A Mom for Callie (13 page)

“Listened for what?”

“You,” she whispered as he pulled her to him, his mouth closing down on hers with an intensity that made her gasp. She snaked her arms around his neck as the kiss deepened, his own hand moving upward to play with her hair—to tip her head ever so gently as his lips left hers in search of her chin, her neck, her shoulders.

She groaned with pleasure as his free hand reached up to the back of her neck once again. With two quick tugs, he pulled the ties of her shirt free to reveal the skimpy pink strapless bra underneath. Slowly yet deliberately, he bowed his head still farther, his lips finding the top of her breasts and leaving a trail of kisses that left her breathless.

Nothing could have prepared her for this moment, for the feeling of pure desire that pulsed throughout her body at the feel of his mouth on her skin. He felt it, too. Of that she was certain.

Pulling back ever so slightly, she peered up at him, his erection pushing against her leg. “I want you, Kyle Brennan.”

The second the words left her lips, his hand traveled around to her back once again, this time to unhook her
bra and let it fall to her feet. He moaned with pleasure as he drank in her body with his eyes before seeking her breasts with his hands.

She dug her fingers into his muscled back as he replaced his hands with his mouth, his tongue teasing her nipples as they hardened with desire.

“Look,” he instructed, his voice heavy with need. “Look at us on the wall.”

She willed her mind to focus on his words, to do as he asked. But it was hard. The sensation of his mouth on her breasts had left her void of everything except a desire to beg for more.

“Look.”

Slowly, she opened her eyes, her longing intensifying even more as she focused on their candlelit shadows intertwined on the wall. His toned body moved back just enough to create a separation then dropped to the ground as his hands sought the buttons of her jeans.

Still watching their shadows, she ran her fingers through his hair as he slid her jeans off her hips and down her legs. When they pooled at her feet, she stepped out, her skin tingling at the feel of his lips as they traveled from her knees to her thighs, his fingers moving her thong to the side to allow access to her heat.

A groan escaped her lips as she pulled her focus from the wall, her eyes rolling back in her head as Kyle's tongue brought her to the edge and then over. Slowly, he repositioned her thong only to slide the entire thing down her legs as he looked up, his gaze locked with hers.

As she stepped out of her panties, he stood, the fire in his eyes propelling her to slide her hands under his shirt and lift it over his head, the tautness of his muscles heightening her desire still more. Reaching down, she
undid his pants, her body craning toward his with an overpowering need to know him in the most intimate of ways.

Without breaking eye contact, he lifted his pants from the floor, removing a foil wrapper from his front pocket. Wordlessly, she nodded, her eyes never leaving his as she lowered herself to the floor, her hand tugging him downward to join her. With her eyes fixed on his, she wrapped her hand around him and guided him inside her, their bodies joining together with a thrust that made them both scream out with pleasure. She looked from the wall to him and back again, the sensation of his length moving inside her matched only by the image of his body lifting and falling over hers as their breath became one.

Time after time he brought her to the brink only to slow things down, his willpower maddeningly wonderful. Each thrust of his body sent her head spinning as she cried out for more—a more he accommodated again and again until he couldn't resist any longer, his yell of pleasure matching hers as, together, they released themselves to the moment.

For the first time in a long time he woke with a smile, the kind of smile that started deep in his soul and affected far more than his lips. Stretching his arms over his head, Kyle looked around Betsy's sun-dappled bedroom. Somehow, during the night, they'd made it upstairs, their bodies exhausted from a second and third round of lovemaking.

For days he'd been entertaining a host of erotic fantasies starring his next-door neighbor, wild images that had left him torn between want and fear. But no more. The reality that was Betsy Anderson—both in and out of the bedroom—blew every single one of those fantasies out of the water and left him wanting more.

There was something about Betsy that gave him hope. Hope that maybe a second chance was possible. Just the way she worried about him made his heart twist in an unfamiliar way. Lila had only cared about herself—her needs, her desires, her dreams, her image. Betsy, on the other hand, cared about him and Callie. She worried about them and took measures to keep them safe.

He stared at the ceiling as he strained to hear some semblance of sound that would cue him to Betsy's whereabouts, but there was nothing. Nothing except
the sound of his own heartbeat as he recalled the way they'd made love again and again throughout the night, his internal wall crumbling with each kiss, each touch they shared.

There were no two ways about it. He'd fallen for Betsy Anderson and he'd fallen hard. And, in all honesty, it was easy to see why.

First, she was breathtakingly beautiful in that girl-next-door kind of way. The kind of woman that made heads turn again and again.

Second, she was sweet—plain and simple. She listened when people spoke, considered feelings when expressed and made a point of correcting mistakes.

And, finally, she was talented, and caring, and fun, and creative and amazing in bed.

Sitting up, Kyle swung his legs to the ground and reached for his jeans, the memory of Betsy's hands removing them making him hard all over again.

He wandered into the hall only to stop outside the bathroom door and listen. But there was nothing—nothing except the faint sound of tapping somewhere in the distance. Confident now of her whereabouts, Kyle wound his way past the family room and kitchen and onto the sunporch, the sight of Betsy's scantily clad form rooting his feet just inside the doorway.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Looking up from her computer screen, she smiled at him, the sparkle in her eyes confirming what he hoped to be true. “Do you like bacon and eggs?”

He knew he was staring but he couldn't help himself. It didn't matter whether she wore a cute summer top with a tight pair of jeans, or a satiny negligee that barely covered all her parts…Betsy was beautiful.

“I could make French toast if you'd rather.” She
pressed something on the keyboard and then rose to her feet, gliding up alongside him as if she was made to be there forever. “Pancakes are always an option, too.”

He opened his arms and she stepped inside, her head nestling against his chest as his lips found her hair. For a long moment they simply stood there, their bodies pressed against each other once again.

Finally, he spoke, his voice husky with desire once again. “Are
you
an option?”

She looked up at him, her brows furrowed. “Aren't you starving? Especially after…” Her voice trailed off as she rested her head on his chest once again, a hint of a smile brushing against his skin.

“Of course I'm starving. But you're a million times better than any breakfast item you can name.” He planted a kiss on her head then released her just enough to make eye contact, his body reacting immediately.

She gently placed a finger over his mouth. “I'm not going anywhere…I promise. But, if it's okay, I'd like to make you something to eat. You never told me what happened with the bridge.”

He considered protesting, pondered the notion of using his mouth to sway her to his line of thinking, but he didn't. She deserved to know what happened especially since she'd been the one to call the department's attention to the warning in the first place. “Okay, but that doesn't mean I've given up on the idea of taking you back to bed with me. You are, after all, entirely irresistible.”

Rising up on tiptoe, she whispered her lips across his, the tingling sensation of her skin making him second-guess his decision. But before he could say so, she pulled
him in the direction of the kitchen. “Are you a coffee guy?”

“Nah. More of a milk and OJ guy.”

“I can accommodate that.” She winked at him then pointed at the table for two that was positioned under the room's solitary window. “I'll get everything ready…and you just sit. I spent all of last evening dreaming up worst-case scenarios and I can't wait any longer.”

“I worried you that much?”

She turned her back to him but not before he noted the slump to her shoulders as she pulled open the refrigerator. His eyes roamed over her as she bent at the waist to retrieve a carton of orange juice and several eggs from their holder. He swallowed back the desire to ravage her where she stood.

“Please don't worry about me. Really, I'm okay.”

“I know. It's just going to take me a little time to accept that.”

“I understand.” And he did. The heart was a funny thing. It could make you retreat behind a rock-solid wall one minute and then lead you into a place you vowed you'd never go again. “You did the right thing yesterday.”

“Oh, thanks. Maybe I'm not just a selfish person who cared only about myself?”

He jumped to his feet. Grabbing hold of her arm, he turned her to him, his gaze seeking hers. “I was a jerk the other night. I know that. And I'm sorry. I think we both have ghosts we're trying to slay and you got caught in the knife's path. I'm sorry.”

“I forgave you sometime yesterday afternoon,” she whispered.

“How? I didn't see you until last night….”

Shrugging, she stepped back against the counter, her
hands finding his waist and guiding him toward her. “I realized you were acting from a place of hurt. We both are. Once I was able to admit that, I couldn't be angry anymore.”

For a long moment he simply studied her, his eyes searching her face for any indication that she was simply too good to be true. But there was nothing. Nothing except her sweet smile and compassion-filled eyes. “I—I love you, Betsy.”

The surprise in her face was nothing compared to the surprise he felt as the words slipped effortlessly from his mouth. He hadn't intended to say it, hadn't realized he was even truly there yet. But now that he'd put words to the feeling, he knew it to be true.

He loved her. He truly loved her.

She looked up at him through tear-dappled lashes, her smile wobbly. “I love you, too, Kyle. It's why I've been so scared. Don't you see? My heart is involved now.”

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her to his chest once again. “But don't
you
see? Knowing that only intensifies my need to think with my head, to make smart decisions based on my training.”

It wasn't until her shoulders began to move that he realized she was crying. And, for a moment, he considered trying to thwart the tears. But, in the end, he let them flow, his fingers brushing them from her face from time to time. When she was done, she looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, his gaze riveted on her face.

“For understanding.”

He swallowed over the lump in his throat. “I think you're the one who's done a better job of understanding. But that's about to change. You have my word.”

With one last swipe at her damp cheeks, Betsy
gestured toward the table once again. “I'm never going to get your breakfast made if you keep touching me.”

“That's okay,” he teased.

“Sit.”

He sat.

As she made breakfast, he talked, filling her in on the graffiti and the bottle of spray paint they found less than a hundred yards away. It was the tip they'd been waiting for, especially when Jake Morgan at the hardware store was able to give basic details of the person who'd bought the can not more than twenty-four hours earlier. Slowly but surely, the case was coming together.

“It must have been hard to leave last night,” she said as she placed a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. “I mean, to get the first real lead and have to leave…”

“I didn't
have
to leave,” he said as he forked a bite of eggs and stopped it just shy of his mouth. “I wanted to leave. To see you.”

Her mouth gaped open, making him laugh. “Don't look so surprised. As I said, you're irresistible.”

The tears from earlier resurfaced in her eyes, her mouth trembling. Dropping his fork to his plate, he reached across the table and took hold of her hand. “I knew Tom could handle things. He's the best partner a cop could ask for. If something came up, he'd call me.”

She nodded but said nothing, her head tilted downward.

“I wanted to see you…to apologize for my behavior the night before and to thank you for distracting Callie away from the graffiti.”

Her head snapped up. “Angela told you that part?”

“Of course she did.”

“I—I think I was able to convince Callie the words meant something else.”

The worry in her eyes touched him deeply and he squeezed her hand. “Callie is fine. I called my mom right after I talked to Angela. Whatever you said worked because she left the park, talking about some little boy from her class.”

“Peter.”

“Peter?” he repeated.

“The little boy from her class. They played together on the playground while I called Angela.”

He shook his head in awe. “I'm her father and I can't remember the name of more than two kids in her class. You're with her for a few minutes and can remember the name of some kid she plays with.”

Slipping her hand out from underneath his, she placed it on top. “You attend to the important stuff, Kyle…her happiness, her safety, her well-being. Remembering a name is the easy part.”

“I feel like I've abandoned her lately, shoved her off on my mom time after time.” He closed his eyes, savored the sense of calm her touch brought to his soul. “But it's the only way I can see fit to keeping her safe.”

“And it's smart.” Removing her hand from his, she pushed her own plate off to the side. “I imagine you have the day off, right?”

“Normally I wouldn't, but Tom and I swapped with another team a few days ago. Besides—” he glanced up at the clock and grinned “—if I didn't, I'd have had an irate call from the lieutenant by now.”

“Let's do something special with Callie.”

He stared at her. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Don't you have to write?”

She picked up her plate as she stood. “I did a little writing while you were sleeping. It'll be enough for today.”

“Have I told you I love you in the last minute or so?” he asked.

“In the last minute…no.”

“I love you, Betsy Anderson.”

 

H
E LEANED AGAINST THE TREE
to catch his breath, Callie's giggles interspersed with Betsy's whispered pleas for quiet bringing a smile to his lips. Girls were lousy at playing hide-and-seek.

Big or little, females avoided the really clever places to hide like trash cans, sewers and drainage tunnels, opting instead for the standard choices—trees, furniture, bushes. Betsy and Callie were no exception.

Still, he waited, the easy rapport between his daughter and Betsy something to be savored and enjoyed. For as long as he could remember, his mother had been a firm believer in the one-door-closed/one-door-opened way of thinking. And, for the first time in more years than he could count, he believed it, as well.

Lila wasn't meant to be more than the woman who carried Callie. He could see that now. A mother was someone who listened. Someone who nurtured and encouraged a child in all aspects of life. His ex-wife simply didn't fit the bill.

Sliding his back along the trunk, he dropped to the grass beneath the tree, eavesdropping on the two females in his life rather than trying to catch them.

“Are you almost done with your book?” Callie asked, her sweet voice echoing in his ears.

“Not yet. I have about ten more weeks to get it
done.” Betsy's whispered words made him sit up, listen closer

“And then they put it in the bookstore?”

“No, not quite. It actually takes about nine months for that process to happen. But at least my part—for the time being—will be done.”

Her part. The writing part. The part that had her renting the Rileys' home.

Scrubbing his hand across his face, he leaned against the tree as reality wiped the stars from his eyes. Three months from now Betsy would be gone—headed back to New York and her big writing career. Cedar Creek wasn't her home. It was a pit stop, a writing refuge on the heels of a tough year.

The realization hit with a one-two punch.

What had he been thinking? Who had he been kid ding? Betsy's aspirations were bigger than Cedar Creek.

Swallowing back the bile that rose in his throat, he pushed off the ground, his stellar seeking skills finding his daughter in mere seconds.

Eyes wide with excitement, Callie began jumping in place. “We almost had you, didn't we, Daddy?”

“Almost, pumpkin.” Turning from his daughter, he pinned Betsy with a hard stare, his voice taking on a wooden quality. “Almost. But fortunately for both of us I wised up just in time.”