Adam stared at her. “Go where?” What the hell was she talking about?
“To Italy or France or wherever it is you’re headed.” Those full lips pulled into a pout. “Where are you going and what are you running from?” She leaned toward him, lowered her voice. “Is it me? Are you running from me?”
“I’m not running from anyone and I’m not going to Italy or France.” He narrowed his gaze on her. “Who told you that?”
She studied him, her lips curving into a small smile. “It’s okay to admit a weakness. I think it makes a man more human.” A pause, followed by a breathy “And more desirable.”
“Bree. I’m not going anywhere.”
“What about Australia? You’re going somewhere for nine months or more.” Her voice dribbled to a soft “Aren’t you?”
Adam shook his head as the beginnings of the truth took shape. Bree hadn’t just concocted a story about a trans-Atlantic trip of unknown destination. Someone had planted it and made sure she heard about it. Roman had been bugging him to contact Bree and try again, but when he’d had no success, the attempts had fizzled out. Or had they? Maybe his friend had simply found another method to accomplish his mission. Damn it, what had Roman done? “There’s no trip, Bree. I think someone wanted to get you here by appealing to your emotions. I have a feeling I know who it is, too.”
Her lips pinched into a thin line. “I know who it is and they’re in cahoots.”
“They?”
“Roman and my father.”
Now that surprised him. “Roman, yes, but your father? I seriously doubt he’d take part in a scheme to get us together.” He shrugged, offered a half smile. “Unless he offered to pay to have me dropped in some desolate location, never to be heard from again. That I can imagine.”
“No, you’re wrong there. He…” She settled her gaze on his hands, licked her lips. “He wants us to be together, said I have to stop being afraid to live, and admitted he has to let me find my own happiness, not the one he thinks I should have.” Bree lifted a shoulder, fingered the wineglass. “He just wants to protect me but he said he has to stop being selfish and let me live my life.” She slid her gaze to his, and those eyes burned him in a way that stole his breath. “Wherever that may take me.”
“Bree? What are you saying?”
She lifted a hand, fanned herself. “I am most certainly not used to courting a man, that’s for sure, but look at me, as pathetic as all get-out.”
Adam hid a smile, reached across the table, and covered her hand with his. “I think it’s very attractive.”
“You would.” Her lips twitched, pulled into a full-blown smile.
His smile matched hers. “And sexy as hell.”
“Hmm. Sexy, huh?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Can I come sit over there, next to you?”
“As long as you don’t mind me touching you.” He could not wait to feel that silky skin, taste those lips…
The look she gave him this time said “please and thank you.” “I absolutely do not mind.” She scooted out of the booth and slid next to him. “Oh, Adam, I missed you.”
“Show me,” he murmured as he took her face between his hands, devoured her mouth until she whimpered. He pulled back, whispered, “Maybe we should take this somewhere more private. My place is close by.”
Bree trailed a hand up his thigh, stopped inches from his crotch. “I think that’s a very good idea. Maybe the best you’ve ever had.”
He laughed and pulled her closer. “I love you, Bree Kinkaid. I think I loved you from the first time I spotted you in this booth.”
She touched his cheek, leaned in, and kissed him softly on the mouth. “You’re in my heart, Adam Brandon. I love you and I’m so sorry for all the hurt I caused you.”
Her words smothered him with emotion. She loved him. He traced her lips, brushed a kiss over her temple, and whispered, “We definitely need to get out of here. Like now.” He definitely needed to get her home and into his bed. Adam pulled out his wallet, tossed two twenties on the table. “Let’s go.”
Bree grabbed his hand and followed him out of the restaurant. “My hotel’s closer.”
He thrust an arm around her shoulder, pulled her close. They were going to do things his way this time, no more hotel rooms and strange beds. “Uh-uh. I want you in my bed tonight.” She smiled up at him as though she didn’t care where they ended up as long as they ended up together. Together. He liked the sound of that. A lot.
“Should we stop and pick up my bags? I have a few personal items and my clothes—”
“Trust me, you won’t need anything, especially clothes.” He pictured her sprawled out naked on his bed, satisfied and exhausted. Yeah, he liked the sound and the visual of that. When they reached his car, Adam opened the door and Bree slipped inside. He made his way around to the driver’s side and when he’d started the car, he turned to her and said, “Come here. Let me taste you.”
She was more than willing to do what he asked. In fact, if he hadn’t stopped her, he swore she would have straddled the console and cozied up in his lap, those busy little hands exploring his body, touching, stroking, unzipping… And then what would have happened? He pushed the thoughts away, forced himself to focus on right now and getting home so he could have his real fantasy with the woman he loved. Adam cleared his throat and said, “I think you’d better stay on your side until we get home.”
Home. He liked that word when it was linked with Bree. She eased back in her seat, rested her hand on Adam’s leg, stroked her fingers along the inside of his thigh until he clamped a hand to stop her.
“In a few minutes, you can do whatever you want.”
She laughed, turned toward him, and said, “Count on it.”
He shot her a sideways glance, frowned. “You are a witch, Bree Kinkaid, and a temptress.”
“I’ve never been called a witch before. Thank you.”
Damn, but he wanted her. Needed her. And he’d have her, soon. When they reached the ultra-modern set of condos, Adam pulled into his parking spot and minutes later led her to the top floor and into his condo. He flicked on the light, backed her against the door, and kissed her, long and slow, his hands roaming her body, stroking her breasts, her thighs, her sex. Bree threw her arms around his neck, pressed her body against his, moaned in his mouth. “I have missed you so much.”
“I’m not sure we’ll make it to the bed,” he murmured against her lips. “We might have to save that for later.”
“Oh, Adam.” Bree began unbuttoning his shirt, yanked it from his pants…
“Bree.” He slid his hands up her thigh, eased her panties off, and cupped her butt. They could go slow later. Right now, he needed to be inside her, needed to feel her heat again.
“I want you,” Bree whispered. “And I will never stop wanting you. Don’t ever forget that.”
How could a guy forget words like that?
She laid her hands on his belt buckle. Next came the zipper, then the pants and boxers. She stared at his sex, shivered, and leaned forward to trace her tongue along the cord of his neck. “Delicious,” she whispered and sucked the sensitive flesh until he groaned. There was no more thinking after that as he lifted her in his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist, then eased her onto his sex, nice and slow, and perfect.
After, he would like to say it was the best sex ever. But he couldn’t because the best sex ever came later, in the bedroom, when he asked her to marry him, told her he thought he’d like to settle in Magdalena, help her run the business, be a father to the girls, and maybe one day, a father to one of their own.
And she said yes.
Epilogue
The day Tess and Daniel Casherdon’s life changed forever began like any other, a quick breakfast with talk of the day’s plans followed by a kiss before Cash grabbed his coffee and headed to the workshop. Tess would stay behind making phone calls, researching marketing opportunities and advertising possibilities for the business, and w
hen she was absolutely positive Cash would not pop in, she logged onto baby blogs that covered everything from the pre-expectant to the post-pregnant mother and the grandest joy of all, the baby. She didn’t want her husband to know she still read the stories of moms- and dads-to-be, still cried when words like pure joy and ten little toes slithered off the screen, settled in her brain, singed her soul.
She and Cash were not going to have a baby of their own, not the way they’d hoped, and it had taken her a lot longer to come to terms with this than it had Cash. Her husband wanted to see her happy and he wanted children, no matter how they came into their lives. He’d said it often enough and with enough passion that she believed him.
They’d talked about adoption last night, real talk as in setting up an appointment and starting the process. Why wait any longer when it looked like they weren’t going to conceive? Months of hoping had shifted to years of disappointment and Cash had finally said “enough.” The baby wasn’t happening and if they didn’t get moving on adoption options, that wouldn’t happen either. He’d been right, of course, but then, Cash always had an eye out for what was best for her.
Tess logged onto the baby blog she’d been following these past few weeks. Chaz and Frannie W chronicled the changes in their lives since they learned about little Emily, who according to the doctor, might make an early entrance. Frannie W dedicated a page to her unborn daughter, telling her about the grandparents who couldn’t wait to hold her, the big E on the wall of the pink and green nursery, the rows of books lining the shelf. There’d been two baby showers and Frannie had taken pictures of Emily’s room. Outfits in pink, purple, green, stripes and polka dots, hung in the closet or rested in tiny stacks in drawers. Receiving blankets, booties, socks, and burp pads filled other drawers. And the diapers! Boxes and boxes of them from newborn to size 3. Chaz had built shelves and Frannie placed Emily’s ultrasound picture framed in pink alongside photos of her parents, grandparents, even the family dog, Priscilla. Stuffed animals filled baskets decorated with pink and green ribbons: pigs, owls, dogs, bears, and fish, all waiting for Baby Emily’s arrival.
Tomorrow Chaz would set up the gliding rocker that had been on back order and where Frannie would sit when she breastfed their child. Tess blinked, tried to hold back the tears. Why did she continue to torture herself with what was never going to be? It wasn’t healthy; hadn’t her mother and Will had this conversation with her two weeks ago after Cash found her crying in a corner of their bedroom? Her husband had fought crime on the streets of Philly and survived two gunshot wounds, but his wife’s tears had terrified him. Her mother wanted her to see a therapist, deal with the reasons she continued to torture herself with baby blogs and pregnant women. Tess had started a journal two months ago, and while Cash knew about it and encouraged her to write in it, he never asked what she wrote. Maybe he didn’t want to know; maybe he only wanted to know when it started to help her—if it ever did.
Tess logged out of the blog and took a deep breath. She’d follow Chaz and Frannie until Baby Emily entered the world and then she would say good-bye to the blog. In fact, she needed to say good-bye to all of the baby blogs and think about her own life, the one she lived in every single day so she and Cash could create their own family. He was a natural around Nate’s daughters and Ben’s son, and would be a natural with their child, too. She knew she’d be a good mother. All she wanted was an opportunity.
When the doorbell rang, she thought it might be Christine stopping by with the girls to see Nate. But when Tess opened the door, the world as she knew it shifted and landed on top of her, crushing everything she’d always held true. She tried to open her mouth to speak, but her brain could not process what stood on the other side of the door. No. No. No!
And then the woman spoke.
“Hello, we’re looking for Daniel Casherdon. Is he here?”
The End
Thank You and more
Many thanks for choosing to spend your time reading A Family Affair: The Wish. I’m truly grateful. If you enjoyed it, please consider writing a review on the site where you purchased it. (Short ones are fine and always welcome.) And now, I must head back to Magdalena and help these characters get in and out of trouble! If you’d like to be notified of my new releases, please sign up at my website: https://www.marycampisi.com.
As you read this book, did you wonder about Adam’s brother, Matt and the woman they both fell in love with—Sara Hamilton? Matt and Sara are the main characters in Paradise Found, Book 4 in That Second Chance series, but they’re far from the perfect couple. If you haven’t read their story, click here to learn more.
Next up: A Family Affair:The Gift. The story you’ve all been waiting for is coming!
Only one thing is missing from Tess and Daniel “Cash” Casherdon’s perfect life—a baby. Oh, how they long for one to make their life complete.
But what is it people say about being careful what you wish for…??
And you won’t want to miss Tula Rae, from Not Your Everyday Housewife, That Second Chance series, Book 5 as she descends upon Magdalena and goes head-to-head with Pop Benito on philosophizing and what makes a family. Did I mention she’s a 60-something, salsa dancing, 4-time widow who sports spandex and a gray braid? It’s going to get very interesting.
Stay tuned.
Excerpt Introduction
Not Your Everyday Housewife
A wise and humorous tale of living large after 40 as women finally make peace with themselves—wrinkles, blubber, neuroses, exes, and all.
Three women embark on a month-long “discovery” journey and uncover quite a few tidbits along the way…one bottle of Clairol Midnight will not cover a full head of red hair, and never talk to men wearing polyester pants hiked up with a tan belt. But most of what they unearth is about themselves—who they are, what they really want, what they really don’t want. The center of controversy is a Maid-for-You mixer, which symbolizes a boring, routine suburban life with no second chances—then along comes insight in the form of Tula Rae, a sixty-something salsa-dancing, Dalai Lama-quoting, four-time widow in Spandex and a gray braid who gives them a different perspective on life, love, do-overs, and the real reason a man buys his woman a Maid-for-You mixer, which she says is all about S-E-X.
Excerpt from Not Your Everyday Housewife
“You did what for whom?”
“I matched the animals’ outfits to their owners,” Derry said, shrugging. “This senator’s wife likes Versace and Prada? Fine. The white Pomeranian gets a Versace sweater and a Prada collar.”
“That is the most ridiculous thing I have heard in all of my years on this earth,” Tula Rae said, sipping on a glass of homemade chablis. “Someone should’ve reported it to the papers.”
“They did. And guess what? People weren’t outraged, well, except for maybe a handful, but you know what the majority said? Where can I get one?”
“Them’s crazy people,” Tula Rae muttered, hacking a Vidalia onion with her cleaver. “Damn crazy.” She and Derry were making bouillabaisse, just the way Earl Gray liked it.
“This is his favorite. It was his mama’s recipe, handed down from her mama, and all the way back four generations.”
“You ever going to let him make an honest woman out of you?” Derry asked, peeling a shrimp.
“Honey, there’s no more honest woman than Tula Rae, but I had no luck with husbands. Four dead. That’s God’s way of saying, ‘You ain’t meant to be married.’”
“I think marriage should be a contract, renewable every five years. At the end of the fifth year, you renegotiate. If you want another five, you sign up.”
That made Tula Rae laugh. “So, if you get your eye on some other woman’s husband, you just wait until the contract’s up and then grab him? Sounds like an invitation to a hell of a lot of catfights.”
“Unless you’re the one trying to get rid of the husband.”
“Ah, I see how it is. Hurt’s an awful thing, but losing ’em for good, that’s a w
orse pain. And if you let pride push ’em away, that’s the worst kind of hurting you can imagine. Even worse than death, ’cause you know you did it.”
“What if they’ve done the hurting? Doesn’t it make it easier?”
“No.” Tula Rae chopped the Vidalia onion into tiny pieces with her stainless steel cleaver. “A while back, Earl Gray asked me to marry him and I told him I didn’t need no man, least ways one fourteen years younger than me. I booted him out of my life.” Whack! She slammed the cleaver into the onion. “And right into the arms of a she-devil. It wasn’t till I started cleaning out the drawer by the phone and found this recipe for his mama’s bouillabaisse that I realized what I’d done.” She looked up and her eyes glistened with tears. “There was no way to fix it, ’cept to bury my pride and go to him. And that’s just what I did, seven years ago this past July.”
“What if the hurt’s too deep?”
“No hurt’s too deep if the love’s strong enough,” Tula Rae said, matter-of-factly. “You just have to decide, one way or the other—” she leaned over and her silver earrings dangled against her bronzed face “—but don’t wait too long because a person can only take so many rejections. If you lose him, you might not get him back.”
Earl Gray’s strong laugh filtered through the screen door. Tula Rae lifted her bony shoulders and smiled. “Here he comes now, the old codger.” Her face shone when he opened the back door carrying four roses, three pink and one red. “Pink for the ladies and red for my lady,” he said, brushing a kiss on Tula Rae’s lips.
Derry hadn’t spoken to Alec in twelve days, since the night she’d had sex with him. Did he miss her? Did he even think about her? Had he discovered her wedding ring, thrown in the back of the toothpaste drawer?
Charlie called her every night at 7:30. She didn’t ask about his father anymore, not since the first night when Charlie told her, Daddy went out wearing that smelly stuff.
A Family Affair: The Wish: Truth in Lies, Book 9 Page 22