by JM Stewart
She only shook her head and glanced into the trunk again. “There’s even a scratching pad, a cat bed, and some toys for Fred.”
“Mmm. The little bugger’s been playing in the toilet paper in the downstairs bathroom, and I found him in the laundry basket yesterday. Maybe if he has his own bed, he’ll stay off my clean shirts. Look into the bag on the right side.”
She leaned into the trunk to peer into a rope-handled shopping bag. Then she clamped a hand over her mouth and stood silent. Finally, she drew a shaky breath before looking back at him again. Tears hovered in the corners of her eyes. “There’s camera equipment in there. And picture frames.”
Heart light, he couldn’t help his smile. “It’s a professional camera. So you can replace the pictures you lost. Start fresh.”
She stared at him for a long moment, confusion and awe rising in her eyes. “Why would you do all this?”
He reached out, caressing a hand down her arm, for the simple need to touch her. “Because you were overwhelmed when we went back to the house on Saturday, and you haven’t been the same since. I wanted to help. You have basic necessities you need to see to. For you and Allie. I’m taking tomorrow off. We’ll go shopping again. I’ve also been searching online. I’ve found a few places I thought you might like. They’re not in the same neighborhood you were in, but they’re in the same school system, so Allie won’t have to change schools.”
He didn’t want her to move out. Watching her leave again would cut him to the quick. But he wanted her to be happy. Whether or not she gave him a second chance had to be her decision, and he needed her to know he’d heard her all these years.
Her features blanked, then filled with regret. When she began twisting her hands together he knew something was off. His good mood plummeted, the knowledge sinking like a stone in his gut. Here it came. The rejection. He’d known while shopping for this stuff that she might very well turn her back on all of it.
He lifted a hand, brushing the hair back off her shoulder with the tip of his finger. “Tell me.”
“I talked to my landlord this afternoon.” She straightened her shoulders. “I have good news and bad news.”
Mixed emotions churned in his stomach. He didn’t like the look in her eyes, as if she prepared for a bad reaction from him. More than words could, her expression told him she didn’t trust him.
He dropped her hand and folded his arms. “Give me the good news first.”
Becca smiled, timid and nervous, not at all like the woman who’d flipped a would-be mugger over her shoulder and stood on his throat until the man begged for mercy. “I found a new place. When I spoke with my landlord he mentioned that he has a few properties. He has another one coming available soon, not far from where the old one was. He’s a nice old guy and I like him, so I accepted.”
His gut clenched. Technically, anything to do with her leaving again was bad news, but for the sake of argument, he nodded. “I want to have it properly inspected, and if I find anything that resembles that other house—”
Becca furrowed her brow. “That wasn’t his fault, Jack.”
“No, I know it wasn’t, but I’m still having it inspected. I’ll be hiring the company, and if any repairs need to be made, I’m willing to pay for them. Give me your landlord’s number. I’ll call him later. But I’ll be damned if you’re taking Allie into another death trap.”
She rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t a death trap, Jack. Accidents happen.”
“Yes, they do, which is exactly why I want to take precautions.” He sighed. He was going to have to be honest with her again. It was a necessity, but it didn’t come easily. It knotted his stomach and made him feel . . . opened and exposed. “Seeing that house scared me, too, Beck. I don’t want there to be a next time. I don’t want to even consider the possibility that y’all might be home next time. Now what’s the bad news, sweetheart?”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but she’d mentioned it, so he had to ask.
“The new house won’t be available for another month. The tenant currently living in it is moving out next week, then Mr. Andrews needs time to clean the place before we can move in.”
“A month?” He blinked, his mind processing the news. That meant he’d have thirty days with her. Not a week or two until she found a new place, but an entire month. As the time frame settled over him, a childlike giddiness burst through him, leaving him with a sense of being a child on Christmas morning. He had the sudden urge to do the little dance Allie usually did while staring at a tree full of presents.
She gave a hesitant nod, her eyes searching his face. “Is that okay?”
“Sure.” He shrugged, feigning indifference for her benefit, but the wheels of his mind began to turn with possibilities. This was the chance he’d been waiting for. Like a gift from above. “More time I get to spend with Allie.”
That was the truth . . . for the most part. The extra time with Allie pleased him to no end, but it was what it meant for him and Becca that had him ready to bust at the seams. Thirty days wasn’t a long time really, but it meant he had more time to spend with Becca. He’d also have more time to convince her to stay.
He turned to the trunk to contain the overwhelming desire to pick her up and twirl her around. If he did that, he’d no doubt come away from it missing a limb or two. For now, he’d bide his time. “Help me get this stuff inside. We’ll put it in the other spare bedroom for now.”
Becca nodded. “Let me check the ham first.”
Ten minutes later, they stood once again in the kitchen. Last he’d checked, Allie, Fred, and her new bear, George, were happily enraptured by a movie, snuggled up together on the sofa in the living room. Becca was at the sink, rinsing a few dishes, and he was at the island, but the tense silence that had risen over them as they brought her belongings inside had yet to abate. Determined to keep her talking, he went for the most obvious subject and turned his gaze to the dessert sitting on the counter.
“Brownies.” He scooped up a glob of icing into his mouth. As he licked the sweet, creamy decadence off his finger, he glanced at Becca. “You made dessert, too. Been a while since I’ve had a home-cooked meal.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “You don’t hire a personal chef anymore?”
“No.” After years of coming home to her cooking, the idea of a stranger filling his freezer had lost its appeal. It made him feel too much like the lonely bachelor he’d once been. He’d hated being alone back then and he hated it even more now.
For a long moment, she didn’t say anything but merely stared at him. Wariness hovered in the depths of her eyes again, darkening the gray around the edges, along with perplexed curiosity.
“Oh. Well, I went shopping myself today. A couple of the girls covered my late classes at the dojo so I could go. I appreciate the use of your American Express. I bought some basic clothing for me and Allie. Enough for a couple of weeks, anyway.” She clasped her hands together, a fierce blush rising into her cheeks, and looked down at her socked feet. “I cooked because I wanted to say thank you.”
Now there was surprise. “For?”
She lifted her head, her gaze settling on his. “Saturday was hard on me. Seeing the house . . . You’re right. It was overwhelming, being there. I needed you this weekend, Jack, and you were there. No questions asked. You picked up the slack and kept Allie occupied. I hadn’t expected it and it meant a lot.” She shrugged, the left corner of her mouth tipping into an awkward smile. “So I cooked. In my family, that’s what we do. We cook.”
She was right, of course. The Morgans got together for food any chance they could. They threw a luau for every celebration they could drum up, whether it was a birthday or the announcement of a pregnancy.
Jackson’s mind had gotten stuck on the details, however, and for a moment, he could only stand and stare as her words settled over him. He’d gotten to her. For the firs
t time in months, she wasn’t shooting him a look of death and telling him how much he’d failed her again. God, was it really that simple? Was this what she’d been trying to tell him all this time? Was this the stuff he’d missed?
The music on the radio shifted, and an idea formed. While a little voice in the back of his mind warned him against pushing her too far, his heart grabbed the idea and ran like hell with it. He might not be able to touch her the way he yearned to, but he’d be damned if he could resist the desire to be close to her. Or to hear her laugh again, long, honest, and open.
Maybe he’d succeed and she’d let him close. More likely he’d fail and she’d storm out of the kitchen. Whatever the result, he had to try. The pain and betrayal when she left had melted into a more basic need over the last few months. He missed her something awful. His life wasn’t complete without her. He was simply going through the motions.
He crossed the kitchen and stopped behind her, the front of him gently brushing her back. She went as still as a tree on a windless night, and every bit as stiff. While her hands continued to move under the running water as she washed her hands, tiny tremors coursed through her. Her intense awareness of him sparked in the air.
His body tensed, humming with the need to lean into her, to mold to her length, for the luxury of feeling her soft body against him. Instead, he braced one hand on the counter and reached the other around her to change the station on the small radio sitting on the windowsill. When the strains of a classical, upbeat melody wafted through the tiny speaker, he released the dial and shut off the water.
He moved off to her side, picked up a dish towel, and dried her hands one by one. When he finished, he set the towel on the counter and gave her left arm a gentle tug. She landed against his chest with a surprised squeak, and he banded an arm around her back to hold her there.
“W-what’re you doing?” Her widened eyes darted over his face, her voice trembling along with the rest of her.
“Dance with me.” He tried to concentrate on the music and not the blood surging between his ears. Damn but he hadn’t counted on the feel of her against him. All firm, sinewy muscle and warm, pliant body. Her pert little breasts pushed into his chest, taunting him. He itched to smooth his hands over her again, for the simple joy of feeling every one of her curves beneath his palms.
“We’re in the kitchen.” She frowned at him again, little creases forming around her pursed lips he just managed to resist kissing.
“So I noticed.” He placed his left hand at the small of her back, picked up her other in his right, and quirked a brow. “This is a Viennese waltz. Do you still remember how or shall I find a more traditional one?”
Dancing was one of the few things his mother had insisted he learn that he’d actually gotten some use out of. His mother had made him take ballroom dancing lessons. He knew everything from the waltz to the tango to the foxtrot. He’d wooed more than a couple women dancing, but Becca’s face was the only one that had ever lit up quite so brightly.
“Allie’s just across the hall.” Her voice was barely above a harsh whisper but her gaze warned that he was pushing. “She can’t see us together like this.”
“Watching her favorite movie, if my hearing is correct.” He shook his head and playfully rolled his eyes. “Besides, we’re only dancing, Beck. It’s not like we’re doing anything naughty in here. If she comes in, I’ll ask her to dance next. She adores it. She stands on my toes. I’m supposed to be cheering you up. That’s what she sent me in here to do. She’s noticed your mood.”
“I don’t dance, Jack.” With a shake of her head, she pulled out of his arms and backed away from him. “Or did you forget the night I spent stepping all over your toes? I weigh a little more than Allie.”
As the memory flitted across the recesses of his mind, he couldn’t help but chuckle. Their first date. She was a hard nut to crack even then. He’d pursued her for weeks before she gave in and agreed to go out with him.
“I do remember. I had sore toes for a week.” He hadn’t, of course, but he couldn’t resist teasing her. In hopes of keeping his promise to Allie and making Becca laugh, he dropped his gaze to the floor. “Ah, good, you’re barefoot this time.”
“You’d think getting your toes crushed would’ve taught you something.” Her blush suffused her face with beautiful, soft pink hues. The color reminded him too much of the way her face flushed when they made love. Something he shouldn’t be thinking about right then, lest his body betray his reaction. The corners of her mouth twitched, however, encouraging him.
He cupped her chin in his palm and tilted her face to his. “First rule . . . Look at me, not your feet.”
Steeling himself once again for the intimate contact, he pulled her back into his arms. He concentrated on the music and not the body heat begging him closer. Or the subtle scent wafting over him, drawing out the nearly overwhelming desire to discover its taste on her skin.
Instead, he forced his mind to focus on the beat of the music, waited for the right one, then gave a slight nod and stepped into the dance.
Her first steps were tentative, faltering. Twice she actually did tread on his toes, but her steps grew surer with every beat, until she fell into the swift, graceful rhythm. She mirrored his movements, so light on her feet and in his arms he had the sensation of floating on air. Not once did her gaze leave his. The entire world narrowed down to those beautiful eyes, now the color of the sky on a cloudless day. Each twirl made him forget the loneliness of the last year and erased the lines of pain his life had become.
Somewhere halfway around the kitchen, something passed between them, quiet and intangible, yet as intense as if she’d pressed her body into his. A soft smile eased across her face. Delight radiated back at him from the depths of her eyes. Her body relaxed in his arms. For the first time in God only knew how long, she appeared to be enjoying herself. With him. Would wonders never cease?
Stunned by the simplicity of her expression, he glided to a stop. For what could have been an eternity, but was more likely seconds, he stared at her, half wondering if he’d only imagined the look.
She stood stock-still, her fingers clutching his shoulder as if to root herself. Her gaze darted over his face, her eyes filling with confusion, fear, and even the barest hint of the same desire that was blazing through Jackson’s blood. Her heart hammered against his chest, and her body trembled something fierce.
She made no move to pull away; she didn’t wrench free of his embrace and glare at him. The fact knocked him for a loop and had his blood pumping hot and furious. Instinctively, the arm around her waist tightened, drawing her flush against him. He released her hand and reached up instead to cup her face in his palm, letting his thumb slide back and forth over her baby-soft skin.
For a year now she’d turned and run, yet there she was, her eyes shuttering closed, thick, golden lashes fanning her cheeks. Her body softened, leaning into him, nearly pulling him over the edge of sanity.
“By God, I’ve missed you.” He let his thumb trace the edge of her lower lip, fighting the temptation to claim her mouth, to seize her and refuse to let her go.
Her eyes popped open, darting over his face, once again filling with uncertainty, with a panic so tangible she began to not just tremble but outright shake in his arms.
“Don’t.” She shook her head, braced her hands against his chest, and shoved him away from her, taking a wobbly step back. “Don’t do that.”
She tucked locks of hair behind her ears and pivoted, making a beeline for the stove. His heart sank into his toes, taking all his hope with it. His frustration rose to the surface and boiled over before he could stop it. Things he should’ve told her a long time ago but kept to himself out of some misguided sense of chivalry. Now here she was again. Everything he felt came bubbling to the surface, and damned if he could stop the words from leaving his mouth this time.
“Don’t do
what?” Careful to keep his voice low so as not to frighten their daughter, he stared at Becca and shook his head. “Be honest? Tell you I miss you? How wrong being without you feels?”
“Push.” Her voice low and harsh, she shot a scowl over her shoulder. Instead of anger, her eyes pleaded with him. “You agreed not to push, said you wouldn’t make this any more difficult. We were having a good day, Jack. . . .”
“You’re right, I did promise I wouldn’t push.” With slow, steady deliberation, he closed the distance between them, trying desperately to control the frustration winding through his body and setting his teeth grinding against one another.
When he stopped at her side, she seemed to ignore his presence and instead fussed over pulling the ham from the oven. Her spine remained a little too stiff, and her eyes kept darting back to him.
“I also vowed to honor and cherish you until I died.” Barely controlling the emotions swirling in his chest, he cupped her chin in his palm and tilted her face to his. “Where do my vows come into play? Because I’m not dead yet. You want me to stop shutting you out? To talk to you? Isn’t that what you told me? Well, this is it, sweetheart. This, right now, is what I’m feeling. I miss you, damn it.”
She stared at him, confusion and pain swelling in the depths of her eyes. Her threatening tears wrenched at his need to pull her into his arms, the sensation warring with the heartache constricting his chest.
“Then why didn’t you ever ask me to come home?” Her voice trembled, her throat bobbing repeatedly as those tears hovered, dangerously close to spilling down her cheeks. “You came after me, I’ll give you that, but all you did was ask if a separation was what I really wanted. You didn’t stop me, Jack. I told you very clearly that I wanted proof that you loved me. We were separated for a whole month before I finally filed for divorce, but not once did you ever say those words or ask me to come back. You didn’t even try. Like I meant nothing to you.”
He searched her pleading eyes, her question echoing through his mind, twisting his insides into knots. He longed to spit out the words seated on the tip of his tongue, to tell her she meant everything to him. Deep down, though, he couldn’t deny her accusation. He’d done exactly what she accused him of. He’d let her go.
