by Jill Shalvis
She searched his gaze, clearly wondering if he was still teasing her.
"Just looking at you makes me think of hot kisses and stolen touches."
She blushed. Blushed. So, the cool woman could be shaken. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, anything but. "I'm being inappropriate again, aren't I?"
"You know you are." Tough facade back in place, she walked the room, passed the piles of work on his desk, passed the additional piles that had simply overflowed to the floor. He'd vacuumed before setting Taylor down, so the vacuum cleaner was still in the corner. His coat, which had fallen from the rack, lay crumpled in a heap. His boots were sprawled on the floor, discarded after his last inspection. So was the bag his lunch had come in, from his favorite hamburger joint.
"You're a pig," she said lightly, scooping up his jacket and placing it on a hook.
He wondered at the gesture. Was it because she cared, or because she cared that Taylor was in such a messy room? "Talk to your daughter. She's been a busy girl today."
A small smile crossed her lips. But Dax could see past the exterior, past that cool defense she wore like a coat. Deep in thought, he stared at her.
"What?" she asked when he came close. She didn't fidget like normal women, so she didn't pat her hair or look herself over for flaws. But her eyes chilled in response to his silent study. "What are you staring at?"
Dax knew how to soothe a woman, but he had the feeling the usual compliments and flirtations wouldn't work with Amber. She was different. Very different. Her dark, gorgeous eyes looked bruised, rimmed with light purple. Her mouth, carefully painted, was tight, pinched. And those shoulders, the ones that seemed to be strong enough to carry the burdens of the entire world, were strained, as if the weight had become too heavy.
"Stop looking at me like that," she demanded.
"Like what?"
"Like … you're hungry, or something."
Oh yeah, he was hungry. For her. How long, he wondered, would it take a man to dig under those walls? To find the real Amber, the one who'd had the guts to have a child by herself, the one he knew would protect that child with everything she had?
"Why are you still staring at me?"
Because she looked exhausted. Because she was a puzzle he couldn't put together. Because he couldn't seem to help himself. Backing her to a chair, he applied pressure on her arm until she sat.
"I don't have time to sit." Her voice was weary. "I still have to run to the grocery store, pick up the drycleaning and then when I get home, I have a report—" Carefully, she closed her mouth and in a rare gesture of emotion, ran her hands over her eyes. "I have no idea why I'm telling you all of this."
"Because you're too tired. If you weren't, you wouldn't say a word, you'd handle it all. Alone, most likely. But we're a unit now, Amber. You should be able to vent."
"And that means you'll vent, too, I suppose."
"If I need to, yes."
She looked so genuinely unsettled that he wondered what her definition of vent was. "How about I keep Taylor while you do your errands? She's fine here, the guys come in every two seconds just to look at her anyway. She'll be entertained. I'll bring her home to you later."
"I can't take advantage that way."
"Amber." He came from a family of touchers. It seemed perfectly natural for him to lift a hand and touch her cheek. And if he enjoyed the feel of her soft skin so much that he left his fingers there for an instant longer than he'd planned, what did it matter? He was just trying to comfort.
Okay, maybe it was more complicated than that, but he wasn't ready to go there.
And besides, she backed away.
"Why do you do that?" he wondered. "Shy away from touch?"
"I don't like to be touched."
"You did once."
A delicious shade of red colored her face. "I should make it clear to you," she said in that prim voice he was perversely beginning to enjoy. "I'm not being coy here. I acted … wild with you then. I'm not going to do it again."
"Are you thinking wild is a bad thing?"
She looked at him steadily.
"Or that I don't respect you?"
Still, just that look. Damn, she brought new meaning to the word stubborn. "What happened between us was spontaneous, yes," he agreed. "Hot, most definitely. Even wild. But Amber, it was as necessary at that moment as breathing, you have to remember that much."
"It wasn't necessary."
He'd have liked to prove her wrong, right there on the floor of his office. He had no doubt he could do it. She had passion and heat simmering just beneath her surface, all he had to do was set fire to it. The way they kissed, it should only take two seconds.
But he wouldn't, because he didn't like how easily he'd come to forgive her, and he sure as hell didn't like the way he yearned for her, even now. "Even before I knew about Taylor, I wanted to see you again."
"Of course you did. I slept with you after only knowing you an hour."
"Are you talking about when we made love?"
"Sex," she said calmly enough, but the words came out her teeth. "We had sex."
"That's not how I remember it." He smiled wickedly, figuring her imagination could taunt her with exactly what he was remembering. It would serve her right, since he'd been doing nothing but remembering.
"I acted cheaply. I don't like thinking about it."
"Cheap?" he asked incredulously, oddly hurt. "That's the last thing that comes to my mind when I think of that day." She turned away but he took her arms, forcing her to look at him. "God, Amber, we were terrified. We thought we were going to die. We needed to feel hope. We needed to feel alive, and we did, in each other's arms. How could you have forgotten all that?"
She might have pushed away, but he held her still. "No, listen to me." Somehow it had become critical to him that she not regret what they'd shared. "You didn't betray yourself that day, it just happened. And it was … right. Very right, dammit."
Her tortured look faded somewhat. "It gave me Taylor," she said quietly.
"It gave us Taylor," he corrected. "And I'll never forget it."
They stared at each other, so close that he could have leaned forward a fraction and kissed her soft, very kissable lips, but he didn't. Much as his body ached for hers, she'd burned him before, and he wasn't interested in getting burned again. "And as for tonight. You're not taking advantage, I offered. I'll even bring dinner."
"Why?"
"You know, all that mistrust is getting really old."
"I'm not mistrustful."
He laughed. "Granted, it's well hidden behind that sophisticated, sleek business front, but it's there."
"Why are you bringing me dinner?"
"See? Right there. Mistrust."
She rolled her eyes.
"I'm bringing dinner because I'll be hungry."
"Oh." She thought about it and started to give him a suspicious look, which she quickly squelched. "I suppose that would be all right."
"Good." He'd have shown up whether she liked it or not. If he knew his little daughter, and he was beginning to know her quite well, he figured Amber hadn't had a hot meal or a decent night's sleep in over three months. That was going to change.
"Go on," he said, pulling her up, nudging her to the door. "We'll see you later." Then he ushered her out before she could gather her wits to resist, which he knew she would have done if she hadn't been dead on her feet.
When she was gone, Dax turned to Taylor, hands on hips, a mock frown on his face. "You've been tiring out your parents," he said, picking her up and holding her close.
Taylor gummed a wet smile.
"It's got to stop. You hear me?"
She let out a sweet little giggle.
Dax kissed her noisily, making her wriggle with delight, which in turn warmed his heart in ways he'd never imagined.
He couldn't fathom being without her.
He was beginning to understand he felt the same way about her mother.
* * *
Dax arrived at Amber's condo at exactly 7:07 p.m. with Taylor in one arm and dinner in the other. Not that Amber had been pacing, watching the clock for the past hour and a half.
She reached for Taylor and squeezed her so tight the baby mewled in protest. Amber couldn't help herself; she'd missed Taylor so much. She kissed the baby's nose and then her face, and then nearly leaped out of her skin at the sexy, unbearably familiar voice behind her.
"I'll take one of those."
Slowly, she turned. "You'll take one of what?"
"A kiss."
Her tummy fluttered. "Hmph."
He grinned, and the butterflies in her stomach took wing. What was it about him? He should have hated her. Or at the very least, still been furious. That he wasn't, and that he looked at her in a way that both confused her and made her … hot, was greatly disturbing.
"Hungry?" he asked, lifting a bag from a local deli.
"It's my father's birthday," she said slowly, her mouth watering at the smell coming from the brown bag. "I was going to call him."
"Call him. See if he'll join us."
He wouldn't, Amber knew that. But she found she couldn't admit any such thing to Dax. So, as he watched her with that quiet intensity of his, she picked up the phone and dialed the number.
"Hello, Dad," she said calmly when her father answered, as if her heart hadn't leaped into her throat at the sound of his voice after so long. "I wanted to wish you happy birthday."
Her voice was steady. Steady was important, even if she was so nervous she felt as though she might shatter at any moment. "I was also hoping you'd come for dinner and meet your granddaughter."
"Not likely," came the voice that had ruled her childhood. "Not when her mother is a slut."
Dax moved closer, but she held the phone tight to her ear so he couldn't hear. "I'm sorry you're still upset with me, but there's no need for it." She hesitated, then said softly, "I'm not like Mom. Really, I'm not."
"Did you marry that baby's father?"
"M-marry?" She glanced at Dax over her shoulder and found him still looking right at her. "Uh … no." With a carefully blank face, she pointed to the living room, gesturing him away. Anywhere, as long as he was far from her and this conversation.
Dax just settled back and lifted a brow.
With a sound of impatience, Amber covered the phone. "Go," she whispered.
"Maybe I should have extended the invite," he murmured. And then he grabbed the phone right out of her hands.
"Give that back!"
"Not yet." He held the phone out of her reach before bringing the receiver to his ear. He had to use his other hand to hold Amber off, but he did so with no problem, slipping one strong, warm arm around her. His forearm banded across her back, his fingers came to just above her rib cage, holding her stronger than a vise.
All she could think was that his fingers were pressed against the curve of her breast. Unbelievably, because she hated being restrained, her nipples tightened. Her breath quickened.
As if he could tell, Dax looked down into her face, his own breath coming a little faster.
"Give me the phone, Dax," she murmured.
His fingers spread wide and brushed the underside of her left breast.
She melted a little. "Now."
He shook his head. "Hello," he said politely into the phone, his fingers driving her to distraction. "I'm Daxton McCall, Taylor's father."
Amber groaned. Her father had never approved of her, and this wasn't going to help. He was convinced she led a wild, out-of-control lifestyle, and very likely, this conversation would confirm it.
She shouldn't care that she disappointed him, but she did, and still, to this day, wished she could make everything right, wished that her father missed his own flesh and blood the way she missed having a family.
"I'm taking full responsibility for Taylor," Dax said into the phone. "Any questions?" He continued to smile in that easygoing manner as he ruined her life, but Amber could see there was steel lining that smile and he was not kidding around. Dax was deadly serious and more than a little dangerous looking.
"We'd love you to join us tonight," he said. "Oh, you can't? Then how about you and I meet tomorrow, for lunch. I'm in the inspection office, downtown fire station. Yes. You can express all your anger and disappointment, and you can do it with me. Not Amber. Okay? See you then."
Amber gaped at him as he hung up.
"I hate bullies," he said conversationally.
Too late, Amber remembered she didn't gape as a rule. It was, however, much more of a struggle to control herself than usual. She was discovering that was the norm with Dax. "I can't believe he wants to meet you."
"Well he really wants to punch me in the nose, but he'll settle for a good look at me. I'm going to give it to him."
"He was … nice?"
"Let's say he was polite." He smiled. "Definitely curious."
In less than two minutes Dax had gotten the approval from her father that she'd been fighting for all her life.
It was deflating, depressing and demoralizing, not to mention infuriating.
"Amber?"
She was perfectly aware that her fury was illogical, that she was about to direct it toward the wrong person, but she couldn't help herself. "I want you to go now."
"What?" He looked so stunned she nearly laughed, but this wasn't a laughing matter. "Why?"
"I realize you probably don't get a lot of rejections. Consider this a learning experience."
"Amber, listen to me." He took her shoulders in his big hands to see that she did just that. "I can see that you care what he thinks—"
"I don't."
"Of course you do, it's natural." His understanding and compassion were far more than she could take at the moment, but he wouldn't let her move away from him. "I don't want to cause you any grief. That's why I'm going to meet him, to take some of the pressure off of you."
Couldn't he see that just having him in her life was causing grief? Couldn't he see that she needed him to leave, now, before she did something really stupid? Like crying on his broad, capable, oh-so-comfy shoulder? She was alone in this. She wanted to be alone in this. "I'm really tired."
"Oh, baby, I know that one." His smile was warm, sweet, caring. And when he slid his fingers over her cheek as if she was the most important person in his world, her throat burned.
"Why are you doing this? Being nice?"
"Because…" He lifted a shoulder. "It's better than harboring resentment. It feels good. Because I want to. Pick one."
"But—"
"Amber, don't you ever get tired of fighting it?"
"It?"
"It." He stroked her jaw with his thumb, then touched the racing pulse at the base of her throat. "This."
"I … don't know what you're talking about."
His gaze took a leisurely sweep over her body, ending at the straining button between her breasts. On either side, her hard, aching nipples pressed against the material of her blouse. He seemed fascinated by the play of his fingers over her collarbone. "Don't you?" he murmured. "Don't deny it, I can see that you do."
With a huff of vexation, she crossed her arms. "I can't help that."
"I'm glad." His smoldering eyes met hers now. "I'm glad you can't control the attraction between the two of us, it's the only way I know I'm reaching you at all."
To hell with control and finesse. To hell with appearances. Screw all of it, she needed him gone, now, before she made a complete fool of herself and tore her clothes off, and then his. She marched to the front door and opened it. "Good night, Dax."
He frowned, though whether at her husky voice or her abruptness, she didn't know.
"Look, it's nothing personal," she assured him. "It's just that I've had enough of men running my life, manipulating me, and deciding what's right for me."
He went very still. "And you think that's what I'm doing?"
"Aren't you? You want me to share Taylor—"
"She's mine, too, A
mber. Get it through that pretty, thick head of yours." He cupped her face in his hands, tipping it up to meet his intense gaze. His fingers on her skin made her knees knock together. So did looking at his lips and she wondered, totally inappropriately, if he kissed her now, would she melt as she had a year ago?
Probably.
Definitely.
Which was another reason to get him out of here, quickly. But he wasn't budging, his big body was a stubborn brick wall she couldn't move.
"I hate it that you shy away from me, from the connection between us," he said.
She swallowed at the real glimpse of pain she saw in his eyes. Dammit, did he have to be so sensitive, so open and warm, so … perfect? "I don't feel any particular connection."
He set his hand to the base of her throat, let his fingers once again slide against the skin where her pulse beat wildly. "Liar," he chided softly.
"Good night, Dax."
He stared at her for one long moment, then walked to the door.
A small voice inside her head told her he was right. She was a liar. She wanted him to stay, wanted him to seduce her.
Or maybe she'd seduce him. It was mortifying to realize how close she was to letting her hormones run her, just as her mother had.
"You'll dream of me," he said.
She had a feeling he was right, but she shut the door and bolted it. Then she stood there for a moment, touching the door as if it were him.
Her body sizzled. Sizzled. A mother wasn't supposed to sizzle! She didn't want this. It would never work, not under these circumstances, not under the best of circumstances. Still, she nearly whipped the front door open again.
Instead, she went into the kitchen and ate as if she was still pregnant, refusing to feel guilty for eating a good portion of Dax's food, too.
Later, after she took care of Taylor, she went to bed and tried to forget how fiercely Dax had defended her to her father. Tried to forget how good it had felt, for that one little second, to depend on someone other than herself.
And damn him, just like he'd said, she dreamed of him.
* * *
Chapter 7
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Amber woke up rumpled, still exhausted and haunted by visions of a starving Dax.