Harlequin Superromance January 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Everywhere She GoesA Promise for the BabyThat Summer at the Shore

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “If you’ve not given up taking the Lord’s name in vain during Lent, Karl, perhaps you should worry about your own behavior first,” his mom answered primly. “Get some food. Being hungry always makes you crabby.”

  Karl turned his indignation to Vivian. “Are you teaching them to gamble?”

  “No.” By the way the corners of her mouth danced, she was trying to keep a straight face, though not succeeding. “They already know how to gamble. I’m teaching them how to win.”

  “By cheating?” And he’d just convinced himself to stop thinking of Vivian as a petty criminal.

  “By counting cards. Which isn’t illegal, by the way. It’s frowned upon, and casinos in Las Vegas will kick you out if they catch you, but it’s not illegal.”

  “That’s a straw man if I’ve ever heard one.”

  She shrugged. “They’re having fun. What’s the harm?”

  “You’re teaching my mother to cheat.”

  “I’m teaching your mother to play the odds of the cards she’s dealt with the brains God gave her, not to stick cards up her sleeve. Do you stop thinking the moment you walk into a courtroom so the opposing attorney has an advantage over you?”

  “That’s not really what I do every day.” Even as the words came out of his mouth, Karl knew he sounded like a lecturing prig. Had been sounding like a lecturing prig since he’d walked into the house. His mom and her friends were having fun. Vivian wasn’t really teaching them anything illegal. Hell, casinos were designed to favor the house; what was the harm in a few old ladies learning how to count cards in case they ever went to a casino—which, as far as he knew, his mother had never done.

  He sat at the last of the chairs. “Deal the cards and I’ll play, too.”

  Vivian raised an eyebrow at him. One of his mom’s friends tittered. Karl stood—well, sat—his ground.

  His wife pushed some chips over to him. “Do you want to learn the counting system I’ve been teaching your mom?”

  “No. If I’m going to make such a big deal about counting cards being akin to cheating, I might as well play in ignorance and get my ass kicked.” His wry tone was rewarded by a small lift at the corner of Vivian’s mouth before she shuffled the cards.

  “Okay. We’ll play some hands with everyone but Karl counting cards and no direction from me. Then we’ll see how everyone fared and people can ask questions. Ready?” At nods from around the table, including Karl, Vivian dealt a hand.

  After five hands, Karl hadn’t lost much more than two of his mother’s friends, though his mom’s constant murmuring was getting on his nerves. He blamed any stupid bet he made on the distraction of constant droning in his ear, not on a lack of ability to count cards.

  When her two decks were nearly dealt out, Vivian stopped play. “The first rule of counting cards is to not say your count out loud when I deal.”

  “It’s just practice,” his mom said defensively.

  “Practice or not, if you get into the habit of advertising that you’re cheating—”

  “You said it wasn’t cheating,” Karl interrupted.

  “Using your brain,” Vivian corrected herself. “If you ever do go to a casino, you’ll chatter there, too. Even though counting cards like this in blackjack is little different from counting cards in a bridge hand, casinos do frown on it.” Vivian said the bit about bridge with a prim look at him, her eyebrows raised and her lovely pink lips pursed.

  If they weren’t at his mother’s, surrounded by his mother’s friends, and if she wasn’t the near felonious wife he married while he was drunk, he would kiss her. Just a peck on those lips, enough to mess with her starchy defense of counting cards as though it was something old ladies did on Sundays while drinking tea and eating cookies.

  Of course, his mom and her friends were drinking tea and eating cookies while learning to count cards, so—point of fact—it was something old ladies did. Which was further evidence that Vivian was turning his world upside down and inside out.

  That he was sitting here eating cookies and drinking tea while gambling—even if there wasn’t any real money on the table—was a sign that he liked the new Vivian-addled world. As hard as that may be for him to admit. And more than the lectures from his mom, more than Greta’s mothering, his sitting at this table while Vivian discussed the hands that had been dealt and played was a sign that he had to give this relationship a try.

  The child she carried was important, but still abstract. However, the joy he felt while in Vivian’s presence was real and palpable. He’d be a fool to let those feelings slip out of his life because of some misbegotten sense of justice for a crime she’d never committed in a state he didn’t live in.

  He wasn’t committing himself to anything. Exploration of a relationship wasn’t the same thing as a marriage proposal—or a divorce retraction, since they were already married. This was just him getting to know the real Vivian, with faults to match the kissable knobs of her long neck. He could learn to see her as a person. Not just as the person he’d married, or the mother of his child, or the near criminal or the woman he thought about before he fell asleep every night, but a person—complete and flawed and perfect.

  Karl loved his father—missed his father—even though his father hadn’t been a paragon of humanity. Occasionally his father had imbibed too much vodka, had fallen asleep during Mass and had clearly looked at his daughters and wished they were boys whenever they talked about dolls and princesses or asked for a pony. If Karl could reflect honestly on his father’s memory and still love the man, then Vivian deserved the same openness while she was alive and carrying his child.

  Though, he still didn’t let Vivian explain to him how to count cards as they played the next several hands. He could be open-minded about his wife without actually cheating. Because no matter what she called it, he still felt as if it was cheating.

  Since he didn’t lose too much—and his mother and her friends didn’t win too much—his self-righteousness was justified. The women at the table were indignant at their lack of obvious advantageous winnings. Vivian explained that counting cards at blackjack often meant finding a “hot” table and the better odds of winning depended largely on how many hands were being dealt an hour—which meant how many players were at a table, the skill of the dealer, the skill of the other players, etc.

  “Really,” he interrupted their complaints, “if you’re going to complain about how little cheating pays, you should probably find another game.” He said the words with a smile, so everyone at the table would know he wasn’t serious. “I understand there are some very profitable tax fraud schemes out there.”

  His mom gave him a friendly shove. “If you’re going to go back to being judgmental, you can leave the table.”

  “I have to leave, anyway.” He kissed his mom on the cheek. “There’s some work I need to get done by Monday, and I’d rather not have my Sunday taken up with work instead of family dinner and Mass.”

  As he stood, an idea came to him. “Vivian, would you walk me to the front door?”

  She nodded and followed him. They must have made some progress in their relationship over the course of the day, because she looked curious, rather than suspicious. And his mother and her friends giggled like a pack of teenagers.

  “Are they drinking?” He hadn’t bothered to notice if the liquid they’d poured in their tea was actually white or if they were just calling it milk.

  Vivian’s eye roll was more indulgent than judgmental. “When you got up to use the bathroom, one of them put brandy in the creamer and they’ve been adding it to their tea when you weren’t looking.”

  “Why?”

  She shifted uncomfortably, but he just raised an eyebrow at her and waited. “You were so disapproving when you saw what they were doing in their card game that your mom made a joke about you being a strict father and them bein
g teenagers. It devolved from there.”

  He sighed. The realization that his mother, who should understand where his sense of right and wrong came from more than anyone else, made jokes about his principles was disheartening.

  Vivian’s long fingers were strong when they squeezed his shoulder. “Their games—both about you and the cards—are all in good fun. Your mom is really proud of you. I hope you realize that.”

  “I know.” And he did. He was the perfect son who had never done anything to disappoint his parents. The one who could find the right path in a dark forest at night. What was it Jessica had crudely said once, during a fight?

  You’re a parent’s wet dream, but I want more than a dutiful husband.

  What the hell was wrong with having a sense of duty and justice?

  Then Vivian squeezed his shoulder again and suddenly he didn’t care that his mom made fun of the integrity his father’s death had forced upon him or that Jessica had never understood it. He wanted to feel those fingers on him again—and he didn’t want them squeezing his shoulder. There were better places on his body for her fingers.

  He wanted sex with Vivian. Call it sleeping together or making love, he didn’t care. He wanted the physical connection of his naked body against hers, of his breath and sweat mixing with hers, of him inside her.

  Saying he wanted a relationship for the sake of their child, that he wanted to know her as a person, and thinking about the joy he felt when around her was a justification for the elemental truth. If Vivian gripped his shoulders again, he wanted it to be because he was on top of her, pushing into her and she was leaving scratches down his back while screaming his name.

  The truth wasn’t elemental so much as it was primal.

  “Are you going to fuss at her for drinking, too?”

  “What?” It took Karl a few seconds to remember Vivian wasn’t privy to the lustful thoughts ranging through his brain. “Oh, no. I don’t care about that.” Dreams of Vivian’s hands and those pink lips had taken his mind off any irritation at his mother. “Would you like to go to the opera with me on Friday?”

  The seconds in which Vivian blinked and said nothing ticked away on his mother’s grandfather clock. Finally, when Karl thought he’d finally met someone who could wait out his silence, Vivian responded. “I’ve never been to an opera. I don’t think I have anything to wear.”

  This was a problem Karl could solve. “I’ll buy you a dress.”

  She wrinkled her nose, but her protestations had a new aim. “I don’t know. I think I’m working at the restaurant Friday.”

  “I know your boss and I think I can talk her into giving you the night off.”

  “I’m not sure you asking your mom to give me the night off is the proper channel. It might constitute special treatment, which I thought you were against.”

  “If you don’t want to come to the opera with me, just say so.” He wasn’t used to feeling unsteady when asking a woman on a date. Being irritated was more familiar and comfortable than feeling inept.

  Vivian cocked her head, and her answering smile radiated light through the room. “I’d love to go, and I’m sure your mom won’t mind if I take the night off for an evening at the opera. I’ll think about you buying me a dress, but maybe I can borrow something.”

  “An evening at the opera with me.” Karl didn’t know why he felt the need to specify the details Vivian already knew, but he wanted there to be no misunderstanding.

  “The part where you’re involved is the part of the evening your mother will be most supportive of.”

  “Have you been getting the ‘be friends with the mother,’ er, ‘father of your child’ lecture, too?”

  Her eyes and smile softened, but were no less beautiful. Even if they broke his heart. “I’ve wanted us to be friends from the beginning.”

  * * *

  VIVIAN SHUT THE door behind Karl. The living room was silent except for the beat of her heart and the giggling of the women in the kitchen. That the pounding of her heart reverberating through the room was nearly loud enough to drown out the giggles didn’t bode well for her sanity. She had wanted to be friends with Karl from the beginning...but she’d seen the heat in Karl’s eyes when he’d insisted on repeating, “An evening at the opera with me.”

  He wanted them to be more than friends. She wanted them to be more than friends.

  She rested her hands on her belly. It had just stopped being flat. Growing inside her was a baby. Under other circumstances, they could explore this relationship without concern of consequences for anything other than their hearts. Jelly Bean changed things. If they plunged into a sexual relationship—again—and it failed, where did it leave their shared parenthood? Could they retreat from a romantic relationship back to friendship? Possibly, but it would be difficult.

  The knot of her ponytail pressed into her head when Vivian leaned back against the door. Was she talking herself out of letting a date progress because she was scared? She had wanted to be friends, had allowed herself the security of hoping they might be more than friends, and he’d hurt her. Only a fool would open herself up to Karl’s prim self-righteousness again.

  Apparently she was a fool. But why?

  Because Karl’s eyes twinkled with mischief when he was caught off guard, and his smiles were more precious for being so rare. Because his judgmental mind had a kind heart and a wish for the world to be right and fair for everyone in it—a sentiment that was hard to be too critical of, even if his judgmental mind had fallen upon her.

  Mostly Vivian knew she would be a fool because his arms offered the security of a man who knew how the world should be and fought for that reality. And because her fingers wanted to trail down his lean body and pierce his expressionless countenance; the rest of her wanted his strong embrace.

  The sound of something falling, then gales of laughter, blasted the reflections out of her mind. Once in the kitchen, she saw that Susan had knocked over a mug of tea and the entire room smelled of brandy.

  “Okay,” she said with a clap of her hands. “I think all of you have finally had too much to drink. Even if we played more hands, I’m not sure any of you has enough head on you to count past one, much less make a bet on your count. Let’s clean up, then I’ll give you all a ride home.”

  “I call shotgun,” Susan yelled, pumping her fist in the air. When Vivian gave her a curious look, Susan smiled innocently. “If you’re going to treat us like children, we’re going to act like children.” The words had no irritation to them, so Vivian just reminded all the women not to forget their coats and hustled them into Susan’s car.

  As soon as the last of Susan’s friends had gotten out of the car and was wobbling through her front door, Susan turned to Vivian and said, “Has my son come to his senses yet?”

  Vivian gave her mother-in-law a sideways glance. “I’m glad most of the drunkenness was an act. I don’t think alcohol mixes well with the medications you’re on.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Can I have Friday off? Karl asked me to the opera.” She didn’t know if that meant he’d come to his senses—and she wasn’t sure what his senses were. She wasn’t sure what her senses were.

  “Good.” Susan’s cooing of the word made Vivian uneasy.

  “Why good?”

  “Opera is very special to him.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t you want Karl to come to his senses about you?”

  “I don’t know.” She needed to know what Karl’s senses were to be able to recognize them and decide if she wanted them in her life. Vivian looked at the houses around them. She’d not seen so many swan planters in one neighborhood before. “I think I got us lost.”

  “What? I should’ve been directing you. We’ve gone too far south and east, so make a left at the next light.”

&n
bsp; Unfortunately, the process of getting back on track didn’t distract Susan from her questions. “Don’t tell me you’re not interested in Karl as more than the accidental father of your child. I’ve seen the way you look at him. Not to mention how he looks at you.”

  “We’ve had this conversation before, Susan. Karl thinks I’m a suspicious character. No matter how hot he is for me—” she rolled her eyes when Susan tittered “—he’s unlikely to look past what he thinks of me just because he wants me naked. And I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you about your son.”

  “I like to be reminded that Karl’s human. Sometimes he doesn’t act like it.” Her mother-in-law reached over and squeezed Vivian’s knee. “It would be easier to mother you both if you both wanted the same thing, but I’ll be supportive no matter what. You’ve been a great help to me. And Karl’s my son. Like me, he’ll get past his snap judgment about you and see you for the person you are.”

  Susan’s words brought tears to Vivian’s eyes. “Thank you. And thank you for being a mother to me when I need one most.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “YOU DIDN’T HAVE to buy me a dress,” Vivian said as she smoothed the silk over her hips.

  Between the short time they’d lived together and his daily stops at Healthy Food, she could now read Karl’s stoic face. Not a muscle moved, but the hazel of his eyes got warmer as they traveled from her curled hair down to her toes and back up again before stopping at her face. She felt a bit like a furtive teenager when her body responded with tingles while standing in Susan’s living room. “You said you didn’t have anything to wear to the opera.”

  “What I said was that I didn’t know if I had anything to wear because I’d never been before. I don’t understand why you bought it—”

  “How about because I wanted to?” His intense eyes never left hers but she felt like he saw through the bronze latticework at her waist to her bare skin. “Because we’re married and having a child together, and I am learning how to share my life with you. And because I like the way you look in the dress.”