These past weeks the time spent in the sun had erased the hospital pallor of her skin and added luster to an already perfect complexion. But it was her smile that stopped his heart and spiced his blood. Sweet or saucy by turns, it lifted his spirits and made his mouth water for a taste of those soft lips.
She was wearing Prudy's shorts again and a thin cotton shirt the color of watermelon. Her legs were bare and lightly tanned, and in spite of the ripening of her body, deliciously slender and sleek.
Lord help him, he wanted her. More and more every day. It was getting so bad he had trouble concentrating on anything more than the simplest of tasks. Like breathing.
He'd even thought about taking Marion Gilmartin's newly divorced sister up on the offer she'd made him one day last week. For dinner and "whatever" she'd said. But the thought of coming home to Stacy with another woman's perfume on his skin had stopped him cold.
"I can see why this is one of Prudy's favorite places in the whole wide world," Stacy murmured when she caught his gaze lingering too long on her face. "It's hard to believe millions of people are living just a few miles away from this spot."
Sighing happily, she turned her face up toward a thick canopy of sycamore leaves. To the west in a triangular patch of azure sky an eagle soared in solitary majesty above the meandering creek that bore his name. Hidden in a nearby thicket a sparrow celebrated her joy at the perfect day in song.
Next to her, Boyd selected another flat skipping stone from the cache she'd collected earlier. "Millions of people hard at work," he said with a brief grin before sending the stone skimming across the surface of the fast-running stream.
Stacy watched the stone hit the bank on the other side and sink from sight. In this part of Eagle Creek, the water was a clear bottle green, the result of the snow melting at the highest elevations. Close in to the grassy bank where they'd spread their blanket, the recent spring floods had gouged a deep pool where eddies swished and swirled in hypnotic fury, turning the water's surface foamy white. Behind them, thickets of willows nestled between two giant boulders provided a lacy emerald screen, hiding them from the rest of the civilized world.
Since they'd driven off the main road and onto the gravel lane Prudy had described in her meticulous directions, they'd seen a small herd of fat, smug-looking cows huddling in the shade of a huge grandfather oak, several gigantic crows lined up like disapproving sentries on a fence rail and acres of ripening blackberries—but no other living souls.
The lunch Mario had provided turned out to be enough for an entire Roman legion on a forced march, but by midafternoon they'd managed to devour all but a few pitiful remains. "Sure you don't want the last tart?" she offered over the creek's rippling music.
"Positive." Boyd shifted and sat up. "I'm fixing to bust as it is."
Stacy smoothed her shirt over her protruding belly and eyed him curiously. "Why I declare, Mr. Boyd, do I hear an echo of Southern roots in your speech?"
His laugh was wonderfully infectious—and all too rare. "My mother was from South Carolina. Her father was a logger chasing the good life and figured the Northwest would never run out of trees."
"He wasn't the only one," Stacy said with a sigh for the thousands of timber workers who'd been displaced over the past ten years by the growing lack of harvestable trees.
He acknowledged that with a grim nod. "Grandpop had enough sense to see what was happening before most of his buddies on the crew. Started to perfect his woodworking skills when I was still a kid."
He leaned forward to snag a marinated olive from the remnants of their lunch. Sunshine caught in his hair, turning it to gold. In her more idle moments she'd imagined running her fingers through that rough-and-tumble thatch.
In deference to the heat he'd worn shorts and a polo shirt, which he'd shucked as soon as they'd settled. His sneakers had been the next to go. Stacy, too, was barefoot and reveled in the feel of the cool grass against the soles of her feet.
"Is that where you learned carpentry?" she asked when his gaze flickered her way again. "From your grandfather?"
He nodded, and his mouth relaxed, stirring longings she forced herself to ignore. "He could barely write his own name, but he could find the soul in a rough piece of wood like no one I've ever known."
Stacy heard the gruff affection in his voice and smiled. "Was your father a carpenter, too?"
Boyd shook his head, and the half smile softening his mouth faded. "He didn't have the patience. Worked for a mill outside of Roseburg for thirty years before his liver turned to dog meat."
"He was an alcoholic?"
"In the end, yes. After my mother died, his one goal in life was to join her. He was bigger than most men, so it took longer than it should. But he finally managed. Bled to death internally one night, sitting next to my mother's grave." One side of his mouth moved. "My grandmother claimed it was the Irish in him that drove him to grieve himself to death."
Stacy felt a chill and hugged herself. "How old were you when your mother died?" she asked softly.
"Twelve." He picked up another stone and, with a snap of his powerful wrist, sent it screaming across the water toward a river birch on the opposite bank.
"Was it unexpected?" she asked when the loud thwack of solid granite against solid wood had faded.
"Yes, but it shouldn't have been." His jaw turned hard, and Stacy cursed herself for bringing up painful memories. "She'd just given birth prematurely to twin sons," he said in the same toneless voice he'd used when recounting his nightmare plunge into that dark ravine and its aftermath. "She and one of the babies died within hours of one another. It was touch and go with Cullen for weeks, but he hung on. And now he's taller than I am."
Stacy pictured a younger, bigger version of Boyd, with those same wide shoulders and rock-hard torso. And a longer stretch to his muscular legs. Taller his brother might be, she decided after a moment's absorbed reflection, but she doubted very much if Cullen were stronger. Or even tougher.
"And your sisters?"
"Happily married, or so they claim." Suddenly restless, he stood and held out a hand. "C'mon, let's work out some kinks."
Stacy slipped her hand into his, enjoying the hard strength of his grip and the warmth of his touch. As he pulled her effortlessly to her feet, she found herself feeling graceful instead of cumbersome for the first time in weeks.
"Thanks," she said, careful not to brush against him. "Position changes are a challenge these days. I tend to overbalance if I'm not careful."
His gaze swept over her belly, warming her. "Your center of gravity has shifted."
Stacy laughed. "I'll say. I sit on it these days."
His laugh echoed hers as they began to wade through the sun-warmed ripples at the edge of the bank. Instead of letting go of her hand, he surprised her by interlacing their fingers until their palms met, sending a sweet shivering awareness all the way through her.
"Cold?" he asked, watching her intently.
Amazed that he'd attuned himself to her so intimately, she shook her head and smiled. "The water feels good." As good as his hand felt holding hers so snugly.
"Mind the rocks," he cautioned when they'd gone a few more feet along the meandering watercourse. "They're slippery."
"I like the way they feel. Like smooth, wet satin."
His mouth slanted. "I used to fish in a creek like this one."
"Catch anything?"
He looked so offended she laughed. "Sorry."
He accepted her apology with a boyish grin. "Steelhead, mostly. Cooked 'em and ate 'em right by the creek."
"Because they taste better that way or because you were too hungry to wait?"
"Both." His look turned sheepish. "And because the game warden couldn't count our catch."
Laughing softly, she watched a dragonfly skimming the water's surface before veering toward a patch of clover growing almost to the creek bed itself. "Isn't that called poaching?"
"We preferred to think of it as ingenuous free enterp
rise."
"I'll grant you the free part," she teased, and was about to ask him who was the other half of the "we" was when her foot slipped on a mossy rock and she lurched sideways, ending up all but smashed against him. She would have fallen but for the arm he clamped around her waist.
"Oops," she murmured, glancing up at him. "Guess I wasn't watching where I was going."
"Okay now?"
"I think so." But her voice was suddenly strained and thin, bringing a frown to his mouth.
Feet braced wide, he shifted until she was snuggled against him, then brought the other arm around her. "You're driving me crazy." The rough scratch of frustration in Boyd's voice had Stacy's heart racing.
"I don't mean to," she murmured.
His mouth quirked an instant before he bent to feather a kiss beneath her ear. "Then stop wearing such a sexy perfume," he whispered against her skin. She felt a shiver starting inside and closed her eyes.
"It's just soap. The same soap you use."
"Can't be," he said, biting her ear gently while his hand shaped the curve of her spine. Stacy shivered and let the pleasure flow over her, just as the water rippled over the rocks a few feet away.
"And another thing, get rid of that slinky nightgown you've taken to wearing." His tongue made a slow, sensuous exploration of her ear before withdrawing, and she drew in breath.
"It's one of your old T-shirts," she managed to say as she arched her neck backward. "Remember I asked if you had one I could borrow?"
He pressed his face to the hollow of her shoulder and kissed the exposed skin he found there. "Must have slipped my mind while I was trying not to think about you sitting in all those bubbles in my bathtub."
"No … bubbles," she confided before he shifted his attention to her mouth. But instead of kissing her, he touched his tongue to her lower lip, then drew back.
"You taste sweet, in spite of the peppers you eat like candy."
She felt her lips curving even as his came closer.
"Kiss me, Stacy."
"What about our deal?" she said a little breathlessly.
"Forget our deal! Put the poor, suffering fool out of his misery." His voice was laced with humor, but the look in his eyes was hot and needy.
"Only if you do the same for me," she whispered on a rush of air. Her heart was slamming against her ribs, making it difficult to breathe. He smelled like sunshine and looked like a dream come true.
His mouth aligned with hers, came down softly. Her lips were ready, aching. His kiss was gentle yet edged with fire ready to kindle. Stacy felt the world tilt as she threaded her arms around his waist and held on.
"Definitely sweet." He nibbled at her lips, pushing the tip of his tongue into the corner of her mouth, then withdrawing it, teasing her, tantalizing her, giving her time to resist.
But she couldn't pull away. Not while it felt so good to be held like this. Not while he was stroking her with such absorbing care, letting his fingers trail along her jawline.
She liked the feel of his big, hard body rubbing slowly against hers, caressing her, provoking her, and she loved the feel of his hands on her bare arms, gentling her, petting her, inviting her to put those arms around his neck.
He groaned as her hands slid over his shoulders and linked behind his head. He nuzzled her neck with his face, then kissed the tender area below her earlobe before again tracing the delicate whorls of her ear with the tip of his tongue.
Heat rocketed through her, and she rubbed against him, letting the friction of his hard chest abrade her nipples until the tiny peaks pushed hard against her shirt.
She let out a gasp of pleasure, delighting in the shower of sensations. Heat and chill, throbbing pulse and bone-melting sighs. And love, so much love she thought she would burst with it.
Her body began to hum, and then to vibrate with a primitive force, and she ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, pulling him closer, closer.
He took her lips, plunging his tongue between them until she was sucking on him, loving the taste and feel and wetness of him inside her mouth. She moaned helplessly.
Boyd stiffened, then broke off the kiss. "We … I swore I wouldn't do this," he whispered in a husky, choked voice. His heart was pounding in his ears and his breathing was ragged. It hurt to think. To feel. "You're almost nine months pregnant … the baby…"
"Is fine," she murmured in a low, throbbing voice that seemed to fill him with emotion.
"I could hurt you."
Stacy felt the conflict in the strong arms holding her so gently, saw the tension in the taut lines of his face. "You won't."
He groaned hoarsely and buried his face in the curve of her neck. A ragged breath shuddered through him, and his arms tightened convulsively. "I need you, Stacy. So much. Too much." The words seemed torn from him.
"I need you, too. And it hurts." At this moment she belonged to him, no matter what happened in the future.
Silently Boyd took her hand and led her to the carpet of clover. Sunlight filtered from the canopy overhead to form lacy patterns of gold against the lush green thatch.
"We'll go slowly," he promised, slipping his fingers under the long tail of her shirt. Her skin was warm and smooth, sending tendrils of need spiraling inside him.
Suddenly shy, she pressed her hands over his. "Don't expect centerfold material," she warned on a little laugh.
His eyes clouded. "Stacy, you are a beautiful woman," he said in a low throbbing tone that sent shivers running through her. "Breathtakingly, stupendously, wonderfully beautiful. And I want you so much I'm shaking with it."
"I thought you were just cold," she teased, winning a slow, sensuous smile that broke her heart.
"Anything but," he murmured.
Slowly Boyd unbuttoned her shirt and opened her bra, letting her breasts spill into his palms. The air was cool on her skin, but his lips were warm as he kissed first one hard nipple, then the other.
She gasped as his fingers slid along her sides, warm and intimate. She loved the rough feel of his skin and the careful stroking of his hands as he eased her out of her shirt and bra.
For his own pleasure, Boyd stepped back and let his gaze trail over the ripe swell of breasts and belly, his throat clogged with a need to tell her how truly lovely she was at that moment.
Instead, he flattened his hand against her belly and leaned forward to kiss the creamy flesh. He felt her shiver and glanced up to see tears in her eyes. "Oh Boyd," she whispered, her voice breaking.
Keeping his gaze on hers, he slipped out of his shorts and briefs, then eased her free of her shorts and plain cotton panties. When they were both naked, he took her into his arms again. With a blissful sigh, she settled against him, feeling as though she'd come home.
"Are you sure?" he whispered against her temple.
"Make me feel whole again," she replied, her voice trembling.
He groaned softly, and then he kissed her again. Her lips, her eyelids, her earlobe. And she kissed him, loving the taste of him.
They were both breathing hard by the time he lifted his head. Her eyes were clouded and dreamy, her lips full and rosy.
"My legs feel rubbery," she murmured, laughing.
"I think we can take care of that." Keeping his own need under tight control, he gently lowered her to the thick green blanket, then lay beside her. He dipped his head to savor the taste of her nipples on his tongue, then lapped at the darker skin surrounding them until she moaned softly. A quick look at her passion-drowsy face assured him she wasn't in pain, and he allowed himself the exquisite pleasure of caressing her belly.
Stacy felt her baby shift, then settle under the slow, loving touch of Boyd's hand, and a pleasure she had never known flooded through her. Beneath her, the grass was thick and cool, and the air was filled with the sensuous scents of summer.
"Okay?" he murmured, his gaze bathing her in his concern.
"Wonderful," she murmured, wringing a chuckle from him. Oh how she loved him, she thought, le
tting her eyes drift closed. His hands smoothed over her, finding every curve, every pulse point, every singing nerve ending until she was nearly crazed with wanting him. She moved restlessly, her hands reaching for him, urging him to fill her.
"Easy, honey," Boyd whispered, his own needs tearing at him like a wild thing. Gently, tenderly, he cupped his hand over the mound between her legs, kneading and stroking until she arched upward, crying out, her eyes flying open, then glazing over with a stunned pleasure.
Even as she shuddered, he braced his weight on his hands and eased into her slowly, carefully, watching her face, her eyes, the trembling of her soft lips as she murmured his name. Slowly he began to move, fighting a clawing need to take his own pleasure in one hard pounding thrust. Instead, he rocked back and forth against the velvet walls sheathing him, feeling the pleasure bunch and rush inside him, until finally he could no longer hold back.
Daddy by Accident Page 15
