by Teri Wilson
He waited, but then she grew quiet again.
He narrowed his gaze. “Tell me something?”
She nodded. “Anything.”
He’d let her ask the questions before. It was only fair that the tables were turned.
“What happened to your mom and dad?” He’d seen the pain in her eyes when her jerk landlord suggested she pawn Olive and Bee off on her parents. There was a story there.
She grew very still for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I don’t know, actually. I haven’t seen either one of them in years. My mom left when I was nine years old. Afterward, everything just fell apart. My father couldn’t cope. He stopped hosting tours at the family winery, stopped harvesting the grapes. The vineyard crumbled around us.”
And what about her? Had her father stopped taking care of Evangeline, too?
Ryan didn’t have to ask. The answer was in her eyes. It was in the door she’d slammed in his face, not just once, but twice. It was in her stubborn reluctance to let him help her, even when she needed it most.
“My grandfather didn’t realize how bad things were until my dad lost the winery. He saved me, but he was too late to save the vineyard. I went to live with him. It was supposed to be temporary, but my dad just kind of drifted away and never came back for me.” She squared her shoulders and drew herself more upright, defiant in the face of rejection.
“That’s why you and your grandfather are so close.” Ryan nodded. “I understand. I went through something similar.”
She blinked. “You did?”
“Yes, my parents were both addicts. They weren’t ready for the responsibility of a kid, so my aunt and uncle took me in.”
“Zander’s family?” A lock of Evangeline’s hair fell from her messy bun, a casualty of her tumultuous day. It was the only outward sign that anything was amiss.
He reached and tucked it behind her ear, somehow resisting the urge to let his fingertips linger on the elegant curve of her shoulder. “Yes. My uncle died a few years back, but he was like a father to me. Emily Wilde still treats me as one of her own.”
She nodded, and a shiver coursed through her at his touch. “Then I guess you really do understand.”
She had walls. They both did. But every so often, when they lifted their gazes skyward at the same time, they caught a glimpse of pure blue heaven. In each other.
What would it be like once those walls finally came tumbling down?
Ryan shoved his hands in his trouser pockets to stop himself from touching her again. Cleared his throat. “Tell me about the wine you asked me to bring with Olive and Bee.”
“It’s from the family vineyard. The last remaining bottle. As far as I know, anyway.” She lit up like she always did when she talked about wine. “It’s a cabernet franc. Bold, richly bodied, with notes of tart red cherries and brambly raspberries mixed with warm toast and cedar.”
She made it sound so nostalgic. So cozy.
Like home.
“It’s the perfect wine to pair with food. I defy you to show me a meal that it wouldn’t complement.” This was the woman he’d fallen for that night, the one who’d drawn him out of his self-imposed exile. Smart, bold...so full of life.
Utterly captivating.
This side of her couldn’t be hidden away, no matter how hard Evangeline tried. Because she was real...as authentic as the little girl who’d been forgotten by her father. She just didn’t know it. If anyone understood that warped sense of self, Ryan did.
“I wouldn’t dare.” He smiled.
She reached for the bottle, turned it over in her hands and ran the pad of her thumb reverently over the label. “It’s also star bright, which is rare for a deep red wine. Almost impossible, actually.”
“What does star bright mean, exactly?” He was still languishing in the ranks of the pinot grigio drinkers, clueless.
“It’s a measure of the wine’s clarity, its ability to absorb and reflect light. A wine that’s star bright is vivid and luminous, but not quite clear. It has light running through its darkness, like a sparkling ribbon. It glows.” She paused, searching his face. “Does that make sense?”
He let his gaze travel from her sparkling blue eyes to her cheeks—soft and pink, like rose petals. Her mouth beckoned to him. Ruby red.
She was beautiful. She’d always been beautiful, but now she was more. Now she was radiant. Star bright.
“It makes perfect sense,” he said.
Then he bade her good-night while he still could, and went to bed.
Alone.
Chapter Twelve
Hours later, Evangeline lay awake in Ryan’s spacious spare bedroom with Olive and Bee nestled at her feet.
His apartment was nothing like she’d imagined it would be. Granted, he lived in a penthouse. Because of course he did. But it was hardly the sleek bachelor pad she’d envisioned. Ryan occupied the top floor of a prewar limestone building in the nine hundredth block of Fifth Avenue. Instead of chrome and black leather, the rooms were filled with rich velvets and elegantly weathered pieces that gave the space a comforting feel.
The French doors in the living room overlooked a terrace with a view of the boathouse in Central Park. Before Evangeline had gone to bed, she’d stood with her hand pressed to the glass, watching skaters twirl across the frozen pond. Come springtime, the ice would thaw and people would race tiny wind-driven sailboats on the water. It was one of the best spots in the city for children. For families.
Under the covers, Evangeline’s hands slid over her nightgown and splayed on her stomach. She was only in her first trimester, but already she could feel her body changing—growing rounder, softer. It was a potent reminder that the life she and Ryan had created was real. They would be a family someday. Someday soon.
Whatever did or didn’t happen between them, they’d be bonded together forever.
She’d been so wrong about Ryan. And yet, deep down she’d known he was a good man. She’d sensed it on that morning so many weeks ago when he’d stood there with dog hair clinging to his Armani jacket while he tried to convince her to see him again. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have frightened her so.
She’d had reason to be afraid. Ryan was everything she wanted, everything she needed. Just the kind of man who could break her heart.
But something about lying there in the dark with her head on his pillows and his child growing inside her made her bold. Fearless. Ryan was right next door, and they weren’t at the Bennington anymore. There were alone—in his home. And he’d brought her here. He could have taken her anywhere, but he’d brought her home.
What would happen if she went to him now? What would happen if she tiptoed into his room and slid into bed beside him?
The thought was intoxicating. It sent liquid warmth skittering through her body, like she’d just sipped from a glass of rich Spanish sherry.
What is it that you want, Evangeline?
He’d given her a chance, and she’d blown it.
You. I want you.
The words had been right there, on the tip of her tongue. They tasted as wild and sweet as sun-ripened grapes plucked straight from the vine. But she hadn’t been able to say them, hadn’t been brave enough to give voice to her desire. Because this time was different. This time, it would be more than just physical. She could lie to herself all she wanted, but no amount of denial would change the fact that she had feelings for Ryan. She just wasn’t altogether sure what those feelings were.
He’s the father of your baby.
Maybe this need to touch him—this need to feel his hard flesh beneath her fingertips and his mouth, hot and needy, against hers—was biological. Maybe it was primal, her body crying out for more of him.
Or maybe it was just fate.
Either way, she was tired of trying to fight it. So very tired. She slipped out of bed as quietly as possibl
e so as not to disturb Olive and Bee. Then she closed the door behind her and made her way to Ryan’s room. The door was closed. She considered knocking, then thought better of it. She didn’t want him to turn her away. Not again. Not this time.
Her hand was steady as she turned the doorknob, and that’s when she knew she was sure. No hesitation. No doubt. No regrets.
Moonlight streamed through the bedroom windows, casting shadows of gently falling snow over the massive bed in the center of the room. The bed sheets took on a lavender hue in the darkness, and Evangeline felt as if she were entering some strangely beautiful winter wonderland, a frosted fairy tale.
But this was no fairy tale, and the man whose lean body was stretched out before her, all hard planes and sculpted flesh, was very much real. He gazed up at her, his eyes glittering in the shadows. If he was surprised to find her sneaking into his bedroom in the middle of the night, he hid it well. He looked more as if he’d been lying there, waiting for her. As if he’d summoned her with the pure intensity of his desire.
“Evangeline.” His voice scraped her insides, making her heart beat hard and fast.
She leaned down, letting her hair fall against his cheek and whispered, “Call me Eve.” She swallowed. “Please.”
He nodded, cupped her face in his hands then slid his fingertips into her hair. His hands curled into gentle fists, and she could feel the tension in his body, flowing from him to her. Days...weeks...of wanting one another, of desire, of denial.
No more.
No more denial. No more waiting.
“Let me see you, Eve,” he growled.
She rested a hand on his chest and straightened, savoring his gaze on her as she gathered the hem of her nightgown in her hands and lifted it slowly over her head. His gaze raked over her bare body, and she felt it as keenly as a caress, traveling down her neck, over her collarbone and then lingering on her breasts. A delicious warmth pooled low in her center, and even though she’d undressed for him before, she had the unmistakable feeling that she was being seen for the very first time. Truly seen, body and soul.
When his gaze moved to her newly rounded belly, a smile tipped his lips and his eyes grew shiny in the darkness. “Mine.”
His.
He was talking about the baby, not her. But for a minute, she let herself pretend he wasn’t. She closed her eyes and let the word wash over her, bathing her in love and light.
Ryan’s hands found hers, and he pulled her toward him until she straddled his body on the bed. When she opened her eyes, he looked at her with such adoration, such reverence that she thought maybe, just maybe, he’d been talking about her, after all.
Mine.
His.
He rested his fingertips gently on her stomach. “Ours.”
She smiled down at him. “Kiss me, Ryan.”
He rose up, captured her chin in his grasp and in the torturous moment before his lips touched hers, he murmured. “Oh, baby, I thought you’d never ask.”
Evangeline’s breath caught in her throat. The kiss was slow and gentle. Achingly tender. She fought back tears as she opened for him and his tongue slid languidly against hers. Every movement, every taste was delicately drawn out. The sweetness of it caught her off guard.
She’d been prepared for heat—for a shuddering, frenzied end to the attraction that had been swirling between them for so long. But this was no frantic coupling. They weren’t just looking for a release. They were seeking something else, and as much as Evangeline wanted it, needed it, she was terrified of what it meant.
This isn’t sex, she thought as she let her hands roam his chest and abdomen, exploring every tantalizing dip, every ridge of muscle. This...this...is making love.
Still, beneath the tenderness—beneath the feather-soft kisses and the broken sighs—an excruciating need burned deep inside. Evangeline’s nerve endings felt like they were on fire. His erection pressed against her center, thick and hard. She ground against him, whimpering.
“I’m here,” he whispered against her lips. “Right here.”
Then his mouth dropped to her nipple and the whimper turned into a low, sultry moan. It was a sound she’d never heard herself make before, and in a strange, sublime way it made sense because this body was new to her. It was changing every day, blossoming into something wonderfully different. Her breasts had grown fuller, sensitive to the barest touch. When he moved to the other nipple and drew it into his mouth, sucking gently, she nearly came apart.
“Please,” she breathed, and she wasn’t sure what all she was begging for.
She wanted him inside her. Now. She wanted to feel his hardness pushing into her until they became one, but she wanted more than that. She wanted all of him—all of this beautiful, broken man who made her believe she could have a life she’d never dared to imagine.
A future.
A family.
So she reached for him, reveling in the way his breath caught when her fingers wrapped around his erection. Then she guided him to her entrance and lowered herself over him, taking him in. He rose up to kiss her as their bodies came together, and at first there was nothing but an overwhelming, exquisite sense of relief. Like she could finally breathe again after a long, lonely season underwater.
But all at once the heat began to build. He curled his strong hands around her hips and thrust into her. Harder. And harder, until she felt like a shimmering, heavenly thing—a brilliant, beautiful fire. More light than dark. A flame in the night.
Star bright.
* * *
It felt like a fever dream. Too colorful, too vibrant to be real.
But Ryan knew it couldn’t be a figment of his imagination, because as long as he’d waited for this night, as much as he’d wanted it, the reality of making love to Evangeline was infinitely sweeter than any fantasy he could have conjured.
She looked so beautiful rising and falling above him with her hair tumbling over her shoulders and spilling over her bare breasts. He remembered everything about their previous night together, every supple curve of her body. But she’d changed in the weeks since they’d been together. There was a new softness to her—and it was more than the pregnancy, more than merely physical.
She was more open to him now, more vulnerable. When he rolled her over so that she was beneath him and then gathered her wrists in one hand, pinning them over her head, she purred like a kitten. The sound was nearly enough to bring him to climax right then and there, but he clenched his jaw and fought the release. This night had been months in the making. He wanted, needed, to make it last.
For her.
For them.
He slid from her body, murmuring wicked promises at her whimper of protest. Poised over her, he moved down the lovely, writhing length of her, pausing to take a nipple into his mouth again. She arched toward him, crying his name as his hands found the tender insides of her thighs and guided them apart.
His mouth moved lower, and she opened her eyes, questions glittering in her gaze.
“Trust me,” he whispered, smiling at the knowledge that this was new for her, that even after making a baby together he could show her a new kind of intimacy. A gift for them both.
He pressed an openmouthed kiss to her belly, then dipped his head even lower, giving her the most intimate kiss of all. She gasped at the first touch of his tongue. Then he circled her slowly, gently with the pad of his thumb as he licked his way inside. She shivered against his mouth, and her hips rose up off the bed. He slid his hand beneath her perfect bottom, holding her still.
She was close. So close.
Her hands were tangled in his hair, and her breath was coming hard and fast. He could taste the honeyed prelude to her release, so decadently sweet. He stopped, moved over her once again and braced his hands on either side of her head.
Her face was deliciously flushed, her eyes were closed and her li
ps bee-stung, swollen from his kisses. Ryan had never seen anyone so radiant. Lost in pleasure, lost in love.
His erection throbbed at her opening.
Love.
Is that what this was?
How would he know? He knew nothing of love, nothing of commitment or what it took to build a home—a real home where the walls rang with laughter and where people took care of each other. Where they stayed.
But when Evangeline’s lashes fluttered open and she looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, he almost believed he could.
“Just you and me.” He pushed inside her again.
He’d made her a promise, and he’d honored it. There were no ghosts in this bed. This was about them, and only them. Except they weren’t a couple anymore. They were a family...almost. “Just us.”
Then she shattered around him for a second time, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. He thrust into her and came with a deep, shuddering groan that felt like it had been ripped straight from his soul.
For a prolonged moment, neither of them moved.
He squeezed his eyes closed tight, savoring the sound of their intermingled breath and the snow falling lightly against the windows. New York...Bennington 8...the Michelin star...all of it felt so far away. So long as he was inside her, nothing else could touch them. Nothing could tear them apart.
“Ryan.”
He opened his eyes. Evangeline gazed up at him, her sapphire irises shining bright with unshed tears.
“What if I’m just like her?” she whispered. “What if I’m just like my mother?”
“Oh, baby, you’re not.” He shifted, and pulled her close, tucking her head beneath his chin. Her panicked heartbeat crashed against his, and he wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could.
She’d undressed for him. Not just in body, but also in soul. He knew without having to ask that she was sharing her deepest fear—the thing standing between them, threatening to pull them apart. Even here, even now.
“How do you know?” she said into his chest.
He wondered if she could hear his heart breaking in that moment—breaking for her. Evangeline Holly, the woman who cared more about a pair of blind and deaf dogs than where she slept at night, was afraid she’d follow in her mother’s footsteps and abandon her own child.
