“I’m going back when school resumes in the new year to help out an hour a week.” He cupped Mickey’s bare foot so it wouldn’t get cold. “The kids and I had a blast.” And he’d gotten way more out of the experience than they had.
Bree stuck a hand into her purse and withdrew her phone, swiping a finger over the screen. She stalked across the room and shoved it almost under his nose. “And this? Is this you having a blast, too?”
He took the phone from her hands and glanced down. On screen, a photo of himself with bared teeth below strawberry-tinted lip gloss, two matching pink spots on his cheekbones, electric-blue eyeshadow from eyebrow to eyelashes and three strategically placed Hello Kitty hair clips in his hair.
“No.” He struggled to keep his mouth in a straight line. “That’d be Jade and Zoe having a blast at my expense. There was blackmail involved. Kezia’s lasagne instead of my usual microwave dinners. The girls promised to delete that.”
“And you, like a sucker, believed them.” She snatched the phone back and stuffed it into her purse. “You look ridiculous.”
“I think I look kinda hot.”
He wriggled his eyebrows at her and gave Mickey another gentle jiggle. She gurgled in what he translated as a happy manner.
Bree huffed out a sigh. “These stunts you’re pulling—the look at me, practicing to be a great dad stunts—they’re just that. Stunts. Special effects. Not in any way connected to the day-to-day reality of being a dad.”
Harley’s heart slammed against his ribs. “Because you’d know everything there is to know about the reality of being a day-to-day mum?”
Her eyes flared wide open, exposing a depth of unexpected pain he hadn’t meant to cause.
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
She went to move away from him, but he was faster, gripping her arm to prevent her from leaving. He softened his voice.
“Bree, I just meant that neither of us are going into this parenthood thing with much experience—practical or emotional—but neither do millions of other new parents all over the world. We learn all this stuff together, and if we’re lucky, the worst memories our children will have is of a dad who makes a sexy drag queen.”
He’d hoped to raise a smile from her, but instead, she dropped her gaze to the purse hugged into her chest like a barrier arm.
Time to switch tactics. Harley released her arm, even though more than anything he wanted to draw her closer and kiss her until the wounded look in her eyes vanished.
“There’s food reheating in the oven; want to share?”
Her gaze slid toward the kitchen.
“Shaye made it, not Piper,” he said hurriedly. “The babysitting gig luckily doesn’t require me to eat Piper’s cooking.”
A hint of a smile kicked up the corner of Bree’s mouth—then vanished. She shook her head, kept her gaze on the starting-to-squirm-again baby and backed up a few steps. “I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat.” He gave her slightly rounded stomach under the pretty blue dress she wore a pointed glance. “And it’s Shaye’s chicken casserole.” Yeah, he was that far gone on the woman that he’d grilled Shaye about what Bree’s favorite Due South meal was and then begged her to cook it.
“I have a noodle pot in my room if I get hungry.” Then she turned and left the living room, her footsteps thudding rapidly down the stairs.
“That exchange sure went tits up. Looks like we’re eating alone, Mickey.”
Michaela screwed up her face again, and Harley braced for another screech. No screech occurred, just a small grunt then a rip-roaring fart—and the unmistakable watery sounds of a nappy being filled.
Well, shit. Harley craned his neck back so he could see her face—and he’d swear the baby was gummily smiling.
“Really putting me through my paces tonight, aren’t you? Bravo.”
More squirting noises.
Harley cast a longing sniff back toward the kitchen—and instead got a whiff of the most indescribable stench wafting up from his midsection.
With a sigh, he trudged back toward the changing table. “You just forfeited a Christmas present from your Uncle Harley, kiddo.”
Michaela’s little legs jerked gleefully, and she let out a little gurgling shriek, smacking him with her tiny fists.
“Yeah, yeah. You know I’ll cave and buy you one, anyway.”
Harley glanced at the stairs as he passed by. Wondered if Bree would cave or if once again, he’d inadvertently made things worse.
***
Bad things come in threes.
And those bad things didn’t let Bree off the hook just because it was Christmas Day.
Bree sat on a cushy outdoor couch positioned on Harley’s back deck, overlooking a huge back yard. He’d mowed the lawns and trimmed back the overgrown bushes, and now there was plenty of space for him, Ford, Paul, Rob and Carter to engage in a rowdy game of cricket.
She sipped her glass of cranberry and ginger-ale punch—courtesy of Denise, who had fussed around her ever since Bree had reluctantly arrived at Harley’s front door this morning. She narrowed her eyes at Harley, currently in batting position awaiting Carter to bowl the tennis ball.
Bad Thing Number One had occurred three days earlier, when Amy had called to ask Bree if she could stock up on fresh whipping cream before Russell’s sold out of it on Christmas Eve. Bree had taken the phone from her ear and stared at it, as if distance would make her sister’s words make more sense.
There were a couple of beats of silence down the line, and then Amy said, “Harley did tell you we’re celebrating Christmas at his new place this year? With me and Paul and Carter arriving for two nights on the twenty-fourth?”
Nope. Harley had not told her that.
“Sure,” Bree replied brightly. “Pregnancy-brain—I was imagining the pavlova I’m hoping you’ll make.”
“Duh. That’s what the whipping cream’s for. And get strawberries—at least five punnets. What with us and all the Komekes, I’m thinking I’d better make three pavs.”
“At least.”
“Wasn’t it nice of Harley to think to invite us, too? He’s being very sweet.”
“Mmmmm.”
Which had led on to Bad Thing Number Two…
“To be honest, Bee-bee, Carter’s been struggling a bit after we told him the news about you and Harley expecting another baby—acting out or sulking in his room. On one hand, he’s excited about a new brother or sister, but on the other, he’s questioning where he fits in all of this. You and Harley have both done your best to reassure him; I’m sure he just needs a little more time to adjust.” Amy lowered her voice. “I think he’s feeling left out.”
It felt like there were jagged shards of glass grinding against her vocal chords and Bree swallowed hard.
“We’ll figure something out to make him see that’s not the case. I’ll see you on the twenty-fourth,” she’d said, and for the first time in forever, she’d hung up on her sister.
“You okay?”
Speak of the devil. Bree angled her head, her gaze zipping past Amy toward the open French doors and the living room behind it, complete with a huge, freshly cut pine tree that Carter had excitedly decorated on Christmas Eve. A few scraps of brightly colored wrapping paper had been missed from clean-up underneath it. Thank God Denise had suggested a Secret Santa for the adults, and she’d had the good luck to draw Rob’s name from the hat. Exchanging gifts with Harley would’ve taken this awkward family get-together to a whole new level.
“I’m fine.” Bree set down her glass of punch. “I think I need to apply some more sunscreen though.”
“There’s some up in our room—I’ll go get it.”
“No, it’s fine.” Bree stood. “I have to go to the bathroom again, anyway.”
That was the other thing. Not only had Harley invited her family for Christmas, he’d insisted that Paul, Amy, and Carter stay with him. Carter even had his own room—not that she’d had the chance to check it out with him, as the
boy had been buzzing about helping the guys put down a hangi for Christmas lunch early that morning. And then with the excitement of opening presents and playing with his new toys…
Well. Bree was dying to have a nosy upstairs.
“Okay. Our room’s the first room on the right,” Amy said. “Should I start hulling the strawberries for the pav, do you think? Will anyone be hungry after all that roast lamb and veggies?”
“Um, hello? How long have you been married to a male of the species? Of course, they’ll be hungry.” Bree slipped around her sister, darting a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure none of the men had noticed her leave.
Technically, Harley hadn’t said not to go upstairs in his house. Technically, Harley hadn’t said much to her at all since she’d arrived as late as possible, while still in the realms of politeness, this morning. Nausea, she’d claimed to everyone with a perfectly executed rueful laugh. Such a pain. So sorry—how about you show me all your presents, Carter.
She climbed the stairs, running her fingers over the smooth wooden banister. Harley’s house really was lovely. The colors he’d chosen to complement the warm tones of the matai wood throughout changed the interior from house to home. Bree reached the top and cocked a head to listen. Downstairs in the kitchen, Holly’s and Denise’s laughter drifted up to her, followed by her sister’s. She felt a momentary pang that everyone else was having such a wonderful time, a memorable Christmas, while Bree had never felt more like an outsider.
She scrunched up her face and poked out her tongue. Pity party over. She’d better get used to the weird dynamics of enduring future family functions with Harley, without actually being with him. Birthdays, Christmases, other people’s weddings and tangis, where she’d be introduced as Baby Komeke’s mother—not Harley’s girlfriend or partner or wife. There’d be no relationship between them other than their ties to Carter and Baby Komeke, and Bree was still terrified that those ties would eventually choke the very life out of whatever relationship they did have.
A little voice inside her shrieked that she was a big, fat, lying liar-pants, but she ignored it, choosing instead to open the door to Amy and Paul’s room. A faint new-paint smell came from the warm beige walls. There was a single oil mounted on the wall—Drawing Breath. She’d insisted it be returned to Harley from her gallery.
Bree quickly applied sunscreen to her arms. Amy would smell it if she came downstairs without it. Then she ducked back into the hallway, opening the door opposite. Again, the smell of fresh paint, this time in a medium blue, with cricket posters on one wall, a single bed against the other and a minefield of Lego blocks and half-built creations on the floor between them. One wall in Carter’s room was painted in steel grey, with no other adornment except a hand written sign still pinned to the wall that said, “Cover me with your Manga.” Under the sign was a large desk, stocked with sketch pads, pencils, pens, and markers.
She quietly closed the door, tears welling in her eyes. This wasn’t a room intended for a kid who only came once a year for the holidays. This was a room decorated by a man who wanted that kid to feel that it was his space, his second home.
Bree continued down the hallway to the last room on the left, the door partially open. She pushed the door open farther and peeked inside. The airy room with a view over Horseshoe Bay, including a deck outside a smaller set of French doors, was obviously the master bedroom. A beautiful, big wooden bed was at one end, but no nightstands or dressers—Harley’s clothes spilled out of a couple of cardboard boxes. Paint-prepped walls remained bare of color and no drapes hung over the windows.
Why hadn’t he finished it?
Bree did a double take when she spotted, hidden behind the door, the single canvas leaning against the wall, ready to be mounted. Red sofa girl. He’d gotten it back from New York. She backed out of Harley’s bedroom, pressed a palm to her breastbone, her heart kickboxing against it.
What the hell was all this supposed to mean?
One door left and she was running out of time. Bree crossed the hallway and gripped the handle—it refused to turn. Locked.
“Seen everything you wanted to?” Harley asked from the end of the hallway.
Dammit. She slanted a glance at him, wished she hadn’t. If he’d just been his usual, impossibly handsome self, Bree could’ve dismissed her desire to wrap herself around him as simple lust. Part of pregnancy hormones, the horny ones. But seeing him leaning against the cream wall that emphasized a pinkness of sunburn glowing through the tan on his shoulders, grass stains on his knees and clippings in his hair from when he’d dived for the ball, the scratch on his chest where Sushi the rabbit had accidentally clawed him while Carter patted the squirming animal…
Lust came nowhere near covering the depth of emotion she felt for this man.
Her throat pricked as if fire ants had swarmed over her skin. “Not quite,” she said, attempting a blasé air, as if it didn’t matter she’d been caught snooping. “What’s behind the door, Bluebeard?”
He chuckled and strolled toward her, looking very much like a man with secrets, a dangerous man who could crook his little finger and make her beg to reveal them. With no regard for personal space, he stopped right in front of her. God, he smelled so good. Like freshly mown grass and salt, both from the sheen of sweat covering his skin and from the beach swim Harley, Ford, Paul, and Carter had taken after Christmas lunch.
Bree crossed her arms so she wouldn’t reach out and wind them around his neck and stroke her fingertips over his warm, smooth skin. Forget keeping her hands to herself; now she struggled to keep her lips from latching onto his and never letting go.
“I gave you the keys,” he said. “Anytime you want to check out this room, you just need to unlock it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Or I can just ask Carter what’s in it.”
Harley shook his head. “No one has seen this room, and no one will. Until you accept that I’m not going anywhere, that I’m all the way in this, that I love you”—he reached out and cupped her cheek—“and that I’ll never stop loving you, this room will remain locked.”
“But…”
Her objection vanished when Harley simply shut her up with a kiss that curled her toes and had her clinging to him, heedless of sunburn, sweat, or grass clippings. Hunger turned into tenderness, and by the time he pulled away, once again cupping her cheek before he moved to the door of his bedroom, Bree was a shaky puddle of goo.
“I’m leaving with Carter, Paul, and Amy tomorrow,” he said. “I’m flying to New York for a few days, so we’ll talk when I get back. Okay?”
Footsteps thundered up the stairs, and Carter raced around the corner, his gaze landing on Harley and Bree. He stopped abruptly, bare feet squeaking on the wooden floor. “Mum’s looking for you.”
“Oh. Mmmm.” Bree cringed, imagining what she looked like—flushed and quite obviously kissed if the widening smile on Carter’s face was any indication. “I’ll come down.”
“Didya see my new room?”
Bree flicked a glance at Harley, who watched their exchange with interest.
“Yes. It’s very nice. And so is the one your mum and dad are staying in.”
Harley’s grey eyes didn’t move from her face.
“Though Harley has a bit more work to do in his room,” she added.
Carter giggled. “He’s waiting for you, silly. That’s what my dad told me. He says ladies like to pick out girly things like curtains and stuff, so Harley’s being smart and letting you choose.”
“Huh,” she said. Dumbstruck. Again.
Harley raised an eyebrow then switched his stare to Carter. “Go wash up, Carter. Dessert’s in ten minutes. I’m going to have a quick shower.”
And before Bree could ask if what her son said was true, she was faced with a shut bedroom door with Harley on the other side of it.
“Auntie Bree?” Carter grabbed her attention by wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug and squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. Her
tousled-haired, freckled-faced little boy, whom she used to take to the park and hold in her lap as they went down the slide, was now too big to sit on her lap but not too big to still want a hug.
“Yeah?” She inhaled warm, sweaty boy smell with a hint of strawberries on his breath. She rested her face in his soft hair and tried not to hear the sounds of a shower running from Harley’s ensuite.
“When I was little you used to tell me that it was because you loved me so much that you gave me to Mum and Dad.”
Her heart lurched. “It’s true. They needed you as their son, and you needed them as your parents. You were a perfect match.”
“You’ll have a new baby soon.”
“I will. And I hope to love him even half as much as I love you.”
Carter gave a little grunt at that. “I’m not jealous of you having a baby, Auntie Bree. Well, maybe I was a little bit at first. Then I thought about what it’d be like living with you here. But I’d miss my friends and school too much. And Mum and Dad, I guess,” he added with a snicker.
She stroked his hair. “You can come stay with me in the holidays again sometime, and Harley’s made you a seriously cool room too.”
“No one says cool anymore. My room is sick.”
Bree laughed. “Eww. But okay.”
Carter craned his head back to look at her, his brow wrinkled. “But it’s just dumb that you’ll still live at the gallery, because when I do come to stay, I can help look after Sushi and Queenie and the baby. I don’t want to have to choose between you and Harley.”
Bree couldn’t prevent a tiny flinch. “You don’t have to choose between us, honey. Things are just…complicated at the moment.” God, that must be the ultimate of ultimately pathetic excuses to hand out to a kid.
And Carter wasn’t buying what she was desperately selling.
“It’s not complicated.” Harley’s eyes stared up at her out of her son’s face. “He loves you like Dad loves Mum, and you love him back. I know you do.”
Drawing Me In: A New Zealand Secret Baby Second Chance Romance (Due South Series Book 7) Page 30