* * *
KATE WOKE SLOWLY, her senses kicking in one by one. Boone’s voice, rumbling, slightly hoarse, nearby. Dryness in her mouth, the kind that always followed up a meal that included pepperoni. An unfamiliar ache in her hip, and the realization that she wasn’t in her bed. She was on the sofa, and her ankle was cold, but the rest of her was warm from a fluffy comforter that draped over her. And right, the board, her ankle, Jamie—
Her eyes flew open. The room was shadowed, but she could still make out a sight she had never expected to see: Boone pacing in slow circles, crooning classic rock while Jamie rested against his chest.
The part of her that was trying very hard to resist him momentarily forgot to breathe.
You could build an awful lot of memories in five and a half weeks, whispered her inner temptress. You always regret the chances you didn’t take more than the ones you did. What do you have to lose?
She had no good answer for the first two, but the third was clear. Her heart. She could lose her heart so easily to Boone. She had done it before, the loss of him hitting her faster and harder than she had expected when he returned to Peru, and she had no doubt that saying goodbye this time was going to be even worse. Because now she was seeing a new side to him. Now she knew how it felt to lie on a sofa and watch him walk endless circles around her while he sang “Carry On Wayward Son” in a voice that grew more strained by the moment. Now she knew what it was like to be his partner. Not in bed, but planning and parenting.
Now she had even more reasons to fall for him. And she was so, so close to doing just that.
Damn it. Ottawa was full of great guys, many of them government employees who were building a career and a life right there in the city. She could have chosen one of them for her rebound fling. Instead, she had picked up the gorgeous stranger with the Harrison Ford smile and the guaranteed easy exit strategy.
And here she was, a year and a half later, terrifyingly close to throwing herself once again at a man who lived on a different continent.
And she wasn’t talking distance.
* * *
THE TROUBLE BEGAN when it came time for bed.
Boone kept busy during the evening by staying focused on Jamie, who still needed to be walked and sung to and bathed and diapered and delivered to Kate for nursing sessions that should have helped but that left each of them increasingly exhausted and frustrated. Jamie wailed and Kate muttered about increased pressure on his gums. Boone glued himself to his laptop, frantically searching for insights as to how to deal with teething, but it seemed they had tried everything. Well, except the brandy.
He had half a mind to run to the liquor store while he could. True, he was going to need caffeine more than alcohol, but a hit of something in his coffee might not be a bad idea.
Jamie finally conked out around eleven, melting into Boone’s shoulder like the most welcome of weights.
“I doubt it will last long,” Kate whispered. “But we should try to sleep while we can.”
Oh, yeah.
“If you can help me to my room, we can pull his crib right up beside the bed. That way we won’t need to bother you in the night.”
The temptation was strong.
The need to do his part while he could was even stronger.
“Nope.” When her eyes widened, he added, “I’ll get you settled, and then I’ll take the sofa. That way I’ll be close if either of you need anything.”
“Boone, really. You’ve been beyond wonderful. I don’t know how I would have made it through this day without you.”
Well, for one thing, if he hadn’t been here, she wouldn’t be dealing with a bum ankle.
“But I’ll be fine,” she continued, and the corner of his mind that wasn’t exhausted sat up and took notice.
I’ll be fine. I’m fine. It’s fine. She said it a lot.
But it seemed to him she said it most when she meant it least.
“No you won’t,” he said.
“Okay, maybe not. But I’m sure that I—”
“Could manage if you had to,” he interrupted, pretty certain that she hadn’t planned to say anything of the sort. “But I’m here.”
He could see how torn she was. Time to play his trump card.
“Katie.” Maybe if he used her mother’s name for her, she’d be more inclined to listen. “Come on. I won’t have many chances to lend a hand. Let me help this time. It’s what a father should do.”
He knew he’d won before she said a word. It was all there in her long, low sigh.
“Fine. But only because...” She stopped, smiled, shook her head. “Did you know I’m a bit of a control freak?”
“I didn’t have a clue.” He rubbed Jamie’s back, soaking up the steady rhythm of his child’s regular, deep breathing. “Let me get him settled and then I’ll come back for you.”
Much to his relief, Jamie handled the transfer to the crib with little more than a whimper, though even that was enough to make Boone’s breath catch. When he was certain that they had at least a few minutes to operate, he returned to the living room, grabbing the monitor on the way.
“There,” he said, setting it on the coffee table beside the sofa. “Now I’ll be able to hear him.”
Kate wanted to say something. He could see it. But she inhaled, sharp and deep, and offered him her biggest smile.
“Now, your turn.” He moved in front of her, crouching and reaching, his heart thudding as memories of other times he’d pulled her upright roared to the fore. But she shook her head and slipped her hands into his.
“It’s feeling better. I really think this will be enough.”
“Kate—”
“Really, I do.”
“You doubt my strength?”
She half laughed. “Not at all. But at least let me try.”
The truth finally seeped into his semifunctional brain. She was trying to avoid touching him any more than necessary.
I wasn’t trying to get away from you.
His pulse rate kicked up about a dozen notches. Maybe from worry. Probably from the effort of reminding himself that platonic meant hands off and distance is golden.
“Fine. We’ll give it a try. But if you feel the least bit wobbly, go ahead and fall against me, okay? I’m braced for whatever.”
She bit her lip. “Sure. Fine. Thank you.”
He spread his feet and bent his knees slightly, making himself as stable as possible, then counted to three. A tug, a tightness in his arms, and she was upright, cautiously standing on both feet, carefully positioned with space between them.
“How is it?” he asked.
“Not all better, but definitely nothing like it was.”
“Good. Let’s get you settled.”
Arms around waists, they moved her to her room. Jamie’s deep breaths filled the little bit of space not occupied by the bed, which had taken on mammoth proportions, at least when it came to the amount of Boone’s head space that it suddenly occupied.
He pulled back the covers and she dropped onto the mattress, emitting a tiny, involuntary moan of relief that had him wincing. She reached for the blankets as if to lie back, but he grabbed her hand.
“Hang on. You’re not sleeping in your clothes.”
“Oh, yes, I am.”
Her words were steady but the pink in her cheeks gave him all the insights into her reasons that he needed.
“Where are your pajamas?”
“I’ll be—”
“No, you won’t.” Not that he hadn’t slept in his clothes many times, but she was going to have a rough enough night as it was. She needed as much comfort and ease as possible. “Look, if it helps, I’m so wiped out that there’s no way I could even think about doing anything, okay? So let me help you into your pajamas so I can go crash myself.”
Did he feel a little s
cummy for going for the guilt factor? Slightly. But it wasn’t like he was doing it for his benefit. That had to count for something.
“A nightgown will be easier.” Her voice was tight and low. “Top right-hand drawer of my dresser.”
“Got it.” He walked briskly around the bed, giving himself orders all the way. Grab the nightgown. Turn around while she pulls it on. No, wait outside the room. Or even go into the other room. You’ll hear her over the monitor if she needs anything.
He yanked the drawer open.
And for the love of God, don’t look at anything in her...
Too late.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE FIRST THING Boone saw was a flowing white gown that he recognized right away. How could he not? It had haunted his dreams the entire time he was away from her.
A month or so after they met, he had said something about the Princess Leia outfit she’d been wearing the first time he saw her. She had laughed it off and made some joke about it getting blown up along with the Death Star.
But the next night when he came over, she had met him at the door in this. Her hair had been twisted into side buns and she had handed him a Nerf gun and a vest that he was pretty sure was supposed to turn him into Han Solo, and the next thing he knew, his princess was leading him through a recreation of the movie that she had set up throughout her apartment.
There was a stripped-down sofa against the wall, screened off to resemble a prisoner’s cell and bed. A cardboard dashboard taped up against the kitchen table, reminiscent of the Millennium Falcon. And the already-narrow hall had been lined with an inflated air mattress to simulate the infamous trash compactor. In each location, she had spouted lines from the movie, but with a twist that turned them into lines of seduction.
It had been a night to remember even before they figured out that it was probably the night when they had made Jamie.
Get out of here, Boone.
He grabbed blindly, searching until his fingers closed over serviceable cotton. He gave the drawer a wicked shove and hurried back to Kate, who was still perched on the side of the bed.
Watching him.
With silent understanding and apology all over her face.
“Here you go.” He tossed the gown on her lap. “You can manage from here, right?”
“I... Yes. Absolutely.”
It was the momentary hesitation that made him stop and take a good look at what she was wearing.
Jeans. Of course it would be jeans. The most difficult item of clothing to remove, even without an injured ankle.
“Can you manage your sweater?” It came out rough and raw, but since he wasn’t sure he could speak at all, given the task ahead of him, he was glad to be able to say anything.
“Yes.”
“Okay. You do that and then I’ll help you with—” he gestured toward the devil denim “—those.”
Slowly and deliberately, he turned his back to her. Not that it made a difference. He still had ears, still had memories. Every inch of what was being revealed with every rustle of fabric was thoroughly, exquisitely branded into his very being.
“Ready,” she whispered.
He breathed in deep, closed his eyes as much as he could without needing to resort to groping and slid his hands under the nightgown.
Her breath hitched.
Lucky her. He had stopped breathing completely with the first touch.
“I’m going to unsnap them,” he said. “And then I’m going to hold your legs and lift your butt off the bed. Your job is to push them past your hips. I’ll take it from there.”
“This is a really bad idea.”
“Agreed.” He popped the snap, the sound echoing in the shadowed silence. “You want me to stop?”
She made a sound. It sure as hell didn’t sound like a yes to him.
His fingers closed over the tab of the zipper. He tugged.
“I can do that.”
“I know you can.”
Shivers ran through him, a new ripple with every sound of a zipper tooth releasing. By the time he had the jeans totally undone, the trembling had spread down his thighs and into his knees, making it almost impossible for him to stay upright.
Of course, if he fell, he would land on her. He couldn’t think of a sweeter landing pad.
He pulled his hands back and slid his arms beneath her thighs, lifting them and her hips off the bed. “Go ahead.” There was no hiding the raw edge to his voice.
She shifted. Pushed. Wiggled.
“Done.”
It seemed he wasn’t the only one having a hard time getting the words out.
He gently lowered her hips back onto the mattress before grabbing hold of the waistband. He eased the jeans down, doing his best to not touch her, dying a little each time it happened anyway.
“I can manage from here.” She lunged forward, shoved his hands away, easing the pants over her shins and ankles, reaching and grabbing them and tossing them toward the laundry hamper in the corner.
“Basket,” she said in a strangled kind of whisper.
He wanted to come back with a witty reply, something that would get them both through the moment—and him out the door—but someone or something had glued his feet where he stood. Flight was impossible. He hovered at her side, his hand suspended above the bare skin of her shin while he relived moments when his foot had slid up and down that leg, when his fingers had sunk into her thighs, when he had collapsed on top of her and her knees had come up around him and her arms had tightened across his back and for a moment, every part of her had clung to him, holding him against her and within her.
And now she sat upright in her bed, tugging the sheet back over her legs.
He couldn’t stop himself. He gripped her knee through the sheet, one fast squeeze, one reassurance and reminder. One moment of the most exquisite torture he had ever known.
Then he turned as fast as he could and returned to his lonely sofa.
* * *
BOONE KNEW THAT it was too much to expect that Maggie wouldn’t go all Mama Bear when she heard about Kate’s ankle.
The tooth had indeed come through in the night, and Jamie had woken up as sunny and gurgling as always. Kate surrendered to the inevitable and said she would call Maggie to cancel dinner. Boone put Jamie in the stroller—an education in itself—and the two of them walked down to the corner to get some fresh air.
Boone wasn’t going to congratulate himself too much, but when they made it back to the house without either of them breaking into tears, it did feel like a major success. Then Maggie pulled into the driveway and all bets were off.
Boone fumbled with the buckle holding Jamie in place. “Come on, buddy. Make this open. If I’m holding you, your grandmother won’t beat me up.”
The gods must have been on his side, because the fastenings gave way just as Maggie slammed out of the car and stalked toward him, her finger targeting him like Harry Potter using his wand to fight off the Death Eaters.
“I told you to fix that porch before she went through it.”
“Hello, Maggie. Good to see you, too.” He raised Jamie’s hand in an imitation of a wave. “Hi, Granny.”
Her scowl deepened. “He calls me Grandma.”
Actually, since Jamie couldn’t speak yet, Boone was pretty sure he didn’t call her anything. But he didn’t think this was the time to mention that.
“Where’s Kate?”
“Sleeping.” Probably not true. When they were leaving, she had said something about researching new bathroom fixtures. But if Maggie thought there was a nap taking place, she wouldn’t go inside, meaning Kate could catch some peace.
It meant that he was stuck talking to his mother-in-law by himself, too, but hey. Every once in a while a guy had to take one for the team.
“I won’t go in, then.”
Yes!
She gave him the evil eye and he got the strong suspicion that she had come over mostly to put the fear of God into him.
“Why wasn’t that board fixed already?”
“Kate and I made the repair list together. We agreed it was a simple job that wasn’t as badly needed as others.”
“Which turned out to be a mistake.”
“It did.” That he would give her. “But since neither of us is able to see the future, I—”
“Spare me.” Maggie reached as if to take Jamie from him.
Boone tightened his grip.
She stepped back, eyes narrowed but still spitting fire. “Since she’s asleep and I have you alone, let me make one thing perfectly clear. If you break her heart, you had better hope you’re already on a plane when I find out about it.”
Since a broken heart usually required love, Boone felt pretty safe. Not that he couldn’t see himself falling big-time for Kate under different circumstances. He had certainly tumbled hard and fast in the short months they’d been together, which still kind of blew him away.
None of this was Maggie’s business. But he could appreciate where she was coming from.
“I know you want to protect your daughter,” he said, patting Jamie’s back with each syllable. “I understand and respect that, and whether you choose to believe it or not, I want her happiness almost as much as you do.”
Maggie could say more with one fast sniff than many people could with whole paragraphs.
“But, Maggie, Jamie is my son. Whether you like it or not, I intend to be part of his life. Not the way most fathers are, that’s for sure, but I’m not just walking away from him. I’ll thank you to not speak ill of me to him or in front of him, and since habits can take a while to change, I suggest we start practicing right now, before he’s old enough to figure out that you would like nothing more than to throw me into the river.”
Maggie reared back.
Boone barely resisted the urge to do the same.
Instead, he did the one thing he knew Maggie couldn’t refuse.
“Now.” He pulled Jamie off his shoulder and maneuvered him in Maggie’s direction, praying with everything he had that he was holding the kid properly. “I’ll be honest. I don’t know much about babies. Yet. I’ve seen Kate hold him so he’s facing out but I don’t feel comfortable trying that on my own yet. I’d appreciate it if you could show me what to do.”
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