When You Knew (The Cabots Book 3)

by Jamie Beck

  “Don’t.” Seizing the moment, Gentry raised the hem of his shirt and gently scratched his back with her fingernails. She could feel the goose bumps rising on his skin. She nipped at his earlobe and whispered in his ear, her heart racing from the pleasure-laden sound of his heavy breath.

  He levered himself up long enough to remove his shirt, treating her to a close-up view of his abs and bare chest. She stroked his chest while he stared down at her, his pupils fully dilated so that his eyes no longer appeared green. Joy and panic tussled for control of her needy heart.

  She couldn’t catch her breath. The rain now came down in sheets, pounding loud like her heart. The moment stretched until his gaze dropped to her cleavage. Then the pace of everything shifted into high gear.

  Within seconds, their clothes lay abandoned on the floor, their bodies fumbling around, a tangle of arms and legs, rough kisses, mumbled affections.

  “Condoms . . . ,” she managed, having barely enough presence of mind to remember. But unlike with Smith, she was sober and clear-eyed today.

  He kissed her quickly and then reached for his wallet, leaving her squirming on the sofa, wet, needy, and eager. Exposed—the one thing she swore she’d never let herself be with any man. I really like you, too.

  He tore the packet open with his teeth, fitted himself, and then tugged her hand.

  “You on top,” he commanded, removing the loosened ponytail holder from her hair so that her curls cascaded over her shoulders. “I want to see you.”

  His husky tone conveyed deeper meaning in those words. For the first time ever, she wanted to be seen—truly seen—by a man.

  His hands clamped on her hips and then rose along her waist to cup her breasts. They sat, face-to-face, kissing and fondling with the slow rise and fall of her body.

  In the past, she’d enjoyed games, dirty talk, props—anything to distance herself from the person. From emotion. She’d trained herself to focus squarely on physical sensations.

  Today she kept her eyes open and her big mouth shut. She exposed her heart entirely, even if he didn’t know it. But he might figure it out, given the tears stinging her eyes.

  If it were possible for Ian to be in heaven and hell at the same time, that’s where he was. Gentry Cabot might be the singular most breathtaking woman he’d ever known, let alone so intimately. He strained not to spill too early, but her dropping all pretense proved overwhelming in every way.

  She had a body and mouth meant for hours and hours of pleasure. He noted each curve and freckle, the sweet floral scent of perfume, the humidity-coarsened texture of her hair. He even noted the moments of candor and surprise in her eyes, which might’ve been the most amazing gift of all.

  More. The word repeated in his head over and over with each kiss, stroke, nip, and grind. More. More. More.

  He’d lost control of himself and could hardly care less as he laid her back against the cushions, bodies now sweat soaked, and gave over to the orgasm he could no longer hold back.

  Tiny aftershocks seized him while he remained buried inside her, but Gentry didn’t complain about his weight or push him aside. She became uncommonly quiet, especially for her, and he wondered if she was as disoriented by what had happened as he was.

  The downpour outside, reminiscent of the heavy rains of springtime in Haiti, served as an unwelcome reminder of his plans. Of the fact he would be leaving soon. It seemed unjust that they, two different people with very different lives, could share this kind of connection.

  He didn’t want to give it up too soon, not when he’d finally tapped into something so exciting and unpredictable. Something unlike anything he’d shared with other women.

  Then a thin layer of guilt tinged the tenderness rising within him as he recalled Farrah’s face today. She’d broken their engagement, so he hadn’t exactly betrayed her. But what of his emotions? How had he moved on so quickly to another woman? Not only by having sex, but also by caring. By being so intrigued and infatuated that he hadn’t, until now, given Farrah a thought.

  Who the hell was he becoming, and was this a better or worse version of himself?

  He kept his head tucked in the crook of Gentry’s shoulder while he fumbled for the right thing to say. No doubt she’d been perfectly comfortable with the spontaneous sex. For him, it struck a new chord. He basked in the pleasant hum of contentment, which would be hard to surrender.

  The unexpected bark of Colt’s fussing through the baby monitor spared them both a clumsy conversation.

  “Gotta work on the kid’s timing,” Gentry teased, and Ian both felt and saw the mask of detachment fall into place.

  He could kick himself. If he’d said something—anything—kind or heartfelt, she wouldn’t have retreated. After everything she’d revealed today about a lifelong sense of loneliness, she deserved more. She deserved the truth.

  It seemed that he, too, had a mask of sorts—silence—that he used to keep his distance. The kind of emotional distance that enabled him to keep moving from country to country, crisis to crisis.

  “I’ll get him,” Ian offered. He pulled his boxers on while enjoying the view of her naked body sprawled out on the sofa, and then trotted into her room to check on Colt and collect his thoughts.

  As soon as he entered the room, he choked on the odor of the dirty diaper that must’ve awakened Colt from his nap.

  “Hey, little stinker. Your mommy dodged a bullet. I think she knew it, too.” When he went to lift Colt from the bassinet, he discovered the full extent of the problem. “Good God, man, you need new clothes, too.”

  He gingerly transported the poop bomb to the makeshift changing station and peeled the soiled clothes away, grabbing about a hundred baby wipes. After cleaning the majority of the mess, he filled the blue plastic baby bath with warm water and gave him a quick cleaning, making sure to wash up to his neck and the back of his head.

  Having done this more than once, he completed the task in less than five minutes, which made him oddly proud. Given Ian’s lifestyle, it’d be unlikely that he’d have kids—at least not for some time. Caring for Colt had given him a taste of fatherhood, and more empathy for all parents.

  He swaddled Colt in a towel, then brought him up to his chest and inhaled the scent of his skin. Ian would miss the mad pooper when he left. He’d miss Gentry, too. He laid Colt on the changing station again to put him in a clean diaper and pajamas.

  The baby monitor camera was on, though pointed at the bassinet. Gentry couldn’t see him, but she’d hear anything he said.

  “Okay, buddy. You’re good to go. Promise me you won’t do this to your mom once I leave. She’s got a lot on her plate, so you have to be the man of the house and help her out however you can.” He let Colt clasp his index fingers and then moved Colt’s arms like one might play with a doll. He glanced at the monitor, then cleared his throat. “Your mom will give you an amazing adventure and a life filled with love, so you’d better appreciate her and love her back.” Ian avoided looking at the video monitor. Who knew what his expression might reveal? Regardless of how happy he was here with Gentry and Colt, his path had been forged already and would take him away from this home.

  Colt wriggled, so Ian cradled him to his chest. The kid grew a pinch every single day. Showed more spark of personality, too, exactly like his mom. He’d be a handful, but whether she knew it or not, Gentry could handle it on her own.

  Then again, she probably wouldn’t be alone forever. Not many guys would turn her away, and if she found Smith, she could put together the family she’d always wanted. Ian would never burden her with the truth, but the idea of Colt’s father taking Ian’s place sent a painful jolt to his heart.

  “Everything okay in here?” Gentry stood by the door to her room, fully dressed. A pity about that.

  “He’s good to go.” He handed Colt to her and then bunched the soiled clothes and towel, guessing she wouldn’t mention what she’d overheard. “Straight to the wash with this.”

  “Thanks.” She
averted his gaze and nuzzled Colt.

  She’d never been stupid. She understood their situation and would make the best of it, as would he, without asking questions. Just as well, because he didn’t have any answers.

  He began his escape, then she said, “Ian?”

  “Hm?” The bundle of soiled, wet clothes in his hand still stank to high heaven.

  She rocked her son while smiling at Ian, and a part of him wanted to walk over and hug them both. “It’s okay, you know.”

  “What’s okay?”

  “What happened with us. I know it doesn’t mean everything or change anything, and that’s okay. The fact that it meant something is enough.” She kissed her son and murmured in his ear.

  Her courage forced him to find a little of his own. “It definitely means something. And, in fact, kinda does change everything . . . except my plans.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t expect any promises.” She kissed Colt’s slobbery cheek again. “But who knows? Maybe one day a shadow will fall across the hot dirt path you’re on, and you’ll find yourself staring up at me.”

  “In a skimpy dress and high heels, I hope.” He winked, pretending this conversation wasn’t tearing little pieces from his heart.

  “And a jug of clean water.” She hiked her thumb toward the window. “Fresh from Oregon.”

  He chuckled softly, thinking that she could well be as life sustaining as a jug of water under the right circumstances. He could have stood there and stared at her forever but for the shit-stained bunch of clothes in his hand. “I’d better deal with this or we’ll need ten cans of Febreze.”

  “I’ll order something for dinner.” And in a snap, it was as if the past hour hadn’t happened.

  Instead of skipping away with relief, he felt his first step was clumsy. The second one, too. His body seemed heavy, like he’d been filled with sand. Before he became mired in self-pity, Gentry called to him. “One last thing. While you’re still here, it’d be fine with me if you wanted to sleep in my room.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ill-timed

  According to Merriam-Webster: done or happening at a time that is not good or suitable

  According to me: finding Smith

  Ian’s surprise drained him of color.

  “Don’t faint. I’m not proposing or anything. But why spend the next week or two—or three?—denying everything we feel? I say we roll with it.”

  “Of course you do.” His mouth twitched as if fighting a smile.

  “Come on, McJ. We had a banner day.” His blush set off a shower of tingles, but she feigned nonchalance. “Let this run its course. What can a few more good memories hurt?”

  He scratched his jaw, hesitant.

  Gentry had never begged a man for anything, but Ian was worth it. “I promise, I don’t snore.”

  “I bet you hog the bed, though.” His eyes twinkled, suggesting she was close to winning him over.

  She cocked her hip, telling herself that she looked sexy despite the fussy baby in her arms. “You’ll be so worn out you won’t even notice.”

  He barked a laugh. “True enough. First things first.” Ian raised the bundle in his hand. “I need to burn these.”

  He trotted to the laundry room without giving her an answer, but the gambler in her bet he’d acquiesce.

  She squeezed Colt and laid her cheek on his head. “You like Ian, right?”

  She remembered the live baby monitor too late. Shrugging, she made a smug but silly face in its camera in case Ian was watching. When she didn’t hear him snicker from the other room, she assumed the washing machine had his full attention.

  “Let’s get you a bottle, Boo.” She kissed him and went to the kitchen, amazed at how bright it was now, despite the storm outside. Her house felt more like a home. A place where Colt could thrive.

  Ian met her in the kitchen while she mixed Colt’s formula. She debated whether to press him, but her phone went off before she got up the nerve.

  Hunter. Shoot. If he asked for the new campaign summary, he’d be mighty unhappy.

  Time to own up, she supposed.

  She handed Colt to Ian and then walked into the living room for a bit of privacy. No need for Ian to hear how she’d been falling behind at work.

  “Hey, what’s up?” She aimed for brightness.

  “Are you free?”

  His wary tone opened a pit in her stomach. “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why do you sound so weird?”

  Hunter paused. “We found Smith.”

  “Oh!” The unexpected reply sent her stumbling into the ottoman.

  Shaken, she surrendered to her adrenaline rush and sank to the ground to pull herself together.

  “Sis, you okay?”

  “Uh-huh.” She blinked, still somewhat stunned. “I’ll be there soon.”

  She hung up and flung her phone onto the couch. Covering her mouth with both hands, she gazed at a photograph of her son. Their son—hers and Smith’s.

  Ian came into the room and stopped short upon seeing her on the ground. She must have appeared half-catatonic. He rushed to her and knelt, laying Colt on the carpet. “What happened?”

  Gentry clamped down on the silent scream building in her chest. “They found Smith. Hunter wants me to come over.”

  Ian’s face gave nothing away. She supposed he’d seen and handled much worse chaos than the events unfolding in this living room. “Are you okay?”

  Why today, of all days? If Ian hadn’t already been contemplating his retreat, the specter of Smith would surely push him away.

  Defeated, she admitted, “I’m afraid.”

  He didn’t wrap his arms around her or make promises. Instead, he reverted to typical EMT behavior, questioning her like a patient and assessing the damage. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

  “Isn’t it pretty clear that I never know what I want?” She smirked.

  He cleared his throat and looked at his feet before rising.

  “I wasn’t talking about you.” She stood and reached for his hand. “Don’t use Smith as a reason to backpedal from what happened today. Finding him has never been for or about me.”

  His eyes strayed to Colt. “You obviously liked him.”

  “As everyone likes to point out, I barely knew him. You’re the one who encouraged me to find him.” When he sighed, she added, “I know you were right to nudge me, but it doesn’t make it easier. I’m not ready. I thought I’d have more time to prepare.”

  He gently pulled her thumbnail from her mouth and then brushed aside some of her hair. Holding her chin, he looked into her eyes, and she wished the two of them could grab Colt and run away. “Don’t panic. Finding Smith might end up being a good thing. Stay positive.”

  How could she stay positive if Smith’s arrival hastened Ian’s return to Haiti? She almost shoved at Ian’s chest in a pique of misplaced anger. How the hell had he destroyed decades of her keeping her distance in less than three weeks’ time?

  “I’ll stay here with Colt,” Ian offered, unaware of his precarious position.

  She glanced out the windows. Normally she could walk to Hunter’s, but not in this downpour. “I’m still shaky. Can you drive me?”

  “Sure.”

  When she released his hand, he reached for her waist and wrapped her in a reassuring hug. She waited for him to say something wise to make them both feel better, but he held her only for several silent seconds. He finally let go with a quick kiss to the forehead and then bent to lift Colt off the floor. “Let’s go.”

  Within two minutes, they were parked in Hunter’s driveway.

  “I feel sick.” She placed her hands on her stomach and looked over her shoulder at the car seat behind Ian. Her son’s life was about to undergo a monumental change. One she couldn’t predict or manage. “I’ve no idea how to tell Smith about Colt.”

  Ian turned off the engine, staring at Hunter’s home. “You’ve never had trouble being blunt. That should help you now.”


  His tone stung. “Are you angry?”

  “No. Sorry. The timing . . .” He shrugged and glanced at her, then reached across the seat to squeeze her hand. “Actually, maybe it’s perfect timing. Before things get more blurred . . .”

  “Ian.” Any hope that Smith wouldn’t affect whatever they felt for each other died when she looked at his wan smile.

  “This is good for Colt.” He released her hand. “He’s the priority, as he should be.”

  She couldn’t argue, although she wouldn’t roll over and let Ian waltz off without a fight. That fight would have to wait until later, however, because a hundred yards away was a file with Smith’s name on it.

  Together she and Ian walked through the rain like mourners at a funeral, with her clutching Colt as if monsters might pry him away. They climbed the two porch steps of Hunter and Sara’s Craftsman-style home, which hung on the edge of the cliff above the lake. While they waited for someone to answer the door, Ian stroked Colt’s head and awkwardly planted a kiss on her cheek. “I hope he’s a good guy.”

  He could never be as good as you. “Me too.”

  Sara answered the door, wearing her cheerleader smile. Gentry knew her sister-in-law meant well, but just once she’d like to see Sara make a mistake or be in a bad mood. Well, she’d seen that once, but only because she’d caused it by breaking her promise about the adoption. And even then, Sara hadn’t lashed out. She’d simply buried her face in Hunter’s shoulder and cried until he whisked her away.

  Gentry brushed off that bad memory as Sara welcomed Ian. Sara then turned to Gentry. “By the way, thanks for those gorgeous photos of Ty that you took by the lake. You have a true talent.”

  “Thanks.” Of course, that also reminded her of her gaffe with Ty and the Angel House, although thankfully her nephew hadn’t had nightmares. Or none she’d been told of, anyway.

  Sara then caught her lower lip beneath her front teeth. “Hunter’s waiting for you in his office.”

  “Yippee!” Gentry handed Colt to Ian.