by Devney Perry
I was becoming a father.
Christ. What had I gotten myself into? It would be easy to blame it on the champagne. I didn’t drink often, certainly not like I had at the wedding. But it hadn’t been a drunken haze. It had been Aria.
Sitting on my counter in that stunning green dress, her feet bare, she’d rendered me helpless. One kiss and I’d been lost.
Lost in her mouth, her hands, her taste. Four months later and I couldn’t get that night out of my head. Her body, sleek and tight, had been a dream. Moving inside her, hovering above her, had been the best sex of my life.
“Don’t,” I told myself. It had been a constant reminder over the past couple months.
Sex could not, would not, enter into this arrangement. Aria and I had a tumultuous relationship at best. Somehow, we had to forge a truce. A friendship would be ideal, but I’d settle for civility.
I just wanted my kid to know me. That was it. Simple. I didn’t need love and adoration. I just wanted knowledge.
Liar. I couldn’t even fool myself.
I wanted love. I wanted my son or daughter to think I was the best man in the world. There was no way I’d pull it off. But that wouldn’t stop me from trying. How was I supposed to be a good father? There hadn’t been a kind and gentle male influence in my life. What did I know about raising a child?
I breathed and swallowed the fears. The insecurities would attack later. Probably for the rest of my life.
Down the driveway, something flickered. I stood straighter, leaning closer to the glass as a white and orange truck emerged. My heart leapt into my throat as I rushed from the window, jogging for the front door. I flung it open and hurried outside, joining Clara in the driveway. August was racing down the concrete, his arms waving as he screeched, “Aunt Aria!”
She honked, the noise more of a muted bark than a blare. Her smile beamed from behind the wheel as she eased the truck to a stop with an ear-splitting squeal of its brakes.
“That is the truck she rented?”
“Shut it.” Clara elbowed me in the ribs, then rushed for the driver’s side door as Aria shoved it open.
Her feet had barely hit the ground before Clara had her in a hug. The two of them held on to one another as August crashed into their sides.
And I stood back, watching.
I wanted to be in that hug. I wanted to be included. Where had that longing come from? It niggled but I shoved it away. When had I turned into such a damn sap? Carmichaels didn’t hug.
Aria let Clara go and turned my way. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I cleared my throat. “You’re late.”
The woman had the gall to laugh. Then she slammed the door shut on the U-Haul and moseyed my way. Her dark hair was lighter than it had been at Christmas. She’d added streaks of a dark blond that highlighted the flecks of gold in her eyes. The dark circles under her eyes were gone. The rosy color in her cheeks matched the pink pout of her mouth.
A surge of lust shot straight to my groin. Fuck. This was not the time.
“Be grumpy later,” she said, patting my stomach as she marched past me for the house. “We have work to do.”
Clara pulled in her lips to hide a smile as she passed me, following her sister.
I looked to the blue sky and dragged in a deep breath. If they knew why I was grumpy, they’d have an entirely different reaction. Getting a grip on this attraction to Aria was taking more effort than I’d expected.
August raced past me, following his mother and aunt. “Come on, Brody!”
“Coming,” I muttered, taking a moment with my back turned to adjust my swelling cock. Then I turned and met them in the house.
Aria was looking around, surveying the space. “It’s bigger than I remember.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
She dropped her gaze and smiled. “I’m good. Much better. The morning sickness has pretty much disappeared now.”
“Good. Can I get you some water or juice or—”
“Here you are, sir.” Ron appeared, carrying a tray from the kitchen filled with glasses of ice and sparkling water, each with a lemon wedge on the rim.
“Thank you, Ron.” I took a glass, then handed one to both Aria and Clara. August received a juice box.
“Cheers.” Clara raised her glass. “To a new adventure.”
“Cheers.” Aria clinked glasses with her sister, then with mine before taking a long drink. If she felt uncomfortable about being here, it didn’t show. This was the woman who’d waltzed into a wedding full of strangers and held her chin high the entire time.
“The crew will be here in fifteen minutes,” Ron said.
“Excellent. I—”
“Crew. What crew?” Aria asked.
“The crew to unpack.”
“Oh, we don’t need a crew. I don’t have much. You can just cancel them.”
“But—” One pointed look from Clara and I cut myself off. Control. Aria needed control. It went against my nature, but I could let this one go. “All right. Cancel them, Ron.”
“Yes, sir.” He tucked his now-empty tray under an arm and disappeared.
“Let me show you around.” I gestured for them to follow me deeper into the house, toward the wing that would become Aria’s. “I don’t spend much time in these rooms. I stick to my office, bedroom and the gym, so I won’t bother you. You’ve got complete run of the place. Please make this your home.”
“I don’t need much space.”
She’d have it regardless.
We walked down a hallway that led toward the back of the house. Windows made up the exterior walls, as they did in the entire place. She’d have a view of the desert property that surrounded us on all sides.
This side of the house had five bedrooms. There was an office for her on the second floor as well as a sitting room with a fireplace. I escorted her to the largest bedroom first, opening the door to the room. Along one wall was a king-sized bed with a white canopy and ivory quilt. I’d had the gossamer draping added just last week.
The walls, once midnight blue, had been repainted a soft cream. The hardwood floors had been refinished and restained from the pale gray she’d objected to the night of the wedding. Their honey-colored grains emitted a warm glow in the space. The fawn and mushroom area rug beneath the bed was so plush that even I’d tried it beneath my bare feet—then I’d ordered one for my own bedroom.
At Christmas, we hadn’t broached the topic of where she’d live. That vacation had been awkward at best. Aria and Clara had invited me over for Christmas dinner, and the moment the meal had finished, I’d retreated to my office. The evening had been pleasant, but Aria had left me unsettled. Her stare from across the table had been unnerving, like she’d seen my fears about the pregnancy.
Like she’d seen the restraint it had taken to keep from touching her shiny hair and caressing her pretty skin.
Insecurity wasn’t in the Carmichael gene pool. At least, I hadn’t thought so until Aria and this baby had proved me wrong.
After Christmas, she’d returned to Oregon and I’d hired a designer to rework the bedrooms. They now had the light, bright and airy feel that I’d seen in her condo. The only things missing were the plants.
No doubt those were in the U-Haul.
“Um . . . this is not what I expected.” Aria blinked, her eyes wide as she stepped into the space. She had her own walk-in closet. An en suite bathroom. And a pair of french doors that opened to the pool outside.
“Brody had it redesigned,” Clara announced.
Aria looked all around the room, her eyes landing on me. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“It was no trouble. I want you to be comfortable. If you don’t like it, we can—”
“I love it.” She smiled, and if I’d thought the room was bright before, I’d been entirely mistaken. Her smile was luminescent.
A flutter rippled through my chest, odd and unfamiliar. Must be heartburn. “If you need anything at all, there’s a call system in each room
that rings directly to Ron.”
“I’m fairly self-sufficient,” she said.
“Just in case.” I nodded toward the door. “Let me show you the rest, then we’ll get the truck unloaded.”
The tour took another twenty minutes. We didn’t linger in the other bedrooms, one of which I’d earmarked for a nursery. Aria had instantly agreed since it was adjacent to hers. She’d taken one look at the gym and told me she wouldn’t be spending much time there. Then she claimed the theater room as her own.
“I’ll get changed,” I said. “Meet you outside.”
Aria and Clara were too busy picking out lounge chairs in front of the massive projector screen to notice when I disappeared to the opposite end of the house to change out of the navy slacks and starched white shirt I’d pulled on this morning.
When I went outside to find them, Clara met me on the sidewalk carrying a box. August trailed behind her, his arms wrapped tightly around a potted fern twice the size of his face.
Aria was in the back of the U-Haul, loosening a strap she’d used to secure boxes.
“This is it?” I counted twenty, maybe thirty boxes in total. They were all stacked to one side while the rest of the floor had plants. “What about furniture?”
“I made an agreement with my landlord to leave it furnished for a free month’s rent.” She shrugged, rolling the strap into a coil. “I didn’t think there’d be much point trying to load up furniture myself and haul it down here when I assumed you had everything here already.”
“That’s why you refused a moving company.”
She grinned, walking to the end of the box, towering over me. “The heaviest thing in here is a box of books. Those are marked and waiting just for you.”
“Here.” I held out my hands to help her down.
She grabbed them, jumping to the ground. Then she cocked her head to the side, looking me up and down.
“What?”
“You’re in jeans.”
I dropped my gaze to my dark-wash jeans and simple white thermal. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’ve just never seen you in anything but a suit.”
“You’ve seen me naked.”
“This is true.” Her cheeks flushed and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.
Why the hell had I brought up being naked? Now all I could picture was her flawless skin when I’d stripped her of that green gown.
Aria had perfect skin, smooth and supple. It had been like silk against my palms. Her hair had threaded through my fingers like strands of the finest satin.
I raised a hand, ready to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, then realized I’d almost touched her and froze.
Her gaze darted to my hand, stuck in midair.
An impulse. When it came to Aria, I seemed to have them constantly, like that kiss at the greenhouse. I’d never in my life kissed a woman so blindly. It hadn’t been sexual or foreplay. She’d made me so happy that I’d just . . . kissed her.
Maybe I’d kiss her again. The idea should have scared the hell out of me, enough to have me racing into the house and telling Ron he had book box duty. Instead, I inched closer.
Aria’s chin lifted so she could keep my gaze.
And the stray lock of hair was mine. One sweep around the shell of her ear and Aria’s breath hitched.
“Aunt Aria! I’m ready for another plant!”
She jerked.
I stepped away as August rounded the corner of the truck, his arms outstretched.
“Great. Good job.” She smiled at him and kept her gaze anywhere other than me. Then she found the smallest pot she could within reach and loaded it into her nephew’s grip.
I ran a hand over my beard and willed my body to cool. Get it together, Brody. What was wrong with me today?
Aria was off-limits. A hard no. Why couldn’t I seem to grasp that concept? Maybe because I didn’t like the word no, even when I issued it myself.
I put my head down and went to work unloading the truck. The sooner I got away from Aria, the better. She’d be busy unpacking today, and I could get some space. Yes, she was beautiful. Yes, she smelled like a dream.
But she was carrying my child.
That was where this relationship had to end.
It only took an hour to empty the moving truck. While Aria, Clara and August went to return it to the local drop-off, I locked myself in my office, where I spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening.
This was the only way it would work. Aria had her half of the house. I had mine. Not wanting to risk an encounter, I had Ron deliver dinner to my desk. Not that it mattered. He informed me that Aria had gone to Clara’s.
When night fell and darkness came, I finally ventured out of my office at close to midnight for some fresh air. I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, then slipped outside. The light from Aria’s bedroom was off. The blue glow from the pool lit up the patio.
I padded, barefoot, to one of the chairs, hoping to spend a quiet moment looking at the stars. But that plan went to hell with a splash of water.
“Do you always work so late on a Saturday?” Aria was seated at the edge of the pool. She’d rolled up her own jeans to her knees. Her feet and calves dangled in the warm water.
“I didn’t see you.”
“Obviously.” She laughed. “Are you done avoiding me?”
“I wasn’t—” Shit. “Yes.”
She patted the concrete space at her side. “I won’t bite.”
I opened my mouth to correct her, because she most definitely did bite. I’d had the mark to prove it for two days after the wedding. But I caught myself and blocked out all memories of that night.
“Brody. Sit down.”
I unglued my feet and crossed to the pool, bending to cuff my own jeans before putting my feet in the water beside hers.
Aria kicked her legs and wiggled her toes, then leaned back, using her arms as a brace, as she looked up at the sky.
Diamonds studded the endless night. The white haze of the Milky Way threaded through the stars’ glowing beams.
“I used to climb on top of the delivery van at the junkyard and look up at the stars. It’s better than TV, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do.” I leaned back too, taking my first deep breath. “What kind of delivery van?”
“It wasn’t entirely different than the one I drove down here, though the one at the junkyard hadn’t worked in years. It had gotten into an accident. The front end was all smashed and crumpled. But the box had a fairly solid floor. There were a few jagged tears and holes from the accident, but we found some plastic to cover them up. It let the sunshine in and kept the rain out. And the rodents.”
I grimaced. It physically pained me to think of Aria and Clara living with mice and rats. When I’d been fifteen, I’d lived at a private school in New Hampshire. My biggest fear hadn’t been vermin or scrounging up enough money to buy a loaf of bread. I’d concerned myself with more trivial matters, like teenaged girls and acne.
“I don’t like that you had to go through that.”
“Me neither,” she admitted. “But it wasn’t that bad. I learned how to grow plants there. Clara made us these little bedrolls and shelves out of yellowed and torn books she bought for a dime at the thrift store. It became home.”
And now my home was her home. “Thank you, Aria.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it deserves to be said more than once.”
“You’re welcome.” She pressed a hand to her belly. The gray sweater she was wearing was loose and had been draped over her midsection earlier. But now that she was leaning back, I could see the faintest swell to her belly.
That was my baby in there. Mine.
“Think we’ll survive this?” she asked. “Living together. Having a baby.”
I took in her profile, studying the tip of her nose and the pout of her lips. Yeah, we’d survive it. If I could find a way to keep from sc
rewing it up. Namely, by dragging her back to my bed.
Survive it?
“I hope so.”
Chapter Ten
Aria
Welcome Floral.
The letters etched in gold on the door’s glass panel smiled at me as Brody twisted the key in the lock and we stepped inside. Above our heads, a bronze bell shaped like a lily of the valley bloom dinged.
“First impression?” Brody asked quietly.
“Not bad, Carmichael. Not bad.”
The air, infused with a clean floral fragrance, wrapped me in a warm hug as the door closed behind us. The humid air plumped my dry skin. The greenery and bright colors were like taking in a long-lost friend.
I’d bought this place.
Welcome Floral.
This was mine. Or would be one day after a string of payments to Brody.
“You really like it?” he asked at my side. There was a wary look on his face, like he was scared I’d hate it and call this entire thing off.
But I wasn’t a quitter.
And Welcome Floral was my dream come true.
“It’s charming.”
The garden gnomes beside a large potted hosta had smiles and pink cheeks. One winked at me. Another showed me his butt cheeks. The glass display case was filled with arrangements and bouquets. I preferred clean, tight bundles to wild sprays and billowing greens, but while they weren’t exactly my style, they were tasteful and bright and balanced.
An old window with foggy glass panes and a chipped frame hung above the display table to my right. A rusty bicycle dangled above the table to my left. Tin cans surrounded table legs. An antique chair held a bouquet of peach roses. The walkways were narrow and curved, forming a maze through the shop.
Shabby chic. That was the only way to describe the eclectic style. It was cute. Maybe a little cluttered, but as I’d told Brody, charming.
He checked his watch. “Marty should be here any minute.”
“Okay.” My nerves spiked.
Marty was the manager here. He’d worked for the previous owners for years, and during the negotiations, they’d asked Brody to keep him on.