Honorable Intentions

by Catherine Mann

  She swirled her spoon through the dessert, a simple bowl of lemon sorbet. Baking a dessert stretched beyond his cooking talents.

  “More?” he asked.

  Groaning, she set her spoon aside. “I’m stuffed. Really. You went above and beyond, and you’re making me feel guilty.”

  “You’ve been so focused on Max—and I can understand why—it seemed to me that you could use some extra TLC, as well.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly put together an amazing evening.” She toyed with the hurricane globe in the middle of the table. “Who knew you’re such a great cook and entertainer?”

  “My sisters and I took turns setting the table. As for the minimal decorations—” he tapped the globe, with beads and a couple of Mardi Gras masks beside it “—blew over into the yard from the neighbor’s party last night.”

  “Who would have thought a millionaire could be so thrifty.”

  It was billionaire, actually, but pointing that out was more likely to send her running rather than draw her in. Knowing that about her, actually drew him in. “My family didn’t start out with all this. My dad was a regular guy, serving in the military. He earned his way through the ranks.”

  “You must be very proud of him.”

  Her comment startled him. People so often asked what his old man thought of him. Nobody turned that question around. “I am, actually. He’s an amazing guy. When he was a squadron commander in Guam—”

  “Guam? You lived in Guam?”

  “Awesome place, like Hawaii but without a crazy crush of tourists.” He preferred to remember it that way, not to think about darker times for his family after his mother died. “I’d like to take you there sometime.”

  “Sounds like you miss the old days, when things were simpler for your family.”

  Another insightful comment from the hot chick across the table, the one who totally ignored his comment about taking a trip together. He was flying into dangerous territory here, talking about his past. Lots of painful memories just waiting to shoot him down. But if he wanted to get further with Gabrielle—and he did—then he needed to suit up and soar right in.

  “Life was easier before, without question.”

  “When did it all change?” She toyed with a feathered mask tangled up in purple beads.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Are you sure you’re not related to Sigmund Freud? You are half German, after all.”

  She swept up the mask and placed it over her eyes. “I am a woman of mystery.”

  Her smile sent a bolt of desire straight through him. Even if being with her could only lead to a crash and burn, he wanted her. Bad.

  The mask fell away and her smile turned sheepish. “But no, I’m not Freudian, just curious about who you are. You keep so many walls up. I’m only just realizing how much you let Kevin do the talking.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “When did things change for you, growing up? What made you go from admiring your dad to keeping your distance?”

  Pinpointing one specific event was tougher than he would have thought. “In stages. My mom’s death certainly shifted the whole family dynamic. She was a real rock for our family during all those moves. While I say she was a rock, she was actually the most flexible, lighthearted person in the family.”

  She touched his hand lightly. “What was her name?”

  “Jessica. The world thinks of my dad and Ginger as a couple, and honest to God, I don’t begrudge them what they’ve found together.” He stared into the flame until the world blurred. “My mom gets lost in the mix. No one remembers her.”

  “Your parents had a good marriage, then?”

  “I don’t remember a lot, actually. I remember my mom was the only person I ever saw stand up to my huge father. My oldest sister said they would argue loud enough to rattle the windows, then make up just as fast.”

  Next thing they knew, his mom was clearing the house of the kids, passing his sister Alicia money to take him and Darcy to the corner mart for soda and a candy bar. And take your time, kiddos, his mother had said, winking back at their dad.

  God, that seemed like a world ago. Alicia grew up to fly fighter jets. She had earned a Silver Star and Distinguished Flying Cross. Little Darcy flew cargo planes around the world.

  “When I was in elementary school, Mom died a couple of weeks after Christmas, a fluky aneurysm. No one could have seen it coming. Some said it was a blessing she didn’t know.”

  “It must have been tough for you, though, not having the chance to say goodbye.”

  “Sure.” Except he’d been there to say goodbye to Kevin and it hadn’t made things a damn bit easier.

  Hank raked up beads from the table and twisted them around his fingers like he did when his sister Darcy made him play cat’s cradle. He would have done anything for his sister after what she’d been through when they lived in Guam… .

  “My dad’s notoriety wasn’t tied into money or being married to Ginger. He gained attention for who he was. We all did.” He worked the beads, passing them over his fingers by rote. “When we lived in Guam, my sister Darcy was kidnapped.”

  Gabrielle set the mask on the table and went completely still, her whole attention focused on him. It seemed even the night bugs went quieter, the traffic on the street fading away.

  “An extremist group that wanted the military base gone from the island took her, grabbed her during a squadron family luau.” From him. “They kept her for a week. She wasn’t assaulted—thank God—but something like that marks a person.”

  “It marks a family, I imagine.”

  He let the beads slither from his hands. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you all of this.”

  “Because I asked.” She slid from her chair to kneel in front of him, the feathery mask still clasped in her hand. “I’m wondering why I never asked in the year we knew each other.”

  He tapped her forehead. “Turn off the analysis, Dr. Freud. There’s no hidden meaning here.” He slipped the mask from her hand and tucked it in his shirt pocket. “Just facts.”

  Clasping his wrist, she pulled his hand down, kissed his palm, then pressed it to her cheek. “Facts that explain to me how it could be scary as hell for you to let a woman get too close to y—”

  He hauled her up by her elbows and kissed her silent. It was one thing to fly into the painful midst of his past. It was a whole other matter to have Gabrielle peel away any defenses he had left.

  Her lips parted without hesitation, the lingering taste of lemon sorbet on her tongue. He pulled her onto his lap, his hands finally, finally touching her, roving over her back, grazing the side of her lush breasts. He skimmed down her waist and over her hips. He’d waited so long to touch her, he soaked up every detail. The hem of her mini dress bunched in his hands and next thing he knew he was touching bare flesh above the waistline of her leggings.

  She thrust her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, not protesting one damn bit. Heat seared him inside and out. This attraction was no figment of anyone’s imagination, no faulty memory. This was real and intense.

  And about to become more so.

  Eight

  Moving from the lanai to Hank’s bedroom passed in a blur of kissing, touching and frantic hands exploring as they climbed the steps and sealed themselves away from the world.

  The door clicked shut, nestling them in the privacy of his bedroom.

  Gabrielle pressed closer to Hank, couldn’t get near enough after so long of wanting to touch him, to explore the hard muscled planes of his body. She’d been trying to hold back from this ache for so long, and now she could finally have him. If only for tonight or whatever time he had left in New Orleans, she could finally surrender to the tenacious passion that tugged at them.

  Her leg hooked around his, her foot stroking his calf. The scent of oregano and thoughtfulness clung to him. The home-cooked food, the lighted trees and table decorations all put together by him touched her more than any catered meal.


  He nuzzled her ear, his breath almost as hot as her tingling flesh. “Are you sure this isn’t moving too fast for you?”

  She gasped for breath, her pulse throbbing in her chest…and lower. “The way I kissed you last night didn’t clue you in?”

  “I was hopeful, but there’s no timetable here, no rush,” he vowed against her hair, stroking her neck, her shoulders, cupping her breasts in hands both bold and gentle at once.

  “We’ve both been waiting a long time for this.” Even hinting at the past, at the conflicting feelings of a year ago chilled her, threatening to steal away this beautiful moment. “Let’s focus on here and now.”

  His arms slid around her, steely bands of strength. “I always knew you were a brilliant woman.”

  She kissed along the bristly texture of his jaw up to his ear. “This whole night has been amazing.”

  “I hope it’s about to get even better.” He tunneled up her mini dress, thumbs hooking in the band of her leggings.

  A delicious shiver slid over her at the feel of his touch on her bare skin.

  “I would say that’s a safe guess.” Her head fell back, giving him free access to her neck.

  His hands cupped new curves, lingering with infinite tenderness and appreciation. He made her feel beautiful and sexy, all the more special in the wake of having been pregnant. She reveled in the feel of his hard thighs pressed to her, his hips tight against hers.

  He nudged aside the collar of her dress with his chin and nibbled along her shoulder, sending wisps of pleasure over her skin. “We need to move to the bed or this is going to happen against the door.”

  “Is the door so wrong?” She tugged his chambray shirt from his khaki waistband and tucked her fingers in to urge him closer.

  “Not at all—” he kissed upward until he looked in her eyes again “—except I’ve waited for you too long to rush.”

  His voice rumbled with promise. He clasped hands with her and walked backward toward the looming mahogany four-poster bed. The rest of the room came into focus for the first time.

  Seeing his sparse room made her realize just how much trouble he’d gone to for her and for Max. The spacious master suite contained only the bed, a massive armoire, since there were no closets in the historic home, and two wingback chairs by the fireplace. The space was as stark as the man, a wealthy frame but Spartan in presentation.

  Her legs bumped the back of the mattress. She was really going to do this, steal a night with Hank. Nerves and anticipation mixed into an intoxicating swirl flooding her veins. Her fingers sped down the buttons of his shirt. She whipped the fabric from his shoulders and flung it aside, the feathery mask sailing out of the pocket.

  She’d seen him in swim trunks before, but this was so very different, so intimate. She allowed herself the pleasure of just looking at him, taking in the thick column of his neck, his sculpted chest honed from the sun and exercise.

  A scar grazed his collarbone.

  Frowning, she traced the inch-long pucker of scar tissue. “What happened here?”

  “Shrapnel.” He dismissed her question, clasping her hand and kissing her wrist, taking his time along her racing pulse. “Nothing big.”

  Nothing big? The scar looked deep and close to his jugular vein. An inch over and she would have lost him, too. One heartbeat tripped over another before settling back into a regular rhythm.

  Could this have happened when Kevin was killed? The thought threatened to ice her from the inside out.

  Hank bracketed her face with his hands. “Stop thinking about it. That’s the past. Come back to living in the moment.”

  His thumbs stroked her cheeks until she hooked her arms around his waist. “Make me forget, Hank, please.”

  “I can’t think of anything I want more.” He slanted his mouth over hers again, his mouth warm and familiar now.

  His bold, confident hands bunched her dress up—breaking the kiss for only a second—and swept the clothing over her head. His eyes turned blue-flame hot as he nipped his way down her body, between her breasts, further down to peel off her leggings, his mouth following his hands. Kneeling in front of her, he tossed her pants into the growing pile of their clothes.

  She hadn’t been with anyone since Kevin—since having a baby—and her body was different now. She didn’t consider herself shallow or overly vain. But this was her first time with stretch marks and an extra few pounds. Her mouth went dry.

  Hank’s eyes filled with admiration, grasping her hips with a low growl of approval. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined. And believe me, I have imagined you this way more times that I can count.”

  His hand stroked up again, holding…

  She looked down. He’d picked up the feathered Mardi Gras mask, trailing in a silky teasing path, along her leg, over her hip and higher until he stood in front of her again.

  Already gasping in anticipation, she made fast work of his belt, his zipper, until he kicked away his khakis and boxers. She grazed her fingers down the ridged six-pack of his stomach, to his narrow hips, sliding over to encircle his erection, which strained upward against his belly. Slowly, she caressed him, stroked him, working her thumb over the pearly bead on top, slicking her hand. Watching his face, the way he bit his bottom lip, sent a rush straight through her.

  His jaw flexed with tension, his eyes sliding closed for two heartbeats before he clasped her wrist and drew her hand away. In a flash, he bracketed her waist and tossed her gently on the bed.

  Climbing up the bed, he stretched over her, large and restrained all at once. And in his hand, he still held the Mardi Gras mask. He stroked the feathers along her neck with just the right amount of pressure to tantalize without tickling. Hmm…that felt so unexpected and good.

  Her head lolled to the side and thank goodness he got the message to continue along her collar bone, back and forth until goose bumps rose along her skin. He trailed the silky softness between her breasts, circling one then the other, again and again, until she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out at the tingling pleasure, to keep from begging him for more.

  He flicked one taut nipple, then the other. Back and forth, he drew patterns of pleasure along her skin while she murmured a mix of pleas and demands. She gripped his arm, her head pressing back into the pillow.

  The feather skimmed along her stomach, then around to the inside of her thighs, so close to teasing where she needed him most. She gasped for air—for release—her pulse thundering in her ears.

  His fingers replaced the feathers. Then his mouth. Her hands went to his shoulders, holding him in place. Taking her pleasure. Her mind filled with all the ways she would please him through the night.

  The flick of his tongue, the sweet subtlety of his touch drove her higher. Then she couldn’t think about anything but the velvet feel of how he gave and gave to her, taking her so close—

  But she didn’t want to go alone. He’d already done so much for her. She needed them to be partners in this much as least.

  “Hank,” she gasped, drawing him upward until he stretched over her again. “Now. I want all of you now.”

  She arched her hips against him, the thick length of him pressing against her. If she moved, adjusted, angled him, she could have him inside her, flesh to flesh—

  Oh, God! Her nails dug into his shoulders. “Condoms… How could I have forgotten?”

  She wouldn’t trade Max for anything in the world, but the pregnancy had been an accident, the product of a night when she and Kevin had too much to drink and got sloppy about using birth control.

  “You didn’t forget because you just spoke up—” he cupped her face “—and I have that taken care of.”

  Rolling to his side, he reached to the bedside table and opened a drawer. The box was still sealed, and she realized he’d bought the condoms for this, for them.

  She angled up on her elbows, watching as he sheathed himself. Anticipation, and more of those nerves pattering through her. So she looped her arms around
his neck and drew him to her, needing the forgetfulness she was damn certain she could find with him. The thick pressure between her thighs chased away any doubts.

  Hooking her legs around his, she urged him on, welcomed him inside her until he was heart deep. Her eyes squeezed closed to battle back emotional tears because finally she had him, after so long wondering and wanting, and the feel of him moving inside her was even more than she’d anticipated. And yes, even more than she’d feared because something this special made her rethink the rest of her life.

  Although the last thing she wanted to do right now was make plans for the future. She wanted to live in the moment, just the two of them, the scent of her lavender soap mixing with his aftershave. The special blend of them clung to the air. She rolled her hips as Hank thrust, their bodies syncing into a rhythm unique to the two of them.

  The sound of his voice in her ear stoked her along with the slick glide of their bare bodies against each other. So close, he took her to the edge again and again, holding back at the last second until she clawed at his back, desperate for release until—

  Wave after wave crested over her, shattering her with the intensity of bliss restrained for far too long. A cry rolled up her throat, and he captured the sound with his mouth—or maybe he was muffling the hoarse shout of his own release.

  His arms folded, and he blanketed her. Aftershocks trembled through her, through him, as well, binding them all over again.

  Slowly, awareness returned, bit by bit with the cool gusts of air from a ceiling fan she hadn’t even noticed before. Her hands roved over Hank’s body, a precious weight anchoring her to the bed. Somehow, the mask had been crushed between them, but she couldn’t bring herself to make him move so she could toss it aside.

  For now, the masks were off literally and symbolically. No past or future casting shadows.