by Susan Fox
“You think it’ll be easier if you put it off?”
She shook her head. “No, but I want to wait until after the first trimester, until I’ve had an ultrasound and an amnio and know things are on the right track.”
“Makes sense.”
“I just hope,” she said softly, “that if people think badly of me they won’t take it out on the baby.”
“Me too.”
She squeezed his hand. “Hey, can I get you a drink? Have you had dinner?”
“It’s okay.”
“Have you had dinner, Jake?”
“I drove up without stopping.” A sudden yawn wracked him. “Come to think of it, I haven’t slept in a couple of days either.”
Brooke took her knitting and mug inside. In the kitchen she braced her hands against the table and leaned there for a moment. Jake was here. He wasn’t trying to argue her out of having the baby; he supported what she was doing.
She went to the fridge and pulled out a container that held leftover lasagna. She popped it in the microwave and was ripping up lettuce when he came into the kitchen.
“We could get married,” he said.
She turned, her hands dripping, unable to believe she’d heard him correctly. “Married?” Her voice came out in a squeak.
“To make the baby legitimate.”
“Oh.” Of course that was all he’d meant. Yes, she knew he cared for her, but he wasn’t a white-picket-fence-and-baby kind of man. And it wasn’t like she wanted marriage anyhow. Well, maybe she wouldn’t mind. After all, if she could take on the responsibility for a child, a man should be easy. But not an undercover cop who risked his life every day.
“If we got married, people wouldn’t judge you as harshly,” he said. “We could later split up, and they’d feel sorry for you and the kid. And you wouldn’t have to take my name or call the baby Brannon. Not unless you wanted to.”
She hadn’t thought about the baby’s surname, but now that he’d raised the subject she knew one thing. “The baby shouldn’t have Mo’s name.”
“How about Brannon, then?”
“I had a really nice grandfather named Nicholas,” she said tentatively. “I was thinking of Nicholas for a boy or Nicola for a girl. Nick or Nicki for short.” She swallowed and tried them out. “Nick Brannon. Nicki Brannon. They sound good.”
He nodded. “They do.”
She smiled and turned back to the lettuce. “Then maybe I’ll do that. But I’m not marrying you, Jake. That’d be crazy. You know I don’t believe in lies, and a marriage in name only is a pretty serious lie. Besides, Mo and I married for the wrong reasons and it was a disaster.”
He touched her shoulder, making her jump. “We’d do it for the right reason. For our baby, Brooke.”
Our baby. Oh Lord, there went those hormones again.
She turned away, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears, and finished assembling the salad. The microwave beeped and she took out the lasagna and served it onto a plate. “I’m afraid I don’t have any beer.”
“Milk’s good.” He took the container from the fridge and poured a glass, then took his old place at her kitchen table.
She slid into her place across from him. Was this real, or was she dreaming? She’d come to terms with the idea that she’d never see Jake again, and now here they were in her kitchen, talking about baby names. About marriage.
He ate hungrily for a few minutes, then said, “Did you have to go off the lithium?”
“Good Lord. Do you remember everything you’ve ever read?”
“If it’s important.”
Remembering details about her illness was important to him? “Yes, I’ve stopped taking it, but I’m doing fine.”
“Honest?”
“Really. I was nervous for a while. But my psychiatrist helped me work through it. Most of the weird symptoms I was experiencing were due to anxiety. And normal hormones associated with pregnancy.”
“I’m glad. How about morning sickness?”
“Not yet. Touch wood.” She rapped on the table. “Nor has Jessica, and she’s more than a month ahead of me.”
“She and Evan and Robin are all okay?”
“Sure. Busy as ever.”
He rested his elbows on the table and propped his unshaven jaw on his fists. “You’re really okay with this? You want the baby?”
She nodded firmly. “Yes. It’s a miracle, having a baby, and I’ve been given a second chance to experience it. You’ve given me that second chance.”
He gave her a slow, warm smile. “You’re a generous woman, Brooke Kincaid. But I already knew that.”
Jake watched Brooke as she moved around the kitchen, putting his few dinner dishes in the dishwasher, wiping the counter, hanging up a dish towel. Amazing to believe that inside her lovely body their baby was growing. Even more amazing to find he wanted her more than ever before.
As he’d told her, it had been days since he’d slept. Then he’d ridden his Harley, repaired and repainted in his absence, for more than five hours. On top of all that, he’d just weathered what was probably the biggest shock of his life. After all that, it wasn’t logical that the thing he most wanted was to take Brooke to bed.
She stretched and pressed a hand to her lower back.
“Sore?”
“Standing all day didn’t used to bother me, but now I get a little achy. Kate suggested I buy a heating pad, but I keep forgetting. Usually I take a bath before bed and that fixes it.”
She stood at the sink with her back to him even though she’d stopped tidying. He guessed she was feeling awkward, just like he was.
He went to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “I’d like to talk to you some more about the baby, but you’re tired. I don’t want to keep you from that bath. Unless you’d settle for an alternative.”
She tensed. “An alternative?”
“How about a massage?”
She stood still, her muscles taut under his hands. Then she turned to him. “A massage sounds good.” She gazed up at him and her eyes were asking a question.
He answered it. “I want you, Brooke. I’d like to spend the night. Give you a massage, make slow, gentle love, sleep with you in my arms. But only if you want that.”
She nodded quickly, as if she’d already considered the possibility. “Yes.”
And then she was in his arms again, but this time it was very different from when they’d greeted each other on the porch. This time it was hungry.
They kissed greedily and their hands were all over each other, wrenching at clothing, trying to find bare skin. “Maybe we won’t start with the massage,” he said, his voice coming out rough and shaky, and he figured the lovemaking wouldn’t be all that slow and gentle. At least not the first time.
“Let’s go to the bedroom.” She freed herself from his grasp and reached for his hand.
Upstairs, he clicked on the bedside lamp. The room hadn’t changed, except that she’d hung the watercolor he’d given her. He smiled at that, then forgot all about it when Brooke pulled her T-shirt over her head, revealing one of her pretty, lacy bras.
When he pulled his own tee off, she ran a hand over his side where the bullet had torn his flesh. “It healed well,” she commented.
“A scar to remind me of you. Did I tell you when I first came to and saw you leaning over me I thought I’d died and you were an angel?”
“An angel?” Her face lit with laughter.
“And I was right,” he mused, smoothing his hand over her chest and down to touch a breast through the lace of her bra. Then he reached behind her back and undid the clasp. Slowly he pulled her bra away from her body, let it drop to the floor, and cupped the soft weight of her breasts in both hands.
“When you first opened your mouth you let out such a string of curses, I thought you were the devil,” she said. “Then you pulled a gun on me and confirmed it.”
“What do you think now?”
“You’re just a man, Jake, and I�
��m just a woman. But together we’re something special. And our baby will be someone special.”
He undid the fly-front zipper of her khaki skirt and slipped his hand inside to curve around her belly. Just inches from his fingers, their baby was growing. Their child might have bipolar disorder. It might be dark like him or fair like her, a boy or a girl. Whatever, it definitely would be someone special. Now that he was with Brooke again, he knew her decision to have the baby had been inevitable.
She wriggled her hips and her skirt began to slide down. She reached over to place a firm hand across the front of his jeans, where his hard-on strained the fabric. “I want you, Jake. I want to make love to you while I’m pregnant with our child.”
He did too. At first he’d just thought it was his normal lust for Brooke, but now he realized there was an added appeal in knowing she was carrying their child.
It was a bizarre, scary thought and he wasn’t about to analyze it. Instead he helped her undo the zipper of his jeans.
She put her hands in each side, at the waist, and eased the jeans down his hips, then hooked her fingers into the band of his briefs so they would go along for the ride. Pausing there, she teased, “Not going to stop me this time?”
“What would you have done if I hadn’t stopped you that first day?”
“Died of embarrassment. And lust.”
“So you were lusting after my body even then,” he joked, flattered and aroused at the thought.
“From the moment I saw you. Even though I figured you were the devil incarnate.” Finally, she took up where she’d left off, inching his jeans and underwear down so that his erection sprang free.
“A churchgoing lady like you isn’t supposed to be turned on by the devil.”
“Mmm.” She ran her tongue around her lips. “I guess I must be very wicked.” She continued to tug his jeans and briefs down until they hit the floor.
He bent to pull off his boots and socks, the tangled clothing, then straightened to stand naked in front of her. “Then have your wicked way with me, woman.”
“I fully intend to.”
Her fingers wrapped around him and he groaned with pleasure. Too much pleasure. He pushed her away. “Slow down or I’ll come.”
“Then we’d just have to do it again.” Suddenly she gave a little frown. “Condoms? I mean, not for pregnancy but . . .”
He felt a moment’s hurt. Irrational hurt. “I’m clean, Brooke. And I haven’t been with anyone since you.”
Her eyes sparkled. “This’ll be something new!”
His hurt vanished in a flash. The idea of really coming inside her was mind-blowing. No barriers, just his body and hers. He scooped her up and placed her gently on the bed. “The second time will be slow and gentle. Right now, I just need to be inside you.”
She lifted her arms to him. “Then stop talking and come on in.”
He did exactly as she said.
It was over in about two minutes flat. But her body convulsed around him, and she cried out his name on a high, joyous note.
Afterward he stayed inside her—what luxury, not having to pull out and deal with a condom—and shifted their bodies so they were on their sides and his weight was off her. He ran a hand down her side, wondering how her skin could possibly be so soft. “You’re so beautiful.”
“You’re not bad yourself.” She tangled her fingers in his chest hair and tugged gently.
He leaned closer and touched his lips to hers. The kiss started out lazy but grew like wildfire and he hardened again inside her. He moved a little and she whimpered and pushed back against him, taking him deeper. He encircled her with his arms and shifted position again, so he was lying on his back and she was astride him.
“Take me, babe,” he murmured. “Take whatever you want. Show me how to please you.”
“You always please me.” But she accepted his invitation and began to rise and fall slowly, sliding up so just the tip of him remained inside her, then pushing down again so she encompassed him fully. Grinding her body into his for that extra bit of friction.
He tried to keep his hips on the bed, tried not to thrust into her, tried to let her control their rhythm.
She leaned over him, hands gripping his waist, breasts bouncing.
He captured those breasts in his hands and lifted himself until he could suckle one of her nipples.
She moaned and moved faster until her body tightened and clenched around him. Then she cried out and her internal muscles contracted in spasms around him as she climaxed.
He fought for control, waited until her eyes opened and focused on his.
“Mmm,” she sighed. “So good.”
Then he took her up again, plunging into her, lifting both their bodies off the bed as he reached into her very center, and, finally, when she cried his name and spasmed again, he let himself come.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The morning light woke Brooke, as it always did. And, as she always did, she gazed across at the watercolor Jake had given her and smiled. Then she remembered.
Yes, he was still there. Curled on his side facing her, his body covered to the waist with a sheet.
His hair had grown and she was glad. That gypsy look suited him. So did the dark stubble on his face. She touched her own chin, remembering how surprisingly soft that hair was.
What a precious gift this had been, another night with Jake.
What would happen now? Would he go back to Vancouver and out of her life? Again? Was that what she wanted?
It would be easier. Seeing him again confirmed how much she loved him.
This marriage idea of his was crazy. He didn’t really mean it, did he?
They needed to talk. Later. Right now, she wanted to seduce him. She lifted the sheet that covered his lower body.
Brooke made a breakfast of omelets and toast, and Jake dove into it with relish. He sure did work up an appetite when he was with her.
She took a small bite and asked, “Are you going back to Vancouver today?”
“Have to. They’re sending me out on another assignment.”
“But you just got home from the last one.”
“That’s my life, Brooke.”
After a moment, she said, “I know. You and Jamal. At least you take care of each other.”
“This one isn’t dangerous; it’s just a task force. And Jamal’s not involved. He’s taking a few days off. Visiting Karen.”
“Oh, really. That’s very interesting. Good for them. I suppose.” She frowned. “I guess Karen knows what she’s getting into, what kind of work Jamal does.”
“Yeah, and it’s not like her work is exactly safe either.”
He thought about Jamal’s basketball dreams. Maybe his colleague would move up here, take up with Karen and her dog. It’d take half the fun out of his own job, not working with Jamal. “Your letter said that Karen’s been talking about him?”
She smiled. “You know, I barely knew Karen, and I’ve always been wary of the police. But now we go for coffee all the time. I think we’re . . . becoming friends.” Her voice softened on that last word.
Jake smiled too. Oh yeah, Brooke was changing, if she could let herself trust in friendship.
Her smile became a grin. “To answer your question, yes, she’s been known to mention Jamal.”
Looked like his partner really might be heading for a driveway with a basketball hoop.
And Brooke was heading for . . . what? He doubted she’d be teaching their child how to play basketball. She deserved to find a good husband—though for some reason that thought didn’t please Jake. Finding one would be harder, though, with a baby.
Evan would be there. The kid would have a man in his—or her—life.
Strange, not knowing what sex the baby was. Made it harder to envision the kid. Not that he really wanted to be doing that.
He polished off the delicious omelet and asked the question that needed to be asked. “So what do you say about getting married?”
&nbs
p; Brooke gave a little jerk when he asked the question, and he guessed he had kind of tossed it out of the blue again. But then she gazed steadily into his eyes across the table and said, “I appreciate the offer. But I can’t imagine swearing those vows knowing that they were a lie. That we were only marrying to make the baby legitimate, and we’d divorce afterward.”
Divorce. Such a harsh word. People divorced when they no longer cared for each other, and he couldn’t imagine not caring for Brooke. So . . . maybe they could marry and not divorce? See each other when he was between assignments? It’d be nice to come home to her and her house rather than his lonely, dingy apartment.
But no, she’d hate that kind of life. Hate worrying about him when he was off on a U/C job. He couldn’t do it to her.
“Don’t have to decide right now,” he muttered. “But you’ll start showing. If we’re going to do it, we might want to do it before then.”
“Not until I’ve passed the first trimester and we know everything’s okay. Otherwise it would be pointless.”
He didn’t want to get married. Not one bit. Yet words like divorce and pointless were painful little stabs in his heart, even though he knew she didn’t mean them that way. He got up to pour himself a refill of coffee, and leaned his hip against the kitchen counter. There was another question he had to ask. “You’re not seriously worried about the kid having bipolar?”
She’d been toying with her food. Now she put down her fork and gazed across at him. “Yes, I’m seriously worried.”
“Oh. Uh . . .”
“We’d be on the lookout for symptoms so, if the child had it, the illness would be diagnosed early. But not everyone responds to treatment as well as I do. The bottom line is, this baby could suffer a severe form of the illness that isn’t amenable to treatment.”
Crap. He wished he hadn’t asked, hated to see the worry on her face. But she should be able to talk to someone about these things. Besides, as the kid’s father, he had a responsibility too. “If it’s any help,” he told her, “I don’t know of any genetic problems on my side.”