The muscles in her thighs tightened against him. He grasped her hips, raising and lowering her over him, sinking deeper with each stroke, until they were joined together, melded by the heat, and he couldn’t tell where he left off and she began.
A sound escaped her lips. A murmur low in her throat. Her breathing grew ragged. She grasped his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his flesh.
He drove into her, her softness sheathing him again and again. Her body convulsed in an intimate embrace. And his body answered. He poured himself into her, his strength, his judgments, his fears. And she accepted it all, without question, and gave back nothing but love.
Love.
And he loved her, too. He always had.
Even those long months when they were apart. Even when he was angry over the choices she’d made. Even now when the future was so uncertain. He loved her. She was his fantasy, his dream.
And more than anything, he wanted to get lost in that dream and never wake up.
ALYSON CURLED INTO Dex’s embrace, her back pressing against his chest. His arm draped over her, his hand cupping her breast. Sun glowed through the window, almost as bright as the glow inside her. After they’d made love the first time, they’d checked on Patrick and retired to her bedroom with the intent to sleep. But once they’d climbed into bed, they soon realized sleep was the furthest thing from their minds.
A smile spread over her lips, and warmth curled around her heart. It had been too long since Dex had touched her. Too long since she’d felt so alive, so sated, so loved. Too long since she’d felt anything but endless loneliness. But last night all of that had fallen away. The judgment, the hurt, the loneliness. And they’d been left with nothing but each other.
Nothing but their love.
It was as she always hoped it could be. She snuggled closer to soak up just a little more of his heat.
“Good morning.”
She flipped onto her back and looked into his blue eyes. “I didn’t realize you were awake. Why didn’t you say something?”
His hair was tousled, making him look like a beach bum enjoying life. So different from the past days. The past years. “I was enjoying watching you sleep.”
“I don’t want to hear one word about my snoring.”
He smiled, his blue eyes as bright as the sky outside the window. “Don’t worry. I won’t hold it against you. It’s actually kind of cute.” Placing one hand on either side of her face, he tilted her chin back and claimed her lips.
His kiss was warm and sweet and held nothing back. She pressed her body against his under the sheets, naked skin to naked skin. She could feel his erection stir and press against her thigh.
He ended the kiss and looked into her eyes. “You’d better be careful. We’ll never get out of this bed.”
“That suits me just fine. But unfortunately there’s no danger of that happening.”
“You underestimate me.”
“No. You underestimate our son. He should be waking up any minute now.” She glanced in the direction of the hall leading to Patrick’s room and then shot Dex a teasing grin. “Disappointed?”
“A little. But I can’t wait to see him.”
As if on cue the baby monitor at the head of the bed erupted in a tiny wail. “Sounds like you got your wish.” She tossed back the sheets and climbed from the bed.
He skimmed her bare skin with an appreciative gaze. “If I’d known I’d get a show and a baby, I’d have made my wish sooner.”
“A show?” She raised a brow. “You mean, now you get to see my stretch marks in the sunlight.”
“Didn’t I tell you how much stretch marks turn me on?” He continued his perusal of her body.
Warmth spread over every inch of skin his gaze touched. His teasing and the naked appreciation in his eyes made her feel truly sexy for the first time since she’d given birth. She padded to the bathroom on bare feet, grabbed her robe from the hook on the back of the door, and slipped it on.
“Censor,” Dex said.
She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “If you stay right where you are, maybe you’ll get another glimpse.” She strode out of the room and down the hall in the direction of Patrick’s room. All the endless months she and Dex had been apart, she hadn’t been able to give up hope that someday they’d be together like this. Like they were last night. No judgments, no bitterness, nothing but love between them. And her hopes had been realized. All she had to do was look into his eyes to know she wasn’t alone anymore. And now that Patrick was back safe and sound, they’d all be together. A family.
When she entered the room, Patrick let out a squeal. He rolled to his tummy and lifted his head from the mattress to peer through the crib rails.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” She crossed the room and lifted him from the crib. Snuggling his little body close, she kissed the top of his head and breathed in his sweet baby scent.
Tears clogged the back of her throat. He really was home. Safe. And nothing could change that. She wouldn’t let it. She laid him on the changing table and changed his diaper, her fingers moving with the deftness of a well-remembered ritual. When he was clean and dry, she gave him a bright smile. “Do you want to go see Daddy? He can’t wait to see you.”
His little face puckered into a frown. A whimper escaped his lips.
“And you can eat breakfast, too. Don’t worry.”
She carried him back down the hall, to where Dex was waiting, propped against the headboard. Soft light filtered through the curtains and glowed on his bare chest. The sheet pooled around his waist. A smile lifted his lips and reflected in his eyes, outshining the brilliance of the sun.
“Here’s the little man.” She laid Patrick on Dex’s chest, circled the bed and climbed under the sheets next to him.
Dex held Patrick close, looking at him as if he’d never seen anything so incredible in his life.
Patrick’s little face collapsed into a grimace. Then an outright frown. A protest rose from his lips.
Dex shot Alyson a helpless look. “He really does look like me, doesn’t he? When I’m in a bad mood.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “He’s not in a bad mood. He’s just hungry.” She took Patrick from Dex and loosened her robe. He latched on to her breast with a voracious hunger and started nursing. He hadn’t forgotten how, just as he hadn’t forgotten his mommy.
Dex circled his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close while Patrick nursed.
She laid her head against his shoulder. She’d lied to herself last night. And she’d lied to Dex. She told him she’d be happy with whatever he could give her, whether it was one night, one week, or one hour. But she’d never be happy with anything less than this. What she saw in his eyes and felt in her heart. What they had right now.
She looked up at him. His attention was turned to the window, a faraway look in his eyes.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
A smile flitted over his lips. “I was thinking that this is a dream, you and me and Patrick. A dream I never want to wake from.”
A chill inched up her spine. Last night he’d talked about the difference between what he wanted to believe concerning his father and what was real. “What we have is no dream, Dex. It’s as real as this bed. As these sheets.”
He touched a finger to her forehead, smoothing loose strands of hair back from her face. “It’s just as good as a dream. I never knew it could be so good.”
“But?”
A furrow dug between his brows. “But nothing. I love you.”
A familiar ache settled in her chest. Maybe she was being paranoid. Maybe it was her imagination. Dex was still here in bed with her, with Patrick. He’d told her he loved her. Nothing had changed since the moment before.
But everything had changed.
“What’s wrong, Alyson?”
She blew a breath through tense lips. “Maybe nothing. I don’t know.”
“Care to explain?”
“Last night you talked abou
t how you dreamed your dad would be a good person someday, but in reality he fell short.”
“He did.”
“Yes. And the same thing happened with my father, too, didn’t it? You wanted him to be a man you could look up to, a mentor. But he didn’t live up to the dream you had of him.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I don’t want to be another dream, Dex. Not this time.”
He tightened his arm around her shoulder. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant that what we have is so good it doesn’t seem real.”
“But that’s just it. Don’t you see? I can’t live up to the fantasy. Sooner or later I’ll disappoint you, like I did last time we were together.”
“Last time was about your father, what he did.”
“No, it wasn’t. Not totally. It was about us, too. It was about you writing me off as soon as I disappointed you. As if you were waiting for me to let you down the way your father and my father did. I’m not walking that tightrope again, Dex. I can’t. And Patrick isn’t going to walk it, either.”
Throwing back the sheets, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. She expected him to stand and pace across the room. It had always been his way of escaping something that was bothering him. But he remained on the bed. Sunlight through the curtains cast soft shadows across his muscled back.
She swallowed into an aching throat. “I thought things were different this morning, that everything had changed. But I was wrong. We’re still the same people. And we still carry the same baggage.”
“I want things to be different. I want to be different.” Anguish laced his voice and twined around her heart.
She wrapped her arms tighter around Patrick, holding on for dear life. “You have to believe you deserve happiness. You have to believe happiness is more than just a dream.”
He turned to face her on the bed. “I want to. Believe me. But I don’t know if I can. I don’t even know how to start.”
“I can’t tell you how, Dex. That’s up to you. You either do it or you don’t.”
He turned away from her and buried his face in his hands.
Her throat closed and tears stung her sinuses. She loved him so much she ached. But what good did it do? “Last night I told you I’d be content with whatever you wanted to give me, a night, a week, or even an hour. But I was wrong. I want all of you. And if I have to choose between sitting around waiting for the dream to end or being alone, I’ll have to be content with being alone.”
DEX DESCENDED THE STAIRS and strode through the foyer and into the kitchen. He had showered and shaved, but the hot water and steamy bathroom had done nothing to clear the anguish tumbling through his mind.
Alyson sat at the kitchen table spooning some sort of baby food into Patrick’s mouth. She looked up as he entered. Sunlight streamed through the open windows, highlighting the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose like the spots on a fawn and sparking her hair to red flame. It was the perfect domestic picture, a beautiful mother caring for her child. Only the sorrow in her eyes and the creases around her lips spoiled the effect. “What are you going to do?”
Damn good question. What was he going to do?
If only he could fall on his knees, insist she was wrong about him and ask her to be his forever. But he couldn’t. Because as much as he didn’t want to admit it, she was right.
His heart seized in his chest. He couldn’t lose Alyson. Not now that he’d found her again. And he didn’t want to go through the rest of his life alone, not trusting his own feelings, never knowing if they would change the moment reality intruded. But Alyson was right. He couldn’t put her through that, not again. And he damn well couldn’t subject Patrick to that kind of uncertainty.
He peered out the window at the sun-stained day. An unmarked police car sat parked in the neighbor’s driveway, the outlines of two officers dark against the brilliant sun. From their vantage point, they could easily see the entire back and sides of Alyson’s house. He’d seen the other car out front this morning after his shower. At least he didn’t have to worry about security this morning. There was no way Smythe could worm his way past that kind of scrutiny. And even if he somehow managed it, the security system Dex had had installed would alert police before the scum had a chance to step over the threshold.
Alyson was still watching him, waiting for an answer.
He met her gaze. “I’m going to leave. At least for a while.”
She nodded as if she expected his answer. Worry lines etched her forehead and flanked her lips.
“Don’t worry. You and Patrick will be safe here.” He gestured out the window. “The police have turned this place into a fortress. No one could get in without their knowing it.”
“I saw them. I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine. Smythe won’t hurt me. Not yet. He hasn’t finished making me suffer.”
“I’m not just talking about Smythe.”
No. He knew she wasn’t. “I’ll be okay. I always am.”
“Where are you going?”
Another good question. “I’m going back to the source.”
THE SOFT mechanical roar of the garage door lifting filtered through the floorboards and echoed in the concrete basement. Andrew Clarke Smythe looked toward the sound and smiled. He’d been waiting for this moment for days—no years. The moment of his revenge. And it was almost here.
It was about damn time.
He stretched out on the pitiful, lumpy couch he’d spent the night on. It had been good of Nanny to call him the moment Harrington and the redhead found the kid. She’d been so worried, the poor old bat, fit to be tied. She hadn’t understood he really didn’t care about the baby, that the kid was no more than a tool, a way to manipulate the father.
He hated to lose that tool, of course. It had been fun wielding that much power over Harrington. But he’d manage just fine without the kid. Especially now that he was in place for his next move.
He propped his athletic shoes on the scarred coffee table in front of him. All he had to do was sit back and wait for the car to start and back down the driveway. For the garage door to close behind it. For his hunger for revenge to build toward its lustful climax.
Closing his eyes, he tried to picture Alyson Fitzroy. The chilly sound of her voice. The superior glint in her eyes. The way she stood with her chin up and her chest thrust out like she was challenging the world. Like she was better than everyone else.
He smiled.
She wouldn’t be chilly and superior with him. He wouldn’t allow it. His fingers itched to grasp that long, red hair, to strip off her clothes, to put the bitch in her place and to show her what revenge was really all about.
But that wasn’t all. This time he had a little extra planned. Alyson Fitzroy wouldn’t be like the others. He’d changed since he’d gotten out of prison. He’d grown. And his ambitions had grown, too. He’d enjoyed silencing Connie Rasula and Jennifer Scott. He’d enjoyed closing his hands around their throats. He’d enjoyed squeezing the life out of them at the same time he’d pounded his rage into them.
And with Alyson Fitzroy he would be so much more—more brutal, more demeaning, more deadly. He’d been thinking up ideas for days. And he’d try out every single one. After all, she deserved it. She and Dex Harrington deserved everything he could give them.
The car purred to life in the garage and backed out. The door whirred closed, and all that was left was silence. Andy looked around the basement rec room, the shabby couch, the paneled walls, the corner filled with boxes. Harrington and the redhead thought they were out of his reach. They thought he could never get past the police protecting the house. They thought he could never breech the security system. They thought they were perfectly safe in their little love nest.
But Alyson Fitzroy was far from safe. Not while he was around. A mere twenty thousand dollars had convinced the technician who’d installed the security system to give him the code. And even i
f the entire Madison police department was milling around outside the house, they couldn’t protect the redhead. Because Andy didn’t need to break through a police perimeter to get into her house.
He was already here.
Chapter Sixteen
Dex lowered himself into a wooden chair and glanced around the shabby living room. Back when he was an assistant district attorney trying cases, he’d visited a number of the halfway houses in Dane County to question witnesses. But he’d never stepped inside this particular one.
It looked comfortable, if living with eight fellow felons could be considered comfortable. His father had served his sentence for involuntary manslaughter by use of a motor vehicle a number of years ago, but that didn’t mean he’d reformed. The drunk driving hadn’t magically stopped. Neither had the petty theft. He’d even visited his old cronies in prison when he’d stolen a junker and gone for a drunken joy ride. A combination of all his talents.
Although Dex hadn’t seen his father since his mother died, that didn’t mean he hadn’t kept tabs on the old man. And it didn’t mean he’d been immune from further disappointment, either.
He sure as hell hadn’t given his son much to be proud of.
“Hello, Dex.”
A chill ran up his spine. For all his drinking and smoking, the old man still sounded the same as when Dex was a boy. His voice was low, almost sweet. A voice that could charm the sun out from the clouds, his mother had always said. But it didn’t have that effect on Dex. Not anymore. Now it just made his gut clench with anger. “I need to talk to you.”
The old man shuffled to the chair opposite Dex at the scarred table. His face was lined beyond his years. His hair was coarse and gray and stuck out from his head in unkempt clumps. Unlike his voice, his youthful appearance and sandy-blond hair had become victims of booze and smoke. But even sagging skin and two days’ growth of silver beard couldn’t camouflage the chiseled jaw, the cleft chin, so like Dex’s. And so like Patrick’s.
The old man’s lips crooked into a grin, exposing stained teeth. “Finally come to see your dear old dad, eh? It’s about time you acted like a son.”
Claiming His Family Page 15
