by Lyz Kelley
He moved around the end of the counter, away from the door. “Not until you listen.”
“You’re an imperious, hard-headed ass.”
“And you can’t believe how sorry I am for making you feel that way. I want this baby to be mine.”
Her body went rigid. “Damn you. Just when I need to be angry, you say something sweet.”
Cautiously, he reached for her. “I need you. And I am sorry.” His lips descended, capturing hers. She nipped at his lip to release anger. When he groaned with pleasure, she didn’t move. He lifted his head.
“Are you done?” she asked in a flat, detached tone.
“You taste good, Mac.”
“Good, because that’s the last taste you’ll get.”
His lips descended to within an inch of hers, and his eyebrows lifted. By the look in her eyes, he could tell she wanted to give him a swift kick to the groin.
But I have to know.
“Mac. Please, tell me. Is the baby mine?”
“Of course it’s yours. If you had been a little more civil this morning, you would have known that, but instead, you chose to be an asshole.”
He released her. “Then what date do you want?”
She straightened her shirt and pushed her hair back. “I don’t know when the baby will be born. That’s not up to me.”
“No, I mean the date to get married.”
Married? Did he say married?
Excitement morphed into a stubborn, resilience. Nope. Can’t go there. Garrett would feel trapped and despise her for creating a family he didn’t want. He hadn’t figured out yet that a family wasn’t a career-ender. Until he did, marriage wasn’t an option.
“I have no intention of marrying you.” Not now. Not until you want to be part of this family. My family.
“Why? Because I’m not good enough for the Carvers?”
She might have laughed if not for the pulsating tic in his jaw. Was he serious? He was serious. “Did you forget everyone already thinks we’re engaged?” She crossed her arms. “It’s not a question of whether you are good enough, I won’t marry you because you’re already married to the hospital. You told me as much. Remember?”
“Yes, but our engagement was pretend, and things change. You’re having a baby, and the baby needs a father. I will not walk away from you or this child.”
“You have a right to have access to the child. That’s why I intend to clear the spare room. You can be close to the child. I’ll make sure your furniture fits if you prefer to bring your stuff, or you can use what’s there. There’s plenty of space, and you can come and go when you want.”
The irritation clouding his face stopped her from telling him she’d already had an extra set of keys made.
The muscles in his jaw pulsated with anger. “Let’s get this straight. You want me to move in here. Into a separate room and play house?”
“It’s not like that.”
“What’s it like, Mac?”
She opened her mouth to explain what it would be like, but the scenario he described wasn’t far from what she’d envisioned.
“We don’t need to resolve this today. We can have a contract drawn up.”
“Yeah, a marriage contract.”
“Nooo. A custody contract.”
His hands fisted. “You stubborn woman.” He lifted his clawed hands into the air. “I want to shake you.” Instead, he shook his fists in the air and then gripped the back of his head, moving away.
The minute hand on the kitchen clock sounded like a bass drum pounding in her ears.
The muscles in his forearms bulged and contracted with fury, but he stood still, peering out at the setting sun. Ironically, his powerful and passionate emotions didn’t scare her. He didn’t move. A deep fury vibrated his body, and she found the raw emotion beautiful.
She wasn’t afraid.
Not of him.
Not of his anger.
When the silence became too much, she moved to his side and reached for his hand, placing it on her belly.
“We created a life together. I want to celebrate. I don’t want to fight.”
Board-stiff hands softened and splayed across her belly. He took a deep breath, and then stepped behind to brace her against his chest, intertwining their fingers and placing their four hands on her stomach. “I don’t want to fight either.”
His body cradled around her, and he swayed, rocking back and forth, their heartbeats combining, connecting to their baby.
She conformed to his embrace. The heat of his breath on her neck sent soothing tingles down her arms. The connection birthed newfound confidence. The lullaby, the one she sang while she rocked Ellie and the other babies, and now her baby, a song Garrett loved, emerged from her heart. She poured all the love and trust flowing through her into each note. The melody soothed her soul and hopefully brought him some peace.
The song ended, and they continued to sway back and forth.
“This is nice.” She squeezed his hands.
His chest expanded, and then fell when he released a breath. “For days, I’ve wanted to hold you. Feel your body next to mine.”
“I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this.”
“Why wouldn’t you return my calls?”
“I couldn’t. I promised to let you go, and the only way I could keep my word was to stay away.”
His arms tightened, cocooning her with warmth. “I thought you stayed away because of Ellie. Mac, if I could have done anything to change the State’s decision, I would have, but the agency’s recommendation had already been made and accepted.”
Just hearing Ellie’s name brought back the memories of holding the precious girl in her arms. She would never forget that button nose or the feel of tiny fingers wrapped around hers. She turned and slid her hand over his stubble. “I know.”
“You’ll be a great mother to our baby.”
“You believe me?”
“I knew already, but a part of me had to ask.”
The way his jaw tightened and he stiffened created awareness, an awareness she wasn’t the only one hauling around baggage from the past. His steadfast reason for not wanting to be a father had never made sense to her. He’d make a wonderful father or husband. Why she hadn’t put it together before now, she didn’t know.
She rested her head on his chest. “Who hurt you? I mean, before?”
His chest muscles stiffened, he drew in a deep breath, and when his breath released, so did some of his tension. “Her name was Cynthia. I thought the child was mine, until six—no, seven guys—came forward to tell me they’d banged my girlfriend while I worked two jobs and went to night school. You could say my trust in females is limited.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yeah, I do.”
Hearing a rattling sound, she stepped out of his arms and rotated toward the kitchen. “George! Get off the table. That cake’s not yours. You’re not supposed to be up there.”
George dashed across the top and landed with a thud. She grabbed the bag George had his head in and stashed the gift in the refrigerator.
“You still want some tea?”
Garrett followed her into the kitchen. “As long as it doesn’t have caffeine.”
“When’s the last time you slept?”
His naked, honest eyes met hers. “The last time you were in my arms.”
The tenderness of his words made her turn and place the mug on the counter before she dropped it. If only he could love her like he loved the hospital. She would have stayed in his arms forever. “No offense, but you look like you’re ready to collapse.”
A sigh huffed out. “That’s what thirty-two hours on your feet will do. I should go.”
She pointed to her room—not the guest room, but she didn’t examine her reasons carefully. “Go in there and get some sleep. I’m not sure you’ll make it home safely in your condition.”
He’d worked hard, too hard. She was partially to blame. Sadness filled her and she lifted her arm, t
urning a hand over, palm up, wiggling her fingers and beckoning him to her. “Come on,” she held out her hand. “Friends don’t let friends sleepwalk, at least not in New York.”
He made a lousy attempt at a smile as he shook his head. Without a word, their hands connected, and he followed and stood while she undressed him.
When she flipped the sheet back, he collapsed onto the bed and didn’t move. She walked to the opposite side and settled against his back.
He reached behind him in search of her arm, and pulled her hand over his waist and trapped it against his chest. With her cheek pressed against his back, she listened to his breathing lengthen and his heartbeat slow until his body relaxed into a deep sleep.
His warmth surrounded her like a warm bath.
He’d offered her marriage, but an unplanned commitment was the last thing he wanted.
He had big dreams, yet he’d put those well thought out plans aside because honor was his middle name. Being forced into fatherhood would make him bitter, resentful, just like her parents had made her feel about pursuing her creative passions.
She loved him too much to allow him to settle.
Chapter 24
Fine hair tickled Garrett’s nose, and he swatted the air. Three pressure points dug into his chest. Cracking open an eye, he focused on round, unblinking golden eyes staring back at him. Disoriented, he closed and opened his eyes again. Was he dreaming? George’s purr resonated through the walls of his rib cage. He moved the fourteen-pound furball to the bed with a sweep of the arm, but seconds later the pressure returned.
“You’re a pest.”
He swore the cat smiled. The purring grew louder, and the large male’s front paws kneaded and poked his chest. He rolled over to check the time. Twelve hours. He’d slept. Amazing. His head flopped back onto the pillow in disbelief. In four hours, he’d be back at the hospital.
His eyes snapped open. Wait. He didn’t own a cat, and the warm, light cream walls were not stark white like the walls in his tiny, cluttered apartment. Being here seemed natural. Simple. Peaceful.
Relenting to the feline pressure, he scratched George’s ear and slid his hand across the soft, furry back, slightly tugging on the boy’s tail as revenge for the rude wake-up service. With a swish of the tail, George launched off the bed.
The urge to roll over appealed to Garrett, but he pushed back the covers and reached for his jeans, and then shuffled half-awake to the kitchen. Discovering Mac dressed, coat and purse in hand, deflated his happy mood.
“Going somewhere?” he asked, wiping sleep nuggets from his eyes.
“I have business matters to sort out.”
He scratched an itch on his chest. “I was hoping we could talk.”
Based on Mac’s reaction, his lack of shirt seemed to have caused a commotion, and he stretched, flexing every muscle to see the effects flare in her eyes. She took a sturdy grip of the granite counter. “On Wednesday, I have a doctor’s appointment. I’ll email you with the time. Maybe we can do lunch afterward.”
“I guess our talk can wait. By the way, you’re beautiful in that suit. You changed my favorite color to red.”
He enjoyed the sway of her hips as she came closer, and the way her blouse gave him a little peek of the soft skin beneath, and how her perfume nuzzled his senses. His body sighed. His fingers itched to touch her.
She stopped inches in front of him, and then lifted onto the tips of her toes and brushed her lips across his cheek. It took massive amounts of control not to haul her into his arms and wrinkle her pressed suit. He wanted her, but caution made him wait. He didn’t want her to get defensive again.
“Thank you. And I’m glad you slept.” Her voice was tentative, but her eyes still held that longing. “Here’s my extra set of keys.” She dropped the key ring on the counter. “And don’t get in a huff when I forget and chain the door.” She searched her bag for her set. “Can you lock up?”
“Sure,” he replied before the impact of what she’d done registered.
Keys meant permanence, and it hadn’t scared him.
He cupped her face with his palms. Her eyes darkened seconds before he nibbled on her lower lip.
Tasting the creaminess of yogurt and the richness of buttered toast, he grew hungry and deepened the kiss. When he’d tasted enough, he watched her eyes flutter open.
“Thank you for trusting me, and for letting me stay.”
“You needed rest. I’m already late. Let me know if you can make Wednesday.”
Every curve, he absorbed as she crossed to the door. When the door clicked shut, he scanned the room, turning in a semi-circle, lost, not knowing what to do next.
He moved toward the coffee smell. A cup, a spoon, and cream sat waiting on the counter, along with a brief note telling him she’d gone. He nudged the spoon with the tip of his finger. Typical McKenzie. Always thinking of others, their needs, putting their concerns before hers. She was exquisite, a rare find in the cruel world of selfishness.
After pouring the steamy black liquid into the cup, he added a touch of cream for taste, and then lifted the cup to his lips and sighed as the warmth filled him.
On the back counter, a yellow legal pad with a pen lying across written lines drew his attention. He brushed the pen aside and scanned the list. Crib, car seat, rocker… He scanned farther down the list. Insurance, pediatrician…Garrett?
What was up with the question mark? It shouldn’t be there.
The desire to pick up the pen and draw thick black lines through the symbol became urgent. She shouldn’t have wondered whether he’d be there for her and their child. But he understood why the question existed, and it made his stomach burn. He’d emphasized over and over again that the hospital was his life, that there was no room for anything else.
His hand tightened around the coffee mug. He tried to keep locked away the images of his fists pounding another human’s flesh, the blinding rage, but the memories surfaced. He wished at least a little guilt would accompany the memory. To his disgust, it never did. And that flaw—that lack of guilt or even contrition—was why he never let people close. He wanted no one to know he could beat a person almost to death.
He reached in his backpack to get the letter from the California Department of Corrections. He hadn’t gone back for the parole hearing, but he should have. Now, he was paying the price again. Bastard.
Oh, how he wanted to drive his fist into the man’s face. Yet, that’s what got him in trouble the first time.
He’d always had big hands, big hands that could save lives or take them. He knew all too well what his hands could do, especially pumped full of revenge. He closed his eyes, but the image of his sister—bruised and bleeding, clothes torn, a shoe missing—came to him anyway.
His rage had extracted a toll from his family. Neighbors whispered. Cops followed him down the street. He could never, ever let that monster surface again.
Whether he liked it or not, Mac was part of his family, part of him. He needed to protect her, protect the baby. But she didn’t know the madness that lived inside. He could feel it, see it. It still existed.
When she loved him, somehow, she tamed the animal. Mac deserved much more than half a man. He wanted to give her the life she craved, but to give her what she wanted, he had to let go of all the reasons he’d refused to let anyone close. Just being in her presence inspired him to be a better person—he was better.
The urgency to go home and sort out his past—repair the hole he’d let fester over the years—became a dire need. He needed to attack his fears.
Wasn’t that what he’d told her? You have to fight. Fight for the life you want.
McKenzie clasped her hands under the restaurant table to keep them from shaking. “Well, what do you think?”
Weston held up a pitcher of cream, silently asking if she wanted any for her tea. She shook her head. Liam continued to flip through the pages of her proposal. The suspense of trying to guess which way her brother’s decision would bounce k
notted her digesting lunch into a ball.
Weston set his napkin on the table. “Have you discussed purchasing this art gallery with Mom and Dad yet?”
“No, not yet. I wanted you both to look at the plan first.”
The silent message passing between her siblings made her uneasy. If neither said something soon, she’d stand up and knock heads together. She couldn’t stand the silence. “What are you two thinking?”
Her oldest brother set his espresso on the table. “Painting is one thing. Owning a studio is another. You sure you want to commit to something this big?”
“You mean this permanent. It seems you’re still hoping I’ll come back to work at Carver full time. I’ve made up my mind. I’m moving on.”
Liam pointed at his brother. “I told you she seemed happier.” Then his eyes narrowed with a look that almost made her blush. “This proposal doesn’t have anything to do with the doctor, does it?”
The muscles in her eyebrow pulsed with a nervous twitch. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” She worked to find a way to express the growing passions fighting for release. She bounced her tea bag to collect her thoughts, and then considered each brother in turn. “If you could see the fantastic images that keep scrolling through my head. All I want to do is pick up a brush and see where the colors take me. I finished the piece I began before the attack. Since then, I haven’t been able to stop.”
“Do you have enough pieces to fill a gallery?” Weston asked with a genuine interest that provided a dose of encouragement.
“No, not yet. That’s why I would partner with other artists. There’s plenty of talent in the city that need a place to show their work.”
“What about the marketing work? I thought you enjoyed marketing, and you’re brilliant at it.”
“I’ll still be happy to consult and work on smaller projects, but I’m afraid I can no longer work on such short notice or tight deadlines. Carver needs a dedicated project manager who can be called upon whenever you need something done.”
Weston tapped his pen on his tablet. “I didn’t mean to push so hard.”
