"He was still there," Brady maintained. "He didn't leave you."
A forgotten memory flashed in her brain, and she drew a shuddering breath. She gazed at a point over his shoulder, her focus turned inward, remembering.
"He kept a diary, wrote in it religiously every day. Once, when I was twelve, I snuck a peak. I found the volume that contained the entry for the day I was born. There was a detailed description of the project he was working on at the time, but absolutely no mention of me. My birth wasn't important enough for him to write down."
She heard Brady's harsh, indrawn breath. "What did you do?"
Her throat grew tight with remembered emotion. "Closed the book and put it back. Tried to pretend it never happened. I never told anyone."
She crossed the room until she stood in front of him. Her gaze level with his, she said, "You see, Brady, there are ways of abandoning people without physically walking out on them. But the thing is, I survived. And you did, too. We both made it. Do you know what an accomplishment that is?"
He reached out an unsteady hand to brush the hair back from her face. "You're so brave," he murmured. "I wish I had some of your strength."
His gesture melted her heart.
"Careful," she said, blinking back sudden tears. "Much more of this and you'll have a weeping woman on your hands."
He recoiled in mock horror. "Not that, please. Anything but that."
Impulsively, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. "Thank you for caring," she whispered in his ear.
He went stiff in her arms, and she knew she'd gone too far. To suggest to Brady that he cared was to threaten his very existence. In his mind, she knew he'd convinced himself that to care for anyone else was to leave him vulnerable to being hurt. That was why the military had appealed to him so much, she figured. It kept him on the move, kept him from settling down in any one place. It kept him from forming close ties with anyone who might tempt him to care. Already Anna had squeezed under his defenses. He wasn't about to let her squeeze past them, too.
"You're all wet," she said, in an effort to change the subject.
"I am?" He sounded dazed.
She nodded, pulling back just far enough to get a good look at him. Unabashedly, she ran her gaze from his broad chest, over his flat abdomen and down his powerful-looking thighs. The apron covering them was soaking wet.
"Just who was bathing who up there?" she asked, amused.
He grimaced. "Anna and I played battleship. I lost."
He really was a terrific father. Haven wondered if he knew just how seductive that was.
Impulsively, she threaded her arms around his waist so that her fingers could untie the knot in the back. The movement brought her body up against his, and she was all too aware of how her breasts brushed and swelled against his chest, how hard his thighs felt against hers.
"You still have your apron on," she said breathlessly.
"Do I?" His voice sounded strangled.
She nodded. The knot gave, and she helped him lift the garment over his head, then let it drop, unheeded, to the floor. Underneath, his shirt was as wet as the apron had been.
Without thinking, she reached out and began unfastening buttons. "Here, let me help you take that off. It can't be comfortable—"
His hands shot up to still hers. Slowly, she looked up into his hot, hungry eyes. The longer she looked at him, the faster her heart beat.
"My pants are wet, too," he said softly. "Are you going to help me take them off?"
She gulped. The images racing through her brain were making her knees weak. "Do you want me to?"
His eyes glittered down at her. "What do you think?"
What did she think? She thought she'd go stark raving mad with the desire pulsing through her body like lava flowing down a hillside.
Instead of giving him an answer, she slipped one hand from his and slid it inside his shirt and across his chest. Her fingers tangled in the blond hairs covering his warm skin, then moved to brush the hard nub of one nipple.
Brady's arms closed around her. She felt his need as if it were a separate being—alive, breathing, pulsating. Everything had been building to this moment, she realized. From the second she'd seen him standing in her kitchen with that ridiculous apron wrapped around his waist and a look of happy expectation on his face, this was what she'd been waiting for. Every touch, every glance, every thought, every shared word, had been but a prelude to the desire that vibrated in the air around them like a tuning fork.
She couldn't fight it any longer. She wanted him. She would die if she didn't have him.
A jolt of pure joy shot through her when his lips claimed hers. His kiss was hot and wild and deep, and her mouth opened willingly in response, her tongue seeking and finding his. Nothing else existed but the sound of her breathing and his, coming faster and faster as their need grew. Warmth pooled in her belly, gathering and tightening into a hard knot of desire that would not be denied.
All too soon, kissing was not enough. Needing to feel closer to him, she strained toward him, her hips rocking against the rigid shaft of his arousal. Brady groaned. His hands slid to her bottom, pulling her even closer and making her senses spin out of control.
Then, with one last flick of his tongue and a ragged sigh, he set her away from him.
"No," she groaned in protest after gulping in a breath of air. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
"I have no intention of stopping," he replied, chest heaving, his gray eyes glittering with a need that matched hers. "Is the house locked up?"
She nodded.
"Good." Catching her behind the knees, he swept her up into his arms. "Because we're going to bed."
He whisked her up the stairs as if she were a featherweight. Shouldering her bedroom door open, he set her gently on her feet. Neither one of them bothered to reach for the light switch; the moonlight shining through the window provided all the illumination they needed.
They shed their clothes with indecent haste. Haven caught her breath at the magnificence of Brady's naked body, at the unashamed way he stood before her, his desire evident.
"You are so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes dark with arousal. His gaze felt like a flame licking hotly over her naked body.
"So are you," she croaked.
He took her into his arms. Instead of kissing her, he sought her gaze and held it for endless seconds.
"It isn't because it's been so long for me, Haven," he said huskily. "I want you to know that."
He was telling her that he truly desired her, that, in his own way, he cared. She laughed softly, triumphantly, deep in her throat. "I know."
His mouth scorched her then with its heated demands. His hands cupped her bottom and pulled her close. His hot, hard body pressed against hers until Haven felt he would melt into her and they would become one where they stood.
She never remembered crossing to the bed, so busy was she luxuriating in the sensations she was feeling. She'd turned into a mindless, tactile being, shutting out everything but that which stimulated her senses.
Never in her life had she experienced such an intense feeling of abandon, of freedom. She basked in the feel of cool cotton sheets against her body, the touch of Brady's fingertips on her skin, the feathering of his mouth on her lips, her throat, her breasts. She thrilled to the scent and taste and touch of him. The groans he made when she pleased him set her afire.
When he entered her, they moved together as if they'd known each other a lifetime. Eyes open, they watched each other's faces, sharing the intimacy of the pleasure they were both giving and receiving. Slowly, steadily, the pressure built into an exquisite agony. Haven closed her eyes then, her movements becoming hotter, more urgent. Moments later, Brady's hoarse cries followed hers as they both went over the edge and spiraled out of control.
It was a long time before the thudding of her heart slowed. Sated and happy, she felt the lack of sleep she'd gotten the past week finally catch up with her. She barely had time to
snuggle her head onto Brady's chest before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
Brady's arms tightened around Haven as he tried to think of a word to describe his feelings. She was sound asleep, her face tilted up toward him, her sweet breath brushing his cheek and her flame red hair floating in a halo of curls against his arm. His heart tightened painfully as he looked at her and remembered the passion they had shared.
He'd never known lovemaking could be like that. In the past, his couplings had been perfunctory, a release of pent-up tension. Afterward, his only desire had been to find an excuse to leave. He'd certainly never enjoyed holding a woman in his arms the way he was holding Haven right now.
In all honesty, he had to admit he'd been the one thing women complained about most: a selfish lover. When he'd taken a woman to bed, his pleasure had been uppermost in his mind. Feelings of love, or even affection, had never entered the picture. That the women he'd bedded had also seemed to feel pleasure in his touch had been merely incidental.
But tonight, with Haven, had been different. For the first time in his life, he'd put her pleasure ahead of his own. And in so doing, he'd multiplied his pleasure a thousandfold. After his release, a release that had felt more spiritual than physical, he'd experienced a falling away, a healing almost, as if a part of him had died and been reborn.
Poleaxed. That was the word he'd been searching for. He'd been poleaxed. The word described his feelings perfectly. He'd been struck down. Twice. And he was reeling.
The first time happened a few short hours earlier, while he was giving his daughter a bath. Anna had been laughing at him and dousing him with water, when he was suddenly seized with a regret that squeezed his heart like a vise. All he'd been able to think about was that he'd missed so much of her life: her birth, her first steps, her first words. That was when he knew he loved her. He loved her, totally and completely. The intensity of that love had taken his breath away, and he'd vowed he wouldn't miss any more milestones in her life.
He'd been poleaxed again when he'd walked into the kitchen after Anna was safely asleep and Haven had seduced him with her beauty and her sweetness.
How his life had changed in the space of eight short days. Was it just a month ago that he'd slept on a dirt floor? It seemed like a lifetime. Certainly the person he'd been then was entirely different from the person he was now. The person he'd been then, and had been long before his capture, had been solely concerned with his own survival. Now all he cared about was the welfare of two females, one little girl and her beautiful guardian, whom he hadn't known until a long-overdue letter had catapulted him into their lives.
What a fool he'd been. Eight days ago he'd stood on the pavement outside the Melinda Dolan Center for Children and cockily vowed he wouldn't get involved. He'd thought himself above such things. He was self-sufficient. He didn't need anyone or anything. And then he'd seen Haven and Anna, and suddenly nothing had been the same.
He cringed when he remembered the canned speech he'd given Haven that morning. The I - enjoy - your - kisses - but - I - can't - get - involved speech. He was surprised she was even speaking to him after that.
Haven had been quick to reassure him that she didn't want his heart. Now that he really thought about it, why should she? He was the one who'd bulldozed his way into her life. He was the one who had threatened the safety of the little world she'd built for herself. In all probability, she held him in the same esteem she did the Zieglars. No, that wasn't exactly true. She trusted him with Anna. He knew for a fact that she wouldn't let the Zieglars within a mile of the little girl.
Okay, so maybe he was one step ahead of the Zieglars in the food chain. Or was it one step behind? The question was, what had it gotten him?
It had gotten him into her bed. It had gotten him heaven on earth. That was one good thing, at least.
She'd also reassured him that she was perfectly able to handle an adult encounter, and that he didn't have to run away because they'd shared a few kisses. Well, now they'd gone and shared a lot more than kisses—and the last thing on his mind was running away. What truly poleaxed him was the reason he didn't want to run. He didn't want to run because he'd gone and done the one thing he'd sworn he'd never do. He'd fallen in love. With his daughter, and with his wife.
Haven made a little sighing noise and burrowed her head deeper into his chest. Kissing her warm forehead, he tangled his fingers in the soft curls of her hair.
He would have seen it sooner if he hadn't been so busy hiding from the truth. Haven was right. He'd always told himself he'd joined the army for the danger. But the truth was, the allure of the constant movement from one place to another had been the real draw. In the past, he had run whenever someone, particularly a female, had gotten too close. His legacy, he knew, from his runaway mother.
When he was eight years old, and the social workers had come to remove him from yet another home, he'd vowed to himself that he would never love anyone again. He'd broken that vow only twice: first with Pete Loring and later with his adoptive father. It wasn't uncoincidental that both times he'd broken the vow it had been for men. Oh, he cared for Eileen Loring as much as he did Pete, but she didn't count. She was married to his best friend, so she wasn't a threat to his carefully protected heart.
After Charles had died, he hadn't even let men close. There was a limit to the pain a person could take, and he'd reached his.
Pete would always laugh at him and shake his head whenever Brady had asserted he would never fall in love. "When you meet the right woman, there'll be nothing you can do to stop it," he'd say. But Brady had never believed him. Until now.
In eight short days, Haven and Anna had obliterated the defenses he'd built around his heart and stolen it clean from him. And instead of being terrified, he was elated. Poleaxed, but elated.
He knew the exact moment he'd fallen for Haven. It had been when she'd come to him and begged him to assert his parental rights in order to save Anna from the Zieglars. Throughout his years in the military, he'd witnessed many acts of self-sacrifice and bravery. What Haven had done had surpassed them all.
But then, she was like no other woman he'd ever known. She was caring. And giving. While the best of her was already out there, shining brightly for the whole world to see, just being near her brought out the best in him.
If he could get her to love him back, he knew she would never lie to him. She would never leave him. She would never let him down.
So how did he get her to love him back? And how did he manage to stay by her side until that mythical day arrived?
Brady drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. He wouldn't let his doubts get the best of him. A man who did that had already lost the battle. He knew that much at least.
He knew one other thing. He was good at making plans. And executing them. All he had to do was come up with a plan to make Haven love him, eliminate or overcome all the obstacles that could possibly stand in his way, and he'd make her his.
Why, then, did he think it wasn't going to be as easy as it sounded?
* * *
Haven opened her eyes and strained to see in the blackness. For a moment, she felt disoriented. Memory returned, and she automatically reached out for Brady. But the space next to her was empty, the sheets cool to the touch.
A soft sound alerted her, and she slowly turned her head. Profile to her, Brady stood absolutely still at the window, staring out into the night. Moonlight streamed over his shoulders, making his body look like a carved alabaster statue. Hungrily, she ran her gaze over one broad shoulder, down a muscled arm, past a lean hip and curved buttock, until it rested, finally, on the curve of one calf. She'd never seen anything so perfect. Her gaze climbed again, and her heart raced as she mentally replayed in exquisite detail every moment of that beautiful body's possession of hers.
Without warning, he turned his head to look at her. Holding the sheet protectively to her naked body, she st
ruggled up onto her arms, pushed the pillows against the headboard and leaned back against them.
"Hi," she said softly.
"Hi, yourself."
"How long have you been standing there?"
She didn't expect his smile. But suddenly it was there, tugging at the corners of his mouth. The beauty of it made her heart race even faster.
"Not long," he said. "How long have you been awake?"
"A minute or two. Aren't you cold?"
He shook his head.
"You okay?" she persisted.
It had to be a trick of the light, because it was too dark in the room for her to see anything clearly. Still, she could swear that, for just a moment, his eyes had filled with tenderness.
"I'm fine. I've just been thinking."
She raised her hand to push her hair out of her eyes, and the sheet fell to her waist. A surge of heat shot through her when his gaze went immediately to her breasts.
"No, don't," he said quickly when she made a move to recover herself. She let the sheet lie.
"You always think standing naked in front of a window?" she asked, surprised that she felt so comfortable with him. There was no awkward awareness of what they'd done together. No regret. At least, not on her part.
"I do some of my best thinking this way," he said. "You should try it sometime. It's liberating."
What was liberating, she thought, was making love with him. Never had she felt so alive. Her senses seemed more acute, so that the brush of cotton against her skin felt like the smoothest silk, the whisper of her name on his lips like the soft flutter of butterfly wings in the rain forest.
"I think I'll pass. There's an ordinance in this town forbidding exhibitionism."
"That's why I only do it in the middle of the night," he said with a chuckle. "Fewer witnesses." He sobered. "Want to know what I've been thinking about?"
"If you'd like to tell me."
"I've been thinking about Anna. And about us." He paused. "I've been thinking about what happened here tonight."
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