by Whitley Cox
The big shadow revealed himself to be a tall, broad man with dark hair and blue eyes. Hard blue eyes that immediately knew every one of Aaron’s faults, secrets and desires.
Fuck.
Isobel’s father stuck out his hand, his eyes still hard. “Calvin Jones. Nice to meet you.”
Aaron swallowed, clenched his jaw and shook the man’s hand. Jesus, his grip was tight.
“You have a lovely home.” Isobel’s mother’s voice was soft and melodic like her daughter’s. “And Sophie is just a little angel.” She glanced down at Sophie, who was wriggling on her belly, flailing her limbs in every direction. She looked like she was in distress, but after the first time Isobel did tummy time with her and reassured him that babies needed this, he let her writhe—until she started to squawk in frustration. Then he scooped her up and did the rest of tummy time on his chest. She seemed to like it better there anyway.
“My parents popped into town for a visit,” Isobel continued, chewing on the corner of her bottom lip, her eyes full of hope and joy as she looked up at him, “and well … if you’re okay with it, they offered to watch Soph tomorrow.”
Aaron’s brows furrowed. “Why?”
“So I can go to the service with you. Support you. It’s really no place for a newborn.”
“Dina’s her mother.” Heat rushed into his gut, and his back snapped straight. Of course Sophie was going to be there.
Isobel took a step toward him, her eyes gentle, her face wary. “I understand why you want her there, but she’s still recovering from her cold. Her immune system is weak, compromised, and getting her around all those people who will undoubtably want to touch and hold her, it’s not a good idea.”
“I’ll wear her. Put her in that wrap thing. There, problem solved.”
A big, meaty palm landed on Aaron’s shoulder, and he fought the urge to flinch it off. “Son, listen to Izzy. She knows what she’s talking about. There are going to be lots of people there. You don’t want to get little Soph any sicker.” Calvin’s voice was low and clear. The man was obviously used to giving orders and having them followed, no questions asked.
Well, so was Aaron.
“We’ve done the baby thing before. Not our first rodeo,” Calvin went on.
Aaron gnashed his molars together so hard, he thought he might chip a tooth. His grip on his beer bottle made his knuckles ache.
His body stiffened; shoulders cinched up nearly to his ears. Calvin released his hold on Aaron’s shoulder.
“I invited them to stay for dinner,” Isobel went on. “That way they can get to know Sophie a bit before tomorrow.”
The beep of the timer in the kitchen drew her attention, and she dashed away, slipping on oven mitts and pulling out what looked like chicken parmesan from the oven.
His stomach rumbled in anticipation of being full. He hadn’t eaten anything all day.
Calvin had made his way into the living room and was down on the floor with Harriet and Sophie, the two of them with big smiles on their faces and making cooing noises at the now face-up Sophie, whose limbs still jerked and wiggled spastically.
Aaron took off toward the kitchen.
“I would have appreciated a heads-up instead of being ambushed,” he whispered, his tone harsh. He was so close to her, he could smell her shampoo. He took a much-needed step back.
They hadn’t had sex since that night after he’d taken Sophie to the hospital. They’d barely spoken since. His doing, not hers.
He didn’t know what to say to her. Didn’t know how to go about this whole thing. The dad thing. The boyfriend thing. The living together thing. The grieving thing. He was fucking it all up left and right.
Because he fucked everything up.
Always did.
People who got close to him got hurt, so it was only a matter of time before he failed Soph. Before he failed Isobel.
He needed to keep her away so that she couldn’t get hurt.
What a load of shit.
By doing so, he was effectively hurting her.
It was all so fucked up.
Needless to say, things had been awkward during the day and lonely at night.
Very lonely. He missed her.
He missed the noises she made when she was close to coming. Missed the faint sigh of contentment that broke past her lips when she slept, the smell of her hair as it fell across his chest. Her softness. Fuck, she was just so soft. Like satin beneath his fingers—everywhere.
She set the casserole dish of chicken parm down on a hot pad, removed the oven mitts and turned to face him. “It wasn’t an ambush. I live here too. Am I not allowed to have people over? To have my parents over? Besides, we need somebody to watch Sophie tomorrow. Who better than two heavily qualified people who have raised two daughters of their own?”
He gritted his teeth. “I don’t like walking in not knowing who is in my house.”
She shook her head and turned back to the stove, where she pulled a pot of steamed broccoli off the element. “I’ve been pretty cool about all the shit you’ve thrown at me these last few weeks. Particularly the last few days. Pretty damn cool, but I’m getting tired of it. I’m a good person, a kind person, but everybody has their limit of how much shit and abuse they’re willing to put up with before they start throwing it all back over the fence.
“I never said a damn word about the other night after you took Sophie to the hospital, not a one. I let you use me, because it was what you needed. And because I …” She paused, her back going stiff. “Because it was what I needed too. But I’m done.” She turned back to face him. Pain flashed behind the blue in her eyes before they hardened. Now they were exactly like her father’s. “I told you I was okay with our arrangement as it was, but that didn’t even seem to be good enough for you. I give more, you take more, demand more and give less and less in return. I don’t know a damn thing about you. Except that you’ve got the whole asshole routine down pat.”
Worry tickled the back of his neck. He wanted to reach out to her, slam her body up against the counter, capture her mouth and give her back everything he’d taken from her.
But he had to stop using sex as his only real form of communication.
Problem was, he didn’t really know any other way to express himself, to express how he felt about her, how much he wanted her, needed her. The woman was like oxygen, water, food and shelter—all of life’s necessities rolled into one perfect little package.
So why couldn’t he tell her that?
She pushed her shoulders back. “I’m going to start looking for my replacement.”
No.
Dread dropped like a steamship anchor in his gut. He was going to be sick.
“I’ll stay as long as I can, until someone else suitable is found, but I don’t think this is working anymore. I thought I could help you. Thought I could glue some of the pieces back together in your life. Not fix you but help show you that you aren’t broken to begin with. Just a little bit banged up, chipped away at. But you’re making it damn near impossible. I love Sophie, and I love—” Her lip wobbled, but she caught it between her teeth, exhaled deeply through her nose before continuing. “And I love being in her life, but I can’t work for you anymore. How you’ve treated my parents just now and their generous offer to help is the final straw. I’ve waffled with this decision all week, and your rudeness in there helped me make my decision. I’m a good person, Aaron, but I’m not a doormat.”
Her words grew legs, kicked him hard in the belly and drove all the breathable air from his lungs.
Her glare faded, her eyes turned glassy, and her throat bobbed on a hard swallow. “Consider this my notice.”
Isobel fought the urge to wince as Aaron’s fingers gripped her shoulders and he shook her, fear burning in his dark blue eyes.
“You can’t quit,” he gritted, trying to whisper so as to not draw attention to them in the kitchen but clearly struggling. “You can’t.”
She dropped her gaze to his feet.
It was easier than looking into his pained eyes. “I can’t go on like this, Aaron. I can’t.”
A dark and surly noise rumbled deep in his throat. “Please.”
“Tell me about Colombia. What happened? Why does Mercedes think it’s something I need to know?”
If he expected her to give him her heart, to give him chance after chance to prove he was more than just the angry, grieving bugger he claimed to be, he needed to give her something in return. She didn’t necessarily expect his heart—yet, but she expected him to trust her. She expected the truth. She expected him to confide in her and not just treat her like a nanny, a housekeeper and a concubine.
His mouth tightened, and fear flashed behind the deep blue in his eyes. “I can’t,” he ground out.
She glanced down between them at the floor. “Then I can’t.”
“Have you guys seen the news?” Isobel’s father’s voice entered the kitchen.
Isobel’s head snapped up from Aaron’s feet to find her father behind them at the edge of the kitchen, his own gaze intense and curious.
Aaron released her arms and fixed her with a pleading stare. “Please, Iz. Don’t. Can we talk after dinner? Colombia was … ” He sucked in a sharp breath. “Colombia is not something I can talk about. But we need to talk.”
She clenched her teeth and nodded, though there wasn’t much he could say at this point to change her mind. She hadn’t discussed everything with her parents, but she’d hashed it all out with Tori and the women at Paige’s bistro over the past week, and they were all of the same mindset. Aaron was too damaged, and he needed to want to heal before she could even attempt to help him.
“Apparently there’s been a slew of jewelry store robberies and carjackings taking place in the area over the past few weeks. Cops can’t tell if it’s an organized thing or not,” her father continued. “You know to lock all your doors the moment you get in your car, right?”
“Yes, Dad,” she sighed, distracted by Aaron and his visceral reaction to her giving him her notice. “I’ve been following the case.”
It’d been several weeks now, and still they hadn’t come any closer to catching the criminals. And now, the criminals weren’t just robbing stores, they were jacking cars too. In the last ten days, two more jewelry stores had been hit, and the last time one of the clerks had been shot—not fatally, thankfully. So far, the news hadn’t reported anything about any store owners whipping out guns. Though, unless they caught the guy or guys, it was only a matter of time.
“Right, my little mystery buff,” her father continued. “You know to take your keys with you when you pump gas, lock your doors then too?”
She rolled her eyes. “Every time, Dad.”
He stared at his phone. “Something fishy is going on with all these carjackings. Gonna talk to my buddy down at the precinct, see what he knows.”
Isobel shook her head. Just like her, her father was addicted to the news. She got her love of crime and mystery from him. They often shared novels and would discuss them in depth over the phone after they’d both had a chance to read them.
A former Army Ranger and now security specialist, her dad always wanted to know how criminals got past high-tech security features, how they managed to thwart the experts.
“Dinner’s almost ready, Dad,” she said, stepping away from Aaron and the intense heat that radiated off his muscular frame. He smelled like sawdust, sweat and manliness. It was an intoxicating combination she needed to get as far away from as quick as possible. “Just need to toss the Caesar salad.” She grabbed the bottle she’d prepared for Sophie off the counter and walked over to hand it to her dad. “Here’s Soph’s bottle if you or Mom would like to feed her.”
Her father was a very astute man, always watching, always observing. No way was he ignorant to the vibe he’d just walked in on. “You okay, Izzy?” he asked under his breath. He was the only person she allowed to call her that. She typically hated the nickname, preferred her full name or Iz, but when her dad called her Izzy, she didn’t mind one bit. “Need me to have a talk with him?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s okay, Dad, I’ve got this.”
His lips flattened into a thin line, but his eyes, the same shade as hers and Tori’s, softened. “He’s hurting, sweetheart.”
Wait, what?”
Her pinched brows must have given away her shock at her father defending Aaron.
“Remember when Nana died?”
Yeah, her father had been an absolute wreck. He’d escaped to their family cabin for a week, going completely off the grid.
“Multiply that by a million, then add a baby on top, and that doesn’t even begin to describe the pain he’s feeling. Cut him some slack.”
Well, holy crap. She never in a million years would have expected to hear those words out of her father.
According to her mother, Calvin Jones had been a hard-headed, stubborn SOB with a real chip on his shoulder and an ego the size of Jupiter when the two of them had met. Her mother had actually tried to shake her father, break up with him and find somebody less—dark, as her mother put it. But her dad had been persistent. He wooed her mother, changed his ways, softened a bit and showed her a humbler side of himself.
It obviously worked, because the two had been married for what felt like forever, and they still seemed madly in love with each other to boot.
Though it took having children, particularly two very girly little girls, to really brought out her father’s soft side. Calvin Jones was not afraid to play tea party, get his toes painted or dress up as a princess for Halloween when Tori wanted to go as the evil queen and Isobel decided she wanted to be a carrot (last minute) instead of the matching princess to her father.
“Maybe we should take little Sophie for a walk in her stroller so the two of you can talk,” he offered, glancing out the window into the backyard. “It’s not raining—for once. Might be nice to get the wee one some fresh air.”
Isobel shook her head. “I can’t ask you guys to postpone your dinner. Aaron and I can talk later.”
Her father shook his head. “Naw, we’ll be okay. We had a late lunch. Went to that Lilac and Lavender Bistro you and Tori have been raving about.” His eyes went saucer-size. “We’ll definitely be going back before we leave this weekend. I want like five of those sfogliatelle things.”
Isobel lifted up onto her tiptoes and pecked her father on the cheek. “Thanks, Dad, but we’ll be all right. Dinner in five, okay?”
He lifted one bushy eyebrow and cupped her cheek, then turned and took the bottle into the living room. Isobel and Aaron were once again in the kitchen alone—save for the tension hanging over them as well as her tendered resignation. Yeah, dinner was going to be a blast.
26
Aaron filled the kitchen sink up with hot soapy water, put the chicken parm pan in to soak, then went to work putting the remainder of the dinner dishes in the dishwasher. Isobel and her mother had taken Sophie for a bath while Isobel’s father said he had a few emails he needed to catch up on and went to go sit in the living room with his phone.
Aaron was a mess.
Although Isobel had been completely pleasant all through dinner, chatting with her parents, holding a fussy Sophie while eating with one hand and smiling across the living room at Aaron, things had been anything but relaxing. At least for him.
All through their meal, he kept trying to imagine her not sitting with him every night eating dinner, and he couldn’t. He couldn’t imagine her not there. Didn’t want to imagine her not there.
He couldn’t lose her. He just couldn’t.
And not just as Sophie’s nanny. He couldn’t lose her from his bed, his house, his life.
A throat cleared behind him.
“Need somebody to dry?”
There weren’t any dishes to dry, save for the chicken parm pan, and that was soaking. From the short amount of time Aaron had spent with Calvin, he knew the man wasn’t an idiot. He just needed something to break the ice.
Aaron grunted, opened up the fridge and pulled out a beer, twisting off the cap and giving it to Calvin.
He grunted his own thanks and tipped it up for a long sip, eyeing Aaron over the bottle as he did. Finally, he pulled the bottle down, wiped the back of his wrist over his mouth and leaned back against the counter with a loud “Ah.”
Aaron had spied the rest of the chicken parm in a Tupperware container on the counter and was tempted to cut himself another piece—Isobel made an amazing chicken parmigiana—but instead, he grabbed himself a beer from the fridge as well and opened it.
“You into all these microbrew beers that seem to be popping up everywhere?” Calvin asked, scrutinizing the San Camanez Island wheat ale label.
Aaron swallowed his beer. “Some of them.”
Calvin made a face that said he wasn’t of the same opinion. “I’m a Bud man, myself. Not sold on these fancy beers. Raspberry Sour. Apricot Saison. Chocolate Orange Ale.” He wrinkled his nose. “Fruit doesn’t belong in beer unless it’s a lime down the neck of a Corona. And a Corona only belongs in my hand if I’m in Mexico. That shit tastes like horse piss. Same color too.”
Aaron nodded and frowned in agreement. “Never could stomach the stuff myself.” His head tilted down toward the floor, and he bent down to pick up a piece of fallen romaine lettuce from the salad.
“You like her, don’t you?”
He nearly threw his back out with how fast he popped back up.
Calvin raised on eyebrow. “Love her?”
Aaron thought he was going to be sick. “Excuse me, sir?”
His other eyebrow joined the first. “Sir? Now there’s a good start. You know, I see a lot of myself in you. Angry, hard, lost. I served too. Still haunted by a lot of the shit I saw and even more by the shit I did. Shit I can’t talk about with anybody.”
“Mr. Jones, I—” Aaron started.
But Calvin cut him off, continuing on with his speech, his level gaze telling Aaron he wasn’t a man who appreciated being interrupted. “I hated the world for a long time. Had a big ego too. Figured I jumped out of airplanes, shot machine guns, drove tanks, I’m fucking invincible.”
