The Virgin's Night Out (14 page)

“Um…”

Catching the humor in the other woman’s voice, Sloane glanced at her. “You’re not…”

“No.” Ellen grinned. “Not yet. But…yeah. We’re trying. We’d talked about it off and on since you told us you were expecting, and then Dani comes along and…well. We need to have one of our own before we steal yours.”

Sloane arched a brow. “Try it.”

A figure passed in front of the window and she groaned as the sight of Boone dragged her thoughts from her family, to the little problem of their stolen night.

She watched as he strode to her brother. He seemed to hesitate before sitting down and a second later, Taylor pushed the baby into his arms.

Sloane caught her breath.

“Oh, my.”

She echoed Ellen’s soft words in her own head and swallowed around the knot that had wedged itself into her throat.

Boone. Holding his daughter.

Spinning away, she closed her eyes.

“I have to tell him—”

She cut the words short when the door swung open.

Panic locked her throat and she turned, eying her brother as he paused in the doorway. “Tell me what?” he asked, clearly having heard her.

“Nothing.” She spoke too quickly and immediately cursed herself as Taylor’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Don’t give me that look,” she said sourly. “It’s not you. It’s none of your business.”

“What’s wrong?” Taylor asked softly.

Without blinking an eye, Sloane smiled at him and lied. “Not a thing.”

The military could have trained him as a sniper. Boone could take out a target at two thousand yards in the dead of night and he could defuse a live bomb—he could, and had.

He knew these things because Taylor had told him—and it all felt right. He knew he could kill, and he even had done it once or twice in down in the hell of that Mexican prison. It was a kill or be killed sort of world and he hadn’t wanted to die in the misery.

Threats of death and dismemberment didn’t make him sweat.

But the small baby in his arms left his hands all shaky.

Little Danielle Redding blinked big green eyes up at him and then opened her mouth in a huge yawn. The tiny little noise she made reminded him of a bleating sheep. Although Boone had no idea how he knew what sort of sound a sheep made.

The sound of the door had him looking up and he met Taylor’s steady gaze.

“You shouldn’t leave her out here with me alone,” he said scowling, although some part of him already wanted to cuddle the small child closer. “I could drop her.”

Taylor rolled his eyes. “You’ve disarmed live explosives—I think you can handle a baby who barely weighs ten pounds.”

Terror grabbed him by the throat. “Ten
pounds
? Is she not eating?” Even as he thought that, he felt like an idiot, because he saw the little girl eating
all the time
. Or close to it, at least. But…
ten pounds
?

Taylor laughed. “Relax. She’s just little. Sloane was the same way.”

At the mention of her name, Boone flicked his eyes to the house. The baby squirmed and made a disgruntled noise in her throat and instinctively, he lifted her to his shoulder, the same way he’d see Sloane or Ellen or Taylor doing. She curled right into him and he closed his eyes, felt something in his heart twist just a little.

She was so small.

“Want to feed her?”

His eyes flew open. “I don’t see how that’s going to work,” he said after a moment.

Taylor tossed him a bottle. Boone snatched it out of the air and stared at her. “Ah…I thought she only nursed.”

“Nope. Sloane…” Face reddening, Taylor jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “She pumps some.”

Pumps
…mystified, Boone looked down at the bottle and then shifted his hold on the baby. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“You pop the bottle in her mouth. She does the rest.” Taylor hunkered down in front of him and held out his arms, pantomimed holding the baby. “Hold her like this.”

It took a moment or two to get the baby settled and Boone wouldn’t tell a single soul how natural it felt, once he had her tucked up against him. He held up the bottle and with all the caution he would have used had he actually been defusing a live bomb, he guided the bottle to Dani’s little mouth.

She made a loud squawking sort of noise and he started chuckling as she brought up tiny fists, bracketing the bottle with her hands as though she feared he’d pull the bottle away. “Have at it, babydoll,” he murmured.

Something in his heart tugged.

But he ignored it.

In a few more weeks, he’d be out of this place and hopefully back to his life.

And both Dani and Sloane would continue on with theirs.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

Sloane looked up, shielding the light from the sun with one hand. She shouldn’t have wasted the time. In the few seconds it had taken her to focus sun-dazzled eyes on Boone’s face, he’d taken the basket from her and settled it on his hip.

His gaze flicked around and landed on the baby snoozing on the porch. Sloane had brought the swing out so she could listen for Dani while she picked tomatoes from the small kitchen garden just off the back of the house.

“You must like tomatoes,” he said after a lingering glance at the still sleeping baby.

“I’m making spaghetti for dinner. Using those for the sauce.”

Boone blinked at her and then looked down at the tomatoes. “You make it from tomatoes?”

She laughed. “Well, that’s typically the number one ingredient in marinara.”

“I always figured the number one ingredient was the jar it came in.”

Sloane shrugged. “I’ll eat sauce from a jar if I have to, but if I can make it myself, why bother?” Then, before silence could form, she cut around him. “You can just dump the basket on the counter. I’ll be in to wash them after I get the baby inside.”

She took her time unbuckling Dani, checking the diaper, hoping to kill enough time that Boone got bored and moved off to something else. He was stronger—she could see that on his face and he didn’t look as haggard as he had when he’d first arrived at the farm.

She wondered how much longer he’d be here, and she wondered how to work up to what she had to tell him.

Brooding over it as she carried Dani into the house, she tried, yet again, to piece together the right words.

Putting Dani down in the playpen she kept on hand, she turned around, intent on heading outside.

Boone was coming through the door with the swing, already folded flat. She watched as in silence as he tucked it into the little niche between the fridge and counter and then turned to the sink.

“Thank you.” She swallowed. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“Not like I’ve got much else to do,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Taylor doesn’t seem to trust me to help him out on the farm—doing whatever farmers do. Probably a good thing. I’ve got a black thumb.”

“I doubt that. You just didn’t grow up on a farm.”

His eyes came to hers. “No.”

She went to ask him where he did grow up, only to stop, because he still wasn’t remembering much.

“In the city.”

She shot him a look and then had to swallow when she realized that she’d closed the distance between them without even realizing it. Unnerved, she turned on the sink and washed her hands. She finished and went to turn off the water, but Boone shoved his hands under the faucet and did the same. She hurriedly backed away, needing distance between them before he realized how very little distance she actually
wanted
between them.

“Can I help?”

She went to tell him no, but made the mistake of looking up at him.

He looked…

She cut the thought off before it could finish, although deep inside she knew exactly what it was that she didn’t want to think about.

Lonely. Boone looked lonely.

“Sure.” She managed a casual shrug as she turned away. “Although there’s nothing too fascinating about dicing up tomatoes.”

She went to pick up the basket, turning back to the sink even as her hand closed around the wicker handle.

Boone bumped into her, in the process of doing the same thing—getting the basket of tomatoes. Their hands brushed and she sucked in a breath, pulling away. He did the same and somehow, she ended up tangling her feet in her hurry to get some space between them.

Off-balance, she swayed backward.

Strong, hard hands steadied her.

Dazed, she looked up at Boone.

He was looking down at her.

She didn’t know which one of them moved first, whether she kissed him or he kissed her.

She just knew that his mouth was on hers—
finally
.

Finally
.

Over the past few weeks, Boone had driven himself slowly insane, wondering how she’d taste. He’d suspected she’d taste spicy, and slightly sweet, and he groaned when she opened her mouth for him, letting him discover for himself just how on target she’d been.

She moved closer and he wrapped one arm around her narrow waist, pulling her completely against him.

It was a fit.

Even as he tangled a hand in her long hair, Boone couldn’t help but notice just how well they fit.

Her tongue flicked against his and the hunger inside him exploded. Spinning them around, he backed her up against the counter. Her arms came around his neck and she arched against him. He slid his hands up her waist—so slim and delicate—and then cupped one plump little breast in his hand.

An image flashed through his head—him holding her, like this. Her naked breasts in his hands, small and sweet and perfect.

He circled the nipple with his thumb. That would make her—

She cried out.

Déjà vu tripped through him and he stilled, focusing on the fading memory, trying to grab him.

Sloane moved against him again, a hungry little sound in her throat.

Screw the memories—or the fantasy.

Yeah, had to be fantasy.

This was better.

Mindless, he kissed his way down her throat, brushing her hair out of the way as he continued his trek down her body. He freed one button, then another—

A door slammed.

“What the…”

He jerked away as if he’d been scalded.

At the sound of her brother’s voice, Sloane went red.

Boone turned to face Taylor. From the corner of his eye, he could see the way she reached up, clutching the neck of her shirt closed, although he’d only freed the top two buttons.

Taylor was gaping at them.

That was the only way to describe the way he stood there, mouth open, eyes wide. “You…” he waved a hand between them and then turned away, bringing that same hand up to cover his eyes. “You…okay, I’m turning around and leaving the room. When I come back in here, I don’t want to see…that.”

Boone went to apologize, although the words tripped up even before he could say them, because the
hell
was he sorry.

Sloane’s laugh, though, nervous and shaky, cut him off before he managed to find the words. “Gee, will that make you feel better, Taylor?” she asked, her question directed at the retreating back of her brother.

“I’m hoping so.”

Thirty seconds passed before Taylor come back into the room, a pained expression on his face. “Man, you’re still standing too close. Why you gotta stand so close?”

Sloane’s answer was lost to the blood roaring in Boone’s ears. He wanted to push the other man out of the room—or better yet, just pick up Sloane and take her somewhere else. Anywhere else.

A baby’s fretful cry interrupted his thoughts and as though drawn by strings, he found himself moving to stand next to the playpen. Without thinking about it, he bent over and scooped the fussing infant up.

She made a low gurgle and settled against his chest, one hand fisted in his shirt.

He thought he felt his heart roll over.

Oh, hell
.

Sloane clutched the edge of the counter in her hands as she stared at Boone and her daughter—
their
daughter. Boone held
their
daughter.

Emotion clogged her throat.

Is there a problem
, he’d asked. And she’d said
no
, because Dani wasn’t—and hadn’t ever been—
a problem
.

Boone held her as though she was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

“I…um…” Fumbling for the words, she spun away from them both and focused on the tomatoes. If her hands were busy, then she’d be fine. She’d do okay.

Acutely aware of the weight of their gazes boring into her, she reached for a tomato and started to cut. That simple chore gave her something to focus on and she could feel her heart slowing down to a normal pace.

Boone said something to the baby, his voice so low, Sloane couldn’t even make the words. But she recognized the soft little cooing sound Dani always made when she was happy.

Sloane felt her heart wrench—and then she yelped.

The knife clattered to the cutting board and she jerked her hand up, staring at the blood all but spouting. Her knees went weak and black dots started to dance in front of her—

“Sloane!”

Dazed, she looked away from what seemed to be a river of blood to stare at Boone.

He strode forward, the baby cradled against his chest with one hand while with the other, he grabbed a towel from the nearby island.

“Here, take her,” he said to Taylor, pushing the baby into her uncle’s hands.

Sloane barely noticed.

Blood rolled offer her hand and plopped down to splatter on the floor. Her hand throbbed and it seemed like the blood pulsed in beat with her heart, spilling more and more of the thick red out with each pump of her heart.

When Boone closed a hand around her wrist and squeezed tight, she whimpered.

“Be still, baby,” he said, his eyes on her injury.

Baby
…

She dragged her mind back to the here and now, watching as Boone wrapped a towel—gently—around her finger. “You’re going to need stitches.”