A Weaver Beginning

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  “Just drop it.” He turned to leave.

  But she grabbed his arm. “I put my life on hold for five years for you,” she reminded him tartly. “I gave up the only home I’d ever had until then and moved from Chicago to Weaver—started over again—just to satisfy your overprotective nature while you wormed your way into the Deuces.”

  “I get it. I owe you. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m trying. I warned you I wouldn’t be any good at it.”

  She gave a huge sigh. “Sloan, you don’t owe me. I love you. I want to see you happy. And you know that my coming to Weaver turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me, because this is where I found Axel. Why can’t you just be hopeful? Go with your emotions for once?”

  “Emotions never managed to get me anywhere I wanted to be.”

  “That’s the past,” she reminded him softly. “Abby’s not Maria. Working for Max is not the same as pretending to be in league with a bunch of criminals. You lived long enough in the shadows. We did it when we were growing up because we had no choice, but things are different now. We’re different.”

  “Are we?” He jerked his chin toward the window over the sink. “You’re living exactly the sort of life you always dreamed of having.”

  “What sort of life did you dream of having?”

  He chucked her lightly under the chin. “We’re twins, Goob, but we’re pretty damn different. I didn’t dream.”

  She just shook her head. “Everyone has a dream. And you’re only hurting yourself by pretending otherwise.” She dried her hands. “And I still like Abby.”

  He stifled a curse. “She’s too young.”

  Tara laughed at that. “She’s raising a seven-year-old boy. She bought a house on her own, has an education and a good job. What she is is a young woman making a life for herself. She’s not someone you need to rescue, and that is what probably scares the daylights out of you. Means you don’t get to call all the shots and try to control everything. For the majority of us, that’s what real life is.” She patted his arm as she headed for the back door, grabbing a jacket off a hook on the way. “Whether Abby is in your future or not is up to the two of you. Just don’t let what’s happened in the past make the decision for you.”

  * * *

  It took all of Abby’s self-control not to watch Sloan too carefully when he followed his sister outside to join the football game.

  Of course calling it a football game was playing fast and loose with the term. There was a football, and there did seem to be some sort of scoring. But mostly it was just a chance to run off too much pizza and—according to Chloe’s father, Ryan—wear out the kids well enough that they went to sleep on time for once.

  The success of which was proven later when Dillon dozed off on the drive home.

  When they got to her house, Sloan offered to carry him inside for her.

  “Thanks.” She went ahead of him to unlock the door and then followed him down the hall to Dillon’s room. She’d managed to keep her emotions in check since she’d waded into Sloan’s sister’s family and began introducing herself as if everything were perfectly normal.

  But watching him settle her little brother so carefully in his bed now was more than she could take.

  She turned on her heel and went out to the kitchen, kicking off her boots along the way. Needing something to do, she filled the coffee maker and started it up. The caffeine would keep her awake later, but it seemed smarter than pulling out the margarita mix left over from poker night with the girls. After those margaritas, she’d made out with Sloan in the middle of her front yard.

  And look where that had led. He’d kissed her only to end up pushing her away.

  She heard him when he came out from the bedroom but couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “I’m making coffee.” She stated the obvious. “Would you like some?”

  “I’m sorry about all that crap at Tara’s.”

  “We had a very nice time. Dillon particularly. Did you see him and Chloe? Like two peas in a pod.”

  “About us,” he said.

  As if she didn’t know. “They were just poking at you the way families do.” She pulled a mug from the cabinet and held it up. “Yes or no?”

  He sat down on one of the barstools, tossing his leather jacket onto the empty stool beside him.

  She took that as a yes and set the mug in front of him then got down a second one for herself. The scent of coffee was starting to fill the room, but the coffee maker still had plenty of gurgling to get through before it would be finished.

  Which left her with nothing to keep herself busy, so she opened the container of cookies and set it on the counter. They were left over from the second batch she’d made, most of which had gone to Mr. Gilcrest next door.

  “Dillon’s shiner is really coming in.”

  She snatched up a cookie and broke off a corner, trying to keep her eyes from him. It was hard when he looked so darned good. “It’s nothing to sound so pleased about. Calvin’s is equally awful. It’s no wonder his mother could barely stand talking to me.”

  He hesitated for a moment. “How was your grandmother when you visited today?”

  She had the sense that hadn’t been what he’d wanted to say. She plucked a paper napkin from the holder next to the toaster, folded it in half and set her cookie on it. “The same.”

  “Which means what?”

  She sighed. “That she usually thinks I’m one of the nurses who works there and that Dillon is the grandson of the janitor.”

  “That’s rough.”

  She chewed the inside of her lip and lifted her shoulders. “Thinking about it makes me want to cry,” she admitted, “so I’d just as soon not think about it.” Tears burned behind her eyes anyway.

  “How long has she been sick?”

  She turned to face the coffee maker, wishing the thing would hurry. “She was diagnosed six years ago. My grandfather took care of her, though, until he—” Her throat tightened. The machine spit out its last gasp of coffee, and she grabbed the pot, turning to fill Sloan’s cup. “He had a massive heart attack two years ago.”

  “Then who took care of her?”

  “I did at first.”

  “Weren’t you still in nursing school?”

  She nodded. “I hired someone for the days that I couldn’t be there because of school. She watched Grandma, and then one of our neighbors helped get Dillon to and from school.”

  “Couldn’t have been easy.”

  “That’s just the way it was. My grandfather was always a planner and he’d planned well. Their house was paid for, plus there was insurance. In his will he made it plain that he wanted me to have guardianship of Dillon.” Her throat tightened again. “And to do whatever I needed where my grandmother was concerned. He didn’t want me feeling guilty when the day came that I wouldn’t be able to care for her anymore. He’d already made arrangements for where she would go. Braden Bridge is a wonderful place.”

  “He sounds like quite a guy,” he said after a moment. “What’d he do?”

  “High-school math teacher. My grandmother was pretty great, too. This is her favorite cookie recipe, by the way. She was as quick with a kiss as she was a kick in the butt if she thought you needed one. I never once felt like I’d missed out on not having a mom. They loved me so much. I want Dillon to grow up feeling that same sense of security.”

  He nudged her fingers away from the handle of the coffeepot and filled her mug, since she’d clearly forgotten to. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “That fight with Calvin doesn’t shout success. He’s never done such a thing at home in Braden, and we’ve barely settled in here, and wham.”

  “How often did he have nightmares in Braden?” he challenged. “Damn, but these things are good,” he murmured, taking another cookie for himself and popping it into his mouth whole. He shoved the long sleeves of his dark gray T-shirt up his sinewy forearms. “You’ve only been here a few weeks. You can’t judge anything by that.”

&nbs
p; “Maybe. I just don’t want my decision to move here to have been a mistake.” She pressed her fingertip into the crumbs from her cookie and absently sucked off the chocolate.

  His sudden stillness penetrated the air, and she realized he was looking at her mouth.

  “You haven’t made a mistake.” His voice was deeper than usual. His gaze jerked up to meet hers as if he’d realized where his focus had been.

  Or maybe that was her imagination again, working overtime where he was concerned.

  “You’re in a new job,” he continued, sounding a little gruff. “He’s in a new school. You’ve both had a lot of changes, and that might make it rocky at first, but that’ll smooth out in time.”

  She dabbed more crumbs onto her fingertip, only to wipe them off again on the napkin when she realized her hand was trembling. “Comforting words from a guy who can’t commit to anything beyond the next few months.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Sweet Abby Marcum has claws.”

  She blew out a noisy breath and shook her head. “Not really.” She wiggled her spread fingers. “Just an occasional tendency to say inappropriate things. My grandfather used to call it my smart-i-tude.”

  He caught her fingers in his hands, and she froze. “If there’s anything inappropriate around here, it’s me.”

  She made a face, prepared to deny it. But her words dried when he guided her fingertip back to the crumbled cookie and slowly pressed down, picking up crumbs the same way that she had. And when he pulled her finger to his mouth and closed his lips over the tip, her throat closed altogether.

  Then he turned her hand, spreading her fingers flat, and kissed her palm.

  Shivers danced down her spine. Something was working overtime inside her, and it definitely was not her imagination. “Sloan.” It was barely a whisper.

  His eyes looked into hers. “Inappropriate.”

  She swallowed hard. “Why? Are you hiding a wife somewhere after all?”

  “I’m trying to be serious here, sweetheart.”

  But his lips had twitched again, so she grew a little braver. She’d encouraged Dee to open Joe Gage’s eyes. Why shouldn’t she try her own advice? She leaned her elbows on the counter, bringing herself closer to him, and turned her hand in his to slide her palm slowly against his. His eyes narrowed and he drew in a slow, careful breath.

  The reaction made her feel heady.

  “Do you actually have fuzzy aliens living in your attic?” she whispered seriously.

  He waited a beat before chuckling softly. “You do make me laugh.”

  “Is that all?”

  His jaw canted to one side. His eyes met hers again, and she felt the impact right down to her toes.

  “We’ve already established that isn’t all.”

  “And that’s inappropriate. The fact that I—” She pressed her tongue against the edge of her teeth, steadying herself for a moment. “That you—”

  “Yeah,” he murmured. “That.”

  She leaned even closer, unintentionally crushing what was left of her cookie. She barely noticed. “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  She slowly shook her head. “All you said was I didn’t need a man like you.”

  “You’re confusing the stories from the news with reality.”

  “I’m not confused.” She inched closer until her lips were so close to his that she could feel the warmth of his breath on them. “I think you feel safer thinking that I’m confused.”

  He pulled back a few inches, one eyebrow lifting. “Is that a fact.”

  Her heart beat so hard in her chest, she felt dizzy from it. “It’s not the guy in the news who built a snowman with my brother,” she whispered. “Who gives him a ride on his motorcycle and encourages him. It’s you. Dillon doesn’t even know about what you did with the Deuces.” His hero worship would know no bounds once he did.

  “I’m not doing anything that anybody else wouldn’t do,” Sloan dismissed. “He’s a good kid.”

  “He is,” she agreed. “But you’re wrong thinking everyone would treat him the same as you do. Just because I didn’t leave behind a boyfriend in Braden doesn’t mean I didn’t have the opportunity.”

  His gaze sharpened. “What sort of opportunity?”

  “Nothing I cared to explore. Not every guy has the patience to put up with having a little boy around.” She shrugged. “And I don’t have any interest in someone who doesn’t understand how important Dillon is to me.” Because she couldn’t resist, she traced her thumb over his lower lip. “No matter what you say, you’ll never make me believe you’re not a good man.”

  “I want to sleep with you.”

  Her breath eked out. “I want to sleep with you, too,” she managed to say, striving for calm and falling shudderingly short.

  His gaze roved over her face, hesitating on her lips. “Just sex,” he added flatly. “It’s not about anything else but that. Still think I’m a good deal?”

  Something about the way he said it penetrated her light-headedness. His eyes were pinning her in place, oddly remote and divulging nothing in return.

  This is the man who convinced a horde of thugs he was one of them.

  The realization calmed her, and her hand shook only a little as she laid her palm along his jaw then trailed her fingertips down the hard column of his neck to the swirling edge of his tattoo, feeling him stiffen when she touched him there. “It’s not going to work,” she warned. “You won’t scare me off by pretending you don’t care.” Then, before she lost her nerve, she leaned forward and brushed her mouth slowly over his.

  Again.

  And again.

  Until she felt his lips soften, and he made a low sound that danced across her nerve endings. Then he moved suddenly, his fingers sliding through her hair, twisting gently as he pulled her head back.

  The gaze that burned over her face was anything but remote. She didn’t know what he was looking for, but he must have found it, because he gave that low groan again that thrilled her and fastened his mouth over hers. Hot. Hard. Deep.

  She leaned closer, trying to wrap her arms around him, but the counter was in the way, and he seemed to realize it about the same time she did, because his hands left her hair and slid beneath her arms, and he pulled her right up onto the narrow surface.

  She gasped.

  “Don’t wake your brother.” He pushed aside the coffee mugs and the container of cookies. “Pull your legs over.”

  She shifted onto her rear, swung her legs around until she was sitting on top of the counter and tried not to gasp again when he closed his hands around her ankles and tugged her across the smooth surface until her chest hit his. Her heart raced and she was so afraid he’d stop that she caught her legs around his hips.

  His expression turned unholy. “Have some experience with kitchen counters, do you?”

  Her mouth opened; she almost blurted that she had no experience with anything at all, but he took advantage of her parted lips, kissing her again, even more deeply. And then she couldn’t think about anything at all. Couldn’t worry. Couldn’t plan.

  She could only feel.

  Feel the heat of his fingers sliding beneath her sweater, slowly dragging it upward. He pulled away from their kiss so he could work the sweater over her head and toss it aside. Her own fingers flexed, desperate to get their own skin time, but his lips touched the side of her neck then burned their way down to her heartbeat that pulsed madly inside her chest.

  Her head swam, and her hands fisted in his hair as he dragged his mouth over the lacy cups of her bra, dipped a finger inside and slowly drew it down until an aching nipple sprang free for him to taste.

  Heat streaked from that wet warmth surrounding her to her center and she jerked, biting back a groan.

  He drew in a hissing breath and straightened again, crushing her against him. She could feel his pounding heart almost as well as she could feel her own.

  “Tell me you’re on the pill, sweetheart.” His voice ra
sped against her ear as he kissed her cheek. Her neck. “Because it’s been a long time since I’ve needed to carry around a condom.”

  She froze.

  She was a nurse, for crying out loud.

  Why hadn’t she thought this far ahead?

  “I, uh, I—” She tried to speak, but her throat was too tight. Every nerve in her body felt perched on a jagged edge, ready to splinter. “No,” she managed to say and moaned a little when his teeth grazed the point of her shoulder as he drew the strap of her bra over it.

  At first she wasn’t sure he’d even heard, but his roving hand slowly stopped. He lifted his head. His eyes were hooded, even darker than usual, and filled with heat. “Not on the pill? What do you use?”

  “Nothing,” she whispered.

  His eyebrows rose.

  “There was never a need,” she added, feeling shaky inside. “Before.” Why wasn’t there a how-to book somewhere that gave tips for situations like this?

  His hands went from her hips to press flat against the countertop on either side of her. His eyes searched hers. “Abby?” He said just her name, but the way he drew it out, there was a wealth of questions in it.

  She could either let him come to his own conclusion or she could head straight in and admit it first.

  “I didn’t need the pill,” she said huskily, “because I’ve never...never done this before.”

  And then she flinched as he let out an oath and let her go as if she’d suddenly grown horns.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sloan stared at Abby. “You’re a virgin,” he said flatly, wanting clarification even though he didn’t really need it. He should have realized. Should have figured that her aura of innocence went deeper than the surface.

  Her lips were swollen and red from his kisses; her hair tumbled around her bare shoulders; her breasts lifted rapidly against the lacy bra barely confining them. Then her lashes lowered, hiding the clouds that her gray eyes had become. “I’m sorry.”

  He raked his hand down his face and stifled another oath. He started to move away from the counter, only to stop. He was hard as hell but at least the counter provided some shield. “There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin.”