Footsteps on the floor above pulled him from his mental interrogation. He gazed up at the ceiling and his answers became clear. He hadn’t done the wrong thing. He just hadn’t thought he’d go to prison. Maybe he should have turned his mother in to the authorities, or disappeared with Quincy, but he’d run on survival mode for so long, by the time Quincy was born, hiding from the authorities was already ingrained. His mother had convinced him that foster care would be worse than anything she could ever do.
As he ascended the stairs toward his apartment, he accepted that there was only one way he knew how to be. He opened the door, and Gemma looked up from the floor where she was busy packing something into a bag. Beside her Lincoln’s arms bobbed up and down excitedly, his grin healing the fissures the events of the day had created.
“Tooman!” Kennedy ran over with her arms up in the air. “We going out!”
He lifted her into his arms and rubbed noses with his happy little girl, feeling guilty for the joy pushing past his heartache.
“Where are we going?” He knelt beside Lincoln, letting Kennedy toddle off to play with her dolls. He scooped the baby into his arms and kissed him before leaning in and kissing Gemma.
“I knew you’d be stressed after your visit, and I had a frustrating day myself. I thought a picnic in the field would do us all some good.” She nodded toward a cooler on the counter. “Is that okay, or has your day been too difficult?”
She’d had a bad day, too, and here she was, selflessly lifting all of their spirits.
With a hand on her neck, he drew her to him. “Sounds perfect. You’re incredible. You know that?”
“I may need a little more convincing.”
He kissed her deeply.
He didn’t know if it was right, wrong, good, or bad, but this was the only man he knew how to be. A man who held and loved and protected. If that was detrimental, then they all had a long hard road ahead of them.
TRUMAN LAY ON his back on the blanket beside Lincoln after they finished dinner while the baby repeatedly whomped him on the stomach, giggling like crazy each time Truman made an oomph sound. Kennedy, busy playing with her dolls and using Truman’s legs as props, also gave in to fits of giggles at her silly brothers. Gemma sat back and took it all in, reveling in their happiness. It was a breezy, cool evening, but the kids were bundled up in sweaters and hats and were having too much fun to be taken inside. Gemma loved this time of year, when the leaves fell from the trees, reminding her that Thanksgiving was right around the corner. She and Crystal usually cooked a small Thanksgiving dinner together. She smiled to herself, knowing this year they’d need a bigger turkey.
Truman reached for her hand. He’d told her about his difficult visit with Quincy. Gemma was continually amazed at his ability to contain and separate his emotions. He never misdirected his anger, which was so different from how her father used to stalk around the house with smoke coming out of his ears.
“Are you ready to talk about your day yet?” he asked.
She hadn’t wanted to talk about her conversation with her mother earlier, partly because she was embarrassed by her mother’s ignorance and partly because she worried about how hearing it would make Truman feel. But he’d always been honest with her, and he deserved the same in return. She just needed to figure out a way to say it that wasn’t hurtful.
“My mother called this afternoon.”
“About the fundraiser?” He sat up, sliding one hand protectively around Lincoln as he did.
She nodded. “I told her about us, and she wasn’t exactly supportive.”
“I’m sorry, Gem. You told her about my conviction?”
She shook her head, feeling sick about the truth. “Are you kidding? The only question she asked was what you did for a living. She’s shallow and mean-spirited. It’s not a reflection on you personally, Tru. It’s who she is.”
“You mean she didn’t like the idea of you dating a mechanic?”
She nodded, dropping her eyes out of shame.
Truman lifted her chin and smiled. “Sweetness, don’t you know by now that we can’t be judged by who our parents are? Christ, imagine if we were. Look at my mother.” He leaned down and kissed Lincoln’s head. “Their mother.”
“I know, but it’s embarrassing that she’s that way. All the things she cares about mean nothing to me. Do you know she still calls me Gemaline? I’ve asked her to call me Gemma for as long as I can remember. She says Gemma is too common.” She paused, thinking about how much she hated the snooty way Gemaline sounded. “I love Gemma.”
“Gemma is a beautiful name. At least you’re not named after a president. My mother wanted us to have memorable names because she knew our lives would be shit.” He kissed Lincoln again. “Their lives will never be shit.”
“Of course not. They have you. You’ve given me more than my mother ever could. She and I are so different. She cares about things. I care about people. I don’t ever want to be judged by the way she is. She’s awful.”
“If there’s anyone who understands where you’re coming from, it’s me. What I don’t understand is if she’s that way, why do you put yourself through the fundraiser every year?”
“I’ve asked myself that a million times.” She lifted Lincoln into her lap and scooted closer to Truman. “I don’t know how to explain it. She’s my mother, and even though she’s terrible in so many ways, she’s still my mother. I feel a sense of obligation to her. And she’s my only connection to my father. Even though she’s not someone I can talk to about him, and I think she despises him for committing suicide, she’s still the only person who was there in the same house when he was alive. It doesn’t make sense, and hearing myself say it makes me feel like an idiot for doing anything for her.” She shook her head. “She’s not a nice person.”
“But you are.” He gathered her in his arms and held her. “You’re doing the right thing. When we start turning our back on family, we become the very people we don’t like.”
“You’re not upset with me for going to the fundraiser alone?” Even though they’d talked about it, she wanted to make sure he was really okay with her going.
“Not at all. I’m not thrilled about other guys checking you out in that sexy dress. And I love that you didn’t want the kids to be put in a sucky situation, but you have to know that if you want me to go, Dixie and Bear can watch the kids. I have no issue meeting your mother, regardless of what she thinks of me.”
“Oh, Truman.” She pressed her lips to his. “I care about you too much to put you through the wrath of that woman, but I love you even more for offering.”
Kennedy crawled into Truman’s lap and snuggled against him.
“We’d better get these guys to bed.” Gemma began gathering their things.
“Do you think I’ll screw up the kids? Am I too protective of them?”
The question came out of the blue, and it took Gemma a minute to process it. She lifted the bag over her shoulder and settled Lincoln on her hip, realizing the question hadn’t come out of the blue. It was a reflection of his worries about Quincy.
“Are you going to start doing drugs?”
“No,” he said with disgust.
“Are you going to start ignoring them, beating them, starving them, or…?” She paused as understanding dawned in his eyes. “I don’t think you’re in danger of screwing anyone up. You’re not oppressively protective, Tru Blue. You’re lovingly protective. There’s a huge difference.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I THINK THIS dresser is perfect,” Gemma said, pointing to a tall dresser for Truman’s new bedroom. “It has plenty of drawers, and the dark wood is very masculine, like you.”
Truman wrapped his arms around her from behind, glad to have a few hours alone with Gemma, even if they were only shopping. He didn’t like leaving the kids, but he knew they were in good hands with Dixie and Crystal. Tomorrow was the fundraiser, and they’d be apart for most of the evening.
“And what about m
y girl’s dresser? Don’t we need something feminine, too?” He gathered her hair over one shoulder and kissed the nape of her neck, feeling goose bumps chasing his lips.
“I don’t mind keeping my stuff on the shelves in the closet, where it is now. Besides, I should really move some of my summer clothes to my place to free up more space for you guys.”
He turned her in his arms and gazed into the eyes of the woman he’d met over diapers and baby food and fallen in love with one second at a time ever since. Strands of gold and brown framed her beautiful face, and her smile—God, your smile—sent warm, whirling emotions to the pit of his stomach. The pieces of his life were finally falling into place. It had been a week since he’d visited Quincy, and three weeks since Quincy had entered rehab. He’d spoken with the counselor earlier that morning, and she assured him that Quincy was making tremendous progress, although he was struggling with a few personal issues. Truman knew all too well what those issues were, as he struggled with the guilt of their secret on a daily basis. Lately, it was weighing even more heavily on him. Every time he looked into Gemma’s eyes, he wanted to tell her the truth about what happened all those years ago. He hated having any secrets between them, but what was done was done. He’d never screw over Quincy just to clear his own conscience.
And now, as he held the woman who loved him despite his conviction, despite his terrible upbringing, he focused on the future rather than the past.
“I like your summer clothes in my closet.” He kissed her lips. “And I like your things in my apartment.” He backed her up against the dresser, moving his hand to her ass and pressing their hips together. They were alone in the back of the store. He kissed her again, longer and deeper than before, until he felt her go soft in his arms and the moan of appreciation he’d come to expect slipped from her lungs.
“And I love you in my bed,” he said, kissing her jaw. She tipped her head back, giving him better access to the neck he wanted to devour. “I want you in my bed every night.” He dragged his tongue along the sensitive skin just below her ear, earning a sexy little shiver. “And I want to wake up with you in my arms every morning.” He continued kissing a path down her neck, her fingers tightening around his sides. Sealing his mouth over the base of her neck, he reveled in the feel of her erratic pulse against his tongue.
She grabbed his ass and rocked into him, whispering heatedly, “Tru, you’re making me wet.”
“Mm.” He slid his hand down the back of her long cotton skirt, over the lace panties covering her perfect ass, and between her legs, stroking over her slick center. “Christ. Now I want to drop to my knees and make you come.”
She shuddered against him and made a wanton noise that vibrated through his veins. He crashed his mouth over hers, pushing his fingers into her hot pussy. Taking advantage of their solitude, he furtively sought the spot that made her go wild, and her hips began moving with him. Man, how he loved the way she moved. The way she tasted. The way she got wet and hot and ready with a single touch.
“I love fucking you,” he said. “With my mouth, with my hand, with my cock.”
“Ohmygod,” she said breathlessly. “Yes, please. I want all of that.”
A growl erupted from his lungs, and he took her in another cock-throbbing kiss. Her knee rode up his outer thigh, her hips rocked, and sweet, hungry moans sailed from her lungs into his.
She clawed at his back, arching her whole body into him. “There. Oh God. There,” she panted out between kisses.
In the next breath, she shattered against him. He swallowed her cries, kissing her roughly and loving every fucking second of it. Of her. Of their life together.
Her head fell back again, and she gulped in air. “Truman,” she said breathlessly. “Geez.” Her eyes darted around the empty showroom. “You are so good at being bad.”
He laughed and kissed her again. When he withdrew his fingers, she gasped, and when he sucked his fingers clean, she went boneless in his arms. He kissed her again, the taste of her mixing with the taste of them.
“Bathroom,” he said urgently, unable to wait another second before being buried deep inside her. He took her hand, walking swiftly toward the restrooms in the back of the store.
They kissed, and she giggled as they pushed through the men’s room door.
“I’ve never done this before,” she said, wiggling out of her skirt as Truman locked the door. Her skirt puddled at her feet with her black lace panties, and she trapped that sweet lip again, her green eyes darkly seductive. With her hair tousled, her sweater hanging off one shoulder, and her sweet, glistening pussy bare for the taking, she was an intriguing mix of guileless innocence and savage temptress.
“Holy Christ, sweetness. You’re sinful.” He unzipped his pants and pushed them down past his knees, giving his cock a long, tight stroke before taking her in another greedy, demanding kiss.
Her back met the wall hard as the kiss turned wild and urgent, and his hands moved to her bare ass, lifting her up and guiding her legs around his waist. When she sank onto his cock, everything intensified. They fucked hard and rough, grunting and moaning with reckless abandon, the location of their tryst forgotten in the passion searing through Truman’s veins, the lust coiling at the base of his spine.
Gemma was wild, crying out, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” as he clung to her hips and slammed into her, branding her from the inside out. Her head fell back and she cried out louder as she came, her erotic pleas dragging him over the edge in an explosion of fierce possession. His senses reeled, his heart so full of Gemma he couldn’t think past its thundering beats.
“I love you, sweet girl,” he panted out. Breathing too hard to form a real kiss, he touched his lips to hers. She was so beautiful, gazing into his eyes through a lustful, sated haze. “Move in with us. I want you with me, with us, always.”
She trapped her lower lip between her teeth and he placed a series of light kisses over that perfectly plump lip until she released it and the sexiest sigh he’d ever heard.
“Really?” Sparks of excitement shimmered in her eyes.
He nodded, kissed her again. “You and the kids are my life. Let’s make it official.”
She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him deep and slow, bringing his half-mast cock back into the game. “I want that, too, so very much. I love you, and I love your kids.”
“Our kids,” he corrected her. “They’ve never been just mine. We’ve been together since the night I found them.”
“Oh, Truman,” she whispered, and her brows knitted. She shook her head and shifted her eyes away.
Her lips pressed into a hard line. His heart, and his cock, deflated as he set her down on her feet.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No. You said something so very right I think I’m going to cry. Yes, I’ll move in with you. But I come with a lot of books.”
Thank fucking God. “Baby, I’ll build floor-to-ceiling bookcases if that’s what it takes.” He kissed her again, her salty tears slipping between their lips like secrets, sealing their plans.
GEMMA WALKED ON air for the rest of the day. After the kids were asleep, they transferred their clothes from the kids’ room to the new dresser in their bedroom. Our bedroom. Gemma smiled with the thought. This was really happening. Even though she already practically lived at his place, nothing could compare to seeing the love in his eyes, or the emotions on his face, as he asked her to make it official.
“I’ll never be able to go to that furniture store again,” she said, embarrassment flushing her cheeks as she remembered coming out of the bathroom and finding a salesman glowering at them.
Truman looked up from the drawer he was filling. “Because he probably heard every”—his voice rose several octaves—“There! Yes! Yes!”
She threw a pillow at him, and he tackled her onto the bed, kissing her until she was laughing, and then he kissed her some more, until those laughs turned to hungry moans.
“You’ve turned me into a sex maniac.�
�� She wiggled out from beneath him.
“One day I’ll turn you into my sex-maniac wife.”
She nearly choked. “Truman…?” He held her so tight she was sure he could feel her racing heart.
“Haven’t you thought about it?”
“Well, sure, but…” Had she thought about it? Not in so many words. They were together and happy, and she just assumed they’d stay that way. Maybe one day they’d get married, but she hadn’t been actively wondering when. Were they really talking about this?
“Not now, but one day. After my parole is over, when things with Quincy are figured out and the children are legally settled.”
Suddenly it all made sense. While she saw herself moving through life in a constant flow, Truman saw himself riding in a boat along a river, making necessary stops along the way. Checking off boxes on his way to a more settled life. He was out of prison, but it still wasn’t behind him. He never made a big deal of checking in with the parole office. It was just one phone call each week, and he did it in the privacy of another room, or stepped outside on the deck, which made it easy for Gemma to write it off as just another phone call. But to Truman it was obviously a dark cloud hovering over him with a clear end in sight. Another step in the right direction. She understood his wanting to wait until he was clear of those ties, and she knew he worried about Quincy making it through rehab and staying clean. Quincy would be a forever worry, as they’d already discussed. Addiction was a lifelong struggle. But his comment about the children confused her.
She sat up and asked, “What does that mean? ‘Legally settled’?”
Truman moved to the edge of the bed, rested his elbows on his knees, and wrung his hands together. “They don’t have birth certificates, and I’m not their legal guardian yet. I have to take care of those things.”
“Oh,” she said, relieved. “The way you said it, I thought there was something more to it. Isn’t that just filling out a few forms at the courthouse or through an attorney or something?”
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