Accidentally Family

by Sasha Summers

  She poured a glass of wine and carried it and the baby monitor into the living room. Charity had given her a book “guaranteed to distract her,” but so far it had failed to deliver. With a sigh, she skimmed four pages, then slammed the book down. She stared at her phone, took several sips of wine, and gave in.

  The phone rang three times.

  “Felicity?” Graham. Graham’s voice.

  She could breathe. “Hi.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes. I wanted to hear your voice. “Everything is fine.”

  “I’m glad. I was going to call but didn’t know when would be a good time. How is Jack settling in?” he asked.

  “It’s been amazing, thanks to Nick.” She filled him in on the transformation of both boys. And it felt better, talking to him. “How’s Diana?”

  “She went to the party at the lake tonight. I’m hoping there is a party at the lake.”

  “There is. Nick went with some of his friends.” Hopefully he’d be nice to Di. They hadn’t talked about her or Graham since he’d blown up. And he’d said a lot of things that morning—some of which she was hoping were alcohol- and emotion-fueled, but she was too scared to find out.

  The last few days had been relatively calm. As nice as it was, something had been missing. Not something—someone. Graham. And Diana.

  “With any luck, she’ll have a good time and stay out of trouble.”

  “Things better?” she asked, hoping so.

  “I think so.” He chuckled. “But I don’t always know what’s going on in her head.”

  It was easy to imagine his smile. But imagining Graham made it impossible to ignore how much she missed him. She opened her eyes, staring around the house. Honor was out with Owen. Jack was asleep. And she wanted him here, now. She wanted to have this conversation with his arms around her. She wanted to bury her nose against his chest—

  “How’s Charity?” he asked.

  She shook her head. How much time had she spent thinking about him over the last five days? Little things like making coffee—he liked it black. Or petting Pecan—she still needed to replace his phone. And lying on her bed—aching. The ache was always there. Like now.

  “Felicity?”

  I’m here. Mentally torturing myself. And aching. “What?”

  “Is Charity feeling better? Dr. Luna said she was pretty shaken when she saw her in the ER.”

  “Yes, she is. As scared as she was, I think the UTI made her realize she wanted this baby.” She shook her head, smiling. “She still believes she’s missing the parenting gene, but I’m hoping she’ll get over that as her pregnancy progresses.”

  “And you?” He paused. “How are you?”

  I miss you. “Fine. A little tired.” Partly because I’m lying in bed thinking about you instead of sleeping. But sharing any of that with him would only complicate things. “The whole toddler sleep schedule is taking some getting used to.”

  “I don’t envy you.” He chuckled. Oh, how she adored the sound.

  “And you? What are you up to? Home alone?” she asked.

  “I’m good.”

  “Then why are you home?” She paused, finishing off her wine. “I might be chained to a toddler, but you are not. You should go out. Turn off whatever sad documentary you’re watching and go have fun.”

  “How do you know I’m watching a documentary?”

  “I’m hanging up.” She laughed. “You’re going out.”

  “Felicity… It was good to hear your voice.” His tone was deeper, gruffer, and her insides turned molten. And his words had her grinning like an idiot.

  “You, too,” she whispered. Too good. Enough with phone calls or daydreaming. “Bye, Graham.” She hung up and headed straight into the kitchen to refill her glass. She wasn’t going to think about Graham going out and having a good time. It’s not that she didn’t want that for him—she did. At the same time, she didn’t. Widow Rainey might have mentioned something about Graham and pretty Miss Takahashi to Charity when she’d stopped by the travel agency. According to her sister, the old woman was convinced the two of them would click. And she and the widows were developing a plan to get them together.

  Felicity had been careful to act like it wasn’t a big deal, especially since Charity had been watching her like a hawk. But it sort of was a big deal. Did she want Graham clicking with someone else?

  What is wrong with me? I’m a terrible, selfish person.

  A terrible, selfish person who was going to turn off all thoughts of her kids, Graham…everything. Wine, a bubble bath, some music—she could relax. It had been a while, but she was going to give it a try.

  Right.

  It took twenty minutes to locate her stress-relieving bath bomb and another ten minutes for her rarely used oversize claw-foot tub to fill. While the water was rising, she plugged in Jack’s baby monitor and put on a playlist with soothing natural sounds like waterfalls, birdcalls, and other ambient noise.

  Relaxing. She twisted her hair up and clipped it on the top of her head, stripped, and slipped into the hot water and eucalyptus-scented bubbles with a sigh. Relaxing.

  “I can do this.” She rested her head and took a sip of her wine.

  Her mind wasn’t cooperating. “No worrying about Nick or Diana at the lake. Or thinking about what Honor and Owen might be up to. Or if Graham is calling Miss Takahashi. Just bubbles and waterfalls. Relaxing.” Saying the words out loud helped. For about five minutes. Then images of Nick drinking, Honor and Owen—not going there—and Graham dancing with Miss Takahashi popped up to derail her plans.

  I’m relaxing.

  She closed her eyes and focused on the calming sounds of the rain forest—then the doorbell rang. “Oh no.” She stood, grabbing a towel and running for the door—dripping water as she went. Please don’t ring it again. Please. Towel wrapped tightly around her, she ran down the stairs—nearly slipping—and across the foyer. She peeked through the peephole.

  “Graham?” This is bad. Worse because she’d said his name loud enough for him to hear her.

  “Felicity?” He spoke through the door. “I’m sorry for ringing the doorbell. I forgot about Jack.”

  “It’s okay.” He had a bouquet of flowers. “This isn’t what I had in mind when I told you to go out and do something.”

  He brought her flowers. She was in a towel. And she ached for him.

  This is so bad.

  “I did go out. But once I was in the car, I headed this way.” He paused. “I can’t come in?”

  “Oh, sure.” Because having a conversation through a door was weird. “I wasn’t expecting company,” she said, unlocking the door and pulling it—slowly—open.

  His head-to-toe inspection did nothing to soothe her nerves. The way his dark hair fell forward onto his forehead—hard not to reach out and smooth it into place. But touching him would be bad.

  He smiled, the corners of his warm brown eyes creasing nicely. “I’m interrupting. Bubble bath?” he asked, his gaze lingering on her shoulder.

  She wiped the bubbles from her skin. “I was trying to relax. Everyone is out and I’m not good at occupying myself, either.”

  “I can recommend a couple of documentaries.”

  She laughed, tugging her towel up and shaking her head. “Maybe for insomnia?” She cleared her throat, her gaze getting tangled up in his. Dripping water and towel aside, she was so happy he was here.

  “Trouble sleeping?” He went from adorable Graham to Dr. Murphy in a matter of seconds. Which made him even more adorable.

  She shook her head.

  Eyebrow cocked, he studied her expression. “I’ll send you a list.” He smiled.

  “Normally, I bake, but Charity asked me not to tempt her anymore.” She stepped back. “Coming in?”

  He hesitated, his gaz
e returning to her bare shoulders. “No. I don’t think so.” He blew out a slow breath and held out the bouquet of daisies, sunflowers, and roses. “I may have made a stop along the way.”

  “Graham…” She took the flowers. “You can come in. I mean, you came all this way.” And it made her happy. He made her happy.

  “I missed you.” His gaze met hers.

  Ridiculously happy. So happy that she really wanted to grab his arm and tug him inside. Or at the very least admit the truth, even if her voice wobbled. “I miss you.”

  But admitting that didn’t change how her son felt.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nick.” She bit her lower lip, scrambling for a way to say what she needed to say.

  “Everything okay?” He came inside and carefully shut the door. “What happened?”

  Words clogged her throat. Some she wanted to say, some she didn’t.

  “Felicity?” he asked. “Hey, you can talk to me.”

  She could. He would listen—be there for her. She placed the flowers on the foyer table and wrapped her arms around him. An odd, muffled choke-groan caught in his throat before his hands landed on her shoulders. “Is this a good idea?” he murmured gruffly.

  No. Not at all. “Hugging?” she asked, knowing good and well what he was asking.

  “What’s wrong with Nick?” His arms slid around her, loose.

  “He was really upset.” She swallowed.

  “I know.” He sighed. “Did you talk to him?”

  “I did.” Better to rip off the Band-Aid. Still, she tightened her arms around him. If she told him about Nick’s ultimatum, he’d leave. That was who Graham was. He’d never do anything to threaten her family—the relationship she cherished with her children.

  Just as she cherished her relationship with Graham. She cared about him, deeply.

  That’s why, right or wrong, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him what Nick said. “It didn’t go well.”

  He bent his head, his breath warm against her shoulder. “What can I do?”

  She shook her head, too distracted by the brush of his breath on her skin. It started out as hugging, but now that he was this close, she wanted more. Like turning into his chest, burrowing against him, and breathing in his scent. Much better.

  Stay. It was selfish but true. She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted to stay right here in his arms.

  His gaze traveled slowly over her face. Beneath her hand, his heart beat like crazy. Like hers. He cleared his throat. “I should go.”

  He should. That would be the responsible thing to do. And they were both responsible adults. But, just once, she wanted to do what she wanted to do.

  “Felicity?”

  “I’m thinking.” Her gaze settled on his mouth.

  “Thinking? About?”

  Honesty is the best policy. At least, that’s what she’d been told her whole life. “How nice it would be…if you stayed.” She held her breath.

  His nostrils flared, the tic in his jaw muscle a clue that he was fighting for control. “You’d regret it.”

  She shook her head. “No. No, I wouldn’t.”

  He pressed his eyes shut. “You’re standing in a towel, asking me to stay. And, believe me, I want to.” When he looked at her, those brown eyes were blazing. “But tomorrow—”

  “If you leave, I’ll spend the rest of the night aching for you, like I have been every night for…too long. I try not to. I bake or take bubble baths or rearrange my kitchen cabinets—anything.” Stop. Stop talking. The words kept coming. “But then I remember your touch. How it feels to be in your arms.” She swallowed. “The taste of your mouth. And I know what I want. More than anything. You.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  How the hell was he supposed to leave now?

  He was what she wanted. He was what she ached for.

  She’d laid it out there—honest and fearless. Now she was waiting on him. All the logical reasons he’d stopped himself, again and again, from calling or dropping by were impossible to remember.

  He smoothed the auburn curls slipping from the knot on her head, silky-soft, wrapping around his finger. Her lashes fluttered against her cheek as he slid the clip from her hair, running his fingers through the mass of curls.

  She leaned in to his touch, her emerald green eyes locking with his. “Stay,” she whispered.

  His hand drifted on its own, tangling in her hair and pulling her against him. “I’m not going anywhere.” Her lips parted beneath his, welcoming him, hungry for him. There was no way he could deny her. His tongue dipped inside, tracing the velvety softness of her mouth.

  Her soft moan ended any hope of sanity returning. She, this, consumed him. One minute they were standing in the middle of the foyer, the next, he had her pressed against the front door. The kiss went on, deepened, and caught fire.

  She broke free long enough to tug his shirt loose, her fingers flying down the buttons and pushing the fabric aside. His shirt was gone. Nothing felt better than her touch—except the light kisses she pressed against his throat. While he was bowled over by sensation, she managed to grab his belt and began leading him to the stairs.

  But once they reached the steps, her towel slipped to her waist. Her breasts shook in time with her ragged breath. Cheeks flushed. Lips parted. Auburn hair mussed around her shoulders. And those blazing green eyes. He couldn’t look away. Or breathe.

  “Felicity,” he whispered, his hand smoothing the hair from her shoulder. “You are beautiful.”

  She shook her head, her hair falling forward as she tugged her towel back up.

  He leaned closer, grasping her face. “You are.” He waited, wanting her to hear him.

  A long, slow breath slipped from her lips, and her gaze focused. The doubt there was a kick to the gut. She didn’t know? Didn’t believe him? Matt had no idea what he’d done to her.

  But she was looking at him now, a small smile on her face. “Thank you.” Her hands slid up his arms and around his neck, crushing her breasts against his chest.

  “Dammit,” he hissed, sliding his hands up her bare back. “You feel good.”

  Her fingers twined in his hair and pulled his head down so she could kiss him. Between the cling of her lips and the brush of her nipples on his skin, how they got to her bedroom was a mystery. There was a lot of bumping into furniture and bouncing off walls before he wound up sitting on the edge of her mattress kissing her as she stood between his legs. He couldn’t get enough.

  He kissed his way across her clavicle, his hand sliding up slowly to cradle her breast. She arched into his hand, her fingers raking through his hair. He took his time, stroking the satin roundness and nuzzling the tight nipple before drawing the tip into his mouth.

  She moaned, her grip on his hair tightening.

  Tongue and lips, the spare rasp of his teeth, he loved her breast until her breathing grew uneven and wavering. When she climbed onto his lap, her towel fell to the floor. Now she sat, straddling him, and there was no way she could miss just how much he wanted this—wanted her.

  He stood, lifting her to roll her onto her back. She gasped as she landed on the mattress, staring up at him, the fire in her passion-glazed eyes mesmerizing. She smiled, her eyelids fluttering as she arched against him.

  “Felicity,” he ground out.

  Her hands slid down his side, gripping his hips and holding him still as she rocked against him. This time, he arched forward, grinding them together. Her broken moan was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard.

  She reached between them, fumbling with his pants. But her fingers were shaking, and she ended up giving up with a giggle.

  He smiled, holding her gaze as he unfastened his pants. “One second.” He stood, stepping out of his pants and boxers. With an impatient sweep of her arm, she sent the pillows flying. She pushed hi
m flat on his back, and then she was climbing on top of him.

  He ran his hands over her, exploring every dip and curve. The feel of her, skin on skin, stopped him from saying anything else. This was an intimacy he’d forgotten. A shared silence. A soft touch. Tender and sweet. Real and deep. She was all those things. And his hands were driving her mad. He watched every quiver, soaked up every whimper, and ached to be inside her.

  He wasn’t prepared. “I don’t have…anything.”

  “Anything?” she murmured, distracted by his hold on her breast.

  “Condoms.” He cleared his throat, lifting his hand. “Protection.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes flew to his. “Right.” She blinked. “Do we… I mean, I’ve only slept with Matt.” She shrugged. “And, you know, I can’t have any more kids. Unless you need to wear…something?”

  “No. I’m clean.” He was still stuck on the fact that she’d only slept with Matt. Before Julia, he’d had several girlfriends. After, well, there’d been no interest.

  Her smile was back as she bent forward to kiss him—with enthusiasm.

  But the kiss grew fierce. He rolled over her, loving the way her fingers tugged his hair, loving the way her leg wrapped around his hip. Nothing prepared him for the feel of her body hot and tight around him. The slow, broken sigh that spilled from her lips when he slid deep rocked him to the core.

  She moaned, staring up at him—stunned and lost.

  He felt it, too. Lost. And found.

  But her legs wrapped around him and her fingers, tangled in his hair, tugged him close until their lips sealed together. Gripping her hips, he thrust into her, a groan tearing from his throat.

  She moved without restraint or inhibition. It was incredible to watch. So incredible that he knew he wouldn’t last long. But, dammit, he would make her happy first. He concentrated on breathing—on her—anything but the dangerous tightening inside. Thrusting and withdrawing, teasing her until she was breathless and grinding against him. But the second she tore her mouth from his and her cries rang out, he let go—thrusting into her as his climax slammed into him.

  He gasped for air, and she was smiling and beautiful and reaching up to smooth the hair from his forehead.