Along Came Love

by Tracey Livesay

  The seconds stretched between them until he almost choked on his anticipation. He knew she was angry about the insult implicit in his invitation, but he wouldn’t change his mind.

  Just when he thought he’d have to pull another reason from his ass, she finally nodded. “Okay.”

  “Good.” Damn, her mouth. He swept his thumb along her bottom lip, then dropped his arm, his hand flexing at his side. “I called Viv this afternoon and confirmed you could leave the city without violating the conditions of your bail.”

  He saw when she understood the implication of his words.

  She tilted her head to the side and crossed her arms over her plumper breasts. “You cocky bastard! You were that sure of your ability to get me to agree?”

  “You were always going to go; I never planned to leave you here. But your cooperation will make it a more pleasant experience.”

  “YOU’VE BEEN QUIET for the past two hours and we still have another hour left. Do you plan to sulk the entire way?”

  She rested her chin on the palm of her hand and stared out the car’s window at the passing scenery. “I’m not sulking.”

  She was.

  Other than Chelsea, Indi did her best to keep all of her involvements superficial. She’d learned the wisdom of relating casually at an early age. Yet the day after he’d sprung this little getaway on her, she was heading up the coast to spend the weekend with the family of her unborn child’s father.

  She’d successfully ignored him for the first part of the trip, but it appeared that approach would no longer be tolerated. Ah, well . . . She called upon all the lessons learned from traveling with strangers.

  Be friendly. Avoid drama. Remain positive. Engage in neutral discussions.

  “Your sister goes to Stanford, right?”

  “For the time being.”

  She turned away from the window, frowning. “What does that mean?”

  “My mother said Morgan was thinking about taking a semester off.”

  “Oh.” She returned her gaze to the craggy coastline. “Taking some time off can be a good thing, especially if she’s not mentally prepared for the next stage or she’s working so hard that she’s starting to lose focus.”

  He huffed a laugh. “Why am I not surprised by your reaction?”

  So much for nice, neutral traveling conversation.

  “My reaction is totally reasonable. Your sister isn’t a child; she’s a grown woman. She knows what’s best for her spirit, even if that offends your notions of propriety.”

  “First off, she’s not a grown woman. She’s only nineteen.”

  Her lips twitched at his testy tone. “Last time I checked, that was considered an adult.”

  “She’s always been a little reckless, a little headstrong.”

  “Reckless? She attends Stanford, hardly the place for irresponsible juveniles.”

  “Maybe reckless isn’t the right word. Impetuous, emotional.”

  “I would think her being emotional is something you would want to nurture.”

  He’d meant different. It appeared Morgan Black wasn’t happy to toe the family line the way her older brother did.

  “I do. But you can’t make big decisions based on feelings. In the real world, actions have consequences. What if she decides not to return? What will she do?” His hands tightened on the wheel. “If wanting to make sure my sister makes a prudent decision means I’m a bad person, then I’ll accept that label.”

  “It doesn’t make you a bad person. A tad controlling, maybe . . . but you’ve got to let her make her own decisions. It’s her life, not yours.”

  “And I’m supposed to take advice from a charged felon?”

  “You don’t know how to play fair, do you?”

  “I’m just stating the facts.”

  Control freak, thy name is Mike. She rolled her eyes. “I hate to break it to you, but you don’t know what’s best for everyone.”

  “Actually, I don’t claim to know what’s best for everyone, just the ­people in my life. It’s my job to protect them.”

  There was such certainty in his voice, she knew he believed what he said.

  She shivered. “Good thing I’m not in your life.”

  “You may not be, but our baby is.”

  Speaking of Nugget . . .

  “What did you decide to tell your family about me and the baby?”

  “I’m still working on it, but I may not tell them anything on this trip. It would be too much to drop on them and we’re only here for the weekend.” He glanced over at her. “Is that going to be a problem?”

  “This trip wasn’t my idea.”

  “I was referring to your morning sickness, though your nausea can’t tell time for shit.”

  It was true. She never knew what would bring on the nausea, but it happened every day at different times. The good news was once she gave into it, she was generally okay. There were bouts of tiredness throughout the day, but the actual vomiting took pity on her and stayed away.

  “I think I can hide it for two days.” She cleared her throat. “What about me?”

  “I’ll tell them you’re Chelsea’s sister and you came to town before they got back from their honeymoon and I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

  “And they’d buy that?”

  “Why wouldn’t they? I know you find this hard to believe, but I’m a good guy. Plus, you’re not my usual—­” He winced.

  Type. Indi knew how to complete that sentence. She looked down at her hands in her lap. She was well aware of that fact.

  Having decided silence wasn’t a bad idea after all, she didn’t initiate another conversation until they passed a quaint wooden sign bearing the town’s name.

  Mike rolled down his window and rested a bent arm on the door. “Welcome to historic Barton Point.”

  Indi felt like she’d ridden onto the pages of a Hans Chris­tian Andersen fairy tale. Mike’s hometown was quaint and charming with leafy tree-­lined streets, cobblestone sidewalks, and rustic Tudor-­style cottages. As they drove through the area Mike called the Shopping District, the bright sun, wispy clouds, and cool breezes added to the picture of ­people appearing to enjoy themselves. A travelogue come to life. But—­

  “It’s not very diverse,” she observed.

  Women carrying shopping bags, children riding bikes, an older ­couple walking their dog, a group of teenagers sitting around a stone fountain, a young family pushing a stroller. She hadn’t spied a brown face in the crowd.

  Mike looked over at her quickly then gazed out of the windshield and his window. “I never noticed.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re a rich, gorgeous white man. The world is your playground.”

  “You think I’m gorgeous?”

  She gave him her best “seriously?” look. “There’s probably nowhere you ever go where you worry you won’t be welcomed. Or that you could be in danger.”

  “And you do?”

  “Of course. I travel. A lot. As a woman and a person of color, it’s always a concern.”

  He nodded but didn’t say more.

  “Still, it must’ve been nice for you growing up here.”

  “It was.”

  “Let me guess.” She took in his traveling attire: dark washed denim that molded to his thighs as he shifted gears and a blue-­and-­white patterned button-­down peeking from the V-­neck collar of the wheat-­colored cashmere sweater that stretched across his broad shoulders. “President of the Honor Society, captain of the football team, and homecoming king.”

  His features tightened. “Wrong. I played baseball.”

  “I bet you were the most popular kid in your class.”

  “And you were probably arguing on the debate team or protesting with the Sierra Club.�
�

  Her smile died. “I never had time for extracurricular activities.” She turned to study the view from the passenger side window.

  It was hard enough focusing on her schoolwork when her stomach growled in hunger and exhaustion stole her concentration.

  Fifteen minutes later, on the northern outskirts of town, Mike turned the car between two stone pillars and followed the long driveway as it curved upward and ended at a large house on the hilltop, surrounded by tall trees on three sides.

  “We’re here.”

  He exited the vehicle and the sound of waves crashing against the shore burst in and assaulted her ears, before he closed his door and headed to the back of the car.

  She leaned forward and pressed her hands against the exquisite leather dashboard as sensation careened in her belly.

  I wish you could see this, Nugget. It’s incredible.

  Large metal-­framed windows appeared carved into the stacked-­stone facade of a storybook castle condensed into a home. Two turrets, topped by clay-­tiled roofs, bracketed a massive one-­story structure that achieved the notable feat of being as approachable as it was impressive. Colorful flora dotted the professionally groomed landscape.

  This was a home filled with happiness. Where the children were wanted for more than the income they brought in. Where the mother and father loved—­not just tolerated—­each other. In those few moments, Indi imagined all the birthday parties and sleepovers, all the holidays and vacations.

  All the love.

  All the family.

  The front door opened and a petite older woman, her dark hair pulled into a sleek chignon, stepped outside. Spying them, her cheeks lifted in happiness and she hurried down the steps. Mike met her halfway, setting their luggage down and walking into her waiting embrace.

  Even in the absence of their voices, Indi knew the other woman had to be his mother. His coloring and size probably came from his father, but his core features—­his eyes, nose, and mouth—­were all her.

  The older woman’s gaze finally left her beloved son and trailed over his shoulder to the car. Mike jerked around and his posture stiffened, like he was surprised to find her still in the vehicle. He motioned for his mother to give him a moment, then he jogged back over and opened Indi’s door.

  Uncertainty held her immobile and the masculine planes of his face softened. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

  She inhaled and nodded slightly before taking his proffered hand and stepping out of the car. You’ve traveled all over the world. You’ve done some amazing things. You can talk to this woman.

  At least she looked good, glad she’d decided on the flowy, paisley-­print maxi dress that complimented her skin tone and camouflaged her midsection—­which had suddenly popped out this week. Okay, not popped out, but there was a slight roundness where before she’d been flat. She called on all of her experiences rolling into unfamiliar towns, meeting new ­people, and putting them at ease.

  “Hello, Mrs. Black. I’m India Shaw.”

  “India. What a beautiful name.” Mrs. Black’s smile was so welcoming, Indi couldn’t help but return it. “You’re Michael’s friend from the picture, right?”

  Crap. A direct hit.

  But she didn’t let her smile falter.

  “I’d like to think we’re friends.” She tilted her head. “Are we, Michael?”

  She saw his slight wince, recalled a moment from their weekend when he’d placed small, wet kisses on her bare thigh while she’d trailed her fingers through his blond strands.

  “What are you thinking about, Michael Black?”

  He’d playfully shrunk away from her touch. “Don’t call me Michael. Only one person addresses me that way, and the last woman I want to think about right now is my mother. In fact . . .” He’d swiftly pinned her so she was flat on her back, his broad shoulders blocking any light. “I need to do something drastic to recapture the mood.”

  His fingers and tongue worked in tandem to ensure thoughts of anything else ceased to exist.

  The memory receding, she glanced at Mike, startled to find his darkened blue gaze raking over her body. His nostrils flared and the tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lip. Her nipples pebbled and heat pooled at the apex of her thighs.

  Was he reliving the same moment?

  His mother’s head swiveled back and forth between them, like a spectator at a tennis match, and Mike finally remembered they weren’t alone.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Yes, that was Indi and she’s my friend,” he told his mother, though his gaze lingered on Indi. “She’s actually Chelsea’s sister. She’s waiting for Chelsea and Adam to return from their honeymoon and since she doesn’t know anyone in the city, I invited her up here with me.”

  His mother nodded and patted his chest. “My Michael, always a shining knight.”

  Mike shot her a triumphant smile.

  “And, India, please call me Barbara. You’re in for a treat this weekend. The town is honoring my husband and I was on my way to the venue to check the place settings.” She turned to Mike. “Katherine said they sent over the wrong ones and the correct ones won’t be here in time. Plus, with everything going on with your sister—­ Ah, please forgive me. I’m sure you’d like to come in and freshen up after your trip.”

  Mike grabbed their bags and motioned for Indi to precede him. They followed his mother into the house . . .

  Where the twin odors of garlic and lemon almost knocked her off her feet.

  Barbara placed a hand on Indi’s arm. “Are you okay, dear? You don’t look well.”

  Mike narrowed his eyes and sat their bags just inside the front door.

  “No, I . . . sometimes the long car drives . . .” She took another deep breath and her stomach revolted. “Is that garlic I smell?” She hoped the bright note she tried to inject into her tone was successful.

  Barbara smiled brightly. “Oh yes. Esme is making garlic chicken and basil, one of Michael’s favorite dishes.”

  Shit.

  “—­redid the west wing of the house,” Barbara was telling Mike, “and that’s where you’ll be.” She tilted her head to the side. “Should I have Esme prepare a second room?”

  “Yes, Mom. I told you, Indi and I are just friends.”

  “Of course. But I also know young ­people usually mean something else by ‘friends.’ ”

  “I’m not that young. Tell Esme to make up another room.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Indi said, trying to breathe through her mouth as Nugget began salsa dancing in her womb. “I can make my own bed.”

  “Nonsense. It’ll only take her a few minutes. Esme . . .” Barbara called, leaving the room.

  Indi could feel the sickness gathering steam. She shifted from one foot to another and took several deep breaths, but tears pricked her eyes at the futileness. She’d so wanted to make a good impression. But as nausea roiled in her gut, she knew she’d have to jettison her concern over how she would be perceived. Head bowed, she tugged on Mike’s arm. He placed a hand on the small of her back and she braced herself against him.

  “The bathroom?” she managed through clenched teeth.

  Before he could answer the front door opened and a young woman, sporting black leggings, a white tee, and a jean jacket, walked in. She took one look at them and screamed.

  “Mike!”

  She launched herself into his arms and Indi stumbled back several steps to avoid becoming a casualty.

  Mike hugged the young woman, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Hey, Morgan.”

  She hit his shoulder. “Don’t start.”

  “I didn’t say anything.” He laughed, easily fending off her blows.

  “You didn’t have to. Your tone told me a lecture was coming.”

  Through the burn of acid settli
ng in her chest, Indi nodded, familiar with that look and tone of voice.

  The motion must’ve caught the young woman’s attention because she finally addressed Indi. “I’m Morgan, Mike’s sister. I know,” she said, placing a hand on her hip and tossing back her sleek fall of dark brown hair, “the family resemblance is ah-­mazing.” Her black eyes, tilted at the corners, sparkled.

  “Practically twins,” Indi deadpanned. A mistake, as another rush of garlic-­tainted air invaded her lungs.

  Morgan tapped Mike on the chest. “Get ready. He-­Who-­Must-­Not-­Be-­Crossed is behind me.”

  “That’s not funny, young lady,” Barbara said, joining them once again.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  Indi had no time to wonder at the reference as the acid in her chest decided to continue its journey upward. She grabbed Mike. “I need a bathroom. Now.”

  He opened his mouth—­

  “Morgan, we’re not done with this conversation!”

  A tall blond man stood in the doorway, backlit by the sun. Wearing a meticulously tailored suit, he cut a polished and commanding figure. Mike’s father?

  Indi actually inhaled.

  Of course, that was the worst thing she could’ve done. The breeze from the open front door mixed with the air in the foyer, stranding Indi in the swirling center of a garlic-­fragranced vortex.

  There was no way she was keeping this down. Unfortunately, she still didn’t know the location of the nearest bathroom . . .

  Exiting the way she’d entered, she brushed past the newcomer and out the front door, ignoring Barbara’s frantic call, Morgan’s surprised laugh, and Mike’s deeply felt “Fuck!”

  Reaching the metal railing, she doubled over and threw up in the house’s beautiful landscaping.

  Chapter Fourteen

  MIKE PULLED THE bedroom door closed behind him and walked slowly down the hallway.

  When he’d left home for college, patterned paper had hung on the walls and thick carpet covered the floors. His mother’s renovations hadn’t been relegated to only the bedrooms in the west wing; she’d rejuvenated the entire section with pale gray paint and white oak hardwood floors.