Kitabı oku: «The Baby He Wanted»

CHAPTER ONE

COMPANY OF ANY kind wasn’t on Bran Murphy’s mind when he walked into the tavern. His plan was to find a stool at the bar well away from anyone else.

But there she was, sitting alone, with hair the color of dark honey laced with sunbeams flowing in waves down her back.

He let his gaze pause on her only briefly before he scanned the entire room. As with most cops, looking for trouble had become automatic. He didn’t spot any tonight. A local country band played a ballad and three couples shuffled on the small dance floor. A crowd hooted and called good-natured insults around the pool tables. People seemed to be having a good time.

He locked onto her.

She’d chosen to sit at one end of the bar, six stools separating her from the closest patron, a man hunched morosely over his drink. Completely still, she looked even more alone than the physical distance suggested. Her head was bent and she seemed to be gazing into her drink as if the glass held tea leaves that would reveal arcane secrets.

Nothing about her suggested that she sought companionship. Giving in to impulse for the second time tonight, Bran took the stool only one away from hers anyway.

She glanced his way, giving him a glimpse of a perfect oval face and gray-green eyes filled with grief or anger, he couldn’t be sure. Then she went back to pondering the mixed drink she hadn’t touched.

“Are you all right?” he asked, even though he hadn’t walked in here with any intention of being sociable, either. In fact, he didn’t know why he was here. He should have stopped at the store for a bottle of whiskey or a couple of six-packs of dark beer and gotten stinking drunk in the privacy of his apartment. But the first impulse of the evening, a sudden one, had made him turn into the tavern parking lot instead.

Hell, maybe this was smarter. He wouldn’t let himself get so drunk he couldn’t drive home, which meant he wouldn’t feel quite so shitty come morning.

On his wedding day.

“I’m not sick, if that’s what you mean,” the blonde said, softly enough he had to lean toward her to hear.

Bran signaled the bartender, ordering a pitcher instead of the whiskey he’d intended.

Looked like he had something in common with the blonde. Sure as hell, neither of them was here to celebrate.

He nodded his thanks for the pitcher and poured himself a glass, then took a swallow.

“You want to talk about it?”

She gave that some thought before answering. “No.” This time she studied him. “If you’re planning to hit on me, you’re wasting your time.”

“Hadn’t crossed my mind,” he told her, although that wasn’t entirely true. No, it hadn’t, but it would have eventually, and now that the subject had been introduced, his mind stuck on it.

“Oh. Okay,” she said.

Damn, she was beautiful. Her tan was more pale gold than brown, her nose small, her mouth pretty... Skinny jeans molded to slim legs that he thought might prove to be reasonably long. Well-rounded hips and generous breasts suggested she had a genuine hourglass figure. Bran liked curves.

Paige hadn’t had many of those.

She went to the gym almost daily, determined to pare every hint of extra flesh from her body. As the wedding approached, she’d become fanatical about her diet and exercise, striving for some notion of perfection that wasn’t his. He’d given up reasoning with her. In fact, he hadn’t had much chance, since wedding preparations made her even more unavailable than she’d already been.

Paige wasn’t here. A beautiful blonde was.

As he watched, she finally picked up her glass and guzzled what looked like a mixed drink as if it was water and she was parched. A shudder went through her before she plunked the glass down on the polished bar.

The bartender, a balding guy in his forties, appeared. “You want another one? Whiskey sour, right?”

“Yes, please.”

Her choice suggested she wasn’t much of a drinker.

Bran was on his second glass when the band began another ballad. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dance floor empty.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked.

The blonde blinked as if she was having trouble bringing him into focus, but her voice sounded clear. “Okay.”

She slid off the bar stool and into his arms as if she belonged there. She might be five foot six, he guessed, which made his shoulder a perfect resting place for her head.

He barely moved his feet. Mostly, they swayed. He didn’t press her as close as he would have liked, figuring it wouldn’t be gentlemanly, given that he had a serious hard-on. Bran closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her head, inhaling a familiar scent that threw him back a lot of years. Mint.

A patch of the plant had grown beside the back steps of his childhood home. Even brushing the leaves was enough to awaken the fragrance. His mom used to make a sweetened drink with orange and lemon juice, orange peels and mint leaves pulled from that plant.

Until this moment, he’d forgotten all about that drink and how much he loved it. Twenty-five years was a long time.

He nuzzled the honey-colored hair, as smooth and luxuriously textured as heavy satin. The woman in his arms moved her head a little, as if she was rubbing her cheek against him. She gave a small sigh that shot straight to his groin.

The last notes of the song died, but neither of them moved for a minute. Finally, reluctantly, he released her. Her hands slid down his chest and she stepped back, shy.

Back on their bar stools, he said, “I’m Bran. Short for Brandon.” He held out a hand.

She slowly extended her much smaller, fine-boned hand. “Lina. Short for Alina.”

“Lina.” He liked that. “Well, Lina, what do you usually do for fun?”

She crinkled her nose. “Not this. Um... I’m a huge reader. Movies are fine, but usually I’d rather read.”

He smiled. “Me, too.”

“Really?” She brightened, her expression almost...hopeful.

He felt strange for a minute, as if his heart had contracted, briefly depriving him of oxygen. His voice came out husky when he said, “Really. A lot of nonfiction. Mysteries and thrillers, anything random that grabs me.”

She liked mysteries, too. They compared authors, then argued about a few books one of them had loved and the other hated. She suggested an author he hadn’t tried, and he did the same. Eventually, they segued to movies, then music. She swam laps three or four times a week at the high school pool, she told him, and admitted to having been on a youth team and her high school team.

She made a face. “I’m not built to be fast, though.”

His gaze dropped to her breasts, and his blood headed south again. As far as he could see, she was built just right.

They slow danced a couple more times. Lina didn’t seem any more interested in line dancing than he did.

She had a couple more drinks. He finished his pitcher but figured he was still—barely—safe to drive, given how long he’d been working on it.

When the bartender came to offer her another refill, Bran shook his head. Lina scowled at him. “Why’d you do that?”

“Honey, you’re sloshed.”

“I’m not your honey.” She slipped off the stool and wobbled, grabbing it to restore her balance. “Not anyone’s honey.”

He was glad to hear that. “You planning to drive home?”

“Don’t know.”

“You’re not.” He took out his wallet and tossed down enough bills to cover both their drinks. “I can call you a taxi, or drive you home.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How come you’re not shlosh...sloshed, too?”

“I’m bigger than you. I can drink more without getting hit as hard.” When he stood, his head swam, but his balance was okay. He wrapped an arm around her, gratified when hers slipped around his waist and she leaned into him.

“’Kay,” she murmured.

They stepped outside into a too-warm June night. A slap of cold air would have felt good. Bran looked around the now-crowded parking lot in perplexity, unable to remember where he had left his Camaro.

He had keys, he knew he did. He patted his pocket. There they were. Just no car.

The neon sign right across the road from the tavern drew his eye. Motel. Vacancy. The “No” part was turned off. As lodging went, it was pretty basic, but decent as far as he knew. It wasn’t on the sheriff’s department radar for drug dealing or prostitution, at least.

“We should get a room,” he decided.

“No hitting on me. You said.”

“I changed my mind,” he admitted. “But if you just want to sleep, that’s what we’ll do.”

“I changed my mind, too,” she confided in a small, husky voice.

Rocketed to full arousal that easily, he steered her across the road into the motel office, where a bored kid who looked to be barely of legal age swiped Bran’s credit card and asked for a signature.

Bran took the key—yes, a real key—as well as the card with their room number on it and collected Lina from the chair where he’d parked her.

The flight of outside stairs was a challenge, but they made it, Lina giggling as he tried to jam the key in the lock. Hell, he was drunk. Sloshed. Plowed. It worried him that she was, too. Did this qualify as taking advantage of her?

The key finally turned and he pushed the door open. He all but fell in. Lina giggled again.

Oh, yeah, she was drunk.

She closed the door behind them and flipped a switch that turned on lamps on each side of the queen-size bed. Bran stood, doing battle with his conscience.

“Will you kiss me?” Lina asked timidly.

He cleared his throat. “I’d like to kiss you. But Lina... Are you going to be sorry in the morning?”

He waited, suspended in fear that she’d come to her senses now. Of course she would. She wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of woman. But, God, he hoped she wouldn’t change her mind.

Little worried lines formed on her forehead as she scrutinized his face. “You won’t hurt me, will you?”

“No!” He framed her face in hands that shook with an unfamiliar tremor. “Never.” He hesitated. “I’m a cop, Lina.”

“Oh.” She nibbled uncertainly on her lower lip as her eyes continued to search his. “Do you have, um, you know? A condom? Because I don’t. And I’m not on anything.”

“I do. I have a couple in my wallet.”

Paige had refused to go on the pill or a birth control patch until after the wedding. Didn’t he know how all those hormones made women gain weight? No way was she messing with her body right now! Bran had really hated the necessity of wearing a condom, but right this minute, he didn’t want to think about how he’d have felt if he hadn’t had one.

Lina laid a hand on his shoulder and rose onto tiptoe. “Then I won’t be sorry,” she murmured, and brushed her mouth over his.

The kiss exploded. He drove his fingers into that mass of silky hair, tilting her head until he found the perfect angle. Her arms came around his neck and he closed one hand over her bottom, lifting and pressing her against him. That fast, his hips rocked. He had to have her now.

Their clothes flew. T-shirts first, which caused her to start kissing and stroking his chest. Desperate, he found the catch on her bra and released the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen. He propelled her backward until she came up against the bed, then lifted her and laid her down, his mouth capturing a nipple before her back hit the mattress. He licked and teased until she gripped his head and repeated, “Please, please, please.” And then he suckled. The little noises she made had him groaning and pulling back.

He told her how beautiful she was while he yanked off her boots and peeled tiny panties and stretchy jeans off her curvaceous hips and down those long legs.

For a second, one knee planted on the bed between her thighs, Bran stopped just to look. He had never even imagined a woman as sexy as this one. Her body was both delicate and voluptuous, her lips puffy from his kisses, her eyes heavy-lidded. And then there was that richly colored hair, masses of it spread across the bedspread. The disconcerting idea struck him that she also looked vulnerable. If she hadn’t been drunk, she’d be grabbing for something to cover herself.

He reared back to kick off his shoes and unbutton his jeans. Lucky he’d gone into the tavern unarmed, rare for him. His gun was locked in a safe beneath the driver’s seat of his Camaro. A tavern parking lot wasn’t the best place to leave an expensively restored vintage sports car...but damn...he’d never wanted anything in his life the way he did this woman.

His jeans fit so tightly at the moment, he emptied his pockets onto the dresser top before he cautiously unzipped. Jeans and boxers gone, he pulled out the couple condoms from the wallet, tossing one packet onto the bedside table and ripping open the second one. His hands were still shaking. He lifted his gaze to see that she had risen up onto her elbows and was staring with an expression that did amazing things to his ego. A blush rose on her cheeks even as her tongue came out to touch her lips.

He got the condom on and crawled forward until he could kiss her again, voraciously this time. He bypassed her glorious breasts and splayed a hand on her belly, circling until his fingers encountered the nest of curls the same honey shade as her hair and just as silky.

She was already so wet, his finger slid between her folds and right into her. She cried out and grabbed his arms.

“Now. Please, now.”

He stroked her for another few seconds, the limit of his self-control, before he spread her thighs and thrust deep.

She looked at him in astonishment and whispered, “Oh,” after which her eyes closed and she tipped her head back.

Considerate was beyond him. Bran couldn’t have gone slow if he’d had a gun to his head. He set a hard, fast rhythm that she matched, clutching at him as her hips rose and fell. He couldn’t have stopped the orgasm that lifted him like a monster wave and swept him forward, either. But she cried out at the same time, her tiny convulsions part of the staggering pleasure.

* * *

THEY MADE LOVE twice more. In the middle of the night, Lina had come back from the bathroom to find him awake, waiting for her.

This morning, she’d slid out of an amazing dream to find it had been real. A man’s hard body spooned her. His erection pressed against her butt and his fingers played between her legs.

She groaned and arched convulsively. He gave a low, husky laugh and closed his teeth on the bundle of muscle and nerves that ran between her neck and shoulder. Then he lifted her leg and slid into her. It felt...amazing. Unlike the night’s tumultuous lovemaking, this time he moved lazily, teasing her by not going as deep as she craved. His fingers circled and pressed until she heard her own small, broken cries.

Suddenly, he groaned, half lifted her to her knees, and drove hard and fast. She came by the third stroke, taking him with her.

They both collapsed. After a moment, he groaned.

“Now, that’s how I like to wake up.”

Lina hadn’t known it was possible to wake up to anything like that. “It was...really good.” She wasn’t even sure she was 100 percent awake. An awareness that she felt queasy suggested she was. Nothing like a hangover to ground her.

“I need a shower,” he said, kissed her nape and pushed himself out of bed.

She heard him gathering his clothes from the floor, but didn’t roll over. She hadn’t even seen his face yet this morning. Lina closed her eyes, glad at least that she could picture him. Big, solid, broad-shouldered. His dark auburn hair had been disheveled. Her fingers remembered how silky that hair was. His face was all male, but too rough-hewn to be handsome. It was his bright blue eyes, sharp, that had captivated her. Now she wondered what he’d seen when he looked at her. Had he known from the beginning that she could be coaxed into bed?

She moaned. God, what had she done? How stupid was this, getting drunk and checking into a cheap motel for a one-night stand with a guy she’d met at a tavern? A guy whose last name she didn’t even know?

Really, really stupid, that’s what.

Worse yet, she couldn’t help wondering if she had half intended to do just this. Why else had she gone to the tavern? She could have gotten drunk at home.

The shower came on. Lina rolled to her back and covered her eyes with her hands. She had to have been desperate for confirmation that she was an attractive woman. There was no other explanation for her idiocy. Finding out that David had cheated on her had damaged her self-esteem as much as her heart.

The divorce had been finalized in December.

Merry Christmas to me.

She would have said she was over him until she was hit by yesterday’s nugget of news about David and his new wife. Now she couldn’t even kid herself that he’d ever loved her.

Still...sex with a stranger in a seedy motel room?

He hadn’t felt like a stranger by the time he kissed her. He’d felt like a guy she had really liked. They had things in common. He seemed...decent. Not to mention sexy. He’d given her an out, and she believed he’d have accepted a no if she’d said it.

A funny sensation blossomed in her chest, pushing out the shame. Hope? Yes, hope. Maybe he’d really liked her, too. Maybe this wasn’t as sleazy as it seemed.

Please, God, she thought.

Deciding she needed to be dressed when he reappeared, Lina slipped out of bed and saw that he’d laid her clothes neatly on the dresser as he picked up his own. Which meant he was considerate, too.

Her first clue that she’d screwed up majorly was the icky feeling that she was leaking between her legs. Something was running down the inside of her thighs.

Panic squeezed her. Oh, God. He’d used a condom the first two times they’d...not made love...had sex. But not this morning. She had the awful memory of him tossing a single packet on the bedside stand while tearing open the other one.

He hadn’t had three.

“That bastard.”

Lina calculated quickly. It was late enough in the month, she should be safe—unless he took strange women he picked up in bars to motels on a regular basis and didn’t use condoms.

Her chest felt horribly tight and she was all but panting for breath. Get dressed. That was what she had to do next.

In the act of reaching for her clothes, she saw everything he’d left on the dresser top. A wallet, a set of car keys, a Harris County Sheriff’s Department badge and a square piece of heavy vellum paper with a crease suggesting he’d folded it to jam it in a pocket. An invitation. Her heart hammered sickeningly as she looked down at it.

Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Collins

Request the honor of your presence

At the marriage of their daughter

Paige Marie

To

Brandon Murphy

Saturday, June 23, at 3:00 p.m.

Lina got stuck on the date. She read it over and over.

Today. He was getting married today.

Forget the bachelor party. He’d decided to have a last fling, and she had obliged him.

The shower turned off.

Shaking, panicked, desperate, she yanked on her clothes, not bothering to take the time to put on her bra. She had to be gone before he came out of the bathroom. Her car key was still with the money she’d brought in the pocket of her jeans. The realization that he must have paid for her drinks flitted into her head. And why wouldn’t he have? It was still cheap sex.

She opened and closed the door as quietly as she could, trying to step lightly on the stairs. At the bottom, she took off at a run, barely pausing to check for traffic before tearing across the road. There were only three cars left in the gravel parking lot: hers, a beaten-up pickup truck and a glossy black Camaro. His, of course, she thought bitterly.

Gasping for breath, Lina unlocked the driver’s door of her car and jumped in. She could see the motel in her rearview mirror. The door to their room remained closed. Either he was still in the bathroom, or he was relieved she was gone.

He was likely relieved.

When she pulled onto the road, gravel spit out from beneath her tires.

* * *

BRAN SAW THAT the room was empty the instant he opened the bathroom door. His first reaction was shock. Then he swore viciously. How could he be so freaking stupid as to leave his wallet and car keys out here?

Both were still there, at least, his badge beside them. Man, that would have been embarrassing if she’d taken it. Losing his driver’s license would be a royal pain, too. He flipped open the wallet, relieved at the sight of not only the driver’s license, but also his debit and two credit cards. A little cash was a small price to pay...

But it was there, too. He flipped through the bills, counted. Seemed about right. Had she not even picked up his wallet?

No, of course she hadn’t. She wasn’t that kind of woman. Of course she wasn’t.

Shit, he thought, she did regret the night. The best sex of his life, and she’d run from him, ashamed. And it was his own damn fault. He’d known she didn’t do things like this, that she was drunk and not thinking straight. What had he expected? That she’d be hanging around, wanting to flirt and talk about when they’d see each other again?

He’d find her...

Yeah, and how was he going to do that? Blonde woman, twenty-five to thirty-five years old, approximately five foot six. The tiny mole he’d seen on her shoulder? Only helpful for identification if she was found dead. For all he knew, she wasn’t even from around here. If she was? Alina wasn’t a common name...but he had no idea what her last name was, or what she drove. Where she worked, or what she did for a living.

He swore and leaped for the door, but wasn’t surprised to discover he was too late. His Camaro sat out in front of the tavern, alone except for a rusting pickup he couldn’t in a million years imagine her driving.

While he’d stood here counting bills, she’d made her getaway. Bran groaned and rubbed a hand over his face.

Maybe...she’d find him. If she’d even looked at his badge or opened his wallet, she had one up on him. She knew his last name and where he worked.

That was followed by the cold realization that if she didn’t come looking, it meant she didn’t want to be found, either.

And he had to honor that.

Pocketing the badge and wallet, he glanced down and saw the corner of a piece of paper sticking out from beneath the dresser. The maid could pick it up. Bran dropped a ten-dollar bill on the dresser, then walked out, feeling a couple decades older than he had a few days ago.