The man had no right to look so sexy, so appealing, so downright tempting and gorgeously male! Especially first thing in the morning.
She dragged her gaze upward, too late in realizing he’d closed the distance between them. Without preamble or warning, he slid his fingers into her unbound, disheveled hair, lifted her mouth to his, and kissed her. Unlike last night’s slow seduction, there was nothing sweet or chaste about this possession. His strong, masculine body crowded her against the counter, his tongue took advantage of her gasp of surprise, and his fresh, mint-tasting mouth did deliciously wonderful things to hers.
She groaned deep in her throat and surrendered. It was all she could do.
Too soon, he let her go, stepping away from her as if they hadn’t just shared a very passionate kiss that left her dizzy and breathless . . . and wanting more.
“Uh, Good morning,” she finally managed, her voice husky.
The corner of his mouth quirked, and his gaze slid down the length of her, a slow, lazy perusal that missed nothing and visually stripped away her robe and chemise beneath. How did he do that—make her feel as though his hands had stroked where his gaze had just lingered?
“It would have been an even better morning if I could have woken up with you in my bed,” he said.
Sensual images of tangled sheets and entwined limbs filled her head, just as the rogue intended, no doubt. It dawned on her that her husband wasn’t going to play fair about their sleeping arrangements.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she regarded him primly. “Do you plan to execute sneak attacks like that all the time?”
“Absolutely.” He reached for a coffee mug in the cupboard, while looking over his shoulder at her. “Or are you going to place restrictions on how many times I can kiss you, and when or where?”
Where . . . as in location, or where . . . as in what body part? A shiver touched her feminine nerves, and she mentally shook the stimulating thought from her mind.
Setting the mug on the counter next to the coffee pot, he cast her a patient look. “I’m not demanding my conjugal rights, Grace, but you can’t expect us to live under the same roof, and me be able to resist that mouth of yours, do you?”
The mouth in question still tingled from his kiss. The thought of giving Ford carte blanche to indulge his whimsical need to kiss her sent her pulse tumbling into oblivion . . . along with her refusal. She couldn’t even believe they were having this conversation, or that she was considering his request!
“I really don’t think it would be a good idea-”
“I can’t resist you, Grace,” he interrupted, pouring steaming coffee into his cup. “I want the right to kiss you, whenever I want to.”
She shook her head regretfully. “Ford-”
“What happened to compromise, Grace?” he chided, making her feel a twinge of guilt for being so difficult over something that shouldn’t have been a big issue or problem in their marriage. “Considering making love to you seems to be off limits for the time being, you can’t expect me to go completely without physical contact. I have needs and urges like any other married man when it comes to my wife. I’m not asking you to share my bed, though I’d welcome you there any time and the invitation is always open. I only want the privilege to kiss my wife.”
He made his argument sound so simple, so innocent, and she was being so difficult. It wasn’t as though his kisses were a hardship to endure, and they did give her as much pleasure as they brought him. Certainly the affection and tenderness that came with kissing could only enhance their relationship without the demand of more physical intimacies.
“All right,” she agreed. “Kisses only.”
He moved back toward her, and her heart thumped in her chest, though she didn’t try to avoid him—there was no sense in trying. He touched a finger to her bottom lip, the violet hue of his eyes darkening to velvet. “Anytime I want them?” he asked, his voice low and rumbling.
Her stomach dipped and she forced herself to nod.
“Anyway and anywhere I want them?” His head tilted, moved closer to hers.
She nodded again, at the same time lifting her mouth toward the heat and promise of his. The anticipation of feeling his lips on hers became excruciating, and exciting.
His lashes fell half-mast. “Fair enough,” he murmured in satisfaction, his breath caressing her lips.
Closing her eyes, she waited . . . and felt a sting of disappointment when he pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. Her lashes blinked open and she frowned, but he didn’t notice. He was taking a sip of his coffee, looking for all the world as if he hadn’t turned her inside out with wanting, then left her unsatisfied.
He propped a hip on the counter next to her. “How are you feeling this morning?”
She added more hot water to her mug of tea since it had cooled during her discussion with Ford, concentrating on the task. “Refreshed.” And aroused, darn him! Having given him the right to kiss her, anytime, anyway, and anywhere, she’d forever be in a state of awareness, anxiously waiting for when he’d plan his next sensual assault on her senses.
“Do you experience morning sickness?”
The genuine concern and curiosity in his voice surprised her. “Sometimes.” Affecting the same casual attitude as him, she warmed to their subject, and his interest. “I find tea and toast usually curbs the nausea.”
He nodded, and took a drink of coffee, lingering over the taste as his gaze seemingly searched the territory her robe and chemise covered. “Has your body changed much?”
Her face flushed at his bold question, but she was pleased that he wanted to share as much of this experience with her as possible. “My . . . breasts have gotten larger, and much firmer. And they’re extremely sensitive.”
“I noticed that last night.”
She sipped her tea, needing the warmth to calm the flutters in her belly. “And my zip up pants and skirts are beginning to feel a little snug. At this rate, I’ll be out of my regular clothes and showing in another month.”
“I can’t wait to see that,” he said softly. Unmistakable yearning deepened his voice, and he quickly cleared his throat at that display of emotion. “You glow with happiness when you talk about the baby, you know.”
She rested a hand protectively over her belly, admitting that she did feel an awesome, happy glow that seemed to radiate from the inside, out—and she hadn’t even heard the baby’s heartbeat or felt it move yet. “I never thought I’d be given the opportunity to have a child of my own.”
“Our child,” he corrected mildly. “And I’m glad I could give you a baby. In fact, I’ll give you as many as you want. After this baby is born, we can bend the rules a bit on our sleeping arrangement and work on number two.”
His teasing tone prodded a tentative smile from her, but she had no idea what the future held for them, and refused to commit to anything beyond the present. “How about we just take it one baby at a time?”
“You sure about that, Mrs. McCabe?” he said mischievously. “We could have months to practice . . .”
“I’m sure.” Needing a quick change of subject, she asked, “Would you like some breakfast?”
“I’m a self-sufficient husband.” Finishing off his coffee, he set the empty mug in the sink. “I don’t need a huge breakfast in the mornings. A cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal is all I need. You go sit down and relax.”
Grace took a seat at the small oak table situated in a connecting breakfast nook. The floor to ceiling windows overlooked a newly built barn, corral, and an expanse of green pasture. “Don’t expect me to allow you to pass on those atrocious eating habits to our son or daughter.”
“Then I guess that gives you the next six or seven months to reform me.” He joined her at the table with his box of cereal, a large bowl, and a carton of milk. “I’m very reformable, ya’ know.”
She sipped her tea, wondering about the different ways he’d reformed over the years and how he’d struggled to make a new, successful life
for himself. So why would he return to the town that never once supported him? The question niggled her mind, but it wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on right now.
Instead, she focused on another subject she wanted to clarify. “Ford . . . did you mean what you said yesterday about keeping the cottage?” She’d thought he’d want to sell her house, considering his own place had room enough for ten, but he’d surprised her with a comment about using the cottage for a retreat.
“Of course I did.” He filled his bowl with the sugar-coated flakes, and drowned them in milk. “It’s obvious you love the place, and I think it would make a nice get-a-way for yourself or both of us if you’d ever like. And our son or daughter would certainly love playing in that lake.”
“Thank you,” she said, meaning it. Though she’d only lived in the cottage for a few years, she’d grown to love the cozy place.
“I don’t intend to take anything away from you, Grace. We’ll move whatever furniture and knick-knacks you want into our house.” He glanced around the kitchen while chewing a bite of cereal. Swallowing, he said, “I certainly wouldn’t mind a woman’s touch in the place. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you’d handle the decorating. I’ve got the bare essentials right now, but there’s a whole lot of room for improvement.”
He’d taken her on a brief tour when they’d first arrived yesterday afternoon, and though the furnishings were sparse, the structure was soundly built and it was evident no expense had been spared on the craftsmanship, fixtures, or cosmetic appearance. “It’s a lovely house.”
His gaze met hers. “It’s more than I ever thought I’d have.”
Finished with his breakfast, Ford stood and took his empty bowl to the sink and rinsed it out. His gaze glanced out the window in front of him, then he looked back at Grace. “You didn’t get to see much of the outside of the house yesterday. Would you like to take a morning stroll after breakfast and see the rest of the place?”
She realized that for all of Ford’s confidence, he wanted her approval. She found she couldn’t refuse him, or disappoint him. “I’d like that,” she said, hoping the comfortable relationship they were establishing would enable her to get to know her husband better. “Give me half an hour to shower and change, and then I’m all yours for the day.”
Ford walked casually alongside Grace as they passed the empty corral he hoped to someday soon fill with a few Quarter Horses. A huge sense of contentment warmed him as he told her of his plans and they talked companionably about nothing in particular. They’d spent the past hour strolling around his property while he showed her the improvements he’d made to the land, and indicated his intentions for the future. She’d been suitably impressed, and he’d been filled with pride for all that he’d accomplished.
It was a heady sensation to realize just how far he’d come in eleven years. To an outsider looking in, he seemed to have it all: a sprawling home that exceeded anything in Whitaker Falls, a thriving million dollar business, a beautiful wife, and a baby on the way that would complete the craving he’d always had for a family of his own. Life couldn’t get much sweeter for a man who’d spent his youth as a juvenile delinquent, struggling for acceptance, and resenting the fact that nobody cared enough about him to try and give him the guidance he’d so desperately needed.
But for all that he’d obtained, the one most important thing seemed to allude him—Grace. For all that she’d accepted their situation, she was still cautious with him. Not that he could blame her. Everything had happened so quickly between them, from his surprise return, to their whirlwind courtship that hadn’t allowed time for them to discover who they’d become in the past eleven years. No amount of money would banish that reserve of hers, or gain her trust and respect . . . just time, care, and a whole lot of patience . . . and those stolen kisses he’d insisted upon this morning.
He glanced at the woman beside him, and frowned. Though they’d only been outside for a short amount of time, she looked tired, her face flushed from the warm sunshine. Taking into consideration her delicate condition, he lightly grasped her elbow and steered her toward the house and the sturdy, hand-carved oak swing he’d had installed on the back porch.
She settled herself on the swing, her brown eyes holding a combination of bewilderment and feminine curiosity.
He sat beside her, leaving a foot of space between them. “What’s on your mind, Grace?” he asked, determined to find out what had his wife so perplexed.
She tilted her head, regarding him speculatively. “Out of all the places you could afford to live, why would you choose to return to Whitaker Falls?”
Her curiosity was certainly valid, since nothing had been easy or welcoming about his return. He’d concluded years ago that it would be much less complicated for him to build a house near Richmond, where people knew and acknowledged him for the successful business man he was, yet he’d always known that he’d return to Whitaker Falls, despite the possible tribulation of doing so.
Stretching his arm across the back of the swing, he wove the tail end of her French braid between his fingers, unable to resist touching her. “I know it seems crazy, coming back to the one place where I’m least wanted, and everyone associates the name ‘McCabe’ with disgrace, scandal, and a list of offenses, but my reasons for returning are pretty basic and unpretentious, actually.” He paused for a moment, hoping she’d understand his motivations, as foolish as they suddenly seemed to be. “Cutter Creek is where my roots are.”
That seemed to surprise her. “You came back because you grew up here?”
“Yeah.” It was as simple, and as complex as that. He tried to explain. “This land belonged to my grandparents, then my mother, and even though she didn’t care enough to try and hang on to the only legacy she had, it was my legacy, too. Cutter Creek is a part of who I am.” Bitterness seeped into his tone, and he swallowed it back, refusing to allow those resentful emotions to intrude on what had started out as a pleasant day. “I couldn’t see someone else living here, when I’ve always wanted this land for my own, to build a big house and raise a family here.”
The understanding he sought touched her expression and softened her gaze, giving him the fortitude to continue.
“I wanted to come back and make a difference in the McCabe lineage,” he said, giving her a glimpse of the vulnerability he’d hadn’t been able to shake over the years. “Everybody remembers my drunk of a mother who practically lived at the After Hours Bar, and this scrappy, illegitimate kid who caused trouble wherever he went. I want this time around to be different.”
She pushed the swing into a slow, swaying motion with the toe of her sandal. “You can’t change the past, Ford.”
“No, I can’t change the past,” he agreed, trailing his fingers over her shoulder in a light caress. “But I’ve learned that I’m in control of my future, and that’s where I’m going to make the difference, here at Cutter Creek. I’ve spent the past eleven years working hard, trying to prove to myself that I could be something, despite how I grew up. Getting to where I am today hasn’t been easy, but every struggle has been worth it.” He wasn’t defensive, just adamant about using his success to his advantage.
“And now you have your own business, which I’m assuming is doing well for itself,” she said, clasping her hands over her stomach. At his silent nod, she prompted, “So what, exactly, does FZM do?”
Remembering how vague he’d been about his business during his dinner date with Grace, and how cautious he still needed to be, he chose his words wisely. “It’s a development company. The company I originally went to work for when I left here, Khann and Associates, gave me the financial backing and support I needed to start the company a few years ago. Khann is like a silent investor. I bid on the projects and develop them, and the profits are split, which has been incredibly lucrative. I’m in the process of acquiring a piece of property I plan to redevelop, which will be my first project without Khann’s financial backing.” And until he was awarded the piece of land,
that’s all he was willing to reveal.
“Will your work keep you away from home much?” she asked.
Home. He liked the way that sounded. “I hope not. I’ve got a main office in Richmond with a full staff, and half a dozen project managers who oversee my jobs. I’m sure I’ll be spending at least three days a week in Richmond to keep an eye on things, but I can work on a bid or proposal here at the house just as easily as I can at the main office. I’ve got everything I need to run things smoothly from here.”
“Well, I’ll try and stay out of your way as much as possible,” she said, wrapping a hand around the chain link holding up her end of the swing. “Grace and Charm keeps me pretty busy, so you’ll have the house to yourself during the day.”
“You won’t ever be in my way,” he assured her, leaning closer and bypassing that one foot safety zone he’d kept between them. “Besides, I wouldn’t mind having you close by, just in case I get an uncontrollable urge to kiss you.”
Her lips parted and her eyes widened slightly in anticipation. Deciding to let the desire and craving for his kiss simmer for the time being, he merely ran a finger down the slope of her nose.
She let out a puff of breath, flustered and exasperated by his playful tactics. “You, Ford McCabe, are a terrible tease.”
He laughed warmly, feeling confident everything would work out okay between them—even if they did still have to deal with the town’s scrutiny and opinion of their marriage.
Grace blew out a disgusted stream of breath, and closed the book-keeping journal for Grace and Charm Floral Shoppe. Four weeks of being married to Ford, and her business was down by over forty percent. She thanked goodness for her standing orders for weekly arrangements for the country club and the bank, which were keeping her afloat. But she depended on unexpected walk-in and phone orders to supplement her income.
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