“Hi, beautiful.” He brushed his lips over hers, making sure the heat he felt wasn’t one-sided. “You smell incredible.”
“So do you. I hope it’s okay that I came down to the barn while you were working. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I really did want to see if you needed anything from the store.”
“I need something, but not from the store.” It was like she’d uncorked the passionate parts of him.
She breathed harder, a rosy blush spreading rapidly over her cheeks.
“Does that green shirt mean what I think it means?”
She wrapped her arms around his waist. “It means you should kiss me before Phillip gets bored.”
He kissed her slowly at first, running his hands up her back, keeping her close. The feel of her soft curves was intoxicating, and when he intensified the kiss, she was right there with him. They stumbled back against the wall, and he fought the voice in his head telling him to slow down. Slowing down was the last thing he wanted to do. Her hands were like fire moving up his body and around his neck, spurring him on to kick up the heat. He crushed her to him, kissing her forcefully and earning a sweet moan like he’d heard in his dreams last night.
“I thought about you all night,” he said between kisses.
“Me too,” she said breathlessly.
He couldn’t get enough of her, ravaging her mouth, her neck—and wanting to take things much further. Seeing her with Phillip had flipped a switch inside him, and in his kisses there was as much lust as there was gratitude. But he knew better than to let this train run its course, and forced himself to put on the brakes.
“Sorry,” he said, but he wasn’t sorry for kissing her. He was only sorry for being so aggressive. She didn’t need that, but she’d unleashed a beast that had been tied up for too long, and now that he had a taste of her, every touch of her lips made him want more. He put some space between them, sliding his hands to her hips.
“Sorry,” he said again. “I only meant to kiss you hello, not attack you.”
She held tightly to his forearms. “I think I attacked you right back.”
He took her hand and peered around the door to check on Phillip, who was still playing with his animals. He hugged her close again, feeling her uneven breaths on his cheek.
“I’m really not this guy,” he said.
She laughed softly, and he deemed that sweet, nervous sound as quintessential Tempest.
“Should I worry about that?” she asked.
“No. I meant I’ve gone years without so much as a kiss, and suddenly I can’t keep my lips off of you.”
“I like your lips,” she said shyly.
He kissed her again, savoring every second of their closeness. “Tempe,” he said as their mouths parted. “I’m not a guy who takes recklessly. I’ve never been that type of guy, and with Phillip in my life, I can’t become that guy. But there’s something about you that makes me trust, and want, and…” He snapped his mouth closed to keep from sounding like an idiot.
“Thank goodness it’s not just me who feels that way.”
“You do?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m usually so careful, but something about you has turned me into one of those girls who share their bodies like candy. I’m not candy.” She dropped her eyes and ran her finger up his arm. “But with you, I kind of want to be M&M’s and Skittles and lollipops all wrapped up in one big sugar-coated—”
His mouth swooped down and captured hers. He couldn’t help it. The need to possess her, to taste the sweetest dirty thoughts he’d ever heard as they slipped from her tongue, was too strong to fight. She clung to him, making hungry, sensual sounds like she’d made last night and driving him out of his mind. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind thoughts of Phillip broke through, and he once again forced himself to release her. They both came away breathless.
“I need to check on Phillip,” he said, moving toward the doorway again. Phillip was sitting at his drawing table, playing with his animals. He turned his attention back to her, knowing this wasn’t fair, to tell her he didn’t want to be that guy and then to come on so strongly. Talk about a walking contradiction.
A thoughtful, nervous expression washed over her face, and she placed her finger over his lips. “Don’t say anything. I see it in your eyes, and I know you see it in mine. We need to get this under control before someone gets hurt.”
He kissed her hand and laced their fingers together. He had everything at risk—not just his son, but also the first person he’d wanted to let into his life in years. “We should talk about it.”
“Let’s not,” she said, surprising him, and by the look on her face, surprising herself, too. “I always talk things to death. Just this once I’d like to see what happens without analyzing it. I’m in Pleasant Hill to start over, so this is as good a time as any to really put that into practice. We were brought together for a reason, and we’re connecting. Let’s not overthink it. How about if we’re carefully present, and see where we end up?”
“I’m trying, but being careful around you seems to have the opposite effect.”
She pressed her finger over his mouth again. “No analyzing. This is the new, risk-taking Tempest.”
Chapter Eight
THE NEW, RISK-TAKING Tempest? When had some other woman taken over her voice box? Shocked by her sudden boldness, Tempest took stock of herself and what she’d suggested, while Nash showed her around his metalworking shop. Carefully present. She’d suggested the very thing she was trying not to be—careful. But carefully present implied her desire to see where things went, and that was what she wanted. Her mind was already tripping over the not analyzing part of her suggestion. It was a struggle not to overthink the way her heartbeat had gone wild the second she’d set eyes on Nash and how her chest felt full at the sight of him and Phillip working side by side. And then there were the things she was trying not to overanalyze about Phillip. Like the way he mimicked his father’s every move, looking to him for approval over the tiniest of things. She felt like there was more to his quietness than just shyness, but she couldn’t pinpoint what.
She tried to tuck all those thoughts away as she took in the magnificent sculptures surrounding them. Nash had swept her into his arms so fast, she hadn’t had time to look around, and now she had no idea how she’d missed the enormous wooden and metal pieces of art.
“Nash,” she said with every bit of awe she felt as she admired a half-finished wooden carving. The figure’s chest and arms were still in rough form, but even with the blocky cuts, she could see his arms were meant to be outstretched behind him. His hair was rough, but discernable, and appeared to be blowing away from his face. His undefined face angled up toward the ceiling, as if he were preparing to fly into the clouds. The bottom half of the figure had yet to be carved. She moved to another sculpture that must have been at least six feet wide, made of thick pieces of metal and polished slabs of wood curled upward like a baseball glove, with two half-carved children in its palm. One roughly carved child sat with his knee bent, the other tucked beneath him. Beside him, another, more defined boy sat on a stump.
“These are incredible,” she said as she moved to another piece, of three tall metal figures, their arms and legs as skinny as twigs, their heads warped, with no facial features. Each was encased in a piece of rusty metal, fashioned like a blanket or a towel around their bodies. Their misshapen faces exuded sadness.
Tempest turned to Nash, struck by his pained expression. His arms were crossed, his biceps twitching, his eyes haunted and dark. She followed his gaze, seeing a multitude of machines and tools on a wooden workbench. Off to the side sat an enormous brick forge, black with wear, and just beyond, a dusty old wooden trunk sat beside a pile of wood and metal.
“Nash?” She touched his arm.
He startled, as if he’d been lost in a memory.
“These are amazing. I don’t understand why you don’t finish them.”
“I told you—it’s too dangerous wit
h Phillip around. Believe me, if it were possible, I’d do it. I got a call yesterday morning from the guy who gave me my big break years ago. He’s opening another gallery in Virginia and wants to feature my work.”
“That’s great. You can get started again. Finish these pieces, and—”
“It’s not happening, Tempest. I can’t travel with Phillip. He needs structure. His room, his bed. The animals need to be fed and the property here needs to be maintained. I have barely enough time to breathe as it is. Besides, my work—my real work—takes more time for each piece than I have in a month. I haven’t touched this stuff in years. It’s not happening.”
“Can’t you work when Phillip’s in preschool?”
He scoffed. “He’s not ready for preschool.”
She peeked out the door at Phillip again and lowered her voice. “Kids go to preschool when they’re three. He’s never been?”
Nash took off his hat, ran his hand through his hair, then settled it low on his head again. “Nope. No need.”
The pieces of Phillip’s quiet world were beginning to fall into place. “Of course there’s a need. He’s a little boy. He’ll learn to socialize and read and write.”
His eyes narrowed, and she knew she was overstepping her bounds.
“He’s too young. He doesn’t need the influence of other kids getting him in trouble.”
She followed him out of the workshop, waiting as he locked the door, and trailed him to his workbench. He picked up a chisel and wiped it with a cloth.
“It’s preschool, Nash,” she said quietly. “You’re not sending him off to meet delinquents. What kind of trouble can he get in to?”
She wanted to understand his aversion to preschool. When he set down the tool and stalked out of the barn, she went with him. He told Phillip he’d be right outside the doors, but Phillip was too busy with his toys to care.
“Does he have a weekly playgroup or friends he visits?”
“He’s got me.” He paced just outside the barn doors.
“And you’re a great father, but you’re not his peer. How do you get any work done?” She watched his eyes shift to Phillip, then to the two workbenches, and finally, to Tempest.
Boy, he and his son had sure mastered their nonverbal communication skills. She got the message loud and clear. She was overstepping her bounds.
He stopped pacing and crossed his arms again. “I really don’t need my life picked apart. He’s not ready for school. He’s barely done being a baby. When he’s six, I’ll send him to first grade with all the other kids.”
She knew she was pushing him, but this rubbed her the wrong way, and for Phillip’s sake, she wanted to understand why he was holding him back. Softening her tone, she stepped closer, tension filling the space between them like a razor’s edge. “Nash, he’ll be behind the other kids if he doesn’t go to preschool. Kids nowadays are using computers when they’re four. If you don’t like the mainstream preschools, there are all kinds of options, alternative schools, smaller classes, less structure—”
He glared at her, and she held her breath, ready for him to tell her to butt the hell out. But he shifted his gaze to his son, and his shoulders sagged; the tension in his face slowly dissipated, replaced with sorrow? Guilt? She couldn’t be sure.
“Did something happen?” she finally asked. “To him? To you? That makes you so against enrolling him in preschool?”
“No,” he said flatly.
“Did you go to preschool?”
“Yes,” he snapped.
“And public school after that? I mean, until the last two years of high school?”
His eyes narrowed again. “Yes.”
“Then you must know how good it can be for a child.”
He shifted angry eyes away.
She didn’t know why she felt the need to push, but she was doing it for Phillip, and she had to try one more time to get through to him. “He’s really quiet, Nash, and I noticed that he looks to you for everything. Even before answering simple questions.”
“I’m quiet,” he countered. “He’s a good kid. He’s careful, like me.”
Despite the tension simmering between them, she sensed a fissure in his guard. “He’s a great kid, and he is careful, but you know how you asked if I was too careful?” She paused, giving him a second to respond, and when he didn’t, she said, “Maybe you’re enabling him to be too careful. Maybe not, but it wouldn’t hurt for him to socialize with kids his own age.”
He set a steely gaze on her, looking like he was going to either walk away or tell her off. As the seconds ticked by, she waited for the time bomb to explode. But he didn’t say a word, and he didn’t walk away. He stood right there—studying her? Processing what she’d said? She couldn’t be sure, and she knew how out of line she was, especially since she had no experience with children of her own to draw from, but something told her he needed to hear this.
“Your mother must believe in sending kids to school,” she said even more softly. “Does she see Phillip?”
He ground his teeth. “She’s seen him twice. She lives in Washington State.”
Her heart ached for all three of them. He was truly raising his son alone, and what kind of a grandmother doesn’t make an effort to see her grandchild? “Do you take him to parks or playgrounds where he can interact with other kids?”
“He’s been a few times. We’re busy from dawn to dusk, Tempest. You have no idea what it’s like to raise a child and try to run a business. Between taking care of him, caring for the animals, taking care of the property, doing laundry, and working to make ends meet, there’s not a lot of downtime.”
“You’re right, I don’t have children of my own, so I can’t know how difficult that is. But I do know how difficult it is to acclimate to other kids for children who haven’t been around kids their own age. I work with them. Several of the kids in my music playgroup are there for socialization. I just…It’s not easy to be six years old and thrown into school where you don’t know anyone and suddenly you’re expected to listen to someone who isn’t your parent and sit at a desk for hours and eat lunch at a certain time.” She watched him grind his teeth together, but the worry in his eyes told her she was getting through to him. “Has he ever stayed with a babysitter?”
“I don’t know anyone around here well enough to trust with him.”
“Oh, Nash.” She ached for him for so many reasons. She tried to wrap her head around what he was saying. “So, you’ve lived here for all this time and you’ve never struck up a friendship with another family with a kid his age? Or hired a teenager to babysit?”
“Teenager? No frigging way.” He began pacing again. “And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m not a social butterfly. He’s my responsibility. Why would I hand him off to someone else?”
“It’s not handing him off if you send him to preschool, or use a babysitter so you can get your work done or run an errand.” Tempest might be inherently careful, but she was also a Braden. Bradens didn’t give up when things got tough, especially where children were concerned.
“He’s fine,” he insisted. “He’s smart, he’s happy, and he’s safe.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry for putting my nose where it doesn’t belong.” The way he emphasized safe made her wonder if there was a bigger issue. Was he so untrusting that he couldn’t let Phillip out of his sight? If so, then this was a whole different issue than simply not wanting his baby boy to be taken away for a few hours a day for preschool. She needed to tread carefully. But she couldn’t stop thinking about him, too. He’d put his whole life on hold. His gorgeous sculptures were just sitting there, waiting to be finished. He would have much more free time if Phillip was in school. He was holding them both back, and he didn’t even realize it.
“I have an idea, and you might hate it, so feel free to tell me to shut my piehole. But why don’t we take Phillip out together?” she suggested. “There’s a wonderful playground with slides and a jungle gym right outside the community c
enter where I hold my music playgroup. We could go there, and he could play with the kids for a while.” And maybe we can figure out what’s really going on.
He rubbed the back of his neck, and a small smile lifted his lips. “You’re not going to give up until you see he’s fine around other kids, are you?”
“I can’t help it,” she admitted. “Kids come to me with real issues they need to overcome to learn to interact appropriately with others. It’s not an easy road, and I’d hate to see Phillip struggling to catch up when all it would take is a play date every now and again. The playground is a perfectly safe place for him to socialize with other children his age.”
His eyes hardened again. “If you were anyone else, I’d tell you to stay the hell out of our lives.” He stepped closer, bringing them nose to nose, and touched his fingers to hers on the far side of their bodies, out of Phillip’s sight.
He was breathing hard, his intense stare kicking up her pulse, but behind the darkness, she saw him struggling to make sense of what she’d said, and that endeared her to him even more.
“Why aren’t you?” she asked carefully.
“I thought we weren’t analyzing right now.” He squeezed her hand, the anger in his eyes softening.
“We’re not, or at least I’m trying not to. But it’s hard. Just tell me one thing. Should I worry that you have some awful secret, like you’re hiding from the police? Or, I don’t know, that Phillip is in some sort of danger and you have to keep him out of the public’s eye?”
Worry lines crept across his forehead. “No dark secrets that put Phillip in danger. No hidden abuse of him or me or anyone in my family. Just an overprotective father who didn’t realize his three-year-old needed to be in school.” He shifted his eyes away and said, more to himself than to her, “And worries about his son being influenced by people who can do him harm.”
Whisper of Love (The Bradens at Peaceful Harbor, Book Five) Page 10