Partners In Parenthood

by Raina Lynn

  “Jill, the day I learned you were carrying our baby, you said I’d never taken you out on a date, that we had no interests in common. My sole intent then was to convince you to marry me.”

  “I remember,” she said drily, not surprised that he changed the subject. “You were relentless.”

  His eyes sparkled with suppressed male satisfaction. Then they darkened with concern. “I want to start over.”

  She pulled back defensively. Before she could reply, he added, “And this isn’t a charity date.”

  She visibly relaxed. “What is it then?”

  He paused, weighing his words. Apparently, they had to be just right. “If we weren’t married and I wanted to take you someplace where we could get to know each other—” his gaze swept their surroundings “—I’d take you someplace like this.”

  A part of Jill responded with a joyous cry. But the rest of her felt extremely off balance. “Because you’re filet mignon and champagne, not barbecue and iced tea?”

  “Something like that.” His eyes twinkled.

  “Okay, we’re on a real date. What’s the agenda, oh tyrannosaur mine?”

  “Do you know what tonight is?”

  She shrugged. “Thursday?”

  He gave her a mock glare of disappointment. “When I first bought the paper, you fascinated me.” Then he added from the side of his mouth, “You scared the hell out of me, too.”

  “I have that effect on people. So what’s special about tonight?”

  Giancarlo arrived with their menus, and Mason used the moment to avoid answering. Two could play at that game, she decided. Then her eye caught the prices. “Bradshaw, the cheapest thing here are the appetizers,” she whispered, struggling not to gag. “And they’re twenty bucks apiece.”

  He glanced up, amusement lighting his eyes. “Tonight’s worth it.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to order anything that cost that much, especially when she knew what the charge card bill would look like later. When the waiter returned, Mason ordered for them both.

  “Out with it, Bradshaw. What’s worth bankruptcy?”

  He smirked. “We’ve come a long way in a year, Jill.”

  Frantically, she backtracked dates. When dawning struck, she drew in a long breath. “Your divorce was finalized a year ago today.”

  He shook his head. “More important than that, honey.”

  The aura of mystery he’d woven charged the air, making her feel a little breathless. “What?”

  “Claire.”

  At his whispered answer, her blood fired. Few people knew the exact date a child had been conceived, but she and Mason did. And he’d wanted to celebrate it. His thoughtfulness brought a lump to her throat.

  “You’re something else, Bradshaw.”

  “Dinosaurs are like that.”

  Throughout the exquisite meal, Mason was a flawless date, attentive and every inch the gentleman. At eight, a quartet began singing romantic ballads in the lounge, and to her surprise, he took her out onto the dance floor. He held her tenderly, but she still felt a trace of reserve. Mason’s body might be next to hers, but as always his heart belonged to him alone. Or did it?

  She noticed a change in him, as if he were testing the stability of new ground before he put his full weight on it. By the time they left the restaurant, Jill was so turned on, she thought she might explode. Rather than taking her to Vicki’s house to pick up Claire, they went home.

  “What are we doing?” she asked, hoping he intended to head for the bedroom.

  “Change into something western.”

  She blinked. “Something what?”

  “You heard me.” Grinning, he retrieved two huge shopping bags from the closet and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Confused, she pulled on her favorite western-cut denim skirt with its matching blouse, and her tan boots. When Mason stepped out of the bathroom, her jaw sagged. He wore brand-new jeans, a body-hugging, blue-and-white striped western shirt and tobacco-brown cowboy boots.

  “When did you buy all that?” she breathed.

  “This afternoon when I took a long lunch.” He stepped toward her—a bit tentatively, considering she doubted he had any idea how to walk in boots with an inch-and-a-half heel—then rested his hands at her waist. Their warmth permeated through the denim to her skin, easing a chill she hadn’t noticed until that moment.

  “You said we needed common interests. Companionship. The things that make a marriage last a lifetime.”

  The words were an eerie echo of what she’d told him when she’d turned down his first marriage proposal.

  “It’s time to see how much ground we’ve gained.” He kissed her on the forehead.

  Ten minutes later, they were parked in front of the North Forty Club. For the next two hours they danced and talked. A new line dance was introduced. Learning the intricate steps turned into a study of goofs and slipups that melted into relaxed laughter. Mason even struggled on bravely, long after mentioning his feet had begun to swell in the new boots.

  “They’re not like running shoes, Bradshaw,” she said. “There’s a getting-acquainted period with those things. No one just pulls them on and zooms off into the sunset.”

  He smiled at her. “Normal humor. It’s not masking any defensiveness. Good.”

  Jill blushed, his observation making her unreasonably touchy. “What is this? Analyze Jill Night?”

  “No,” he said softly, then touched her cheek. “We created a child. Then we married and, finally, we’re at the getting-to-know-each-other part. Like you said when I first found out about Claire, it’s not the normal order of things, but I’m having a good time. Are you?”

  Rendered mute, she could only stare at him in wonder. With effort she shook off the spell. “Bradshaw, why don’t we go home and soak your feet?” Then a new thought struck her, and she giggled.

  “What?”

  “I was just wondering what your parents would say if they saw how you’re dressed.”

  Mason snorted. “They’d probably have matching strokes.”

  Then Jill sobered. “They really need to see Claire. She’ll only be little once.”

  He took her hands. “Let’s give ourselves another month, then invite them up for a weekend. If they’re civil, the invitation will be repeated in the future. If not....” He shrugged.

  Jill took a deep breath. From the tone in his voice and from her limited experience with her in-laws, the relationship would never be anything other than what it was—an armed truce. She nodded in acceptance.

  Jill didn’t know what to make of Mason over the next few days. After she’d stirred things up between them, he’d been so quiet. To her disappointment, he hadn’t wanted to do anything in bed except cuddle for a few minutes before going to sleep. Since then, he’d watched her constantly, making her feel like his pet science project.

  At the end of a particularly long day, Jill nursed the baby before putting her down for the night. Mason had watched her feed Claire since the beginning, and she’d long ago dismissed the idea that he found it revolting. He never said anything, but sometimes, like now, his eyes burned with barely concealed sexual desire—a pleasant prospect.

  Claire dozed off almost the moment she’d filled her tummy. Mason rose and took her in his arms. She burrowed beneath his chin and rubbed her eyes. As he carried her off to bed, he cast a look at Jill over his shoulder that rooted her to the couch. It wasn’t just determination and male sex drive on his face. It went deeper. He didn’t just want sex, he wanted her, and badly.

  A lump formed in her throat, one she could hardly swallow around. Through the sexual haze, she became acutely aware of his quiet baritone as he tucked the baby in and shut the door. Reappearing in the hallway, he stood just outside the nursery, his head cocked, obviously listening for any crying. After a moment of absolute silence, he lifted his gaze. In the muted light, their eyes met across the distance and locked. Jill forgot how to breathe.

  He approached slowly, his steps
unhurried and sure. Jill didn’t move, couldn’t move. Then he reached out his hand to her. For an eternal moment, she could do nothing except stare in wonder. The long, well-formed fingers seemed somehow enchanted, Mason himself to be approached only after due consideration.

  “You’re still up to something, Bradshaw.” Her voice trembled nearly as much as her insides.

  “It would seem that journalists aren’t the only ones prone to being suspicious.” With torturous slowness, he pulled her to her feet and brushed his lips across hers, the contact light, its invitation more demanding than any open assault.

  Jill squared her shoulders to keep from swaying into his arms.

  Looking infinitely content, Mason framed her face with his hands, still studying her—the silence smothering, frightening.

  “What am I up to?” He drew in a long, slow breath. “I’m preparing to take my wife to bed. Any objections?” Mason blinked with a lazy sensuality, a wealth of meaning within the gesture.

  Their lovemaking had always rocked her world. But there had always been an afterward, a hollowness of knowing he’d only made love to her because he’d given his word to be her husband, not because she was his choice for a wife. This would be the first time since she rewrote the rules of their marriage. Would the emptiness ruin it like it had before? Could she be strong enough to get through it?

  Jill swallowed hard and took his hand. Drawing her behind him down the hall toward the bedroom, he didn’t say a word, didn’t need to.

  By the time they reached the bed, her pulse pounded so loudly in her ears that she could hear nothing else. Turning to her, he impaled her with a gaze that weakened her knees. She’d only thought she’d seen him aroused before. Jill opened her mouth to fire off a terse comment about still waters running deep, but no words came. Mason shut the door.

  The soft click of the latch was the most erotic sound Jill had ever heard. She stood rooted in place as Mason unbuttoned his shirt. This man knew what he wanted and had no intention of wasting time. Finding herself the focus of such desire made her slightly drunk with power. He caught a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye.

  “Are you okay with this?” he asked softly.

  Beyond speech, she could only stare at him in wonder and nod weakly.

  He straightened, still dressed in socks and Fruit Of The Looms, and absolutely gorgeous. Almost in slow motion, he cupped her face in his hands and lowered his head. Their lips touched, and pure lightning leapt between their bodies. In desperate need of support, she raised her hands and rested them against his naked chest. Seemingly of their own volition, her fingers slid across the smooth skin. The need in his eyes went soul deep.

  Mason helped her slip from her clothes, then removed the remainder of his own. She stopped breathing under the weight of anticipation. He took her hands and gazed into her eyes, the distance between their nude bodies unbearable. Slowly, he pulled her close and kissed her hair. Jill sighed as sensations blurred together in a sparkling haze of passion.

  His simple, almost distracted kisses turned into something more, and Jill stopped breathing again. Slowly, she lifted her head, and the smoldering desire in his eyes lowered her hormonal ignition point. In a searing proclamation of need, their lips met and left her limp and clinging to him.

  Something playful flashed in his eyes, but before she could guess what he had in mind, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. The abrasiveness of his arm hair against her back and thighs emphasized the differences between their bodies. Her blood pressure rose and her pulse thudded in her ears. They’d done virtually nothing at all, but the heat radiating between them turned her into a mindless mass of clamoring nerve endings.

  He laid her on the mattress and followed her down, pressing her deep into the fluffy bedding. His mouth slanted across hers in a demanding invasion and in a way she’d only dreamt he would. Mason seemed to touch her everywhere at once, stroking, driving her wild with need.

  “I need you, Jill,” he moaned as he gently bit her ear.

  His sweet, hot breath against her skin set her on fire, and she wrapped her hand around his engorged flesh, groaning from satisfaction in knowing she was responsible for his physical state. Part of her wanted to draw out their loving, but the part that needed him now was stronger, and she guided him home.

  He sucked in a harsh breath. “Honey, you’d better know what you’re doing, because—”

  Her delighted laughter cut off the harsh rasping words. “I’d like to think so,” she purred, tunneling her fingers through his hair and drawing his face down to hers.

  What little remaining self-control he had shattered, and she knew that this time he held nothing back. Their loving came hard and fast—two souls alone too long—and Jill gloried in the union. Deliberately, she asked herself no questions about the future, but loved him with every fiber of her being.

  All rational thought spun away into mist as the wave of sensuality overtook them. It spun out into forever. Then again, it ended in a moment of timelessness, and she lay breathless in his arms, clinging to him as the only anchor in a world turned upside down. Only when she relaxed into the pillow did he begin to move again. Her eyes flew open and she saw the clenched-jawed control he’d exerted on his body’s demands.

  Spent, Jill almost recoiled from the power of his need, but in moments, her own body’s inner voice picked up the rhythm anew. A sudden determination set in to satisfy him as completely as he had her.

  Through the haze, she realized tonight was different than it ever had been between them. Before, all Mason had been able to give her was sex. This time he gave her a piece of himself. She felt it in every stroke of his lean body, and she raced to meet him, pushing them both over the precipice once more.

  The magic hit with stunning force. The near-violent impact of his own climax sent her soaring through a world of shooting stars that slowly drifted to earth, carrying her and Mason with them. Spent and unable to move, they lay in a tangle of damp arms and legs, languorously sprinkling each other with weak kisses until even that required too much effort.

  “Did I hurt you, honey?”

  The endearment warmed her. She sighed, wanting to stretch like a contented cat, but she couldn’t find the strength. “If that’s pain, I’ll be happy to become a masochist.”

  She felt rather than heard his rumbling chuckle against her sweat-slicked hair. Eventually, he rolled to his side, taking her with him. The effort it cost him was intensely gratifying. She’d never worn a man out before, and a smug giggle of her own slipped out.

  “You have a mean streak, Jill,” he groaned, tucking her in close.

  “Thank you,” she sighed. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” With the tip of her tongue, she touched the salty moisture of the skin along his collarbone. He flinched.

  “Stop that,” he muttered, without releasing his hold on her.

  Seeing her self-contained husband completely wrung out was a new experience, too. She liked it—a lot.

  Mason propped himself up on one elbow. “Would you like to take a shower?”

  Jill couldn’t believe she’d heard right. “Not if it requires staying awake and hauling my body out of bed.”

  His gaze became oddly probing. “I’ll scrub your back.” The enticing note in his voice tempted her.

  “I’m not the only one in this family with a mean streak, Bradshaw. Now go to sleep. I’m dead.”

  A low chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Come on. Get up. I want a shower.” He drew a finger along her ribs. She wasn’t particularly ticklish, but it did get her attention. “By myself won’t do, either.”

  Groaning, she rolled over and hung her legs over the bed. “If you gotta, you gotta, I guess.” She padded toward the bathroom. But he didn’t move. He lay there watching her with an expression she couldn’t identify. As near as she could tell, it was part distrust and part fearful hope. Whatever his thoughts, they had a lot to do with an unhealthy dose of Bradshaw reserve. Before she’d
made the decision to trust him, seeing that would have depressed her—but not tonight. She had accepted what she couldn’t change, and that made it okay. “All right, Bradshaw. Showering was your idea. Haul it out or let me go to sleep. Your choice.”

  Her comment swept away whatever he’d been thinking, and he climbed from bed. His body was magnificent, and she sighed in contentment.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of looking at you.”

  His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “What if I stop running and get fat?”

  “Love handles would just give me more to hang on to.” She walked out the door.

  Mason realized he still hadn’t moved when he heard her turn on the water. He didn’t want a shower. He just needed the two of them to stay awake long enough for him to see if the usual shadows were in her eyes after they’d made love. But the shadows were gone. She loved him enough to accept what he could give, and she wouldn’t demand more.

  For the first time in his life, his heart felt safe in another’s care. Savoring the sensation, he followed Jill into the bathroom.

  She was just pulling the curtain into place. At his approach, she cast a playful smile over her shoulder. “I’m awake now, Bradshaw, so you’d better make this good.”

  “I can’t imagine anything between us being any other way.”

  Her huge brown eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  Absolute trust was so new that he needed a moment to absorb it undisturbed. “Nothing, honey.” He followed her into the tub. “Where’s the soap?”

  She handed it to him and turned her back. The water splashed over his shoulder and onto her body, and he ran the soap bar across her back, watching the sheets of water and bubbles drip down her skin. In silence, he washed every inch of her, wordlessly claiming her for his own. His heart opened as it never had before. Placing the soap in the tray, he turned her to face him.

  “I love you, Jill.”

  At first, her face lit with joy—then darkened. Looking betrayed, she pushed against him, but he put his arms around her again, and pulled her close, resting his cheek against the side of her head.