A Matter of Trust (The Boston Five Series #5)

by Poppy J. Anderson

  “You have a job in a hospital that involves night shifts and being on call basically twenty-four seven. How do you think you’d handle that? A child needs full-time care, not just a few hours a day!”

  He shook his head, glaring at her. “You don’t say.”

  “I’m serious, Kyle.”

  “Me too.”

  “But don’t you—”

  “I have a family who will support me in this,” he interrupted. “And Cody’s not an infant or a toddler. He’s ten and a lot more independent than you think.”

  His roommate leaned back in her chair. “Have you talked to the kid about this yet?”

  He shook his head. “Of course not,” he replied calmly. “I wanted to speak with DCF first, before getting his hopes up. You have no idea how scared he is of the home.”

  “Is that the point of this, Kyle?” Pam probed softly. “Just to spare him the children’s home?”

  He tried to find the right words to give her a truthful answer. “It’s like this … I want to spare Cody a lot of things, one among them the experience of living in a children’s home. Or, heaven forbid, living with a foster family who only takes him in because he means extra money for them. But …”

  “But?”

  Kyle exhaled loudly. “But he also means something to me. I like the little guy, and I want to do something meaningful with my own life. It would be meaningful to offer a good life and a loving home to a lost kid, wouldn’t it?”

  “First and foremost, you need to know it wouldn’t be a walk in the park. It’s huge.” His roommate studied him pensively. “Do you think you can deliver on all that?”

  Kyle nodded. “I know I can.”

  Pam groaned. “Okay, okay … I can see you’ve already come to a decision. But why is this my business as well? I can’t pretend to be your girlfriend and adopt a kid with you!”

  “You’re not adopting anyone, Pam. I’ll be the only one responsible for Cody. It simply looks better on paper if I can tell them I’m in a stable relationship.”

  “You have a stable environment without me,” she protested. “You’ve got three brothers and a sister, each of them an upstanding member of society. And on top of that, you have your mom! You don’t need an imaginary girlfriend.”

  He ground his teeth. “It’s just for the sake of appearances. I’m not asking you to be my fiancée or my wife, just my colleague and fake girlfriend.”

  “Oh? It’s that simple?” Now she crossed her arms. “You just need to lie to get guardianship of Cody?”

  “A white lie,” he protested. “Just a little white lie.”

  “Jesus, Kyle! You’re a pediatrician with a steady job, you have a large and wonderful family, you’ve never been arrested, and you volunteer at a center, vaccinating babies without health insurance. Goddammit, you were even an altar boy once! You don’t need a fake girlfriend to look like the prime candidate for fostering.”

  Again, he felt the need to grind his teeth. “But all that isn’t a guarantee. I can’t afford to fail here, Pam. Cody’s future is at stake.”

  She threw up her hands in despair. “And what happens at the adoption hearing? Do we have to marry before we meet the judge?”

  “No, of course not, don’t be ridiculous.” Kyle sensed that Pam was close to agreeing, so he added quickly, “Once the fostering is approved, a later adoption is a mere formality. They’re screening me now, and then they’re going to talk to Cody and me several times over the coming months, to gauge how things are developing between us. You can stay out of any of that. Their impression of me is the only thing that counts. Your name would not be on any of the papers.”

  “And what does your date think about the matter?”

  He blinked. “What does Morgan have to do with anything?”

  Pam gave him a look that seemed to conclude that his IQ must be lower than that of a reheated bag of ramen. “Don’t you think your date might be a little disconcerted by the fact that you’re going to be a foster father and live with a fake girlfriend you didn’t mention?”

  To be honest, his first thought had been to name Morgan as his girlfriend when Mr. Simpson had asked him about his relationship status. But what woman wouldn’t run away screaming if the man she had only seen a few times—and made out with like a teenager in a pickup once—told her he was going to adopt a child and had told the authorities she was his partner? Nope, that wouldn’t have worked.

  Even though he hoped Morgan would eventually become his girlfriend, he couldn’t rush it. He didn’t know much about the woman after all, apart from the fact that she made the butterflies in his stomach come alive. That wasn’t enough to implicate her in his plan. If things did get more serious between them, he could introduce her to Cody, but until then, he planned on keeping these two aspects of his life neatly separated. Cody took priority, but he couldn’t just give up Morgan. No way.

  “If things between Morgan and me develop into anything more serious, I’ll think about that, but for now …” He let the end of the sentence hang in the air between them.

  Pam sighed and picked up her fork again. “In a movie, this would be the point where things start to go horribly wrong, Kyle.”

  “Well.” He made a face. “Fortunately, we’re not living in a movie. Finish that wonderful chicken, will you?”

  ***

  “Usually this cake is foolproof,” Morgan murmured and cursed herself for using the new baking pan. She’d wanted to impress Kyle with her “best chocolate cake in the world,” which she made for every event and special occasion—and which was always a hit with everyone. This time, it hadn’t gone quite so well. Today, it hadn’t come out fluffy, chocolatey, and melt-on-your-tongue delicious. Instead, when she took the pan out of the oven after exactly forty minutes, the crust had been burnt almost black. Her charming paramedic had dutifully eaten his slice, but she doubted he was impressed by her baking skills.

  “Hey, I happen to like toasted chocolate cake.”

  “That’s not funny,” she complained as they sat on the couch. She tossed one of the throw pillows at his head.

  He caught it like a pro and placed the turquoise pillow in his lap. Even from the corner of her eye, she could see that he was grinning.

  “The cake was really tasty, Morgan. Don’t stress about the details! I feel like I’m about to burst, that’s how full I am.” He leaned back with a contented sigh. “You’re a master chef, okay?”

  Morgan narrowed her eyes and turned her head to see whether he was kidding. But Kyle did not appear to be making fun of her. He was sitting beside her, completely relaxed, his head cocked to one side, studying her closely. Suddenly, she was all too aware of the fact that she was sitting very close to a man—and that they were alone together. She didn’t know why that realization made her throat go dry.

  Maybe it had something to do with his proximity, or the fact that it had been a long time since she’d felt such a tingling all over her body in the presence of a man. She felt simultaneously at ease and excited when she was with him.

  As if he felt something similar, he suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled it to rest on the pillow on his lap. Morgan held her breath when she felt his strong hands dig into the heel of her hand and start massaging her palm. She wasn’t particularly fond of massages, but this was … She sank back with a sigh and half closed her eyes. It felt so good her toes began to curl!

  She sat limply on the couch while he massaged one finger after another, circled her knuckles, and relieved each tiny tense spot, which she hadn’t even noticed she had. She felt like she was swooning, practically melting, as she studied his blond head, which was lowered over her hand, fully focused on her.

  The man was a wizard, no doubt. No ordinary guy could be this nice and charming and funny, look this good, be a baby whisperer, and, on top of all that, know how to massage like a pro, thus wrapping her into a languorous, warm bubble and making her want to moan with ecstasy.

  “There was no need for you to bake a cake j
ust for me,” he said softly, as his fingers found an especially sensitive spot between her thumb and forefinger.

  The moan that escaped Morgan’s lips was a reflex, and she immediately bit the inside of her cheek. If his plan was to drive her crazy with this hand massage, he was nearing his goal—that much was clear. Without realizing what she was doing, she scooted closer to him, only to feel slightly intoxicated by his scent as soon as she was close. He also exuded so much warmth that she wanted to snuggle up against him. Even though it was summer, and her apartment was all warmed up after a few hours of sunshine, Morgan couldn’t help fantasizing about cuddling up with Kyle in front of an open fireplace in winter.

  If Gayle had known the thoughts that were running through Morgan’s head, she would most likely have called her love-crazed. Or just horny. Gayle’s choice of words was often below par, since she spent a lot of time working with kids on the street.

  Morgan would never call herself “horny,” but right now she had to admit that she wanted to take off all her clothes, free Kyle from his, and then do some X-rated things with the man. All because he was sitting very close, focusing on massaging her hand.

  It didn’t matter that she considered him a gentleman. She wanted him.

  Again, he seemed to be reading her thoughts. “It feels incredibly good,” he murmured, “just sitting here with you like this.”

  She swallowed, a struggle against her parched throat. “Even though you’re doing overtime, and I’m being pampered?”

  The corners of his mouth curved into a tiny smile. “Believe it or not, Morgan, I’m thoroughly enjoying this.”

  When he touched the erogenous zone on the heel of her hand again, she struggled not to moan like some crazed horny woman a second time. Instead, she tried a casual joke. “Are you a hand fetishist?”

  “A hand fetishist? What’s that?”

  God, she hadn’t known a hand massage could turn her on like this!

  “You know,” she forced out hoarsely, “some guys are aroused by feet—others maybe by hands?”

  His raspy laugh seemed to reverberate through her tingling stomach. “No,” Kyle assured her in his deep voice, which sent a shiver from the back of her neck to the soles of her feet. “Though I may be aroused by those little sounds you make when I touch you here. And here.”

  The sound she made embarrassed her.

  “That isn’t fair,” she whimpered, scooting even closer, until she all but sat in his lap.

  “What isn’t fair?” he asked with a smirk. He knew full well that he was responsible for the fact that she was very nearly melting at the moment.

  Morgan cuddled up to him, breathed in his scent, and murmured, “How do you know where my most sensitive spots are, the ones that make me moan?”

  “Pure observation,” he replied softly. “Working with sick and injured people, you learn to observe them closely, so you know where it hurts.”

  Her eyes were glued to his lips, and she could feel her heart beating an erratic rhythm. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to fall hopelessly in love with Kyle … Kyle … uh, she really needed to ask his last name. But now was not the time. She wasn’t about to interrupt these feelings he was giving her.

  “You must be an amazing paramedic,” she said in a rapturous voice, letting her eyes wander slowly across every inch of his face. “I’m sure you take the best care of the people who end up in your ambulance.”

  Kyle was still massaging her hand gently, but now he wrinkled his nose. “I guess I should tell you—”

  Morgan didn’t let him go on. She pulled her hand away from his and took his face in both her hands, leaning forward and kissing him. He immediately returned the kiss and pulled her into his lap, which made her moan once again. She felt the kiss everywhere in her body, felt her pulse quicken and her limbs tremble. Pressing her body against his, the feeling of cuddling up to his strong frame made her weak, and when Kyle moaned in return, she felt overwhelmed with bliss and pleasure. His mouth conquered hers as he put his hands on the back of her head.

  His breath became her breath.

  His taste became her taste.

  And his moan became her moan, and back again.

  When the kiss became so intense that Morgan no longer knew where she ended and Kyle began, she clung to him, oblivious to anything but the sensations that overwhelmed her, and wrapped her arms around his neck. His large hands were roaming her back in a hypnotizing fashion, and it made her run her fingers through his hair, which felt incredibly soft under her fingers. Everything else about him was so strong and taut that Morgan trembled and bit her lower lip, before breaking the kiss for a moment to allow them both to catch their breath.

  She realized that she was still fully dressed as she sat in Kyle’s lap, pressing against him seductively and hanging on his neck. It was far too hot in here, wasn’t it? At the same time, she was afraid she would dissolve completely if this went on for much longer.

  And then the man who had one hand on her back and the other on her thigh teased gently, “And here I thought you’d voted against wild make-out orgies on your couch?”

  It took her three attempts before she could utter anything, and even then she sounded as if she’d just crossed the finishing line in a marathon. “But that’s exactly what you intended with your hand massage, isn’t it?”

  “What? This?” His hand on her thigh started drawing lazy circles, his other still warm on her back.

  Morgan nodded. “Wild make-out orgies on my couch, yes.”

  His chuckle was raspy, hoarse, and so tempting that it was more potent than any aphrodisiac in the world. “I’d actually intended them for later.”

  “And what were your plans for even later than that?”

  Morgan watched him lick his lips before his eyes searched hers. “I was going to go home,” he replied calmly.

  Morgan could hear her own sigh of disappointment.

  Kyle grinned a little, nodded, and fixed his gaze on her lips. “It’s what we gentlemen do.”

  Morgan snorted.

  “No, really.” He grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. The tone of his voice changed, and he sounded very sober. “My next shift starts at six a.m.”

  “Are you afraid you wouldn’t get enough sleep if you stayed here?” Morgan teased.

  He rolled his eyes. “If I stayed, I wouldn’t want to have to collect my clothes in the middle of the night and sneak out like a thief.”

  She felt herself glow in response. “So how would you want it to go?”

  His eyes lit up, too. “I would want to wake up in your bed, take a shower with you, and have an unhurried breakfast together. I don’t want to slip away at dawn with my shoes in my hand.”

  Morgan made a pensive face and wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. “I think a gentleman has a lot going for him.”

  “I agree,” he replied, before kissing her again.

  Chapter 8

  “So, how are you feeling on your first day?”

  Morgan looked up from the countless stacks of paper on her desk, where she’d been sitting for a little more than four hours. She gave her superior a pained smile. “I should have stayed on sick leave until the elves had taken care of this chaos.”

  “I’m sorry, but the helpful elves are currently too busy to come here,” he replied, rolling his eyes. He held up a file. “How about an outside mission?”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

  “I wouldn’t ask you if I weren’t, would I?”

  “You said I should start with the easy stuff,” she reminded him. “I’m not sure home visits fall into that category.”

  “This one does.” He nodded happily. “You just have to visit a potential foster father. I’ve already met him in person—pediatrician, very committed, living with his girlfriend.”

  “And the child?”

  The corners of Simpson’s mouth curved downward. The man had been doing this job for almost thirty years, and he still did ever
ything he could for every child—Morgan knew that from experience. Her boss was one of the rare people who worked for DCF out of a deep commitment to helping others. There were far too few people like that in the office.

  “The boy’s ten. He lost both his parents and his brother in a car accident. No other relatives, or at least none that would take the boy. His physician wants to foster him.”

  “His doctor?”

  Pete Simpson nodded and opened the file. “Doctor Fitzpatrick, pediatrician at St. Vincent’s, very committed, thirty-one years old and very concerned about the boy. They’ve already established mutual trust, and the man would have the full support of his entire family in this. I have no reservations at all …”

  Morgan leaned back in her chair. “Then what do you need me for, Pete?”

  “I want you to start with an easy case,” he explained frankly. “One that doesn’t pose any foreseeable problems. We’ve already established Dr. Fitzpatrick’s suitability as a foster father. All that’s missing is a final report. Take a look at his home, meet the boy, talk to both of them. I want your recommendation on my desk within a week.”

  “My recommendation?” She took the file from his hands. “Isn’t it a little premature to expect me to approve of him, Pete?”

  “I expect you to do your job with customary care, but you’ve never disappointed me in that respect.” He patted her on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you back, Morgan. Don’t overtax yourself.”

  When her superior left her alone and hastened back to his own office, Morgan’s shoulders sagged. She’d always liked to visit people in their homes—at least until her last visit. Usually, most people were far more relaxed under their own roof, instead of in the sterility of the agency office. In their homes, you could talk to them more easily, get to know them better, and see how the children behaved in their natural environment, instead of watching them in an agency playroom through a two-way mirror.

  When Morgan went to people’s homes, she’d always been able to see or sense right away if the kids had a loving home, or if there were problems. Even with difficult cases, she had always been able to get along with or get through to the parents without needing police backup, which happened far more often than people knew. In cases of domestic violence, it had become standard procedure for any DCF caseworker to be accompanied by a police officer. But so far, Morgan had been able to avoid ringing a family’s doorbell with a policeman in tow. Which was lucky, because most people expected the worst when they saw a cop and, consequently, refused to work with the DCF caseworkers.