Was it really true? Could he release the guilt that had chained him for years? Because of her? She knew he wanted to. But . . . could he do it? She stared at him, knowing he could read her doubt.
"DAMN YOU, SHANNON—I see life through your eyes now. I see . . . possibilities." Curt rose from the couch, determined to make her see him. That he'd changed. "I see hope. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I would trade everything I own . . . to have that life with you." He swallowed convulsively, the haunted sadness in her eyes lancing his soul. "If you say it's too late . . . that you can't give me another chance . . ." He shook his head. "I really will have lost everything."
The tears trickling down her face allowed him a flicker of hope. He'd damaged her trust, hurt her with his words, yet—she still felt something. "I love you so much. Please don't give up on me." His voice raw, he pleaded. "I want everything with you. I want to hold your hand and gaze at the stars. I want you next to me in bed every night. I want to dance with you. And play sexy board games-"
When she choked back a laughing sob, he nearly drowned in a crashing wave of relief. The pure, sweet sound of her laughter sent his hope soaring. "I want babies and . . . sleepless nights and . . . arguing with you—over whose turn it is to change smelly diapers." Her restless fingers startled in his hand. He squeezed them tighter. "But—I can only do that with you. "
He startled when she burst into tears, grateful when she threw herself into his arms. "Do you mean it? Because . . . I will beat you over the head with your crutch if you don't."
Staring into the most beautiful eyes he would ever know, Curt was shaking when he kissed her. "I'm worth the risk, Shan." He whispered the vow against her lips. "I swear it."
"I never doubted your worthiness. "
"No one will ever love you like I do," he vowed, cupping her face to rain kisses over it. Several minutes later, he smiled when she began undressing him in the living room. "Wait." He wanted to memorize the moment—candles flickering, her beautiful, expressive eyes brimming with passion.
"W-what are you—Why are we stopping?"
He grinned over the urgency in her voice. "I want to hear you moan, Shannon."
"Are you forgetting it's been two weeks?" Frowning, she attacked the buttons on his shirt. "You should be more worried about me waking the neighbors. If you'll just start helping here, I promise you that moaning won't be a problem."
"Not yet. There's something I need to show you." He tugged her toward the kitchen.
"In the kitchen? Can't it wait?" Annoyance flared in her eyes when he laughed.
Undeterred, he guided her to the kitchen. "I made something for you."
The scent in the kitchen was overwhelmingly chocolate. "Is that-" Her eyes rounded. "Pudding?"
He nodded. One final confession. More than the 'I love you', this one made him feel a little vulnerable. But, he'd vowed he would leave her with no doubt. "You said . . . the man who makes you chocolate pudding—that you'd . . . be his forever."
She stared at him, her beautiful eyes shining. As though she could read the prayer in his. That she could love him. That it would be forever. "I guess that means . . . you're stuck with me."
He smiled over her watery voice. Overcome with emotion, she was crying again. He caught the tears with the pads of his thumbs. And realized he kinda liked doing it. If she was going to cry, then he would be the one to comfort her. Then she kissed him, and he lost his train of thought. When she finally released him, he held onto the counter. It was that, or risk losing his balance.
"I thought I smelled chocolate, but I assumed I was dreaming."
"You dream about chocolate?" He fed her a spoonful, smiling when she closed her eyes. Her moan was one of bliss. He kissed her, tasting it on her mouth. "Jeez, that's pretty good." He tasted her again. "I burned the first batch," he admitted, his voice a husky whisper against her throat. His breathing ragged, he acknowledged he would never be able to control what he felt for her. "You have to—stir it . . . constantly." His mouth drifted to her earlobe. "I had to . . . buy a whisk."
She shuddered against him. "You are so turning me on right now." Dipping her finger into the warm chocolate, she licked it clean.
He felt her simple action all the way to his groin. "It took me . . . three tries to get it right."
"You worked so hard for me." Her sensuous voice made him harder than he'd ever imagined possible. " You have to try some."
His gaze burning into hers, he drew her finger into his mouth. Her breath huffed out on a gasp, her beautiful eyes glazing with passion. Curt wondered how much longer they could last before he simply pulled her down on the kitchen floor. Tasting the bitter sweetness of chocolate on his tongue, he stared at her. "You might have something here." He accepted another finger scoop of chocolate, certain he would never stop being floored by the beautiful, loving woman in his arms. His thoughts grew hazy as her mouth captured his.
Maybe MaryJo had been right about the soul mate thing. Because he sure as hell had found his. Shan was his. Forever. The only thing better than this moment would be all the moments to come. A lifetime of them.
"God, this is so good."
Despite the overload of feelings threatening to short-circuit his heart, Curt managed a grin. "Yeah—I've heard that before."
Picking up the spoon he'd left on the counter, she savored another bite before driving him crazy with another slow, deep kiss. "Now, can we finally go to bed?" Giving the spoon a final lick, she smiled when he groaned, recognizing the heat in his eyes.
"I'll race you." His voice hoarse, he turned back. "Maybe you should-"
"Great minds . . ." Her smile enticing, she revealed the pot and spoon she carried. "Let's take it with us."
"YOU'RE enjoying this," Shannon accused him six months later. She sat with him on the hard, unforgiving bleachers, constantly being nudged by jockeying parents. She watched the sweet smile play around Curt's lips, his gaze glued to the undulating wave of purple tutus on the elementary school stage. To date, it was their seventh ballerina recital. Uncle Curtis wouldn't dream of missing one. "All that complaining was just a front. All that talk about pre-gaming with Travis-"
Brushing his mouth against her ear, he absorbed her shiver. "Don't tell anyone."
"Your secret's safe with me." She leaned against him, loving the solid feel of him beside her. "By the way, Hannah is the second tutu from the right."
"It's getting harder," he admitted, sitting up straighter. "This time they have masks on. How can you tell?" He gave her fingers a little squeeze.
"And you call yourself favorite uncle." She rolled her eyes.
"C'mon, babe—give. What's the secret?"
"I braided her hair."
His confident chuckle made her smile. "You'd recognize your work anywhere?"
Curiosity got the better of her. "If you weren't watching Hannah just then—what was that smile all about?"
He shifted in his seat, glancing around to make certain they wouldn't disturb anyone filming their tiny, purple princess. "I was just thinking . . ."
Shannon loved the way his eyes heated with intensity when he was talking about something he loved. His business. His family. His sports team. And . . . her. Curt's eyes heated like that for her, too.
"That'll be our little girl up there . . . in like . . . four or five years."
Startled, her breath left her. Meeting his gaze, she read the love shining there. Smiling through a sudden shimmer of tears, she felt his mouth brush their entwined fingers, pausing over the sparkling band he'd placed there several months earlier. After wasting thirteen years, they'd been happy with a very short engagement. "Actually . . . I think you can start ballet at three."
Smothering his laugh, he shook his head. "Great. Even more recitals." He tugged her closer, his smile impish. "I have to confess something." She closed her eyes when his sexy voice whispered in her ear. "I love elementary schools. I love the smell of them." His breath ruffled her hair. "I think I could live i
n one. That safe feeling I get when I'm in one."
"Why do you feel safe?" She kept her voice low for the sake of the parents in the row behind them.
"We—never had this," His glance encompassed the room. "Crayons. Books to read. Our artwork stapled on the wall—like someone thought it was good? A hot lunch . . ." He shook his head. "Being in school was ten thousand times better than going home every day."
She closed her eyes on the tears burning there. It was true, the secrets had been tumbling from him. The new and improved, happy, light-hearted Curtis Forsythe. It had been wondrous, watching the shell crumble. Humbling to realize he wanted her—to keep his secrets safe. Some of them . . . had been awful. Heart-wrenching. About his childhood. The endless comings and goings of his monster mother and her numerous boyfriends. The insecurity she'd caused with her disappearances. By the constant blur of strangers in their lives. The odd, recurring memory of a crying baby. Curtis assumed it must have been him—a blonde toddler . . . crying in a closet. Shannon had shuddered over the abuse he'd endured. The guilt he'd carried—because Travis had borne the brunt of it. Beatings his brother had taken to protect him.
But, some of his stories had been wonderful. His dream of expanding his business. His endless adoration for Hannah and his nephews. His wish for kids of his own. Kids who would be loved. Curtis had discovered he could tell her anything. And when he did, he felt better. Along the way, she'd shared a few of her own—about the furniture remodeling business she wanted to start. Together, they'd agreed to look only forward instead of back.
"I'll let you in on another secret." His mouth brushed her ear, sending a shiver through her. "I actually can't wait to have babies with you."
Shannon suddenly wished they weren't in the stuffy auditorium of a very public elementary school. Heart suddenly pounding, she brushed a kiss along his jaw. "Fair game—I'll let you in on a little secret."
Something in her tone made him pull back to study her. His beautiful eyes curious, she waited—to see if he could read it there. It would have to be their secret . . . at least for another month or so. He stiffened beside her, his eyes flashing with wonder. With . . . hope?
"Shan-" Curtis blinked, his breath ragged. "Are you-" His voice suddenly hoarse, he read her expression—the smile she could no longer contain. "Oh my God . . . babe—you are."
His hand clutching hers, she watched him blink the wetness from his eyes. As parents jostled them, as a toddler began wailing two rows behind them, Shannon held his hand. "We are," she confirmed. "But, since our daughter will likely attend this elementary school—we'll have to wait until later—to celebrate."
"We were only kissing in that last school," he reminded, finally finding his voice. They'd crept away during intermission . . . "It's not like the custodian caught us having se-"
She covered his mouth, his chuckle vibrating against her fingers. "We can't afford to do anything—that could get us kicked out."
He turned to her, eyes shining. "When?"
"Seven-ish months."
Doing the math, he grinned. "Maybe for Christmas?"
She nodded, heart in her throat. His happiness—was the only gift she'd ever wanted. Now—there would be more. Love. Happiness. Babies.
His hand crept to her stomach, the warm weight reassuring. "How will we ever top this Christmas gift?"
She leaned into his side, so happy to be there. "We have at least forty more. I'm sure we'll think of something."
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, MaryJo stood in the French doors, smiling as she surveyed the crowd on her deck. Her dad and Maddie, chatting with Curtis and Shannon. Matt and Teagan tossing a ball in the field with the ever-growing collection of grandchildren. She smothered a laugh as little Curt tried to catch a ball that was nearly as big as him. Alyssa and Jules setting the picnic table, cracking up over a joke she was missing out on.
"What a difference a year makes." Travis joined her in the doorway, barbecue tongs in hand. He nodded to Curt.
"Thank God." Her beloved brother-in-law—now walking the earth with a perpetual smile on his face. Beautiful Shannon—who'd won MaryJo's heart forever for returning Curt to the living.
"Mimi, watch me twirl," Hannah broke into the conversation between Maddie and Shannon, twirling between them with her glittery, purple tutu. "You, too, Grumpy," she ordered.
Sean glanced up, trying to hide his smile. "How did I go from Grampy to Grumpy?"
Hannah pranced across the deck, never pausing to make sure whether Grampa Sean was paying attention before she leaped into his arms. "It's because you use bad words." Her accusation was muffled against Sean's throat. "Mimi says you're naughty. So . . . I'm callin' you Grumpy from now on."
He nudged Madeline. "I'd like to think I'm still capable of naughty." Sean stood up, a wiggling ballerina in his arms.
"Naughty's bad, Grumpy."
"Is that so?" When Hannah nodded, he strolled to the edge of the deck. "Did you know that a grumpy grampa tosses little ballerinas off the deck?"
"Uncle T," she shrieked. "Come save me."
"Is this a new tradition? Grandchild tossing?" When Teagan caught Hannah and swooped her to the grass, it spurred the little boys in the yard to bolt up the stairs, all crying 'me next'. Shaking her head, MaryJo startled at the doorbell. "Are we expecting anyone else?" When Travis would have handed her the tongs, she stopped him. "Why don't you start the grill? I'll get it."
As she traced her way to the foyer, she heard Hannah's tutu swishing behind her. "Let me, Mommy. Whoever it is will wanna see my tutu."
MaryJo smothered her laughter as she opened the door. A beautiful woman with wild, blond curls stood before her on the front step. Strangely familiar . . . yet—not. "Hi. Can I help you?"
"Hi . . . I'm looking for Travis? Travis . . . Lockwood?" She startled at the sound of laughter drifting through the house from the deck. "I'm so sorry—I've . . . caught you at a bad time."
"It's okay." Hair prickling on the back of her neck, MaryJo tried to analyze her reaction.
"You're busy. I can . . . I'll come back another time-" Distracted, the woman turned to make her escape—as though second-guessing her decision to ring the bell.
"No, wait." MaryJo stared at her, her pulse leaping over the woman's worried expression. The way she clutched the rail, as though she were holding on for dear life.
"I should go-" She swept a hand through her hair.
That mannerism. MaryJo caught her breath. "Don't . . . don't leave." It couldn't be. A beautiful woman who looked just like-
"Mommy . . . she looks like Uncle Curt."
Before her eyes, the woman on the porch wobbled, her fingers gripping the wrought iron railing as though she might fall. "There are two?"
The whispered question jolted through her. Her gaze never leaving the woman's, MaryJo finally found her voice. "Hannah—go get daddy and Uncle Curt." To the stunned, swaying woman on the porch, she extended a hand. "Would you like to come in?"
Freckles standing out on parchment cheeks, the woman's eyes were enormous. Blue. Frightened. And so like Travis'. "Thank you. I . . . I'm Candace—Candace Avery. I . . . was looking for-"
"Travis is my husband." MaryJo's heartbeat accelerated at the certainty coursing through her. "And I think he might be . . . your-"
She heard Travis and Curt as they trailed through the living room. The moment she turned to face him, she read his expression. And Travis read hers. "Babe, what's wrong?"
MaryJo stepped aside. "Guys—this is Candace-"
An arc of electricity tremored between them as they entered the foyer. Curt froze. His gaze locked on Candace, he took another step. Staggering, he reached out to catch the wall. "Oh my God."
His breathing ragged, her husband ventured closer. When his hand sought hers, MaryJo held it tight. "Trav—I think she's-"
He gripped her fingers. "You—you look . . . like Curt."
"I-I . . . wasn't sure-" Candace squeezed the door handle, her grip white-knuckled. "I only knew a-about .
. . you." She nodded to Travis, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I've b-been looking for a while. I w-wasn't . . . sure I'd be right." She took a tentative step into the foyer, her gaze shifting to Curtis. "I never knew about y-you."
A stunned look passed between the brothers. "How—old are you?" Curt's voice was hoarse.
"I'm . . . thirty-one. I grew up outside DC."
"How could we not know?" Jaw clenched, her husband's body was rigid next to her. "How . . . is this possible?"
MaryJo worried what would happen when everyone else spilled in from the deck. "Maybe we should take this inside," she suggested, nudging Travis. The pretty, blonde woman hesitated, appearing almost afraid to move. As though she might decide to run.
MaryJo reached for her hand. "We can talk with Candace over dinner—and . . . later."
"I can . . . come back—another time." Her eyes flashed with alarm. "Maybe I should just go-"
"No." Travis and Curt spoke in unison. Her husband glanced at her, releasing a steadying breath. "You'd better come in . . . and meet the rest of the family."
LOOK FOR BOOK 4 OF the Blueprint to Love series, Hank Freeman's story, SHELTERING ANNIE.
Love Under Construction . . .
Solitary widower Henry Hank Freeman has relearned how to be alone. In a world gone colorless with grief, he views life in varying shades of gray. Until bumping into Annie McKenna, a mysterious woman walking her own lonely road. But, when their paths cross, he sees only light. And a rainbow of opportunity.
Annie McKenna doesn't need any distractions. Perpetually on the run from her abusive ex- husband, she has two kids to hide and protect. No job. No money. No hope. Until she meets Hank Freeman at the shelter where she lives. For the first time in years, she's awakened to a sharp sense of longing. For a normal life. With a man she can trust. But, Hank seems too good to be true.
Falling for Annie and her boys was the easy part. Convincing her to build a new dream with him might take longer than the addition Hank's constructing for the shelter. Protecting them from her ex—a full-time job. Believing Henry's beautiful blueprint will take all the faith Annie can summon. She can't afford another mistake. Because where she's escaped from . . . mistakes can kill.
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