by Nora Roberts
“Can I get a drink?”
“Yeah, there’s some of that juice your mom sent up for you. Stay out of trouble, right?”
“Right.”
When Coop headed into his office, Keenan scrambled up from the couch. He liked it best when he got to stay with Coop after school. They always got to do something neat, and Coop never asked if he’d washed his hands or said too many cookies would spoil his appetite.
Best of all, he liked when Coop picked him up. It was different than when his mother did. He liked when she held him, nuzzled him after his bath or rocked him when he had a bad dream. But Coop smelled different, and felt different.
He knew why, Keenan thought as he wandered into the kitchen. It was because Coop was a daddy instead of a mom.
He liked to pretend Coop was his daddy, and figured that maybe if he didn’t do anything bad, Coop wouldn’t go away.
After a couple of tugs, Keenan had the refrigerator open. He was proud that Coop had hung the pictures he had drawn for him on the door. He peered inside, saw the jug of juice his mother had bought for him. And the green bottles Coop liked.
“B-E-E-R,” Keenan said to himself. He remembered that he’d asked Coop if he could have a taste from the bottle, and that Coop had told him he couldn’t until he was big. After Coop had let him sniff the beer, Keenan had been glad he wasn’t big yet.
There was a new bottle in the fridge today, and Keenan knit his brow and tried to recognize the letters. C-H-A-R-D-O-N— There were too many letters to read, so he lost interest.
He took out the jug, gripping it manfully and setting it on the floor. Humming to himself, he dragged a chair over to get cups from the cabinet. One day he’d be as tall as Coop and wouldn’t need to stand on a chair. He leaned forward on his toes.
The crash and the howl had Coop leaping up, rapping his knee hard against the desk. Papers scattered as he raced out of the office and into the kitchen.
Keenan was still howling. A chair was overturned, juice was glugging cheerfully onto the floor and the refrigerator was wide open. Coop splashed through the puddle and scooped Keenan up.
“Are you hurt? What’d you do?” When his only answer was another sob, he stood Keenan on the kitchen table and searched for blood. He imagined gaping wounds, broken bones.
“I fell down.” Keenan wriggled back into Coop’s arms.
“Okay, it’s okay. Did you hit your head?”
“Nuh-uh.” With a sniffle, Keenan waited for the kisses he expected after a hurt. “I fell on my bottom.” Keenan’s lip poked out. “Kiss it.”
“You want me to kiss your— Come on, kid, you’re joking.”
The lip trembled, another tear fell. “You gotta kiss where it hurts. You gotta, or it won’t get better.”
“Oh, man.” Flummoxed, Coop dragged a hand through his hair. He was desperately relieved that no blood had been spilled, but if anyone, anyone, found out what he was about to do, he’d never live it down. He turned Keenan around and made a kissing noise in the air. “Does that do it?”
“Uh-huh.” Keenan knuckled his eyes, then held out his arms. “Will you pick me up?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t feel as ridiculous as he’d expected when the boy’s arms went around his neck. “Okay now?”
With his head resting on Coop’s shoulder, he nodded. “I didn’t mean to do it. I spilled all the juice.”
“No big deal.” Hardly realizing he did so, Coop turned his head to brush his lips over Keenan’s hair. Something was shifting inside him, creaking open.
“You aren’t mad at me? You won’t go away?”
“No.” What the hell was going on? Coop wondered as unexplored and unexpected emotions swirled inside him. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”
“I love you,” Keenan said, with the simple ease of a child.
Coop closed his eyes and wondered how a grown man was supposed to handle falling for a four-year-old boy.
* * *
Well, here she was, Zoe thought as she stood at the bottom of the steps leading to Coop’s apartment. All she had to do was go upstairs, open the door and start an affair. Her stomach clenched.
Silly to be nervous, she told herself, and climbed the first step. She was a normal woman with normal needs. If her emotions were too close to the surface, she would deal with it. It was much more difficult to be hurt when you had no expectations.
She’d had expectations once, but she knew better now.
This was simply a physical attraction between two single, healthy people. She’d nearly backed down a step before she forced herself to move forward. All the practical details had been seen to. Her son was safely tucked away for the night at his sleepover. She’d arranged for birth control—that wasn’t an oversight she would make again.
No regrets, she promised herself as she lifted a hand to knock. She knew how useless they were.
He answered so quickly, she nearly jumped. Then they stood and stared at each other.
She’d worn a dress, one of those thin, breezy sundresses designed to make a man give thanks for the end of winter. Her hair was loose, falling over thin raspberry-colored straps and bare, peach-toned shoulders. There were nerves in her eyes.
“Hi.” He glanced down to the cordless phone she held. “Expecting a call?”
“What? Oh.” She laughed, miserably self-conscious. “No, I just don’t like to be out of touch when Keenan’s not home.”
“He’s all settled at his pal’s?”
“Yeah.” She stepped inside, set the phone on the counter. “He was so excited, he—” She broke off when her sandal stuck to the floor.
Coop grimaced. “I guess I missed some of it. We had a spill.”
“Oh?”
“The kid took a tumble, sheared off ten years of my life. No blood lost, though. Just a half gallon of orange juice.” When she only smiled, he stepped to the refrigerator. Why in hell was he babbling? “Want some wine?”
“That would be nice.” Why, he’s as nervous as I am, she realized, and she loved him for it. “Keenan’s having a wonderful time staying with you. I have to study the sports pages now just to keep up with what he’s talking about.”
“He catches on fast.”
“So do I. Go ahead,” she said as he handed her a glass of wine, “ask me about stats. I know all about RBIs and ERAs.” She took a sip, then gestured with her glass. “I think the Orioles would have taken the second game of that doubleheader the other night if they’d put in a relief pitcher in the second inning.”
His lips twitched. “Do you?”
“Well, the starter had lost his stuff, obviously. The guy who was announcing—”
“The play-by-play man.”
“Yes, he said so himself.”
“So, you watched the game.”
“I watch ‘Sesame Street,’ too. I like to keep up with Keenan’s interests.” She trailed off when Coop reached out to twine a lock of her hair around his finger.
“He’s got a thing for dinosaurs, too.”
“I know, I’ve checked a half-dozen books out of the library. We’ve—” The fingers trailed over her shoulder. “We’ve been down to the natural history museum twice.”
She set the glass aside and fell into his arms.
He kissed her as though he’d been starved for her taste. The impact was fast, deep, desperate. The little purring sounds that vibrated in her throat had his muscles turning into bundles of taut wire.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Neither was I. I—”
“Can’t think of anything but you,” he said as he swept her off her feet. “I thought we’d take this slow.”
“Let’s not,” she murmured, pressing her lips to his throat as he carried her into the bedroom.
She had a quick impression of Spartan neatness and simple masculine colors and lines before they tumbled onto the bed.
Neither of them was looking for patience. They rolled together, a tangle of limbs grasping, groping, glorying
in one another. The sheer physicality of it, flesh to flesh, mouth to mouth, had Zoe’s head reeling. Oh, she wanted to be touched like this, to feel so desperately like a woman, with a man’s hand streaking over her, with his lips savoring every thud of her pulse.
So she lost herself. No more nerves, no more fears. And if she loved, it only made the joy of mating more lovely.
She was every man’s fantasy. Stunningly responsive, breathlessly aggressive. And so beautiful, he thought. Undraped, the exquisite body was so slim, so perfect, he couldn’t believe it had ever carried a child. In the gilded light of dusk, her face was elegant, heart-stopping. Whenever he touched, wherever he touched, he could see the bold echo of her pleasure reflected in her eyes.
He watched those eyes glaze over, felt her body tense, heard her strangled cry of release. Swamped with the power of it, he drove her upward again until they were both panting for air, until she reared up from the bed and wrapped herself around him.
Damp skin slid over damp skin, hungry mouth sought hungry mouth. They rolled over the bed again, moaning, quivering. Then his hands gripped hers, and his mouth crushed her mouth. And he thrust inside her, hard and deep.
She felt the sensation as if it were a lance through her system, painful, glorious. For an instant, neither of them moved, they just stayed tensed and shuddering on the edge.
Then it was all movement, all speed, a wild race that ended with them both plunging deliriously over the finish line.
* * *
It wasn’t exactly the way he’d imagined, Coop thought. They were sprawled across his bed, Zoe curled against him. The light was nearly gone, and the room was full of shadows.
He’d imagined they would progress to the bedroom by stages. They were both adults and had known that was the ultimate goal, but he’d thought they would move slowly.
Then she’d been standing there smiling, the nerves shining in her eyes . . . He’d never wanted anything or anyone more in his life.
Still, he thought she deserved more than a quick tussle, however rewarding. But the night was young.
He flexed his arm to bring her head a little closer, brushed his lips over her temple. “Okay?”
“Mmm . . . At the very least.” Her body felt golden. She was surprised her skin didn’t glow in the dark.
“I rushed you a little.”
“No, perfect timing.”
He began to trail a finger up and down her arm. He wanted her again. Good God, his system was already churning to life. A little control, Coop, he ordered himself. “You’re going to stay?”
She opened her eyes, looking into his. “Yes.”
“I’m going to go get the wine.”
“That’s good.” She sighed as he left the bed. She’d forgotten how to deal with the after, she realized. Or with the before and during, for that matter, she thought with a wry smile. Though she thought she’d done pretty well so far.
She hadn’t known how much had been bottled up inside her. Or just how much she’d needed to feel like a woman again. But then, she hadn’t known she could love again.
She shifted, slipping under the tangled sheets, automatically lifting them to her breasts when Coop came back with the wine and glasses.
The sight of her in his bed shot to his loins, with a quick detour through the heart. He said nothing, pouring wine, offering her a fresh glass and settling beside her.
“Why haven’t you been with anyone?” The moment the question was out, he wished for a rusty knife to hack off his tongue. “Sorry, none of my business.”
“It’s all right.” Because I haven’t fallen in love with anyone before you, she thought. But that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, she knew. Nor was it really what he’d asked.
“You want to know about Keenan’s father.”
“None of my business,” he repeated. “Sorry, it’s the reporter in me.”
“It was a long time ago—a lifetime ago. I don’t mind telling you. I grew up in New York. I think I mentioned that my mother’s an actress. I was the result of a second marriage. She’s had five. So far.”
“Five?”
Zoe chuckled into her wine, sipped. “Clarice falls in love and changes husbands the way some women change hairstyles. My father lasted about four years before they parted amicably. Clarice always has friendly divorces. I didn’t see much of him, because he moved to Hollywood. He does commercials and voice-overs mostly. Anyway, I think she was on husband number four when I was in high school. He had some pull with the Towers Modeling Agency. They’re pretty big.”
“I’ve heard of them.”
“Well, he got me in. I started doing some shoots. And I caught on.”
“That’s it,” Coop said, interrupting her. “I knew I’d seen your face before.”
She moved her shoulders. “Five, six years ago, it was hard to avoid it. I did twenty covers in one month, the year after I graduated school.”
“Cover of In Sports, swimsuit edition.”
She smiled. “You’ve got a good memory. That was six years ago.”
He remembered the long, sand-dusted legs, the lush wet red excuse for a bathing suit, the laughing, seductive face. He gulped down wine. “It was a hell of a shot.”
“And a long, grueling shoot. Anyway, I was making a lot of money, getting a lot of press, going to lots of parties. I met Roberto at one of them.”
“Roberto.” Coop grimaced at the sound of the name.
“Lorenzi. Tennis player. You might have heard of him.”
“Lorenzi? Sure—took the French Open three years ago in straight sets, then blew Wimbledon in the semis. He’s got a bad attitude and likes to race cars and chase women on the side. Hasn’t been seeded above twenty-fifth in the last two years. Got some bad press this spring when he tipped back too many vinos and punched out a photographer.” Coop started to drink, stopped. “Lorenzi? He’s Keenan’s father? But he’s—”
“A womanizer?” Zoe supplied. “A creep, a rich, spoiled egotist? I know—now. What I saw then was a gorgeous, charming man who sent me roses and jetted me off to Monte Carlo for intimate dinners. I was dazzled. He told me he loved me, that he adored me, worshiped me, he couldn’t live without me. I believed him, and we became lovers. I thought, since he was my first, he’d be my only. Anyway, I didn’t realize he was already getting tired of me when I found out I was pregnant. When I told him, he was angry, then he was very calm, very reasonable. He assumed I’d want an abortion and agreed to pay all the expenses, even to make the arrangements.”
“A real prince.”
“It was a logical assumption,” Zoe said calmly. “I had a career on fast forward, in a field that wouldn’t wait while I put on weight and suffered from morning sickness. He, of course, had no intention of marrying me, and thought, rightly enough, that I knew the rules of the game. I did know them,” she said quietly. “But something had changed when the doctor confirmed the pregnancy. After the disbelief, the panic, even the anger, I felt good. I felt right. I wanted the baby, so I quit my job, moved away from New York and read everything I could get my hands on about parenting.”
“Just like that?”
“Well, there were some scenes, some dire predictions, and a lot of anger, but that’s how it worked. Roberto and I parted less than amicably, but with the agreement that he would stay out of my life and I would stay out of his.”
“What have you told Keenan?”
“It’s tough.” And it never failed to make her feel guilty. “So far I’ve just told him his father had to go away, that he wasn’t going to come back. He’s happy, so he doesn’t ask a lot of questions.”
“Are you? Happy?”
“Yes.” She smiled and touched his cheek. “I am. All my life I wanted a home, a family, something solid and settled. I didn’t even know it until Keenan. He changed my life.”
“No urge to go back and smile for the camera?”
“Oh, no. Not even a twinge.”
He cupped a hand behind her neck, studying her.
“It’s such a face,” he murmured. Right now he liked the idea of having it all to himself.
Chapter 8
The concept of car pools obviously had been devised by someone with a foul and vicious sense of humor. Having lived most of his life in cities where public transportation or a quick jog would get a man from his home to his office, Coop had never experienced the adult version.
But he’d heard rumors.
Arguments, petty feuds, crowded conditions, spilled coffee.
After a week as designated driver, Coop had no doubt the kiddie version was worse. Infinitely worse.
“He’s pinching me again, Mr. McKinnon. Brad’s pinching me.”
“Cut it out, Brad.”
“Carly’s looking at me. I told her to stop looking at me.”
“Carly, don’t look at Brad.”
“I’m going to be sick. Mr. McKinnon, I’m going to be sick right now.”
“No, you’re not.”
Though Matthew Finney made gagging noises that had the other kids screeching, Coop gritted his teeth and kept driving. Matt threatened to be sick twice a day unless he rode in the front seat. After five miserable days Coop had his number. But that did very little to soothe his nerves.
Keenan, who had waited all week for his turn in the front, swiveled in his seat to make monster faces at Matt. This incited a small riot of elbow jabs, howls, screaming giggles and shoves.
“Keenan, turn around!” Coop snapped. “You guys straighten up back there. Cut it out! If I have to stop this car . . .” He trailed off, shuddered. He’d sounded like his own mother. Now Coop was afraid he would be sick. “Okay, first stop. Matt, scram.”
Fifteen minutes later, his backseat thankfully empty, Coop pulled into the drive and rested his throbbing head on the steering wheel. “I need a drink.”
“We got lemonade,” Keenan told him.
“Great.” He reached over to unbuckle Keenan’s seat belt. All he needed was a pint of vodka to go with it.
“Can we go swimming again soon?”
The idea of taking a herd of screaming kids back to the community pool anytime within the next century had a stone lodging in Coop’s heart. “Ask your mother.”
