“Did I mention the drool?”
She laughed, and despite the flicker of anger sputtering through him, a part of Alex responded to the sweet, nearly musical sound. “Right,” she said. “Drooling over a woman who just gave birth. Because I’m just so irresistible.”
Damn straight.
But she simply didn’t see her appeal. Those wide blue-green eyes, soft chestnut hair and the fragility that belied her strength did something to a man. Made him want to go find dragons to slay for her. Made him want to do stupid things like throw his coat over a puddle, like good ol’ Sir Walter Raleigh, who’d given every other male in history a bad name.
Daisy touched something in him Alex hadn’t thought about in years. Not since his fiancée had broken their engagement on Valentine’s Day two years ago. Back then, he’d thought he’d had it all. A gorgeous woman to love, a fascinating career and a future with no boundaries except the ones he would set himself.
Then the Barone curse had reared its ugly head.
Well, at least his parents blamed his broken engagement on the curse. Alex had just been blind-sided by a woman who’d gone from red-hot to icy cold in sixty seconds flat. Hell, he still wasn’t sure why Megan had taken off, though he didn’t miss her anymore. When he’d recovered from the hurt and his heart was mended, he’d vowed to steer clear of the “permanent” kind of woman. He wasn’t about to risk being thrashed again.
Not that he’d become a monk or anything. He had plenty of women. More than his fair share, probably. But they were women who were no more interested in happily ever after than he was. They shared some laughs, some sex and then said goodbye, no hard feelings.
Until Daisy Cusak appeared and knocked every logical thought clean out of his head.
Now he was getting in way too deep with a woman who was so much the permanent kind she practically had an imaginary white picket fence surrounding her.
The elevator stopped at the fifth floor, and the doors opened onto a long hall that was just like every other hall in the building. Same beige paint. Same iron-gray industrial carpeting. Same stainless steel light sconces on the wall every five feet. Same sad, narrow window at the end of the hall.
Sunlight streamed in through the bare window, adding brightness to what would otherwise be a dismal scene. But again Daisy paid no heed to anything but the baby in her arms. She took off down the corridor, with Alex just behind her. Each door they passed looked exactly like its neighbor.
Beige.
God, he could really learn to hate that color.
She stopped at the fourth door on the left, and when he came up behind her, Alex had to smile. Naturally, Daisy’s door would be the one distinctive note in an otherwise grim place.
Her door had been painted a bright, glossy sunshine yellow. Affixed to the door was a brass knocker in the shape of a sleeping cat, and engraved on its tail in a flowery script was the name Cusak. In front of the door lay an old-fashioned welcome mat.
“I like your door,” he said simply, though in truth he meant so much more. He liked her attitude. A single mother, she wasn’t worried about being alone, just wanted to get on with her life. Living in a world of beige, she’d refused to be beaten down by it and instead had chosen to fight back with a splash of defiant color. He admired people who stood up to the world and fought for a piece of it on their own terms.
Daisy smiled at him as she dug in her purse one-handed for the key. “I like bright colors,” she said simply, then grinned as she came up with the key like a diver bringing up a piece of prized salvage.
She unlocked the door, threw it open and stepped inside, Alex right behind her.
Instantly, Daisy felt a wild mixture of pleasure and trepidation. She hadn’t known until this moment just how much she’d missed her own little apartment. Everything familiar reached out welcoming arms to her, and she smiled to be back in a place that was so much a part of her.
But she was also a little hesitant about having Alex here. Her home was so very different from what he was probably used to. And it bothered her to realize just how much she wanted him to like it. She’d poured so much of herself into decorating the tiny apartment that if he felt uncomfortable here—or worse, just plain hated it—it would be as if he was rejecting her, too.
She needn’t have worried.
“This is great,” he murmured as he walked past her into the room.
Her gaze followed his, noting everything that he was seeing for the first time. A veritable rain forest of slightly droopy water-starved plants covered nearly every flat surface. Potted daisies and African violets vied for space with ferns and various colored coleus. English ivy trailed from three different pots and had been trained to stretch out leafy arms to embrace framed photographs of faraway cities. Paris. Madrid. Moscow. Athens. Dublin. All of the places Daisy hoped to visit one day.
As Alex did a slow turn to look at everything, Daisy noted the colorful rag rugs dotting the worn gray carpet. She saw the overstuffed furniture and tried not to compare it with the lovely silk pieces she’d left behind at Gina’s place. The Barone apartments were beautiful, but this was home—the nest she’d made for herself and her child—and she was proud of what she’d accomplished here. The warm, soft afghans she’d crocheted herself, the pillows she’d sewn and stuffed, the pale yellow paint she’d applied to the kitchen cabinets…everything here was hers. And for a girl who’d grown up with nothing to call her own, that meant everything.
But it surprised her to realize that she cared what Alex thought of her home. She half held her breath and waited for his reaction. When it came, she wasn’t disappointed.
He looked at her and smiled, with warm approval shining in his eyes. “I like it. It’s…cozy.”
“Thank you.” Pride filled her and she was suddenly ridiculously glad to have him here. “I’ll just go put Angel down in her crib.”
Daisy walked past him, through the small living room, to a tiny hallway leading to the bathroom, her bedroom and the nursery. Angel’s room was the smallest, but here, too, Daisy had left her stamp of originality.
The walls were painted a soft sky blue, and clouds had been sponged on in a pale shade of cream. The effect was like a summer day and showcased the sections of picket fencing she’d nailed to the wall and the flowers she’d painted coming out from behind the slats. The crib was secondhand, given to her by one of the waitresses. But Daisy had painted it white, then made the sheets and comforter and bumper pads in a boldly striped fabric of blues and greens and yellows. A whitewashed rocker sat in one corner and a narrow chest of drawers stood against the far wall. Beside the crib was a small square table boasting a lamp with a Little Bo Peep lampshade.
“You did all of this, didn’t you?”
He’d followed her in, and somehow hearing his voice in her house seemed…right. Which should have worried her. But she was just too darn happy to be home to care about that at the moment.
Laying her sleeping daughter in the crib, Daisy turned around to look at him. “Yes, I did. I like painting and fixing things up.”
“You’re good at it.”
“Thanks.”
He leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. He looked so darn good standing there that Daisy had to remind herself not to get attached. But she was pretty sure it was too late for those kinds of warnings.
“Makes me wonder what you could do with the BOQ on base.”
“BOQ?”
“Bachelor officers quarters. They’re about as sterile as you can get.”
“You can do wonders with a little paint.”
“Some of us apparently can,” he admitted. His gaze dropped, drifting over her from her head to her toes and then slowly back up again. She felt it as surely as she would have if he’d touched her.
Her skin was humming and her breathing quickened in response to a flash in his eyes. And suddenly Angel’s room was too small. Too enclosed. But then, the way she felt around Alex, Daisy had a
feeling that Fenway Park would seem too intimate.
“Thank you for bringing me home,” she said, and swallowed hard. Bracing herself, she slipped past him and out of the room, somehow managing not to shiver when her arm brushed against his chest.
“No problem.”
He followed her into the living room, and when she simply stood there, obviously waiting for him to go, Alex took the hint. He headed for the front door, oddly reluctant to leave. Oh, he knew he should. But then, when did he ever enjoy doing what he was supposed to do?
“Look,” he said, stopping so sharply that she ran into him from behind. He turned quickly, grabbed her shoulders to steady her, and tried to ignore the heat rushing from his hands into her and back again. Damn, there was some kind of powerful connection here. “How about I go get dinner?”
“Alex, you don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
“I don’t know….”
“You have to eat, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, so do I.” His fingers tightened on her shoulders. “And I hate eating alone.”
She smiled and shook her head. “You don’t have to eat alone. You have a big family and probably lots of friends who’ve been wondering where you’ve been for the last week.”
He grinned back at her. “You’re prettier than any of them. And frankly, I’d rather look at you over the table.”
She thought about it. He could almost see the wheels turning in her mind, and he wanted to tell her to stop thinking. To just feel. He knew damn well that she was experiencing the same sensations he was when they were together. Wasn’t that worth exploring a little further?
What did they have to lose?
“Come on,” he prompted. “What’dya say?”
She started to shake her head, so he cut her off at the pass. “I’ll make you an offer too good to refuse.”
Daisy laughed. “You sound like a gangster movie now.”
“No machine guns, I promise. Just the best pasta you’ve ever had.”
“Hmm. From which restaurant?”
He gasped dramatically and slapped one hand to his heart. “You’re kidding, right? You think an Italian would go out to buy pasta?”
“No?”
“Boy, have you got a lot to learn.”
“I guess so,” she said, still chuckling.
Her laughter ended, though, when he leaned in and planted a quick, soft kiss at the end of her nose. “And, honey, I’m just the man to teach you.”
Seven
The kitchen smelled wonderful.
Daisy sat at the small table for two tucked into a corner of the narrow room, and watched Alex as he cooked. He’d come back from the grocery store laden down with bags. Not only had he brought supplies for the dinner he wanted to cook, but he’d picked up a few basics for her as well. Thoughtful, Daisy told herself. Gorgeous, rich, thoughtful, navy pilot, sexy, tender.
Good heavens.
He was like the hero in a romance novel.
And way out of her league.
But that was okay, she reminded herself sternly, because she wasn’t looking for a man. She had enough to deal with right now. She had a new baby. A future to plan. She wasn’t looking for romance. Actually, she was in no position to be looking for romance even if she’d been interested. Which she wasn’t.
Not so very long ago, Daisy had thought love was the answer to everything. She’d trusted Jeff when he’d told her he loved her, believed him when he said she was all he wanted. She’d told herself he was just too nervous to ask her to marry him. And God help her, she’d been so sure he would be as happy as she’d been when she found out she was pregnant.
It hadn’t taken long for the truth to surface.
She could still see the look in his eyes when she’d told him. If she allowed herself, she’d be able to hear him, too. “Are you nuts? A baby? I didn’t sign on for a baby. No way are you trapping me into this.” Then he’d hopped into his convertible and taken off with a squeal of tires so loud it had sounded like screaming.
Two hours later, he was dead. Killed when a truck ran a red light and plowed into the flashy car he’d thought so much of.
Daisy pulled in a deep breath and pushed the memory of Jeff into a dark corner of her heart. The love she’d had for him had died out as she’d watched him drive away from her in a near panic. But she would always be grateful to him for giving her Angel.
“The secret,” Alex was saying, “is the sweet sausage. Some people like regular pork sausage, but to get the rich flavor, you need Italian sweet sausage.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
He glanced at her from the stove and must have read the emotion in her eyes. “Something wrong?”
“No. Just thinking.”
“Not exactly happy thoughts, then, I’m guessing.”
“Navy pilot and a mind reader, huh?” She smiled to take the sting out of her words.
“I don’t have to be a mind reader, Daisy. I can see storm clouds in those pretty eyes of yours.”
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. It had been so long since she’d received a compliment of any kind, she wasn’t actually sure how to respond. Thankfully, he didn’t wait for one.
“So,” he said, reaching for the bottle of red wine he’d been letting breathe for twenty minutes. He filled her glass with water, his with wine, and carrying them, went back to his post beside the sauce pot and lifted his own glass for a sip. “Tell me about you.”
“There’s not much to tell.” She took a sip of water.
“Then it shouldn’t take long,” he quipped.
A smile twisted the corners of her mouth. “Okay,” she said, leaning back in her chair, clutching the wineglass with both hands. She stared down into the clear water and said, “I grew up in California.”
“You’re a long way from home.”
“No,” she said softly, “this is home now.” In fact, she hadn’t had a home until she’d come here several years ago. “You come from a big family, right?”
“Oh, yeah.” He took a drink of wine and waited, his gaze on hers.
“I didn’t. My folks died when I was five, and I grew up in the foster care system.” There it was, she thought. That split second flash of pity that she usually saw in people’s eyes when they found out the truth about her. It irritated her to see it in Alex’s eyes, though. She didn’t want to be pitied. It made her feel like that little girl in a hand-me-down dress again. And she certainly didn’t want to go back there.
“That must have been rough.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me,” she said, stiffening her spine automatically. She’d put a stop to pity parties when she was twelve, and she wasn’t about to hold one at this late date.
“I don’t.”
“Huh?” She looked at him, curious.
“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said, and leaned one hip against the chipped Formica countertop.
“Well, that’s new.” And it totally belied the emotion she knew she’d seen in his eyes.
“Why would I feel sorry for you? You’ve got a nice place here, a good job and a gorgeous new daughter.”
Pride filled her. She’d worked hard to build a life for herself and she was glad he’d noticed. But she’d seen the pity flash, even though it had disappeared an instant later.
“But that said,” he pointed out, “I’d be a real bastard if I didn’t feel some sympathy for the kid you once were. Geez, Daisy, no child should have to grow up without a family.”
She’d always felt that way, too, but hearing him say it aloud brought a twist of guilt. Angel would be growing up without a family, in the traditional sense. But as soon as that thought occurred to her, Daisy dismissed it. This was different. Angel would be loved and she would never doubt it. Angel would have her mother. Always. And that would be enough.
Daisy would make it be enough.
“That was a long time ago,” she said, refusin
g to stroll down that particular memory lane. She’d come out of the shadows years ago and she quite liked the sunshine.
“I know,” he said. “But it still feels like yesterday sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“If I let it,” she admitted, then straightened up and took a long drink of wine. “But I don’t.”
Alex nodded as he watched her. He’d seen the vulnerability on her face before she’d wiped it away with a practiced smile and a glint of determination. He had a feeling her past wasn’t as far in the background as she’d like him to think. But there was nothing he could do for the child she’d once been. Besides, he told himself, she’d grown past it. Survived. Triumphed. She didn’t need him to go back in time and rescue her, as much as he liked the idea.
“Anyway,” she said, continuing quickly, obviously eager to get past the whole “poor little orphan” thing. “When I was old enough, I left. Got my high school diploma and went to the opposite side of the country for a fresh start.”
He stirred the sauce and inhaled the familiar scent that made him think of big Sunday dinners with the family. “Boston must have been a huge change for you. How’d you like your first winter here?”
She laughed, and he watched her eyes light up. “Oh boy, that was a real shocker. I’d never even seen snow until I moved here.”
“I always loved it when I was a kid,” he said, remembering the countless battles he and his brothers and sisters had waged. The snow forts, the stockpiled pyramids of snowball ammunition, his sisters’ sneak attacks. He smiled just thinking about it and felt bad all over again that Daisy had no such memories.
“Sure, when you’re a kid, you’re just worrying about playing in the stuff. But grown-ups have to de-ice windshields and spread kitty litter on the sidewalks and…” She stopped, smiling. “But you know all that. You grew up with it. For me, it was a real eye-opener, I can tell you.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I love it, though.” She shifted her gaze to stare out the tiny window as if she were watching a blizzard blow in. “It’s so beautiful. And peaceful. And quiet, somehow. It’s like the world takes a deep breath and holds it.”
Beauty & the Blue Angel Page 6
