His Heir, Her Secret (Highland Heroes Book 1)

by Janice Maynard

  “It’s a thong,” she muttered. “It keeps me from having lines in my dress.”

  He wrapped his fingers in the tiny sliver of satin and ripped it with a satisfying jerk. “No lines at all, my sweet. You’re welcome.”

  Scooping her up, he urged her legs around his waist and backed her against the nearest tree, knowing his coat would protect her skin. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.” It would kill him, but he would. He’d already changed Cate’s life irrevocably with this pregnancy. He needed to know what she expected from him.

  She cupped his face in her hands. “I want you to quit talking, Brody. Hurry. Before someone finds us out here.”

  Although Cate didn’t get the words exactly right, she had her hand on his zipper, so he was definitely clear about where this was going.

  What happened next was both clumsy and exhilarating. With both of them breathless and urgent and trying to help the other, at last he was inside her. “Ah, damn, my Cate.”

  “Brody, Brody...” She clung to him tightly.

  Except for her bunched-up dress and his still-buttoned shirt, they were as close as two humans could be. He caressed her smooth, firm bottom. “Is it weird that I’m really turned on ’cause you’re pregnant?”

  Her laugh was a choked gasp. “I don’t think so. Besides, I don’t feel pregnant. All I can think about is how long it’s been since we did this.”

  “Too long,” he groaned. Already he was close to coming, and that was unacceptable.

  Cate bit his earlobe and whispered something naughty in his ear. His temperature shot up a hundred and fifty degrees. “Stop that,” he pleaded. “I’m trying to make this last.”

  * * *

  Cate shivered hard. It was far too cold to be fooling around outside, but she didn’t care. Brody was making love to her. So many lonely nights she had dreamed of this. When she told herself time and again that the sex couldn’t have been as earth-shattering as she remembered, she tried to believe that was so. Only now Brody was back and the truth stared her in the face.

  Whatever this was between them was magic.

  His big, ruggedly masculine body radiated heat despite the air temperature. Each time he moved in her, the hard length of him probed sensitive spots that made her close her eyes and arch her back, aching for something just out of reach.

  Even in the midst of physical euphoria, her brain offered irritating explanations. Probably Brody was using this interlude to coax her into doing things his way. He thought if they were lovers, she would say yes to him across the board.

  She shoved away the unwelcome thoughts. His strength made her feel intensely feminine. Despite her years of education and her dedication to women’s empowerment, the fact that he was able to hold her so easily spoke to some deep unevolved corner of her psyche.

  Brody was a protective male. He would keep her safe if she allowed it.

  He muttered her name and rested his forehead against hers. His big body quaked. “I’ve lost my bloody mind.”

  His coffee-scented breath was warm on her cheek. She wanted to gobble him up. “Are you complaining, Brody?” She squeezed him intimately with inner muscles.

  “No,” he croaked. “Never.” He adjusted the jacket he had wrapped around her. “Am I hurting you?”

  The tree bark had scraped her hip bone when the coat fell, but she barely noticed. “I’m good.”

  He pulled back and reached between their joined bodies to give her the extra bit of stimulation she needed to hit the peak. “Come for me, lass.”

  She was primed and ready. The sweet tide rolled through her and left her limp in his arms. Brody thrust his way to completion moments later and heaved a great sigh, his body shuddering in the aftermath.

  In the echoing silence that followed, Cate yawned unexpectedly. The intense fatigue of early pregnancy sapped her energy. Under the circumstances, Brody had taken whatever bit of strength she had left.

  He chuckled and carefully disengaged their bodies, setting her on her feet and holding her arm until she was steady. She had lost a shoe, so they had to scramble in the dark to find it. She leaned against him, replete, weary, oddly unconcerned about the future. Just being near him gave her a deep sense of peace.

  She didn’t examine those feelings too intently. It was difficult enough to come to terms with impending motherhood. She didn’t have the mental fortitude to deal with how Brody fit into the picture.

  He insisted on carrying her back to the car, which was embarrassing and sweet, and yet in some odd way, frightening. He’d been back in Candlewick such a short time, and already she was letting him take charge.

  That couldn’t happen.

  Like a famous Southern heroine, Cate would think about it tomorrow.

  Back at the bookstore, they argued. Brody wanted to come upstairs and spend the night. Cate needed space and time to think.

  She faced him on the sidewalk, wrapped once again in her cozy black shawl. “You said it first, Brody,” she pointed out. “We shouldn’t and can’t pick up where we left off last October. You have concerns about helping your grandmother, but now I have responsibilities, too.”

  He cursed beneath his breath, his grumpy displeasure evident. “So what happened back there at the restaurant? Or in the woods, to be more exact.”

  Cate shrugged, feeling tears prick her eyes. This hormonal roller coaster made it difficult to be wise. “We lost our heads. It was nice to be together again. Maybe you were trying to sway me to your way of thinking.”

  He put a finger under her chin and tipped her face up to his. In the glow of the streetlight, his eyes flashed with temper. “I didn’t make love to you to win points, Cate. I hadn’t planned for that to happen at all. But I’m not sorry.”

  “I’m not asking for an apology.”

  “Then what do you want from me?”

  “My life is changing whether I want it to or not. I’ll move up to the house and stay with Miss Izzy. You and Duncan can feel free to go home.”

  “And what about the baby?”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  * * *

  Brody knew he had made a major misstep. Earlier—before picking Cate up for dinner—he had realized sex would cloud the issue, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. It had been so long, so damn long, since he left Candlewick. He’d been away for sixteen, seventeen weeks, give or take, and in all that time, Cate Everett had been an incandescent memory haunting his dreams.

  The drive back up the mountain was relatively short. Certainly not enough time to unravel the many challenging aspects of his current situation.

  He hadn’t even kissed her good-night, damn it. Cate had unlocked the bookshop door and slipped inside, leaving him to stand on the street like some lovesick adolescent and wait for her bedroom light to come on so he would know she was okay.

  When he finally pulled up in front of his granny’s house and got out of the car, the last person on earth he wanted to see was his brother. Apparently, Duncan had been waiting up for him. They stood outside on the driveway, speaking in low voices.

  Duncan didn’t mince words. “I’m packed for my flight out tomorrow morning. Have you decided if you’re coming with me?”

  Brody thought about his fleet of beautiful and sturdy boats, and his comfortable house in the glen, and the way his buddies gathered at the local pub at the end of the week to share a pint and celebrate everything or nothing at all. He slammed a fist on the hood of the car. “I can’t leave. Not yet. Nothing is settled.”

  “You don’t think Cate can deal with this on her own? She has Granny, and Cate strikes me as an eminently capable woman.”

  “It’s my baby,” Brody said. Why did no one understand that?

  Duncan shrugged. “One lucky sperm doesn’t make you father of the year. Don’t break Cate’s heart, Brody. Right now you’re caught up in wanting to ma
ke a grand gesture. Ye’ve got to think carefully, man.”

  “Would you leave if you were me?” The words came out sharp and angry, taking Brody by surprise. He hadn’t known his mood was so volatile.

  The silence stretched from seconds to minutes. Duncan leaned against the side of the car, his gaze focused somewhere out in the dark night. At last, he sighed and faced Brody. “I can’t say for sure. But I think it would depend more on the baby’s mother than the kid itself. I saw how you looked at Cate. Are you in love with her?”

  Brody felt his face heat and was glad Duncan couldn’t see. “Of course not. I barely know her.”

  “Looks like you know her plenty well to me.” The comeback was wry and pointed.

  “People have sex without being in love.”

  “Aye. So I’ll rephrase the question. Do you think Cate is in love with you?”

  Eight

  Do think Cate is in love with you? Duncan’s question haunted Brody for hours. When the sun came up, he had barely slept. He drove Duncan to the airport.

  Once his brother had checked in and was ready to go through security, Brody hugged him tightly. “Thanks.”

  Duncan lifted an eyebrow and smiled, not appearing to notice the female TSA official who was giving him the eye. “What did I do?”

  “Ye’re family. The best part, in fact. Are you sure you’re willing to take over the business for a few weeks?” He’d told Duncan at breakfast that he was going to stay in Candlewick until important decisions were made.

  “I already handle all the boring business part,” Duncan said, grinning. “I think I can survive the rest.”

  “I love you, man.” Surely that wasn’t panic slugging through his veins. Duncan was making a clean getaway. Brody was trapped.

  Duncan picked up his carry-on and cuffed his brother on the shoulder. “You’ll figure this out, Brody. I have complete faith in you.”

  When Brody’s last and most final connection to Scotland walked away and disappeared into a queue of travelers, Brody returned to his car and made the drive back to Candlewick. When it had been the two of them arriving ten days ago, Brody had been confident and buoyed by the knowledge that a duo of Stewart men could deal with just about anything.

  Now here he was, all alone. Duncan was happily bound for Scotland. Granny wasn’t going anywhere. And Cate Everett was pregnant with Brody’s baby. God help him.

  When he made it back to his grandmother’s house, he found her in the study going through a drawer of her husband’s private correspondence. “Well,” he said, forcing cheer, “Duncan’s on his way home.”

  Isobel stood up from the desk and stretched. “Ye look half sick, my boy. Things will all work out.”

  So much for pretending. “What are you up to, Granny?” he asked, ignoring the subject he didn’t want to discuss.

  She grimaced. “Trying to decide what to pack away and what to pitch. Your grandda was a dab hand with pen and words. I see his beautiful, spidery writing, and I want to keep every scrap of paper.” She ran a hand across the smooth cherry of the desk. “It’s daft, I know.”

  He hugged her and then sprawled on the love seat. “Not daft. Not at all. There’s no rush, is there?”

  “Not really, but with our Cate moving in, I thought it would be a nice gesture to give her this office. So she could deal with bookstore matters and not go to town every single day.”

  Brody frowned. “You think she’ll close the shop occasionally?”

  “It’s already closed on Sundays and Mondays. That’s when she normally does her accounting and ordering. Maybe she’ll close on Tuesdays, as well, now that she’s pregnant. And I’m guessing she’ll be hiring some help when the time comes. After the baby gets here, who knows?”

  Brody couldn’t understand why his indomitable and outspoken grandmother wasn’t putting the screws on him to make an honest woman out of Cate.

  “I told her we need to get married,” he said, wincing inwardly at the defensive note in his voice.

  Isobel rolled her eyes. “Ye can’t club the lass over the head with a broadsword and expect her to do yer bidding. Cate has a mind of her own, boy. Things were different in my day. But this is the modern era. She doesn’t need you to save her.”

  Nausea swirled in his belly. Deep inside, he’d been counting on his grandmother to swing the vote his way. “I see,” he said slowly. “Then tell me why I’m not on the plane with Duncan right now.”

  His grandmother limped over and kissed the top of his head. “Ye’re the only one who can answer that question, my lad. And ye’d better get it right, because if you hurt my lovely Cate, I’ll have your head on a platter, grandson or no grandson.”

  * * *

  Cate stood in the middle of her small bedroom and surveyed the piles of clothing strewn across the bed. Packing to move up to Miss Izzy’s house had seemed like a simple chore until she realized that very few of her clothes would be suitable for pregnancy.

  One or two unstructured dresses. A few loose tops. A skirt with an elastic waistband. None of her pants. It seemed her first chore would be to go online and order the basics of a new wardrobe.

  She was finding it harder and harder to concentrate. Fortunately, today was Sunday. She had the whole day ahead of her to organize her life and gather what she needed to relocate. Even now she had deep reservations. Not about helping Miss Izzy. That was a given. But putting herself more deeply into the bosom of the Stewart family could make things awkward when the baby came.

  The child would carry Isobel’s blood. Knowing how the old woman felt about her Scottish heritage meant this baby would be a symbol, a link to Geoffrey, a tangible reminder of all that Isobel had given up to become a bride in America.

  Cate paused in front of the mirror over the dresser and pulled her soft ivory knit top flat across her belly. Her stomach definitely pooched out. Sometimes that new physical manifestation scared her. This morning, with the sun shining and the nausea temporarily at bay, her little baby bump made her smile.

  Unlike her own childhood, this baby was going to be smothered in love. Boy or girl, it didn’t matter. Having a little daughter to dress in soft fabrics and colors would be joyful and sweet. On the other hand, a tiny boy crafted in Brody’s image would steal her heart just as quickly.

  It was easier to imagine herself as the single parent of a daughter. After all, Cate knew what it felt like to have crushes and periods and acne and friends who did stupid things. But boys? That was another worry entirely.

  Even so, raising a male infant and toddler and young boy would be doable, surely. It was the future that gave her nightmares. When Cate’s teenage son or daughter grew old enough to make his or her own decisions. Like defiantly hopping on a plane for Scotland and choosing to live with the father they had never known.

  How would she explain that Brody had not wanted children? That this conception, like Cate’s own, was an accident.

  Her parents had done the right thing. They hadn’t abandoned their daughter. Nor had they distanced themselves physically. It was the intangibles she had missed out on. Things like affection and humor and genuine familial bonds. Those gaps had left emotional scars. As a child, she filled the void with books and reading and an active imagination. Later in life, when she was finally out on her own, she continued to look for something she had never known, but in that instance, the consequences were tragic and painful.

  In the midst of her soul-searching, the bell at the top of the stairs tinkled. It was linked to the front door of the bookshop, which meant she had a visitor. When she peeked out the front window, her breath whooshed out of her lungs and fogged the glass. Although the angle was such that she couldn’t see the person who stood at her door, the vehicle parked at the curb was Brody’s rental car.

  With her heart pounding wretchedly fast, she glanced in the mirror again and groaned. She hadn’t been expecti
ng anyone to drop by. She’d barely even brushed her hair, and a little lip gloss would have been nice.

  Now she didn’t have time for such simple luxuries. The bell rang again. She could almost hear Brody’s impatience in the rapid dinging.

  All the way down the steps, she gave herself a lecture. No kissing. No arguing. And definitely, no physical contact of any kind.

  When she turned the bolt and pulled open the door, Brody swept in like a conquering hero. He scooped her up and kissed her on the forehead before setting her on her feet. “Granny sent me to help you pack,” he said. “Show me where the boxes are, and we’ll get started.”

  Cate counted to ten slowly, telling herself that one platonic kiss couldn’t derail her determination. “I could definitely use help moving boxes later today, but for now, I have things under control.”

  They were both being so polite it was almost comical. Was Brody thinking the same thing she was? That the shop was closed and she had a very comfy and cozy bed just up the stairs?

  He frowned. “I’m here. I know how to pack clothes.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Why aren’t you on a plane with your brother?” She refused to let him know she was desperately glad to see him.

  “Do we have to stand here for this conversation?”

  “Fine,” she said. The stairwell was narrow. Was he looking at her butt as they climbed the steps? Flustered and embarrassed at the mess she had created, she waved him to a chair at her tiny kitchen table. “Sit, Brody.”

  He cooperated, but the look in his eyes told her he was only biding his time.

  She opened the fridge. “You want a beer?”

  “No. I’m here to help you move.”

  “I don’t need help packing. I’ve already told you that. Come back after dinner.”

  “Nope. Granny says you’re in a fragile state. She doesn’t want you exerting yourself.”

  “And what do you think, Brody?” Ah, hell. She was flirting again. Anytime she was around the handsome Scotsman, it seemed as natural as breathing. She handed him a Coke and opened one for herself, joining him at the table.