by Ruth Langan
He gathered her into his arms. “It’s all in the past now. And I’m not sad. How can I be sad when you’re here?” He covered her mouth with his and lost himself in the wonder of her.
As he did, he was aware that he meant what he’d just said. For every moment he spent with Heather, the bitterness of the past seemed to be melting away, like mist in the warmth of the sun. The prison wall he’d built around his heart was crumbling. With this woman he felt new and free. Like a man reborn.
He ignored the tiny fear hovering at the edges of his mind, that this was all happening too fast. How could there be anything wrong, when it all felt so right?
“What are you doing?” Heather awoke to find Thad leaning up on one elbow, staring at her with that intense look she always found so unnerving.
“Just looking at you.”
“Why?” She sat up and lifted a hand to sweep the hair from her eyes, unmindful of the fact that she was wearing nothing.
He shook his head. “I can’t quite wrap my mind around the fact that I have a princess in my bed.”
That had her chuckling. “Royalty? Hmm. I might learn to like that. Think I can get you to do my bidding?”
“Without question. One haughty look from those cool blue eyes and I’m your slave.”
“Oh, I do like this. Kiss me at once, slave.”
He brushed his lips over hers.
She sighed. “More. I want more.”
He kissed her again, lingering over her lips, drawing out all the flavor, all the sweet fresh taste of her, until they were both sighing.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, Detective Law, I do like the way you kiss.”
“Not bad for a cop, you mean?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a prince.”
“I’d never be mistaken for royalty.”
With a fingertip she traced the outline of his lips. “No, you wouldn’t. Anyone can see you’re a cop.”
“Because of my scars?”
She shook her head, keeping her eyes on his. “Because of the way you walk. The way you talk. The way you listen and probe and dissect. You’re straight arrow, Thad. You may not know it but men are respectful in your presence. They know they’re in the company of a good, honest man. Your father’s influence ran deep.”
He drew back, deeply touched by her words.
“Now if you’ll excuse me.” She sat up and stepped out of bed, padding naked from the room. Minutes later she returned with a basket of clean clothes.
“What are you doing?”
She smiled. “I had to wash my things last night, so I washed yours and Brittany’s, too.”
His voice was gruff. “You didn’t have to do our laundry.”
She slipped into her silk bra and lacy thong. “I don’t mind. I’ve never understood the big deal about laundry. You push a few buttons, you fold a few things…” She saw the strange look on his face and paused. “What’s wrong?”
He put his hands behind his head and gave her a dangerous smile as he lay back. “Nothing. Just indulging my fantasy. Would you mind putting on the rest of your things? Not that they’ll be on for very long. As soon as you’re dressed I intend to undress you and get you back into this bed.”
It occurred to Heather that she’d never done anything like this before. But as she stepped into her slacks and pulled the opaque top over her head, the look on Thad’s face had her heart turning somersaults. She felt dangerous. Reckless. And more than a little wicked.
When, true to his word, he undressed her, she was as aroused as he. And as they came together in a firestorm of passion, she felt her heart overflowing with love for this rough, earthy and very sexy man.
Twelve
Heather walked from the bedroom to find Thad in the kitchen, in jeans and a T-shirt, standing at the stove flipping pancakes. The sight of him always had the same effect on her. He was, quite simply, the most commanding presence she’d ever known. It was impossible to look away from him.
Brittany was seated at the table, looking positively adorable in pink-checked overalls and a pink T-shirt. Her hair, still damp from her bath, was already curling into ringlets that bobbed at her shoulders.
Heather crossed to the table. “You did tell me you cooked, but I guess I didn’t believe you. Until now.”
Thad grinned. “Out of necessity, I’ve become a regular Renaissance Man.”
“Heather.” Brittany lifted her arms to hug her and Heather scooped her up.
“Umm. You smell good. Did your daddy wash your hair?”
“Uh-huh. He uses baby shampoo so it doesn’t sting my eyes. If you want, I’ll let you use some, too.”
“Thank you, honey. I used whatever your daddy had in his shower. But it doesn’t smell nearly as good as yours.”
“That’s ’cause he’s a man.” The little girl wrinkled her nose. “Daddy says he doesn’t want to use girlie stuff on his hair.”
“Yeah.” Heather wrinkled her nose in perfect imitation. “It’s a guy thing. He’s afraid he won’t be nearly as tough and macho if he smells too good.”
“I’ll remind you two females that there’s a guy doing the cooking at the moment.” Thad neatly flipped several pancakes onto a platter. “So if you want to enjoy your breakfast, say only nice things about men.”
Heather put a finger to her lips and the two giggled before sitting down at the table.
As Brittany picked up her fork she said, “Daddy always makes pancakes on Sunday morning.”
“Always?” Heather cut the little girl’s pancakes into bite sizes before tackling her own.
“Uh-huh. Unless he gets called down to the police station. Then we stop along the way and get something. But it’s never as good as Daddy’s.” Brittany added enough syrup to have them swimming before she took her first bite. “Daddy makes the best pancakes in the world. Don’t you, Daddy?”
“That’s right.” He winked at Heather. “I’m the one who taught her to say that.”
He switched off the stove and carried a plate of sausage to the table, then tucked the Sunday newspaper under his arm before filling two cups with coffee.
“Remind me to have an excuse to drop by often on Sunday then,” Heather said as she dug into her breakfast. “Because I love pancakes and sausage.”
Brittany watched as her father laid out the paper beside his plate. “We don’t talk much at Sunday breakfast, though.”
“And why is that?” Heather glanced across the table.
“’Cause Daddy likes to read his paper.”
“What about you?”
Brittany shrugged. “Daddy says I’m not old enough to read yet. But when I am, he’ll give me part of the newspaper. I wish I could read now.”
“That shouldn’t stop you.” Heather sorted through the pile of paper until she came to the comics. She folded the colorful section beside Brittany’s plate. “Why don’t you look at all these silly pictures, and if you find something you like, I’ll read it to you.”
“You will?” Caught up in a new game, Brittany studied the pictures until she came to a funny-looking dog and cat. “Will you read this one, Heather?”
Minutes later Thad set down his paper to watch as Heather, seated beside his daughter, read her the comics and then explained the jokes.
He lifted his coffee and drank, thoroughly enjoying the sound of laughter filling the room. How had such an ordinary morning taken on this feeling of celebration?
It was Heather, he realized. Whenever she was around, everything seemed to be so much more. More laughter. More enthusiasm. More delight in the simplest of things.
She glanced over and caught him staring. For a moment her cheeks bloomed with color. Then Brittany tugged on her sleeve, and she returned her attention to the comics. When she looked over again, Thad had picked up his paper and resumed his reading.
She realized that she’d become so aware of him. So in tune with every look he gave her, with every word he spoke. She was even beginning to believe
she could influence his thoughts. As if to prove it she continued staring at him and he lowered the paper to glance at her. She smiled. He winked.
And her heart actually fluttered in her chest.
It was a good thing he kept all that charm hidden behind that tough-guy facade. If everyone could see him the way she did, he’d lose his credibility as a cop. And she’d have to lock the doors to keep away the throngs of women eager to have that devilish smile turned on them.
Heather walked outside where Thad and Brittany were waiting to go to the park. As she walked down the steps Thad asked, “What did your uncle say when you told him you were spending another day?”
She smiled and tucked the cell phone in her pocket. “That he wasn’t surprised.”
As Thad started to pull Brittany in the wagon toward the park, he arched a brow and held his silence. He tried to imagine what Joe Colton really thought about his niece spending the weekend with the cop assigned to his case.
Not that Joe could do anything about it, Thad realized. Heather was a grown woman, able to do as she pleased. And from that independent streak in her nature, he’d be willing to bet she’d been calling all the shots in her life for quite some time now.
Still, it would probably be a lot easier for her family to swallow if she were spending the weekend on some millionaire’s yacht.
The mere thought had him frowning.
“There it is again.” Heather glanced over.
“There’s what?”
“That look. Where were you just then?”
He grinned. “On a yacht.”
She laughed delightedly. “How’d you like it?”
He shook his head. “I was getting seasick.”
“Have you ever been on a yacht?”
“Once. To handle an investigation. The victim was some rich guy who went over the side. Drowned. It turned out that he’d cheated on his wife and she found out about it.”
“So she pushed him over?”
“Either that or he was a lousy sailor. The seas were calm. There were no other craft in the area. And somehow he went over the side and never came up. When we fished him out, he had a lump on his head the size of Fresno. She said he must have hit his head when he fell. Needless to say, her story stretched the limits of credibility.”
“So the D.A. didn’t buy it?”
“Nobody bought her story. The jury took all of two hours to find her guilty.”
“Did she do any time?”
“A couple of years. She had a very exclusive, very expensive law firm. Of course, she could afford it. And I’m sure she’d figured all the angles before she knocked the old guy out and tossed him over the side.”
Heather was shaking her head in amazement when Thad had a sudden thought. “Have you ever been on a yacht?”
“Yep.”
“Did you get seasick?”
She laughed. “No. As a matter of fact, I’m a very good sailor. But I was pretty bored.”
“Bored? On a yacht? Why?”
“It was the company, I guess. We sipped champagne while the crew did all the work, which looked to be much more fun than we were having. The guests were more interested in what everybody was wearing than in the beautiful sunset. And when we docked, my host made an unwelcome pass and found himself, like the guy you investigated, overboard. Fortunately for him, he could swim. I was too furious to even bother looking back to see whether he climbed out by himself or was fished out by his crew.”
Thad was laughing so hard he had people in the park turning to see what was so funny. He paused to brush a kiss over Heather’s lips. “That does it. I’m never buying a yacht. And if I ever make an unwelcome pass at you, I’d better be prepared for the consequences.”
“You got that right, Detective.” She held out a hand to Brittany as the little girl climbed out of the wagon. “Come on, honey. Let’s go see who can swing the highest.”
The two raced toward the swings, leaving Thad to follow more slowly with the wagon.
He felt a glow of happiness at the scene before him as Heather lifted Brittany onto a swing and gently pushed her. The sound of their laughter carried on the breeze, touching his heart as nothing else possibly could. This entire weekend had been like an unexpected gift. And he was feeling as happy as a kid on his birthday.
It was one of those clear, cloudless nights. The moon was a giant golden globe in a sky dotted with millions of twinkling stars.
Brittany, dressed in bunny pajamas, knelt beside her dollhouse, playing quietly.
When Heather stepped out of the bedroom carrying the little girl’s soiled clothes, Brittany looked up. “Did you see my dollhouse, Heather? Daddy made it for me.”
“I’ve been admiring it, Brittany.” Heather deposited the clothes in a hamper before kneeling beside the little girl. “I see you’re rearranging the furniture.”
“Uh-huh. Daddy made all the furniture, too.” The little girl moved the tiny sofa to a window, then picked up a man doll and placed it there.
“Is the daddy sleeping?” Heather asked.
“No. He’s got his eyes closed, but he says that’s how all men watch football on television.”
“Of course. With their eyes closed.” Heather shot a glance at Thad and grinned. “That’s how they usually watch the last half of old movies on television, too.” She pointed to the flowered bedroom, where Brittany was placing a little girl doll in the bed and covering her with a tiny blanket. “Is she watching television, too? Or does this mean she’s getting tired?”
“She’s not tired.” Brittany stifled a yawn. “She’s just resting her eyes.”
Heather tried not to smile. “Are you sure about that? She looks awfully tired to me.”
“Well,” the little girl said hesitantly, “maybe a little.”
“Would you like your daddy to tuck you in? That is, of course, if he can tear himself away from the comfort of his sofa?”
“I guess so.” Brittany stood and caught Heather’s hand. “Will you come with me and tuck me in, too?”
“Of course.” Heather glanced around the carefully arranged dollhouse and noticed something. “Is that all you have? A daddy doll and a little girl doll? Isn’t there somebody missing?”
“Uh-huh,” Brittany said matter-of-factly. “There was a mommy doll in the package, too, but Daddy said I didn’t need her. So I put her away.” She led Heather into her bedroom and opened a dresser drawer. “See?”
At the sight of the mommy doll tucked away in a corner of the drawer Heather felt such a wave of sadness she had to swallow the lump in her throat. She tried to imagine what her own life would have been like without her mother’s wisdom to guide her.
Heather was grateful when Thad walked in a minute later and started one of his silly bedtime stories.
Soon the three of them were laughing at the antics of Thad’s imaginary characters, a zebra, a leopard and an elephant, that lived in Brittany’s closet and wore her clothes. By the time they tucked the little girl in, she was sound asleep and they were both smiling.
As they walked from her room Thad linked his fingers with Heather’s. “Can I persuade you to stay one more night?”
She gave him a sly smile. “I don’t know. Maybe I ought to go. After all, I think I’ve seen all your moves by now.”
He looked down at their linked fingers and drew her fractionally closer. “I’ve got a couple of new ones.”
“Really?” She could feel her body straining toward his and marveled that, without so much as a kiss, her body was becoming liquid.
“Yeah. I thought we could start with this.” He drew her closer and combed his fingers through her hair.
With his eyes steady on hers he said, “And then we could do this.” He traced the outline of her lips with his tongue and heard her sharp little intake of breath. But instead of kissing her he continued teasing her, tracing with his tongue the outline of her ear, the curve of her cheek, until she thought she couldn’t wait another moment for the press of his lip
s on hers.
“I like your moves, Detective. But I have a few of my own.” She lifted herself on tiptoe and caught his face in her hands, pressing her lips to his.
She heard his hiss of pleasure and stepped back, giving a little cat-smile of satisfaction.
“Not bad,” he muttered.
“What do you mean, not bad?”
“I mean that it was pleasant enough, but it was far from award-winning.”
“I see.” She regarded him through narrowed eyes. “You want my Academy Award performance, do you?” She draped herself against him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
Against his mouth she whispered, “Better fasten your seat belt, Detective Law. You’re in for a long and bumpy ride.”
She pressed him back against the wall and tangled herself around him before lifting her mouth to his. With a purr of satisfaction she felt his body respond. But she wasn’t finished with him yet.
He wanted moves, did he?
She moved, slowly, deliberately, so that every part of her body rubbed his in the most delicious, sensuous way possible. Her lips warmed, softened on his as she melted into him like hot wax to a flame.
“Okay. I give up,” he muttered against her mouth. “You win. In fact, for this you deserve the Academy Award.”
“But I’m not through, Detective.”
His hands were rough, impatient. His body hard and tense and growing hotter by the minute. “Heather, you’re killing me.” His blood was pumping furiously as she continued tormenting him, making soft, mewing sounds in her throat as she practically crawled inside his skin.
But instead of stopping, she kept it up until he swore and held her a little away, until he could catch his breath.
“Okay. That’s it.” He swung her into his arms and headed down the hall toward his bedroom.
“But I had more moves to show you.”
“You will.” He was sweating as he kicked in the door and carried her to the bed. “Believe me, baby, you can show me anything you want.” He lowered her to the mattress and covered her lips with his, while the blood roared in his head.