you’re going, or you could end up roadkill.”
Frowning, I squinted at the tall figure leaning against the Jeep, although I was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion about who it was. Regulation Army fatigues stretched over broad shoulders? Check. Short black hair? Check. Piercing blue eyes? Hmmm. Impossible to see behind the tinted sunglasses, but I was going to assume they were there. Impossible smirk on those full lips? Oh, yeah, check.
The little spring of happy that had been bubbling up in me suddenly went dry.
“What are you doing here?” I hadn’t meant to sound quite so hostile and accusatory, but there it was. “Please don’t tell me you were waiting for me. This is bordering on stalker status now.”
Shaw Kincaid slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose a little way, just far enough for me to be able to see his quirked eyebrow.
“Feeling a little self-important, are we, Delia? Did you ever think there might be another reason I’d be out here?”
I put my hand on my hip. “Oh, really? And just what would that be? Were you called here on a special mission?”
He resumed his position against the vehicle, crossing his arms over his chest . . . which, holy God, was probably a work of art, judging by how it appeared even under the loose BDUs. I pulled my gaze away with no small amount of difficulty.
“It just so happens that yes, I was called here on a special mission. Sandra has a parent-teacher conference this afternoon, and her car wouldn’t start. I happened to be available to give her a lift because I’m a good friend and all around terrific guy.I’m waiting here to see if she needs a ride home.” As if on cue, his phone chimed, and Shaw leaned forward a bit, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve it. He scanned the screen. “Which she doesn’t, as apparently one of the other moms from post is here and offered to drive her back.” He slid the cell phone back into his pants, and I tried hard not to ogle the curve of his ass as the cloth was pulled tight over it.
“Oh.” I felt horribly small all of a sudden. When had I started being so full of myself that I’d assume a guy who just happened to be in my school’s parking lot was actually here to see me? Before Dane and I had begun dating back in high school, I’d been terribly shy, riddled with self-doubt. It had taken years of his love and constant assurance of my worthiness before I’d started to bloom. Apparently now I’d gone the other way.
“I’m sorry,” I managed to squeak out. “I shouldn’t have . . . it’s just that you texted yesterday, and I figured maybe you hadn’t taken no for my answer.” I cleared my throat. “Anyway, again, my apologies, and if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to drive home and pretend the last five minutes didn’t happen.”
“Wait a second there.” Shaw stood up and closed his hand around my arm before I could walk away. “I said I hadn’t come to see you particularly, but don’t you think it’s a funny coincidence that we happened to bump into each other?”
“Coincidence? Maybe. Funny? Not so much.” I tried to move away from him without making a big deal about it, but Shaw’s fingers were secure on me—not squeezing or hurting anything, just . . . there. Five bands of steel ensuring I didn’t get away.
He grinned, and I was pretty sure all my nether regions went to mush. Damn. What was it with this guy? If I had a button, he definitely knew how to push it.
As if he knew what I was feeling, his eyes swept down over my body, lingering on my boobs long enough to admire them without it getting super creepy. When his gaze wandered lower, it was as though I felt the heat of his stare spreading through my veins.
“I think it’s kismet,” he murmured. “And I think it also means we should go . . . uh, get a cup of coffee. What do you say?”
I sighed, wishing I could tell him yes. I wished like hell that he was an ordinary guy, someone with a nine-to-five desk job, where the biggest risk he faced was a paper cut. I wished that the hot body standing in front of me was dressed in anything but a military uniform. As tempting as he was . . . and as much as I wanted to give him a chance, I couldn’t risk my heart on another man who lived for danger.
“I can’t.” I kept my voice soft but definite. “What I said before still stands.” I smiled at Shaw, just to show that I didn’t have any hard feelings. “Actually, even if you weren’t in the Army and thus off-limits to me, I’d have to take a rain check. I have to do something this afternoon that I’ve been putting off way too long.”
His eyes narrowed a little, and then he pushed his glasses back into place. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” He’d dropped his fingers from my arm, and now he stepped away slightly. “Is it, uh, a lady thing?”
I laughed. “If I said yes, you’d be out of here so fast, I’d be eating your dust, wouldn’t I?” Men were men, no matter how big and hunky they were.
“Hmph.” Shaw folded his arms again. “No. I can deal.” Still, his lips twitched, and if I were really thinking about pursuing this guy, I’d have totally called him on it.
As it was, I let him off the hook. “No, it’s not anything like that. I have to start training for a half marathon.”
He cocked his head. “Uh, okay? Are you a runner?”
“No. I mean, I never have been. It’s sort of a long story.”
When Shaw made a rolling motion with his hand, I sighed and went on. “Last fall, one of the other teachers was recruiting people for a team to run this race for charity. She was all excited about the money we could raise for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, and I don’t know what got into me, but somehow, I thought it sounded like a good idea for me to do it. It seemed so far away back then. And I kept thinking . . . well, I’ll start training for it soon. And then it was the holidays, and then it was too cold to think about being outside.”
“Ah. Uh-huh. What about going to the gym and running on the treadmill?” Shaw shifted his weight to the other foot.
I wrinkled my nose and stuck out my tongue. “I don’t belong to a gym and yuck. Gyms are smelly and gross.”
“Have you ever been inside a gym?” Shaw inquired. “Or are you making this judgment call based on old television shows and boxer movies?”
“I don’t need to go inside. I can just tell.Anyway, you’re missing the point, and I’m burning daylight. I need to go. If I don’t start today, I never will, and I’ll be the loser—literally—at the end of the pack, and everyone will be standing there giving me pity claps.” I’d had actual nightmares about being the last runner across the finish line, the one everyone felt sorry for as they waited for me to finally be done.
“Okay.” Shaw pushed himself off the side of the Jeep. “When is this race?”
I swallowed hard. I’d been hoping he wouldn’t ask that. “Six weeks,” I mumbled.
He leaned down closer to me. “What’s that? I thought you said six weeks.”
“I did.” I gnawed my lip again.
“And you haven’t run at all? You’ve never done a race before? Not even, like, a 5K or anything?”
“I used to do the track thing during PE at school. You know, where they make you run and the gym teacher times you with a stopwatch. But otherwise? No. I’m not really an athlete. I’m more of a sit and watch the athletes.”
“All right.” Shaw rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s not going to be easy, but if you’re committed and stay focused, I think we can do it. I’m not going to promise that you’ll set any records, but you’ll finish.”
“Wait . . . what?” I stared up at him. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying that I’m going to help you train for this.”
I’d known his voice right away. Hell, I’d heard it in my dreams for the last six months. I probably would’ve been able to pick it out of a crowd of people screaming. For a moment, I wondered if I was dreaming again. It had been known to happen, after all; sometimes I got so tired that I laid my head down on the counter up front and caught a little snooze. Was all of this in my head? Was I actually drooling over my inventory sheets?
But no. When I turned my head, there he was, the same Kade Braggs of the short blond hair, deep hazel eyes, and . . . yeah, there was the dimple. My heart began to pound a faster rhythm, sweat broke out in fun places like under my arms, between my legs, and under my distended belly. And the baby, probably getting a big old dose of adrenaline from Mom, began to squirm within me.
Everyone I knew assured me that from the back, it was impossible to tell that I was pregnant. Kade was far enough from me and standing at such an angle that I figured he couldn’t see how my black shirt stretched over the bump. Maybe I could keep it that way. Maybe I could play it cool, have a conversation with him over my shoulder, and then he’d walk away, thinking, wow, that friend of Cassie’s really was a bitch after all. She couldn’t even bother to turn around to say hello to me.
I wasn’t ready to be honest with myself about why I didn’t want to face Kade and do the big reveal. It might have been that by now, I’d finally come to a place of acceptance, where I realized that I was on my own here. Maybe it was because I knew that even if Kade was pleasantly surprised about this development, he was still going to have questions that I wasn’t sure I was ready to answer.
So I kept my back to him and made my answers short and terse. I’d listened to his explanation about why he was here at Fort Davis and his asshole roommate. I’d tried to close the conversation with my standard exit line, “Good to see you.” But Kade had other ideas.
He’d invited me to join him for coffee, and I wanted to cry. I’d been missing coffee like crazy. I’d cut back on the caffeine at my doctor’s recommendation, but the truth was that the taste of it made me ill nowadays. I missed it in theory, but I couldn’t stomach it in practice.
It wasn’t the idea of coffee, though, that made me realize I’d boxed myself into a corner. It was Kade’s casual mention of the books he planned to buy, books that I would have to ring up for him up front at the cash register. Shit. Holy fucking shitballs.
I’d answered him with resignation in my tone that I’d meet him up front. There was still a slim chance that if he walked ahead of me, I could stay out of his sight long enough to duck behind the counter and hope that he wasn’t observant enough to notice.
He’d evinced surprise that I worked here, at a bookstore, adding, “You didn’t use to work in a bookstore, did you? I thought you were in law school and had a job at some big firm. What happened?”
Now that was the million-dollar question, and since he’d asked me directly, I knew I couldn’t go on deceiving him. The time had come to pay the piper or whatever that saying was. I’d turned around, making the most of the big reveal, hoping that he noticed how good my boobs looked in this shirt before he saw the huge lump of belly below them.
The expression on Kade’s face was not unlike the ones I’d imagined all these months. Shock . . . yup, there it was. His eyes were huge and filled with a mix of surprise and disbelief. His mouth had dropped open a little, and I resisted the urge to tap his chin with my finger and tell him he needed to close it before he caught flies. His neck had actually snapped back a little, as though I’d jarred his entire world simply by turning around.
“Uh . . . Leah. Wow.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Oh, my God. You’re, uh . . .”
“The medical term is pregnant. But you can always go with the genteel expecting or with child or in a family way. There’s also the less polite but often popular knocked up or bun in the oven.” I braced one hand against my lower back. “So, I guess we’d better talk. I still have another hour here before I can close up, which means we can either have the conversation up front, or we can meet later this week.” It all sounded so controlled and civilized when I made that offer, as though we were going to discuss points of law.
Kade was still staring at my middle, but at my words, his eyes jerked up to meet mine. “Talk . . . so . . . Christ, the baby is mine? I’m the . . . the . . .”
Resentment burned in my throat. “I think the word you’re looking for is father, although in this case, if you’d prefer the less-involved sperm donor, that’s your prerogative. But yes, Kade, this baby is yours.”
Now, something more akin to betrayal and temper flashed in those eyes. “You didn’t tell me. Fuck, Leah, how could you not tell me something like this? If I hadn’t happened to come up here for TDY and run into you here tonight, would you have ever told me? Or would my kid have gone through life thinking his father didn’t care about him when the truth was that I didn’t even know he existed?”
Suddenly, all the weight of the day landed on my shoulders in a crushing swoop, and I could barely stand. “Look, I’ll try to explain, but can we please go up front? I have a chair there, and I really need to sit down.” I massaged my lower back, moving my fingers up and down.
Instantly, Kade downshifted from anger into concern. “Shit, I’m sorry. Are you okay? Come on, let’s get you sitting. By the register, you said?”
“Yeah.” I led the way, conscious of Kade’s gaze on me with every step. I hoped my ass looked decent in these jeans . . . and then beat myself up for caring what he might think. I had to play this cool, at all costs.
The voice startled me so totally that I jerked my head up and banged it on the underside of the hood. For a solid ten seconds, I saw nothing but stars as pain shot down the back of my neck. It was followed in short order by panic: here I was, alone in this field, with a car that didn’t work, and someone—a male—was here, too. And shit, I’d left the keys in the ignition, so I couldn’t even thread them through my fingers as a makeshift weapon.
The pain and the panic combined to make my blood boil. “Fuck!” Backing up, I shaded my eyes from the late afternoon sun, trying to locate the source of the voice. My fear subsided a bit when I saw a sleek silver car at the curb that bordered the field. The man in the driver’s seat had lowered his window and was gazing out at me from behind dark sunglasses. He was in a uniform I recognized.
The good news was that he wasn’t some vagrant skulking around, waiting to prey on what he assumed was a helpless female. This guy—this soldier—likely worked at Fort Lee and was on his way home. He was probably just trying to be nice and gentlemanly by checking on a woman whose car wasn’t working.
The bad news was that he was a soldier from Fort Lee, where I’d just spent the better part of the afternoon protesting. There was a better than good chance he wouldn’t take kindly to that. I snuck a glance into the backseat of my car, where the sign that read JUSTICE FOR ALL MEANS MILITARY TOO was lying face up for all the world to see.
And oh, great. I stifled a groan. Now he’d turned off his own car and opened the driver’s side door. He was coming over here.
“Hey, I’m okay. You don’t have to do that.” I called out the protest, but either he didn’t hear me or ignored what I’d said because he unfolded his body from the seat and stood up.
And in that moment, I forgot my car, his car, the reason I was here, the sign in my backseat, and even my own name, because . . . hot damn, this man was built.
He was in the same camo suit I’d seen on all the people leaving post today, and the same one I’d seen around town since I’d moved here. On most of the men, the fit was almost baggy, hiding any definition or lack thereof. And it wasn’t as though my new friend here was any different, but somehow, even this uniform couldn’t disguise the broadness of his shoulders or the narrowing of his waist, or the thickness of his thighs. I was willing to bet my last dime that the chest beneath the jacket was solid and chiseled, too.
It was hard to get a good view of his face, given the fact that his sunglasses covered his eyes and his uniform cap was pulled low on his head, but the mouth that was visible was very possibly the most beautiful mouth I’d ever seen on any man. The lips, slightly parted, were sensual, with the full lower one jutting under the thinner upper. I had a sudden and visceral sensation of what that mouth would feel like against my own . . . or fastened on one of my now-puckered nipples . . . or buried between my legs, moving—
“What seems to be the trouble?” He was close to me now, stopped a few feet away, one hand on his hip and his weight shifted to the side.
I became abruptly aware of two things: one, that I was still staring at him without speaking, and two, that all my lady parts were singing the song of my people. Oh, happy day, oh, happy day. We want him! Take us now!
“Uh, you okay?” Since I still hadn’t spoken, he was probably beginning to assume that I was somehow challenged. Reaching up, he removed the sunglasses from his face.
Mistake. BIG mistake. If he’d wanted me to somehow become coherent—or communicative in any way at all—he’d just done the wrong thing, because the eyes that he’d uncovered were a molten brown, fringed with dark lashes. And as he gazed down at me, I saw something there that echoed my own pulsing need.
It was at that point that my brain function came back, and the ability to speak returned. I decided it was my inherent instinct for survival finally kicking in.
“Uh, it won’t start. My car.” I pointed at it like I was an idiot. Okay, I’d said brain function was back. I hadn’t said it was brilliant or in any way intelligent.
“Yeah, I figured that by the way your hood was up.” He smirked, but it wasn’t snarky or mean, just a gentle reminder that I was stating the obvious.
“Right.” I took a deep breath to center again. I could handle this. I’d never met a guy who could fluster me for long, and this one wasn’t going to be the exception. “It’s not the battery or the cables, and I don’t think it’s the alternator. It didn’t click when I tried to turn it over.” I waved one hand in the direction of the engine. “I know it’s an old car, but I’ve taken good care of it. I just gave it a tune-up last month. There really isn’t any reason it shouldn’t be starting up.”
“Huh.” He looked down at me with new respect. “You know your stuff.”
I bristled a little. “Yeah, imagine that. The female understands how her car works. Alert the media. Stop the presses.”
“Whoa there.” He lifted a hand, and I tried not to stare at his tapered fingers and picture them plunging into my—no. We weren’t going there. Not right now.
He was speaking again, and with effort, I pulled my attention back to his voice. “I wasn’t trying to intimate that women can’t know about cars or engines. I respect anyone who understands what she—or he—drives.” Those dangerous kissable lips curled into a smile. “I’ve met plenty of guys who talk big about their vehicles but don’t know shit about what’s happening under the hood.”
I relaxed a bit. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be reactionary. I guess I’m used to men assuming that I don’t know shit about what’s under the hood.”
“No problem.” He slid off the camouflage cap, rubbed his hand over the short dirty blond hair there and then replaced the hat. “Okay, so it’s not the battery, the connectors or the alternator. How about the starter?”
“Yeah, that was my thought.” I nodded. “Which means I’m going to have to have it towed to a mechanic, I guess. I could probably do the work myself, but I’ve never actually replaced a starter.”
“Do you have a mechanic you trust?” He’d moved to the front of the car and was leaning down over the hood, checking out everything. I breathed in deep through my nose as the material pulled over his ass. Oh, mama.
“Um . . . no. I haven’t lived here that long, and everything’s been running fine that whole time.” I lifted one shoulder. “I did the tune-up myself in the parking lot of our apartment complex, but there’s something in the lease that says we’re not supposed to perform any kind of auto maintenance or repair on the premises. I guess they don’t want people leaving their cars around on blocks or whatever. So I’m pretty sure I’ll have to find someone to do this. I can ask my roommate, though, if she knows a decent shop. She’s been here longer than me, and she works in town.”
“You don’t?” He was staring at me again, frank interest and appreciation on his face. “You don’t work on post, do you? I mean, this is a strange place to park your car if you do.” He frowned. “What were you doing out here? Clearly, your car didn’t break down if starting it up is the only issue.”
“No, I don’t work at Fort Lee.” I tried a diverting tactic. “I’m a historian on-site at the battlefield.” I held out my hand. “Samantha Crewe.”
He gripped my fingers automatically, and my breath caught as we touched. He swallowed, the sound audible, making me hope that he was feeling the same tug that I was.
“Max Remington.” He pointed in the general direction of the gate to Fort Lee. “I’m stationed here.” He didn’t let go of my hand as he continued to hold my gaze, too. “So why were you parked out here, Samantha Crewe, historian? Were you looking for artifacts?” His tone held a bit of humor, and I grabbed onto that, laughing a little.
“No. Not exactly.” I pulled my fingers away from him and took a step back. “I was, uh, part of the demonstration here this afternoon. We were protesting what happened in town Saturday night. Maybe you didn’t hear about it if you were at work all day, but a soldier went into Petersburg, got into a fight with a local guy, and messed him up pretty badly. And then the Army came in, bailed him out, and is claiming jurisdiction over his trial and sentencing.”
Max tensed visibly, drawing back from me as his eyes went cool. “And so you were marching out here, complaining about that, were you? Must be nice to have both the moral high ground, and the time and leisure to throw a little tantrum when you don’t like how things work.”
On the screen, the Statue of Liberty had left Liberty Island and was wading into New York Harbor as Jackie Wilson sang.
“Yeah, same,” I said distractedly.
“I mean, can you—oh!” Willow shifted, pressing one hand to the small mound of her belly. “I guess Lady Liberty isn’t the only one who appreciates Jackie Wilson. Baby Thing is getting its groove on.”
I stared at her. “You can feel the baby move?”
She glanced at me. “Yeah. Not all the time, but more and more lately.”
“You didn’t tell me that.” I was annoyed, and I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like I expected Willow to give me regular updates on the baby’s development. Since I’d been spending time with her, we only referenced her pregnancy in passing, and when we mentioned the baby, it was in weird generalities.
But now I wanted to know more. If Willow could feel the baby move, what did that mean? Was it kicking or just moving its arms around—and why did we have to keep calling the baby it? Shouldn’t she know the gender by now?
“No, I didn’t tell you,” Willow answered me slowly. “I didn’t think you cared.”
“Well, I do.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“You never said anything. You haven’t asked me about how it’s doing—only about how I’m feeling.” Willow wasn’t upset; she sounded strangely reasonable.
“Only because I didn’t know how to ask—and I thought maybe you didn’t want to talk about it. Since you’re not sure.” I swallowed. “Also, I thought if your parents heard us, they might think it was odd that I was invested in the growth of a baby who doesn’t belong to me.”
“Okay.” She wiggled around until she faced me, her long hair framing her pretty face. “Well, we’re here alone now. Ask whatever you want.”
Of course, now I couldn’t think of a single thing. “Um, what does it feel like when the baby moves?” That was a good place to start.
Willow smiled. “Weird in the beginning. At first, I didn’t realize what I was feeling. I thought it was just gas or something. But now I can tell when it’s kicking. It happens mostly after I eat or drink, or when there’s music.” She pointed to the TV. “Case in point.”
“That’s cool.” I stared down at her belly. “It’s crazy, isn’t it, that we had sex last summer, and now there’s a little being moving around in you.”
“Very crazy.” Willow laughed. “Do you want to feel it move?”
“Are you serious?” My eyes went wide. “Hell, yeah, I do.”
“Okay. Give me your hand.”
She circled my wrist with her fingers and placed my palm flat against her. I was surprised at how tight and hard her bump was, and for a moment, that was all I could think about. And then, suddenly, I was poked in the palm.
“Holy fuck!” My smile was huge. “It really did—what was that, a kick?”
“Probably. I can’t tell yet which is what when it comes to arms and legs.” With a thoughtful expression, she moved my hand a little lower. “Try here. This is a favorite spot.”
We sat there for the next half-hour, the movie forgotten, as I moved my hand over Willow’s stomach until I couldn’t feel anything else.
“Yeah, it’s probably sleeping now. Worn out from all the excitement.” I didn’t miss the way Willow curled one arm protectively around her belly. I wondered if she realized she was doing it. “Baby’s first New Year’s Eve—in utero, that is.”
“Oh, my God—that reminds me. What time is it?” I looked at my watch. “Eleven fifty-eight! Hand me the remote quick, please.”
As the hosts traded quips, Willow and I were sitting closer together than before. When the ball dropped and clock struck twelve, she turned to me.
“Happy new year, Dean.”
“Happy new year, Willow.” For a moment, I was tempted—so fucking tempted—to hold her face in my hands and kiss her lips. I could still remember what she tasted like, how she felt, and the memory was killing me by degrees.
But in the end, I chickened out and leaned forward to kiss her cheek before I pulled her tight against me, our baby between us. My heart was thundering. Here in my arms, I was holding two very precious beings. It was an odd feeling, brand-new, and it made me more than a little nervous.
