From Father to Son

by Janice Kay Johnson

  He nibbled at the corner of her mouth, then pressed kisses against the plump satin of her cheek. He licked her cheek, too, one lap to taste her salt and perfume. Another sound escaped her. A moan.

  He liked that she didn’t wear earrings, had never pierced the lobes. He grazed one with his teeth, then suckled it.

  She kneaded him some more. He edged forward so their bodies were in contact, knees to breast, and he did like the rich, deep cushion of her breasts against his chest.

  “Kiss me back,” he whispered as he trailed his lips back to hers.

  Her breath hitched. “I—I’m not very good at…”

  “Yes, you are.” He rubbed their mouths together with a little more force, enough that he could taste the damp flesh just inside. Sweet. Of course she tasted sweet. The cliché made him smile. He’d kissed plenty of women who tasted of beer or some godawful flavor of toothpaste—he’d slept with one organic nut who swore by a toothpaste that all but made him gag. But Rowan’s flavor was cinnamon, he thought. He loved cinnamon.

  “Open up,” he murmured.

  He lifted his head enough to see her face, raised as if in rapture. Waiting. But when his mouth came back to hers, she parted her lips. Niall didn’t know what instinct it was that kept him gentle, but it occurred to him that she kissed like a virgin, surprised by sensations she didn’t recognize. A woman with two kids, as frozen in astonishment as an inexperienced fifteen-year-old.

  And she made him feel like a horny fifteen-year-old himself. Knowing he wasn’t getting any, not tonight, and damn near desperate in his disappointment.

  But enjoying what he was getting, even though that voice in the back of his head insisted, Big mistake.

  How could this be a mistake when it felt so good?

  He ran the tip of his tongue along her teeth, so smooth he knew she’d already brushed. Like pearls. He hoped he didn’t have bad breath. His tongue wanted to thrust once it found its way past her teeth, but he didn’t let it. He flirted, and her tongue finally, shyly, came out to play.

  What he felt most was a funny kind of pleasure because she was responding. Their tongues slipped and slid, teased and coiled. She was panting. Still kneading, but harder. He was pressing against her, stopping himself from rocking his hips by sheer willpower, but she was doing some pressing of her own now, too. Melting, maybe.

  He had to stop, before the point of no return. There was no way in hell she was ready to take this any further, and he and his voice of common sense had to have a serious talk before he got himself in over his head, too.

  Yes, finally! You’re thinking, the voice approved.

  Not with much coherence, because this felt unbelievable. Halfway chaste as it had been, it was the best kiss of his life. Hands-down, no competition, he wanted to keep doing it forever. But didn’t.

  Instead, he licked his way out of her mouth, sucked gently on her lower lip, nuzzled her nose and then kissed the tip of it. And lifted his head.

  She stayed suspended for a few heartbeats before her eyes opened and she stared into his. “Oh, my God,” she breathed.

  He smiled, hoping he didn’t look as triumphant and stunned as he felt. “Good night, Rowan.”

  “I—I need to go in.” She hadn’t managed to back up yet, but then neither had he.

  “Yes. Anna will want you.”

  “Anna.”

  Niall’s smile widened. If he was going to suffer from intense frustration, he at least liked knowing that he’d addled her to the point she didn’t sound sure she remembered her daughter’s name.

  He disentangled his fingers from her hair, rubbing silken strands between his fingertips as he went. Then he took one of her hands from his shoulder, pressed an openmouthed kiss to the back of it, and lowered it to her side.

  She gasped and, as if stung, snatched her other hand away.

  “Go on in,” he murmured. “Lock up.”

  She didn’t know that he never went into his house at night after sitting and talking with her until she had gone in. These warm summer evening rendezvous weren’t dates, exactly, where he felt compelled to be a gentleman, but…they were something. Something out of the ordinary. There were nights he didn’t let himself come over to her porch to visit, but he still stood watch by his window until she satisfied her need for peace or gave up waiting for him, he wasn’t sure which, and went back inside.

  She swallowed and finally retreated a step. He almost groaned in distress at losing contact with her body. Right at that same moment, Rowan’s expression sparked with shock.

  “What am I doing?” she gasped.

  “Making out,” he said a little drily, although it was the tamest make-out session he’d had since he was a boy. He hadn’t even tried to grope her.

  Next time.

  No. Think this through first. She’s got two kids, remember?

  Yeah, yeah. From the look on her face as she edged back, a repeat wasn’t in the cards for the near future, anyway. It burned a little, that she was obviously so horrified. She was the one who lurked out here every night trying to tempt him, wasn’t she? So where did she get off, looking as if he was the devil incarnate?

  “Good night,” he repeated, his voice harsher, harder.

  She’d backed up against the kitchen door. Niall turned and walked away, into the darkness. He hoped she didn’t notice the gun he’d tucked into the waistband at the small of his back. He wasn’t going back to his cottage, not yet. He’d heard excited voices out on the street not long back, kids playing whatever gangs of neighborhood kids did play these days. Probably not cops and robbers anymore, more likely some demon and enforcer thing from Nintendo or an Xbox game, but same old same old. The younger boys were probably already tucked in snug, but the pervert might not be that particular about age. He might like eight- or nine-year-old boys, too. Niall was going to widen his patrol tonight. He wasn’t sleepy, and he guessed his prey wouldn’t be peeking in windows of houses too close to Desmond’s, not after the uproar the other night.

  He paused beside the gate, though, and saw the kitchen door shut. He didn’t doubt she’d locked it. It would be a while before Rowan might get lax on security again. He guessed the hair on the back of her neck still rose every time she remembered her little boy’s scream.

  Sam wanted to go with Niall, but he deftly slipped out the gate without the dog, however tempting it was to take him. He still suspected Sam was too stupid to be any use.

  Tonight, Niall imagined himself as a soldier behind enemy lines. In Vietnam, maybe, rather than the sparse, dry landscape of Iraq or Afghanistan. A jungle, where he could slip from one bit of cover to another, avoiding light cast from houses and headlights and streetlamps. He watched for other moving shadows, and tried not to think about that once-in-a-lifetime kiss.

  “DAMN!” NIALL SMACKED his fist against the wall.

  He’d missed the creep by two blocks. Two G-D blocks. If only he’d gone left instead of right, or right instead of left.... It didn’t matter, only that somewhere, sometime last night he’d made the wrong decision.

  Maybe if he had taken the dog....

  And maybe not, too.

  It had been two days, and so far he was batting a big fat zero.

  “What’s your interest, Detective?” the patrol sergeant asked him. He was an old-timer, pushing retirement. Niall happened to know that Duncan was hoping to ease Lewicki that direction when he had the opportunity.

  “This guy is working my neighborhood.” After a moment Niall grudgingly added, “He targeted my landlady’s kid.”

  “Exposed himself?”

  “No. Watched the kid get undressed.”

  Last night the Peeping Tom had unzipped and worked his dick right in front of a window, where to all reports two young brothers had stared in consternation until
one of them sucked in enough air to let out a screech worthy of being an air alarm. According to the boys’ mother, they were supposed to be getting ready for bed, but they’d resumed play with army action figures instead. The Peeping Tom had likely gotten impatient at their failure to strip and decided to excite himself a different way.

  A couple of patrol officers wandering by had stopped to listen to the conversation.

  “Maybe if you’re lucky he’ll pick your window,” one of them said, laughing.

  Niall turned a stare on the fool, which shut him up. “What if it was your kid?”

  “Don’t have any.”

  “Use your imagination,” Lewicki barked.

  Mildly surprised, Niall eyed him.

  “I have grandchildren,” he muttered.

  “So, what are you planning to do?” Yet another uniform had joined the conversation. He was laughing, too. “Set up a stakeout?”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  “You guys bored over in the detective division?”

  Niall ground his teeth. Hell, he probably looked like Duncan right now. Duncan’s dentist swore his golf game would be supported down the line by the caps he’d have to put on all of Duncan’s molars.

  “These guys escalate,” Niall said tensely.

  “Most of them don’t,” the original jerk retorted.

  “Enough do.” Niall stared hard from one face to another. “You know what? This is our town. There are a whole bunch of kids who don’t feel safe in their bedrooms anymore. It may be a long time before they feel safe again. If you think that’s okay, maybe you should be looking for another job.”

  He stalked away, hearing only silence behind him except for one murmured, “Amen.” Lewicki.

  No surprise, Niall’s own lieutenant cornered him a couple of hours later. “I hear you have too much time on your hands.”

  Niall explained again. He was using minimal department time on this. He was taking it personally. He didn’t say, And if that’s not okay, you can shove it, although that’s what he was thinking.

  The lieutenant was surprised enough to give him the go-ahead, as long as he didn’t neglect his other cases. Niall was chagrined to realize how startlingly he’d violated his cool-as-the-click-of-ice-cubes persona. He’d showed emotion, something he didn’t do.

  Because he didn’t feel it.

  Except he was feeling too many things these days. This sense of outrage was only one of them.

  Rowan had not come out on her porch last night. In fact, she and the kids stayed in all evening. He’d thought about knocking to ask how Anna was, but decided against it. He and his voice of common sense had indeed conversed, with an undecided outcome but a definite increase of caution. Unless he envisioned himself as a devoted husband and father, a mow the lawn every Saturday morning, sell the Harley in favor of a child-friendly van kind of guy, he needed to steer well clear of Rowan Staley and her kids. And yes, that was proving to be astonishingly more difficult than he would ever have dreamed, but he was good at sliding away at any hint of emotional involvement, wasn’t he?

  So why was he advertising to the entire department that he was seriously pissed because one particular little boy had had the shit scared out of him?

  He rubbed the heel of his hand over his breastbone to quell the ache beneath and leaned back in his desk chair.

  Because I like the kid. That’s all.

  Good enough, he decided. If some pervert had peeped in Enid’s bedroom window, Niall would have taken that seriously, too. Don’t complicate this, he thought. Mostly it pissed him off because it was his neighborhood. Call him territorial. Whatever.

  Frowning, he flicked away the memory of a small hand grasping his trustingly. He had calls to return. A job to do.

  ROWAN LAID HER HAND ON her daughter’s forehead. She looked feverish, but she didn’t feel hot. Mostly she was fretful. An unhappy whimper escaped her.

  A glance at the clock told Rowan she could safely give Anna another dose of her pain medication. Her doorbell rang just as she was measuring out the strawberry-flavored medicine.

  She’d almost forgotten that her father had said he was stopping by.

  “Dad!” she said with a smile when she answered the door, and then her eye fell on the stylish blonde woman with him. One who was certainly no older than late thirties. The girlfriend du jour.

  Not that her father didn’t look good. He could easily have passed for a man ten years younger. His hair had only recently silvered attractively at the temples, a fact that infuriated Rowan’s mother, who had taken to coloring her hair years ago.

  “Sweetheart.” Her father smiled broadly and stepped forward, kissing her cheek. He tugged the other woman forward. “I’d like you to meet Michelle Ross. Michelle, my daughter.”

  Rowan couldn’t believe he’d done this.

  Behind her, Anna started to cry.

  Rowan couldn’t think what to do but stand aside and say, “Come in. Please. Anna’s hurting and I need to give her the next dose of painkiller.”

  “Painkiller?” her father said, following her. He or the girlfriend—Michelle—closed the front door.

  “I told you she was having her tonsils and adenoids out.”

  “Right.” He sounded embarrassed. “I suppose I didn’t realize.... You had yours out, didn’t you? I don’t remember it being much of a fuss.”

  She didn’t remember him being there at all. He’d probably slithered out of miserable kid duties in his usual way.

  When did I get so bitter? Rowan wondered, appalled. Maybe when I realized how unhappy Mom was.

  But had it all been Dad’s fault? Rowan didn’t know. She was disconcerted to realize how little she understood her own parents’ relationship, considering she’d been there for much of it.

  “Pumpkin,” her father said with delight, bending to give Anna a surprisingly gentle hug. “Not feeling so good, huh?”

  “Grampa,” she whispered and sniffled.

  “Here you go, honey.” Rowan helped her swallow her medication, then laid her back against her pillows. “Er…coffee?” she asked her dad and the woman. “Lemonade?”

  “Too hot for coffee, unless you have iced?” Dad could see the answer. “Lemonade would be fine. Michelle?”

  “Lovely,” she said with an embarrassed smile for Rowan. So she, at least, had noticed that her hostess was less than thrilled by her presence.

  Dad, of course, was oblivious. They stayed to visit with Anna while Rowan went to the kitchen. Was Dad trying to impress this girlfriend with what a fabulous grandparent he was? Worse yet—was he serious about her? Did she want children of her own? Rowan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the idea of her father starting a new family now.

  Oh, Mom.

  She served tall glasses of lemonade and they all sat making polite conversation while Anna drooped and finally fell asleep. Her father had been there for twenty minutes before he noticed Desmond wasn’t around. “Where’s my best bud?” he asked, and Rowan tried not to embarrass him by displaying her incredulity.

  “At a friend’s house. He should be back soon.” Zeke’s mom was going to walk him home so Rowan didn’t have to disturb Anna.

  Michelle asked to use a restroom and looked astonished to be told the only one in the house was upstairs. The moment she was gone, Rowan turned to her father. “What’s this all about, Dad? Why did you bring her here?”

  “Every time I mention her, you start talking about something else,” he said grumpily.

  “You’ve put me in an awkward position.”

  “Because I introduced a new friend of mine to you?”

  “Friend?” She couldn’t help sounding scathing. She stole a quick glance at Anna; yes, she was definitely asleep.

 
“I think she might be important, Rowan.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His expression was warm, cajoling. “Is it wrong for me to want my daughter to meet her?”

  “You’re still married. To Mom.”

  “For another few weeks. Neither of us is making a pretence that there’s a chance of getting back together.”

  Rowan was suddenly, irrationally furious. She leaped to her feet. “Do you have any idea how uncomfortable this makes me?”

  She hadn’t heard the sound of the toilet flushing, but the footsteps on the stairs registered. Thank heavens.

  “You have no idea—” her father bit off.

  “No, I don’t. I don’t want to. I want you to be my father. Grandpa to my kids. Not…not…”

  The tension in the room had to be obvious. Michelle returned, her expression wary. A sharp rapping on the back door made Rowan want to scream.

  Please not Glenn and Donna. I can’t take that.

  My life is a mess.

  She didn’t even know what was wrong with her. She’d overreacted. Her poor father. Mom and he were getting a divorce. Men and women did date other people before their divorces were final. Mom’s hurt and anger were infectious. But if Dad had showed up with a nice woman his own age, Rowan didn’t think she’d be as bothered. It was…the egoism that had him flaunting pretty young women. He didn’t want to admit his age.

  “Excuse me,” she said, and went to the back door. Her knees weakened at the sight of Niall framed by the glass. Thank God.

  When she opened the door, his narrowed gaze went past her. “I saw a car out in front. Not your in-laws?”

  No, worse.

  Silly. Of course this wasn’t worse.

  She shook her head. “My father and…a friend.”

  Those gray eyes studied her with the intensity that was all his. “Anna?” he said after a minute.

  “She finally fell asleep. And Des is over at Zeke’s.”

  “Good. Hey.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Relax.”

  She wanted to lean on him. Just tip forward until her cheek was against his chest and his arms were around her and he was supporting her weight entirely.