by Bella Andre
He had way more than enough to pay for art lessons. And he could buy them plane tickets to Paris too. If only he could think of a way to offer without it coming across as charity, which it definitely wasn’t.
But his brain was so scrambled from a day spent looking at her, longing for her, breathing in her enticing scent, watching her laugh, that the best he could come up with was, “Seems to me that if you quit the accounting gig and painted, you’ve got a fortune here.” He gestured to her living room walls.
She shook her head. “Do you have any idea how many struggling artists are out there? Jorge needs the stability I can give him through a good, steady job. He’s my number one priority.”
Everything was about Jorge, and he saw all over again what an amazing mom she was. If the boys ran when they should have walked, or were about to make a bad decision, she didn’t scold, she corrected. She built up their fragile little-boy egos, never tore them down.
Exactly the way she hadn’t torn him down despite what she’d seen in his painting…and his complete loss of control when he’d been about to rip it up.
He’d always seen Rosie as invincible. But now he realized that she needed someone to build her up.
“You really don’t know how good you are, do you?” He sat beside her, because he didn’t want to stand over her as though he were lecturing. Except that sitting close beside her on the love seat, the scent of her hair was a million times more intoxicating than the wine. It made things happen inside him. It made need rise up. The desire to touch, to kiss, to hold. Impossible things. He had to concentrate on her art, nothing else. “Have you asked Ari to show your work to Charlie and Sebastian?” They were both artists. They’d know which galleries to point her toward.
Rosie moved restlessly on the couch, uncurling her legs, turning, tucking them beneath her again. “No. Ari’s as practical as I am. She knows that accounting is the way to pay the bills.”
Rosie never made excuses. But this sure sounded like one. He wondered how he could get hold of one of her paintings. He could take it to Daniel, who could show it to Charlie and Sebastian. Surely, they would make her understand how amazing she was.
But even as he thought it, he knew he couldn’t go behind her back like that. Just as he couldn’t give her the money to pay for Jorge’s art lessons. Rosie had done a great job leading her own life—she didn’t need a screw-up like him stepping in with advice and handouts.
“Speaking of being amazing,” she said softly, “the painting you did today was so emotional, so heartrending. It really moved me.”
Every muscle in his body went rigid. Every bone felt like it might crack.
In an instant, he was right back there in the museum, slashing paint on the paper like a madman. Then he was back further still—in Iraq. Caught in the fire and pain. He saw the faces of his men. He saw death.
He saw Karmen one last time.
And that strange sense of ease he’d felt talking to the boys and answering their questions while they read a book? It collapsed under the weight of that haunting memory.
“I’ve got to go.” He almost spilled the wine trying to get the glass onto the table.
She leaned forward, reaching out. “But—”
He didn’t give her a chance to finish. Or to touch him. “It’s late.”
Too late for him to be with someone as sweet and wonderful as Rosie. Not after everything he’d seen. After everything he’d done.
He was almost out the door when she spoke again. “Are we still on for trampolines tomorrow?”
He’d almost forgotten they’d promised the boys another outing. He couldn’t bail on Noah or Jorge. “We’re still on.”
* * *
Rosie hated the way Gideon had gone, so abruptly, his expression so dark and tormented. And yet…
He’d taught the boys how to play hopscotch. He’d relaxed at dinner. He’d played for hours. He’d smiled. He’d laughed. He’d come out of his shell. He’d kissed the boys good night. He’d read to them. He’d complimented her artwork.
Then Rosie had become complacent, thinking this meant that the incident at the museum had blown over, that they could talk about it now. Thinking that since the boys could get through to him with their simple questions over a story, maybe she could get through to him too. Thinking about how close they’d become yesterday at the wedding when they’d danced, when they’d shared dinner, when they’d twirled around the dance floor with the boys, when she thought she’d no longer have to tiptoe around him like everyone else, even the Mavericks.
So she’d stopped giving him room…and pushed.
He hadn’t clammed up with the boys as he told them a bit about what life in a war zone had been like. And maybe that’s exactly what Gideon needed, just simple questions from curious boys. Where he didn’t feel he was being forced to confront his past.
The only good thing about his leaving was that he’d been gone by the time the phone rang. At least then she didn’t have to explain about the two previous calls. Or how frightened she was by this third one tonight.
The calls came from a blocked number, a breather on the other end of the line. That was all, then she’d hung up. They could be nothing. There wasn’t a single thing that pointed to it being Jorge’s birth father. Not after all this time, when she hadn’t heard from him since the day he told her that having a kid wasn’t in his life plan.
But she couldn’t shake that feeling. Couldn’t pretend she didn’t hear the soft whisper of her name in all that breathing. Couldn’t help being afraid that if Jorge’s father had resurfaced, it couldn’t be for anything good. She would much prefer an obscene phone call.
Rosie hadn’t even told Ari and Chi about the calls, not with the wedding so close. Ruining Ari’s perfect day and honeymoon with worry was out of the question.
And if Gideon found out, she could only imagine how he’d react. Gideon was a protector. Like all the Mavericks. He would have freaked.
Just the way she was freaking.
She’d been keeping tabs on Archibald Findley, of course. Just a few searches on the Internet every couple of months. So she knew where he was.
When he got married, she was actually relieved at the proof that he had completely moved on with his life and would now be creating a family with someone else. But that relief had evaporated a month ago when she’d found that TV interview, the one where Archie and his perfect trophy wife had told the interviewer about their heart-wrenching experience with infertility.
Rosie hugged her knees to her chest, sipped her wine. Told herself, yet again, that she and Jorge were safe here. That Archie wouldn’t find them. That he wouldn’t even try to find them. That he wouldn’t bother, not after he’d kicked her out of his life when she told him she was pregnant.
But she couldn’t ignore the phone calls. Just as she couldn’t ignore the fact that his wife couldn’t give him a child.
While Rosie could.
And had.
Chapter Thirteen
They went to the House of Air trampoline park in San Francisco. The boys took trampoline lessons, learning how to maintain their balance and perform a couple of simple aerial tricks like cartwheels and somersaults. Then they’d done air dunks and played dodgeball and even tried rock-climbing. Noah declared he wanted to have his next birthday party there.
“Ari’s going to kill me,” Rosie said when she and Gideon were alone for a moment. “I’ve created a monster.”
“No way, she’ll love it,” he assured her. “She always wants to find new and different things for him to do. Plus, now that he’s had lessons, he can practice on his own trampoline without Matt being so nervous.”
As soon as Gideon had woken this morning, he’d vowed to do whatever it took to maintain his equilibrium, while being as friendly and relaxed as possible with Rosie. She’d already put up with more than enough crap—she didn’t need his long face or a dark cloud of gloom hovering over them for the next two weeks. It was long past time to pull it togeth
er. Not just for Ari or Noah this time, but for Rosie and Jorge too.
Fortunately, there was nothing like hours of jumping and dodging and climbing to make you stop thinking about anything at all. Except Rosie.
Because no matter how hard he tried—or how many vows he made to himself—he couldn’t ignore Rosie. The way she moved, the way she laughed, the way her tank top hugged her beautiful curves, the way she pulled her hair up off her neck. A neck he wanted to kiss so badly that his insides literally ached with the need.
“You don’t have to make dinner again,” he told Rosie back at her place as they stood side by side at her kitchen window, watching the boys play. “I can pick up pizza.”
Gideon had shown them a string game called cat’s cradle, and now, seated cross-legged on the grass facing each other, Noah and Jorge were blissfully unaware they were being observed.
Rosie was right, they were like sponges. All he’d done was mention the game he’d taught Ari as a little girl, and they simply had to know how to play it too. After today’s activity, he’d have thought they’d be falling asleep, but they just kept going. Kids were amazing—energetic, vigorous, resilient sponges.
Their voices were audible through the glass. “I think it’s like this.” Jorge leaned forward to touch the string linked between Noah’s fingers.
“Isn’t this the coolest thing?” Noah replied when they nailed the string’s pattern.
“You were a teenager when you showed Ari all these games, weren’t you?” Rosie asked Gideon.
“I was, but I liked spending time with her.” He grunted a laugh. “Even if my friends in high school thought I was weird for wanting to hang out with my little sister.”
“I think it’s wonderful how much you cared about her. How much you still care about her.” Rosie touched his arm, then just as quickly withdrew. He wished the touch had lasted longer. Wished it had been more than just a touch.
When Ari was tiny, he’d already been afraid to leave her home alone with their mom. Even without the drugs, his mother had never quite known how to be the kind of mom Rosie was with Jorge. Though Nadine had done her best, she never knew the right thing to say or do or when to give hugs. Which was all the more reason why he shouldn’t have joined the army and left Ari alone when she was eight. But they’d needed the money, and he figured signing up was the best way to get it. Working at a fast-food joint certainly wasn’t going to cut it.
But with time, his memory had worn down some of the hard edges and smoothed out the bad parts. “We didn’t have cable,” he told Rosie. “Just this old black-and-white TV with rabbit ears. So we watched old movies and TV shows and reruns like Leave It to Beaver and Father Knows Best, even The Little Rascals.”
“And your mom loved old Westerns, didn’t she?”
“I take it that means Ari told you where my middle name came from?”
Rosie’s eyes twinkled as she confirmed his assumption. “I like your middle name. Gideon Randolph Jones. I love that it was inspired by the old Western star Randolph Scott. Those old shows were different, weren’t they? The kids played jump rope and used hula hoops and pogo sticks instead of iPad and PlayStation devices.”
He nodded. “It was a simpler time.”
Was that really true? There’d been nothing simple about carrying his mom to bed when she was on the nod from junk. But he didn’t want to think about that, not here with Rosie and the boys playing outside.
“Ari was an inquisitive little girl,” he told Rosie. “As she got older and I realized I didn’t know the answers to her questions, we would go to the library to figure out whatever we wanted to know. That’s how we learned about history and science, and so many games. If she heard about one at school, we’d learn it on the weekend.”
“I love that you did that for her.”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t hard.”
She touched his cheek then, made him look at her. When he finally let his eyes meet hers, she said, “It might not have been hard, but most sixteen-year-old boys wouldn’t have bothered. You were very sweet to Ari. And she knows that.”
He swallowed. He’d done so many things wrong when it came to his sister, it was nearly impossible to acknowledge the things he’d done right.
“When we were in foster care, she used to talk about you all the time,” Rosie told him. “I always wished I had a brother like you.”
But he didn’t want to be her brother. Not in the least. “Do you have any sisters?”
She shook her head. “I was an only child. I was born here, but my parents’ family were in Mexico. My dad was a tree trimmer, and my mom was a cleaning lady, so we didn’t have a lot of money. But they always sent home what they could.”
“How’d you lose them?”
“A car accident when I was eleven.”
“I’m sorry.” His heart broke for the eleven-year-old girl she’d been. “Why didn’t you go to your family in Mexico?”
“I knew how badly my parents wanted me to be an American. That’s why they came here, to make sure I was born here. That’s why they sacrificed so much. So I never told anyone about my relatives in Mexico, in case the authorities wanted to send me back. Besides, I didn’t know them. California was my home.” She was matter of fact about her story, but he knew how much it must have hurt. That it likely still did. “I missed my parents so much. But I found Ari and Chi. And then I had Jorge.” She smiled. “And now with the Mavericks, I have a huge family.”
He couldn’t keep his gaze from her gorgeous mouth, her lush lips. He could feel his breath rising and falling in his chest, he could feel his heart beat. And he could feel the warmth of her skin. Her scent was sweet and heady, like the champagne they’d toasted with at the wedding.
“Gideon,” she whispered with those kissable lips.
He wanted to touch her, wanted to brush his fingertips over the smoothness of her skin. And then her lips parted, and she was so close, so very, very close. It would be so easy. God, he wanted to kiss her. Wanted just one taste.
A taste to last a lifetime.
“Mom, Gideon!” Jorge called. “Look at the cool things we’re doing with the string!”
Gideon started and stepped back. He hadn’t simply been about to kiss Rosie.
He’d been about to devour her.
“Gideon.” Her eyes were the deepest chocolate, melting him.
He was breathing hard, as though he’d been running around the block. “I’ll ask the boys what kind of pizza they want. They can go with me to pick it up.”
He backed toward the door, because if he didn’t, he’d give in to that look in her eyes, the temptation of her lips, of her kiss.
And if he kissed her, he’d be completely lost.
* * *
Gideon and the boys went to pick up the pizzas, leaving Rosie alone for a little while.
Alone and buzzing from that almost-kiss.
At last, he’d been about to give in to the sizzle between them. She’d almost been able to taste his lips. Feel the heat of his body against hers. And if Jorge hadn’t called them, she couldn’t have made herself pull back. Not when she wanted Gideon so badly.
Of course, when they came back with the pizzas, Gideon acted like the moment had never happened. She wasn’t surprised by his reaction. Nor was she hurt. How could she be, when she was still floating on a cloud of hope that he’d let himself get that close to her in the first place? She was still his friend first and foremost, but she wasn’t planning to lie to either of them by denying her longing for him.
They played card games after pizza. Gideon was a fountain of old games from bygone eras—snap and spoons and spit—and the boys were fascinated with every new one he taught them. Who needed an iPad or a video game or even a TV when you had Gideon?
He was so good with Jorge and Noah, exactly the way she imagined he’d been with Ari when she was six. And even if he sat as far away from her as possible and directed nearly all his comments to the kids, she had a great time.
; Then Noah yawned. Caught by the contagion, Jorge yawned too.
“I believe it’s bedtime,” she said.
Gideon nodded, gathering the cards together into a pile. “We’ll get out of your hair.”
“Can I come with you guys, Gid?” Jorge begged.
“Yeah, Uncle Gideon, can we have another sleepover?”
Thankfully, Gideon read her face and said, “Not tonight, guys.”
“But, Gid,” Jorge started, until Rosie shot him a look, which made him immediately clamp his lips.
Last night’s phone call had unsettled her, and though she knew Gideon would take special care with the boys, she wanted Jorge with her. She wanted to be able to walk into his bedroom after he’d fallen asleep, pull the covers up, though he would inevitably kick them off, and know without a shadow of a doubt that he was safe.
“We’re going to meet up for a hike tomorrow morning,” she told the kids. She and Gideon had already planned it. “So you’ll see each other again very soon.” Which meant she’d get to see Gideon again. Very soon. Though somehow it didn’t feel like soon enough.
Jorge knew when not to push. “Okay.” He couldn’t help the tiny pout. Neither could Noah, as he and Gideon packed his Lego pieces into his backpack.
“Thanks for the pizza,” she said. She tapped Jorge on the back, and he repeated, “Yeah, thanks, Gid, it was yummy.”
The boys did a complicated handshake good-bye, then she kissed Noah’s cheek, finishing off with a hug while Gideon scooped Jorge up for a big squeeze. Then the boys were racing for the door, following the beep of Gideon’s key fob as he unlocked the car door.
For a moment, Rosie and Gideon were alone. She felt the heat of the night around them, the scent of lavender in the air and the lingering sweetness of their almost-kiss.
She could feel him battling with himself as he considered whether or not to say something. Finally, he said, “My complex has a pool. You and Jorge could come for a swim after the hike, if you’d like.”