by Mindy Klasky
His chortle thrilled her over the phone line. “Whatever you desire. Speaking of which, let’s get back to those leather boots…?.”
Ethan drank deeply from his beer, grateful that he and Zach were viewing the Nationals baseball game from the air-conditioned comfort of the luxury box owned by Zach’s law firm. “You owe me, buddy,” he said. “Owe me big time.”
“Wait a minute,” Zach said, gesturing around the well-appointed room. “I thought you were supposed to be grateful to me, for bringing you to the game.”
“I consider this a small down payment on the real debt, my friend.” Ethan paused to watch the visiting pitcher step up to the plate. Three pitches, and the Nationals had nailed the third out of the inning. Music started to play as the team ran in from the field.
Zach sighed in mock apology. “And what have I done this time?”
“Made a small fortune for the Good to the Bone dog obedience school.” Ethan pretended to glare as Zach laughed. “I’ve had one of their instructors on call for a week. Whenever Sloane heads out on an errand, James squeezes in a quick session with Daisy. So far, she’s mastered sit, stay and down. I just hope that she gets the hang of ‘heel’ pretty soon. That one’s harder to practice, without Sloane figuring out what we’re working on.”
“I never thought I’d see the day when Ethan Hartwell was worried about training a puppy.”
“Yeah, well, there are a lot of things I never thought I’d be doing.” Ethan stared out at the baseball diamond, losing track of the pitch sequence as he thought about the night before. He had taken to walking Sloane to her bedroom each night. He stood on the threshold of the guest suite like a high school kid hanging out on a front porch, worried that his girlfriend’s father was standing just inside the front door.
Like that overeager teen, he had leaned in to kiss Sloane good-night. Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he had eased his hands beneath the loose T-shirt that she wore. The garment was casual, but her hidden bra was not. He had caught his breath as his palms passed over a line of lace that left little to his over-heated imagination. Immediately, he could picture her breasts straining to be free. Trying to ignore the arrow that tugged at his groin, he had eased his fingers beneath the fabric edge, gliding around to Sloane’s back, to the delicate clasp that kept her covered, kept her safe. She had sighed as he flicked the fastener open, her delicate breath immediately reminding him of the way she had lain beneath him at the Eastern.
Another minute, and it would have been too late. Another minute, and they both would have cast away their silly vow of chastity. He’d recognized the powerful need on her face, the desire that had welled up in her eyes like an entire conversation.
And then Daisy had come bounding up the stairs, eager for her last walk of the night and her usual dog biscuit treat. Ethan had managed not to swear as he bent down to ruffle the excited puppy’s ears. Sloane had actually laughed, closing her door before either of them could walk down a tantalizing—and thoroughly physically satisfying—road of regrets.
Now, Zach whistled, long and low. “You are a total goner, aren’t you? And here I thought you were never going to give up your title to Bachelor of the Year.”
Ethan shook his head, forcing his thoughts back to the stadium, back to the good-natured ribbing of his best friend. “Believe me, I never thought I’d do it, either.”
“Then it’s not just because of Margaret? Not because of the stock transfer?” The two men rarely talked about Margaret Hartwell. Zach took attorney-client confidentiality seriously. In this case, though, they were both fully aware of the transfer provisions that would benefit AFAA if Ethan failed to conform.
Ethan’s lips curled into a sardonic grin. “It started that way. I figured I could kill two birds with one stone—keep Grandmother’s stock in the family, and push every single one of her controlling, manipulative, marriage-minded buttons—all by choosing a woman she never expected me to marry.”
“But now?”
“Now, I just want Sloane. If Grandmother disapproved and said that she was still going to donate her stock, I wouldn’t care. I’d still marry Sloane. Tomorrow, if we could.”
“Man,” Zach said, shaking his head and popping open two more beers. “You really have it bad.” Ethan heard a faint touch of jealousy in the other man’s voice. He laughed, and they turned back to the ball game, just as the Nationals’ cleanup hitter knocked a home run out of the park.
Sloane picked up her purse and hurried back into the library. “Jeanine,” she said. “Thank you for being so patient!”
The skinny redhead glanced up from Daisy, who was sitting quietly in the middle of the thick Turkish rug, eyes focused intently on the trainer’s right hand. “No problem!”
“Should I make out that check to you, or to Doggie-B-Good?”
“The company name is fine,” Jeanine said. Then she turned back to Daisy and snapped her fingers. “Good Daisy,” she said, releasing the pet from the “sit” command. Daisy started to wag her entire hind quarters in excitement at the praise.
Sloane laughed. “I cannot believe how she’s caught on to all of the commands!”
“Some dogs just learn really quickly,” Jeanine said. “They all want to be good. That makes everything work out in their pack. Isn’t that right, Daisy? Don’t you want to be a good puppy?”
For answer, Daisy yapped once. Sloane handed over the check. “I really appreciate your coming over here at such crazy times. It’s just that I want this training to be a surprise, for Ethan. It would be easy enough if I just had to wait for him to be out of town, but I don’t want James to know, either. He’d spill the beans, for sure.”
“I completely understand. You’ll call me when you’re ready to schedule our next lesson?”
“Absolutely,” Sloane promised. She walked the dog trainer to the front door, then settled back on the couch.
As she adjusted her laptop computer across her legs, Daisy whined from the floor. “Down!” Sloane commanded. The little dog dropped to the floor like a pro. “Good dog,” Sloane said. She would have loved to have the puppy on the couch beside her, but she knew that would only create problems when the Old English sheep-dog reached her full growth. A little discipline was good for a dog.
Discipline was good for computer programmers, too. Sloane had spent the past week trying to work out yet another problem with the Hope Project website. She knew the drawing module that she wanted to link to the front page. The software worked exactly as she intended when she used it in isolation. But every single time that she plugged it into one of the diagnostic packages, it locked up the entire website.
“Okay, Daisy,” Sloane muttered under her breath. “I am going to figure this out. I’m not going to bed until this section works.”
Two hours later, Sloane regretted her rash promise. Her eyes felt sandy. She was thirsty. Her back twinged from sitting too long in the same position. She was about to give up on the entire evening, declare the night a loss, when she heard Ethan’s key in the front door.
Daisy leaped up and skittered into the hallway, yipping a greeting. “I’m in here!” Sloane called out, when she could make herself heard over the din. She set her computer on the floor and swung herself into a sitting position.
Ethan came into the room, Daisy at his heels. “Sit!” he said to the excited dog, and Sloane was secretly proud to see how quickly Daisy responded. Sloane couldn’t wait to show Ethan all of Daisy’s tricks, to put the little dog through her paces. Soon enough… All they needed to master was the command to heel.
Ethan sank onto the couch beside Sloane. “You’re not still working, are you?”
She smiled ruefully. “I have gone over every single line of this program a hundred times. I cannot figure out why it won’t launch properly.”
He made a comforting noise and shifted beside her. When his strong hands fell on her shoulders, she melted against him. He started to knead her taut muscles, backing up his gentle touch with just enou
gh strength to force out the knots she’d acquired in a long evening of frustration. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re trying to do? Sometimes talking about something makes it all come clear.”
She shifted a little, giving him access to her shoulder blades, to the middle of her back. His questing fingers obliged, and she let the rhythm that he established guide her thoughts. “Everyone who wants to use the drawing module has to register when they come onto the website. It’s a security step, to keep individual children anonymous within the system, and to let users save their work between sessions.”
He made a wordless sound of understanding, walking his fingers down another few vertebrae. She hadn’t realized how tight her spine had become. She let her head fall forward, stretching out the muscles in her neck, and then she continued. “The registration sets correctly whenever users immediately go into the drawing package. But if they stop first at one of the information pages, then they’re locked out of the entire system.”
She started to tighten her hands into fists, falling back into her frustration, but Ethan’s gentle touch reminded her to exhale, to let her body relax. It was as if his hands had the power to wash all of her thoughts out of her mind. He could clear her memory with nothing more than the tips of his fingers and the smooth, steady sound of his breath.
Clear her memory.
The art program cleared its memory every time it was called up, giving each user a clean slate for creating pictures. That was a feature, an easy way to let children start each session fresh, without being dragged down into whatever drawings they had made before, whatever problems they had been working on in the past.
“That’s it!” she said. “I just have to tell it explicitly to remember the password! It should forget everything else but remember that information!”
Energized by her breakthrough, she pulled away from Ethan, snatching up her computer from the floor and typing away on the program.
Ethan watched her single-minded enthusiasm as she worked. He loved the way that she focused on the monitor, the way her eyes narrowed just a fraction as she worked through each line of text. Most people would have walked away from the Hope Project by now. Most people would have given up, written off the idea as a good one, but too complex, too difficult to make real.
But not Sloane. She was willing to fight for what she believed in. She was willing to do whatever had to be done.
And Ethan had to admit that he found that drive, that devotion, more compelling than anything else about the woman he was going to marry. Sure, he enjoyed showing her fine things, introducing her to the ballet, to the best restaurants in Washington. Absolutely, he reveled in her body, as much as she was willing to share. But her mind was what truly captivated him—her absolute dedication to her beliefs of right and wrong, and her certainty that she could change the world for the better.
With a flourish, she pressed a key, hunching forward as she waited to see if the program would finally work. Ethan caught his breath as she did, waiting, hoping. When a bright rainbow spilled across the screen, Sloane shouted her laughter. “That’s it!” she cried. “You solved it!”
He caught her close as she flung her arms around him, embracing him with the enthusiasm of a high school cheerleader. “I didn’t have anything to do with it,” he protested until she stopped him with a kiss. “But if that’s the way you want to thank me,” he continued when he’d surfaced from her energetic attention, “I’m happy to pretend.”
“Pretend!” She pulled him close in another overwhelming hug. “That’s what I love about being with you. Neither one of us has to pretend a thing!”
She pulled away so that she could show him how the art package functioned, how a child could use it to work through worries and fears. Ethan listened to every word. He had to. He was trying to drown out the little voice that clamored at the back of his head, nagging him to tell Sloane about his grandmother’s ultimatum. He should stop pretending, once and for all.
And he would. Very, very soon, he promised himself. For now, he concentrated on the Hope Project, and everything that Sloane was going to accomplish.
Chapter Nine
The next two weeks flew by. Ethan had three business trips—to San Francisco, to Paris, to Montreal.
Sloane missed him while he was gone, but every reunion was sweeter than the last. Each time, he entered the house like a returning hero, finding her on the patio, in the bedroom, staking claim to her with kisses that threatened to steal her breath away forever.
Coming back from Canada, he found her working in the library, her legs stretched out on the green leather couch, her laptop balanced across her thighs. Daisy greeted him with enthusiasm, wriggling with excitement, as if he’d been gone for years rather than forty-eight hours. Nevertheless, the puppy complied with his command to sit; she behaved like a true show dog.
Sloane started to stand up when he came in, but he quickly settled beside her. He took her bare feet onto his lap, finding the tender point at each arch, smoothing away tension with the unerring weight of his thumb.
“Mmm,” she said, scrunching lower on the couch so that her head rested against the padded arm. “Do I know you?”
“How quickly they forget,” he growled in mock disdain. His fingers tickled up her bare legs, tracing the hem of her shorts against her thighs. “Or maybe you have an endless line of men, waiting to rub your feet?”
For answer, she shut the computer, making sure that the lid snicked closed before she set it on the luxurious Turkish carpet. She would hate to lose hours of hard work. The Hope Project was nearly done; she’d be ready to have beta testers work through the website in another week or two.
Her hands free, she knelt on the couch, enjoying the flare of pleased surprise in Ethan’s eyes as he realized that the top two buttons of her blouse were open. His hands settled on her waist, steadying her, pulling her closer.
The action triggered a flutter deep inside of her. “Oh!”
“What?” he asked, only the tightening of his fingers over her hipbones betraying anxiety.
“The baby! I felt her move!”
The look of joy that spread across Ethan’s face filled her heart even more than the sudden realization that her baby—their daughter—was growing, was ever closer to joining them. Another flutter rippled through her insides.
“Is this the first time you’ve felt her?” Ethan asked. He kept his voice low, even though he knew the baby couldn’t hear them, even though he knew that he could not possibly disturb their daughter.
“I thought I felt her move, maybe a week ago. And again, the morning that you left for Montreal.” Sloane’s smile was wide, her blue eyes bright with laughter. “This is the first time I’ve been certain, though.”
Reaching underneath Sloane’s blouse, he settled his palm across her belly. He felt a sudden tremble ripple across her skin, but he knew that motion was caused by him, summoned by his touch. He waited, holding his breath.
“There!” Sloane said.
He shook his head, trying not to feel cheated, not to feel left out. “Nothing,” he said. “Not yet.” Still, seeing the excitement that flushed Sloane’s cheeks, he found himself laughing. “Soon enough, though. Give our little ballerina another couple of months, and you’ll be begging her to sit still for a while.”
“Never!” Sloane’s laughter filled his chest with a fierce protectiveness, and he gathered her close to his side, kissing the top of her head, all the while maintaining contact with their baby.
“I hope she doesn’t bother you too much at dinner tonight.”
Sloane shook her head. Of course the baby wouldn’t be a bother. Then, she remembered. “That’s right! We’re meeting those board members, for dinner downtown!” She looked at her watch. “Another engagement party. That’s why you’re home early.”
The smile that he turned on her was as lazy as a summer afternoon. “That, and I wanted to see you.”
He was rewarded with a deep kiss. A deep kiss, and her hands roa
ming over his back, and then the confession, “I missed you.”
“All of this travel has been ridiculous. It’ll slow down for the rest of the month. Washington practically goes to sleep in August. We used to travel, Grandmother and I, to a different country every year.”
“I can’t imagine what that would be like!” She sighed, thinking that their daughter would get to enjoy that sort of life, would thrive on exciting experiences.
She shivered as Ethan’s inquisitive fingers did something thoroughly unapproved with the waistband of her shorts. She caught his hand in hers, needing to protect herself from his distraction. “Which was your favorite trip?” she asked, as if his childhood travels were the most fascinating thing in the universe.
He laughed, but he played along, knowing full well what she was doing. “Paris, probably. Grandmother and I spent an entire day in the Musée d’Orsay, looking at the Impressionist paintings.”
“I had no idea you were such an art lover.”
“I wasn’t,” he admitted. “But the tour guide Grandmother hired was a totally stunning French girl, with the sexiest accent…”
Sloane hurled a throw pillow at him.
“What?” he protested. “I was fourteen years old, and very impressionable.”
“I can only imagine,” she said dryly.
“What about you? What was your favorite summer?”
She paused before she answered, really thought about the question. Summers were always a challenge when she was young; the long days seemed to add a special strain to life in a foster family. But when she was a teenager, she had volunteered at the Art Institute of Chicago. “The year I turned sixteen,” she said. “I spent every day down at the art museum. I developed a series of tours for little kids, five-minute lectures that taught them the basics of art history. I just loved seeing the connections those kids made, the way they figured things out.”
