He ambled familiarly toward the kitchen and returned seconds later with Mari’s diaper bag slung over his shoulder. “Can’t find your shoes.”
Laura shook her head helplessly, motioning to Mari. “Where on earth could I take the baby when she’s acting like this?”
“With me.” He was astounded she’d even asked.
Chapter 4
“I’m not sure how I got talked into this drive,” Laura remarked idly. Her eyes flickered from the contented baby in her arms to the rapidly passing scenery to Owen’s face.
She hadn’t noticed the laughter lines when she first met him. At the moment, his hair was lazily wind-ruffled and his hand light and relaxed on the steering wheel. The look was of a calm, easygoing man, and the look was totally misleading. Owen was dangerous. An extremely dangerous man who carted screaming babies around as a sideline—though, to give him credit, Mari had stopped crying the minute the engine purred beneath her. The baby liked expensive cars almost as much as Owen did.
Since he hadn’t responded to her first comment, she tried a second. “I didn’t expect to see you again. At least not in the middle of the day. Finding a little company to share coffee with at five o’clock in the morning…I understood that.”
Owen’s eyes had a rueful look as they glanced in the rearview mirror. No other woman would seriously believe that he’d been waking up at dawn only for her coffee.
“Laura?”
“Hmm?”
“Cocoa futures dropped another three points last night. We’re headed into the rainy season in Brazil, the time when flooding could ruin a cacao crop. Gary just informed me that we’re facing a patent fight in the courts. And my twenty-year-old sister called last night to tell me all about her first love affair gone wrong. Now, on one of those days when the floods keep coming, you either have to start bailing or jump ship.” He said gravely, “I opted to jump ship—at least for a few hours. And when I saw you coping with the princess in a tantrum, I figured I’d found a fellow sufferer looking for an escape.”
Laura gave a little laugh. “Maybe you did.”
“Is the baby wearing you to a frazzle?”
“Yes, darn it…but skip Mari. Is your little sister all right?”
Owen leaned back, his eyes glinting with amusement. “No one’s okay after the first love affair ends, but, yes, Pat’ll survive. The thing is, when you’re twenty and getting hurt for the first time, you don’t really want to survive.” He added absently, “I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on that boyfriend of hers for just five short minutes…”
Laura chuckled, but she shot him a thoughtful look. “Do your younger brothers and sisters put you through a lot of that kind of thing?”
“On occasion. When five of them were teenagers all at once…well, let’s just say it’s a miracle my parents stayed sane.”
But then, they’d had help, Laura thought fleetingly. And wondered if Owen had ever had the chance to be just a little foolish and a little wild, like other teenagers. “When you talk about your brothers and sisters, you always sound so…protective.”
“Do I?” Owen hesitated. “I guess I feel that way. My parents had to take care of the business as well as the kids. They needed help, and I was the oldest. My mother was ill for a time…” He leveled her a sideways glance. “I told you I’d diapered my share of babies.”
But not that he’d had to, or that he’d been burdened with responsibility when he was so young. “And when did you learn to play?” she asked quietly.
“I’m learning right now.” He grinned. “It’s not all that hard, making up for lost time. And that’s more than enough about me. When are you going to tell me about the princess?”
“Nothing to tell.” Laura leaned back her head, her eyes sleepily regarding the flicker of sunlight through the passing trees. “I read all about it when I was pregnant. The perfect-mother syndrome. Trying too hard instead of relaxing and using a little common sense. Of course, I was never going to fall into that pattern, because I was emotionally prepared.” She turned her head, her expression deadpan. “I fell into it three and a half minutes after she was born.”
“Laura, you’re doing fine,” Owen scolded gently.
“I would be, if she’d do just one thing by the book.”
“Paige says the problem is that men write the baby books.”
“Paige—that’s Gary’s wife? I keep getting the feeling I would like your sister-in-law.”
“You will. In fact, you’re going to meet her in five minutes.”
Laura looked horrified. “Owen, I can’t take the baby anywhere. She’ll just cry…”
And Mari promptly started, the instant Owen switched off the engine. Unperturbed, he climbed out of the driver’s seat and came around to the passenger side, his tall body blocking the view of a two-story colonial house with a yard full of tricycles and swing sets. His dark gray eyes leveled on Laura’s. “Now, don’t look stubborn.”
“I am not going to inflict—” she raised her voice slightly, to be heard over Mari “—a screaming baby on a stranger.”
“Paige won’t mind.”
“I do.”
“Laura, my sister-in-law has three who can out-shout the Grateful Dead. Now, relax—”
“Excuse me.” A sprite of a woman with dark curly hair and huge brown eyes darted between them, laughter bubbling from her lips as she threw her arms around Owen and then promptly held them out for the baby. “You’re Laura? And actually trying to out-argue my brother-in-law? God help you… Isn’t she beautiful! How old, Laura?”
“I…four weeks.”
“Sleeping all night yet?”
“Six hours last night.”
Paige nodded. “Sounds about right. Another two weeks and you’ll be out of the woods, but this is the hellish part, isn’t it? You’d sell your soul for just one night of uninterrupted sleep. I read somewhere that the Chinese used it as torture during the war. Not letting prisoners of war sleep was such an easy way to drive them insane… Here, let me take her.”
Ten minutes later, Laura was sitting at a counter in a bright yellow-and-white kitchen with a glass of iced tea in front of her. Paige hadn’t stopped talking yet, and she still held the baby, who had stopped crying—probably because crying was pointless. The noise level was greater than anything Mari had ever been exposed to before, between trikes and baby walkers and toddlers whizzing by.
Standing in the doorway, Owen was listening to the chatter of the two-year-old perched on his shoulder, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off Laura. Bringing her here was an attempt to steal some time alone with her. Paige wouldn’t mind taking care of Mari for a few short hours while he spirited Laura away. Only he’d forgotten—or failed to consider—how isolated Laura had been from feminine companionship since her recent move to the area. She was lapping up all the little reassurances from Paige that new mothers traditionally soak in from their mothers and sisters and friends.
“The doctor says she’s only supposed to be fed every four hours.”
“Bull. Show me one male doctor who’s breast-fed a baby, and I’ll show you a man worth listening to. I fed mine every two hours.”
“Paige, she doesn’t nap. I get so worried. All the books say she’s supposed to.”
“Have you tried—”
Owen didn’t have the heart to interrupt, but his sister-in-law must have noticed his mournful expression, because she let out an abrupt peal of laughter and stood up. “All right! All right! We’ll have other times to talk, won’t we, Laura?”
Laura looked bewildered. Paige chuckled again, gave Mari a kiss on her rosy cheek, and said cheerfully, “You’re stuck with me for a little bit, darlin’. Believe me, we’ll get along just fine.”
Laura glanced at Owen suspiciously.
“We’re leaving,” he confirmed.
Clouds scudded across the sky in a hodgepodge of whimsical shapes. Leaves obscured most of them, and the sun sneaked through the greenery like a surprise, flickering on Laura�
�s face, catching the soft lace at her throat, then dancing past her calico skirt to her bare legs crossed at the ankles. The blanket beneath her was soft; the earth beneath it just as warm and giving.
Somewhere in the park, teenagers were playing noisily with a Frisbee, but the sounds came from a long distance away. Here, a copse of white oaks offered a secluded haven of privacy, and delectable, unbuyable, precious quiet. Flat on her back, Laura closed her eyes in utter bliss.
“See?”
She peeked an eye open. There was a long, lanky frame next to her, stretched out with his arms behind his head, a blade of grass between his teeth, eyes closed. “Maybe,” she said guardedly, “this was a good idea.”
“It was a great idea.”
“You need to learn how to do absolutely nothing for a change,” she agreed.
Now, that wasn’t fair, Owen thought with amusement. Laura needed to learn to relax as much as he did—and his impromptu kidnapping was working. Away from the baby, and with Mari given over to someone Laura trusted…yes, his lady lapped up peace and privacy.
Through shuttered lashes, his eyes roved over her supple form. A tumble of light hair spread in curls over the blanket, catching the gold of sunlight now and then. He’d stolen her shoes. Her feet were slim and tiny. He couldn’t see nearly enough of her bare legs under the calico skirt, but he could make out the shape of her thighs and that tiny mound of a stomach that so embarrassed her. She wore a white blouse with a little froth of white lace at the throat and cuffs, fastened with small pearl buttons, her breasts straining the fabric despite the demure design.
She could have been from another age. The age of pirates and virgins, of rakes and innocents. He propped himself up on an elbow, carefully respecting the six-inch distance she’d so deliberately established between them. He wanted to ravish her, steal her away, strip off the concealing layers of clothing inch by inch.
“No.”
She spoke the word like a proclamation, but her eyes were still closed. He raised one dark eyebrow. “No, what?”
The smallest warm breeze touched her face. The earth smelled rich; the forest smells were hypnotic, life smells, soft smells. She could hear the rustle of leaves brushing together, see the shimmer of sunlight behind her closed eyelids, taste summer in the air. The man next to her was more potent than all of that; Laura could perceive him with all five senses. “You didn’t kidnap me,” she said lightly, her eyes still closed.
“No?”
“You didn’t bring me here to relax either, Reesling.”
His lips twisted in a crooked smile. “You think not?” He leaned closer, his fingers lightly combing through her hair.
“I know not. You’re looking for someone to play with, Owen.” Her lashes fluttered open, her eyes that special blue-green, endless, fathomless. She saw in his eyes exactly what she’d expected to see. Wanting, bold and bright. “And I came with you willingly,” she said casually, “to remind you of a few things.”
“Such as?” Like silk, the strands curled around his fingers. He edged a leg closer, bridging that six-inch invisible wall without yet touching her.
“Such as, new babies make for impossible love affairs.”
“Difficult, yes.”
“And ladies who’ve just had babies have healing stitches. In awkward places.”
He smothered a laugh.
Laura kept the deliberately light tone, but her eyes were serious, suddenly filled with anxiety. “Owen, there are lots of women out there. Women with time, women with nice flat stomachs, women who are prettier, smarter…” She took a breath, and suddenly couldn’t try to make it funny anymore. “I deeply appreciate what you’ve done for me. You’ve just…been there, through a rough week, and I—”
“You foolish woman.” He leaned over her, blocking the sun, his face all angles and shadows and angry gray eyes. “You’re the one who’s been there for me this week, not the other way around. You were stuck listening to my whole list of woes—”
“I wasn’t stuck.”
“Being you, no.” His eyes softened. “You show caring naturally, sweet; I don’t think you could help it if you tried—but if you really believe the only thing going on between us is a mutual-support society, we’d better clear that up right now.”
The sun and woods disappeared altogether when Owen’s head dipped down. His mouth was warm and sweet, like wild honey. The fierce, wooing pressure of his kiss contrasted to the lightest stroke of his fingertips on her bare throat. She wasn’t prepared for the sweep of exquisite emotions that engulfed her. It had seemed such a brilliant idea, to come with him and tell him the truth. Cards-on-the-table honesty…but Owen seemed to know a different kind of honesty.
His fingertips caressed the vulnerable hollow in her throat with the whispery touch of a lover. His tongue thrust into the dark secret corners of her mouth, plundering with the intimacy of a lover. She lay still, absolutely still. Fire warmed her skin, but ice cooled her veins; or perhaps it was the other way around. It didn’t matter. She’d been afraid of what would happen if he touched her, and even if she died from the fire of passion and the ice of fear she would not give in.
A throaty chuckle escaped his throat, a wicked sound on a quiet afternoon. Her eyes flew open. “That’ll never work with me, you know,” he whispered, “but it’s rather fun that you even want to try. I’ve kissed you before, have you forgotten? Fight it if you want to. Fight it just as long and as hard as you want to, Laura…”
She would have delivered a long, sound lecture on arrogance, but he was kissing her again. Different kisses. Teasing kisses, his, lips just brushing hers. His tongue defined the shape of her bottom lip with feathered softness. His fingers brushed back her hair, over and over, slow, lazy movements, a tender touch.
The pulse jumped in her throat when his palm gradually stroked from her throat to the swell of her breast, down to her ribs, down… Her hand jerked up, clamped on his wrist.
“Don’t,” she whispered haltingly.
There was no give in his voice. “You have every stitch of your clothes on. We’re in a public park. You’re not afraid of anything I’m going to do here.”
“Owen—”
“We’re not going far, love. Just a short excursion down a very private road for a minute or two. Just to make sure you know…it doesn’t happen this way between any other two people. This is happening only for us, Laura. Don’t be afraid to show me what you feel, what I want you to feel…”
He didn’t understand. He couldn’t possibly understand. There were risks she couldn’t take again. She tried to tell him, opening her lips, but his mouth was waiting for her, pressing on hers, coaxing her head back against the blanket. His leg insinuated itself between hers, and she felt herself sinking. The weight of him, the pressure of his arousal, his warmth, the fierce, endless kisses…
Fear dissolved into intensely powerful emotions, a terrible surge of need to be held, to be wanted, to be taken by this man, now, here, before the fear came back again. Her senses were making insatiable demands, to touch and be touched, and she seemed to be trembling, inside, outside, all over.
Her fingers skidded over his arms, his shoulders, groping and awkward, trying to hold on. His touch was fire, and she was burning. She heard his whispered “yes,” as if she’d done something right when everything she was doing was wrong. She knew it was; Peter had told her over and over how inadequate she was as a lover. But Peter suddenly seemed someone from a far-distant past; Owen was…Owen. Here, now, immediate. And as if he were the only man she’d ever known, her mouth searched for his, found it, savored as he’d savored, crushed as he’d crushed.
Owen’s palm slid under her skirt and glided intimately over her thigh. Under a tangle of fabric, she felt him cup her bottom and hold her hard against him. The breath whooshed from her lungs in a hoarse, murmured plea, and she heard an answering groan escape Owen.
In time, he pushed down her skirt; his kisses turned gentle. His hands soothed instead of stroked,
although the beat in his Adam’s apple was unsteady when he looked down at her. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he whispered.
A faint flush darkened her cheeks. He smiled. His arms went around her, holding her, like a velvet cage, his chin nuzzling the top of her head. “I thought I could behave myself if I brought you to a public place. Obviously, I was wrong.” He tilted back his head. “You’re not safe, you know.”
“Owen—”
“Yes, I know all about your stitches,” he said dryly. “Just…stay still for a minute. Let me hold you.”
He held her until he again felt her relax in his arms. His eyes turned pensive, thoughtful. She so fiercely held back that inner Laura. But when she let loose, he had treasure. She was richly abandoned in giving—loving and needing love like no other woman he’d known.
“Owen?”
“Hmm?”
“Your arm has to be cramped.”
“It is. And your baby is undoubtedly getting hungry.” He sighed. Moments later, they gathered up the blanket and slipped on their shoes. On the drive home, he couldn’t stop stealing glances at her. Her hair was wind-tumbled; there was a sleepy flush on her cheeks that he knew he’d put there. Still, her eyes shied away from his; she was careful not to touch him.
At a traffic light, he leaned over to press a whimsical kiss on her nose. “Stop thinking, would you?” he teased, but there was a layer of seriousness in his voice.
“I’m afraid…I misled you,” she said quietly. “Owen…”
“Know something?”
“What?”
“I’d like to believe we’re past pretending. I’d like to believe you and I don’t need any kind of pretense between us.”
He reached out a hand, and after a moment’s hesitation she took it, perhaps because she badly wanted to believe, as he did, that they had something special together.
Still, shadows clung to her mind; she felt a rush of nameless anxiety. Already, he meant too much to her. It was easier to believe she cared for him because it was a time in her life when she needed someone—anyone—just to be there. But no other man was like Owen. He sparked feelings she shouldn’t feel; he made being wanted seem like a gift.
Sweets to the Sweet Page 5
