"What's that stain?" MaryJo interrupted what was rapidly becoming an erotic prelude to even better things.
"Huh?" He tried to rein in his thoughts as he tugged her shirt over her head.
"Is that Curt slobber on your shoulder?" She nipped his earlobe.
"Uh-huh. And the other side has baby Sean spit-up." He grinned up at her, curtained in the beautiful fall of dark hair. "Super sexy, right?"
"Actually-" She tugged her fingers through his hair, making his body tingle with anticipation. "Watching you put them to bed," she whispered, trailing kisses along his jaw, "is a complete turn on. My big, strong, gorgeous husband . . . holding a tiny baby on his shoulder." She sighed against his lips.
Before he could respond, she kissed the hell out of him.
When she finally let him up for air, her moan was a breathy pant that signaled the end to their conversation. "It really works for me."
His pulse thumping, Travis made short work of her bra. "Well . . . there's a splotch of strained carrots on my collar I think you might want to investigate further."
Chapter 17
"Hi, I'm . . . Curt—Forsythe. I'm-" In love with your sister. "I . . . work with Shannon. May I—come in?" Heart in his throat, Curt stared into eyes dangerously similar to the ones he couldn't forget. The scent of fresh paint filled his nose.
"I'm Kerry—Shannon's sister." She stuck out a blue-flecked hand.
"That's a nice color." Curt examined her fingers.
Kerry laughed, the sound warming him. "We just finished painting her bedroom."
Though not beautiful like Shannon, her sister was very pretty. Her hair as dark and wavy as Shannon's was straight. There was a clear resemblance. Kerry was leaner, more angular. Not as tall, nor as soft as her sister, but perhaps more guarded.
"She's just out of the shower. Getting ready for a da-" She paused, her gaze running over him. "Was she expecting you?"
"No." The damned date was tonight? Damned MaryJo. He met her defiant stare, appreciating the protective quality. "I'm hoping she'll see me, though."
"Those are her favorite," Kerry offered, softening a notch when she eyed the giant bouquet of tulips.
Swallowing hard, he nodded. Please let MaryJo be right. "I remembered." Like it had been hard? When Shannon had asked so little of him? Why did guys—himself included—always think they deserved a medal—for remembering the smallest detail? At this particular moment, his heart pumping enough for two men, he was grateful he had something to work with.
Kerry reached out, graceful fingers drifting to a vibrant, pink petal. "She'll love them."
He pretended not to notice the matching finger marks on Kerry's arm, though hers was more violently bruised than Shannon's. There were more—along her wrist. Dark, painful smudges, just starting to yellow. He wondered where else they were hidden. "I hope so."
Piecing together the story in his head, Curt finally understood. Shan had gone to her sister's that night. After their horrible, heartbreaking conversation, she'd run to her sister. For comfort. For the understanding he'd refused to give her. Instead, she'd walked in on more trouble. The boyfriend. Theo—something. He filed the question away for later. But, he'd damn well circle back to it.
Glancing beyond him into the hallway, Kerry noticed the box. "What's that?"
Curt played along, knowing he would never gain access to Shannon unless her protective sister allowed it. He hoped she would feel comfortable with him. His heart stuttered. Hoped she wouldn't assume . . . he could ever do something like that to Shannon. "It's . . . a housewarming gift."
"A pretty large one." She stepped closer to examine it. "How the hell did you get it up here?"
"A friend from work followed me over here. He helped me get it up the stairs." Felix had volunteered. His smile had suggested the old man was back in his corner—rooting for him to win Shannon back.
She glanced at his brace. "Yeah, the no-elevator part sucks."
He held her gaze. "She's . . . incredibly worth it."
"Yes—she is." Kerry continued to stare—leaving the impression she was making a decision. "Wait here."
Scanning the living room, he released a nervous sigh when Kerry disappeared into the bedroom. Despite the knot in his stomach, he confirmed Shannon had made headway. The space already looked comfortable and inviting. He imagined his gift in the spot by the fireplace. He closed his eyes on the flicker of hope. Such a small word for such a gigantic emotion. Hope was—dangerous. Though he'd counseled himself against the feeling, it remained—in the shape of a band, crushing his chest. As he prayed she would talk to him. Hear him out. As he attempted to fix the most catastrophic blunder of his life.
When Kerry returned, she had her purse. "She'll be right out." Offering him a solemn smile, she paused at the door. "Good luck."
Expelling a breath, he nodded. "Thank you."
"TULIPS." DESPITE THE nerves twisting her stomach, Shannon couldn't contain her smile when she met his gaze. Dozens of them. "My favorite."
"I . . . remembered." Setting them on the end table, he ran a hand through his hair. "You look beautiful, Shan."
His eyes. She'd missed Curt's eyes the most. At least the way they stared at her now. As though he wanted to cross the room and take her in his arms- "What are you doing here?" Projecting feelings on Curtis that he didn't have would only make matters worse. "I have a . . . I'm meeting someone at eight."
"I know. Your sister-" Distracted, he glanced away. "I-I have something for you. For . . . your new place."
She glanced behind him. "Where is it?"
Curt startled. "Right . . . it's in the hall." Turning, he opened the door. When she saw the size of it, she joined him, helping him nudge it over the threshold. Taking a pen knife from his pocket, he sliced down the sides of the box, seeming to focus the entirety of his being on the task.
As the box flapped open, a thrill of shock jolted through her. "Is that-" Rushing forward, she tugged the bottom flap open. "Oh my God . . . Curtis." Her eyes filling with tears, she pulled the rocker from the packing material. "It's . . . hers." Stunned, she raised her gaze to his. "M-my grandmother's rocker. How did you-" Her voice broke. Wiping blindly at her eyes, she tried again. "Curtis . . . how did you do this?"
"That night on the deck . . . when you told me about it—I knew I wanted to find it for you." His eyes solemn, he took a step closer. "You'd done so much for me . . . I wanted to thank you. And I wanted it to be something meaningful."
"How did you find it?"
He released a ragged breath. "That night . . . we were talking in bed-"
He shook his head, wincing as though the memory was painful. Shannon braced herself. Not a good sign, McCarty.
"I asked you about the couple in Denver . . . I thought I could track them down."
Shannon froze, the wistful beauty of the memory making her smile. "Gwen and Ellis."
He nodded. "I decided then—I was going to find it for you." When he reached for her fidgeting fingers, she startled. It was too much to hope . . . that he might want her back? That he might be able to forgive her? She couldn't ask him. Not again. When she'd humiliated herself so many times already. "While you were at work . . . running yourself ragged to keep my business afloat . . . I was on the internet tracking down the Donovans."
Her heart in her throat, she squeezed his fingers. "You . . . talked with them?"
"They told me about Brad." At her indrawn gasp, he hesitated. "Why didn't you tell me, Shan? How bad it was?"
She'd lost everything. How much worse could it get? "I was embarrassed. Humiliated."
"But, he stole everything from you-"
"It was my fault for trusting him." Trailing her hand over the curved armrests, the teak was smooth and cool under her fingers. And so familiar. A memory—that was finally back home. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she raised her gaze to his. "You don't know what this means to me, Curt. Having it back makes me feel—like I'm less of a failure."
"You're not a f
ailure." His voice hoarse, he glanced away from her. "Trusting someone isn't always a bad thing. It's—who you are. I love . . . I love how open you are."
A few minutes of small talk and she likely would've made it. She could have kept her distance. But, Curtis Forsythe talking about—love . . . even if it was only to describe her personality—wasn't something she was strong enough to resist. Impulsively, she hugged him. "Thank you so much. I'll never . . . forget this." Who was she kidding? She'd wanted to be in his arms from the moment she'd seen him. Now, he stared at her—as though he were memorizing her. As though he couldn't help himself. She couldn't not touch him.
HIS ARMS AROUND HER, relief flooded Curt. Holding her . . . made him ache. He drank her in as though she were an energy source. As though he could infuse her joy and be recharged. He tugged her closer, wishing it would never end. She was so damned perfect. Kind. Loving. He'd found . . . and lost the perfect woman.
"Curtis? I have to go soon." Lifting her head from his shoulder, her smile was wistful, making him ache to fix all the parts he'd broken.
"Don't go," he blurted. She stilled against him, her hand resting against his thundering heart. "Please, Shan? I want to talk."
"Why now? Because—I have a date?" Her gaze softened. "I think you made your point, Curtis. You've avoided me the last two weeks."
"Because I . . . don't know how to apologize for what I said," he admitted, giving voice to his misery. "I don't know how . . . to fix it with you."
"You had the right to be angry. But, the reason I omitted a huge part of my past was because I felt terrible about it. I deliberately hurt you."
Shifting from his arms, Curt felt the loss the moment she left him. Moving to the couch, she leaned against the back. "I made your pain worse. And it just about killed me to know I was capable of that."
"I deserved it."
"No one deserves that." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "For the record—since I met you, I've never, ever wanted to h-hurt you. I tried . . . to make amends for what I did to you. And for you to use that against me now—is just an excuse."
"I was wrong to blame you for my problems," he admitted. "The way I am now is—how I am. It's a result of my choices. My actions." Remorse swamping him, Curt knew true shame for suggesting she'd made him worse.
Her glance slid away. "Are you sure about that?"
"I couldn't believe someone like you was real," he confessed. "Shan, no one has ever taken better care of me than you did. You've given me so much."
She touched the chair, an absent smile on her face. "My grandmother never would have wanted to see you this way. She was tough, but fair. She always told us to get up, brush ourselves off and get on with life." When she glanced at him, her eyes were drenched in sadness. "She would be disappointed in us."
He took a step closer. "I can change."
"I'm not so sure."
Her tone was so . . . final. It sent a tremor of unease skirting through him. "Shan—please."
"I'm not willing to watch you waste more years isolating yourself," she finally said. "This is my life too, Curt."
Floored, he stared at her. "I want to be happy." Somewhere inside, a tiny, niggling part of him understood she might be right. People learned not to expect much from miserable people. He'd grown accustomed to standing on the sidelines. "Shan—you make me happy."
Though she couldn't hide her sorrow, her expression remained neutral. "Not happy enough. Or you wouldn't have found so many excuses to push me away." She released a long, gusting sigh. "You're hurting me now," she admitted, her tone dangerously matter-of-fact. "Is that what you want? To punish me, too? Because—it's working." Blinking back tears, she gathered her purse. "You should leave. I have . . . a date."
The vice around his heart would crush him. Curt could barely breathe as he watched her move to the door. "Please don't go."
She scooped up a wrap from the back of a chair. "I want love, Curtis. I want . . . a family." Her tremulous smile was determined. "I want someone who isn't afraid to enjoy all of it." When her hand brushed his arm, he had to fight not to grab it. Keep it there. "I've spent thirteen years—being sad. Being angry. Feeling . . . like a failure in my own life." Tears leaked from her eyes. "You've spent them—feeling guilty. Ashamed. Unworthy of happiness." She pulled the door open. "We've both wasted years we'll never get back." She stared at him, maybe for the last time. "For me, that ends tonight."
Curt stood in her empty apartment, listening as her steps faded down the stairs. Dazed, he sank down in her grandmother's rocker. Her words drifted over him, circled him—before crashing down on him. He finally knew the hollow, painful meaning of what alone truly felt like.
SHANNON TRUDGED UP the steps, exhausted, depressed and relieved. She'd survived the date. Not even ice cream would make a dent in the bubble of sadness surrounding her. Her happiness project—could resume tomorrow. For now, she was ready to fall into bed. With a sleeping pill . . . so she wouldn't cry herself to sleep. On the second floor, she paused. The scent of chocolate reached out to torture her. "Okay . . . maybe ice cream will help a little."
Fumbling with her keys, she pushed the door open. Concentrating on kicking off her pumps, she froze. Her living room was aglow in the light of a dozen candles. The scent of tulips heavy in the air, she glanced around the room. Every surface of every table was covered with a vase laden with flowers.
In the center of the room, she found Curtis. Standing there. Waiting. An earnest, vulnerable expression on his face. "What . . . what is this?"
Closing the distance between them, he stared at her. "I've spent my life trying never to want anything. I never believed I deserved to be happy." His soul laid bare in his eyes, his hand shook as he reached for hers. "And then I met you. And all I did . . . was want. You . . . surround me, Shannon. You're—everywhere I turn. In my house. At work. In the chairs you refinished. In the lists on your desk. In the damned fruit bowl and . . . coffee mugs."
Leading her to the couch, he tugged her down next to him. "I knew, Shan. Your first day at work-" He closed his eyes. "I looked in your eyes that day . . . and something just . . . shifted. I knew my life would never be the same again. And it was sorta terrifying."
"Why?" Unable to breathe, she stared at him.
"Because I knew I couldn't go on the way I always had. Closed off. Existing, instead of living. Not if I wanted to have you." Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his thighs. "That hug . . . the night before my surgery."
Her face heated with embarrassment. "That was just me . . . being-"
"The beautiful, generous woman you are," he finished for her. "Shan—you can't know what that felt like."
Unsure what he meant, she risked glancing at him. "It was just a hug-"
"Aside from my brother, no one has ever cared whether I lived or died. Whether I came home at night. Whether I was hungry. Or scared. Or . . . anything." He dragged a shaking hand through his hair. "I grew up believing . . . I'm not worth it." He turned to stare at her. "That I'm just . . . missing something."
"Curtis-" Her heart ached for him. For the little boy who'd never been wanted.
"For you to care about me. Comfort me. Take care of me in every possible way-" His voice hoarse, he paused. "It was just so completely . . . foreign. The cynic in me knew it couldn't possibly last. Even while I prayed it would never end. I kept telling myself if you really knew me . . ."
"I wouldn't want to help you?"
"You'd realize I wasn't worth helping," he corrected, his tone resigned, like a person who'd heard something for so long, he accepted the truth of it. "I've never met anyone like you, Shan. You just kept giving. And encouraging me. And being there for me. Nothing was too much for you. And . . . no matter how I tried to talk myself out of it, I fell in love with you. But, all the while . . . I was planning for the day when you'd finally realize you were wrong. And the more I thought about you leaving, the more sick I got.
"So, you wanted to leave first?"
"I n
ever want to leave you," he corrected. "But—for a guy like me to hear 'I love you' was pretty overwhelming. I finally had the most valuable thing I could ever find. But, instead of being happy—I was terrified. Because losing it would . . . kill me." He shook his head. "Jeez—that probably doesn't make any sense."
Shannon swiped her eyes. "It makes sense, Curt. But . . . don't you think I have the same fear?"
"You could have anyone."
Closing her eyes, she mentally counted to five. "I want you. I love you. Why would you assume I don't have risk?"
"Shan, I love you so much it—scares the hell out of me. I've been hiding in the shadows for a long time, but it's a habit I'm breaking tonight," he vowed. Staring at her, she read the naked emotion in his eyes. "I can't lose you. My happiness starts and ends with you. I know . . . I come with baggage-"
She experienced a flare of hope. "Baggage? How do you think I feel? I fell in love with you—despite what I believed about the accident."
"I've spent half my life feeling guilty . . . and I don't want to be that person anymore," he confessed, his voice breaking. "I know I still have stuff to work through, but I want to be with you while I do." He reached for her hand. "You brought me back to life, when I didn't believe I deserved it. Shan—give me the chance," he pleaded. "I'll never stop working to make you happy."
"You already made me happy-" Her voice was soft and sad. Rising to her feet, she gave in to the edgy need to move. Fidget. Do something. "How do I know you've really changed?"
"Because I've . . . lost you." The pain in his voice made her wince. "Because I know what losing you feels like . . ." His words caught in his throat. "It's more painful than anything I've ever had to endure. For two weeks I've lived without you. Everything I touch . . . reminds me of you. I feel your love all around me. Except . . . you're not there." He released a tortured breath.
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