by Laurel Greer
She pivoted ninety degrees, doing her best lawn-ornament impression and poking at the mint in her drink with the straw. Had he noticed her noticing him?
She watched him from the corner of her eye. The linen-and-twinkle-light atmosphere didn’t suit him any more than it did Mackenzie and Andrew. He’d put on a pleated tuxedo shirt, probably to avoid confrontation with his mother, but the top two buttons were undone and his French cuffs were open and rolled up his muscular forearms. His jeans, faded in all the right places—all the places Lauren wanted to reacquaint herself with—completed the picture of a man so comfortable in his own skin that he’d wear leather flip-flops to a fancy party and look spectacularly hot doing it. She couldn’t have been more opposite from him if she’d tried. Her own feet pinched in her heels, but being maid-of-honor at a glitzy rehearsal dinner required stilettos.
From halfway across the lawn, each step he took echoed low in her belly, pulsing aches of needy curiosity. Adjusting the flared skirt of her dress, she gave in to temptation and eyed the soft, blue-white denim covering his strong thighs.
He came to a halt six inches too close to her, close enough to feel the heat of his body. If he wanted to, he could lean in and kiss her. He wouldn’t, especially not in public. And she shouldn’t have been disappointed by that. But she was.
Physical intimacy was so far off the table now that they were going to be parents. But an undeniable magnetic want pulled them together. Arousal tugged between her thighs. The instinct to fit her body against his tempted rather than screaming Danger.
You do not want that. You can’t.
“People watching?” he asked, turning to face the same direction as her.
“Um, Cadie and Ben.” She pointed across the lawn, to where her sister, both hands holding Ben’s, bounced the baby on his chubby legs. The pair crept along. Cadie looked to be showing off for Zach, who sat on the grass. Zach had been Cadie’s husband’s closest friend. But by the look on Zach’s face, he didn’t think of her like a guy did his buddy’s widow. Hmm. Must ask Cadie about that. If Cadie ever started talking to her again.
She sipped at her drink and racked her brain for something to fill the silence. No small talk came to mind. Only massive, life-changing topics. The baby. Her uncertainty about her job. Wanting him back in her bed. Wishing they could find a way to be in each other’s lives.
To create a life together.
Though I guess we already did that...
Glancing at him, she started at his wide eyes and pale skin. “Uh, why the shell shock?”
“Ben looks like you.” His words came out jagged, like he had scar tissue in his throat.
“Kind of. Except for his eyes.” Her nephew’s cornflower-blue irises were all Cadie. Other than that, Tavish had a point. Ben had Lauren’s blond hair, different from his dark-haired mother.
“I wonder if... I mean, our, uh... Well, she or he might—”
“Yeah,” she said quietly. And unless Tavish did a massive lifestyle about-face, he wouldn’t be around to see the miracle of watching a child grow. He’d miss seeing fragments of his own expressions flashed back at him. God, she couldn’t imagine choosing that. Preferring instability and floating on the wind over providing a firm foundation for a child.
Tavish put a hand on her lower back and rubbed tiny circles with his fingertips.
The painful truth of his choices didn’t take away the pleasure of his touch. The protective, masculine, guide-her-around-the-floor weight that made her so damn hot. She filled her lungs, tried to control the hurricane whipping along her limbs. “I remember watching you teach ski school. You were great with kids.”
“Sure. But growing up, it didn’t matter how many times my dad would tell me he loved me over the phone, I still doubted his sincerity when he missed my birthday.” He pressed his lips together, stayed quiet for a few moments. “I might have been three, four, five, but I remember it like it was yesterday.”
“So how are you going to be different?” There was no need to point out he’d already abandoned her, just like his father had done.
“I’m trying to figure that out.” He drew his free hand down her cheek.
Too much. Too. Much. Her insides crumbled at the light caress, a rockslide of emotion pummeling her gut. He could be so sweet. So loving. But his habit of leaving before anyone could leave him? She didn’t know how she was going to live with that. It was no longer just her she needed to worry about. Her eyes stung. She opened them wide, then blinked to prevent any tears from forming. Time to change the subject. “You shouldn’t touch me. Everyone’s looking at us.”
He traced one more tender circle before withdrawing his hand and rubbing his neck. “I came over here for a reason. We need to figure out our speeches for tomorrow, make sure our stories aren’t overlapping or anything.”
“Speechwriting? Wasn’t that the excuse you gave for staying at my house after waterskiing? We both know how that ended.”
A dry bark of laughter shook his shoulders. “This won’t, I promise. Work only.”
“Fine.” Lauren sucked the dregs of her drink through her straw before handing the empty glass back to the bartender. “One more, please.”
Tavish shot her a questioning look.
“God, Tavish, it’s nonalcoholic. And if I can make it through a family wedding without anyone noticing I’m not drinking pinot grigio, I’ll call it a win,” she said.
Once she had a full glass in her hand and Tavish had a beer in his, he returned his hand right to that same drive-her-crazy place and guided her toward the house. “We’ll have privacy in my mom’s office.”
Great. Just what she needed—privacy and Tavish Fitzgerald.
Chapter Eight
Tavish steered Lauren into his mother’s office, an expansive, rectangular room with a solidly built mahogany desk in front of the draped window and a sitting area to one side. The walls held his mother’s multitude of books: legal texts related to her work as an attorney, historical biographies, mystery novels. He might have gained his father’s need to flee, but he’d also inherited his mother’s adoration for the written word. He definitely preferred the latter trait.
What would he pass on to his child? Hopefully more than an eye for composition and a tendency for transience.
His heart panged as Lauren slid away from his hand and took a seat on one of the wide armchairs flanking a granite coffee table. Mile-high barriers erected with one cross of her gorgeous legs and a mask of a smile. She took her teeny purse from her shoulder and slipped a piece of paper from it. “So. Speeches.”
He nodded, pulled a sheet of loose leaf from his back pocket and slung himself into the chair opposite her. “Hey. We’re away from the crowd here. Away from our families. Relax.”
“Okay.” The word came out uncertain, but her shoulders sank against the back of the chair.
They haggled over who got to tell which embarrassing story, and remembered way too many good memories from growing up, from back when they’d first fallen in love with each other. For a half hour, things ceased to be about the present.
Mesmerized, Tavish took in Lauren as she scribbled edits onto her closing paragraph. She held her pen cap between her lips.
He really wanted to be that chunk of plastic.
A flash of the inevitable struck. “Screw it.”
“Screw what?” The words came out garbled around the pen cap.
He leaned toward her, placed damp palms on the cool, rock tabletop. “If I were being crude, I’d suggest each other.”
Green-gold eyes widened. Her lips fell open and the pen cap clattered to the table. “No. We can’t. Terrible idea.”
By the flush in her cheeks, and the temptation glistening in her eyes, she looked damn convincible.
He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Terrible? Really?”
She nodded fervently, send
ing her ponytail swaying.
“I wouldn’t say terrible. Ill-advised, yeah. But we’ve never been less than spectacular in bed.”
“That would complicate things even more.”
His ex-wife wasn’t just a pretty face. He’d always found her intelligence one of her more compelling traits. And he was about to prove himself way less smart than she was. But she’d wanted honesty.
He could at least give her that.
“I love you, Lauren.”
Mouth gaping, she stared at a point over his shoulder for a good minute. Finally, after he thought his heart would beat straight from his chest and out the door, disbelief lit her eyes. Her fingers loosened on the chair arms and the tips of her fingers turned pink again. “You mean you did love me.”
“No, I mean I do love you. And now, with you carrying our child...” If he wasn’t careful, what he felt for her would metamorphose right back into him being insanely in love with her. He moved to her side of the table, sat on the edge of the granite with his elbows on his knees. He captured her gaze with his. “We both know all the impossibilities, but for some God-only-knows reason, my feelings for you haven’t, aren’t and probably won’t go away.”
“That was grammatically incorrect,” she breathed, sinking as far back as she could. “You could get your master’s revoked for that.”
“It got my point across. And stop trying to change the subject.” Pinching one of the ruffles of her skirt, he teased the material between his fingertips.
Her teeth tugged her lip. The gauzy fabric on her tempting-as-sin breasts stretched as her breathing rate increased.
“All I’m saying is loving you is part of the equation for me,” he said.
She leaned toward him, took his face between her palms. “We’re crazy.”
He groaned. That talented mouth, millimeters away from his skin. So close to touching. His tongue moistened his dry lips.
Crack. The door flew open and hit the wall.
Tavish jolted as his sister materialized in the doorway. Lauren’s head jerked to look behind her. Her nails dug into his cheeks.
“Brother of mine! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Mackenzie put a hand on her hip as she entered the room. Her eyes fixed on Lauren’s hands, still cupping his face. “Oh. Jeez. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Lauren released him from her grip and stood up, turning so fast she wobbled on her heels. “You’re not.”
His sister crossed her arms. “Have you kissed and made up?” Pink bloomed on her cheeks. “Well, maybe not kissed. But made up.”
“Yeah, we’re good,” he said, lying through his teeth but not seeing any other option.
The sigh Mackenzie released was loud enough he was surprised it didn’t ruffle his hair from halfway across the room.
“Good enough,” he clarified.
She crossed her arms and slid her gaze between Lauren and him. “Are you sure this is all in the past for you?”
“Our lifestyles are as incompatible now as they were last summer,” he ground out. His seat on the coffee table put Lauren’s right hand directly in his line of sight. She clenched it into a fist and the blood drained from her knuckles.
“That’s not an exact answer to my question,” Mackenzie said doggedly.
“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”
It was all he could do not to reach for Lauren’s tense fingers. To try to work them back to relaxation.
“I don’t know why you think you can’t grow roots, but I believe you can,” his sister said.
His gut bottomed out. Her faith in him made no sense, given how little he’d been around for the last decade. “Why? I’ve never proved that. Just like Dad couldn’t.”
“You’re here now, aren’t you? And you’re staying to help after the wedding.”
He shook his head. It was a nice thought, but he didn’t share the same confidence in himself. Knew too intimately the skin-crawling feeling that prompted him to leave. That he ignored even now. “Do we seriously have to have this conversation?”
Her eyes narrowed in a you-owe-me glare. “Maybe you’ve changed.”
Not unless he could alter his genetic code. “I don’t think so.”
Lauren let out a squeak. “I’m going to go find my brother.”
“Lauren, wait.” He reached out a hand to stop her but she evaded his attempt and swept from the room.
Mackenzie watched her friend leave and then glared daggers at him. “I think it was something you said.”
“Gee, you think?”
“Yeah. And I think you’re selling yourself short.”
“No,” he snapped. “We’re just going to try to get through the weekend without stealing any more of the attention you and Drew rightly deserve.”
“And then?” She sounded appreciative but suspicious.
“Then we’re going to keep WiLA running. And when you’re back, I’m gone.” But not for as long as last time. He wanted to support Lauren where he could during her pregnancy. That would mean more frequent trips home. Even if he was suppressing his restlessness every second he was in town.
Mackenzie closed the space between them and sank into the seat Lauren had vacated. “I wish you’d stay.” Her words spurted out like an arterial bleed.
“I’ll come back.”
“When? Two, four, six months from now?” Her voice took on a helpless tone. “You’ve only been home thirteen days of the last year.”
Her arithmetic wormed its way under his skin, made him stiffen. “I didn’t know you kept track.”
She shot him a look of womanly scorn. “Of course I do.”
He placed his palms on her knees and gave a squeeze. “I’ll come back the minute you call me to say you’re in labor. I’m going to take my uncle duties seriously. Someone’s going to have to take some decent newborn portraits.” And maybe by then he and Lauren would have a plan for their own child.
“I see.” Mackenzie groaned as she eased back into the chair and toed out of her flats.
Concern panged at the sound of his sister’s discomfort. “Are you okay?”
“Physically? Yeah.”
“You’re sure?” He examined her belly.
It twitched.
So did he. “How is that ‘okay’?” Jesus, he had a lot to learn. With Lauren’s medical background, she would know it all. And he’d probably end up feeling as incompetent supporting her through pregnancy as he did at the idea of becoming a father.
Mackenzie laughed. “That’s normal. I’m pregnant with an active kid, is all.” Her voice saddened. “I don’t want a professional set of family photos taken on a brief visit home. I want you living in the same zip code as me.”
“Kenz—”
“It’s just... My old apartment’s so close to my new house. You could live there for good. I could see you every day.”
His throat tightened. Maybe he’d start using her place more often—he’d need some sort of home base if he was coming for visits with the baby—but it becoming his full-time residence? Yikes. Saying I love you was one thing. Living it was something he’d never quite managed to do. And he had just over seven months to learn.
* * *
The next morning Lauren dressed in her turquoise maid-of-honor gown. It felt tighter than yesterday. Had to be her imagination, or maybe discomfort from morning sickness. She was weeks away from showing. Ugh, if only she wasn’t so pale against the vibrant shantung silk. She’d applied as much blush as she could without looking like a clown, but somehow last night had sucked all the color from her cheeks.
It was still only seven forty and Mackenzie had wanted to sleep until eight, but Lauren hadn’t been able to follow her friend’s lead. She’d been awake, staring at the ceiling for hours. Because the wedding dress code was reasonably casual, they’d decided to do their own hair
and makeup. Lauren had pulled her hair back into a French twist. Pinned in tight. Just like her willpower to get through the next sixteen hours without falling apart.
Step one: avoid all thoughts of the words I and love and you being uttered by her fricking ex-husband.
Step two: well, no need to get carried away. Step one was going to take enough of her energy.
She brushed her hands over the below-the-knee hemline and took stock of her situation. Still pregnant. Her sister still hadn’t spoken to her.
And Tavish still loved her.
Which was part of his equation.
But so was the fact he didn’t think he’d changed. Seriously, how could someone hear they were going to become a parent and not change in some way?
She swallowed, trying to make the tension in her throat spread to her heart, provide some firm support for the day. If she managed to crawl into bed tonight retaining any semblance of emotional wholeness, she’d head straight for the convenience store and buy a Powerball ticket.
She glanced in Gwen Fitzgerald’s main bathroom mirror one last time to make sure her all-day lip gloss hadn’t adhered itself to her teeth, then made her way to the kitchen. Cadie, Mackenzie and she had stayed overnight after the rehearsal dinner. Mackenzie had slept in her old bedroom and Cadie and Ben had stayed in the main guest room, leaving Lauren lucky—ha! There’s that joke of a word again—enough to spend the night in Tavish’s old room. The collection of memories he’d taped over his bed—tickets from the Garth Brooks concert he’d taken her to in Missoula, his acceptance letter to Yale, a roll of camera film he’d refused to develop or tell her what was on it—had long disappeared. But the memory of him had spooned up against her, keeping her awake until the wee morning hours.
Hoping the bags under her eyes were disguised by the careful application of concealer, she sat down at the kitchen table with her sister, who was busy feeding a sleeper-clad Ben yogurt and applesauce. Cadie wore her bridesmaid’s dress, identical to Lauren’s, but had buttoned a men’s Oxford shirt over the satin.