by Laurel Greer
Settling his hands on her hips, sliding them over the slick silk, his heart stuttered. Yup, cardiac arrest city. But what a way to go.
Rocking back a step, she plucked open one of the buttons holding her robe closed on the side. The thin strip of material was the only thing keeping him from palming her soft, pretty breasts. Man, he had a backlist of ways he wanted to pleasure Lauren Dawson. Freezing in his cot in Siberia this winter, he’d compiled a mental tally of ways they could have kept warm together. He started to shrug out of his hoodie, but she stopped him with a firm look.
“I’ll do that.” She frantically shoved the material off his shoulders. It landed on the hardwood with a swoosh. “Hurry.”
She flicked another one of her buttons open.
His body twitched in agreement with her command for speed. No, slow down. “Why so urgent?”
“To make sure we get into town on time.”
“They think we’re speechwriting. If we’re late, they won’t question us.” His fingers shook as he managed to undo the rest of the delicate placket. One side of her robe fell to the side, baring a hint of supple skin, but another layer of thin material hid the rest of her. Lifting her and settling her on the counter, he groaned. “This robe is keeping me from seeing you, sweetheart. I think you did this on purpose.”
“It’s buttoned on the side. Inside.” A sheen of sweat glimmered on her upper lip. She near to whimpered, forehead creasing with complaint, and scrambled for the bottom of his T-shirt. She tossed the material to the floor and moved on to the Velcro fly of his board shorts.
He placed a hand gently on the side of her neck, kissed the opposite collarbone. “Hold on, Laur. I don’t mind speeding this up some, but I don’t want to miss the next part.”
Shaking, eyes closed, she paused. Clenched her hands around his hips as, with a care he’d only ever felt for Lauren, he popped a few of the hidden buttons holding her robe together. Jade lace peeked out on one side from the parted fabric. He traced a finger along the exposed material.
“Tavish.” She kneaded his hips and squirmed under his touch, bucked forward. Pressed her heat into his hardening erection. He let out a loud groan and dispensed with the rest of her buttons. Her robe parted like a jacket, only a few scraps of sheer lingerie covering all the parts he wanted to touch.
Starting with her mouth. “I haven’t even kissed you yet.” And he’d fix that. He claimed her soft lips with his, nipped and delved and loved her mouth until the faint hint of her chocolate-and-coffee breakfast flooded every part of his tongue.
Reaching again for his shorts, she dipped her fingers under the back of his waistband and cinched her legs around his hips. Her soft center was aligned with his very need. Amazing enough on its own, but then she twisted her hips. He had to lock his knees.
“Tavish, foreplay is nice and all...”
“Nice?” He shot her a look of mock insult and reached a finger down to the lace below her navel, drew a wavy line in and out of the top inch of her panties.
“Really nice.” Her chest rose and her thighs tightened around his pelvis.
Tavish’s mind cleared of everything but Lauren and how good it was going to feel to bury himself in her body. He flicked open the front clasp of her bra and cupped her breasts with all the reverence she deserved, swirled his thumbs around her beading nipples. “Pixie, you are so gorgeous.”
“You, too. But I want more.” She framed his face in her hands, took his lips hostage and dueled with his tongue until he could barely breathe. “All of you. Now.”
* * *
Within seconds of her command, one that came from a place Lauren hadn’t known existed, Tavish unwound her legs from his hips. He shucked off his shorts.
Lauren was caught by his beauty. Not unawares. She knew the shape of his muscular chest, the hair that delineated the center of his abs. But having all of Tavish in front of her, having him offer himself to her, made her realize how unprepared she was. Unprepared to deal with the sum of muscles and entrancing tattoo and that sexy happy trail. And every time she tried to speed up the kissing and stroking, he slowed her down.
She didn’t want to question having asked him to stay, just wanted to escape into the sensual haze. Shedding her panties, she pulled his hips back into the cradle of her own. A groan escaped from his parted lips. He played with the ends of her half-dry hair, ran his fingers through it. Seemed to savor, soak in the sensual touch.
The trees and water of his tattoo rippled, took on life. She outlined the diamond shape from the top of his rib cage, along the smooth skin of his side until she hit cotton. She nudged down the waist of his boxers, her fingers kissing the tight ridge of muscle that arrowed toward his groin. And something about the movement of his muscle under ink had her straightening. “Oh, my God. You designed your tattoo. It’s your river spot.”
The waterside nook, accessible only by secluded trail, where they’d last made love...
“Mmm.” He licked a path along her neck, leaving behind a shivering trail of skin.
“Tavish, that means something...”
“It means I like trees.” Cupping her chin, he stared at her, a wild gleam in his eyes. “Forget about my tattoo and finish taking off my boxers.”
I like trees. Utter crap. But now wasn’t the time. She hooked both fingers in the elastic at his waist but didn’t push the fabric down. “Like this?”
Hissing his agreement, he dropped his head back, exposing tight cords in his neck. And Lord, she craved his taste, the sensation of male skin on her tongue. She nipped and laved above the notch in his collarbone. Moaned as the familiar salt and spice teased her memories.
Wanting to run from the past, she held him tighter, allowed the fever filling her body to translate into agitated strokes and squeezes.
“Come on, Tav. More.”
“Shh, Pixie,” he soothed.
His hands glided along her skin, like the silkiness of lake water brushing against her limbs while she floated. Every muscle fiber of his body tensed. She sensed him fighting his control, leashing the demanding desire within. Following through on his promise to torment her with slow lovemaking when all she wanted was to speed up. Slow meant feeling. Letting in emotion and eventual heartache. Her pulse jumped, sputtered. Why, why isn’t there a way to enjoy this without thinking about what it means?
“You deserve better than a quickie on your kitchen counter, Laur,” he murmured, trailing his mouth from the tiny mole on her right shoulder to the valley between her breasts. “We should go upstairs, do this right.”
Her body throbbed with unspent need. Closure was one thing, but inviting him into her actual bed would only ensure she’d never be free of him. She couldn’t sleep there if the memory of Tavish and his tormenting hands and tender words lay beside her. “No. I want you inside me. I want it fast. Raw. Make me stop thinking.”
“Lauren.” His hands hovered over her breasts, freezing inches away from her aching skin as his irises turned smoky. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of his gaze. How could he see through her so easily?
He palmed the left side of her head and pressed his mouth to just above her right ear. “You’re not going to be able to use this to numb you. If that’s what you’re going for, we need to stop.” His chest muscles went rock-solid under her hands, seemed to complain at his statement.
“Stop? As if.” Shifting against his rigid, clothed arousal, she coaxed a groan from his lips. Better. She had to get him to stop talking. Of course it was going to hurt, but it would hurt whether they got involved or not. Right now, going over the edge with Tavish would soothe some of the tears stinging the backs of her eyes, threatening to well.
His expression, aroused but full of doubt, clouded more. “If this is going to hurt you more than you already are, Lauren...”
“You agreed to this. No crisis of conscience now.” Lauren kissed him quiet, tr
ied to erase the darkness from his gaze by brushing her lips across his eyelids. “Don’t make me beg, Tavish. Not for real, anyway. I wouldn’t be here, doing this, if I didn’t want it.”
“Okay, then,” he rasped, an eagerness riding his scratchy tone. His fevered hands and lips caressed, kneaded, took her down further into the foggy heat. “Wait. We need a condom.”
“Yeah. Of course.” No need to admit she hadn’t actually slept with anyone in the past year. Nor did she want to know if he had.
He scrambled for his wallet in the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a foil packet.
Taking the protection, she forced his boxers off his hips and rolled it on him, then notched her body against his. She reveled in his hot length as it singed her aroused, aching folds. “Now?”
“Hell, yeah.” With an agony-and-pleasure-filled breath, he lifted her, thrust to her core.
Her body spasmed, drew him in deeper. The fluid rhythm of hips and thighs and hands overwhelmed. The intimate lock of his body in hers fit closer than she remembered. How had she walked away from the feeling of being more than herself?
“Faster.” She needed the now to wash away the then. Needed pure physical sensation.
No thoughts.
No memories.
And then the ache, the craving, melted into all-encompassing flight and glow. Tavish’s groan and release dragged Lauren just that much further into bliss.
She held on to his shoulders, on to the brilliance, for as long as she could. But as his chest heaved up and down, she surfaced from the haze.
She’d never wanted anyone as much as she still wanted him. Yeah, they’d been good last summer.
They were spectacular now.
Her eyes closed and, despite being pressed up against his hot skin, her body chilled far faster than it should have. His head seemed to weigh a thousand pounds against her shoulder. Warning jolts shot up her spine.
Curse the physical-emotional pull still knitting them together. And though she wished she could somehow unfurl the stitches, they were part of each other’s life tapestries. A reality that had made Tavish’s propensity for avoiding Sutter Creek so fricking convenient. And made his choice to sub in at WiLA a fatal threat to her heart and sanity.
Doing this hadn’t provided closure. If anything, it had torn her heart open that much wider.
Chapter Four
Six weeks later
“Just the usual, Lauren?”
The bubble that had been bumping around her stomach since she woke up lurched at the idea of an iced coffee. Stupid work and wedding stress.
Eight more hours at the clinic. Then you don’t have to think about it for a couple of weeks.
A thought that not only failed to calm her unsettled tummy but came with a punch of guilt for wanting to get away from work so badly. But her lawyer had called yesterday to assure her the glitch preventing her from accessing her trust had almost been ironed out. Reality loomed—in two and a half weeks, she’d return from summer holidays a full clinic partner.
Rubbing her twisting abdomen, she shook her head at the barista, Garnet James, who was waiting behind the Peak Beans’ register with a curious smile on her face. “Matcha latte today, please.” And carbs. Like, now. “And one of the plain scones.”
Mackenzie strolled over from the table she’d nabbed, fists pressed into her pregnancy-swayed back. “Make that two scones, please.”
Garnet busied herself taking Lauren’s payment and dishing pastries onto plates, her red curls bobbing around her face. She and Mackenzie often got mistaken for cousins, given their nearly identical hair color and all the time they spent patrolling together. Garnet worked part-time for the mountain and would soon start working for the new holistic health center that AlpinePeaks, Lauren’s family’s company, was opening in the fall. The woman knew her way around an acupressure table. Lauren would have asked her about nausea relief, but only someone asking for trouble would bring up morning sick—
Don’t even think of calling it morning sickness. It’s nerves.
She and Tavish had used a condom, dammit.
And she’d gotten her period since.
Two percent failure rate. And your period was really light. Like, say, spotting. And it should have showed up last weekend, too.
Growling at her inner textbook nerd and reminding herself that stress caused periods to fluctuate, she accepted her drink from Garnet.
“Kenz, next time you and Lauren come in for your Wednesday breakfast, you’ll be a married lady,” Garnet said.
Grinning, Mackenzie danced in a celebratory circle, then winced.
“Ligament pain?” Lauren asked.
“Oh, yeah.”
Garnet wrinkled her nose. “I hear that’s the worst.”
Mackenzie shook her head. “I’ll take the third trimester over the first any day. Sore breasts—” Check.
“—falling asleep standing up—”
Double check.
“—morning sickness—”
Since Monday... Oh, Jesus.
Her heart raced and spots danced on the edge of her vision.
“So, Garnet,” she said in an overly bright tone, “are you excited to quit this place when the health center opens?”
“Couldn’t be happier.” Garnet eyed Lauren carefully. “You okay, hon? You look pale.”
The back of Lauren’s throat burned. She wanted to be like Garnet—happy about her new business opportunity. Also key: Garnet wasn’t preg—
Don’t.
—nant.
Her latte hit the floor. The lid popped off and green, milky liquid splattered her favorite suede flats and the tops of her feet. Pain flared, and holy crap, if her shoes were ruined...
“Ow,” she said feebly, staring at the spreading puddle.
“Oh, hon!” Garnet exclaimed. “What happened?”
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “I wrecked my shoes...”
“Blakey, bring the mop, will you?” her friend called to the back of the store, hurrying around the counter with a rag.
“I love these shoes.”
Mackenzie pressed the back of her hand to Lauren’s forehead. “Garnet’s right—you’re pale. Clammy, too. You’re not getting sick before my wedding, are you? I’m afraid I won’t allow that. My day has to be perfect.”
Lauren swallowed. “It will be.”
As long as your brother doesn’t freak out and bolt when he finds out he’s going to be a dad.
Fisting her hands to prevent herself from touching her stomach, she glanced between her friends, the puddle, her now-spotted shoes, poor Blake de Haan and his mop—
“I’m so sorry. I’m late.” In more ways than one.
“Get to work,” Garnet said, waving her away. “I’ve got this.”
She croaked out her thanks and hurried for the door before she burst into tears on Mackenzie’s shoulder.
Ten minutes later, she leaned against the wall of the single stall in the staff bathroom at work, a used pregnancy test clutched in her hand. It was from a box of samples a pharmaceutical company had left for the lab tech to try out. No one would notice she’d taken one.
The results of the test? Quite the opposite. In another two months or so, maybe three, she’d start showing.
And everyone would notice that.
Bracing her forearm against the cold metal of the stall, she pressed her nose to her skin in a vain attempt to hold back a sob.
A baby.
She brushed her free hand over her lower abdomen, and a swell of sheer joy flooded past the crippling shock gripping her body.
Her baby.
Not just yours. Tavish’s, too.
Right. Tavish.
Would he even want to be a father? During their handful of idyllic honeymoon days, kids had come up, and neither o
f them had been sure if they wanted to be parents.
Awareness, deep and real and so damn right, rushed into her chest. Caring for her patients meant supporting women, no matter what choice they made about pregnancy, but for her... For her, no debate was required. The tiny bundle of cells inside her would eventually grow into a baby. One she planned to love with every inch of her being. She had the resources, support and will to be a great mom, no matter how involved Tavish decided to be.
But holy crap. She was not looking forward to that conversation. And with him returning from his assignment to start fulfilling his best-man duties—and subbing in at WiLA—tomorrow morning, she didn’t have long to wait.
“Lauren!” Cadie’s sharp elbow landed between two of Lauren’s ribs.
Lauren jumped. Yeah, her head had been in the clouds since she took the pregnancy test yesterday morning. A justified state, she figured. However, she wasn’t ready to confess the reason for her fog to her younger sister. Especially not while holding a microphone in front of the few hundred Sutter Creek residents who filled the Main Street Square for the Independence Day festival.
Cadie stood at Lauren’s side with her sleeping son strapped to her chest in a baby carrier. Strands of dark hair drooped around her face, having been coaxed out of her tidy bun by the heat. Lauren knew her own ponytail wasn’t in any better shape. The canopy tent overhead provided shade, but the sun was still making it impossible to look halfway decent in front of the crowd. Or, say, one’s ex-husband—the one responsible for guaranteeing Lauren would be the one wearing a baby carrier come next summer.
You were there, too. You can’t blame him entirely.
No, no she couldn’t. She’d blamed herself almost every minute since she took the test and went for a quick, confidential follow-up appointment with one of her colleagues yesterday to confirm the pregnancy and review her list of dos and don’ts—stick to low-impact exercise, minimal caffeine, take prenatal vitamins, etc. But she could blame him for looking fresh as a damn daisy in his teal technical shirt and climbing gear. God, had they run out of extra-large shirts or something? The large Cadie had given him was too tight. Indecent, really, snug around his cut biceps and pecs—