Caught Between an Oops and a Hard Body (Caught Between series Book 2)

by Seabrook, Sheila

  She sighed and watched him pace.

  Stone Kincaid was like her favorite flavor of ice cream. Simply irresistible.

  And she couldn’t help but wonder how he would react to a roll in the hay to ease the tension.

  She bit her lip.

  He’d probably scream and run at the suggestion.

  She watched him reach into the pocket of his trousers and pull something out. He approached her and dropped to his knees in front of her, took her left hand, and slid something on to the third finger.

  “Marry me.”

  Stephanie stared down at the diamond ring on her finger, then up at the man who was so totally wrong for her, even their careers clashed. Finally catching her wits, she scrambled away from him and somehow landed on the floor on her butt.

  Panther like, he rose to tower above her, a frown on his face as he reached down and assisted her to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

  “This.” She tugged the ring off her finger and shoved it into the pocket of his white shirt. The warmth of his skin through the material nearly distracted her, so she pulled away, hands on hips. “I don’t want it.”

  “You’re having my baby. Getting married is the right thing to do.” He pulled a folded sheaf of papers out of his pocket. “I even drew up a prenup to protect you and the baby.”

  That silenced her for all of two-point-five seconds, and then her brain cells began to function again. “Do you love me?”

  His gaze hooded over. “I’m sure that will come in time.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” She could tell by the way he didn’t answer that he hadn’t thought that far…or more than likely was hiding his head in the sand like some delusional idiot. “I’m not marrying you, Stone. Never ever.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  As she threw up her hands in exasperation, Stone caught a glimpse of her belly—the belly that he’d kissed all those weeks ago after his great-uncle’s wedding, the belly that cradled his child.

  She turned and walked to the front door, tugged it open, and glared at him…barefoot, sexy as sin, and pregnant with his child.

  Was it any wonder he found himself infatuated?

  He gave himself a mental shake.

  Okay, no more being stupid over her. There were things they needed to discuss, things he needed to confirm. Since she was pissed with him anyway, he leapt in with both feet.

  “How do I know it’s my kid?” The glare turned to the frost level of a glacier. Stone raked his hand through his hair and mumbled, “Never mind.”

  His gaze moved down, past the fullness of her breasts, to where the button of her skirt was undone. And while he wondered if he should go over there and do it up for her—or maybe convince her that he should undress her totally and make love to her—it hit him.

  She hadn’t been able to do up the button because of his baby.

  His groin tightened in reaction.

  If she fascinated him before, now he felt bewitched.

  She turned her head and met his gaze. “You know what, Stone. Just forget me. Forget I told you about this child. Forget we even exist. I don’t need you in my life.”

  And then leaving the door open, she turned and walked away without a backward glance and disappeared down the hallway.

  The bedroom door slammed, shutting him out.

  Well, she was a whole lot better off than he was, he decided as he stormed out of the cottage. Hell, he had a family he didn’t want…except…

  His footsteps slowed as he spotted Liz standing on the front porch of his cabin talking to Kevin. When she walked her fingers up his chest, Stone frowned and wondered what she was doing, especially since she was getting married in three days.

  As he headed across the clearing, Kevin shifted back, his gaze slashing to Stone. Then the other man sidestepped Liz, scaled the steps with one leap, and headed off down the path.

  Stone frowned. “What are you doing, Liz?”

  “Nothing.” She toed one foot against the wooden panels and refused to meet his eyes. Then she raised her gaze, a frown pinching her brow, and whispered, “You won’t tell Roger, will you?”

  “If nothing was going on, then what do you have to hide from your fiancee?”

  “I—maybe I’m just getting cold feet.” She stepped forward, earnest. “Please don’t tell Roger. The wedding is only three days away and I don’t want to screw things up.”

  She’d grown up when he hadn’t been looking. And while she still needed to grow up—a lot—he couldn’t discount that she was old enough to make her own decisions.

  Maybe not smart enough, but old enough.

  And besides, who was he to judge her, especially since he’d managed to screw up his own life?

  He nodded his head once, sharp, and she gave a squeal and launched herself against him, throwing her arms around his neck.

  “Thank you. You won’t be sorry, I promise.”

  And with a kiss on his cheek, she pushed away from him and skipped down the steps, thankfully headed in the opposite direction of his best friend.

  His mom came down the path, a frown on her forehead. “Was that Kevin Donahue? What is he doing here?”

  He shrugged. “Just visiting.”

  “Well, don’t let him overstay his welcome.” She handed him some papers. “I’m about to offer Stephanie the wedding planner position on my show, but I want you to go over the contract first to make sure I haven’t missed anything. Then, if you could go over it with her, I’d appreciate it. I’d like to get it all wrapped up by Friday.”

  “Sure.” And as she headed back to the house, Stone tucked the papers into the pocket of his jacket.

  Now that Stephanie was pregnant, he didn’t have to worry about her working for his mother. There were enough clauses in the contract to prevent such a thing from happening.

  Stone's phone buzzed and he glanced down at the screen to see a message from his assistant.

  I need to take a personal afternoon. I’ll be back later.

  Grumpiness settled deep in his chest.

  Stone wished he could take a personal afternoon.

  Somewhere far from his family.

  And oddly enough, the only one he wanted to take with him would be the mother of his child.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Wednesday morning, Jim frowned down at his watch, then back at the computer screen. Damn, Grace had caught him—again—before he could escape. “What do you mean, nothing works.”

  “Just what I said. I push the ON button and nothing happens. I thought you said you fixed this?”

  “I did. Here, let me try.” He gently shouldered her aside, tried to ignore the scent of her body wash, pushed the button, then glanced at his watch again. No time for this now. He was late.

  And getting more distracted with each breath he took.

  God, she smelled good. Like vanilla and homemade apple pie and sex all wrapped up into one.

  He gave himself a mental shake.

  No time for that now.

  The guys were waiting.

  Gisele would be standing there ready to badger him into improving his golf game.

  Jim pushed the button again, breathed deeply to calm himself, inhaled more of Grace's essence, and felt his pecker stand to full blown life.

  “See?” she said, her breath tickling his ear, while nothing happened on the computer screen.

  His phone buzzed. He straightened, glanced at Harry’s message on the screen, and started backing from the room, desperation clawing at his guts. “I’m late.”

  She frowned at him, her beautiful blue eyes filled with something that reminded him of hurt. When was the last time Grace had been hurt by anyone but an angry fan? “Late for what?”

  “The guys. My lesson.” He grabbed his golf bag from beside the doorway and hefted it onto his shoulder. “I’ll work on it tonight, Grace.”

  She glanced at the computer, gave it a closed fisted whack. “Tonight? But I need it now. Today.”

  “Grace, that’s se
nsitive equipment. Be gentle with it.”

  “When will you be back?” she asked in a small voice that caught him by surprise.

  Grace was never small. She was always larger than life, in charge of every situation, in control of every one and everything around her.

  “I’ll take another look at it tonight. Sorry honey. You’ll have to use a pad and paper today.”

  Before she could say anything else, Jim slipped out of the room and as he headed for the golf course, focused on clearing his mind.

  There was no way on God’s green earth that he’d allow a wife who was slowly driving him insane ruin his game. There were enough other things to ruin his game.

  Like friends who didn’t turn off the sound on their cell phones.

  And an inability to master the intricacies of the game.

  Once he reached the course, he set his golf bag aside and tried to focus on his stance and the way he clutched the five iron. But he knew he was off…everything was off.

  Including the fact that he could have sworn Grace had come on to him.

  Over the years, their careers had kept them apart. And during these past few months, while he’d struggled with his health and resisted the urge to get worked up—in bed and out—she’d seemed more than willing to accept the death of their love life.

  Which left him both relieved that she didn’t seem to notice their sex life had disappeared, and concerned that when he got past the worry of having a heart attack while in the saddle, she’d proclaim she wanted to continue with their no-sex relationship.

  A low growl of frustration brought his attention back to the woman now in front of him.

  Giselle stood there, hands on her model thin hips, a curl to her glossy lips. “Let me show you again, Jim, and pay attention this time.”

  She moved behind him, barefoot and silent, put her arms around his body, and covered his hands with hers. As she guided him through his swing, her technique got lost in the feel of her lithe body plastered against his back.

  Imprinted, where before only Grace's imprint had been.

  What had Harry and the boys been thinking? That he was too old for a woman like this? That he’d view Giselle in the same manner he saw his daughter? That he wouldn’t get the urge to jump her bones and—

  His body responded to the womanly touch and he willed himself to ignore it. Because if he didn’t…it wouldn’t be a heart attack that would kill him. Grace would do the deed herself.

  “Are you paying attention, Jim?”

  His breath rasped from his lungs. “With every fibre of my being.”

  “Come on, Jim,” Gisele said in that pouty, honey-smooth tone that slide down his spine and made him think of hot oil and sex…and Grace. Everything always came back to the woman he’d been living with for the past thirty-five years. “Forget everything else. Just focus on the ball and that little hole. You do remember how to aim for the hole, don’t you, Jim?”

  He gritted his teeth, clenched his hands around the top of the club, and eyed the path from the ball to the hole. “Of course, I do.”

  Gisele leaned in closer, the indent of her breasts pressed against his back. As she grabbed him by the buttocks and squeezed, she breathed into his ear, “Come on, Jim. Concentrate. There’s nothing else that matters but you and the club and that little ball.”

  He squirmed and tried to shrug her away. “How am I supposed to concentrate when you’re climbing all over me?”

  Her throaty laugh filled the air and she placed a wet kiss on the side of his neck. “A real golf pro doesn’t let anything interfere with his concentration. Not a negative crowd, a ballsy opponent, or a beautiful woman.”

  He stiffened and ignored other parts of his body that still hadn’t lost their stiffness from the encounter with his wife. “Piss off, Gisele.”

  “Ooooh, such a dirty, dirty mouth you have, Jim.” From the back, she reached between his legs, grabbed his balls, and squeezed, the sharpness of her nails digging through the thin material of his slacks.

  What little concentration he had remaining scattered and Jim jumped away from her, covering his private parts with both hands. “You’re insane, woman.”

  She advanced on him, her slim hips sashaying, her generous mouth curved up into a wicked smile. “No, Jim. I get the job done and I don’t particularly care what I have to do to do it.”

  He threw his iron onto the ground. “You’re crazy.”

  “Tsk tsk.” She stopped, one hand on her hip, her gaze fixed on the golf club. “Maybe I need to teach you some respect for your equipment and the course.” She took another step closer and grinned. “I am the master. You are the student. If I tell you to wear a g-string beneath your trousers, you will obey me.”

  He stepped back, out of her reach for fear of her hands and her nails. “Not likely. My wife would have me at a shrink.”

  “I doubt she’d even notice, Jim.” One pencil thin eyebrow raised. “When was the last time you made love to her? To any woman?”

  “A while. Too damn long,” he admitted before he caught himself. “Fuck, get out of my head.”

  Both eyebrows spiked. She bent and picked up his five iron and held it out to him. “Go fuck your wife. Then maybe you’ll get her out of your head, and your game will improve.”

  He snatched it out of her hand, then glared at her as turning, she slipped on her shoes and ground one spiked heel into the green. As she strolled away toward the cottages, she said, “And you’ve forgotten the most fundamental rule of golf. No swearing on the course. Next time, I’ll make you pay.”

  Jim sucked in a deep breath of air and uncovered his balls.

  The bitch really was crazy.

  A movement through the trees caught his attention. He hunched down and peered through the leaves, seeing nothing. Squaring his shoulders with determination, he wrapped both hands around the handle of his club, pretended it was Giselle’s neck, and gave up all pretenses of trying to control his dick.

  There was no problem with getting it up. He was just scared shitless that if he dared do something about it, his family would be burying him six feet under.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Grace scurried through the trees, heart pounding, breath coming fast, careful to stay out of sight.

  If Jim could get away with it—the dirty, rotten, cheating bastard—she could too.

  Who was that woman? And why had Jim allowed her on the golf course? If there was one rule Grace would never forget, it was his no women allowed on the course rule. It had hurt her deeper than anything else could.

  The tall, slim, shapely young woman had been no older than Liz. With tawny blonde hair that floated down to the middle of her back and barely any clothes covering her tanned limbs, she’d been young and fresh and so sexy, even Grace had thought about humping her…except she didn’t swing that way.

  As she reached the pool, she saw her neighbors sitting around the patio table, and their laughter reached her ears.

  What were they talking about? And why were they here when she’d made it so clear that she didn’t need their company? Were they waiting for their husbands to join them? She’d seen the men all disappear the moment Jim’s bimbo showed up on the course.

  Did she care what Jim did—or who Jim did—in his spare time? She’d known it was a risk leaving him alone so much of the time, but they’d both been busy with their careers.

  And then the son-of-a-bitch had retired.

  What was she supposed to do with that? Retire along with him? Die after a horribly long boring retirement?

  Somehow she kept the panic at bay, determined to appear serene and in control when she reached the patio and the tiny trays of sweet snacks the staff had brought out for the women.

  Without saying a word, she reached for the richest of them all and stuffed it into her mouth.

  “A pound in the mouth, two on the hips,” Nancy said as she nudged Sandy’s hand away from the tray. She raised her gaze to Grace. “So are you going to stand there and hyper
ventilate? Or are you going to sit down and help us figure out how to get our men back?”

  The emotions she’d tried so hard to hold at bay swelled up her throat and burned at the back of her eyes. Damn it, she would not cry. Around the explosion of sugar in her mouth, she said, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. Go away.”

  Sandy pushed her sister-in-law’s hand away and reached for another square, this time successfully snagging one. “It’s too late for that, Grace. We’re here and we’re not leaving until we get our men back.”

  A comforting hand on her shoulder caught Grace unaware. She turned and met Leta’s gaze, kindness and understanding and friendship radiating from the other woman’s eyes. “It’s easier to deal with their indiscretions if you have someone to share your pain with.”

  Oh God, they knew.

  Nancy tapped the edge of her coffee cup. “So, marriage expert, what are we going to do about it?”

  Grace dropped onto a chair and pressed her hands against her burning cheeks. “I’m a marriage fraud.”

  Sandy snatched another square, popped it into her mouth, and around the mouthful said, “No you’re not. You actually give really great advice. Why I’ve—”

  She pressed her lips together and blushed.

  Nancy elbowed her sister-in-law. “Tell us your dirty little secret, honey.”

  Sandy peered around the patio, which caused the other women to look over their shoulders too, and almost by instinct Grace did the same. Then Sandy leaned forward and grabbed Grace by the upper arm to bring her closer into the little circle.

  Despite her reluctance to join them, she didn’t want to be rude. But they weren’t exactly her type of people. Housewives, all three. Well, not Nancy, who co-owned the local insurance office with her husband. Or Leta, who worked part-time in one of the local shops.

  No, not her people…although truth be told, she really didn’t have people.

  Or friends.

  Or a husband that wanted her more than his next breath.

  She leaned in closer, suddenly desperate to be a part of this group of women.