Hard Break (Deadlines & Diamonds, #5)

by Morgan Kearns

  Chase sunk back on his heels, his lungs puffing with agitated breaths. She had no idea her children were running the gamut every day.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Chase sniffed. “I thought I could handle it.”

  “He handled it all right,” Sadie added helpfully.

  Yes, he had and now she needed to handle things. She wasn’t completely sure how to make her children’s expectations come to pass, but she’d figure something out. Something that didn’t include imposing on Ian.

  Fifteen

  Waking up with a woman in his arms caused Ian’s heart to jump. He tightened his hold and buried his face in her hair. She smelled great…but wrong.

  Slowly, he let his lids peel back just enough to evaluate the situation.

  The woman asleep at his side—on his couch—was beautiful. No denying that. Her long blond hair cascaded over both of them. Denali looked so peaceful, so innocent, so…not sexy. That surprised him. He studied her features. Her pouty lips were relaxed in her slumber, her thickly mascaraed lashes rested against tanned, freckle sprinkled cheeks, and she looked like a little girl playing dress-up.

  Well, maybe a bit older. Certainly old enough to become his lover, if he had the desire to go there. But he didn’t. He dropped his head back down to the cushion and cringed. What was wrong with him?

  Last night in lieu of the theatre, they’d hit the Redbox and come back here. He wasn’t exactly sure how they’d both ended up falling asleep.

  He really shouldn’t lie to himself.

  He knew exactly how they’d become a human pretzel. He’d yawned, so had she. She’d curled into his side.

  “You want me to call a cab?”

  Damn. He’d forgotten he’d have to take her home. He’d frowned at her. “What kind of ass do you think I am?”

  She grinned up at him before kissing him tentatively, quickly. “A very tired one. I’ll just—”

  “You are not calling a cab.”

  “You can’t drive me home. I could keep you awake on the way there, but I’d worry too much on the way home. You’d fall asleep, run off the road and wake up dead.” She placed her hand on her chest and swooned with a dramatic flourish. “I couldn’t take the guilt.” She smiled. “I’ll call a cab.”

  He shook his head. “Why don’t you just stay? I’ll take you home in the morning.”

  Skepticism shadowed her features. “You’re really asking me to stay over?”

  He could kick his own ass for the way his suggestion sounded, like a freakin’ proposition. “Yeah, you take the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

  “I’m not sleeping in your bed. At least, not without you in it.” She winked. “I’ll take the couch.”

  The argument continued from there until they both ended up on the couch, Denali curled up next to him, he out like a light.

  He was hard as a rock, but only morning wood. Nothing more. He should be thinking of working his mojo, making a move and getting Denali in his bed. Should be. Sonofabitch! When had he become a damn eunuch?

  She sighed and stretched, her blue eyes blinking open as she rolled over to look at him. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” Crap, that one word sounded like seduction. He cleared his throat. “Did you sleep well?”

  She arched against him. “You have a great couch.”

  “Thanks,” he said, although he couldn’t agree. His back was killing him. He normally slept on his back, sometimes his stomach, and spending all night on his side would have him walking like Quasimodo. “You hungry?”

  “Uh-huh,” she purred.

  Ian wasn’t sure if she attempted seduction or just woke up sexy. She may not be sexy when asleep, but those baby blues opened and she was made for sex. And, check him out, he couldn’t have cared less. He wanted to want her. He just…didn’t.

  She sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, then ran a finer under each one to remove the smudges. “What’s on the menu?”

  Double entendre? He couldn’t tell. Shit, he was seriously off his game.

  “Waffles?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Homemade or Eggo?”

  He laughed. “Whichever you prefer.”

  “Awesome.” She hopped to her feet. “I’m going to hit the restroom and I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a few minutes.”

  As soon as the door to the tiny half-bath closed, he got up and headed for his bathroom upstairs. He splashed cold water on his face, sucking in a breath at the Good morning, Sunshine! He used the toilet, washed his hands and went the extra mile by brushing his teeth. Denali might not have that luxury, but he did and by damn he’d take it.

  He strolled into the kitchen, bright-eyed and bushier-tailed, to the sound of glass clanking. Denali had the whisk in one hand, the milk in the other. She was humming softly.

  “Shouldn’t I be the one cooking?” he asked.

  Her grin blazed with humor. “I don’t have all day.”

  He snorted. “Get on it then, woman.”

  Her middle finger answered the order, along with a shit-eatin’ grin. “I’m gonna need a waffle maker.”

  “At your service, madam.”

  “I’ll madam you upside the head with this whisk.” She held up her weapon, pancake batter dripping from the wires.

  He laughed and went about the task of digging the waffle iron from under the cabinet. He plopped it on the counter. “If you’ll handle the waffles, I’ll get everything else.”

  “You got it, sir.”

  “Really? If I can’t call you madam, you can’t call me sir.”

  “Oh, come on. In the romance novels I read the men love to be called sir.”

  “Yeah, right before they tie the woman to the headboard and smack her on the ass.”

  She grinned, curiosity glimmering in her eyes. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  He grabbed the dishtowel off the counter and flicked it out, snapping her on the butt with the end.

  “Hey!” she squealed, giggling like a little girl. Much like Penelope. The thought of her shining blue eyes and blond pigtails sobered him. He didn’t want to think of spanking that sweet princess of a girl. Or any girl for that matter.

  He wadded the towel up into a ball and tossed it on the counter. The silence between them exceeded awkward, drifting into ah…yeah…uh-huh and Denali concentrated on whisking the shit out of the batter. He strolled over to the cupboard and pulled out three plates. He slid them next to the waffle maker without saying anything.

  “Thanks,” she muttered, not looking at him.

  Well, shit, wasn’t this just awesome?

  He strode over to the refrigerator and retrieved the butter and the open container of orange juice. He couldn’t say for sure where the lid went. He sniffed at the opening, turned the container of juice and examined the best by date. Good to go. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice the missing lid. He straightened and whirled, catching the door with his foot.

  The fridge slammed with a pop just as his body slammed into Denali. The butter dropped to the floor and orange juice sprayed into the air.

  Denali blinked. Orange juice rolled down her nose then dripped off the end. She was absolutely coated in the stuff. She ran her tongue over her lips. “Mmm.”

  He burst out laughing. “Only you could make this into something humorous.”

  “It’s laugh or cry.” She rubbed at her forehead with the back of her hand. The motion plastered her hair to her head. “I prefer to laugh. I’m not a pretty crier.”

  “Most people aren’t.”

  Her white t-shirt now sported absurd shades of apricot, pumpkin and carrot. He reached out to brush at her chest, blushing to holy hell when he realized what he was doing.

  “Shit. I’m sorry.” Although he had no idea what exactly he apologized for; the state she stood or the fondling he’d just given her.

  She plucked at her shirt then pointedly looked at his. “You’re not any better off, slick.” She shook her head and wrinkled her nose then gigg
led. “Ugh, this is gross. I have juice running down my cleavage.”

  Her comment sent his gaze on a sprint to her chest. He could easily make out the swells of her breasts, the important parts barely hidden beneath a lacy bra. He forced himself to drag his gaze to her eyes.

  She winked.

  Busted.

  “Would it be okay if I caught a quick shower?” One blond brow cocked. “It’s either that or I get orange juice all over the front seat of your car.”

  “Nah. I’ll just make you wear a garbage bag.”

  Again with the head shake. “Very funny. Which way to the shower?”

  “Up the stairs, turn right, it’s the first door on your left.”

  She glanced down at the floor. “Lemme help you clean this up first.”

  Together they cleaned the mess, waffles cold and forgotten on counter. Ian threw the butter container away, it having lost its lid as well. Sometimes things didn’t go according to plan. Actually, that seemed to be the story of his life. He wished just once he could make a plan and have the cosmos concur.

  With the kitchen finally in tiptop shape, he put his arm around Denali’s waist and led her up the stairs to the guest bathroom. “I’m guessing you’re gonna need some clothes?”

  “Damn, you must be psychic.” She lightly elbowed him in the side. “Can you dig into the stockpile of women’s clothing you keep on hand and find something for me?”

  He tugged her into his side and kissed the top of her head, tasting orange juice. “I’ll see what I can scrounge up.”

  Scrounge would be right. Contrary to her statement, Ian did not have a stockpile of women’s clothing. Call it absurd, pathetic, totally ridiculous, he’d been very careful about the women he brought home. From day one. He’d been afraid of what Kayla would think. He barked out a laugh. Like his neighbor would’ve blinked a blue eye. She wouldn’t’ve cared less.

  He really should stop caring too. Starting, right now.

  Feeling disgusted with his sticky self, he hopped in the shower in the master bedroom. In two minutes flat, he stood on the bath mat drying himself off. Another two minutes and he’d tugged on a pair of jeans. He’d worry about the rest of the dress routine after he’d gotten Denali situated.

  Ian opened the bottom dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of sweatpants. They fit him perfectly—he held them out, away from his body to examine them—but would drown Denali’s little body. Good thing they had a drawstring. He grabbed a t-shirt. Again, the thing was way too big for his girl. Correction, she wasn’t his girl. He could change that. All it’d take would be a trip back down the hall and slip into through the guest bathroom door and into the shower.

  Yeah, dumbshit he was, he couldn’t even think about going there. He should probably consider having his balls removed. Maybe they already had been. He reached down to cup himself. Nope. He still had the beans and the weenie. This was freakin’ ridiculous.

  He tossed the sweats and t-shirt over his forearm and headed back to the bathroom. He knocked softly. “Hey, I’ve got…”

  The door whipped open and Denali stood in her near naked glory. With a towel wrapped around her middle and one piled high on her head, she grinned. “You got me some clothes. Aren’t you sweet?”

  Struck stupid with his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, he extended his arm, presenting the clothes.

  She took them, held them up against her body and frowned. “Hmm. Well, we’ll make it work.”

  She went for the corner of the towel tucked securely at her breast then stopped. “My underwear is um…”

  “Gross,” he supplied helpfully, then cringed. “I’m sorry. Not that your—” He cursed, fought the urge to chew off his own damn tongue. “Hell, I can’t seem to get anything right this morning.”

  Denali smiled, the tip of her lips gentle, tender. “You’ve been just fine this morning.” She put her hand inside the sweats and bit into her lip.

  “What’s wrong?” He felt his brows furrow.

  “It’s a little rough.” She sighed, took a deep breath and sighed again. “Look, I know this makes me sound like a total whiney pansy-ass, but I need some underwear.”

  “My boxers will be way too big.”

  She nodded. “I always took you for a boxer man. Gotta have room for all that—”

  He raised a brow.

  “Oh, come on!” She laughed out loud, slapping at his chest. “I’m trying to tease with you.”

  He forced a laugh and she rolled her eyes, snorting.

  “Whatever. The point is I need a pair of underwear because the sweats are rough and…Damn, I sound like such a spoiled princess. I’m not. Ian, I’m really not.”

  “I know that.” And he did. Girls didn’t come more down to earth than Denali. Easy-going was her middle name, or should be. “I’ll grab my bathrobe. You wash your pant—”

  She laughed as he choked on the word. “My panties?”

  Good hell. How old was he, twelve? Heat rose in his cheeks and he felt like a total loser. “Yes, those. You wash them in the sink. We’ll throw them into the dryer for a bit and—”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t stick around that long. I have to get to the gym. I’m opening today.”

  As she spoke, the idea slapped him upside the head. It wasn’t one of his best and brightest, but it might get Denali home in time for work.

  “Hold up.” Looking at her in the towel wasn’t working for him. Well, it kind of was. That was the problem. “Give me a second.”

  He hustled down the hall and into his bathroom. Fisting the silk of his robe—the one he very rarely ever wore—from the back of the door, he jogged back to where Denali still stood wide-eyed and drop-jawed.

  He tossed the robe at her. “This is a long shot, and a really stupid idea, but I might…” He shook his head. “Put on the robe. I’ll be back in a few. Hopefully with a pair of p- underwear.” He took off for the stairs.

  “Oh, so you do have a stash?” She hollered after him, teasing.

  “No, but I know someone who does.”

  Sixteen

  Kayla stood in front of the griddle, waiting to flip the pancakes. She’d outdone herself this morning. She smiled and tucked the spatula under the one that really did look like a crown, per Pene’s request.

  The doorbell rang and her heart jumped. A quick glance at the clock showed six-thirty. Too damned early for visitors.

  Three chairs screeched away from the table. “No,” Kayla barked at her children. “You guys stay right where you are.”

  “But—” Chase protested.

  “Mooom,” Sadie whined.

  Penelope only harrumphed.

  “You guys finish your breakfast. I’ll see who it is and if it’s for you, I’ll call,” she said, knowing damned well whoever had pressed the doorbell would most certainly not be looking for one of the kids.

  She hurried into the living room, brushing her hair away from her face. She’d pulled it into a ponytail, but had no idea what she looked like. Certainly not Miss America. She rubbed her index fingers under her eyes, hoping to get rid of any raccoon impression she might be sporting.

  She peeked out the side window. Panic sent her blood pressure into overdrive. She jerked the door open. “Ian. What’s wrong?”

  Dressed only in a pair of jeans, the guy stood on her front porch, looking like the boogeyman might jump out and haul him away at any moment. She tried to ignore the way his hips formed that sexy V women drooled over and the line of dark hair leading from his belly button to his…

  He cleared his throat. “Can I borrow some…underwear?” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Well, not borrow them. I’ll need to keep them.”

  She stared at him for a moment, her brain not quite comprehending. “Come again?”

  “Underwear. Pant-…” He groaned, sending his fingers through his damp hair. He leaned in to whisper, “I need to borrow a pair of women’s underwear.”

  “Borrow? Ew! That’s gross.” Her nose wrinkled in dis
gust. “You don’t borrow underwear, Ian. From anyone. For any reason.”

  He huffed, whether annoyed or embarrassed she couldn’t tell. “Oh, come on, Kay, I know you like the store with those little pink and white bags. Surely you have at least one pair that still has the tags on it.”

  Her brows knit. “Why do you need—” She shook her head, refusing to go there. “Never mind, I don’t wanna know.”

  “She’s about your size, and…”

  The rest of his sentence drifted away on the wind. All Kayla could see was the woman in question, whose size zero was most definitely much smaller than her own size seven, standing in only a bathrobe on Ian’s front porch. Her blond hair was also damp. An ache seized hold of Kayla’s heart. She fisted her hand to keep from rubbing at her chest.

  Ian glanced over his shoulder and blushed a bit. “Um, yeah, she needs to borrow a pair of underwear.”

  Kayla put her hands on her hips, adopting the fiercest scowl she could muster. “And how, exactly, did she get to your house without a pair of underwear?”

  He chuckled and went to great pains not to look her in the eye. “Well, it’s actually kinda funny. We were having breakfast and—”

  She held up her palm, hoping like hell he wouldn’t continue to talk to the hand. “I get the idea.”

  “So, can you help me, I mean, Denali out?”

  Yeah, no doubt left. Denali had claimed her rain check. “Do not bring her into my house.”

  She whirled around in a flurry of…yeah, there was no flurry. She stomped up the stairs. When she knew he couldn’t see her, she rubbed at the pain behind her ribs. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. And damn, there Denali was right there on the back of Kayla’s eye lids. Plain as freakin’ day, Kay saw that woman, that very beautiful, very young woman standing on Ian’s doorstep. Wearing Ian’s robe. Having just stepped out of Ian’s shower. After spending the night wrapped in Ian’s arms.