Maybe she should take a chance, stick around, let herself fall for him and settle down for good in Heartlandia. She kissed his chest, splayed her fingers across his defined pecs, wishing she could trust her growing desire to stay here.
Maybe it was too good to be true.
The hungry demons inside gnawed at her self-esteem. They insisted she was two halves of a whole and couldn’t be a complete person until she found the other half. She was biracial to Kent’s pure Scandinavian. She wasn’t educated compared to him. She wasn’t refined, didn’t have a clue what she wanted to do with her life. If they took this bedroom affair into daylight, where he could get a really good look at her, she’d probably disappoint him.
Then what would she do? She couldn’t very well live next door to a man who didn’t accept her. A man who’d break her heart.
“Where are you?” Kent’s gentle voice pulled her away from the negativity bombs crashing around her, and his arms tugged her farther up his chest.
She sighed, trying to empty her head.
He lifted her chin and brushed his lips across hers. Their eyes met. And held. The smoldering look undid her.
“Stay with me,” he said, deepening the kiss. “Just a while longer.”
That familiar and indescribable warm feeling coursed through her veins when she knew without a doubt he wanted her. Like now. She let all the questions and doubts about her future evaporate as their bodies interlaced perfectly, as they always did. And finally, all other thoughts faded far away.
* * *
Early Wednesday morning, Desi was surprised by a text from Gunnar. Meet me at the Hjartalanda Coffee House at 11:00 a.m.
C U there, she texted back.
She rushed to finish her latest batch of calligraphy so she could mail the seventieth-birthday invitations to her long-term customer while she was in town meeting Gunnar.
Anxiety about why he wanted to see her pecked around her edges, making her fingers quiver and the letters more in line with what she imagined Elke Norling was deciphering in that pirate journal. After she’d ruined a second invitation, she gave up on the calligraphy and jumped into the shower. She’d finish the project tonight and mail the invitations tomorrow.
After wrestling into her denim leggings and a summery fuchsia smock, she skipped downstairs. “I’m going into town. You need anything?” she called out.
“I could use more of that pink stomach medicine. Got another council meeting tonight,” Gerda replied from the sunroom.
Desi smiled. “You got it!” She opted to head for the door without going down the hall to say goodbye. Since she was keeping the meeting with Gunnar secret, she didn’t want to lie and wasn’t ready to meet her grandmother’s eyes today.
Fifteen minutes later, Desi entered the coffee shop and immediately spotted Gunnar. He was talking up the waitress, who looked happy as a high schooler with a supercrush. He glanced up and waved, and Desi made her way over to his booth for two as the waitress scurried off.
He rose. “How’s it going?”
“Not bad.” She sat, her throat going dry. There was already water on the table, so she took a sip.
“So you’re probably wondering why I asked you here.”
She hoped with all of her heart it was about her father, because she really didn’t want to find out Gunnar was a two-timing friend to Kent and was hitting on her behind his back. “Yes, actually.”
He smiled, his intense green eyes nearly bowling her over. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered us both coffees already.”
“That’s fine.”
“You want anything else? A roll or something? I like their muffins.”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
“Okay, so I got ahold of my guy, the P.I., the other day and fed him your information.”
Returning dryness nearly shut down her throat. She couldn’t swallow or respond.
Gunnar fiddled with his water glass, turning it round and round on the condensation ring on the table. The waitress was back in record time with the coffees and Gunnar’s blueberry muffin. “Thanks, darlin’.” He soon got sidetracked fixing his coffee and peeling the wrapper from the muffin. “Cream?” He pushed the tiny stainless-steel pitcher at her.
Desi could hardly breathe as she waited. Did he have a clue how he tortured her? She took the creamer and poured; a conspicuous tremor had her nearly missing her mug. “And?”
His gaze drifted upward from her hands to her eyes, assessing her as if she were a suspect. “And we think we got your man.”
Since his text message that morning, the bubble of anxiety that had been expanding inside her chest finally burst. He’d found her father? Her ears buzzed with heady excitement, nearly making her dizzy.
“My P.I. guy came up with a couple of hits close to the same birthday, but only one turned out to be a musician. This Victor Brown is fifty years old and plays saxophone.”
“Yes. That’s what my mother said. He was five or six years older than her. That could be him.” So keyed up, she knew she wouldn’t be able to lift her coffee mug without spilling, so she let it sit untouched.
Gunnar took an extra-large bite of his muffin, swiped the tips of his fingers and the crumbs onto the plate then dug into his shirt pocket. He handed her a folded piece of notebook paper.
Could it be that easy? Hire a P.I.—find a long-lost father? She furrowed her eyebrows and took the paper.
He must have read her doubt. “The ballpark birth date is right on target. Course, it was a big help that he’s lived in the same apartment for the last thirty years. Surprising, huh?”
She carefully unfolded the paper that held the key to her other half with no hope of hiding her quivering fingers.
“I can’t legally run him without cause, so I don’t know if he’s had priors or not, but my P.I. guy said he checks out clean on his database. For what that’s worth.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” She read her father’s name, address and phone number. He still lived in Portland, two and a half hours away. Her pulse went a little haywire in her chest. Would she have the nerve to call him?
“So you do whatever you want. That’s up to you,” he said.
She felt like a heel, but had to ask. “Could you do me a favor and not mention this to Kent?”
Gunnar’s brows lowered. “After he was the one to start the ball rolling?”
“This is very personal, Gunnar.” The thought of contacting her father made her tremble inside. “I don’t want Kent or Gerda to know just yet.” If I fail, if my father turns out to be a bust, I want to keep it to myself. No one else could possibly understand. Especially two people who want me to stay in Heartlandia. And since I might be falling in love with one of them…
The last thought took her breath away. Was she in love with Kent?
Gunnar shoved the last bite of his muffin into his mouth and downed the rest of the coffee, waving for the waitress to refill his cup. “I don’t like it, but it’s your call.” With his forearms against the edge of the table, he leaned in. “In case you haven’t noticed, Kent Larson is one helluva great guy.”
She nodded her agreement, not needing Sergeant Norling to point it out.
“There’s nothing he won’t do for the people he cares about.”
She kept nodding. Gunnar was preaching to the choir about Kent. But she was more than his fan; she was his lover.
“He’s been kicked in the teeth by his ex-wife, and the last thing he needs is to get kicked in the teeth again by you.” He leaned even closer. She’d tried to avoid his eyes, but he wouldn’t let her. His index finger shot up and poked the air. “You better not hurt him.” He wadded up his napkin and tossed it on the table, then sat back against the red padded booth. “That’s not a threat. It’s just a friend looking out for his friend.” He gave her a quick, obligatory smile that disappeared instantly.
Desi wasn’t about to let Gunnar rattle her any more than she already was. “I understand. But I’ve got to find my father,
and I don’t want to upset Kent for nothing. I may not even be able to reach Victor. He may not want to see me. I just need some time to figure out how to handle this, and I don’t want anyone influencing me. This was between my mother and me, and I’m not even sure she wanted me to search for him. She only told me about him because she thought it was the right thing to do. That I had a right to know who my birth father was. You know?”
Desi searched Gunnar’s eyes for a kernel of understanding, and thought she’d found it. “I need to go through this by myself,” she whispered.
His lips made a tight line. “Like I said. He’s my best friend, and I don’t like to see him lied to. He’s obviously crazy about you, but you’ve got to do what you gotta do.”
As Gunnar stood, taking charge of the meeting by ending it, Desi glanced up. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She put the paper in her shoulder bag and followed him outside.
How can he know if Kent is crazy about me? And by keeping this information about my father a secret, am I lying by omission to him?
To say Gunnar made an imposing picture in his uniform didn’t come close. The guy oozed authority, and Desi knew the last thing on earth she’d ever want to incur was the wrath of Sergeant Norling. But she’d come too far to abandon her plans. Finding her father had been equally important as getting to know her grandmother. She couldn’t stop now. This was her life journey, and she had to walk it.
She watched from the sidewalk as Gunnar got into his squad car, nodded a goodbye and drove off. If only he could understand.
Could anyone appreciate the huge significance of finally meeting her father, besides her?
Instead of running to a quiet place and punching in the numbers on her cell phone, Desi fought off the surge of nerves throughout her body, and she was suddenly consumed with the desire to find Cliff and tell him her news. Having the support of an understanding person was good, and she didn’t have to go through this entirely alone. If she needed an ally in her quest, someone to give her the courage to follow through, Cliff, a man with nothing at stake, was the one.
She hustled down three blocks to Lincoln’s Place and scooted around back to the kitchen door. Thank God, he was there.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Always happy to see her, Cliff welcomed her in as he stood behind a chopping board.
“I’ve found him.”
He stopped chopping. “Your daddy?”
She nodded, digging out the paper, waving it around. “I’ve got his phone number and address right here. I’m so nervous I could puke.”
“Not in my kitchen, sugar.” He walked toward her, and she ached for his support. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and took the paper. “Mr. Victor Brown. Mm-mm-mm.” He rubbed her arm. “I’m a big jazz fan, and I’ve never heard of him. But that doesn’t matter. When you gonna call?”
She leaned her head against Cliff’s shoulder. “Would you mind if I called him from here?”
“Course not. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
She sighed. “Thank you.” Not only was Cliff a new friend, but he was also a mentor, and besides her mother, Desi had been short on mentors throughout her twenty-eight years.
Taking the biggest leap of faith in her life, she pressed the first four digits on her cell phone. “Oh, God, I’m so nervous.”
Cliff pulled her closer. “Go on, little sister. You can do it. Give your daddy a call.”
She pressed the remaining digits, and then on the third ring a gravelly voice answered, “Yeah?” sounding like the phone woke him.
“Is this Victor Brown?” She flashed a fearful glance at Cliff. He gave an encouraging nod.
“Who’s this?”
“My name is Desdemona Rask, the daughter of Ester Rask. Do you remember her?”
A long pause ensued, followed by shuffling of what was probably sheets and blankets, the sound of a lighter flicking, a long, slow inhalation of a cigarette and then an exhalation. “I don’t know that name.”
Desi’s heart, so full of hope, dropped to her stomach like a lead ball. With Cliff’s physical support, she stayed standing, dug deep into her well of strength and began her story. How her mother was a huge music fan. How she sneaked off to Portland several times to hear him when he played with Trevor Jones, the late, great jazz pianist. She heard Cliff acknowledge Trevor Jones’s name. “Uh-huh.”
But Victor kept quiet, making her wonder if he’d fallen back to sleep.
Desi continued on. She told him how Ester got pregnant, ran away from home and how she gave Desi Victor’s name just before she died. “She said you were my father. That you were the only African-American man she’d ever been with.”
More silence. Desi could barely breathe, his hesitation squeezed so tight around her chest.
“So what do you want from me?” he said, matter-of-factly, taking another long draw on his cigarette.
Viselike tension made it hard to form the words. “I’d like to meet you.”
Chapter Eleven
That night, slowly emerging from an intense orgasm orchestrated by Kent’s mouth and tongue, Desi wanted to come clean. She wanted to tell him about finding her father and the meeting she’d arranged for Friday afternoon. But she’d promised to make that journey by herself. She couldn’t possibly know what the outcome might be and didn’t want to upset him for nothing.
His hands bracketed her temples as he leaned on one elbow and delved deeply into her eyes. “You know what’s crazy?” he said, slaying her with a dark, sexy stare.
She shook her head, still reeling from his magic, amazed by the wealth of feeling, physical and emotional, he’d gifted her. She’d never felt this way about a man before. “What?” came her barely audible reply.
His thick ridge nudged at her entrance, and she opened her legs for him. The tip prodded her, instantly sparking renewed desire.
He edged deeper inside, his eyes still locked onto hers. She was his. His lids slipped closed in a blissful expression for a moment as they both adjusted to the physical paradise they’d come to know and share so regularly.
“You feel so damn good, Desi.”
“That’s not crazy. That’s just good. You and me. We’re good,” she said, pushing her hips against him, unable to deny the truth. He was good for her, and though she wasn’t sure how loving a man felt, she thought she loved him. All the more reason to finally find out who she was. Until she met her father and found out about her African-American roots, she’d always feel a part of her was missing, and how could she give Kent all of her when she wasn’t yet whole?
He brushed her mouth, and she recognized her own taste on his lips. “We’re damn good,” he said as he moved inside her then teased and backed out a notch. Her eyelids fluttered closed as a wave of sizzling shivers raced to her core. “What’s crazy is— Desi, look at me.”
It took all the final threads of willpower to stop focusing on the feelings he’d set off and open her eyes and look into his heavy-lidded gaze. When she did, she saw raw desire there. That look pushed her pulse, invading it with heat that burned southward to their sex.
“Even though it’s only been a couple of weeks, I’ve fallen for you.” His eyes scanned her face in a desperate fashion. “I think about you all the time. Can’t wait to hold you like this every night.” He pushed deeper inside, driving her crazy, making it impossible to take in the significance of his words. “I need you.”
She’d heard him correctly. He needed her. The phrase wreaked havoc with her pulse and caused her breasts to tighten and tingle. She’d never been needed before by a man. Ever.
“I’m crazy about you, too.” Desi could hardly speak, she was so overcome with Kent’s confession and her own deepening feelings for him.
She wrapped her thighs around his waist and they joined as close as humanly possible, rocking and jutting, changing up the rhythm until nothing but blistering desire took hold.
“I love you,” he said, his mouth over her ear as he thrust deep.
She gaspe
d. The splintering intensity from his declaration and their lovemaking nearly stole her words. He loved her, and she loved him. “I love you, too,” she said on a breath, hugging his back.
Several minutes later, as he drove her over the edge to ecstasy, she hung on tight, savoring every sensation coursing and pummeling through her, holding on to Kent as if she might lose him. Never wanting to let go.
Afterward, they clung together in sweat and twisted sheets. He nuzzled and kissed her cheek. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“That everything is pretty much perfect the way it is. You and me. Together. Steven will love having you around all the time.”
“What are you saying, Kent?”
He took a slow inhalation then let it out close to her ear. “That the three of us can make our own family.”
She didn’t answer right away, sensing he wanted her to drop her plans, picking up on his fear of possibly losing her to a dream, like he had his ex-wife. But wasn’t that exactly what she searched for—her family? She needed to find the total picture of where she’d come from, before she’d be free to be a family with Kent and Steven.
Did Kent want to marry her? Shack up? That didn’t seem his style. Where exactly were they headed? If she could only figure out what she needed versus what she wanted. Right now Kent was it. He’d said the words, and she’d finally admitted out loud that she loved him back.
The frenzied questions flew through her mind. Until she could formulate her thoughts, she didn’t dare broach the subject of being a family with Kent.
Giving in to exhaustion, she yawned. “I love what you’re saying, baby, but let’s be fair and tackle this topic when we’re both rested up, okay?”
“Stay with me.” It wasn’t a question.
And she did, until the break of dawn, when she kissed him on the forehead and slipped across the yard to her grandmother’s house.
A Doctor for Keeps Page 15
