by Force, Marie
She shook her head. “You have every right to say anything you want to me.” In an attempt at levity, she added, “I’d say you earned it after scraping me off the bathroom floor every morning for weeks.”
“Which was entirely my pleasure.”
“You’re easy to please.”
“You make it easy.”
He stared into her eyes for a long, breathless moment as a hectic band of color slashed his cheeks, letting her know she wasn’t the only one tormented by the attraction zinging between them.
When he looked at her in that particular way, Laura’s mind went blank, taking with it all the reasons this was a bad idea. She reached up to link her fingers on the back of his neck, drawing him down to her.
“Laura. . .”
As she pressed her lips to his, she realized this was the first time she’d ever reached out and taken what she wanted from a man. And oh how she wanted this man.
The kiss was chaste and sweet and even hotter than it had been earlier, which was saying something. When he would’ve pulled back from her, she tightened her hold on him. Their eyes met and held. He looked as undone as she felt, which was strangely comforting. Tipping his head ever so slightly, he kissed her again. This time he slid an arm around her waist and drew her tight against him.
Laura melted as his nearness set off a riot of reactions that registered in all the most important places.
He brushed at her bottom lip with his tongue, coaxing his way into her mouth.
The moment their tongues connected, Laura forgot who she was, where she was and why this could lead to disaster if he suddenly decided he wanted to be somewhere else. She couldn’t get enough, no matter how tightly she held him or how enthusiastically she met the thrusts of his tongue with her own answering strokes.
A growl rumbled through him that threw gas on her already out-of-control fire.
Her fingers burrowed into his hair and held on tight. In the far recesses of her mind where sanity lived, she wondered if she might be hurting him. Even farther off in the distance, she thought she heard someone call her name. Because investigating would mean stepping away from the most incendiary kiss of her life, Laura ignored it.
“Um, oh, sorry,” the voice said, closer now.
Laura tore her lips free and turned to find her friend Stephanie standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Her face was bright red with embarrassment.
Owen kept his arms firmly around Laura and buried his face in the curve of her neck. His lips and breath sent a delightful array of shivers skirting over her sensitized skin.
“I brought the, um, book I told you about,” Stephanie said as she put the book on the counter, “but I can see you’re busy, so I’ll just be going now.” She backed away from the doorway, flashed Laura a big grin along with a thumbs up and was gone.
“That was embarrassing,” Laura said.
As if she hadn’t spoken, Owen raised his head, gazed into her eyes and kissed her again, softer this time but with no less urgency. Reaching behind him he killed the flames under the pots.
Laura waited breathlessly to see what he would do next.
With his hands on her hips, he lifted her onto the counter, stepped between her legs and pulled her in tight against him.
When his erection snuggled into the V of her legs, Laura gasped and pushed against him. And then his hands were cupping her breasts, his thumbs sliding back and forth over her nipples that were feverishly sensitive thanks to the pregnancy.
“Owen,” she said.
“Hmm?” His lips were busy on her neck, making her mind go blank again.
“I forgot what I was going to say.”
He let out an unsteady laugh and pressed her hand against the hard bulge in his shorts. “That’s what happens every time I lay eyes on you.” Punctuating his words with kisses, he added, “Every. Single. Time.”
Touched by his gruffly spoken words, Laura took advantage of the opportunity to explore the length and width of him, swallowing as he got bigger and harder under her hand. Since he was so tall and broad-shouldered, she wasn’t surprised to discover he was big there, too. When she thought about how he would feel inside her, she shivered in anticipation.
As she squeezed him gently, his head fell back and his fingers dug into her shoulders.
“Until today, you never told me you wanted me like this,” she said.
“Yes, I did.”
“When?” she asked, continuing to stroke and caress him.
“When the last ferry left on Monday without me on it. Didn’t that say it all?”
“I suppose that did make a statement.”
He stopped the movement of her hand. “No more of that.”
“Why? I quite like it.”
“I quite like it, too. Far too much.” He brought her hands to his shoulders. “Keep them there.”
Laura’s heart pounded as she waited to see what he would do. She noted the slight tremble of his hands as he unbuttoned her shirt and pushed it open. Her enhanced pregnancy breasts overflowed the cups of her white cotton bra, making her face heat with embarrassment. “I keep meaning to buy bigger bras.”
“Don’t,” he said, his voice hoarse as he lowered his head and pressed his face into the valley between her breasts. “You’re so sexy.”
Laura arched her back, encouraging him.
He released the front clasp and her breasts sprung free into his waiting hands. “Oh, God, you’re gorgeous.”
Before she had time to prepare, his mouth was feasting on her nipple, hot and hungry. She clutched his hair, which was the only thing that kept her from sliding off the counter into a boneless pile on the floor.
“How many days until Friday?” he asked, his lips vibrating against her breast.
The question made her laugh, nervously. He was putting her on notice that the minute Justin knew about the baby, their relationship would shift to the next level. “Three.”
He turned his attention to her other breast. “I’m not going to make it.”
Laura’s stomach chose that moment to let out a keening growl.
“Shit,” he muttered. “I’m pawing you like a madman, and you’re probably starving.” He dipped lower to press his lips to the tiny baby bump.
Touched by his attention to the baby, Laura combed her fingers into his unruly hair, attempting to smooth and straighten.
He looked up at her, and the raw emotion she saw shining in his eyes was nearly her undoing. As she watched him pay homage to the child growing inside her, she realized that she no longer had to worry about the possibility of falling in love with him. It had already happened, probably quite some time ago as he was peeling her off the bathroom floor and making her tea and tending to her every need as if he’d been born to do exactly that.
With what seemed to be great reluctance, he stood up straight, tucked her breasts back into her bra and refastened the buttons on her top. When he was done, he rested his hands on her shoulders.
Laura tipped her forehead against his chest, gathering herself. She couldn’t let him see that she’d fallen for him. The last thing she wanted was to make him feel trapped. If he felt trapped, he might run, and she really wanted him to stay. More importantly, she wanted him to want to stay.
“Let’s get you and the little guy fed,” he said.
Grant McCarthy was rarely intimidated, but Stephanie’s stepfather, Charlie Grandchamp, intimidated the hell out of him. It had taken Grant days to work up the nerve to drive out to the small house Charlie had rented from the island’s resident land baron/cab driver, Ned Saunders. The media attention following Charlie’s release from fourteen years of wrongful imprisonment had driven him to the island, seeking peace and quiet—and the chance to be closer to the stepdaughter who’d been relentless in her efforts to get him released.
Grant parked the motorcycle he’d borrowed from his brother Mac in the yard and took a deep breath for courage before walking up to the open front door and knocking.
No answer.
Great. I finally make it out here, and he’s not around. Spotting the other man’s small pick-up truck, Grant walked behind the house to the barn that served as a workshop and garage. “Hey, Charlie?”
“In here.”
Grant swallowed hard and stepped into the dusty space that smelled of dirt and mildew and other substances he didn’t try too hard to identify. Charlie was bent over the workbench sanding a block of wood. He was tall and muscular with a gray buzz cut and a piercing blue-eyed stare that Grant found unnerving—particularly since it was often directed his way. “Um, how’s it going?”
“Fine.”
Since his release, Grant had learned his girlfriend’s stepfather was a man of few words, especially where Grant was concerned. “Something on your mind?”
“Ah, well, Stephanie, actually.”
That got Charlie’s attention. He spared Grant a brief glance before he returned his attention to the project on the bench. “What about her?”
“I, um, you know we’ve been together for a while now.”
“Coupla months,” Charlie said with a harsh-sounding chuckle. “Does that count as a while these days?”
Grant had no idea what to say to that. He decided to go with the truth. “She has a lot of insecurities because of everything that happened when she was younger. I’ve been thinking about how I could make her feel more secure. About me. About us.”
“And what’ve you come up with?”
“I’d like to ask her to marry me.” Grant met that steely stare, determined not to blink. He almost succeeded. “Before you tell me why it’s a terrible idea, let me assure you that we wouldn’t get married right away. I just want her to know I’m in it for keeps so she won’t get that haunted look on her face whenever we disagree about something.”
“I know that look.”
It was the first thing Charlie had ever said to him that didn’t make Grant feel like the guy hated him for being alive.
“What?” Charlie asked. “Are you surprised I know what you’re talking about? I looked at that face every week for years when she came to see me in prison, and that line between her brows tore me up as much as it tears you up.”
With that one statement, he tripled the number of words he’d said to Grant in their brief acquaintance. Grant cleared his throat. “I want her to know I’m not going anywhere without her. Not now. Not ever.”
Charlie ran the sandpaper back and forth over the block of wood while Grant stood twisting in the wind waiting for the other man to say something. Anything. Without looking at Grant, he finally said, “You love her? Really, really love her?”
“Yeah,” Grant said. “I really, really do.”
“What if she decides she doesn’t want to live here on the island? What if she wants to go home to Providence and open the restaurant she’s always talked about?”
She’d talked about a restaurant? To whom? Not to him. Stunned to hear that, Grant forced himself to focus. “We’ll go to Providence, if that’s what she wants. I can work anywhere.” His failed relationship with Abby had taught him that much. “I want her to be happy.”
“I want that, too. More than you know. She gave up a big chunk of her life trying to get my sorry ass sprung from jail.”
“She’d do it again in a heartbeat. You know that.”
“She’s a good kid. She deserves better than what she got from her mother and me.”
“From her mother, maybe. You saved her life. I don’t think she feels you owe her anything.”
“I owe her everything,” Charlie said, his eyes flashing with a rare show of emotion. “She’s the only one who gave a shit about whether I rotted in prison for the rest of my life. She deserves the whole world served up on a silver platter.”
A knot of emotion lodged in Grant’s chest. He couldn’t agree more. “I want to give her that. If she’ll let me.”
“She’ll fight you if you try to do too much for her.”
“Believe me,” Grant said with a shaky laugh, “I already know that.” He forced a deep breath to his lungs. “Would I have your blessing?”
“Does it matter so much to you that an ex-con approves?”
“Yes, it matters. Very much so.”
Charlie picked up a rag off the bench and wiped the dirt from his hands. “I’ll give you my blessing if you promise you’ll always be good to her, put her needs before your own and be faithful to her. Can you do all that?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat again. “Sir.”
“In that case. . .” Charlie extended his hand to Grant.
Grant shook his hand. “Thank you.”
“No, Grant,” Charlie said, calling him by name for the first time. “Thank you. I’ll never have the words to properly thank you for what you did for me—and for Stephanie.”
Overwhelmed by Charlie’s rare show of emotion, Grant said, “All I did was make a few calls.” Charlie’s fortunes had changed dramatically when Grant asked his celebrity lawyer friend Dan Torrington to take on the case. A call to Grant’s uncle, Superior Court Judge Frank McCarthy, had also helped the cause.
“They were the right calls, and they made a huge difference.” Charlie shook his head, almost in disbelief. “I wake up every morning to the sound of the ocean and seagulls, and I still think I’m dreaming.”
“I’m really glad it worked out—for your sake and Stephanie’s.” He paused before he added, “When you’re ready, I’d like to talk to you about the movie.”
“I’m not there yet.”
“Whenever. I’d better get back before Steph starts to wonder where I am.”
“When will you propose?”
“In the next few days. When the time is right.”
Charlie nodded. “Good luck.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you.” As Grant walked back to the motorcycle, he picked over the conversation in amazement. It was, without a doubt, the most substantial conversation he’d ever had with Stephanie’s stepfather, who’d seemed wary and suspicious of him from the day they met.
He was puzzled, however, about why Stephanie had never mentioned her dream to open her own restaurant. He’d have to find a way to bring that up.
Riding the bike back home to her, Grant tried to think of the perfect way to ask her to marry him. It had to be as special as she was. Once she had his ring on her finger, maybe she’d stop worrying that what they had wouldn’t last. Maybe they both would.
Chapter 7
After the delicious dinner he’d made, Owen and Laura settled in to watch a movie. Somehow, she ended up reclined with her feet in his lap and was treated to a divine foot massage. The last thing she remembered was the feel of his thumbs pressed against her arches. She awoke to him carrying her upstairs.
“Did I fall asleep again?”
“Yep. I can set my watch by it. Fifteen minutes—tops—and you’re out.”
Laura curled her arms around his neck, enjoying being pressed against his chest. “I’m not always this much fun. Only when pregnant.”
“I’ll have to take your word for that,” he said in a teasing tone.
“Do you provide these services only for pregnant women?”
That drew a laugh from him. “I provide these services only for you.”
Something about the way he said that filled her with a warm, cozy sense of security that, if she were being truthful, she’d never felt with Justin.
When Owen lowered her to the bed, she kept her arms around his neck. The position put his face very close to hers. Laura zeroed in on his lips. “Will you stay a while?”
“Oh, um, sure.” He pulled back from her and straightened to kick off his shoes.
“Only if you want to.”
As he stretched out next to her on the bed, he reached for her hand and linked their fingers. “Of course I want to.”
The bleat of a foghorn and the crashing waves against the South Harbor breakwater were the only sounds in the otherwise quiet night.
“This is a very odd s
ituation we find ourselves in,” Laura said after a long period of companionable silence.
“You could certainly say that,” Owen said with a chuckle.
“I want you to know. . . I’d understand if you decided to leave. I know you have to work and—”
“I don’t have to work.”
“You don’t?”
He turned his head and met her gaze. “Remember when I told you that living the way I do is pretty cheap?”
She nodded.
“I’ve socked away most of what I’ve earned over the years. I could safely take a couple of years off if I wanted to.”
“Oh.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me, Princess?”
“No! Of course not!”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want to be in your hair if you don’t want me there.”
“Owen, come on. . . I want you there.”
“Why do I hear a ‘but’?”
Laura rolled her bottom lip between her teeth as she tried to find the words.
“Laura? What’s on your mind?”
“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.”
“You can say anything you want to me. You should know that by now.”
She did know that, and it was one of the things she loved about being with him. “I’m getting attached to you.”
“Is that right?” A satisfied grin stretched across his face. “Then my campaign is working.”
“Is that what this is? A campaign?”
He brought their joined hands to his lips. “I’m campaigning for a spot in your life, Princess.”
“What spot would you like to apply for?”
His lips moved from her hand to the inside of her wrist. “The most important one.”
She wondered if her pulse was clueing him into the rapid beat of her heart. Her mouth was suddenly dry and the palms of her hands damp. “Well,” she said, attempting a playful tone, “there’s a long list of qualifications for that position.”