“And what about you?” Her brows rose in mirth.
“I eat whatever’s on the table.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you at six.” She turned to go. “By the way, we’re having chicken cacciatore.”
“Looking forward to it. And, Lee? Thanks.”
Her smile steamed his blood. “This isn’t only for you, Rogan.”
“No?”
He drank in the sound of her laughter. “I’ll leave it at that. See you in a couple days, Mr. Lawyer.”
He watched her walk back to her plane before he continued toward the small-town office he’d opened.
Twenty-four hours and he’d see her again. Twenty-four hours…for him to turn five words, this isn’t only for you, inside out and upside down in search of her meaning. One thing was certain. She had wrapped the words in the most sultry voice he’d ever heard.
At noon on Friday, after she returned from a flight to Bremerton, Lee was ready for a power nap. Blaming it on the whims of the first trimester, she slowly climbed the stairs to her apartment. A sound above brought up her head. Rogan stood on the landing.
“Waiting for me?” she asked, shaking out her keys. She should be getting used to him working several steps away. This week she’d heard him moving furniture and opening and closing doors.
His appearance now set her body thrumming. Heavens, he was magnificent, standing there in a tan shirt with his maroon tie tugged loose. Already a day’s beard growth darkened his cheeks and his hair was disheveled where his restless fingers had plowed. God help her, he looked sexier than any man she’d seen in ten years.
“I heard your plane so I wanted to say hi.”
The landing forced them to stand close enough for her to feel crowded by his strong, sturdy body. A shiver rode her spine—not from fear—but from an awareness that spoke of sex and heat and secret words.
As if discerning that shiver, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his tailored black trousers. “Can I buy you lunch?” His nostrils flared slightly. Had he picked up her scent?
The key found home; she swung open her door as a sudden wave of nausea exploded in her stomach. Praying she didn’t look green, she said, “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” Oh, God, she needed the washroom now. “Excuse me.”
Rushing into the apartment, she raced down the tiny hallway for the washroom. In the next second, she was dry heaving into the toilet.
“Lee?”
He had followed her because she’d forgotten to close the door.
Unable to speak, she held up a hand. Please, go away.
And then she had no time for thoughts, words or embarrassment. Her eyes watered, her stomach spun. Every ounce of energy focused on her poise over the bowl. Clutching the tank, she listened to her guttural heaves—and felt him pull her hair out of the way, his warm hand against her damp forehead.
“I’m here,” was all he said.
Lee closed teary eyes. Yes, he was here, and for the moment she was grateful, so grateful. Later, she could think about the awkwardness of it all.
He waited until her stomach settled and her breathing no longer labored, before grabbing several tissues from the box on the toilet tank to wipe her eyes, her mouth. No doubt he’d done this before, with his wife.
“Thank you,” Lee croaked.
“No problem.” He took a washcloth, ran it under warm water and handed it to her. “I’ll be in the living room.”
She stared into the mirror. Was it the baby staking a claim on her body, or the burrito she’d had for lunch? Or was it just nerves? She glanced at the bottle of antinausea pills on the counter beside her toothbrush. Since last Saturday’s trail walk with her sisters, Lee had been religious about following the doctor’s orders.
No stress, Lily had said. Easier said than done, Lee thought. In seven months she would have a baby. And sooner than that, she needed to decide what to do about her plane and her business. And then there was the Abner Air situation involving Rogan….
Shutting her eyes, she inhaled slowly. Relax, Lee. Everything will work out. She had to believe that.
She reached for her toothbrush and, minutes later, returned to the living room. Rogan sat on her sofa the way a man would, slouched forward, knees spread, and reading one of the three flight magazines on her coffee table. At her approach, his head lifted. Their eyes locked.
Into the silence, she said, “I’m pregnant.”
His features didn’t change. He simply looked at her steadily, calmly. He didn’t blurt No way. Or I thought it might be a bug. Or Are you sure? He said, “How far along?”
“A little over eight weeks.” She expected him to jump to his feet, to say, Well, nice knowing ya and leave.
Instead, he closed the magazine without fuss, and rose. Then he walked over, stroked a knuckle along her cheek. “Why don’t you sit for a minute and I’ll make a cup of tea, get you some saltines.”
He had done this before.
“Aren’t you going to ask where the father is?”
“If he was important, Lee, you would’ve told me about him before now.” He leaned in, laid his mouth on hers, chaste, tender and sweet.
Her eyes closed. His fingertips touched her brow. “Let’s get you sitting down,” he whispered.
Arm supporting her waist, he guided her to the sofa where she curled into a corner and pulled the blue-and-white afghan she’d knitted last winter across her feet. The sofa faced the boardwalk and cove. She had positioned the furniture so she could see the day first thing in the morning—and while she ate her meals or sipped her herbal teas.
Now, as she listened to Rogan work around her kitchen, her gaze centered on her plane and she tried not to think of the day she would need to give up flying. She tried, instead, to concentrate on telling Rogan where things were: the lavender tea, the cups and saucers, the crackers.
Within minutes, he brought a tray, sat across from her, and poured a cup. They sipped, contentedly without speaking before he said, “Tomorrow’s dinner plans have changed.”
Should she be surprised? He might be kind and generous with his help, but the attraction, that heat he’d exuded on the landing—and everywhere else—had vanished.
“I understand. Pregnant women aren’t the greatest company, especially when they’re upchucking.”
He smiled. “Au contraire. Pregnant women are an adventure. What I meant is the dinner venue has changed. I’ll cook for you at the farm instead of us coming here. I know—” He held up a hand. “You made the offer first, but circumstances being what they are, I’d like to do this. And anyway, Danny’s anxious to show you the town he’s made with the digger.”
She pushed back the emotion in her throat. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes, Lee.” His gray eyes were sober. “This doesn’t change things, you know.”
She held her breath. “What things?”
“The way I feel about you.”
“And how is that?”
He sighed, set down his cup, came around the table and sat beside her on the couch.
“Rogan—”
“Just listen for a minute, will you?” His gaze went to her hair, loose along her shoulders. He coiled a spiral around his finger, watched how the strand sprang when he released it. “I’m going to tell you something and I don’t want you to feel sorry or pity me. It’s just information, okay?”
“Okay.” The air in her lungs thinned.
“I loved my wife very much. We had our differences, but she was a good woman, a good mother and when she and my daughter died…well, I went a little nuts. I didn’t eat for days, didn’t sleep, didn’t feel like living. I blamed myself for their deaths. Still do. Darby was suffering from depression, and we…We were going through a difficult stage in our marriage. When she got on that plane with Sophie, she was flying across Olympic National Forest to Forks for her mother’s birthday. I knew she planned to stay for a couple weeks. To sort things out, think things through. Danny had an ear infection at the time, so I b
ooked a flight for him the following week.”
“Rogan…”
“Darby hadn’t wanted to fly in a small plane, but it was the only charter that flew to the Forks Quillayute Airport on a Tuesday.”
A shudder crawled down Lee’s back. No wonder he was so skittish flying with her.
“Anyway, that morning she didn’t want to go. Said she didn’t feel good about the trip. But she hadn’t felt good about a lot of things, so I thought it was the depression talking.”
He drew a deep breath. “I told her things would be fine, that the break would help us get some perspective. She’d be with family—sister, brother, parents—I was hoping like hell they could help us somehow.” He paused, eyes resolute. “We’d been sleeping separately for almost a year.”
Lee pressed a finger to his mouth. “Shhh. What’s past is past.”
He took her hand, kissed her fingertips. “It is, but it’s also what makes us who we are today. I want you to know where I’ve come from, who I am.”
“From what I’ve seen, you’re a good father and a decent man. Nothing more matters.”
He cupped her cheek; his eyes searched her face. “I’m so damned attracted to you. From that first evening I stood on the dock and watched you work on your plane, I knew.”
She touched his lips with her thumb, slowly traced the sensuous outline. “Are you going to kiss me, Rogan?” she whispered.
He hesitated a mere second before he scooped her into his lap. “I’m going to kiss you for a long time, Lee.” Dipping his head, he took her mouth in a kiss that electrified every cell, then deposited a hot, golden pool in her nether regions. A lingering kiss that evoked promises.
The shape of his mouth, how his tongue capered with hers, the way he tasted of the honey he’d stirred in his tea—all possessed her senses. And then, slowly, his fingers traveled into her hair and his lips nibbled, here and there, on a journey down her neck.
Oh, my, she thought. Oh. My.
He roamed her face, caressed her eyes, her brow and once more honed in on her mouth.
When, when had she been kissed like this?
Her sisters were right. She was starved. Sex-starved. Starved for Rogan. For his taste, touch, scent, for anything and everything that was him. Under her thighs, his urgency strengthened. And it sent her blood racing, her breath trembling.
Lifting his head, he smiled down at her. “I’m glad I moved to the island. I’m glad you’re my pilot. I’m glad for a lot of things, but right now, Lee, I’m glad I’m here with you. Like this.”
Again, a kiss. Soft, gentle, sweet and melting her heart.
He continued, “I’m going to take care of you.”
The mellowness she felt ebbed suddenly. “I don’t need taking care of.”
“Of course, you don’t, but I’d like to anyway.”
She sat quietly for a moment, then squirmed out of his embrace and walked to the window. Arms hugging her middle, she turned to face him. He hadn’t moved, except to lean forward and clasp his hands loosely between his knees.
Her mouth burned with the imprint of his. Her skin cried out for his touch. She wanted to rush back to him, back into his arms. Instead, she said, “I don’t need an armored knight, Rogan. I’m quite capable of looking after myself. I have since I was eighteen.” Don’t mistake me for your wife.
“You think I’m putting you in the same bracket as Darby,” he said, as if Lee’s thoughts had been pinned to her collar. “You can’t be more wrong. You and my wife…You’re polar points apart.”
“That’s good to know because this situation, my situation is not your problem, nor—” she paused for emphasis “—is it up for discussion.”
He remained on the couch, gaze steady, mouth somber and she thought again how unexpected his features were for a man toiling in an office and a courtroom. No smooth lawyerly looks, just hard edges and tough angles—the kind you’d imagine on a sawmill worker.
The kind that spiked her temperature.
So different from Stuart who had a choirboy’s face, one that would age long after most of the population, including Lee. And although Oliver in a way resembled Rogan, gray-eyed and rough-featured, he had been more friend than lover. She’d never felt for Oliver—or Stuart, for that matter—what she wanted with Rogan.
“Okay,” he said. “I respect your decision. But I won’t be going away, Lee.” He got to his feet, came to where she stood. “My guess is the father of your baby is out of the picture, or you wouldn’t have kissed me. Which, in my books, makes you unattached.” He touched her lips with his thumb. “Come for dinner. Danny and I will be expecting you at six.”
He turned and walked across the room to the door.
Before he pulled it open, she asked, “Are you only interested because you need a mother for your son?”
The question reverberated in the silence that followed.
God, Lee, why can’t you keep your mouth shut? Why do you always have to blurt your opinions like some judgmental shrew?
Slowly, Rogan pivoted around. His eyes flashed an unfamiliar emotion. Anger. “If I wanted a mother for my son, I’d hire a nanny. See you later.”
The soft click of the door closing echoed like a shot.
Are you only interested because you need a mother for your son?
Damn it. How could she ask such a question after that kiss? Didn’t she get that he was so into her? How could she doubt his intentions?
Hell. He wanted to barge back and kiss her silly just to prove his point.
His office phone rang and he crossed to his desk next to the window. He and Danny had spent two hours after school last Tuesday setting up the place after The Old Wood Store delivered the furniture. Now the room looked exactly how Rogan pictured a small-town law office to be: L-shaped desk with computer, filing system, bulletin board and shelving for law books and case binders.
On a sigh, he checked caller ID. An alien number. “Hello.”
“Mr. Matteo?” a man’s voice asked.
Rogan yanked his emotions into place. “Speaking,” he said pleasantly.
“Peyton Sawyer. I saw your sign yesterday. Didn’t know you were opening your office so soon.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Sawyer?” Rogan walked around the desk’s chair, flipped open a legal pad.
“I was talking to your brother a few weeks back…”
Ah, yes. The Desert Storm veteran Johnny mentioned last week.
The man had gone from flying fighter jets to flying Alaskan bush planes. And now he required assistance with his disability pension.
Rogan reached for a pen. “Are you still a licensed pilot, Mr. Sawyer?”
“I’m a pilot-for-hire. Fly Lee Tait’s plane off and on.”
He did? Lee hadn’t mentioned the man.
After a lengthy discussion and copious notes, Rogan scheduled a meeting next Wednesday. Meanwhile, he’d do some digging with the Veterans Affairs Department. Hanging up the phone, he sat back. His first case as the island’s only lawyer. Okay, he was taking the case pro bono—his rule for vets—but Peyton Sawyer would spread the word that Rogan’s office was open for business.
He was half out of his chair to tell Lee that he’d just taken on his first client when he stopped. Because she lived two steps across a stairwell landing from his office did not mean she wanted him interfering in her life every minute of the day.
Besides, if he was to cook her dinner tonight he needed to visit Dalton Foods for some fresh produce and meat.
Fetching his suit jacket off the coat tree by the door, he headed for the rear entrance and his car. He’d buy a box of crackers and some ginger ale, as well. In case. They’d worked for Darby’s first trimester; he hoped they’d work magic for Lee, too. And she would see he wasn’t about to turn tail and run over her announcement.
Because that’s what it was, now that he had time to analyze the last hour. She was scared he’d walk, so she’d made up her mind to walk first. Didn’t take a genius to analyze her p
arting remark.
Well, Lee, he thought. I don’t know what your baby’s father did to you. But I’m not him. And I’m here to stay.
If only as a friend. If that’s what she wanted. He hoped not.
Because, damn it, he wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to touch her hair. Feel her skin go damp and hot. Listen to her breathing hurry…
Jeez, Rogan, the woman is pregnant, for God’s sake! Come October she’ll be having another man’s child.
Okay, he needed to focus on buying groceries for tonight. Carrots, salad, corn, broccoli—
Filing a lengthy mental list in order to keep Lee at bay, he went down the stairs two at a time.
Chapter Eight
I n the mirror, Lee saw a woman dressed to please a man—and to apologize for the way she had behaved earlier in the day, after he’d laid out his heart about his tragedy.
She wore a black knit top that hugged her breasts and an emerald wraparound skirt, which clung to her hips and flowed against her legs like a small jungle waterfall.
The moment she parked in front of his big, rambling farmhouse and Rogan came to help her descend from the Jeep, she noticed the way his eyes darkened when the skirt rippled in the sea breeze and drifted against his knees. Then, as he made spaghetti and meatballs in his lovely country kitchen, she caught his gaze. And again during dinner with his son grinning across the table.
Dusk hadn’t quite settled when Lee lowered herself to the wooden glider he’d hung from a strong limb of the century-aged Garry oak. She watched Rogan turn on the quaint lanterns strung along the porch eaves before he went back inside to fetch a blanket.
“How you feeling?” he asked, mantling her against the evening chill before he settled beside her.
“So far so good.” She lifted the glass of ginger ale she’d brought from the dinner table.
His smile made her pulse thrum. “Never thought I’d be sitting out here on a balmy spring evening with a beautiful woman a week after moving in.”
While he looked across the yard where Danny stood at the fence watching the horses graze, she studied the profile of the man beside her: his strong nose, the masculine slash of his mouth, his wide brow. Straight and black, his hair was neatly trimmed, yet it retained a length she could thread her fingers through—if she took a mind.
And Baby Makes Four Page 9