by Laurel Greer
Her advisor nodded thoughtfully. “Good to have some flag wavers in your cheering section. Just make sure the changes you’re making are going to benefit you, as well as the research. You don’t want to burn out. Or take on too much and have to quit.”
“What happened to publish or perish?”
“That’s true, too.” The other woman’s resigned smile did nothing to convince Marisol she’d picked a sensible career path. “You really have to love the research, as well as your field of study.”
“I do. Ever since I was a kid, I loved to figure out what made people tick. And then when I took a senior-level psych class focusing on dogs, well, I was a goner.” She’d needed something to throw herself into—it may have been a year after her miscarriage and divorce, but she’d still been grieving. And she hadn’t been willing to occupy her time with a relationship. She’d been too busy paying off her ex’s debts to even casually date.
“Well, I look forward to seeing what you do with this. I’ll see you next week, and you can show me a more fleshed-out draft.”
Marisol nodded and gathered her things. It was time to get home and thank Lachlan for encouraging her not to put limits on herself.
Say, like I’m limiting things with him?
The question followed her back to Sutter Creek. But taking risks in academia and repeating mistakes from her past couldn’t be compared. And comparing Lachlan and my ex is starting to feel all kinds of wrong.
He’d be excited about her news, not solely concerned about his own career like her ex had been. She drove past her own apartment, continuing on to the clinic where Lachlan was running his bi-weekly Friday-evening puppy-behavior classes. She wanted to see him. To say thanks. But also to see if her heart skipped when she saw him.
A skipping heart doesn’t guarantee longevity, idiot.
When she pulled up, Maggie was out front watering the flowers. She still wore her scrubs. Fudge was sacked out on the sidewalk nearby. Such a lazybones for a pointer. But Marisol had seen Lachlan putting the dog through her paces, and had been damned impressed. Both by the dog and her handler. Fudge was just efficient, conserving effort wherever possible.
Marisol yawned. She’d probably do well following the dog’s lead when it came to energy austerity. The deeper they got into summer, the more she felt like a sloth.
She parked and hoisted herself from the driver’s seat. The dog’s head perked up, and she bounded to her feet and came over for a scratch.
“That looked difficult,” Maggie commented.
“What, petting the dog?”
“No, getting out of your car.” For once, Lachlan’s sister’s teasing was affectionate.
With a conceding laugh, Marisol motioned to the hose. “Want me to finish up so you can get out of here? I came to see Lach, and he still has fifteen minutes left in his class, right?”
“He does.” Reluctant appreciation crossed Maggie’s face, and she passed over the nozzle. “I’m going to take you up on that. I haven’t eaten in ten hours.”
“I need a bite to eat, too. If you don’t mind waiting for Lach, want to get pizza and take it back to my place?”
“I—” Maggie crossed her arms, losing a fraction of the stiffness that had marked her posture since the moment she’d opened the door the first day Marisol came to the clinic. “That would be really nice.”
“I shouldn’t assume he’ll want to come, I guess.”
“Are you kidding? Of course he will.”
Marisol gave Fudge a drink from the hose before turning the stream on the petunias. No doubt Maggie was right. And she knew full well she was projecting her own hesitance on to Lachlan.
“Seriously, what else does he have to do?” Maggie said. “To prove to you he wants to be with you?”
Okay, so Maggie saw the projection, too. Or at least the hesitance.
“He—” Marisol swallowed, unsure of how to admit the truth. There wasn’t anything Lachlan had to do. He’d checked off a whole lot of boxes—taking her on dates, making sure she was comfortable, giving her space, rescuing her from the side of the road. And the fact she couldn’t bring herself to believe he’d keep doing it...
That was on her, not him.
“Nothing,” she whispered.
“What do you mean, nothing?” Maggie’s eyes flashed. “How can there be nothing? It’s not a case of you not being into him. The two of you look like Fudge when the treat jar’s up on a high shelf. Drool included.”
“Maggie.” Had she been sitting, she’d have brought her knees to her chest, a physical wall between herself and Maggie’s overly correct observation. Yeah, right. As if I could pull my knees anywhere close to my body at this point. She settled for crossing her arms. “Full honesty—your brother is incredible. He’s a narwhal.”
Maggie drew back as if Marisol’s sanity were in question.
Hell, maybe it was.
“A narwhal? What are you talking about?” Maggie asked.
“Just as magical as a unicorn, but 100 percent more real.”
Maggie’s expression darkened. “Come on, Marisol, you’re an academic. There’s no such thing as magic, not in a relationship.”
Hearing her own cynicism coming from someone else hit a raw spot at her core.
It’s not cynicism. It’s self-protection. And necessary.
She forced a smile. “Well, no matter what, understand that I see his value. And his innate goodness.”
With a nod, Maggie made it clear she wanted a subject change. “I’ll head home and shower, and will meet you at your place in a half an hour. Get Lach to text me if you decide on something different.”
Marisol waved a goodbye, then spent a few minutes finishing up the watering. She was winding the hose around the spool bolted to the side of the building, intermittently tossing Fudge’s tennis ball, when the members of Lachlan’s class passed by. The puppies bounced on their leashes, trying to say hello to Fudge, who tolerated the attention with the pointer equivalent of an eye roll. Marisol bent to greet a particularly adorable King Charles spaniel, and regretted the motion. Standing from a squat was not the fluid movement it had been in the spring.
A hand extended down to her, and she glanced up at Lachlan’s amused face. Silently taking the offered lift, she stood. It would be so easy to keep her hand in his. Would feel so right. The urge struck never to let go.
A jolt of fear followed.
She broke their grip, and disappointment flickered in his eyes.
“Didn’t expect my two favorite ladies to be waiting for me,” he said.
God, he looked edible. His hair was mussed, and what looked like a muddy paw print marked one of the legs of his khaki shorts. And his chest was a thing of wonders, broad under his navy polo shirt.
She really missed touching that chest.
“I—” I wanted to see your face? To apologize for being romantically stunted? Yeah, no. “My advisor liked the new direction for my dissertation. It’s going to be under the wire to polish everything in time to present my prospectus to the committee, but I’m excited to try.”
“That’s great, sunshine.”
“And Maggie’s going to meet us for pizza at my place in fifteen minutes.”
His smile grew wider.
“It won’t take that long to get home. Want to show me this barn you’re renovating?”
And there went his smile.
She cocked her head. “No?”
“Not today.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Let’s head to yours. I’m starving.”
* * *
A few hours later, Maggie had come and gone, having expressed teasing thanks for being a vegetarian because it meant not having to eat the pineapple on the Hawaiian pizza Marisol insisted on ordering. They’d found common ground with the artichoke, olive and goat cheese special, though, and had ganged up on Lachla
n when he’d complained that it needed sausage. Marisol had enjoyed the evening and was glad to have had time getting to know Maggie, but it was easier to relax with just Lachlan. After a long week at school, she needed the time to wind down.
“Dinner was nice,” she said to Lach, who was stretched out on one end of the couch with his feet up on the coffee table and fingers linked over his flat abs.
“Yeah, Maggie’s warming up to this.”
The couch was small enough that when he reached over, his knuckles brushed her belly, sending a wave of longing through her.
It’s just sex. I’ve always been attracted to him.
He turned his hand over on her stomach and drew a slow circle with his palm.
Heat fisted between her thighs, a reminder it had been over seven months since anyone other than she had touched her anywhere intimate for pleasure’s sake. Not the longest of dry spells, but she was feeling it more than she had even when she’d gone years between relationships. Maybe it was the proximity to Lachlan. Maybe it was biology. Between being meticulous about nutrition and monitoring exercise and enduring pelvic exams, pregnancy was doing its best to convince Marisol her body was for medical science only.
Well, she was not a host, damn it. And Lach had been the last man to settle his hands on her, to caress her to the brink.
To send her over.
He could do it again.
Not that he’d want to—she wasn’t exactly feeling her most attractive.
He’d cherish me.
Impossible to avoid the truth of that.
She’d caught Lachlan’s glances, appreciation and curiosity and downright hunger. It flashed on his face now, as if he was struggling to suppress it.
She was scrambling for something to say when the baby kicked. Right against his palm, hard enough he couldn’t have missed it.
Wonder overrode the desire in his expression.
She grinned. “Felt that one?”
“I cannot get over how awesome that is.”
Her heart bloomed. Sharing moments like this—she was starting to crave them, depend on them.
But it wouldn’t happen often, not if they were living apart and coparenting. It would be a lifetime of phone calls and drop-offs and only catching half of their kid’s life.
That didn’t sound like protecting herself. It sounded miserable. Why would she be okay with missing out on so much? With both the baby and with Lachlan?
Because I’m afraid to take a risk.
Oh, man. Did she really want to let her past have that much control over her future? She didn’t know how much she could change her thoughts and feelings. But to get to share Lachlan’s joy more often—it might be worth trying.
She shifted closer, turning on the couch and crossing her legs. Taking his hands, she put one on each side of her belly. “She should move again soon.”
“Are you hoping for a girl?”
“No. I just like it better than ‘it.’”
“Me, too.” His hands pressed a little harder and he trained his eyes on hers, all the seriousness in the world written in his rich brown gaze. “We never did ask Caleb about the sex. Maybe we could get him to tell us at the next appointment. I’d love to know what color to paint the bedroom. Bedrooms, I mean.”
Two bedrooms.
That didn’t sit right, not anymore. They could made things work as coparents, she had no doubt. But maybe...
“I want to try, Lach,” she blurted.
“Try...to find out if we’re having a girl or a boy?”
She couldn’t blame him for his confusion. It was admittedly an about-face.
Putting her hand to his cheek, she shook her head. Her pulse picked up, hammering at her throat and in her ears. “No, try being together.”
His lips parted, and his pupils swallowed his irises.
But he didn’t respond.
Oh. Oh, no. She’d waited too long, misinterpreted his feelings... She tried to pull her hand from his face, but he trapped it there with his fingers.
“Don’t withdraw, Marisol. But for Christ’s sake, give me a second.”
She swallowed the lump of panic forming in her throat. “Did I read you wrong? I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“It is. I want to be with you. Hell, I plain want you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “But it’s a big pivot for you. I don’t want to take the next step unless you’re sure. We both know there’s more on the line than our feelings.”
Doubt squeezed her chest. “You don’t think it’s worth trying? If it doesn’t work—I’m sure we could be grown up about it. Put aside any personal differences for the sake of the baby.”
“That’s a lot of ifs. You were scared of the ifs.”
“I know. But I think that’s the best I can do right now. I want to believe we can make it.” She lifted their linked hands and kissed the knuckle of his thumb. “But I’ve been conditioned not to believe I can do this. Not to be able to trust.”
“I—”
She held up a palm, saving him from having to defend himself. “I objectively know you’re trustworthy, Lachlan. It’s convincing my animal brain of the same.”
He raised an eyebrow, and a hint of a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. “So you need to train yourself to be part of a pack again? Because I have some expertise there.”
“Oh, good grief.” She swatted his forearm. “We’re not dogs.”
“I’m just teasing.” He full-on grinned. “Okay, so set out the training ground rules—”
“Lach!”
He laughed, a hearty vibration that shook free all her excess tension. “Tell me what you need, Marisol. What you want, and what you don’t want.”
Sweet Mary, did he know how hot it was to have it all laid out like that? Desire pulsed at her core, intense and knotted in an unfamiliar way. It appeared her hormones were good for something other than making her weepy.
She brought his hand to her lips again and gently bit the tip of his thumb. “I’m all for being clear on our relationship dynamic. But I’m having a hard time thinking at all right now.”
“Yeah?”
The low rasp teased her core and she nodded, squirming against the couch.
The soft cushion was a pathetic substitute for his body. She knew how good he felt. They’d done this before.
But you weren’t eighteen zillion months pregnant at the time.
He slid a hand down her hip and cupped her rear. “So what are you thinking of?”
“You.”
“Me, too. Specifically, you climbing into my lap. Enjoying me instead of whatever’s putting that little smile on your face.”
Cocking a grin, she said, “When you put it that way...”
“Come here, sunshine. I feel like I haven’t held you for years.”
She rose on her knees and straddled him as gracefully as she could. “You kissed me less than a week ago.”
“Remind me.”
Her round belly bumped his flat one. Who cared? The friction between them brought any overthinking to a screeching halt. God bless whoever had invented leggings. Every hard inch of him tantalized her sex, making promises she knew damn well he could keep.
“I want you to kiss me again,” she said. “But this time, I don’t want you to stop.”
Chapter Ten
Lachlan wanted nothing more than to please her. Preferably for the rest of their lives, but he’d start with tonight. She wiggled in his lap, feminine heat against his erection. Four too many layers of fabric lay between them, reducing the delicious friction. He let a groan rumble out, and tilted his hips. He splayed his hands into her hair and ran a thumb on her lower lip. “Not stopping... Little easier to do on a couch than pressed up against your car.”
“Come now.” She nipped the end of his thumb, sending a thrill through
his body. “Making out on the side of the road was hot. Admit it.”
“Never any doubt there. But this is even better.” He kissed her. Slow and needy. The last time they’d had sex, they’d been in a haze of passion. On the clock, pressed to cram as many seconds in as possible before she had to head back to Vancouver. Now, who knew how long he’d have to kiss her? To savor her honey taste and enjoy her curves under his palms.
Hell, worship her curves. He full-on intended to prolong this, for as much time as he could. Both pleasure tonight and some sort of commitment going forward.
But was it right to sink into that pleasure without figuring out the latter?
He pulled back, tracing a gentle line along the collar of her short-sleeved, checked shirt. The long hem dipped below her hips, and he teased it up a little. Every aroused cell in his body protested at the easy pace. She matters too much to rush. Take it slow. “You really want to make a go of this, sunshine?”
She tugged her lower lip between her teeth, and one of her eyebrows crinkled. “You don’t?”
“I do. Very much. I just—” I don’t want to end up with my heart broken “—trust is a deal breaker for me. It has to be at the center of a relationship.”
Both her palms landed on his chest, and she stared at the diamond shape formed by her thumbs. “I want to trust you.”
Her mouth pressed into a line, tense at the corners.
And he’d kiss her until she relaxed, the minute he was able to convince himself that “want to trust you” was enough of a guarantee.
But the tension fell into sadness before he could get his thoughts in order.
“You’re right, I’m being unreasonable,” she said.
“Hey,” he said, tipping up her chin with a finger and brushing his lips against hers. “I think you’re attributing something I didn’t say to me. I don’t think you’re being unreasonable.”