by Marie Force
When his erection snuggled into the V of her legs, Laura gasped and pushed against him. And then his hands were cupping her breasts, his thumbs sliding back and forth over her nipples that were feverishly sensitive thanks to the pregnancy.
“Owen,” she said.
“Hmm?” His lips were busy on her neck, making her mind go blank again.
“I forgot what I was going to say.”
He let out an unsteady laugh and pressed her hand against the hard bulge in his shorts. “That’s what happens every time I lay eyes on you.” Punctuating his words with kisses, he added, “Every. Single. Time.”
Touched by his gruffly spoken words, Laura took advantage of the opportunity to explore the length and width of him, swallowing as he got bigger and harder under her hand. Since he was so tall and broad-shouldered, she wasn’t surprised to discover he was big there, too. When she thought about how he would feel inside her, she shivered in anticipation.
As she squeezed him gently, his head fell back and his fingers dug into her shoulders.
“Until today, you never told me you wanted me like this,” she said.
“Yes, I did.”
“When?” she asked, continuing to stroke and caress him.
“When the last ferry left on Monday without me on it. Didn’t that say it all?”
“I suppose that did make a statement.”
He stopped the movement of her hand. “No more of that.”
“Why? I quite like it.”
“I quite like it, too. Far too much.” He brought her hands to his shoulders. “Keep them there.”
Laura’s heart pounded as she waited to see what he would do. She noted the slight tremble of his hands as he unbuttoned her shirt and pushed it open. Her enhanced pregnancy breasts overflowed the cups of her white cotton bra, making her face heat with embarrassment. “I keep meaning to buy bigger bras.”
“Don’t,” he said, his voice hoarse as he lowered his head and pressed his face into the valley between her breasts. “You’re so sexy.”
Laura arched her back, encouraging him.
He released the front clasp and her breasts sprung free into his waiting hands. “Oh, God, you’re gorgeous.”
Before she had time to prepare, his mouth was feasting on her nipple, hot and hungry. She clutched his hair, which was the only thing that kept her from sliding off the counter into a boneless pile on the floor.
“How many days until Friday?” he asked, his lips vibrating against her breast.
The question made her laugh, nervously. He was putting her on notice that the minute Justin knew about the baby, their relationship would shift to the next level. “Three.”
He turned his attention to her other breast. “I’m not going to make it.”
Laura’s stomach chose that moment to let out a keening growl.
“Shit,” he muttered. “I’m pawing you like a madman, and you’re probably starving.” He dipped lower to press his lips to the tiny baby bump.
Touched by his attention to the baby, Laura combed her fingers into his unruly hair, attempting to smooth and straighten.
He looked up at her, and the raw emotion she saw shining in his eyes was nearly her undoing. As she watched him pay homage to the child growing inside her, she realized that she no longer had to worry about the possibility of falling in love with him. It had already happened, probably quite some time ago as he was peeling her off the bathroom floor and making her tea and tending to her every need as if he’d been born to do exactly that.
With what seemed to be great reluctance, he stood up straight, tucked her breasts back into her bra and refastened the buttons on her top. When he was done, he rested his hands on her shoulders.
Laura tipped her forehead against his chest, gathering herself. She couldn’t let him see that she’d fallen for him. The last thing she wanted was to make him feel trapped. If he felt trapped, he might run, and she really wanted him to stay. More importantly, she wanted him to want to stay.
“Let’s get you and the little guy fed,” he said.
Grant McCarthy was rarely intimidated, but Stephanie’s stepfather, Charlie Grandchamp, intimidated the hell out of him. It had taken Grant days to work up the nerve to drive out to the small house Charlie had rented from the island’s resident land baron/cab driver, Ned Saunders. The media attention following Charlie’s release from fourteen years of wrongful imprisonment had driven him to the island, seeking peace and quiet—and the chance to be closer to the stepdaughter who’d been relentless in her efforts to get him released.
Grant parked the motorcycle he’d borrowed from his brother Mac in the yard and took a deep breath for courage before walking up to the open front door and knocking.
No answer.
Great. I finally make it out here, and he’s not around. Spotting the other man’s small pick-up truck, Grant walked behind the house to the barn that served as a workshop and garage. “Hey, Charlie?”
“In here.”
Grant swallowed hard and stepped into the dusty space that smelled of dirt and mildew and other substances he didn’t try too hard to identify. Charlie was bent over the workbench sanding a block of wood. He was tall and muscular with a gray buzz cut and a piercing blue-eyed stare that Grant found unnerving—particularly since it was often directed his way. “Um, how’s it going?”
“Fine.”
Since his release, Grant had learned his girlfriend’s stepfather was a man of few words, especially where Grant was concerned. “Something on your mind?”
“Ah, well, Stephanie, actually.”
That got Charlie’s attention. He spared Grant a brief glance before he returned his attention to the project on the bench. “What about her?”
“I, um, you know we’ve been together for a while now.”
“Coupla months,” Charlie said with a harsh-sounding chuckle. “Does that count as a while these days?”
Grant had no idea what to say to that. He decided to go with the truth. “She has a lot of insecurities because of everything that happened when she was younger. I’ve been thinking about how I could make her feel more secure. About me. About us.”
“And what’ve you come up with?”
“I’d like to ask her to marry me.” Grant met that steely stare, determined not to blink. He almost succeeded. “Before you tell me why it’s a terrible idea, let me assure you that we wouldn’t get married right away. I just want her to know I’m in it for keeps so she won’t get that haunted look on her face whenever we disagree about something.”
“I know that look.”
It was the first thing Charlie had ever said to him that didn’t make Grant feel like the guy hated him for being alive.
“What?” Charlie asked. “Are you surprised I know what you’re talking about? I looked at that face every week for years when she came to see me in prison, and that line between her brows tore me up as much as it tears you up.”
With that one statement, he tripled the number of words he’d said to Grant in their brief acquaintance. Grant cleared his throat. “I want her to know I’m not going anywhere without her. Not now. Not ever.”
Charlie ran the sandpaper back and forth over the block of wood while Grant stood twisting in the wind waiting for the other man to say something. Anything. Without looking at Grant, he finally said, “You love her? Really, really love her?”
“Yeah,” Grant said. “I really, really do.”
“What if she decides she doesn’t want to live here on the island? What if she wants to go home to Providence and open the restaurant she’s always talked about?”
She’d talked about a restaurant? To whom? Not to him. Stunned to hear that, Grant forced himself to focus. “We’ll go to Providence, if that’s what she wants. I can work anywhere.” His failed relationship with Abby had taught him that much. “I want her to be happy.”
“I want that, too. More than you know. She gave up a big chunk of her life trying to get my sorry ass sprung from jail.”
“She’d do it again in a heartbeat. You know that.”
“She’s a good kid. She deserves better than what she got from her mother and me.”
“From her mother, maybe. You saved her life. I don’t think she feels you owe her anything.”
“I owe her everything,” Charlie said, his eyes flashing with a rare show of emotion. “She’s the only one who gave a shit about whether I rotted in prison for the rest of my life. She deserves the whole world served up on a silver platter.”
A knot of emotion lodged in Grant’s chest. He couldn’t agree more. “I want to give her that. If she’ll let me.”
“She’ll fight you if you try to do too much for her.”
“Believe me,” Grant said with a shaky laugh, “I already know that.” He forced a deep breath to his lungs. “Would I have your blessing?”
“Does it matter so much to you that an ex-con approves?”
“Yes, it matters. Very much so.”
Charlie picked up a rag off the bench and wiped the dirt from his hands. “I’ll give you my blessing if you promise you’ll always be good to her, put her needs before your own and be faithful to her. Can you do all that?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat again. “Sir.”
“In that case. . .” Charlie extended his hand to Grant.
Grant shook his hand. “Thank you.”
“No, Grant,” Charlie said, calling him by name for the first time. “Thank you. I’ll never have the words to properly thank you for what you did for me—and for Stephanie.”
Overwhelmed by Charlie’s rare show of emotion, Grant said, “All I did was make a few calls.” Charlie’s fortunes had changed dramatically when Grant asked his celebrity lawyer friend Dan Torrington to take on the case. A call to Grant’s uncle, Superior Court Judge Frank McCarthy, had also helped the cause.
“They were the right calls, and they made a huge difference.” Charlie shook his head, almost in disbelief. “I wake up every morning to the sound of the ocean and seagulls, and I still think I’m dreaming.”
“I’m really glad it worked out—for your sake and Stephanie’s.” He paused before he added, “When you’re ready, I’d like to talk to you about the movie.”
“I’m not there yet.”
“Whenever. I’d better get back before Steph starts to wonder where I am.”
“When will you propose?”
“In the next few days. When the time is right.”
Charlie nodded. “Good luck.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you.” As Grant walked back to the motorcycle, he picked over the conversation in amazement. It was, without a doubt, the most substantial conversation he’d ever had with Stephanie’s stepfather, who’d seemed wary and suspicious of him from the day they met.
He was puzzled, however, about why Stephanie had never mentioned her dream to open her own restaurant. He’d have to find a way to bring that up.
Riding the bike back home to her, Grant tried to think of the perfect way to ask her to marry him. It had to be as special as she was. Once she had his ring on her finger, maybe she’d stop worrying that what they had wouldn’t last. Maybe they both would.
Chapter 7
After the delicious dinner he’d made, Owen and Laura settled in to watch a movie. Somehow, she ended up reclined with her feet in his lap and was treated to a divine foot massage. The last thing she remembered was the feel of his thumbs pressed against her arches. She awoke to him carrying her upstairs.
“Did I fall asleep again?”
“Yep. I can set my watch by it. Fifteen minutes—tops—and you’re out.”
Laura curled her arms around his neck, enjoying being pressed against his chest. “I’m not always this much fun. Only when pregnant.”
“I’ll have to take your word for that,” he said in a teasing tone.
“Do you provide these services only for pregnant women?”
That drew a laugh from him. “I provide these services only for you.”
Something about the way he said that filled her with a warm, cozy sense of security that, if she were being truthful, she’d never felt with Justin.
When Owen lowered her to the bed, she kept her arms around his neck. The position put his face very close to hers. Laura zeroed in on his lips. “Will you stay a while?”
“Oh, um, sure.” He pulled back from her and straightened to kick off his shoes.
“Only if you want to.”
As he stretched out next to her on the bed, he reached for her hand and linked their fingers. “Of course I want to.”
The bleat of a foghorn and the crashing waves against the South Harbor breakwater were the only sounds in the otherwise quiet night.
“This is a very odd situation we find ourselves in,” Laura said after a long period of companionable silence.
“You could certainly say that,” Owen said with a chuckle.
“I want you to know. . . I’d understand if you decided to leave. I know you have to work and—”
“I don’t have to work.”
“You don’t?”
He turned his head and met her gaze. “Remember when I told you that living the way I do is pretty cheap?”
She nodded.
“I’ve socked away most of what I’ve earned over the years. I could safely take a couple of years off if I wanted to.”
“Oh.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me, Princess?”
“No! Of course not!”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want to be in your hair if you don’t want me there.”
“Owen, come on. . . I want you there.”
“Why do I hear a ‘but’?”
Laura rolled her bottom lip between her teeth as she tried to find the words.
“Laura? What’s on your mind?”
“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.”
“You can say anything you want to me. You should know that by now.”
She did know that, and it was one of the things she loved about being with him. “I’m getting attached to you.”
“Is that right?” A satisfied grin stretched across his face. “Then my campaign is working.”
“Is that what this is? A campaign?”
He brought their joined hands to his lips. “I’m campaigning for a spot in your life, Princess.”
“What spot would you like to apply for?”
His lips moved from her hand to the inside of her wrist. “The most important one.”
She wondered if her pulse was clueing him into the rapid beat of her heart. Her mouth was suddenly dry and the palms of her hands damp. “Well,” she said, attempting a playful tone, “there’s a long list of qualifications for that position.”
He added a touch of tongue to the sensitive skin on her inner arm, sending a sharp arrow of desire spearing through her that landed in a throb between her legs. “Name them.”
She pulled her hand free. “I can’t think when you’re doing that.”
“My apologies,” he said, propping his head on one hand. His eyes were full of mischief as he waited for her.
Laura wished she possessed the quick wit to make her list of requirements funny and lighthearted, but nothing about this was lighthearted. Not anymore.
“Tell me about your qualifications.”
“First of all,” she said haltingly, “the candidate must want me and only me. No extracurricular activities allowed.”
“Done. Next?”
Unnerved by his intense expression, she couldn’t look away from him. “How do you know you won’t change your mind about that in a couple of months or a year?”
“I suppose no one ever knows for sure about these things, but all I can tell you is I want to be with you—only you. It’s really that simple.”
“What do I do, after I take a big chance on you, if you decide you’d rather be somewhere else?”
He reached out to comb his fingers through her hair in a gentle caress that turne
d sensuous when his fingertips slid over her jaw and down her neck. “I wish I could assure you there’s no chance of that happening, but I can’t. I’ve been on the move my entire adult life, from one place to the next with no thought of the future or anything past the next gig.” Leaning in, he kissed her forehead, her nose and then her lips. “Since I met you, I’m thinking about the future for the first time.”
Seduced by his words and the emotion she heard behind them, Laura rested a hand on his hip. When he drew her in closer to him, she put her arm around him, tipping her face into his kiss.
“I know I’m not the best risk,” he said between sweet kisses, “especially after what you’ve just been through, but I care about you, Laura. I want to take a chance on us, but I’ll understand if I’m not what you want.”
“You are what I want. I’m just. . .”
“What, baby?”
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“That I’ll take this huge leap of faith with you, and you’ll stay because you said you would, not because it’s where you really want to be.”
He snuggled her in tight against him, keeping his lips on her forehead as his fingers continued to slide through her hair. “When I wake up in the morning, usually quite early even after a late gig, I lie in bed and look up at the ceiling wishing I was up here with you. I picture your gorgeous face and all your hundreds of expressions and how much I like to watch you sleep when you conk out on me. Sometimes, when I’m really lucky, I can smell your scent clinging to me because you hugged me the night before. I lie there wondering how long I have to wait until you come downstairs, all fresh-faced and pretty, full of excitement over whatever job you’ve got planned for the day. I want to hear how you slept, how you feel, if the baby is moving. I want to make sure you eat enough for both of you. I think about what we should do for dinner and if we might have time for a walk on the beach or if it’s too chilly for you.”
Laura barely took a breath as she listened to him.
“At night, after we’ve spent the entire day together, I go to bed and burn for you. I want to hold you and kiss you and make love to you and sleep with you in my arms. I want to feel your soft skin next to mine and have your hair tickling my face when I’m trying to sleep. I want to know the second you wake up, and I want my face to be the first thing you see every day.”