Love in Bloom

by Alison Kent

  Chapter Thirteen

  Carson sat in the rubble-strewn alley, his shoulders pressed back against the factory's rough wall. What in the devil had possessed him to come to Belfast with his foot in a cast? He could've been stateside, covering the Preakness and the Belmont Stakes. He was getting too old and worn out for Northern Ireland.

  Using the sharp end of a broken jar and the ragged edge of a pipe that resembled shrapnel, he sliced and sawed and chewed his way through the fiberglass, then busted more than one knuckle tearing the thing in half.

  Once he'd freed his foot, he stretched the muscles, flexed the tendons, and leaned back, waiting for Sean Teer, the Irish journalist and Carson's escort through the city, to return. Sean had promised to rustle up a pair of boots. And now that the cast was fodder, Carson would be in deep trouble if his colleague didn't come through.

  The story the press had been sent to cover had yet to break. Now he and three of his American colleagues were stuck here another night. Transportation back to London wouldn't arrive until tomorrow.

  He really didn't need any more downtime. He'd already had hours to think. And all his thoughts had been of Eva. Eva and their baby, which she'd lost.

  That morning after the prom, when they'd stood so distant in her living room and he'd seen the tears in her eyes, he'd known the emotion was real and not manufactured for his benefit.

  As furious as he'd been at her sin of omission, his overwhelming emotional need at that moment had been to draw her into his arms and hold her close. To console her, to shoulder what he could of the weight of her loss. Her loss. Because he hadn't lived with the sadness for half of his life.

  Eva had.

  He flung the shard of glass across the alley, and watched it bounce off the rubbish heap piled across the way to shatter on the ground. Deception. He rolled the word around in his mind. Yes, he'd been deceived. But he'd never been maliciously betrayed. And there lay a chasm of difference.

  He knew Eva well enough to believe her when she'd said she'd seen no reason to tell him of her miscarriage. It wasn't like his knowing would've made any difference. And at that age? Hell. He'd have countered with nothing but accusations of blame.

  If she hadn't been so thin, she might've carried the baby to term. If she hadn't run, she might've given him a chance to be a father.

  But she'd been thin because his camera demanded it. And she'd run because he'd given her no choice.

  At nearly twenty-three years old and with travel on his agenda, he wasn't sure he'd have stayed in New York even if he'd known. Not when he'd planned for years to strike out.

  Then he'd called it wanderlust. Now he knew he'd been searching: for acceptance and belonging and a place to call home—when Eva had been standing on the other side of his camera for two years, offering him everything he wanted.

  Youth was certainly blind and hardheaded.

  Sean ducked into the alley, tossed Carson a pair of ragged boots, then shot back out into the street with a parting call to hurry, the echo of which reached Carson's ears.

  "Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."

  He dug in his backpack for an extra sock, then managed to shove his weak-as-a-noodle size-twelve foot into the size-ten boot. He grabbed the split length of a crate slat to use for a crutch, and hobbled after Sean Teer.

  He was going home.

  "Are you holding yourself responsible for my fluid intake or something?" Eva glanced down at the quart of iced tea Jan had set on the counter at Blooms. "All you've done recently is ply me with liquids."

  "I'd ply you with food, but you never stop to eat. You need to keep up your strength." Jan sipped her own tea through a straw.

  "I'm as strong as an ox." Eva flexed a bicep. "Okay. A very small, very thin ox. But thanks. I need it. It's way too hot out there for May."

  "If we could hook up a direct IV, you could monitor your own fluid intake." Jan feigned a piteous expression. "But then, you wouldn't need me to look after you."

  Silly woman. Eva laughed. "Of course I need you to look after me! What kind of friend do you think I am?"

  "One I am damn proud to know." Jan grabbed Eva's hand and squeezed. "You have been a pillar. A rock. I would've fallen apart days ago if I'd been in your shoes."

  Carson was still a sore subject with Jan. Eva had come to terms with his departure, though her friend was probably interviewing hit men.

  "My shoes would fit you just fine," Eva reassured the other woman. "You know I love Carson. I'll probably love him forever, but life does go on. Anyway"— Eva made a quick change of subject—"look how strong you were, waiting all those years to conceive, now you have the twins. You never gave up."

  Jan's hand went to her hip and she frowned. "Well, what fun would that have been?"

  Eva laughed, and circled the counter to give her friend the hug she deserved. "I'll be fine. I have you and Gerald. I have Zack. And I don't have man trouble."

  "Hmm." Jan gave Eva's back a final pat, then pointed toward the glass wall looking out over the gardens. "I'd say that's exactly what you have, girlfriend. The very nerve of some men."

  Eva looked back through the same window. Her heart stopped, then started, then thudded a wild drumbeat she felt all the way to the roots of her hair.

  Carson.

  Eva's gaze was captured by the movement of the man. His walk was powerfully determined. Stylish pewter frames shaded his eyes, but the rest of his face—the set of his jaw and the lift of his chin— broadcast his intention.

  He was here for her. And Eva's breathing caught, then quickened.

  "Uh, Eva."

  "Hmm?"

  "Don't be too easy on him. It never hurts a man to grovel."

  "Easy? Not a chance. He's going to have to work for this one," Eva said, though she knew he wasn't going to have to work hard at all. Not with the way she loved him. And not with what she saw in his face, even with the shield of the tinted shades.

  "Good girl," Jan said, giving Eva's hand a final squeeze. "If you need me later, I'll be at home. I'm checking into the logistics of that IV. For Carson. I think he's gonna need it."

  "I think I can handle this one. Thanks, Jan. For everything. You're the best. Oh, and turn the sign to closed on your way out, would you?"

  Once Jan left, and the door was pulled shut, Carson had Eva's full attention. The first thing she noticed, after she noticed the three weeks' added growth to his collar-length hair, and the way the sun glinted through the strands of honey and gold, was that his cast was gone.

  He wore brown deck shoes—sans socks—on both feet and khaki-colored safari fatigues that showed off the strength in his legs. He wore a black-banded wristwatch and a chocolate-brown T-shirt stretched over chest and shoulders so beautifully wide.

  He'd reached the door to the interior of the shop, and now he pulled it open, pulled off his shades, and met her anxious gaze. Then he smiled. Joy suffused his eyes, and the laugh lines fanned out like spread fingers. He looked happy and settled and more content than she'd seen him look at any time in his life.

  She pressed a palm to her fast-beating heart as the first stirrings of hope fluttered near. And then the door shut behind him and he moved into the store without stopping or looking away. He had his mind made up and his goal in sight, and Eva retreated a step, then two, then three—not in trepidation, but because she wanted to watch him, to anticipate his purpose, thrill at his approach just a few seconds more.

  But then he reached her, hooked one arm around her neck, and drew her close. She felt the warmth of his breath, the heat in his eyes, and then his mouth descended. He kissed her wildly. He kissed her senseless. He kissed her until she had to come up for air. She laughed. With both palms flat on his chest, she laughed. His answering chuckle and sigh veiled her fingers.

  "Let's make a baby," he said.

  "What?" Was he out of his mind? "Where did that come from?"

  He pressed her hand to his heart. "From here. Where I love you. Where I want you. Where I'd die for you."

&n
bsp; She closed her eyes, then opened them slowly. He was still there. "Oh, Carson. I love you."

  His face was a mixture of desire and innocence. "Then will you think about it?"

  "About a baby?" Carrying Carson's child. Oh, how that thrilled her. And Zack, Eva thought, and laughed. He'd so wanted a little brother to beat up on. "Why a baby?"

  "I love you. I want a home and a family with you." He frowned. "You don't think I'm too old, do you?"

  He was just too cute. She grinned. "Too old for which part of that?"

  "Any of it. All of it. Do you think I've lost my mind?"

  She shook her head. "No. I think you've found it."

  He threaded his fingers into the hair behind her ear, and settled his broad palm against her scalp. "I've found more than that. I've found everything I've been searching for all of my life. And I've found it here. I've found you."

  He'd done more than that. He'd found himself.

  "Welcome home, Carson Brandt," she said. Then she stepped into his arms. And into the rest of her life.

  ###

  Read on for more about the author and her books, plus a sneak peek at LOVE ME TENDER.

  Copyright

  LOVE IN BLOOM

  Alison Kent

  Kindle Edition

  Originally published by Zebra Books, Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Copyright 2000 Alison Kent. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  About The Author

  Alison Kent was a born reader, but it wasn't until she reached 30 that she knew she wanted to be a writer when she grew up. Five years later, she made her first sale. Two years after that, she accepted an offer issued by the senior editor of Harlequin Temptation live on the "Isn't It Romantic?" episode of CBS 48 Hours. The resulting book, CALL ME, was a Romantic Times finalist for Best First Series Book.

  With her first three Temptations on the shelf, she took a break from writing romance novels and spent a few months living one, finding her own hero and practicing every technique she'd learned from a lifetime of reading the best "how-to" manuals around! She currently lives in Houston, Texas with her petroleum geologist husband and two rescue dogs, one a Hurricane Katrina survivor.

  Alison's 2009 Harlequin Blaze, A LONG, HARD RIDE, part of Harlequin's 60th Anniversary celebration, was nominated for a 2009 RT Reviewer's Choice Award for Best Harlequin Blaze of 2009. STRIPTEASE, a 2003 release from Harlequin Blaze and part of her popular gIRL-gEAR series, was also an RT Reviewer's Choice Award nominee. NO LIMITS, book nine in her Smithson Group series from Kensington Brava, was excerpted in the October 2009 issue of COSMOPOLITAN as a Red-Hot Read.

  Her 2005 Kensington Brava release, THE BEACH ALIBI, book four in her Smithson Group series, was a nominee for the national Quill Awards, sponsored by Reed Business Information. Alison is also the author of THE COMPLETE IDIOT'S GUIDE TO WRITING EROTIC ROMANCE and a partner in the Access Romance author community (http://www.accessromance.com) and in DreamForge Media (http://www.dreamforgemedia.com) as a website designer.

  Also by the Author

  from Kensington Brava

  With Extreme Pleasure

  No Limits

  Maximum Exposure

  The Perfect Stranger

  Beyond A Shadow

  Deep Breath

  Larger Than Life

  The Bane Affair

  from Harlequin Blaze

  One Good Man

  A Long, Hard Ride

  Indiscreet

  Kiss & Tell

  The Sweetest Taboo

  Kiss & Makeup

  Goes Down Easy

  Infatuation

  a sneak peek at Love Me Tender

  Jace didn't come for chili that night, and though he arrived in a standoffish mood at daybreak, he didn't refuse Eden's offer of scrambled eggs and biscuits. Two nights later he stayed for a hurried meal of stuffed baked potatoes and picked up a dozen kolaches from Molly's the morning after.

  The routine continued through the weekend. But Jace never looked at her again the way he'd looked at her in the doorway of his shed. After spending the past six days with the man, Eden felt they were more in tune than many married couples.

  Still, nothing she'd learned went deeper than the surface. Since that one brief confrontation, Jace had deflected her every effort to pry. What she knew was to pass the cream for his coffee; he, never to butter her toast.

  She knew more, as well. That he'd want a quart of iced tea by three, then nothing but beer with supper. And since lunch wasn't her best time of day, he managed to have an extra sandwich in his lunchbox, even when he didn't eat.

  When she slipped her shoes off her swollen feet one afternoon, he teased her about her size eight Jumbo the Elephants. And her woman's intuition told her he wore an extra large--in everything.

  Monday morning she woke late with a headache, a backache and a heartache that defied explanation. Broody and bloated from head to toe, she wanted to stay in bed and wallow in her misery. Even better, to soak in a tub of apricot-scented bubbles, eat a pan of butter brownies and reread her favorite romance novel.

  Unfit company for man, beast or even herself, she slipped into a huge shapeless T-shirt dress and padded barefoot to the kitchen for a muffin and tea. Why had she thought relocating and changing careers had been a smart move?

  And why in the world did she think she'd be a good mother? She couldn't even take care of herself. How was she supposed to take care of a business and a family when she couldn't get beyond the need for a good cry?

  It was an eat-a-worm day all around.

  So, when Jace knocked on her kitchen door at ten, she purposefully kept her outward reaction to one of surprise, even though deep inside she welcomed him home. The screen door creaked as she pulled it open. "I hate you, you know."

  Two steps brought him up her stairs and into her kitchen. Three more took him the width of the room. Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned back against the refrigerator and gave her that sexy Jace Morgan grin. "Good morning to you, too."

  Prying her gaze from the suede tunic sheathing his wide shoulders, Eden swallowed hard and pushed the door shut behind her. "What I mean is, do you never take a day off? No one who puts in the hours you do has a right to look so ..." Gorgeous, her brain supplied, "... rested," she forced herself to say.

  Jace shrugged, stretching the fabric even tighter. "I don't take many days off. Not scheduled anyway."

  "What do you mean?" She stacked her hands on the door behind her and leaned back, her protruding stomach protruding even more.

  Jace's gaze slid away. He ran one finger over the porcelain knob of the cabinet door beside him. "I work at my own pace. I don't punch a clock. When I'm tired, I stop. It's that simple."

  "So, what are you doing here today? You're certainly not dressed for work."

  "I have a delivery to make in Farmersville." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "But I was hoping we could do some business first."

  Eden pushed off the door, determined to finish her breakfast dishes, equally determined to ignore the way Jace Morgan filled her kitchen. And the way she felt less blue when he was around. "I don't know, Morgan. I can't afford to do much more business with you."

  "It'll only cost you time."

  She turned, soap suds clinging to her hands. "Time?"

  "Yep. It's called bartering."

  "What could I possibly have to barter with that would interest you?" she asked, then wished she hadn't. His heated look flared between them, wordlessly answering her question. Finally, he turned. The back seam of his shirt gaped open, revealing taut muscles and smooth skin.

  To
o much skin to Eden's way of thinking. With unsteady hands, she rinsed her tea cup and pulled the stopper from the drain. "Bartering, huh? Like, in exchange for my services as a seamstress, you'll knock a couple bucks off your estimate to redo my kitchen?"

  Lifting the cheesecloth covering the basket on her stove, Jace helped himself to a cinnamon roll. "If that's what you want."

  What she wanted right now was best not put into words. She watched the final swirl of bubbles vanish down the drain, wiped down the lip of the sink and dried her hands. "No. What I want is to ride into Farmersville with you. I've got an order to pick up at Calico Corners."

  He looked up, half the roll in his mouth. "That's it?"

  "C'mon, Jace. Ten minutes of my time isn't worth much more than a ride." She tossed the towel on the countertop.

  "Sounds like a helluva deal to me."

  "Then let's take a look at the damage."

  Jace licked cinnamon glaze from his fingers, braced his palms on a chair back and bent at an angle that gave Eden a clear, close view of his back. Her fingers trembled for no good reason. At least none she allowed herself to consider.

  Skimming the buckskin with a light touch, she tested the strength of the seam's worn edges. Heat from Jace's skin breathed over her hands, a seductive invitation to slip her fingers inside the shirt.

  She closed her eyes. The scent of leather and man seeped into her loneliness. Then Benjamin kicked, reminding her not to be stupid again and she backed a step away. "Fabric looks tough enough. I think the thread just gave up the ghost."

  Jace glanced back. "So, can you fix it?"

  "Sure."

  "Now?"

  "Now?" she repeated.

  He nodded. "The bed of my truck's loaded. I need to get over to Farmersville before it rains." The sunlight shining through her kitchen window dimmed on cue.

  "I don't think I have time to drive home and change." When she only stared, he went on to say, "I can go like this if you don't have time."

  Eden shook off her trance. How bad could it actually be to have Jace undress in her house? She'd seen him shirtless just last week. Then they'd been outdoors, with acres of breathing room. Now they were in her house. Alone. With gloomy skies increasing the intimacy.