by Megan Kelly
Ginger watched the girl leave. “Shouldn’t we supervise her with a knife?”
“It’s plastic. She’ll be fine. I may not be Father of the Year, but I don’t give my toddler a sharp knife, nor would I let her use it unsupervised.”
“Of course not. Sorry. Garlic butter?” Ginger turned her attention to her nose, twitching in delight. “I thought I smelled Italian-something.”
“I made lasagna. My grandma’s recipe.”
Good Lord on a bun. The man cooked.
Ginger wondered what time the girls went to bed.
Chapter Eight
They probably weren’t going to make love tonight.
Ginger had never had sex with a man who had children in the house—or children anywhere, for that matter. She couldn’t figure out how one “did it” with his daughters home. Hopefully, Scott would know.
Well, no. That wasn’t a comforting thought, either.
She could hear Serena in the kitchen, singing. His other daughter remained conspicuously absent since Ginger’s arrival. Was it because her teacher had come to her house or because her dad had invited a woman to dinner? “Where’s Shelby?”
“She’s here somewhere.” He frowned. “You’re right, she should have come out to greet you. I’ll go get her.”
Ginger placed a hand on his forearm, loving the strength emanating through the chambray, worn soft with many washings and wear. “Don’t bother her. She’ll come out in a few minutes anyway for dinner, right?”
He nodded.
The quiet house boomed in her ears. Unless that was her pulse, racing along with the fantasies forming in her head. “Thanks for inviting me to dinner. I felt bad, speaking to you so brusquely after Shelby’s party. I had a meeting to get to.”
Where I interviewed to adopt a baby, without telling you. Even though it would change our relationship. Or end it. A meeting where the mother wouldn’t give her baby to a single woman. The coincidence of Ginger coming to dinner wasn’t tied to that refusal. She suppressed a niggle of guilt. Scott had invited her. It wasn’t as though she’d sought him out, needing a daddy in order to adopt Fiona’s baby.
Still, she’d accepted the invitation, even though the timing stunk. If she questioned her motives, Scott would wonder, too.
“Don’t worry about the manner in which you spoke.” He stroked a hand down her cheek, and she closed her eyes in response, luxuriating in the gentleness of his warm touch. His lips brushed her cheek. “It was the words I didn’t care for. What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours right now, honey?”
She locked her gaze on his. “I’m wondering something. Have you managed to have sex without sending the girls to someone else’s house? Since your wife, I mean.”
His breath hitched, and his eyes darkened in instant reaction. At least he was still interested in making love with her. After Friday, she hadn’t been sure.
She wanted the comfort of his arms. Being found unsuitable by Fiona had been a blow, and she had no one to console her. No husband, no baby, and Scott had ruined her for casual sex. How long would she be alone?
Not tonight, at any rate.
Old habits die hard. Losing herself in sex had been her answer when Kyle left. This felt different. This was Scott.
“I like the direction of your questions. The answer is no.” He held up a finger, then placed it on her chin, slid it slowly down her throat, to the V between her breasts. “Let me rephrase. The answer is not yet.”
She shivered from both his touch and from anticipation. “I like the direction of your answer. And the direction of your finger.”
“Are you thinking of tonight? Because I am. Now I am.”
“I’m thinking appetizer, if I believed we could get away with it.”
He laughed, husky and promising. She shivered with need.
“What time do they go to bed?” She set her mouth against his and sucked his lower lip. He tasted of garlic butter, her new favorite aphrodisiac. He must have sneaked a taste test.
“It’s a school night, so eight o’clock. We’re eating late.” His eyes met hers. “Can you stay out late on a school night, young lady?”
“If you don’t tell, I won’t.”
“I’ll write you a note. ‘Dear Mr. Bushfield, Ms. Winchester just experienced a round of hard loving, followed by a longer session of soft loving—’”
Ginger gulped.
“‘And therefore didn’t get home until the wee hours. Please excuse her from any physical duties today as she may not only be sore—’” he winked “‘—but she must also save up her energy for future such activities.’ What do you think?”
She thought it sounded lovely, like a night she’d never forget. It sounded like the beginning of a relationship, and that sounded like something she couldn’t promise him. So she hedged. “I’d love to see my principal’s face turn purple if he read a note like that. I can’t wait for your account to come true.”
A bell chimed. Scott kissed her nose. “Dinner’s ready. Hold that thought.”
“Daddy,” Serena called from the other room, “the buzzer went off.”
Was this what having a family was like? Putting the needs of the children before her own? Sneaking away for sex in stolen moments or quiet hours when the house was asleep? The idea made her smile. Millions of parents did it every day—and still managed to “do it” every day.
Ginger volunteered to take the puppy outside while the girls and Scott finished filling glasses with milk and setting out food on the dining room table while the lasagna set up. Horace danced around her, eager for play. “You’re here for a reason, Horace. Go do it.”
He peed then barked, making sure she noticed. She laughed and gave him a vigorous petting, praising him for being so smart.
Dinner conversation centered on the girls’ activities. Shelby sat sulky and quiet unless Scott cajoled her into commenting. Serena’s stares didn’t unnerve Ginger as much as they usually did.
“The meal tastes like someone’s Italian grandmother made it.” Ginger glanced at him. “Is your grandma Italian? There’s so much I don’t know about you.”
Considering we’ve been naked together.
“Nope.” The twinkling laughter in his eyes told her he’d read her thoughts. “She was just a good cook.”
After the first few delicious bites, the meal could have been one of her frozen dinners for all Ginger tasted it. Her mind locked on the coming hours, when the girls would be tucked in and she would have Scott to savor.
Even brownies didn’t compete with that.
Ginger glanced around the table at this small family, solid and strong, and doing well on their own. Was it possible she—and someday a baby—could become part of the magic? Scott excelled as a father. Her adopted child wouldn’t lack a dad. The girls would probably be terrific big sisters. Shelby was caring and practical when mothering her sibling, and Serena’s sweet nature and loving interaction with Horace showed promise. Could Ginger bring a baby into the mix and become a vital part of this family?
She’d always believed she had to start from babyhood in order for a child to love her. The girls had known a mother’s love, and in their eyes, Ginger would always be a substitute. She would have to deal with their preferring another woman, their real mother, for the rest of their lives. Was she strong enough?
“This is really good garlic bread, too, Serena,” Ginger said to break the silence and include the little girl.
“Dad’s is good,” Shelby countered, “but my mom made it better.”
Ginger’s fork paused in midair. “I’m sure she did.”
“My mom made me anything I asked for. Like pancakes for dinner sometimes. And she’d put smiley faces on them.”
“That sounds fun.”
“She was.” Shelby’s gaze bored into her. “She could do anything. Soccer and sewing and stuff. She taught me ballet ’cause she was a really good dancer. And she played with us all the time.”
Serena nodded. “I remember danc
ing with Mommy.”
Shelby shot her sister a hard look. “Of course you remember. It wasn’t that long ago.”
“Shelby,” Scott cut in. “That’s enough.”
“Well, it’s true. Don’t you remember, Dad?”
“I remember everything, Shel. Now you remember your manners.”
The girl sunk into her chair but said no more.
Scott offered Ginger a weak smile of apology as forks once more scraped across plates. Perhaps it was too soon for another woman in the girls’ lives. She wondered if a trip home to see their mom had been scheduled. They’d only been in Missouri for one month, but time didn’t rule the heart.
After dinner, Scott tucked in the girls then took Horace outside before shutting him in the mudroom. Ginger waited in the living room on the impossibly ugly orange couch, anticipation building.
Maybe she shouldn’t tell him about her adoption plans, well aware he might want no part of a baby while dealing with all the other changes in his life. Since those plans were just hopes at the moment, as no one had agreed to let her adopt, she set them aside, feeling only slightly dishonest.
He came in and sat beside her, taking her hand. “I can’t believe I’m nervous.”
She laughed softly. “Why would you be? It isn’t as though you need to seduce me.”
“Yeah, and I’m thankful for that.” His lips slid along her jaw. “But I’m going to anyway.”
She tilted her head to allow him access, shivering as his hot mouth found her neck. “I want this. I’ve thought about being with you so often since our night together.”
“That feels like a different time,” he said.
“Last year.” Her hands smoothed over his shirt, eager for the privacy to remove it. Knowing the girls weren’t yet asleep and she might have to spring apart from Scott kept her from taking his clothes off right then and there. While restrictive in one way, it freed her to explore him, as well, limiting their foreplay to fully clothed titillations. She liked the challenge of arousing him through chambray and denim, with her creativity and words, with hands, mouth and tongue. Even her teeth incited him as she pulled on his earlobe or nipped his neck.
Her breathing faltered as his hands found her breasts. Through layers of fabric, he touched and tugged, teased and tweaked, driving her crazy. She pushed against him, wanting more, needing to be closer. By the time they headed upstairs, hand in hand, anticipation had nearly robbed her of the ability to walk. Anticipation and Scott’s skillful loving.
The turn of the lock on the door was the most eagerly awaited click she’d heard in her life.
A large clean room with only two pieces of furniture, almost spartan in its simplicity, lay before her. Done in grays and browns, the room needed serious livening up. Thinking of one way to energize the room, she turned back to Scott with a smile, but said instead, “You need a decorator.”
“I sold my old bedroom suite.”
“Oh.” Great, Ginger. Make him think of his wife. He got the furniture and the girls? His ex must be some piece of work. Had she left and abandoned everything?
“I figured a new start should be totally new. For me. Some of the things I kept so this would look like home to the girls, of course.”
Well done, Ginger berated herself. Bring his ex-wife and his daughters into the conversation—and into the room. This wasn’t working.
“Well, I’m glad it’s all yours.” Ginger smiled. “It just doesn’t look like you.” It came off as boring and mismatched.
“Why not?” He looked at the light oak furnishings as though he’d never seen them before. “I’m a guy. It works.”
She stepped forward and flicked his top button open. “Who picked out that orange couch downstairs?”
“I did. Bought it with my first substantial paycheck, but I didn’t realize how hard it would be to get things to coordinate with it.”
Surprise shot through her. “It looks like new for being, what, ten years old?”
“A little shy of that. Usually there are green and yellow pillows, but I’m afraid Horace ate them.”
She flicked open his second button, then stepped back out of reach.
He swallowed, trapping her eyes with his heated gaze. “Sam, my wife, hated that couch, but I wouldn’t agree to sell it. It was a symbol of what I’d accomplished, earning money for more than rent and food, and being independent. So we compromised.” He grimaced. “We kept it, but she put it in the basement with a painter’s tarp over it.”
Ginger chuckled. “Clever.”
Scott caught her hand as she reached for his next shirt button. “I believe I’m behind.”
His fingertips explored her breast, around her nipple. She shuddered in response to the tug in her belly. Heat swept through her bloodstream.
“I saw that shiver. Let’s get you under the blankets.”
Ginger chuckled. “I’m so far from cold, I could be in Georgia.”
“It gets cold in Georgia. Not biting temperatures like Missouri, grant you. I recall a few nights in high school, with a blanket and a girl and the moonlight, where we spent more time wrapped in the blanket than rolling on top of it.”
She stepped backward toward the bed without looking, and he followed. “A big warm blanket like this?”
“No, an oversize picnic blanket I borrowed from my mom.” He laughed softly. “Without telling her, of course. Can’t imagine explaining that one.”
“Well, let’s pretend.” She sat on the bed. “We have moonlight shining in through the window. What did you plan to do with the girl?”
He propped a knee beside her on the bed and tipped back her chin. “Same thing I’m planning to do with you.”
His mouth came down, hot and hard, tongue tickling the folds of her lips. Her mouth opened, letting him in, giving what she could in that position. The hand supporting the back of her head kept her from reclining. He held her in place, his mastery arousing, where she’d never liked such a thing before. She felt protected and conquered at the same time. Aware that he’d stop if she made the request, she held still; that he’d shift position if she whimpered her discomfort, she remained quiet; that he’d care for her and her needs, she waited.
The thick fabric of his shirt under her hands reminded her she held a man. He might yield to her. He might not. For certain, he’d pleasure her, which suited her fine. Power struggles didn’t fit into tonight’s game plan.
Tonight was about reuniting and rediscovering. Tonight she put aside the reasons why a relationship between them wouldn’t work and concentrated on the possibilities. Tonight was about being with the man she’d come to care for. Tonight was about feeling desired.
To that end, she trailed her fingers down to the leather belt around his hips. He caught her hand.
“Not yet.”
“Why? Can’t take too much?” She smiled in the darkness, pleased to have such a strong effect on him. “Going to explode early like the schoolboy you remember?”
“It’s not time yet.” He pinched her nipple through her sweater.
She jerked and almost squirmed with longing. “What do I have to say to provoke you to do that again?”
Scott laughed and eased her down on the bed, following and settling alongside her. “We have all night. Don’t be impatient.”
“We have all night. Why dawdle over the first time?”
His teeth flashed in the darkness. “First time? I like the way you think. But I also like the way you look. Last time, we left the lamp on. Is it okay if I turn on a light?” He cupped her cheek. “I want to watch you when you climax.”
She snorted. “You want to get an eyeful of my womanly charms.”
“That, too.” He rose and flipped on a light in what appeared to be a bathroom, then pulled the door most of the way closed. A strip of illumination fell across the floor and to the right of the bed, leaving most of the room in shadow.
“Your womanly charms are so charming.” His accent thickened, for effect or because he was affec
ted, she didn’t know. His palm cupped her breast.
“I remember you leaning across the desk in the hotel room,” he said, “flipping on that lamp. That image has replayed in my head many times. Your thin—very thin, I might add—dress curved over your backside and clung to your breasts.” His hand did what his words expressed: curved over her backside just long enough to produce shudders of need, squeezed, then clung to her breast. “I thought I was going to faint.”
She swallowed. “Faint? Aren’t you exaggerating a little?”
“Not at all. All the blood had rushed out of my head.”
She smiled.
“I wanted you like that.” His voice roughened.
Mouth dry, she wet her lips. “Like what?”
“Stretched out over the desk.”
“Oh.”
He tilted his head. “Oh? Is that ‘Oh, no way’ or ‘Oh, why didn’t you say so?’”
“No. Not say so.”
He nodded, his face passive.
“Do so.”
“Oh.”
She pulled his head closer, brought his mouth to hers. His whiskers scuffed across her face, prickled under her hand, tingled her fingertips. The care he took not to abrade her skin sent pools of warmth to her belly. She moaned her pleasure, unable to voice the deeper feelings she didn’t want to face. Admitting she was falling in love would complicate things.
He covered her, his weight pinning her to the bed. Rising for a moment, he pulled her sweater over her head. Deft fingers played over her breasts, making her shiver with need, before unhooking the clasp of her bra.
She struggled to keep her brain working long enough to manage the rest of the buttons on his shirt, then pushed it off his shoulders. Smooth skin, coarse hair, strong muscles held in check. Her mouth found his salty skin, remembering he wasn’t much of a talker, but she didn’t need words. The pleasure he brought her spoke eloquently.
They freed each other from jeans and all the sundry pieces until they both lay naked. She wanted him. Not only with her body—although she certainly yearned to find completion in his arms, with him inside her—but with her heart. He’d touched her, changed her, made her want more from life than an occasional quick romp. He’d brought lovemaking back to the forefront of her mind, rather than having-sex-to-forget-her-husband’s-betrayal.
