What Mattered Most
Page 16
Lanie opened her eyes and glanced skyward. “Cait, am I interrupting?”
“No, that’s just Beecham, dropping off reports. Anyway, you have to decide, but I don’t want you to settle, Lanie. You deserve it all. Is O’Reilly the guy who can give you that?”
“I don’t know.” Lord help her, she still wanted him to be.
The day dragged as Lanie moved through Sonny Buck’s routine. With Caitlin’s questions running through her head, she was no closer to any answers when John returned home. When his key turned in the lock, she stood in the kitchen with Sonny in her arms, waiting for a bottle to warm, and suppressed a shiver of awareness.
He dropped a bundle of folders on the counter and crossed to pat Sonny’s back. The loose papers on top of the folders scattered across the countertop. “Hey. Did you have a good day?”
Lanie watched his fingers cup the baby’s head. “We did. He’s trying to hold his head up.”
“Yeah?” Grinning, John lifted their son from her arms. “You been working out, big guy?”
Holding his head away from John’s shoulder for a moment, Sonny Buck graced him with a wide grin. Lanie took the bottle from the warmer, and John reached for it. “He needs a diaper, too. You take a break.”
Carrying on an animated conversation with the baby, he went upstairs. Lanie spent a few minutes straightening the kitchen, listening to his voice drift down. Gathering John’s papers, she shuffled them into a pile and started to drop them on top of his folders. She paused after seeing her name and read the first few lines. Legal documents. Anger sizzled under her skin. Papers in hand, she stalked upstairs and into the nursery.
John had shed his suit and tie for a pair of sweatpants. A T-shirt hung over the end of Sonny Buck’s crib; the empty bottle sat on a small table by the rocker. On the floor, John did sit-ups, Sonny Buck resting against his up-drawn knees. Every time John came up, Sonny smiled and gurgled.
Lanie stopped at John’s feet and waved the papers at him. “What is this?”
He glanced at the sheaf of documents, not missing a beat. “Custody and visitation orders.”
Cold fear slithered around her spine, chilling the anger for a moment. “You saw a lawyer?”
Curling tighter, he bumped his nose against Sonny Buck’s, making the baby laugh harder. “I picked them up from Jeff today. He sent a copy to Troupe Cavanaugh’s office for you.”
How could he be so calm? Lanie swallowed a frustrated scream. “Damn it, John—”
On this curl, he brushed a kiss on the baby’s forehead. “I asked for more visitation time than the law lays out. I was hoping that wouldn’t be a problem.”
Visitation? She looked at the papers again, reading farther than the primary paragraph. The papers assigned her primary custody and an obscene amount of child support. She swallowed, feeling foolish. “John, I can’t take this money.”
His face hardened for a moment. “It’s not for you. It’s for him. And I can afford it. I get a raise with the sergeant’s rank.”
She glanced at the dollar amount again. “And what are you going to live on? Have you looked at rent amounts in Houston lately?”
“Got it covered. I’m moving in with Casey. His roommate is taking a job in Ft. Worth.” With a heavy sigh, he collapsed against the rug, one hand holding his ribs. Lanie averted her eyes from the perfect line of his pecs and the dark arrow of hair running between his rippled abs. He sighed. “Hell, I don’t think this was a good idea yet. Take him, would you?”
Dropping the papers on the changing table, she leaned down for Sonny Buck. John’s woodsy scent enveloped her, and he hissed in a breath when her hair brushed his stomach. She straightened, holding the baby like a shield. “Are you sure you want to move out? We’ve made it work so far.”
Rolling to his feet, he shot her a look. “I’m glad it works for one of us.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Sonny Buck drooped against her shoulder.
“It means I’m not cut out to be your damned roommate,” he snapped. “Put him down. He needs to fall asleep in the crib.”
“Don’t start that perfect dad crap with me.” Hissing the words at him, she settled Sonny Buck in his crib. His eyes fluttered closed, and she pulled a white blanket over him. “I don’t need you to tell me how to take care of him.”
John glared at her. “It kills you, doesn’t it? To have to admit I’m a good father.”
“Oh, please.” She tossed his T-shirt at him. “He’s six weeks old. You have plenty of time left to screw up once the new wears off.”
The color drained from his face, fury blazing in his eyes. “You little… It doesn’t matter, does it? None of what I’ve done, nothing I will do, is going to convince you, is it? I wasn’t sure I wanted him when you were pregnant, and you’re going to hold it over my head forever, aren’t you?”
If suspecting it was bad, having him say the words was worse. The pain took her breath. She closed her lips against the horrible words bubbling in her throat. Shaking her head, she pushed by him and went into the bathroom, headed for her room.
He followed, his breathing harsh in the small room, and closed a hand on her arm, pulling her against him. “Lanie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Tears burned her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. “But you meant it, didn’t you?”
“I want him now.” His voice rasped against her ear, the breath hot. “Isn’t that what matters most?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, her temple brushing his jaw. Early-evening stubble rasped against the tender skin. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
Her voice broke, and his groan rumbled through her, too. “Oh hell, Lanie, don’t cry. I’m not worth it.”
His fingers brushed at the wetness on her cheek, the other hand moving over her arm in a soothing caress. He rubbed his face against her hair, lips a butterfly touch against her incision scar. His chest was hot against her back, her tank top the thinnest of barriers.
He murmured, words she didn’t catch, but the rumble of his voice set off tremors low in her stomach. Desire quivered along her nerves, her body coming to life again. She ached for him.
Long fingers slid over her arms and shoulders in a gentle touch. She didn’t want him gentle. She wanted him rough, hard, wild, like always between them. Her head fell back, and her hands fluttered, seeking a spot to rest. They settled on his thighs, wringing a different groan from him.
“Lanie.” His mouth moving along her neck. Shivers tingled through her, and she pushed back, the sudden proof of his arousal pressed against her. “Oh, baby, I’ve missed you.”
This…this she was sure of, his hands slipping from her arms to her hips and up over her stomach. She covered his fingers with hers and eased his hands up to cover her breasts. With the contact, a moan escaped her lips, hanging in the still air. Cupping her, thumbs teasing erect nipples, he rocked against her. Lanie let her eyes drift closed, lost in the sensations of being loved by him again.
Against her ear, his breath rasped hot and moist. One of his hands traveled over her stomach, delving beneath the elastic band of her yoga pants. Anticipating his touch, she trembled, a moist ache between her thighs. His long fingers cupped her through thin silk panties, and the simple pressure wrung another moan from her.
He pulled her closer. “Lanie.” His mouth slid up her neck, nipping. “Tell me you want me.”
One finger stroked over silk. “Oh, yes.”
“Say it,” he whispered. “Let me hear it, baby.”
Another maddening caress. “I…want you.”
He moved, spinning her in his embrace and lifting her to sit on the countertop. Arms braced on either side of her body, he stared at her, his face flushed, eyes dilated. “Touch me. I want your hands on me, Lanie.”
Head tilted back, eyes closed, she ran her hands over his shoulders and up his neck. He sighed. “Open your eyes.”
She lifted heavy lids. Her gaze locked on his, she let her hands move to
his chest, the muscles hard under her fingers. His skin was hot and smooth, the dark hair fine and silky. It grew coarser as her fingers slid down his stomach to the waistband of his sweats. His lashed dipped; he cursed under his breath. She smiled. “Open your eyes, John.”
He did, staring at her again. “You make me crazy,” he muttered and pressed closer. She smiled, wanting him as out of control as she was. “Feel what you do to me, baby.”
She gasped, barely resisting the urge to rub against him like a cat. He eased her back, his hands covering hers where she braced herself on the counter. Trailing a caress up her arms, he traced her collarbone, drifted over her breasts, teasing but not quite touching her aching nipples. He covered her waist with his hands, then slid them to her hips. Lanie swallowed, her tongue darting out to wet dry lips.
His gaze, locked on her face, darkened. Supporting her with his hands, he pulled her closer. “Kiss me.”
Her hands tangled in his hair, she lifted her mouth to his. At the first touch of her lips, John’s tenuous control slipped. He groaned and took her mouth the way he wanted to take her body. Her hands traced his spine, molding, and he shuddered. He’d waited so long to have her touch him again. Desperate, he pulled her closer still. When her hands slipped beneath the waistband of his sweats, her nails scoring his buttocks, he bucked against her.
John reached for her tank top, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over her head. The late afternoon sunlight filtered into the room, gleaming on her skin. He cupped her breasts again, lowering his head to worship her. “So beautiful.”
With a moan, she dug her fingers into his hair, holding his head to her body. His own scent lingered on her skin, making him wilder. She was his. He couldn’t lose her again.
The need to claim her beat through his veins, but he wanted more than possession. He wanted to be possessed, to have her claim him as well. His tongue circled her nipple, and she sighed, hands moving over his back again. She pushed at his sweats, hands stroking over his buttocks and thighs.
With her touch, joy shot through him. He’d ached for this, to have her with him this way again—the woman he loved, the mother of his child. Child. Oh hell.
He stilled with a groan, burying his face in her throat. Her hands continued to rove, fingers brushing his stomach. John caught her hands in his. “Wait.”
“What is it?” Her voice was a husky rasp, and he lifted his head, staring into golden eyes burning with unfulfilled desire.
“Baby, we can’t,” he whispered, brushing her damp hair away from her face. “You’re not protected, and I—”
Her eyes widened, realization dulling the flame. “Oh my God.” She pushed at him, grabbing her tank with the other. “What are we doing?”
Fear settling in his stomach, he reached for her. “Lanie, stop. Baby, listen, I need to tell you—”
She jerked the tank over her head. Tears trembled on her lashes. “What was I thinking?”
“Lanie—”
“Don’t touch me again.” She pushed his hands away. Tossing back her hair, she glared at him. “When did Casey say you could move in? I want you out.”
Chapter Sixteen
The phone rang, and John glared at it. If he had to file one more incident report on a stolen lawnmower, keyed automobile, or missing lawn flamingo, he would do someone great bodily harm. The records clerk on duty didn’t look up from her computer, and with a sigh, John reached for the offending phone. “Records division. Sergeant O’Reilly.”
“You sound really enthused,” Casey’s drawl greeted him. “Is being a pencil-pushing desk jockey that bad?”
John rubbed his aching temples. Why didn’t Casey wait until he got home? “Worse.”
“John-boy, how do you feel about fishing?”
The ancient chair gave a plaintive squeak when John leaned back. Suspicion tingled to life in his brain. “I’ve never done it. Why?”
“You’ve never… You’re kidding.”
John grinned at his roommate’s shock, the humor a pleasant, if unfamiliar, emotion. He didn’t have a lot to smile about lately. “No, I’m not. Are you doing a poll on leisure activities or what?”
“Actually, I’m looking for a partner for the Haven County bass tournament. Tim has come down with the flu, and somehow I don’t think having him puke over the side of the boat every five minutes will help me catch anything.”
The phone cradled between chin and shoulder, John picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk blotter. He found it hard to believe, but he was actually tempted. “I don’t know.”
“Look, John, you don’t have to even do anything but sit on the boat. I’ve already paid the entrance fee, and I don’t want to forfeit that.”
Head tilted back, John stared at the ceiling. The tournament was the largest fundraiser for the Haven County Sheriff’s Department. This year, it also served as a memorial for Steve Martinez. Somehow, he felt he owed Martinez this much. “All right. I’ll do it.”
“Great. I appreciate it, man. See you tonight.”
“Yeah.” John replaced the receiver and jammed the pen back in the cup on his desk. At least he’d have something to fill the empty hours Saturday since it wasn’t his visitation weekend with Sonny Buck. Normally, he’d see his son this evening, but Lanie had emailed him earlier, begging off since friends planned to throw her a belated baby shower. The days until Tuesday, his next scheduled visitation, stretched before him.
For six weeks, his life had revolved around Lanie and his son. In the last two, he’d learned what shaking an addiction felt like—being deprived of Sonny Buck’s presence had to be as bad as any crackhead’s withdrawal. Even worse was being without Lanie. Dreams of her invaded his sleep. He woke at night, his body hard and aching, and reached for her before he remembered. Twenty times a day, he found himself checking his voice mail, just to see if he’d hear her voice. He never did.
Rebecca, the younger of the two clerks, drank coffee spiked with vanilla and cinnamon; the scent drove him crazy. A single whiff dredged up memories of Lanie—her arms wrapped around him, her mouth on his skin. Over and over, he relived climbing in the tub with her the night Mitchell blew all their lives apart. His body reacted to the memory of her wicked smile, her warm, wet fingers sliding around his erection, the feel of her body around him. He smothered a groan and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, willing the errant desire away.
Looking back, knowing what he’d lost, he wished he’d savored that night—every touch, every kiss, every sigh.
Hell, he wished he’d called a tow truck for Beth.
While he was at it, he wished he’d had enough damn sense to know that Lanie was the woman he loved—and that he’d told her when she might have believed him.
Lanie eyed Caitlin seated on the floor by the coffee table and sighed. She could see her own tension echoed in the tight line of Caitlin’s shoulders. Outside lightning crashed again, rain sheeting against the windows. With resignation, she waited for the lights to go out.
Cradled against her shoulder, Sonny Buck scrunched up his entire body and wailed. This new evening ritual had started a week ago—three to four hours of inconsolable screaming. When he stopped to catch his breath, his little body shook with raspy sobs. Tuesday night, even John’s soothing touch had failed to work. Tonight, Sonny had screeched through her entire abbreviated baby shower.
A glance at the clock over the mantel told her they had another hour or so until he quieted. Her stomach clenched, and she held him closer, brushing her lips against his head. If possible, his body tightened further, and Lanie tried to squash the feelings of rejection and inadequacy. Why couldn’t she figure out what was wrong?
Closing her eyes, she listened to the wails building in the room. She knew it was silly, but they almost sounded like accusations. The crying hadn’t started until John moved out, and she couldn’t help wondering if there was a connection. Sonny Buck had bonded with his father; he had to miss him, miss the stability of John’s presence.
Trust Caitlin to bring up her shortcomings. She shrugged off the bitchy thought. “My therapist suggested I take pictures of the measuring cups and the containers. I put them on the wall and just follow the steps. Believe it or not, it works. I haven’t screwed it up yet.”
“Sounds like you’re getting along okay without John.”
“Yeah.” Lanie feathered her fingers over the baby’s head. She moved through Sonny Buck’s daily routine, but the house seemed incredibly empty with just the two of them. She missed her job, and as badly as she hated to admit it, she missed John. The old cliché made her want to laugh—she couldn’t live with him; she couldn’t live without him.
Glancing up, she flinched under Caitlin’s knowing gaze. She’d never been able to deceive Caitlin. Needing to get away, she turned toward the stairs. “I’m going to see if a warm bath will help him relax.”
An hour later, a quiet, drowsy Sonny Buck in his crib, Lanie wandered back downstairs. She didn’t glance at the foyer and its memories, steeling herself to join Caitlin in the living room.
Still seated on the floor by the coffee table, Caitlin didn’t look up. “I’m making you a list of gifts and who sent them. I’ll help you with thank-you notes while I’m here, if you like.”
“That would be great.” Lanie gathered empty paper cups and plates from the room and added them to the trash bag.
Caitlin capped her pen and laid it on the pad. She looked up, catching Lanie’s gaze. “You love him, don’t you?”
“Sonny Buck? More than I can say.”
“I don’t mean the baby. It’s obvious you love him. You’re a great mother.”
“Thank you, but I think he’s just an easy baby.” Lanie forced a laugh to cover her discomfort.
“You didn’t answer the question.” Caitlin pinned her with the look Lanie suspected her cousin used with recalcitrant suspects. Pure steel under satin refinement.