A Forever Kind of Family

by Brenda Harlen

  Even when she’d found out that his family owned the multimillion-dollar company, she hadn’t been impressed. In fact, she’d accused him of coasting through life on his family name and money. There was probably some truth to that, but Ryan had grown up with a workaholic father who missed more family dinners than he attended. As a result, he’d vowed not to live his life the same way and he refused to apologize for the fact.

  He also refused to let her put him on the defensive about his personal relationships.

  “The only awkward morning-after I ever experienced was with you,” he told her.

  Harper drew in a sharp breath and glared at him over the baby’s head. “We agreed to never talk about that night.”

  “I didn’t agree to any such thing,” he denied. “You decreed it and I chose to go along.”

  She glanced down at Oliver, who, despite their heated exchange, had immediately settled back to sleep. “So why are you bringing it up now?” she challenged.

  It was a good question—and one he wasn’t sure he knew how to answer. Because even if he hadn’t explicitly agreed that the subject was off-limits, he had gone along with her request that they both forget it had ever happened.

  Except that he’d never really forgotten about that night. Yes, he wanted to—because it was more than a little humbling to share an incredible sexual experience with a woman who made it clear that it was never going to happen again—but his efforts had been unsuccessful.

  No, he hadn’t forgotten about that night, but he’d pretended that he could. And he’d never said a word about it to anyone. Until now.

  “Because it’s there,” he finally said in response to her question. “Even if we don’t talk about it—it’s there.”

  “It was one night more than four years ago,” she reminded him. “Ancient history.”

  “If it was so long ago and so unimportant, why didn’t you ever tell Melissa about it?” he challenged.

  “What?”

  “You always said that there were no secrets between best friends, that you told her everything. So why did you never tell her about that night?”

  “Because I didn’t want things to be awkward between us.”

  “Us who? You and her? You and me?”

  “All of us.” She kept her focus on the baby. “If I’d told Melissa, she would have told Darren. Then anytime we were all together, it would have been awkward and weird.”

  “You don’t think it was awkward and weird anyway?”

  “Not at all,” she denied.

  “You don’t feel any residual attraction when we’re together?”

  “Hardly.”

  His gaze narrowed at the dismissive tone, but he noticed that she didn’t look at him as she spoke. Her gaze had dropped to his shoulders, skimmed down his torso. Even in the dim light, he could tell that she was checking him out—and appreciating what she saw. “You’re a smart woman, Harper.”

  She dragged her eyes from his bare chest to meet his again. “Thank you,” she said, just a little warily.

  “So you must realize that a lot of guys would take that statement as a challenge.”

  “It was merely a statement of fact.”

  He told her what he thought of that in a single-word reply.

  She rose from the chair with the sleeping baby. “I’m putting Oliver in his bed and going back to my own.”

  He couldn’t resist baiting her, just a little. “Is that an invitation?”

  “Has hell frozen over?”

  She responded without missing a beat, and he found himself smiling as he watched her gently lay Oliver down on his mattress. What was it about this woman that, even while she infuriated him, he couldn’t help but admire her quick mind and spunky attitude?

  He walked beside her to the door. “You still want me.”

  “You really need to do something about that ego before—”

  He touched a finger to her lips, silencing her words.

  “You still want me,” he said again. “As much as I still want you.”

  As he spoke, his fingertip traced the outline of her lips. Even after four years, he remembered the softness of her mouth, the sweetness of her kiss. He remembered the passion of her response to his touch and the feel of her hands moving over his body.

  Her eyes darkened and the rapid flutter of the pulse point below her ear made him think that she was remembering those same things.

  Then she blinked and took a deliberate step back. “Are you really hitting on me less than three weeks after we buried our best friends?”

  “I was merely stating a fact,” he said.

  “Your slanted interpretation of a fact,” she countered.

  He slung an arm across the doorway, halting her retreat. “I hardly think you’re in any position to be talking to me about slanted interpretations when you’re deep in denial about your own feelings.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Because I must be in denial if I’m not dragging you across the hall to my bed, right?”

  “You wouldn’t have to drag me—I’d probably cooperate if you asked nicely.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  Chapter Two

  “...available dates for next month.”

  The words nudged at Harper’s mind as if from a distance.

  She recognized her assistant’s voice, but she wasn’t sure Diya was talking to her and she couldn’t summon the energy to respond.

  “Did you hear me?”

  The voice was closer now, sharper.

  “Harper?”

  She lifted her head, blinked her gritty eyes. “Yes, of course.”

  Diya’s expression was concerned. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She reached for the mug of coffee at her elbow and swallowed a mouthful, trying not to wince as the cold liquid slid down her throat. Obviously she’d zoned out for more than a couple of minutes if the coffee she thought she’d just poured was already cold.

  She blamed Ryan for her lack of sleep the night before. After she’d put Oliver down in his bed and gone back to her own, she’d lain awake for a long time thinking about what he’d said—and silently damning him for being right.

  Because she did still want him. Just being near the man made her blood heat and her heart pound. And there had been a brief moment in the doorway of Oliver’s bedroom, as Ryan had slowly and gently traced the outline of her mouth with the tip of his finger, when she’d wished he would stop teasing her and start kissing her. She’d wanted to lift her hands to touch him, sliding her palms over the rippling muscles of his belly, the hard planes of his chest. And yes, dammit, she had wanted to drag him across the hall and have her way with him.

  Of course, he probably had the same effect on most females. Because how could any woman resist the intense focus of those green-and-gold eyes that made her feel as if he saw nothing but her? How could she deny the allure of that sexy half smile that promised all kinds of sensual pleasure? Harper didn’t think it was possible.

  She knew that guys like that, who had women falling at their feet, were often selfish lovers—concerned only with their own satisfaction. She also knew that Ryan Garrett was not one of those guys.

  However, one spectacular lovemaking experience more than four years earlier couldn’t change the fundamental fact that they were completely and totally wrong for one another. Like her favorite Godiva salted-caramel chocolate bars—he might be tempting and delicious, but she knew she would inevitably regret the indulgence. It was that knowledge that had finally given her the strength to move away from him.

  Unfortunately, the memories of that long-ago experience churned up by his casual touch had kept her awake into the early hours of morning. And wasn’t it a sad reflection on her love life that, four years later, she could still recall every detail of that night?

  She shook her head, as if to banish the unwelcome memories, and realized that while she’d been gathering her scattered thoughts, her assistant had taken her cold coffee cup away and returned
now with a fresh, steaming cup.

  “Thanks,” Harper said gratefully.

  “You have—” Diya gestured to her own cheek “—paper creases on your face.”

  So much for maintaining the illusion that she had been hard at work rather than sleeping at her desk. “I guess I dozed off for a minute,” she acknowledged.

  “Why don’t you go home and get some proper sleep?” her assistant suggested gently.

  “Because when I get home, I’m on baby duty,” she admitted.

  “Babies nap—you have to learn to sleep when they do.”

  It was the same advice she’d read in countless books, but it seemed to Harper that whenever Oliver was napping, there were a million other things to do before she could even consider sleep.

  “That sounds simple enough,” she agreed. “But when I put my head down on a pillow, my mind refuses to shut off.”

  “But when you put your head down on a desk, sleep comes?”

  Her smile was wry. “Apparently.”

  Diya shook her head. “What are you working on there?”

  She had to look at the computer screen to remember. “Finalizing the shopping list for our cooking segment tomorrow morning.”

  “‘In the Kitchen with Kane.’” Her assistant sighed dreamily. “That man is as yummy as everything he cooks.”

  “And an absolute tyrant when it comes to his supplies and ingredients. Three of the items he wants for tomorrow— banana blossom, rau ram and Thai basil—are only available from that specialty cooking shop in Raleigh.”

  “What’s rau ram?”

  “Vietnamese coriander—which is apparently similar to cilantro, but Kane can’t use cilantro. He has to have rau ram.”

  “Send the list to my phone—I’ll go.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. My sister, Esha, lives in Raleigh and I was planning to stop by to see her this week anyway.”

  “That would be a huge help,” Harper told her.

  “I’m the assistant producer’s assistant—it’s my job to help,” Diya reminded her.

  “Well, thank you for saving me a detour to the grocery store on my way home.”

  “Anytime.”

  But as Harper was making her way to her car, her phone chimed with a text message.

  can u pick up milk for Oliver?

  And she realized she was going to have to make that detour anyway.

  * * *

  Only a few weeks earlier, Ryan had texted his brother to tell Justin that he would pick up the beer on his way over to watch the game. Today he’d texted the woman he was living with to ask her to pick up milk for the baby.

  Obviously his life had undergone some major changes, not the least of which was that he was now playing house with Harper Ross. Beautiful, smart, sexy and infinitely challenging Harper Ross.

  He used to think he was smart, too, but his unrelenting attraction to his co-guardian suggested otherwise. He’d been attracted to other women—a lot of other women, and he’d taken a fair number of those other women to his bed. Whether a relationship lasted a few nights or several months, it would inevitably run its course. And when it did, he and the woman in question would part ways, usually amicably.

  The problem, from his perspective, was that his relationship with Harper had never run its course. One night with her hadn’t been enough. Not even close. But after that first night, she’d made it clear there wouldn’t be a second.

  And he’d accepted her decision. He hadn’t tried to change her mind. If she didn’t want him, there were plenty of other women who did. Unfortunately, countless nights with other women hadn’t helped him purge his desire for her. It was still Harper he wanted, her taste that he craved, her passion that he coveted. He’d hoped the yearning would fade with time and distance. Of course, their current circumstances ensured that he would have the benefit of neither of those to help assuage the ache inside him.

  He heard a thump through the monitor on the counter and, glancing at the screen, saw that Oliver had kicked the headboard of his crib. The kid was a restless sleeper. He always started in the middle of the mattress, but he never finished there. He sometimes woke up on his belly, sometimes on his back, but never in the same position he’d started from. Ryan figured it was a good thing Oliver’s bed had four sides—otherwise the little guy might wake up in the hall.

  As he dumped some pasta into a pot, he kept an ear tuned to the monitor, listening for any other indications that Oliver was waking up from his nap. For now, he was sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware that the “mama” and “dada” he still called out for weren’t ever coming home again. Ryan tried not to dwell on that fact too much himself, but it was an unassailable truth that squeezed like a fist around his heart.

  He missed his friend. He hated that Darren’s life had ended so tragically and prematurely only weeks after his thirtieth birthday. And there were moments, though he would never acknowledge them aloud, when he resented having his own life derailed by the responsibility of helping to raise Darren and Melissa’s child.

  Those moments never lasted long—probably not more than a few seconds. Just long enough for the thought to form and guilt to slice him in half. Because how could he be mad at his friend for anything when Darren had lost everything? How could he begrudge caring for his best friend’s son when the little boy already owned his heart?

  Maybe Ryan had never given much thought to being a father, but he knew that Darren had been as excited as Melissa when they’d learned she was expecting their first child. And even when Ryan had teased his friend about trading in his Audi for a minivan, Darren hadn’t minded. He’d been sincerely looking forward to Cub Scouts and soccer games and all the things that most dads did with their sons.

  But he hadn’t had a chance to do any of them, so Ryan would. He’d even buy that minivan if he had to—but he really hoped he wouldn’t have to. A Jeep, maybe. Yeah, a Jeep had enough seats for carpooling and plenty of cargo space for all of the kids’ gear.

  The timer on the oven buzzed. He lifted the pot off the stove and dumped the macaroni into a colander just as Harper came through the back door with the jug of milk he needed to make the cheese sauce.

  Her heels clicked on the ceramic tile, drawing his attention to the sexy sling-back shoes on her feet. His gaze skimmed upward, following the curve of her calves to the flirty hem of her skirt, which twirled around her knees—

  “Is Oliver still sleeping?”

  He dragged his attention away from her legs. “Yeah, but he’s moving around in his crib, so probably not for long.” He dumped the pasta back into the pot and reached for the milk, frowned at the label. “This is nonfat milk.”

  “So?” She kicked off her shoes and dropped her purse on the counter.

  “So Oliver can’t drink that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because babies need whole milk until the age of two, to aid in brain development.”

  She huffed out an impatient breath. “Your message didn’t say to pick up whole milk—it just said milk.”

  “I figured you knew.”

  “Well, obviously you figured wrong,” she snapped at him, as she slipped her feet back into her shoes and grabbed her purse again.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get whole milk.”

  Clearly, he’d screwed up. Again. Eager to smooth things over, he told her, “Don’t worry. This’ll be fine for his pasta. I’ll go out later and—”

  “You asked me to get it,” she reminded him, reaching for the handle of the door.

  He slapped his hand on the frame so that she couldn’t open it. “Forget it. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  But he could tell by the moisture shimmering in her eyes that it was—at least to her.

  He wondered how it was that, only ten minutes earlier, he’d been thinking that they were managing okay and now Harper was on the verge of a meltdown—for reasons he couldn’t even begin to fathom.

  “Haven’t you ever
heard the saying ‘no use crying over spilled milk’?” he asked, striving for lightness in a desperate attempt to ward off her tears. “Well, I think the same could be said about nonfat milk.”

  “I’m not crying,” she denied.

  And maybe she wasn’t, but she definitely sniffled.

  “Do you want to tell me what this is really about?” he asked gently.

  She shook her head. “I’m just tired.”

  Which was hardly surprising in light of the hours that she worked—not just at the studio but after Oliver was settled into bed at night. “It’s almost the weekend—you can sleep all day Saturday if you want.”

  “I don’t mean physically tired, although I am that, too,” she admitted. “I mean tired of faking it.”

  His brows lifted. “What exactly have you been faking?”

  She drew in a deep breath and looked up at him. “That I know what I’m doing here, playing house, playing mommy, when the truth is, I don’t have a clue.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then cupped the back of her head and gently drew her closer, until her forehead was against his shoulder. “You’re doing just fine. We’re doing just fine.”

  She didn’t pull back, but she shook her head again. “You already do so much more than I do, and when you ask me to do one little thing, I screw it up.”

  “No one’s keeping score, Harper.”

  “If they were, you’d get all the points,” she said.

  “That’s not true,” he denied. “You’d get points for having breasts.”

  That, finally, earned him a watery smile.

  “Now, why don’t you go get Oliver while I finish making the mac and cheese?” he suggested. “There’s enough for you, too, if you’re hungry.”

  “Maybe.” And then, proving she hadn’t lost her sense of humor, she added, “But only if you’re making it with nonfat milk.”

  * * *

  She didn’t have any of the pasta.

  Instead Harper made herself a salad and munched on lettuce and chopped veggies while Oliver shoved handfuls of macaroni in his mouth and smeared cheese sauce all over his face and the tray of his high chair.

  Ryan had taken his bowl of pasta into the main-floor den to do some work while awaiting the start of a conference call. In the past, Harper might have resented the inherent flexibility afforded to him because his family owned the business he worked for. Now she was grateful.