Falling for the Mom-to-Be

by Lynne Marshall

  *

  And so went the next few days—Leif came home to meals already on the stovetop or in the oven. One night she’d surprised him after dinner with mint-chip ice cream sandwiched between two extralarge homemade chocolate-chip cookies.

  Another night she’d made pasta sauce that tasted as good as his own. After they’d washed the dishes together, like a carefree kid he’d picked up three tangerines from a bowl on the counter and juggled for her—a trick he’d learned in high school specifically to impress girls. Then he memorized the surprise and joy on her face as she clapped and tolerated his out-of-character antics. Since when had he enjoyed himself enough with anyone to let part of his old self sneak out?

  One night, deciding to have a glass of wine with dinner—another excellent meal from his houseguest—he was surprised when his mind wandered to a quick fantasy of cooking a meal with Marta.

  That wasn’t where those thoughts ended, either. Night after night he’d torn up his bed in fitful sleep, once waking in the middle of a hot and sexy dream where he was wrapped in the body of a faceless woman. It had to stop. He couldn’t let himself become a sad and foolish bore pretending that this “thing” going on with Marta was anything more than a business proposition. One she’d agreed to take for pay.

  The fact he’d spent several nights restlessly staring at the ceiling, wanting things he’d forced himself to forget and imagining how empty the house would feel again after she left, nearly sent him over the edge. He needed to get hold of himself. There was nothing between them beyond two people learning to cope with what life had thrown at them. They’d achieved a comfortable rhythm in their day-to-day life, and the last thing he wanted to do was ruin it.

  *

  Thursday night, Leif sat at Cliff Lincoln’s bar nursing a beer after a long day. He inhaled and chewed his lower lip, trying his damnedest to get Marta’s face, her sculptured nose, cheeks and chin, and especially her soft, plump lips, out of his mind. He’d purposely avoided going home tonight after the crazy, sexy dream he’d had last night. In it, he was making love again, and this time he’d seen her, couldn’t deny who it was. Her long artful fingers had stroked his skin, driving him to wake up hard as cement.

  He downed the last of his drink, dreading coming face to face with her later, and by the time he got home, she was already upstairs. He presumed it was for the night. An odd mix of relief and regret circulated through his brain. Nowhere near ready for bed, he considered lighting a fire, but the thought of just having the dogs to share it with seemed all wrong. Instead, he decided to take Chip and Dale for one last moonlit walk.

  An hour later, he headed up the stairs.

  “Leif? Is that you?”

  Pleasantly surprised she was still up at ten o’clock, he wandered to her studio. “Yeah. It’s me.” It was great to see her in her loose lounging pants and with a colorful purple scarf tied around her head.

  “I’m heating some water for some herbal tea. Want to join me?”

  “Sure.” He wasn’t about to refuse an invitation to spend more time with the woman he’d been trying all night to get out of his mind. Because he really was a sap.

  “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to show you something.”

  He walked closer, trying his hardest not to notice her cinnamon and ginger scent.

  “What do you think?” He glanced at her and liked what he saw. Oh, wait…she was asking about something else.

  She’d filled in the blank, as it were, and added a front portion to her mural. It was mostly a striking landscape of the Columbia River, cliffs, rocks and all. In the center sat a ship painted to scale. It looked small compared to the raging river but was big enough to figure out Neptune’s Fortune belonged to Nathaniel Prince. Subtle yet telling, the perfect balance of truth and suppression.

  “I like it.”

  “Do I need to get approval from your committee?”

  “It would be a good idea to run this by them, but I can’t think of any protests. It gets the point across without hitting anyone over the head.”

  “That’s exactly what I was going for.” She looked appreciatively at him and they shared another one of those instants where the tension tugged between them, the kind of moment that seemed to happen more and more often. Her expression changed quickly from mere appreciation to something more, and there went that longing, straight from his gut. Again. Thank God the kettle whistled and broke things up or he might have done something he’d regret.

  Soon, she was sipping her piping hot tea and studying him, while he blew on his. He wasn’t the least bit comfortable under her scrutiny. “What?”

  Caught in her obvious stare, she smiled. “You, that’s what. I’m glad to see you, that’s all.”

  Well, because she was sharing, he felt compelled to be honest. “I have to admit, for the first time in ages, all this past week I’ve looked forward to coming home.” Except for tonight when he wasn’t ready to face her after having such a lifelike erotic dream about her.

  “Because the house isn’t empty.”

  Was that the reason? “Maybe.”

  “Did you have to work late tonight?” So matter of fact. He wasn’t used to people being this straightforward.

  “Had some things I had to do.” It wasn’t a lie if what he’d “had” to do was sit in a bar, have a beer and think about what he should do about all the crazy feelings he’d developed for Marta.

  “I have to admit I like it better when you’re here at night. This place is so quiet otherwise.” She went back to studying the latest section of the painting.

  “You can always bring Chip and Dale in to keep you company, you know.” She seemed to enjoy the dogs, but maybe she wasn’t a dog person like he was.

  “That’s a good idea. Next time you work late, I’ll do that.”

  Things changed. She’d shown him the new part of the mural and maybe that was all she wanted. Aware she was deep in thought, he felt as if he needed to leave, but it was the last thing he wanted to do, so he stood there staring at her, thinking how lovely she was, watching her long slender fingers measure and sketch within the grid. Enjoying her hips as she bent over to draw. He forced himself to look away and blew over the tea again. It wasn’t just the tea that needed to cool off.

  “Is that what your wife used to do?”

  His mind had wandered far from the subject, and the insertion of his wife into the conversation threw him. Was she making a point? “Pardon?” Had he been too obvious? Great going, idiot.

  “When you worked long hours, did Ellen use the dogs for companionship?”

  Obviously, Marta was reminding him he had a wife he still mourned. Or was she challenging him? “She had a lot of friends and also kept busy with her projects. Though the dogs were always good company. The good part about owning your own company is you can set the rules and hours.”

  Marta had gone still, as if she’d had far too much time to think this evening and was thinking extra hard right now. Anyone in their right mind could figure out he was way out of practice with women. She’d also lived in this house long enough to sense it was a huge mausoleum instead of a home. He was stuck here and couldn’t move forward. And wasn’t that why he was so damn mixed up about the sexy dreams and the desire to spend time with this outsider, the artist from Sedona?

  She stood with her freshly brewed tea, walked around the worktable, balanced a hip on the edge, then took a sip. “How come you’ve never—”

  Radar, intuition, whatever he wanted to call it, he knew exactly what she was asking. “Remarried?” She wasn’t the only one who could read minds and cut people off midsentence. Hell, he’d only taken off his ring last year. “Because I can’t imagine ever replacing her. I don’t see how anyone can ever measure up. No woman wants to settle for replacement status.” His tea was still too hot to drink easily, but he forced a swallow, roof of mouth be damned.

  “So your alternative is to keep yourself locked up in this gorgeous prison of a house.”

 
; He didn’t like where this conversation was going and made no bones about showing Marta his negative reaction. “I have a job, and I go out every day. I’m hardly locked up here.” Why did he feel so defensive? Because she was challenging him.

  “True, but not convincing.” She leveled her gaze to his, and he wanted to squirm out of it. “The difference between you and me is that I’ve never turned my back on love. Loving comes easily for me. It always has. Isn’t that the point of being on this planet? We’re here to share love with each other.”

  Oh, yeah, here she went with all that free spirit Sedona mumbo jumbo. He looked at her differently now, wondering how many relationships she’d been in during her adult life. “The thing is, you have to find the right person to share love. Otherwise it’s not really love, is it?”

  “That may be true, but sometimes jerks, if given the chance, turn out to be the most wonderful people.” She glanced wistfully up through the skylight, where a gibbous moon was rising. “And sometimes the most wonderful men turn out to be jerks,” she said softly, with a resigned tone.

  He wanted to get angry for her broaching a tough topic at the drop of a hat, but instead he fought that constant urge to comfort her, to wrap her in his arms and let her know she didn’t have to be alone. He was here for her.

  Yet he didn’t move. Couldn’t.

  Because wasn’t that crazy? He’d just assured her that any woman in his life would merely be a replacement, that he’d closed the door on any future relationship because it wouldn’t be fair. He shouldn’t be having these kinds of feelings. He wasn’t ready. Would probably never be.

  Aware he hadn’t uttered a response, she nailed him with those dark, inquisitive eyes.

  “You might think of me as a fool, but even now I’m optimistic I’ll love again. I wouldn’t be alive otherwise.”

  Wait a minute—had she just lobbed a sly attack? “So because I’m not in love or planning to fall in love, that makes me dead?” He was distracted by her beauty and at the same time irritated she was hitting him with tough reality. And the last thing he wanted to do was have this conversation.

  “I’m not calling you anything. I’m just sharing how I feel about love and life. I make no judgment on you.”

  She was digging too close to raw nerves, and he ground his molars rather than spit out the first thought in his head. You have no idea what I went through. But he did wonder what she was getting at, and for some crazy reason it mattered what she thought. “You think I’m a ghost? You think I don’t feel?”

  She shook her head widely. “I know you feel. I’ve been around you long enough to know you are a kind and sensitive man. You’ve opened your home to me. You’ve made me feel like a special guest.” She bit her lower lip and with soft, inquiring eyes she probed. “I’m just thinking it would be such a waste to never love again. As brokenhearted as I am right now, I still look forward to the opportunity to fall head over heels again. It gives me hope.” She set down her tea, then on an inhale she must have formed one more thought. “Knowing that I’m open to new relationships helps me through the rough places. There’s something out there waiting for me. All I have to do is find them.”

  Still bristling from her earlier comments, now reeling from this revelation and all mixed-up inside, he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. She stood before him beautiful, radiant, filled with life, and that naked dream with her straddling him, touching him everywhere flashed in his brain.

  She was open to love. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  “I’m just wondering what helps you survive,” she said.

  He’d barely been surviving, as it turned out, and the first woman forced into his life had quickly become a fantasy driving him crazy. He wanted her, and he couldn’t utter a sound or she’d figure it out.

  “Are you just surviving?” she prodded.

  What was with the interrogation? Who was she to point out how badly he’d handled his losses? He ran a business. Had a home. Owned dogs. He lived and breathed.

  Damn it. He was just surviving.

  “There’s more to life than surviving, Leif.”

  That was it—she’d crossed the line. She viewed his life as mere survival. She talked as if she knew him and understood his circumstances, which she didn’t. No one could. How could he pick up the pieces and move on when they’d been scattered so far he could never find them?

  So why in the hell was he still so damned attracted to Marta, even though she’d pried far too deep and kept pushing and pushing?

  Instead of feeling furious, as part of him felt he had the right be, he got waylaid by the growing desire that had kept him awake the past week simply by having Marta under his roof. That feeling finally hit full force. If he was going to feel guilty as hell for lusting after her, he may as well have a damn good reason. In the next second, as if a dam of pent-up feelings, building and battling for release, had sprung a leak, he lost it.

  Completely confused but driven by his gut reaction, Leif put down his tea with a thud, hot liquid splashing over the lip, burning his hand, but he didn’t care. If she wanted to know what surviving looked like, he was about to show her. With three long strides and a boatload of determination, he grabbed Marta by her arms, pulled her close and kissed her.

  *

  Marta felt the intensity coursing through Leif’s pulse. All passion without a hint of finesse, his mouth pressed hard and ragged against hers, and she let him. Didn’t even consider fighting him. Stunned into submission, she allowed the kiss to pound through her, deeper and deeper still, bewildered by the stirring he’d set off inside. His claiming lips made her knees weaken and her insides quiver. She put her arms around his solid shoulders and held on tight for the wildest kiss of her life.

  Yes. She kissed him back. She wasn’t ashamed to admit she was as attracted to him as he obviously was to her. Her philosophy in life had always been things happen for a purpose.

  But as abruptly as the kiss had started, he ended it, his eyes dancing over every part of her when he did, heat flaming inside them, communicating two perfect thoughts.

  You asked for it. Had she?

  And I bet you didn’t see that coming, Miss Psychic. No. She definitely hadn’t.

  Oh, but there was so much more in that burrowing stare. He’d lost his battle for control, and he wasn’t sorry. His kiss had made her brain mush and left her body tingling.

  Before she could think one more thought, and long before she could ever hope to form a single word, he bid her good-night, turned and left the studio, closing the door with a thud behind him.

  Standing perfectly still, catching her breath, taking stock of her full-bodied reaction, she realized she’d moistened her underwear…from one rough and heady kiss.

  She tried to swallow but couldn’t, so she reached for her tea and lifted it with trembling fingers. “My God,” she whispered after taking a sip. “What just happened?”

  She’d taunted a beast out of its cage and the result had been indescribable. Could she even call that a kiss? His hungry mouth had clamped onto hers and sent her parasailing through the skylight. She wrapped an arm around her stomach, trying her best to regain some balance.

  She’d lectured him, a man who’d chosen to shut himself away from that part of his life for three years, about not giving up on love. Used herself as an example. Dangled the higher, mightier approach in the face of an emotionally starving man, knowing full well he’d been traumatized by loss.

  Had she bullied him into kissing her?

  And now that she’d unleashed his sexual outburst, where did they go from here?

  Marta inhaled a shaky breath, knowing without a doubt she’d be up all night trying to figure out the odd yet powerful chemistry she and Leif Andersen most definitely shared. Plus the fact she’d promised herself to keep this relationship purely professional. Still knowing without a doubt that if he ever wanted to kiss her again, she’d let him.

  So much for promises.

  Ch
apter Four

  Six o’clock Friday morning, Leif stood in the kitchen making a pot of coffee, the only light from filtered rays of frail early Oregon sun. He hadn’t slept most of the night, warring with the onslaught of feelings he’d unleashed. He and Marta couldn’t continue to stay under the same roof after that kiss last night. If he couldn’t control a kiss, there was no telling what might happen next. How must she feel? Hopefully not violated. He wouldn’t blame her if she asked to move out, though.

  If only things were different.

  A quiet rustling behind him drew his attention. He turned. It was Marta. And there went that same tiny implosion he experienced every time he saw her.

  “I’m sorry,” they said in unison.

  “No,” he said. “It was all my fault. Forgive me.”

  “I was equally responsible.” She was wearing that Southwest-patterned robe again and her hair hadn’t come near a brush, and the effect made him immediately lose his resolve to steer clear of her. “And honestly, I’m not sure apologies are even in order,” she said, tossing her hair and lifting her chin. “We may have been thrown together for a specific purpose with the mural, but who knows why else?”

  Her logic evaded him. He didn’t think in such esoteric ways. Why else? Sounded like Sedona mumbo jumbo for that meant-to-be baloney spouted by romantics. One thing was sure—he was not a romantic. At least she wasn’t taking the sexual harassment route. What a mess.

  When in doubt, play dense.

  “Your point being?” Suddenly dying for his first taste of coffee, anything to distract him from her, and needing fortification to make the slightest bit of sense out of her “who knows why else” statement, he poured and drank.

  “Sometimes things are meant to happen. Maybe we’ve met for a reason.” She kept her distance and leaned against the door frame with her arms folded, studying his face as if preparing to sketch him.