Unintentionally Mine

by Stephanie Rowe

  "I don't get it." He leaned over her, using his body to direct her back down. "How can you look at me like you want me?"

  She put a finger on his lips. "Stop," she said. "I don't want to hear any more arguments. I just want to be with you tonight."

  And there it was in her voice, that same vulnerability that had been there before. She might be strong and tough, but there was a softness about her that broke through the shield he'd worked so hard to erect around himself. With a low groan, he kissed her again, deeper this time, unable to hold back. "I need you," he whispered between kisses.

  "I need you, too." Her hands were roaming his back, his neck, his hair. She was touching him everywhere, as if trying to memorize his body, or to stake her claim to it. He didn't know why she welcomed him the way she did, but it felt incredible to be touched like that, in softness, in seduction, with honest desire.

  He owed her. He had to be the man she wanted him to be. He had to find a way. She'd decided to trust him, and he couldn't let her be wrong. Protectiveness surged over him as he unhooked her bra and slid it down her arms, never breaking the kiss. This incredible woman had offered him such a gift by giving him her trust, and he wanted to cradle it in his palms, guarding it with his life.

  He softened his kisses, turned them into a languorous seduction of sensual desire, kisses that took a lifetime to finish. Her body softened beneath his, and her hips shifted restlessly.

  Yes, yes, yes, he thought as she responded to him. This was right. This was how it should be. She deserved kisses that would last a lifetime, not the quick seduction of a one-night stand. He trailed his kisses down the side of her neck as he unfastened her jeans, laving her breasts with a teasing seduction that was raw torment to endure, at least for him. The need to make love to her, to connect them intimately was pounding in his ears, hammering at him, but he fought it off, refusing to succumb to his base needs, determined to give her what she deserved.

  He pressed his mouth to her navel as he slid the jeans down her hips, and she gasped, her belly quivering beneath his assault as he slid her jeans over her legs. Her eyes met his as he ran his hand down her calf, kissing her leg. The intensity of her gaze took his breath away, and he suddenly couldn't wait anymore.

  His jeans hit the floor within a heartbeat, and then he moved over her, his own body trembling in anticipation as if he were a schoolboy who was in over his head. And in a way, he was. In Emma's arms, he felt different than he'd ever been before, struggling to find his footing before he drowned in her softness. She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him against her, again a statement of such trust that he swore under his breath. "I swear I will never hurt you," he said fiercely.

  She smiled. "I know that. I've always known that."

  The words were so simple, and yet so beautiful that it made something inside him simply snap. He couldn't be the gentleman anymore. He needed to consume her and all that she offered him. With one swift move, he sat up, pulling her onto his lap, her legs around his hips, her breasts against his chest. He slid his hand through her hair, anchoring her as he kissed her, kissing her so deeply that he poured his soul into the kiss.

  Emma locked her arms around his neck, holding him even more tightly as she kissed him back. Their tongues danced, their breath hot and mingled, heart rates hammering as the intensity built between them. He was right at her core, pulsing against her, and she moved against him, closer, increasing the pressure, teasing him, inviting him, a sensual invitation that raged through him.

  "Make love to me, Harlan," she whispered. "Make love to your wife."

  His wife. By some miracle of heaven, this woman was his wife. "You're mine," he growled as he grabbed her hips and lifted her. "All mine." Then he pulled her onto him, and she gasped as he filled her, a moment of such sheer perfection that he went utterly still, holding her against him, just breathing in the sensation of being inside her. "Perfection," he said softly.

  Emma raised her face to his, and a smile filled those beautiful eyes. "You have no idea how you make me feel, Harlan. Thank you."

  "Thank you?" He ran his hands down her spine and then grasped her hips. "I'm far from finished with you, sweetheart." Then he shifted inside her, and they both gasped. She took control, moving her hips, working them both into a frenzy as he kissed her, the kisses rising in intensity with each move, each touch, each caress—

  He slid his fingers into her hair again, and then suddenly remembered her fear. Quickly, he released his grip. But she grabbed his hand and put it back. "It's okay," she whispered. "I like it."

  I like it. The enormity of that statement, that she now liked him to do the very thing that used to scare her seemed to plunge right into his gut. "Emma." He rolled her onto her back with sudden fierceness, and drove into her, deeply, so deeply, burying himself inside her as he braced himself above her, trying not to crush her with his weight. She gasped and threw her head back in a position of complete vulnerability as he thrust again, and again, until both of them were drenched in the sweat of passion, lust, and raw need.

  Tension coiled inside him, building more and more, and he crushed his mouth to hers, a kiss that seemed to explode within him. She gasped his name and grabbed his shoulders as she convulsed beneath him. With a roar of desperate need, he surrendered to the orgasm. Fire whipped through him, searing every cell in his body as he shouted her name over and over and over again, until her name was all he could hear, until Emma was all that would ever, ever matter to him again.

  * * *

  Harlan sat on the edge of the bed, his forearms resting on his knees, as he watched Emma sleep. Her hair was tousled over the pillow, the moon's rays making it shine like silver-spun silk. She looked vulnerable and beautiful, pure innocence.

  She shifted restlessly, her forehead puckering. "No," she whispered in her sleep. "Leave me alone."

  He stiffened. Was she talking about him? But he didn't even have time to worry before she spoke again, whispering the name of her ex-husband, her voice taut with tension.

  Defiance flared through him, and he bent over her, brushing his palm over her forehead. "I'm here, Emma," he said softly. "I'm watching over you. He can't get you. I'll keep you safe."

  The lines on her forehead smoothed. "Harlan," she mumbled.

  "Yeah, it's me." He kept stroking her forehead. "You're safe, sweetheart, always safe now."

  Her angst subsided, and she fell back into a heavy sleep, her breath deepening into an even rhythm. He traced his finger over the curve of her shoulder, over her collarbone that was too prominent. She was too thin, maybe even thinner than when he'd last been with her.

  She needed someone to take care of her. To make sure she ate enough. To hold her while she slept. He ground his jaw, staring out the open window at the lake. A light breeze rippled through the curtains, and the moon was bright across the water. It reminded him of the night when he'd taken her for a boat ride, the night they'd gotten married.

  It was pure simplicity out on the water, a place where the world faded and reality was left behind. No baggage. No rescue victims. No ex-husbands. No bastard fathers. Just quiet. He took a breath, inhaling the scent of the night. It always felt good to be on the lake. He never longed for the missions when he was on the water. He looked back down at Emma, who had turned toward him. Still asleep, she tugged at his hand, tucking it beneath her chin. What if she was right to believe in him? What if there was a part of him that wasn't like his father? What if being married to her and caring about her didn't have to bring out the worst in him?

  But even as he thought it, his cell phone buzzed.

  He stared at it for a long minute, not wanting to answer it.

  It buzzed again.

  Finally, he lifted it off the nightstand and looked at the text. It was from Blue, simple and direct. Just a place, a time, and a date. Their next mission. Shit.

  Then came one more text. A question mark. Asking if he was coming.

  Blue never asked. He always assumed…until now. Di
d Blue think he was going to be tempted by the life Emma represented?

  But there it was, a question mark. Was Harlan going to show up?

  And then came another question mark, making Harlan laugh. He typed a quick reply. Impatient bastard.

  Blue's reply was a third question mark.

  Harlan looked down at Emma. Her left hand was curled over his, and his gaze fell upon her fourth finger, the one that wasn't wearing a wedding band. Preston's words echoed in his mind, the challenge, the insult when he'd noticed Emma's bare hand.

  Harlan thumbed the tiny scar at the corner of her mouth, knowing what he had to do. He typed a one word reply to Blue, and then got dressed and walked out the door.

  * * *

  Harlan eased along the front porch, testing each board before he stepped on it. Not a creak sounded as he approached the door, carefully stepping around the toys strewn across it. A skateboard. A red, plastic bat. Two Frisbees. Several large tubs of water, which appeared to be croaking, suggesting that some bullfrogs had been invited to spend the night in them. He leaned against the door frame and lightly dropped one knuckle on the front door, not wanting to have to face the rest of the inhabitants. He hoped Astrid had managed to sneak downstairs alone.

  The door opened instantly and Astrid stuck her head out, giving him an annoyed look. "It's three in the morning," she whispered, her hair twisted up in a tangled ponytail. "Never wake the mother of an infant at three in the morning. If she's actually asleep, she'll shoot you for waking her up."

  Harlan grinned. "It's good to see you too, sis."

  Astrid rolled her eyes and stepped back. "Come on in, but be quiet. Rosie just went to sleep, and Noah is snoozing on the couch. He heard me with Rosie and wanted to be with us." She smiled fondly in the direction of the living room. "He still has nights where he can't sleep, and we keep each other company while I'm feeding Rosie."

  "Noah?" Harlan stepped inside the darkened foyer of his sister's new home, the one that Jason had provided for her.

  "My son," she explained as she led the way through the living room, nodding at the couch. "Our son."

  "Your son," he repeated, finally figuring out she was talking about Jason's son. He realized she hadn't called him her stepson. Just son. Harlan's stepmother had never even made it as far as calling him her stepson, let alone son. Astrid's words seemed to tighten his chest, almost painfully.

  Trying to shrug it off, Harlan stopped and studied the boy asleep on the couch. He had a knitted afghan pulled up under his chin but he'd kicked his feet free. Harlan vaguely remembered hearing that Jason had a kid, but it had never registered that the boy would become Astrid's stepson. Son, rather.

  "Yes, and he's your nephew now. It would be nice if you'd actually stay around long enough to meet him." Astrid sat down on an oversized denim couch at Noah's feet, tucking them onto her lap, apparently not concerned about waking the youth up by having a conversation right next to him. She nodded at a small cloth bag on the wooden coffee table. "I got out an assortment of different styles when I got your text. I didn't know what type you wanted." As she spoke, she ran her hand affectionately over Noah's back in a gesture that was so nurturing and domestic that he almost didn't believe his own sister had done it.

  He sank down into a leather armchair next to her end of the sofa. "You're like a real mom."

  She smiled. "I'm not 'like' a mom, Harlan. I am a mom. It's amazing." She rubbed Noah's back as the boy muttered in his sleep. "I'll be honest, I didn't know if I could figure out how to be a good mother, after our role model, but I'm doing okay." Her face softened. "Jason is wonderful. He doesn't expect me to be any way other than what I am."

  Harlan felt a twinge of guilt. "Sorry I hit him."

  Astrid shrugged. "He says he owes you a thank you. He needed it." She waggled a finger at him. "But don't do it again, okay?"

  He managed a half smile. "That's why I'm leaving town."

  Astrid's smile faded. "Again? For how long?"

  He shrugged noncommittally as he picked up the bag. "A while." He undid the draw string and poured the contents out onto the table. A pile of rings glittered up at him. Gold ones. Silver ones. Plain ones. Rings with engravings.

  "They're all in Emma's size," Astrid said. "They'll all fit her."

  Harlan picked up a gold one that had a pale green stone in it. "It's like her eyes," he said, "but a little lighter." He picked up another, a simple silver band with beautiful etchings. "This is like the painting she has over her bed. There's a border on it of trees that's similar to this design." He set it down, not sure. "I don't know."

  Astrid was staring at him. "What are you doing, Harlan?"

  He looked at her. "I told you. I want her to have a wedding ring for our home study interview tomorrow."

  "No, not that." Astrid scooted forward on the couch. "You're being thoughtful about the ring. You're trying to pick something that will be meaningful to her."

  Harlan frowned as he picked up another one. It was gold, with silver inlay surrounding tiny chips of diamonds that made it sparkle just like the night sky when they'd been out on the lake that night. "So? Isn't that what a husband is supposed to do?"

  "But you're leaving."

  He looked up at the accusation in her voice. "Yeah, she knows that. It was part of the deal."

  "Part of the deal?" Astrid echoed, her voice rising. "She's in love with you, Harlan. Was that part of the deal?"

  He stared at her as a sudden heat seemed to consume him. "What? She's not—"

  "Of course she is. I was watching her tonight at the fair." Astrid shook her head reproachfully. "Do you have any idea how broken she was after her marriage? There were days that Clare and I thought she was literally going to simply fade away before our eyes. Preston betrayed her—"

  "I know that," he said sharply as he put down the ring and picked up a plain gold band. A ring that had no personality or emotion. Just hard metal.

  "Well, you may know it, but have you thought about it?" She didn't give him time to answer. "Do you know what I go through every time you leave?"

  Surprised by her question, he let the plain ring fall back to the table. "What do you mean?"

  Her brown eyes were blazing now. "Women can't shut off their emotions, Harlan. Before Jason, you were all I had. That's it. One lifeline. You rescued me from the hospital, but then you never gave me any more than that. I've been waiting for my brother to come back to me, but you keep pushing me further away."

  He gave his sister his full attention. "Astrid. I can't—"

  "No!" She held up her hand to stop him. "There are no excuses, Harlan. You either commit to family, or you don't. I love you regardless, but when I thought you were dead, I was shattered. You could have sent me a note that you were okay, you know. It was horrible, wondering if you were dead, only to find that you were actually in town and hadn't bothered to tell me you were okay!"

  "I didn't mean to hurt you." He grimaced, guilt coursing through him. "You aren't supposed to care about me that much—"

  "You don't get to choose how people feel about you," she snapped.

  His head started to pound again, like there was pressure hammering at him from all sides. "That's why I'm leaving. So that no one cares—"

  "It's too late, Harlan." She leaned forward. "I care. Emma cares. Eppie cares. Jackson cares. People care about you."

  He ground his jaw as he picked up another ring. This one was all gold with twelve roses engraved on the band. Roses. Like the ones he'd given her on their wedding night.

  "Every time Jason goes out of town, I get scared," she said softly.

  He looked over at her. "You think he's not coming back?"

  "Intellectually, I know he is, but I still get scared that he might not. Old fears take a long time to die." She tucked her hair behind her ear, suddenly looking like the little sister he'd met for the first time when he was seventeen, and she was twelve. "We all carry our baggage with us our whole lives. Emma has terrible ones, and you're mess
ing with her."

  He set down the rose ring. "I'm not. We both know what's going on. It's so she can adopt Mattie. You know that, right?"

  "I know that, but what are you doing to Mattie?" She gestured at the sleeping boy. "Noah still has nightmares about his mother dying. He sleeps in my bed with me when Jason's not home. He's afraid of losing me, because he already lost one mother. Parents aren't supposed to abandon you, and we both know how much it sucks when that happens." Her eyes were glistening. "You never forgave Mom for letting your dad take you away. If you're part of the adoption for Mattie and you're not there when she moves in, you're breaking a promise to her."

  Harlan scowled at Astrid as emotions hammered at him, emotions he didn't recognize, but that left a cold void cascading through him. "I'm not making a promise. I haven't even met her—"

  "What about when she asks Emma where you are? She's almost five, Harlan, old enough to understand that she was adopted by a couple, and one of them is not there. You're not just messing with Emma, you're messing with Mattie, too."

  Harlan ran his hand through his hair, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm not messing with them. I'm protecting them. I'm helping them have more than they can have on their own—"

  "No. You're abandoning them."

  "I'm not." He swore. "I just—"

  "When we thought you were dead, Emma told me why you guys had gotten married. She told me you didn't want to die without anyone caring. When you married her, you bought yourself a future widow, Harlan. Are you buying yourself a child, too? Someone else to cry when you die?"

  He stared at her. "I'm not even going to meet her—"

  "It's not about protecting them, is it? No, it's not. It's about making yourself feel better." Astrid shook her head in disgust. "It's like when you rescued me, and then you disappeared. You run in, save the day, and then move on. You can't do that in real life. You can't do that to me, and you can't do it to Emma, or Mattie." She looked at him, and there were tears glistening in her eyes. "It's not fair, Harlan. Not to any of us."