by Pamela Clare
He’d just pulled into his parking lot when his cell phone buzzed. “Reece Sheridan.”
“Hi, Reece. It’s Kara. I hate to do this to you, but I can’t come over tonight.”
Somehow, he managed not to groan out loud despite the bitter disappointment and irritation he felt. “Is something wrong?”
For a moment she said nothing. “I’ve had a terrible day and wouldn’t be good company.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No.” Her voice quavered. Was she crying? “In the past two days I’ve come close to losing my job, getting arrested, and winning the Worst Mother of the Year Award.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“No, really, it is.” Then she told him how she’d ended up shouting at her editor over taking the morning off to chaperone her son’s field trip to the museum—only to have all hell break loose at the paper, forcing her to miss the trip. “I promised him I’d go with him, and I broke that promise, and after spending two days screaming at people, I just don’t have the energy to be charming or to wear pantyhose. I’m really sorry.”
He could hear the exhaustion in her voice and beneath it a note of despair and was relieved to realize she wasn’t just trying to pull back from him again. He turned into his parking space and shut off the engine. “So am I.”
Major damned understatement.
“It’s probably best this way. Between my job at the paper and raising Connor, I have no business getting involved with anyone.”
Now she was pulling back from him. “I have a better idea. Rather than scratching me off your overly long to-do list, how about you kick back in your sweatpants and spend time with Connor, while I bring over the groceries I bought and cook dinner for the three of us. That way the food won’t go to waste, and you won’t have to cook. I’ll even help with the dishes.”
For a moment she said nothing. “You would really do that?”
“Sweetheart, I’m already on my way over.”
CHAPTER 11
* * *
“I CAN’T believe you’re doing this.” Kara watched as Reece carried three paper grocery sacks full of food into the kitchen. He was dressed in well-worn jeans and a silky black T-shirt that looked like it had been painted over his muscles. It was the first time she’d ever seen him in jeans, and she found it hard to take her eyes off him. What was it about a man’s ass in denim?
“I guess no man has ever gone out of his way to spoil you before.” He set the bags down on the table, ducked down, and touched a quick kiss to her forehead. “Well, get used to it. Would you like some wine?”
Soon she was settled on the couch, sipping Chardonnay and snuggling with Connor in front of Sponge Bob, while Reece sliced tomatoes in the kitchen. She had tried to help, but he had shooed her out and told her she wasn’t allowed to lift so much as a paring knife. It was strange thing to have a man in her house, let alone cooking for her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it.
She awoke with a start to the sound of Connor’s giggles and the tantalizing scent of something cooking. She lay on the couch, her grandmother’s quilt pulled up to her chin. She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep.
“Okay, buddy, now pour the lemon juice in while I stir in the wine. Just like that. Perfect!”
Still groggy, she stretched and then stood and walked into the kitchen. Reece stood next to Connor, who was perched on a kitchen chair in front of the stove, a tea towel tied behind his neck to make a sort of apron.
“Can I stir it?”
“Sure, but you have to be careful not to splash it out of the pan. Remember, it’s very hot.” Reece handed the wooden spoon to Connor, who stirred very slowly, a look of intense concentration on his little face. “Good job!”
The lump that swelled in Kara’s throat took her completely by surprise. She knew Connor needed male role models, knew he needed more than she alone could give him. And here was proof—the adoration in his eyes as he watched Reece scrape the bottom of the sauté pan with a spatula, the way he leaned into Reece’s chest, the delight on his face when Reece praised him.
“Your pretty mommy is awake.” Reece winked at her. “Show her how you set the table.”
Kara’s attention had been so focused on the sight of her son with Reece that she hadn’t noticed anything else. Three placemats sat on the table, each with a place setting of her grandmother’s china, her holiday silver, and crystal wine-glasses. On top of each plate stood a white linen napkin folded like a fan. On one plate lay a single red rose.
Some little romantic part of Kara—a part of her she’d thought long dead—sighed in feminine delight. She told it to shut up, but it didn’t. In fact, it called her a slob. She was dressed in the same sweatpants and flannel shirt she’d been wearing the last time he’d been over.
You could have at least worn a different shirt!
Connor clambered down from the chair, took her hand, and led her around the table, explaining exactly what they’d done. “I helped Reece find the pretty plates, but he washed them because he said we had to be real quiet so we didn’t wake you up. He let me put them on the table, and he showed me how to fold the napkins. Do you want to see?”
“You folded these?” She gaped at Connor, her amazement not feigned.
He nodded. “Reece, can we show Mommy how I fold these?”
“Hang on just one second.” Reece lowered the flame on the sauce he was making, then walked over to the table, sat, and lifted Connor onto his lap. He took one of the napkins and shook it out. “Are you ready?”
And Kara saw exactly how Connor did it—with Reece’s large hands guiding his small ones. She couldn’t help sharing a conspiratorial grin with Reece. “That’s terrific, pumpkin. They look so fancy!”
Within ten minutes dinner was on the table—and it was delicious beyond her expectations. Tangy tomatoes with fresh basil that exploded like summer in her mouth. Steamed asparagus with just a touch of butter. Boiled red potatoes glazed with butter and parsley. Chicken medallions flavored with wine sauce that were so tender they melted on her tongue. Wine that blushed against her taste buds and smoothed the edges off her rough day.
And dessert.
A culinary orgasm.
Kara could do nothing but watch, enchanted, as Reece kept Connor the center of attention throughout the meal.
“I heard you went to see the dinosaurs at the museum today. Which fossil was your favorite?”
“The T-rex!” Connor roared and then, between bites of potato, told Reece how long its teeth were, how big its feet were, and how tall it was. “A whole boy could stand up in its tummy.”
“A whole boy?” Reece took a sip of wine, looked suitably impressed. “That’s one big tummy, isn’t it?”
Then Kara remembered. Reece was a teacher by profession. No wonder he was so good with Connor. But at that moment, his gaze met hers, the heat in his eyes sending a distinctly adult message.
She sucked in a quick breath and felt her pulse leap. “Okay, Connor, time to wash your hands.”
Conner hopped down from his booster chair and dashed down the hallway toward the bathroom, leaving her alone with Reece.
He spoke first. “He’s an incredible little boy.”
“Thanks. He means everything to me.”
Reece nodded. “He knows that, Kara.”
Without warning, tears blurred her vision. Embarrassed, she turned away and tried to blink them back. “God, I hope so.”
Reece’s strong arms drew her back against him. His breath was warm on her temple. “He knows. And he’s proud of you. Do you know what he told me? He said, ‘My mommy saves people, and sometimes it makes her sad.’ That’s what he said. You’ve done a great job with him.”
“There are so many days I fall short.”
It was her deepest fear, her biggest regret. Why had she shared it with Reece? Perhaps for the same reason that she leaned her head back against his shoulder now. She was simply not st
rong enough tonight to resist the comfort he offered.
“It’s no small task to raise a child alone. Do you mind if I ask where his father is?”
Kara did mind, but she didn’t say so. She could answer his question without telling him everything. “He wanted me to have an abortion and refused to have anything to do with me when I told him I was keeping the baby. He’s never even asked to see Connor.”
“He pays child support, doesn’t he? Whether he’s involved in Connor’s life or not, the law entitles you—”
“I want nothing from him. Can we please not talk about this?” She pulled away from him and picked up the dirty plates off the table.
He took the plates from her. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She forced a smile. “I know. And thanks, Reece. For everything. Dinner was amazing. You’re quite talented in the kitchen.”
He leaned down, brushed a kiss across her lips, and gave her a wicked grin. “You ought to try me in the bedroom.”
REECE CLAMPED the new lock into place on the sliding glass door while Kara read one last bedtime story to her son, her sweet voice drifting into the kitchen and soft with a mother’s love. He knew himself well enough to know where the dull ache in his chest came from. He’d spent very little time with his mother after his parents divorced. He’d never gotten enough of his own mother’s affection.
But at least he’d known who his mother was, where she lived, and why she’d left. Connor had never seen his father, had no idea who his father was.
The man ought to be rotting in a jail cell. Deadbeat dad didn’t even begin to describe him. Reece couldn’t imagine himself abandoning a woman to bear and raise his child entirely alone. Even if he didn’t have feelings for the mother— even if he loathed her as he did Alexis Ryan—he would have been a father to the child he helped create. Every child deserved a father, deserved the financial security, affection, and guidance of two parents, even if those parents never married. What Connor’s father had done was despicable.
This certainly explained Kara’s reluctance to trust or get close to a man. She’d gotten close to someone once—at least physically close—and had paid a high price for it. Now she worked too hard and worried too much, as the dark circles beneath her eyes proved. She hadn’t even stirred earlier this evening when he’d found her sleeping and laid a quilt over her.
He stepped back, tested the door, and was gratified to see that it didn’t budge. There was no way for an intruder to break in through this door except to smash the thick pane of tempered glass—not an easy task and very noisy.
Her voice startled him. “What are you doing?”
He turned and pointed to the new lock. “I picked it up yesterday. Let me show you how it works.”
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know. I wanted to do it.” Then he showed her how to loosen the lock so the door would slide open and how to make certain it was secure.
“Thanks, Reece. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” He wasn’t so certain she’d be grateful about the next thing he had to tell her. “I spoke with Police Chief Irving about the calls you received. He promised me that he’d handle your case personally—if you call in a report.”
She frowned. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”
“Has he called back?”
The shadow that passed over her face gave Reece his answer before she did. “Yes.”
Reece took Chief Irving’s card out of his pocket and placed it on the table. “Please call him.”
“I don’t like being manipulated, Reece. I don’t want to give that bastard the satisfaction of affecting my life.”
He rested his hands on her shoulders. “I understand that, Kara, but I don’t want to see anything happen to either of you.”
She glanced down at Irving’s card. “I’ll think about it.”
Soon they were seated on the couch, glasses of Chardonnay on the coffee table before them.
“Connor was asleep before I left his room. Between the museum and the excitement of having you here, he was worn out.”
From the soft look on her face he’d known she was thinking of her son before she’d spoken. “And how is his mother doing?”
She looked over at him, a faint smile on her sexy lips. “Better.”
“Good.” He bent down, took her feet in his hands, and turned her so they rested in his lap.
“What—?”
“Relax.” He pulled off her fuzzy blue socks, tossed them on the floor, and massaged the soles of her feet. Her toes were dainty, feminine, and her toenails were painted a frosty light pink. He resisted the urge to lick them. “I’m giving you a foot massage.”
For a moment she stared at him as if he’d sprouted antlers. Then he pressed his thumbs deeply into her arches, and she gave a little sigh.
“Does that feel good?”
Kara couldn’t lie. She closed her eyes. “Yes.”
“You know, I’m guessing that a woman who spends her days saving people and taking care of her son all by herself might have her own needs.”
She opened her eyes, not sure she liked where he was going with this. “Maybe.”
“Who meets your needs, Kara?”
She didn’t know what to make of his question. Was he speaking sexually? If so, he knew the answer to the question already: it was purple and took two AA batteries. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Most of the time.”
What he was doing to her feet felt so good she didn’t want to argue with him. “Almost all the time.”
“I think you need someone in your life you can depend on, someone you can confide in when things go to hell at work, someone to massage your tired feet and your stiff shoulders, someone to bring you tea and cook a meal once in a while. Someone to be there for you.”
Because he struck too near the truth of her loneliness, she made light of his words. “Are you saying I need a wife?”
“You need a man, Kara. A man you can open up to. A man whose passion for life matches yours. A man who grabs your hair in big fistfuls and twists and pulls it when he’s fucking you. A man willing to walk the wire for you.”
Kara couldn’t speak. She stared into his blue eyes, too stunned to be angry. Her heartbeat tripped, faltered. The breath left her body in a shudder, and heat flared low in her belly.
“Your skin is so soft. I don’t know what that scent is, but you smell good enough to eat.” His voice was a deep, seductive rumble.
“It’s lavender.” She wasn’t aware she’d spoken.
“It makes me want to kiss you everywhere.” His hands had left her feet and now deftly massaged the muscles of her left calf, sliding beneath the fabric of her sweatpants until they reached the sensitive bend of her knee.
She shivered. “Mmm.”
And then his hands were on the drawstrings at her waist, untying them, sliding beneath the fabric, beneath her panties, cupping her. The heel of his hand pressed against her mound, moving in slow, deep circles, unleashing a surge of wet heat. She knew she should stop him. She couldn’t stop him. She didn’t want to stop him.
She moaned, lifted her hips instinctively to meet his touch, and reached up to grasp his shoulders. “Oh! What are—?”
“Shh! Just enjoy it.” He was leaning over her now, one knee thrust between her parted thighs, the other on the floor, the spicy scent of him surrounding her. The fingers of his free hand threaded through her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her throat to his kisses and the scrape of his five-o’clock shadow, while the hand inside her panties kept up a relentless rhythm.
She had to touch him, had to feel him. Her hands slid over the silky fabric of his shirt, grasped hungrily at the shifting muscles beneath, and fought with the buttons of his fly. But then his fingers found her clitoris, and she could do nothing but cling to him.
Never had it come upon her this fast, this intense. In an instant, she h
overed on the iridescent edge of an orgasm. “Oh, jeez, I’m going to come!”
His voice was rough. “Goddamn straight you are!”
He pushed a finger deep inside her, and the shimmering heat exploded.
Her cries might have awoken Connor, had Reece not thrust his tongue into her mouth, taken them into his lungs. And even as his skilled fingers prolonged her climax, they drove her to a second shattering peak.
She gasped in surprise, arched against him, and shuddered as the jagged pleasure of it washed through her and left her weak. For a moment, she lay still, her eyes closed, and listened to the sound of their combined breathing. Then she opened her eyes and found him gazing down at her, a smile on his face.
“You’re incredibly sexy when you come.” He withdrew his hand and ran a finger slick with her own musky juices across her lower lip.
The ringing phone brought her upright with a jolt.
Reece saw the fear on her face and bit back several four-letter words. He stood and adjusted his rather painful erection. “Do you want me to answer it?”
She shook her head, popped off the couch and, tying her sweatpants as she went, hurried to the phone. “Hello?”
Her face blanched, and her finger flew to the record button.
A raspy male whisper came out of the answering machine’s speakers. “—listen very well, do you? This is your last warning, bitch. The ride gets rough from here. Hurt us, and we will destroy you, got that?”
“Who is ‘us’?”
But the caller had hung up.
“Dammit!” She slammed the receiver down.
Reece picked it up and held it out to her. “Call Chief Irving. Now.”
CHIEF IRVING arrived in less than ten minutes. He was a big, beefy man with a beer gut that made him look eleven or twelve months pregnant. His white hair was cropped short and stood almost on end, giving him the look of someone who’d recently gotten an electrical shock. But the pale blue eyes that gazed out at them from beneath bushy white eyebrows were intelligent, appraising—the eyes of a lifelong cop.