Drawing Me In: A New Zealand Secret Baby Second Chance Romance (Due South Series Book 7)

by Tracey Alvarez

  She couldn’t lie to Carter, even if she’d been lying about her feelings to Harley. “I do love him. And I think maybe you’re right. I do love him the way your mum loves your dad.”

  Carter grinned, happy now he’d won the argument. “It’s pretty gross the way they kiss all the time.” His eyes widened. “But it’s okay if you guys wanna make out when I’m here. That’s sweet as.”

  “Carter—where did you hear that?”

  But Carter had wriggled out of her arms with a laugh. “Are you coming down for dessert before Uncle Ford and Grandad Rob steal all the strawberries?”

  “Yes. Now go wash up.”

  Bree glanced toward Harley’s room. Empty walls, waiting for her to choose not only the colors and furnishing to make his bedroom their bedroom—but Harley, just waiting for her to choose him, period.

  So, Bad Thing Number Three? She’d been too scared, too stubborn, and too proud to admit she’d made a mistake pushing him away, that she’d never stop loving him, either. She only hoped it wasn’t too late to figure out how to show him that she’d chosen him.

  That she’d always choose him.

  Chapter 21

  “Will you get off that damn phone and drive, man?” Harley glared at Ford, hunched over the steering wheel of their dad’s ute which he’d borrowed to pick up Harley and his four suitcases from Oban’s tiny airport.

  Ford lifted a bland gaze from where he’d been tapping out a text—that, or playing an online Scrabble game with their mum. “I’m sexting. Holly misses me.”

  “You left her only ten minutes ago when I rang to say we’d landed.”

  “It’s New Year’s Eve. We had plans.” A mock glowering look from his brother. “Naked plans.”

  “Just drop me home, and spare me the details.”

  Harley jammed his feet into the foot-well and rested his head on the neck rest, squeezing his eyes shut. Four nonstop flights after he’d said goodbye to friends at JFK, and he was done.

  Beer, bed, and Bree, the only three things he wanted right now. Getting two out of three would have to do.

  He scrubbed a hand over two days’ worth of whiskers as the ute roared to life, and Ford pulled onto the winding road leading to town. If it’d been anyone but his twin picking him up, he’d have made polite small talk, pretending that being patient with Bree, giving her the space she thought she needed, was cool. Pretending he wasn’t crushed and defeated, ready to crawl into his empty bed and hope tomorrow would be the day she’d come to him.

  Come home.

  He hadn’t spoken to her since he’d left Oban on Boxing Day. He’d called a couple of times, got her voice mail, then she’d return the calls and leave a message on his. She was good, she was fine, they’d talk when he got back, yadda-yadda-yadda. He’d listened to each of her messages at least five times over, analysing every tone and nuance of her voice. Hunting for a hint that she missed him, that she’d had second thoughts…instead, the only thing he’d picked up was a frazzled distraction, as if returning his calls was a giant pain in her ass.

  He must’ve dozed off on the way, because the jolt of the vehicle slowing down jerked his drooping head up, and for a moment he was completely disorientated. Blinking, he glanced out the window at his mural lit up in the ute’s headlights. Ranginui and Paptuanuku stared longingly at each other, sky father and earth mother torn apart by their children and now forever separated. Another sucky metaphor for him and Bree.

  Welcome home, Harley, and Happy New Year.

  “Thanks for the ride,” he said as Ford pulled into his driveway.

  The empty windows of his house reflected back the sunset’s streaky pink clouds on the horizon. Harley climbed from the ute’s cab, his muscles complaining after being cramped in the six-seater plane on the flight from Invercargill to Oban. He glanced over his shoulder. Bloody Ford was sending another text.

  Ford finally got out and ambled down to the ute’s rear. He dropped the tailgate. “Tomorrow’s a new year and a new day, bro. Who knows what’s in store.”

  The best Harley could offer was a grunt as he pulled the first of the four suitcases off the back. Only one of the bags contained personal items and clothes from New York; he’d organized everything else in his apartment to be donated to charity. The other three cases were his carefully protected canvases—some dating back to the first ones he’d painted, which hadn’t been quite good enough to sell. But they meant something to him, coming from a place when he’d been excited, scared, and missing everyone he loved so fiercely.

  “Take these ‘round to the studio, ay?” Harley dragged another suitcase to the end of the ute.

  Ford shot him a hell, no glance. “You haven’t even got power on in there yet, and the bags are too heavy to drag over rough ground. You want me to break my damn ankle lugging your shit about when it’s nearly dark?” Ford didn’t wait for a reply, instead hoisting up two suitcases and striding toward Harley’s front door.

  Because Harley couldn’t dredge up enough motivation or energy to argue, he grabbed the last two bags and followed.

  Suitcases deposited into his hallway, Harley waved off his brother, saying, “Yeah, yeah,” when Ford told Harley to get his sorry-looking ass to bed. The ute crunched gravel as it backed down the driveway, and Harley was alone, again, in his house.

  His big, empty-of-Bree house.

  Forget the beer, he’d hit the sack. Harley trudged up the stairs, debating whether or not to risk falling asleep on his feet in the shower. He stepped into the bedroom, which was exactly how he’d left it—no surprises, there—except for a silky-looking pile of pink fabric puddled in the middle of his bed.

  Harley dropped his cabin bag and crossed to the white comforter. He picked up the pink pile, his fingertips sliding on the fabric of a very sexy negligee. He stared at the almost-sheer fabric, the little ribbon straps and the lacy cups, his tongue drying out since his jaw had sagged open.

  He glanced toward the open door of the ensuite. Bottles and tubes and all sorts of feminine crap covered the sink counter top. Three steps past the open door, he could see into the walk in wardrobe. The sad little collection of his shirts and jeans that had hung pathetically on the rails all on their lonesome were now shoved to one small section. All remaining space was taken up with dresses, skirts, tops and jackets—in color co-ordinated rows—and so many pairs of shoes that it made his heart smile.

  “Well, fuck a duck,” he said, stealing one of Piper’s favorite expressions.

  He dived back out of the bedroom, stopped short at the slightly ajar door opposite. Bree had used her key. His pulse triple-timed as he pushed open the door. The room was empty. She wasn’t sitting on the old-fashioned wooden rocking chair, nor tracing her fingers over the mural of Maui fishing up Aotearoa that he’d spent painstaking hours creating as a feature wall.

  All of the dresser drawers remained closed. Four empty drawers waiting for Bree to fill them with her choices of clothing for their baby, because, hell, what did he know about dressing an infant? He leaned closer when he noticed a folded white note on top of the patchwork quilt his mum had made, lying inside the kauri wood cot.

  His name was written on the note in Bree’s oh-so-tidy script. The simple instructions said: Come to the studio. With a little row of X’s.

  Harley dropped the note and ran down the hall, wide awake now he had kisses—and so much more—to claim from his woman.

  ***

  The upstairs house lights switching on had caused Bree’s heart to yo-yo in her chest. She clutched the sheer robe tighter around her throat, glanced again at the two texts Ford had sent her since he’d picked up his brother up at the airport.

  The eagle has landed, and he’s in a bitch of a mood. Cheer him up, eh?

  And the last one, over five minutes ago: We’re here. Game face on.

  OhGodOhGodOhGod. It was stupid to be so nervous. Harley wanted her to move in. At least, he had, before he’d gone to New York six days ago. And a lot had happened in those six d
ays. She’d woken up from her self-induced fugue state, admitted she was an idiot, and enlisted the help of her friends to shift her stuff into Harley’s house.

  But what if he’d changed his mind? What if she’d been too presumptuous? Maybe she should’ve waited until he got back and grovelled pathetically at his feet for taking so long to come to her senses. Bree gripped the windowsill and craned her neck, trying to spot any movement inside the house. She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

  She saw the room he’d prepared for their baby in her mind’s eye. The nursery—Harley style. Just the memory of discovering it sent a warm flush through her. The mural, the crib, the lovingly created quilt, the empty drawers, the pretty pale yellow walls with a sticky-note on it that said: For our family portraits, Queenie. From birth until Junior has juniors of his/her own.

  She’d seen the nursery and had wanted to fly to New York and drag Harley home with her—where he belonged.

  Instead, she’d called up the local electrician to reconnect the power to the studio then attacked her to-do list, counting off the hours until New Years’ Eve.

  Outside lights flicked on. Bree squeaked and jerked back from the window, hurrying over to the newly purchased red sofa she’d had delivered yesterday morning. Footsteps sounded on the wooden deck surrounding the studio—then a pause and a low, dirty laugh of a man who’d discovered a strategically placed, lacy pink bra on the door handle. Harley stepped inside, his gaze flying straight and true to take her breath away from where she’d draped herself on the sofa.

  He didn’t say a word as he took in her gauzy pink robe, her nipples tight and aching beneath it, the goosebumps dotting her bare legs, even though the evening was still warm. He strolled across to the easel positioned in front of the sofa and hooked off the pair of pink lace panties she’d draped over the canvas corner, pressing them to his nose. The heat and affection in his eyes as he watched her watching him melted away the last of her inhibitions.

  “Welcome home,” she said, hoping the butterflies swarming around her stomach wouldn’t show in her voice.

  “It’s good to be back, especially when I come home to find a treasure hunt in progress.”

  He lowered himself slowly to the stool behind the easel, as if he half expected her to run. Like Queenie the rabbit, skittish and unsure whether or not the man with misty-grey eyes would love her or hurt her. Well, Bree knew with great certainty—like the little white bunny that would now rest easily in Harley’s arms—that this man could and would hold her heart just as gently.

  Her fingers itched to smooth through his rumpled hair, to draw him down onto the sofa with her and erase the weariness in the shadows under his eyes. But he deserved more than just her body.

  Harley deserved all of her—body, heart, and soul.

  “You’re the treasure.” Her voice came out a husky whisper, choked with emotion. “I’m sorry.” Bree’s eyes filled with tears. “Damn hormones! I had a whole bullet-pointed speech printed out on note cards.”

  Before she could object, Harley dumped her lingerie on the studio floor and crossed to kneel in front of her.

  “Hey.” His warm hand cupped her jaw, smoothing away an errant tear with his thumb.

  Bree, who always had a snarky comeback or perfectly timed injection of wit to a conversation, couldn’t utter a word as he continued to stroke her face.

  “I’m totally stuffing this up.”

  “No. You’re finally lowering your guard and showing me how you feel.” Grey eyes creased in the corners, and his hand slid from her face, down her throat to her shoulders, where he eased the silky fabric of her robe aside. He sucked in a breath at the same instant Bree released a relieved one.

  “I want you to paint me,” she said.

  “Like this?” He traced a fingertip over her nipple, continued down to the thickening of her waist, the slight swell of her stomach. “Carrying my child, all warm, beautiful curves that only I get to enjoy. Is that what you mean?”

  She nodded, and he rocked back on his heels. “You realize I can’t start tonight”—he glanced around the studio—“even though you’ve got it all set up.”

  “I know; you must be exhausted.”

  He cocked his head, and the corner of his mouth kicked up. “Yeah, I came home to find my wardrobe is overflowing, and there’re girly lotions and potions all over my ensuite, plus a bunch of weird-shaped pillows all over my bed. So unless you’re planning to stay forever, you’d better clean up your shit so I can sleep.”

  “I’m staying, and so is my girly stuff, including the throw pillows. They’re classy.” Bree sat upright and swung her legs off the couch. “I’m all the way in this, too. No more toe-dipping, no more doubting you since you were right—”

  “Whoa.” Harley motioned a T-shape with his hands. “You’re admitting I’m right about something?”

  “Yes. I’m admitting you were right about a lot of things. Buying the gallery and the studio for us—not just for me—but for our family. Figuring out that you loved me and never taking it back, not even when I tried to sabotage us by refusing to trust that you knew the depth of your own feelings. I arrogantly assumed I knew more about parenting than you, and you were also so right to call me out on it, by the way. And not just about the parenting, but in making a relationship work long term.” She arched her chin. “I haven’t much experience there, either, but I’ll fight for you, Harley. Bloody hard. Every day, every week, every one of those forever days, because I’ll love you a little bit more each morning when I wake with you at my side.”

  “You don’t have to fight for us, baby, because you won’t be the only one working through those rough times.” His palms settled on her thighs, sending all sorts of delicious tingles up and down her spine. “We’ll make it through those times together, just like we’ll make it through three a.m. feedings and teenage dramas. And”— with a smile that stopped Bree’s heart, he dug into the pocket of his jeans. A flash of sparkles from what he held between his thumb and index finger caused her to blink, stupefied, at the huge diamond ring. “Just like we’ll make it through you turning into Bridezilla for a few months before our wedding—if you’ll say yes to marrying me, that is.”

  After stunning her speechless for the second time, Harley sent her a heart-wrenchingly sweet smile and lowered his face to press a kiss against her stomach.

  “And assuming the peanut approves?” He laid his cheek on her skin, his stubbly whiskers tickling. “What do you say, tāku pēpi?”

  The fluttery swirls that had started three weeks ago deep inside her had grown into distinct, tiny movements these last few weeks. Bree felt the baby shift, maybe toward Harley’s voice, maybe only stretching, but he or she moved, and Bree had a moment of pure joy watching Harley’s eyes widen.

  “Our pēpi says yes.” Bree threaded her fingers through Harley’s hair. “And I do too.”

  Harley took his time kissing his way up her stomach, lingering at her breasts before dragging her into his arms. She hooked her legs around his waist and held him close as he took her mouth, stole her breath, and kissed her until neither could think straight.

  Maybe bad things came in threes, but good things came to those who waited.

  Epilogue

  Mid July.

  Bree stood in the church’s entranceway, precisely twenty minutes late to her own wedding. Bridezilla was in the building, and not even the spits of rain that were rapidly turning into heavier drops could wipe the smile off her face.

  “Rain on your wedding day means the marriage will last.” Shaye fussed with Bree’s veil, which had blown all over the place from the quick trip from car to the church entranceway. “That’s what Holly told me and Del when we got hitched.”

  “True story.” Holly not-so-gently edged Shaye away from Bree’s face so she could smooth the curls she’d spent an hour in the salon that morning fixing. “Now quit fidgeting and go check on the other bridesmaids’ hair.”

  Shaye poked out her tongue and mov
ed to where Piper and Kezia were talking quietly to a bouncing-with-excitement Zoe and Jade, both flower girls in candy-floss-pink dresses. Piper held nine-month-old Michaela, who was sucking on a fist full of chiffon and playing with the spaghetti strap of her mother’s dress.

  Piper caught Bree’s glance and pointed down at herself with a crinkled nose. “I hate you,” she mouthed.

  All six of Bree’s bridesmaids—Amy, Piper, Shaye, Kezia, Holly, and Erin wore varying shades of pink full dresses. Piper bitched the loudest about the color choice, but Holly’s cousin MacKenna had done a beautiful job of selecting the perfect style of dress to suit each woman.

  “Suck it up,” she mouthed back and then switched her mock glare to a smile as her father appeared at her side with her bouquet.

  “You ready, sweetheart?”

  “I am,” she said, and she was.

  She’d been ready to make it official since the night Harley slid the ring onto her finger and made love to her on their new red sofa. Bridezilla not-withstanding, she would’ve married him the next day if he hadn’t insisted on her having the wedding of her dreams, which included co-ordinating all their friends and extended whānau into what would no doubt be the biggest social event since the youngest Harland and Westlake said, “I do.”

  Her father, looking handsome and relaxed in his suit, cracked open the church’s door. He signalled Jean Brailsford who stood at the front with her violin poised under her chin. Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” rang out from the front of the church.

  “Let’s go get you hitched then,” her father whispered in her ear as the double doors swung inward.

  Zoe, who’d lost the game of paper-rock-scissors with Jade, carried Michaela down the aisle with Jade beside her, tossing rose petals from a basket. The girls would switch turns with the baby, who squealed with joy at the fluttering petals, on the return trip.

  Then Piper followed the girls. A glimpse of pink heels under Piper’s dress proved to Bree that even though she’d made Piper wear pink, the woman did love her, after all. Just as Bree loved the next five women who walked past her—her sister Amy, then Holly, Kezia, Shaye, and Erin. Her friends’ eyes shone with joy for Bree on her special day.