The baby burped. Was he supposed to burp? Burping was good, but he hadn’t even eaten. Was it a hungry burp? Why hadn’t she paid more attention during her pediatrics rotation?
“See, things could be worse,” Jake pointed out cheerfully. “Tigger could have a twin.”
“What are you even doing here? Don’t you have liquor to sling down at the bar?”
“The bar’s closed for Christmas.”
“Oh my God, is it Christmas already?” Her panic must have transferred to the baby, because he immediately began kicking his feet in the air and whimpering.
Jake burst into laughter. “Holy shit, you really have lost it. Tigger’s been here three days, and tomorrow is Christmas Eve, not Christmas.”
Isabelle rubbed the heel of her hand on her forehead. Three days. Right. Of course. Time had kind of lost its meaning since Tigger had appeared in her life. She worried about him nonstop. She slept—or tried to sleep—with the bassinet right next to her, listening to his every squirm and sigh, ready to leap out of bed at the first sign that he might need something. Even though he rarely cried, he slept restlessly, kicking his legs and shifting every few minutes. He was probably reliving the traumatic event he’d gone through.
Was there some kind of therapy for the under-one-year-old crowd? Should she get Beth on the phone to soothe him, or would that upset him further? Was he eating enough of the applesauce Renata had made? Was there lead in the paint on the cradle’s spindles? That thing was so vintage, who knew what the standards were back then.
A piercing cry brought her back to attention. For the first time since he’d come to the lodge, Tigger was crying. Not just crying—he launched into a full-throttle roar. His chubby little face turned red as a tomato and his legs kicked as if he were doing bicycle exercises. Isabelle picked him up, getting a kick to her forearm in the process. The pain was nothing compared to the sound of his primal scream.
“What’s wrong with him? Oh my god, Nicole, did we miss something?”
Nicole shrugged, wincing at the decibel level blasting from the tiny being in Isabelle’s arms.
“Does something hurt, Tigger? What’s wrong, little guy? I so wish you could talk.” She rocked him back and forth, but his body still vibrated with the force of his cries. “I guess you are talking, in your own way. Poor thing, are you missing your mom? I know, this is so unfair, I’m so sorry she isn’t here.”
“Can I try?” Lyle’s deep voice broke through the din. She spun around to find him standing next to her, arms outstretched, awaiting the baby. He wore a cashmere sweater in a deep charcoal gray that made his eyes gleam like sun through the fog.
“Sure.” She handed him over, since at the very least her eardrums needed a break. Her ears were ringing and her head spun. She rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes and tried not to cry. She needed a damn nap.
Lyle heaved the baby onto his shoulder and gently patted his back. His hands were so big that they covered most of Tigger’s ribs. Just one of his knuckles was about the size of Tigger’s nose. He didn’t bother with crooning or rocking or anything Isabelle had tried. He simply kept patting until a huge burp burst from the baby’s mouth. Right away, Tigger’s crying eased into a series of hiccupping sobs.
Lyle shifted the baby’s position so his stomach was no longer pressed against his clavicle. With a sigh, the baby rested his head in the nook just under Lyle’s shoulder and fell asleep.
Isabelle had never been so envious of a baby.
“How—”
Lyle put his finger to his lips urging silence. Jake made a bow-down-to-the-master movement, then tiptoed out of her bedroom. Nicole followed, mouthing “call me if you need me” to Isabelle.
Still holding Tigger, Lyle firmly closed the door behind them.
He pointed to Isabelle. “You. Get into bed.”
“What?” She blinked at him, noting the baby drool on the shoulder of his cashmere sweater. She should probably offer to get it dry cleaned.
“You look exhausted. Get into bed. I’ll watch the baby.”
“He’s easy to watch when he’s sleeping,” she grumbled. It irked her that he had a knack with babies when she’d been trying so hard.
“Then why do you look so tired? Come on, take the offer and don’t complain.”
She sat down on her bed. The give of the bedsprings felt like heaven. “Where are you going to take Tigger? I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t know where he is.”
“I won’t take him anywhere. I’ll stay here with you.”
“You will?”
“If you don’t mind.” He gently put Tigger into the bassinet, then lowered himself onto the floor next to it, propping his back against the bed. “I’ll sit right here and tend to Tigger’s every need while you get some sleep.”
“You don’t have to do—” She broke off as an enormous yawn took over. “I’m used to long hours and working all night and…” Another yawn.
“Babies are different.”
“That’s for sure. You have to show me that burp thing—” and another. “Okay, maybe I’ll sleep just for a little.”
“As long as you want.”
“Five minutes should do it, maybe fift—” One last yawn, and she gave up. “Close your eyes. I don’t like sleeping with my clothes on.”
“I’ve seen you in your underwear before.”
“Yes, but that was nice underwear. I’m down to my last resort undies at the moment.”
He laughed, softly so he didn’t wake Tigger. “You’re really asking a lot here. I’ve been waiting a long time to see you in your underwear again.”
That comment sent a warm rush of pleasure through her. “I’m too tired to flirt, Guero.”
As it turned out, she was also too tired to care about her underwear. She pulled off her fitted shirt—the same one she’d been wearing for two, maybe three days—and her comfy pants, and swung her legs under the covers.
She snuck a glance at Lyle, whose long legs were stretched out on her floor, his head bent to monitor the baby. He was so big, so solid and steady, such a determined guardian. So amazingly, endlessly sexy.
And for the first time in days, she fell into a deep restful sleep.
14
She woke up once to the sound of Tigger crying. Her eyelids felt as if they had weights tied to them, and by the time she got them open, Lyle was feeding the baby from a bottle. She dropped back to sleep like a stone dropped into a well.
In the middle of the night, she woke again, and found Lyle lying on his back on the floor, arms folded under his head. She nudged him awake and tugged at his arm. “Come on up here,” she said softly.
Silently, he checked on Tigger, then climbed into her bed and stretched his long body next to hers.
“You sleep in your clothes?” she whispered.
“Not usually.”
“Then take them off.”
He didn’t argue, just unzipped his pants and pushed them down his legs. He pulled off his sweater and tossed it aside as if it wasn’t made of the finest cashmere and probably cost a thousand dollars. And then his warm skin was sliding against hers and she was cocooned in heat and safety.
When she drifted back to sleep, she found herself back in Rome. With Lyle.
The last time they were in bed together.
She was straddling his hips, running her hands down the rippling muscles and ridges and scars of his chest. He was stroking her thighs, all the way up to her panties, then along the super-sensitive seam between her skin and his flesh. Each long caress sent hot desire pulsing through her veins. “You’re making this so hard,” she whimpered.
“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”
“Jokes. You’re making jokes while I’m trying to hold onto my cool here.”
“Is that what we’re doing?” He slid one thumb across the damp crotch of her panties. “Holding onto our cool?”
“I said, trying. We don’t know each other, Biff.”
He gave her a wolfish sm
ile that made her shiver. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. My favorite color used to be black.”
“Used to be? What is it now?”
“The color of your eyes.”
She swatted him lightly on the chest. “That is such a line.”
“So there you go. You know something about me. I’m no good at lines. I’m pretty straightforward. I’d love to take this further, because I find you incredibly attractive. But only if we both want it.” He ran his hands up her sides, skimming across her skin and the fabric of her bra. Her nipples were straining against the fabric. The soft breath of air he aimed at them made them peak even further.
“So you’ll be fine if we stop right now?”
“I’ll be fine. I might have to walk a few miles to get my erection under control, but yeah, of course I’ll be fine.” His gray eyes gleamed in the low amber light produced by the discreet sconces built into the headboard.
“I wish another big storm would come. I wish there’d be another delay. Then we could see how we feel tomorrow. We’d know each other for more than one day.”
“You realize it already is tomorrow, right?”
“Yes, but not in Isabelle-and-Biff time. Isabelle-and-Biff time started around five. That’s when the Isabelle-and-Biff universe was created.” She shivered as his hands did something magical at the curve of her waist.
“That was when the Big Bang happened, huh? Five o’clock?”
She smiled as she arched her back under his strokes. “Our Big Bang, anyway. And you are officially banned from making Big Bang jokes because it’s just too lame.”
“Wasn’t going to. I was going to make a suggestion.”
“What’s that?”
“Let’s sleep together.”
“I—” Her jaw dropped open. “Excuse me? Didn’t I just—”
“I mean, sleep. Actually sleep. We’re both exhausted, we’ve both had too much wine. We could sleep for a little bit, then when we wake up it will be day two of the Isabelle-and-Biff universe.”
“Only if we sleep until five.”
“It’s our universe. Don’t we make the rules?” He dragged a finger along the upper edge of her bra, tracing her cleavage and the swell of her breasts.
And she wanted him so fiercely that her good sense nearly vanished in a white-hot haze of desire. After all, if they made the rules, why couldn’t they say right this minute that each hour counted for a day, and so they’d known each other for over a week?
But looking down at the man sprawled beneath her on those thousand-thread count sheets, she knew it would be reckless to go any further. He was too intensely attractive, too fascinating, too compelling. If she got more involved with him, if she had sex with him, it would be too hard to forget him.
And neither one of them had mentioned meeting in the future.
“Is this a ploy?” she asked, her breath hitching under his touch.
“Definitely.” He grinned. “Told you I was straightforward. I want you, Isabelle. You want me. But I see the doubt in your eyes. I don’t want you blaming fatigue or wine. I want us both going into this with our eyes wide open. So let’s take a little break. When we wake up, whether it’s after a few minutes or a few hours, it’ll be a new day. We’ll go from there.”
He dropped his hand to her hip, where it spanned the distance from inside her hipbone nearly to her spine. Two impulses screamed at her. On one side, hot lust urged her to rip off his boxers and jam herself onto his straining erection. On the other side, the last wisps of caution and common sense whispered words of warning. She wrestled between those two extremes.
“A nap,” she finally said. “I guess I could use a nap.” She rolled off him and curled against his side. And that, amazingly, felt just as good, in a different way. He put his arm around her and played with her hair. The last thought she had, before drifting off, was that she must really trust this man she’d just spent the past ten hours with. And that falling asleep in his arms was like drifting down a current made of pure honey, sweet and irresistible.
And somehow that current had carried them both all the way to Rocky Peak Lodge and this magic moment in her old bedroom.
15
How could the sound of someone’s breathing make him so happy? The way Isabelle snuggled against him, as if that nook under his arm was completely familiar to her, tugged at Lyle’s heart.
Maybe it was her trustfulness. She had no particular reason to trust him. He’d disappeared on her in Rome, then taken months to explain himself. He still wasn’t telling her the whole truth. She didn’t know how much he’d thought about her since Rome. Her trust was misplaced.
Or was it?
He knew in his bones that if anyone tried to hurt Isabelle, he would kill that person.
And to give her a good night’s sleep, he’d lie next to her with a throbbing erection and a cramp in his arm. Listening to her breathing. Being happy.
From the bassinet, he caught the sound of Tigger’s occasional baby mutters. Lucky him that his knack with kids was coming in so handy. It was also lucky for him that Isabelle had no interest in becoming a mother herself. From an early age, he’d decided never to have his own children. How could he, when he had absolutely no idea what genes he’d be passing on?
He thought about Isabelle’s panic in the helicopter and smiled. They might have their differences, but at least he and Isabelle were on the same page when it came to children.
At around seven in the morning, Tigger woke up demanding attention. Lyle extracted his arm from under Isabelle’s silky, thick mass of hair. She was still so deeply asleep that she nestled her head into the pillow without so much as a flutter of her eyelashes.
This time he left a note. Went to feed Tigger. All is well. Sleep as long as you like.
The lodge was quiet at this time of the morning. The sun didn’t rise until around eight at this time of year, and the Rockwells tended to sleep until sunrise. Carrying the baby in his bassinet, he padded down the hall toward the kitchen, hoping there was still more applesauce for Tigger.
In the kitchen, he found Jake, who was sitting at the long wooden table that doubled as a countertop. His head was propped on his hands as he blew air at a steaming mug of coffee.
“Good morning,” he said to Isabelle’s twin. Although the two had some physical similarities—ready smiles, abundant charm—Lyle privately considered them to be very different. Jake had none of Isabelle’s fierce outspokenness, while she had none of his easygoing nature.
“G’morning. Hey, little guy.” Jake reached a hand to Tigger, who wrapped his fist around it. “You hungry? I can warm up some applesauce.”
“Good, I was hoping there was more.”
“Renata made a metric ton of the stuff. I never realized she was going through surrogate grandmother withdrawal. Kai and Nicole won’t have to cook a thing for their kid.”
Lyle grunted in response, waiting for Jake to release Tigger.
“You know, I’m really digging the whole family vibe.”
Family vibe? “Excuse me?”
“You, Izzy, baby. It’s…uh, interesting.” Jake tapped his forehead. “Makes a twin think.”
“You’re way off, man. I’m not a family guy.”
“You’re sure?” Jake narrowed his eyes and took a sip of his coffee—too soon, because it burned his tongue. Maybe that would tell him to mind his business.
“What do you think? You’ve seen enough of my life to know that. All work and no play. That’s me.”
“I’ve seen you play plenty since you’ve been here.”
“I’m on vacation.” Lyle gently extracted Tigger’s fist from around Jake’s finger and carried him toward the refrigerator. “Of sorts.”
“Right. That’s another thing. I read an article about your business troubles.”
Damn, Chelsea must have already published her piece. Just his luck that Jake had seen it.
“It’s a political thing. It’ll get sorted out. ” Lyle set the bassinet on
the kitchen counter, lifted Tigger into his arms, and opened the big double refrigerator. Inside, he found a bowl of applesauce. A Post-it on the lid gave instructions to heat it for thirty seconds in the microwave.
“But that’s not really your worry, is it?” He shut the refrigerator door with his knee. “Isabelle doesn’t care how much money I have or don’t have.”
“I know she doesn’t. But she’s not as tough as she comes across.”
“I know that too.”
“Her work is really important to her. So is her freedom, her autonomy.”
“Her autonomy?” Where the hell was this conversation going?
“Yeah, her job, it’s what she’s always dreamed of. She always wanted two things, to see the world and to help people. And to be really good at something. So make that three things.”
Lyle put the applesauce in the microwave. Tigger squirmed in his arms, probably picking up on his discomfort with this conversation. “Are you making some kind of point here?”
“Isabelle’s my twin. My other half. I need to know you’re not messing with her.”
“I’m not,” Lyle said curtly. He didn’t like being challenged about anything, but especially his personal life.
“Good to know. Then you won’t mind taking the family thing off the table.”
“What?” This conversation was making no sense to Lyle. “I already said I’m not a family guy. What are you worried about?”
“So you’d commit to that? Absolutely? You promise to never even think about playing happy families with Izzy?”
Lyle took a moment to answer. Inside the microwave, the bowl spun slowly. It ought to be easy to make that promise. He didn’t intend to have children, and Isabelle didn’t intend to get married.
However…
“No,” he finally said. “No.”
“No…you won’t commit to that?”
“That’s right. I won’t commit to that.”
Jake stared at him for a long moment, a funny smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Like I said, interesting.”
The Renegade (The Rockwell Legacy Book 3) Page 11
