Major Dad

by Shelley Cooper

  Realization dawned at the same time as full wakefulness, and she caught her breath. The stripes made up the pattern of Brady's shirt. Which meant that the something big and hard and warm that was in her way was none other than Brady himself.

  Now that she was awake, she became aware of much more. She was lying on her side, facing him, and Brady's arms were wound tightly around her. Her legs were entwined with his, and her nose was buried in the hollow of his throat. Her mouth was open against his skin. The heat radiating from him warmed her more thoroughly than a thermal blanket. His male scent filled her nostrils, making her shiver.

  She must be dreaming. A wonderful, miraculous, fairy tale of a dream. Because, for the life of her, she couldn't recall how she came to be in his arms like this.

  The clock chimed the quarter hour, and the veil obscuring her memory lifted. The pictures of Melinda and the videotape. The way she'd cried like a baby in his arms. The way he'd held her, soothed her. They must have fallen asleep.

  She should wake him, she told herself. She should send him upstairs to the comfort of the guest-room bed, where he could get a decent night's sleep. Yes, she should wake him.

  But she didn't move, didn't want to move. Even with the crick in her neck, it felt wonderful to be in his arms. It felt heavenly to have the length of his body against hers and to hear the reassuring beat of his heart in her ear. Selfish though it might be, she simply wasn't ready yet to move.

  Besides, it wasn't every day she was presented with an opportunity like the one literally staring her in the face. An opportunity to study Brady without his being aware of her regard.

  She bit her lip. Okay, so it was sneaky and just the slightest bit underhanded, and she felt a pang of conscience at taking advantage of his vulnerability. Still, a vulnerable Brady was not something she was witness to all that often. A vulnerable Brady was something that streaked across her horizon about as frequently as Halley's comet.

  Leaning back as far as his arms would allow, Haven let her gaze rove over his face. In sleep, his forehead was smooth and unlined, the planes of his cheeks less angular and defined. Even his jaw seemed rounder, less determined, his nose less regal. He looked impossibly young and heartbreakingly sexy, and when her gaze landed on his mouth, she found herself fascinated by the tiny lines and grooves making up the fullness of his lips.

  When the urge to press her mouth against those lines and grooves grew overpowering, Haven forced herself to continue her examination. The stubble on his chin was thick and heavy. Unlike most blonds, Brady would grow a beard easily. He also had the longest eyelashes she'd ever seen on a man. She hadn't noticed that tantalizing fact before, because they were the same golden color of his hair.

  She was still drinking her fill of him when his eyelids fluttered open. Caught in the act, Haven held her breath and was rewarded when, in the first few unguarded moments of half wakefulness, he looked at her with a combination of hunger and possessiveness that made her mouth go dry.

  Heart pounding, she moistened her lips. "Hello."

  She knew the moment he became fully awake, because the warmth left his eyes and their expression grew carefully neutral. She could almost feel the wall go up between them as he laid it, brick by brick. Where it touched her, his body tensed.

  "Hello," he replied.

  Bittersweet regret pierced her. She knew what the look in his eyes and the tension in his body meant. The closeness she'd felt to him earlier, the unexpected gift of his sharing, was not to be repeated. From now on, he'd be doubly on his guard. Though she told herself it was probably for the best, her heart ached for what might have been had Brady been a different person.

  "Looks like we fell asleep on the sofa," she said inanely, because she could think of nothing more intelligent to say.

  He started to stretch, but when the movement brought a certain part of his anatomy into close contact with a certain part of hers, he stopped abruptly. "Looks that way." His voice sounded strained.

  "Thanks for the shoulder to cry on." She was feeling the strain, too. "It appears to have dried."

  He looked more uncomfortable with the memory than he did with the closeness of their bodies. "No problem. What time is it?"

  Slowly, regretfully, Haven disentangled her limbs from his and sat up. One hand tried to straighten out her clothing, while the other smoothed her hair. She must look a fright, she realized. Not that Brady noticed, since he was looking everywhere but at her.

  A glance at the grandfather clock told her it was too late for them to retire to their respective bedrooms. Which was probably a good thing, because right now sleep was the last thing on her mind. "Almost six o'clock."

  She saw him wince as he pulled himself upright beside her. "Something wrong?"

  He shook his head, then winced again. "My back," he said. "I think I pinched a nerve."

  "Lie down," she ordered.

  He blinked. "What?"

  She nodded to the sofa. "On your stomach."

  When he just looked at her as if she'd lost her mind, she explained, "Melinda had terrible back pain during the last few months of her illness. I took a course in massage to help her manage her pain. I thought maybe I could make you feel better."

  "That's okay," he said quickly. "I'll be fine."

  It was obvious that he wasn't fine. Why were men such babies about aches and pains?

  "Come on, Brady," she challenged. "What are you afraid of? You're obviously in pain, and I can help. Would you turn down the heart surgeon who offered to unblock your six clogged arteries?"

  He looked away, and for a minute she thought he wasn't going to answer. Seeming to come to a decision, he squared his shoulders and met her gaze again.

  "Never happen," he said with a confident shake of his head.

  "What wouldn't? You having clogged arteries, or a surgeon offering to fix them?"

  "Me having clogged arteries."

  She knew he was getting at something, but she hadn't figured it out yet. "How can you be so sure?"

  He shrugged. "It's elementary, really. I don't have a heart."

  His words hit her like a projectile, and she drew a sharp breath. She must have given away a lot more last night than just her pain at Melinda's loss. Somehow, she'd let him know that her attraction to him went beyond the physical. Just thinking about it made her heart go into palpitations. This whole exercise was obviously Brady's way of warning her off in the nicest way he knew how.

  After all, a man without a heart couldn't fall in love.

  And a woman would have to be a total idiot not to realize it.

  "You mean you're a zombie?" she said.

  He looked startled. "A what?"

  "A zombie. I have a master's degree in chemistry, remember? I'm not unfamiliar with human biology. Unless there have been radical developments that I haven't heard about within the last couple of years, the only people walking around without beating hearts in their chests are zombies."

  When he spoke, his tone was defensive. "What I meant was—"

  "I know what you meant, Brady," she interrupted, feeling a mite on the defensive side herself. "I got your message, loud and clear. Must be lonely, though, going through life a zombie."

  "I'm used to being alone," he said. "It's the way I like it best."

  Her laugh held little humor. "I'm used to being alone, too. Far as I'm concerned, it's not all it's cracked up to be."

  He looked at her with open confusion. "Why is it that every conversation I have with you always gets turned around in a direction I never intended?"

  She had to smile and take pity on him. Poor guy. He didn't have a clue.

  "I'll give you a hint. You're a male. I'm a female. We don't think the same. There've been lots of books written on the subject. Maybe you should read one."

  A ghost of a grin tugged at his lips. "Maybe I should."

  And maybe she should remember that the only reason they were together was for Anna, and not keep complicating the issue with her silly dreams. It was
simply a matter of focus. She just had to stop focusing on the wrong things. Like the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Or the way his mouth felt on hers. Or how good it felt to have his arms—

  Haven drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I don't want your heart, Brady," she lied. Another lie to add to the seemingly hundreds she'd told since he entered her life. "I apologize if I've said or done anything that gave you that impression. So you don't have to worry about me anymore. I'll be just fine. Now, does your back still hurt?"

  Still eyeing her somewhat warily, he nodded.

  She kept her tone deliberately crisp. "Then stop being such a baby about it and flop onto your belly."

  Once he was on his stomach, Haven straddled his hips. Since his shirt had already pulled loose from his jeans, she pushed it up, exposing his bare back. Flexing her fingers, she positioned her hands. The intimacy of the pose registered, and she hesitated. Maybe Brady had the right idea after all. Maybe this wasn't wise.

  It took a full minute, but she finally managed to put all thought, other than giving him a release from his pain, out of her mind. "Upper or lower back?" she asked.

  "Lower."

  Fingers curled, she squeezed his muscles against the balls of her hands, her thumbs gently kneading his spinal cord. At her touch, a low grunt of protest escaped his throat. It quickly changed to a sigh of relief as she continued her ministrations.

  Slowly, Haven made her way up his back, squeezing and kneading, until she felt all the tension drain out of him.

  "How am I doing?" she asked.

  His answer was a groan of pleasure.

  She shifted her body weight off of him and moved so that she was sitting beside him. After massaging his neck, she made her way down his left, then his right, arm.

  "All done," she announced when she was finished.

  She could feel beads of perspiration on her forehead. Her body felt as if she had just run a marathon. All her energy had gone into soothing away his pain, leaving her drained and weak. She hadn't realized it would be so physically debilitating to touch him, while schooling her thoughts not to feel anything at that touch.

  He looked over his shoulder and smiled at her. "Thanks. I feel much better."

  With an effort, she summoned up a carefree laugh. "Just doing my wifely duty," she said dismissively.

  It was the wrong thing to say. She knew it the minute the words left her mouth, because her next thought was of another, much more intimate, wifely duty. By the look on his face, Brady was thinking the same thing.

  Haven froze as his smile died, and he stared at her with mounting intensity. He moved so swiftly that before she knew it, she was on her back, her hands trapped in his, and he was the one gazing down at her.

  No longer were his eyes flat and unreadable. On the contrary, they were blazingly alive with emotion. The passion in his gaze nearly undid her. Mesmerized, she couldn't look away.

  "It always comes back to this, doesn't it?" he asked.

  She could see the hunger in his eyes, felt an answering hunger building in the pit of her stomach. He didn't love her, would not allow himself to care. But, hard as he tried not to, he did want her. And oh, how she wanted him.

  "It seems to," she replied shakily.

  He shook his head. "What am I going to do with you, Haven?"

  Love me, need me, stay with me. Since none of those options were open, she chose the only one available to her. "Kiss me?"

  She heard him suck in a sharp breath. Then, eyes heavy with desire, his intention unmistakable, he lowered his head.

  Haven's heart beat a furious rhythm as she parted her lips in anticipation and closed her eyes. She didn't care about morning breath. She didn't care that her hair was probably standing up in five different directions on her head. She didn't care that yesterday's mascara was most likely a black smudge beneath her eyes. And she didn't care about the doubts and fears and worries clamoring in her brain. The only thing that mattered was that Brady was going to kiss her.

  Again.

  His mouth was hard and hot and searching, and his tongue teased and taunted her until she was a whimpering mass of need in his arms. Mindlessly, her bones turning to water, Haven wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers seeking out the soft springiness of his newly cut hair.

  She couldn't remember wanting anyone so much. She felt ambushed by her desire and need and want. But it was more than wanting, she realized, more than mere desire and need. It was a yearning. A yearning to belong to Brady totally, body and soul, and to have the lonely shadows gone from her heart forever.

  The knowledge that she couldn't belong to him, would never belong to him, only served to make the shadows loom larger.

  She would not feel sorry for herself, she decided. She would not moan and groan and bewail the fate that surely awaited her. Not now, anyway. Live for the moment was the mantra she would adopt for the duration of her marriage.

  Brady's hand slid up the front of her blouse to graze her breast, and liquid heat shot through her. Moaning, she arched her body closer, abandoning all thought. Her hands roved over his hot skin on a search of their own.

  "What are you doing?" a small voice asked.

  The words dashed her desire more effectively than a bucket of water. With a start, Haven pulled away from Brady. Breathing heavily, she looked over her shoulder. Anna stood a few feet away. The three kittens frolicked at the little girl's feet.

  After tossing a helpless look toward Brady, Haven returned her gaze to her ward. Her brain sought desperately for the right words to fit the occasion.

  "Wrestling," was all she could think of to say.

  Brady make a choking noise.

  "Can I westle, too?" Anna asked.

  "Sure." The word was a strangled sound from her throat.

  Without hesitation, the little girl leaped on top of them and began tickling. Haven stole a glance at Brady, who simply shrugged before doing some tickling of his own. Relieved that the situation had been defused so easily, Haven joined in the fun. A minute later, they rolled onto the floor, a tangled mass of arms and legs, with the kittens getting into the act, too. The sound of laughter filled the room.

  Haven was breathless when they finally rolled to a stop. The smile on her face felt a mile wide as she picked herself up off the floor. Brady reached out a hand to help her, and their gazes met. His eyes were full of laughter, and the grin on his face matched her own. As her heart skipped a beat, she couldn't help thinking how like a normal, happy family they would seem to any outsider looking in.

  Her smile faltered. The one thing they would never be was a normal, happy family.

  Live for the moment, she reminded herself as she brushed away the cat hairs from her slacks while symbolically brushing the sadness from her heart. Live for the moment.

  "That was fun," Anna proclaimed. "Can we do it evwy morning?"

  "I don't know about every morning," Haven replied carefully. "But maybe every now and then."

  Taking the little girl by the shoulders, Brady turned her around and aimed her for the doorway. "Playtime is officially over, squirt," he said in a no-nonsense voice. "Time to get ready for the day. March."

  Haven wondered if he knew what a terrific father he was.

  * * *

  "So what's on the agenda?" Brady asked an hour later. He'd fed Anna breakfast while she'd gone for a quick jog, and now he was helping her clean up the kitchen.

  A glance over her shoulder told her that the little girl was safely out of earshot in the den. "I have a meeting with the Zieglars' lawyer this morning."

  His head shot up. "What for?"

  "I have to give my deposition for the hearing." She gave what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug. "It's just routine."

  "Why didn't you tell me about it before now?" He sounded irritated.

  She smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, Brady. In all the goings-on the past few days, I guess I just forgot." And the minute she'd seen the notation in her appointment book a few minutes ago
, her palms had gone clammy with fear.

  "I'm going with you."

  "There's no need. My lawyer will be there."

  "I'm going with you, Haven," he repeated, his tone brooking no resistance. "I'm your husband. We're in this together. They might as well know it from the start."

  A wave of gratitude washed over her. "Thanks. To tell you the truth, I'm a little nervous about it."

  "Why? If things go according to schedule, the hearing will never take place."

  "I know." She chewed on the inside of her cheek. "I guess I've just had too much experience with things not going according to schedule. You must have, too, or else we wouldn't be married."

  "Well, take my word for it," he asserted. "This is one time they're going to."

  "I hope you're right."

  For several minutes the only sound in the kitchen was the clatter of dishes as Brady filled the dishwasher.

  "Haven?" he asked.

  "Hmm?" she said absently as she wiped down the table.

  "About the kiss…" he began, then hesitated.

  The hand holding the dishcloth stilled as she slowly looked up. One glance at the troubled look on his face, and the gratitude she'd felt toward him vanished. So help her, if he apologized for kissing her, she'd punch him.

  "Which one?" she said through gritted teeth, not bothering to hide her irritation. "The one at our wedding ceremony? Or the one when I was icing the cake? How about the one this morning on the sofa? Which particular kiss would you like to dissect?"

  He had the grace to look uncomfortable. "All of them, I guess," he mumbled.

  She settled her hands on her hips, not caring that the wet cloth was leaving a nice round spot on her dress. "What about them?"

  "I just don't want you to get the wrong idea."

  "I think I have exactly the right idea," she shot back. "You can't keep your hands off me."

  He gave a surprised laugh. "That's true enough."

  She decided to take things one step further. "And I like them on me. I like it a lot."

  For a second, before he hooded them from her gaze, she saw desire flare in his eyes. "That's what I want to talk about," he said seriously.