by Неизвестный
parents are gone. Right now everything in his little life is in upheaval. I’m his only constant. How can
you yank up the few roots he has left and take him away from me?”
She had a point. He remembered how Dylan had snuggled against her earlier.
“And you can’t take Dylan away from my home. That’s all that’s familiar to him right now. Another
change of place is going to unsettle him all over again.”
He tilted his head to one side and replayed her words through his mind—Another change of place is
going to unsettle him all over again. “That’s it!”
At his exclamation Victoria stared at him as though he’d taken leave of his senses.
He hit a hand against his forehead. “The answer is simple.”
Five
“C ome on.” Connor held open the door.
Victoria hesitated only for a second. No way was she abandoning Dylan to Connor and the powerful
Maserati.
She stepped past Connor, catching a whiff of lemon and male, and settled into the passenger seat. The
acreage of leather was seductively plush, and before she could protest Connor had leaned across her and
clicked the seat restraint into place, strapping her in.
She’d barely recovered from the jolt to her senses of having him so close when he joined her in the
intimacy of the cockpit.
“Ready?”
Victoria nodded, unsure what she was letting herself in for.
The motor roared, and the rich, husky voice of Nina Simone poured from the surround-sound system,
silencing even Dylan. Connor’s hands slid over the steering wheel with such tactile pleasure that
Victoria had to suppress a groan. A moment later he swung the vehicle out of the churchyard.
The journey passed in a flash. As Connor throttled back the surging engine, Victoria glimpsed through
the side window a familiar oak with wide, spreading branches.
What were they doing outside Suzy and Michael’s home?
She struggled impotently to unlock the car door, until—to her immense frustration—Connor strode
around and freed her.
Clambering out, she slung her tote over her shoulder and asked, “Why have you brought us here,
Connor?”
“Let me get Dylan first.”
Nostalgia welled up as she stared at the Edwardian cottage that had been Suzy and Michael’s home since
their marriage—and where she had spent so many happy hours.
She wandered across the sidewalk to the low, white wooden gate.
Dylan had been baptized in this garden. Right there in the arbor tucked into the east side, under the
canopy of girly, pale-pink roses. It had been one of the few times she and Connor had visited the house
at the same time. As the baby’s godparents they’d been forced to put on a façade of friendship for
Michael and Suzy’s sakes.
The gate swung open under her touch. As she stepped onto the winding garden path a gigantic wave of
sadness drowned her. The ghosts of Suzy’s laughter and Michael’s slow smiles lurked everywhere. In
the pretty pansies that brightened the pots lining the pathway, in the fresh coat of lily-white paint on the
shutters and in the shriek of a gull overhead, its wings icy-pale against the darkening sky.
She started as Connor came up beside her.
“Connor, I’m not sure that I’m ready to do this. I don’t think I can even go into the cottage yet.” A
tempest of grief was imminent. Only Connor’s presence held the tears in check. “I need time.”
“Look.” Connor swung the baby seat forward. “I think Dylan knows he’s home.”
The baby was cricking his neck, and making gurgling sounds of pleasure.
Sorrow tasted bitter in the back of her mouth. What did poor Dylan know? “It’s not his home anymore,”
she choked. “Michael and Suzy are gone.”
And she and Connor were going to have to decide—and agree—what to do with the house.
Michael had done a marvelous job restoring the old cottage—with Suzy and Connor’s help. But the
maintenance would be a nightmare. Best to sell it and invest the proceeds for Dylan.
Moisture escaped from the corner of one eye and she quickly brushed it away before Connor could
notice.
He swung around. “I’ve been thinking…”
She gave a surreptitious sniff. “What?”
“One of the reasons you felt that Dylan should live with you was because he’s grown accustomed to his
surroundings in the past few days.”
“Well, yes…” It looked like she’d gotten through to him. Finally. The first thread of relief started to
unwind. She glanced up at him, grateful for his understanding. “It’ll be much better for him than going
to your home, which he doesn’t know.”
“I wouldn’t say he doesn’t know it,” Connor objected. “He has been there with his parents. But as you
pointed out, it would be much better for him to be in familiar surroundings—like here.”
“Here?” Dismay filled her.
Connor nodded. “This is, after all, his home.”
In the distance thunder growled. Victoria decided that even the weather gods disagreed with Connor.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t live here.” The comforting sense of relief had vanished. There were far too many
memories of Suzy and Michael. In every piece of painted wood, every flower. It would kill her to have
to live here. “Don’t ask me to do that.”
“I’m not asking you to—I’ll move in. Can’t you see?” He was looking at her as if he expected her to
applaud his perspicacity. “You were right, Victoria. And this way I won’t be displacing the baby. He’ll
be in familiar surroundings.”
Her own arguments had caused him to come to this conclusion? Her heart started to thud in fear. She
was going to lose Dylan after all. “You can’t do this!”
He thrust his hand into his pants pocket and brought out a bunch of keys. “Why not?”
Because Dylan is mine, she thought. But she couldn’t tell him that. She’d promised Suzy she wouldn’t
reveal her part in Dylan’s birth.
Oh, dear God.
She tried to get her thoughts straight. Surely Suzy’s death released her from that promise.
Or did it?
She rubbed her fingertips against the sides of her nose. Finally she said thinly, “It’s macabre that you’re
thinking of moving into their home when we only buried them today.” Her head started to ache. “Tell
me you don’t mean this?”
But Connor was already striding up the path that wound to the wooden front door, keys jangling
between his fingers, the handle of the infant seat hooked over his arm.
A splatter of moisture landed on her arm. Victoria glanced up, startled at how dark the sky had grown.
She hurried after Connor and grabbed his arm.
He swung around. “Careful, you’ll awaken—”
“I’m not going in there. I’m not.” Barely conscious of the wetness on her cheeks, Victoria tipped her
head back and glared at him defiantly.
Connor grew still. His free hand came up and touched her cheek with gentle fingers. “You’re crying.”
She ducked her head sideways, dislodging his touch. “I’m not crying. It’s the rain.” It seemed important
to convince him of that. To reveal no weakness. Victoria pointed to the sky. “Look how low the clouds
are.”
But his gaze didn’t waver from her face, and his eyes softened to the color of mist. “Okay, it’s the rain.”
“It’s going to get wors
e.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “We can’t stay out here. Dylan
will get drenched.” Hunching her shoulders, she threw a haunted glance toward the cottage.
“I’ll take the two of you home.” Connor put an arm around her shoulder and turned her toward the gate,
the infant seat swinging gently from his other hand.
The warmth of his body against hers flooded Victoria with a rush of emotion. She blinked frantically as
he held the garden gate open for her, determined not to cry any more. This was Connor, why was he
being so darned gentle? It made her want to cry all the more.
The rain began to fall in stinging drops. Connor dropped his arm from her shoulders and hurried to get
Dylan into the back of the Maserati.
Victoria stood on the sidewalk, unmindful as the drops turned to sheets of water. She’d won. She could
hardly believe it. He wasn’t going to force her—or Dylan—to go into the cottage. Conner was taking
them both home.
So why didn’t she feel a thrill of victory? Why did she feel so terribly lost?
“You need to get out of that wet dress.”
Connor jerked his gaze away from the sodden material that clung to Victoria’s skin, blatantly revealing
the gentle curves and the tight tips of her breasts as she shivered.
“But Dylan—”
“Is perfectly dry. I got him into the car before the heavens opened.” Connor’s attention fell onto the
baby still sleeping in his infant seat.
“He’s exhausted.”
He knew without looking that she’d followed his gaze. Victoria must be exhausted, too. After all, she’d
been holding the baby for most of the day. But if he said anything more, she’d only deny it. So Connor
settled himself down onto a couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “Why don’t you go have
a hot shower. I’ll watch the baby for a while.”
Edging forward, she said, “Why don’t you make yourself at home?”
“Not now, Victoria.” Weariness crept into his voice. He’d had enough of all the sniping between them.
She stared at him for a long moment, then bowed her head. “I’m sorry.”
Connor nodded and closed his eyes. Hearing so sound of movement, he cracked them open. She hadn’t
moved. She stood in front of him, looking every bit as drained as he felt.
“You’ll feel better after a shower.”
“Maybe.” Her hazel eyes remained fixed on him. “But right not I don’t really want to be alone.”
“Oh, Victoria!”
Her reluctant admission moved him. She was so fiercely independent. Connor knew for her to reveal any
weakness at all meant she must be feeling utterly empty. Dropping his legs down, he reached forward
and scooped her off her feet. She landed across his lap with a squeak, a struggling mass of arms and legs.
“I’m wet!” she wailed. “I’m going to soak you, too.”
“Shh.” He bent his head over hers. “Just relax.”
Her body softened instantly. For long minutes he held her, not speaking, not thinking, simply savoring
the scent of her, the softness of her body under his soothing palm that rubbed along her back in long
strokes.
At last she shifted. “I must be heavy.”
Connor almost groaned as her bottom moved in his lap. Heat shot through his spine and he fought the
urge to shudder in reaction. If she’d only stayed still…
Victoria froze. Her head came up, and startled golden-green eyes met his. Connor knew she’d felt his
unmistakable reaction. He waited for her to pull away. She didn’t.
“Victoria…?”
With a groan he pulled her toward him. Her parted lips met his, and he sucked in the whisper of her
breath. It was a hungry kiss, full of pent-up emotion, of passion long resisted. Connor licked the soft
sweetness of her bottom lip, tasting her deeply, and she wriggled closer.
His fingers found the zipper of her dress, and he broke off the kiss. The rasp of the sliding zipper cut
across the sound of their ragged breathing. Connor peeled the wet fabric off her shoulders and slid the
dress over her hips, down her legs, his gaze all the time holding hers, watching as a flush of passion
flooded her pale cheeks.
When the dress was off, he pulled her atop him so that her bare legs straddled his hips. Her naked skin
shimmered in the evening light, as pale as pearl against the seductive black satin bra and panties.
Connor’s breath caught at the sheer grace of her long limbs and sweet curves.
With shaking fingers she reached forward and undid the buttons of his shirt. “Your shirt is damp, too.”
“Just a little.” He’d gotten wet holding the car door open for her.
Pulling the edges apart, she murmured, “Then it will also have to come off.”
Connor leaned forward and shrugged his arms out of the sleeves. “Anything you say.”
A glint lit her eyes, and her lips curved into a delicious smile. “You should always be so amenable.”
“I’m at your mercy.” He stared at her rosy lush mouth.
She laughed. Driven by an impulse he could not resist, Connor reached out a shaky finger and outlined
the full, wide, laughing curse. Her mirth died away, and the pink tip of her tongue came out and touched
his finger.
“You undo me, woman,” he said hoarsely, “with one little flick of your tongue.”
“Then what about this?” She trailed a tantalizing finger down his chest, across his stomach, before
halting an inch above his belt.
“Tease,” he groaned.
“Your skin is so silken,” whispered Victoria.
His erection leapt. “That’s my line,” he growled, yanking her to him and bending his head forward to
ravenously plant a row of kisses along the tempting arch of her throat. Under his lips he felt her throat
contract as she gasped. His mouth opened, and he tongued the silky skin. His open mouth slid down,
over the narrow slip of black satin that joined the cups of her bra covering her breasts…down farther…
savoring the sweetness of her flesh.
Grasping her hips between his hands, he lifted her up and kissed the smooth skin of her belly.
“Connor!” The sound was guttural, full of need and desire.
“Be patient.” His erection strained again his pants, rigid with desperation. He wasn’t so sure that he was
capable of following his own command.
She pulled away and settled back astride his lap.
Connor’s back arched instinctively at the contact. “My God, woman.”
He felt the buckle of his belt give under the persuasion of her nimble fingers. His heart skipped a beat as
she undid the button below. The sound of his breathing filled the room, hoarse and jagged.
Light danced across his eyelids as he squeezed his eyes shut. Sliding his hands up her sleek back, he
reached the catch of her bra and fumbled, his fingers suddenly clumsy.
A cry filled the air.
Victoria’s hands stilled. “Dylan.”
She scrambled off his lap, tugging the clinging black dress over her breasts, and ran to the other side of
the room. Lifting the baby out of the infant seat, she turned her head, and Connor’s throat closed up as
he read the turbulent confusion in her eyes.
Bewilderment. Guilt. Shame.
And, underneath it all, the heat of desire, too.
Connor rose slowly to his feet.
“Put your shirt back on.” Her voice was a thready croak.
“It’s damp.”
“Please,�
�� she implored.
“Okay.” He pulled it on and watched as she tried to juggle the baby while trying to push her arms back
into the wet sleeves of her dress. “Give Dylan here—I’ll entertain him while you change.”
Without meeting his gaze, she thrust the baby into his arms and fled.
How could he have allowed—no, encouraged—that to happen?
Victoria couldn’t believe that she’d almost ended up having sex with Connor. She fastened her jeans and
reached for a lambs wool sweater. If Dylan hadn’t woken up…
Oh, God!
How could she have been so foolish? And now she had to leave her bedroom to go back downstairs. She
groaned in dismay. It would take all her courage to face Connor after what had happened. And to
demand that he never touch her again. They both had a duty to Dylan. As his guardians. Passion couldn’t
be allowed to interfere with their responsibilities.
As Dylan’s mother, she couldn’t afford to risk alienating Connor. It would be the height of
irresponsibility to let passion rule her—and make her no better than her parents had been.
By the time she entered the living room, she’d pulled herself together, making sure that none of her
trepidation showed. The man who’d kissed her to distraction was sitting on the carpet, and the contents
of the baby’s diaper bag were strewn around the room.
Connor looked up at her entrance and gave her a sheepish grin. “I figured out how to change his diaper.”
Victoria yanked her gaze away from the chest she’d run her fingers over. Thankfully he’d covered the
glorious muscles up with a shirt as she’d requested.
“Congratulations,” she managed and searched for the words to tell him that she did not want him to ever
kiss her again—that it was a dereliction of their duties as Dylan’s guardians.
Dylan chose that moment to flap his arms and, gazing at her accusingly, he started to cry. Victoria
picked him up, taking care not to brush against Connor’s legs.
“He’s hungry.” Forcing herself to glance at Connor, she said, “There’s a bottle ready in the fridge.
Won’t you fetch it please?”
To Victoria’s surprise, Connor went without demur.
