This Thing Called Love (15 page)

CHAPTER 16

Brad was a little out of breath by the time he’d climbed through the open window off the screened porch and took the stairs with unilateral purpose.

Part of him wanted to find Olivia and wring her neck.

But the rest of him wanted to stop wasting precious time. He wanted to claim her, kiss her senseless, and generally have his way with her until they were both too tired to mount an argument over anything except for who was going to make the morning-after omelet.

And this time, he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

In seconds he stood in the doorway of the big master bedroom. Musty, shut-up house smell abounded, making him want to throw up the sashes of all the double-hung windows. He took in the big fireplace, the rounded contours of the turret that someone more feminine would say would make a great sitting area.

All thoughts fled as he saw Olivia sitting on the window seat, chin on her knees, looking out over their old hometown. Her fingers mindlessly stroked the ancient crushed velvet beneath her.

“It’s that same purple color,” he said.

She startled. Brad leaned against the door with his arms crossed, trying to look unaffected, but at that moment, in the dim light from the gathering night, she’d never looked so heart-stoppingly gorgeous. And it wasn’t just the old memories playing tricks on his mind, of her at eighteen in the flush of youth. It was the Olivia of the here-and-now, the one with all the openhearted love for his baby niece, all her determination and resolve, and her smart-assed-comeback self, that he wanted so desperately.

“You mean mauve,” she said. “Plum. Violet. Victorians probably wouldn’t say purple.” She was rambling, a sure sign she was nervous. Discombobulated. Good, because he wanted her off balance, without her defenses, without the sarcastic barbs she traded so well. He wanted to wear her down for the truth.

“How did you know—” she asked.

“You were here? I saw you walk into the porch and thought I’d make sure you didn’t get stuck somewhere with your ass hanging out needing some help.” Before she could zing him back, he cut her off. “But don’t worry, from what I saw today, it’s still a great ass.”

Brad grinned and sat down opposite her, running his hand over the soft, heavy material. He placed his hand carefully over her much smaller one. He gathered it up, its size and softness striking him in an elemental way. At the sudden contact, she looked up. Beneath her pensive expression, a tsunami of questions stirred.

He ignored them. “I remember this velvet around your hair. You were lying there, your hair spread out, curls everywhere.” He had to stop, because the words caught in his throat.

He reached over and touched her cheek, traced a line down her jaw with one finger. She shuddered. He wanted to ease her down slowly onto the soft cushion and start making some brand new memories. But first he had to clear the air. “Why did you really come storming over to talk to me today?”

Olivia left the window seat and walked across the room to the fireplace. Her hand skimmed over the darkly varnished mantel. “You know how I feel about . . . about this house. It’s always been special to me.”

Brad’s footsteps echoed on the wood floor. He stopped close behind her, so near he could smell her lemony fragrance.

Nervously, she flattened her hand and pushed it across the polished wooden surface. As she slid her fingers across the fine old wood, they caught under the edge.

She gasped. Her shoulders stiffened. She swallowed hard and turned around.

Brad crossed the last step between them and wrapped an arm around her waist. But he didn’t hold or kiss her as she might have anticipated. He reached out his other hand to the mantel. His fingers covered hers, traced over hers, felt the rough jagged-tooth ridges of the old carving just under the right edge.

“I forgot about this.”

“So did I,” she whispered. “For a long time.”

He smiled. “After all these years, it’s still there.” He couldn’t see it, but he remembered the words he’d carved himself.
B
RAD
L
OVES
L
IV 4
E
VER
.

Her eyes teared. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you sharing this house with someone else. I thought I’d lost my chance with you forever. Erika’s fun and uncomplicated and spontaneous and I’m none of those things.”

He cradled her cheek, looked deeply into her soft, brown eyes, finally filled with pure honesty. “She’s nothing to me. Nothing. I want you.”

Olivia stood frozen in the dusky room, her eyes riveted on the man who stood before her, the concentrated intensity of his powerful stare blazing between them.
I want you. She’s nothing to me.
The simple truth flooded her heart and burst through the last remaining wall that held them apart. Her entire body quivered, her blood running hot and cold with need. She wanted him, had always wanted him, and nothing, nothing would stop them from being together now.

Brad leaned toward her, effectively enclosing her between taut, lithe muscle and the hard edge of the wood. The brick of the fireplace scraped roughly against her palms as she clutched desperately for balance. He was too large, looming, all broad shoulders and big arms, his cologne enveloping her with its seductive richness.

He branded her with his lips, sliding them over hers and invading her mouth with his tongue. Stroke after silky stroke reduced her to a molten, boneless heap. Her legs buckled, flimsy as rubber bands. She grasped at him to steady herself, fisting the crisp cotton of his shirt.

He pushed her up against the wall, the hard length of him straining against her inner thigh. Her hips thrust against him and her tongue tangled with his, eager to meet all his demands with her own.

“God, I missed you,” she choked out on a sob.

Brad lifted his head, grasped her shoulders, and locked his gaze onto hers.

Olivia stared, unable to think. Her arms tingled where his hands stroked her hot skin. She had never been so aroused. Why, oh why, had he stopped?

He smiled against her mouth, hovered over it, teasing her lower lip between his teeth. “You’re worrying me. No quips? No zingers?”

“No one has driven me more crazy, in a good and a bad way,” she managed.

“That’s better. Now you’re back to being feisty.”

In one swift movement, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it behind him, exposing hills and valleys of golden perfection.

“We fight a lot,” she said weakly as he undid one button after another on her blouse. His fingers scalded her tender flesh. She arched her back, giving him full access.

“I prefer the term
negotiate.
”

“See?” she said breathlessly. “We don’t even agree on what word to use.”

“Then we’ll have to find other things to agree on.” Her blouse dropped away. He pushed a bra strap down and took one pink nipple between his teeth. Sensation zinged through her straight to her groin and she pushed against him to try and ease the desperate void only he could fill. She ran her hands along his broad back, reveling in the feel of his warm skin stretched over tight muscle.

“I don’t want you after all,” she said. “You’re too complicated.”

Mischief twinkled in his eyes. “You love complicated. Otherwise you’d be bored.”

“Brad,” she said, barely able to form the word. Her fingers tangled in his hair, so silky, both coarse and smooth, and curved against the back of his head. She leaned in, giving herself over to everything he offered.

“What is it?”

“I’m definitely not bored.”

In response, he scooped her up and deposited her on the window seat. “Wait here,” he said hoarsely. He ran to the doorway and reached into the hall, returning with a thick quilted blanket. “From my car.”

“You knew?”

“I
hoped
.” He captured her hand and led her over to the window seat, tossed the blanket over it and spun her about. “Take off your clothes.”

“That sounds a little bossy,” she said, kicking off her shoes and sliding down her yoga pants.

“Now, honey, you know I’d never ask you to do anything I wouldn’t do myself.”

All at once, he stood before her naked, all chiseled planes and carved muscle. The boy she knew, grown into this—the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. A thrill shook her, and she uttered a prayer of thanks that somehow in the wide universe they’d found each other again after so long.

“You look . . . different.”

“How so?” He swept his hand in front of his body, knowing damn well he possessed the build of Adonis.

Olivia skimmed her hands over his broad chest, enjoying the concrete hardness of his muscles, the soft feel of his tanned skin, and the light grazing of dark hair over his pecs. She shrugged. “Buff. Toned.” She looked down. “Large.”

He grinned.

“Oh, and humble. I forgot humble.”

“You humble me, Olivia. Nothing in my life has ever felt so good or so right.”

She reached for him. But he grazed her forehead with a quick kiss and reached under the blanket to pull out a condom, which he ripped open with his teeth and made quick use of. Then he pushed her back onto the seat and draped his delicious weight over hers.

A balmy breeze blew in from the window across her heated skin. In the square, Olivia was vaguely aware of the neon sign of Pie in the Sky, the evening crowds laughing and talking. In the distance, the church steeple lit up among mounds of trees. Landscape she’d looked at for most of her life but it suddenly seemed new and different.

He poised above her, looking deeply into her eyes. When she was eighteen, that look was a huge deal, and even after all these years, his eyes still held an intensity that rocked her down to her soul.

Brad smiled, waiting for her nod, “Olivia,” he whispered, claiming her lips and her body. “I only ever wanted you.”

His words struck her straight in her heart. She surrendered to him completely. Kisses came more urgently, thrusts heaved, intimate muscles clenched, and she lost sense of everything but the sensation of the two of them becoming one.

Her body remembered him and welcomed him as if no time had passed. They cried out on the same breath as they drank in each other’s bodies, filled each other’s minds and hearts in a release that was swift, shocking, and completely fulfilling.

Brad held her as the room fell dark, except for the soft glow of the lights in the park below. A gentle breeze stirred, cooling their heated bodies. He wished he’d brought a second blanket to shield Olivia from the night chill. He used his own warmth instead, drawing her close as they lay together, limbs entwined on the window seat.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, her head on his chest, her fingers gently tracing the skin along his pecs.

“Our first time.” He stared at the ceiling, but sought her hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing her knuckles. “Want me to tell you about it?”

She shifted to look at him. Her hair was tumbled all over his chest, long waves of glorious, silky softness that he wanted to inhale and tangle his fingers in forever. “Depends what you’re going to say.”

“It was raining. We ran in here and the sky let loose.” He fingered a strand of her hair. “When I saw you all wet from the shower the other day, that’s what I thought of. How you looked that night.”

Her hand gently stroked his cheek and he closed his eyes to revel in the warmth of it. “I never wanted anyone more than I wanted you at that moment,” she whispered.

“When I first saw you naked, I couldn’t stop shaking.” He looked down at her. Took in her beautiful brown eyes. Placed her hand over his heart. “Olivia, I’m shaking now.”

Tears shone in her eyes. He had a lot more he wanted to say, but he didn’t want to break the magic. He didn’t want anything to ruin this night. So he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head. Kissed her beautiful hair. And thought what a lucky son of a bitch he was to have gotten a second chance at the most perfect love of his life.

CHAPTER 17

Bacon.
The smoky-strong aroma reached Olivia from the foldout bed in the spare room where she slept. She yawned and stretched, enjoying the warmth of sunlight sneaking in below the shade and spilling onto the sheets. In the daze of half sleep, she felt perfectly cozy and content. And naked.

Naked?

Consciousness ratcheted her awake. Her eyes flew open. The sun was intense, way too bright for early morning.

Annabelle.
Her blood froze. Fear made her bolt upright. The baby always awakened at least once before her usual rising time at dawn. Olivia remembered doing certain things during the night but feeding Annabelle was definitely not one of them. Kicking back the covers and grabbing her robe, she sped down the hall to the kitchen.

Brad sat at the table holding Annabelle. Relief made her teary, but shock made her wonder if she were still dreaming. Even from behind, she could see two plates heaped full of bacon and fluffy scrambled eggs. Unaware she was there, Brad bit off a piece of toast and chattered to the baby, who looked at him with an enchanted look. “One day you’ll eat bacon, too, little girl. Bacon makes you big and strong. And beautiful. And you are going to be a knockout one day. But we won’t even think about that for now. No boys for you till you’re thirty.”

“Brad.” Olivia exhaled the word on a sigh of relief. She collapsed in the seat next to him, a hand over her pounding heart. “I was so frightened. I haven’t slept an entire night since . . .”

“You needed it.” His bright green gaze assessed her, intense as a sparkling Caribbean sea.

She tugged on her ratty robe and raked her hands through her rat-nest hair. Her morning-after image was probably enough to shatter glass.

Brad reached out a hand to stop her. “Don’t. I like it like that.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I’ll scare the baby.”

He brought his own hand up to finger a wayward curl. “You look . . . rested. Satisfied. Sexy as hell.”

Oh my gosh
, he just told her she didn’t resemble Godzilla. He thought she was
sexy
.

Olivia didn’t realize she was tapping her fingers on the table until he stilled her hand with his. Their gazes clicked and held, making her heart squeeze with an emotion she was afraid to identify—it was too good, too warm and wonderful.

She kissed Annabelle on the head and told her how adorable she looked in her yellow sleeper with footies. The baby flashed her a gummy smile and nestled her head against Brad’s bare chest.

And a fine chest it was. Skin soft as Annabelle’s over sinewy, tight muscle, lightly sprinkled with bronze hair that tracked in a line and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. If he wasn’t holding Annabelle, she would have jumped into his lap and devoured him for breakfast instead of the food. He was completely at ease, sipping coffee and feeding the baby, his bare feet crossed at his ankles, as if he did this every day of the week. Altogether, the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on.

She dared to imagine future scenarios like this one, lazy weekend mornings with a man who cared enough to let her sleep, who got up himself to care for the baby, who cooked her breakfast.

That was too unreal to believe, so she forced her thoughts on business. “Want me to take her?” It was the least she could offer after all he’d done.

“What I really want is for you to have breakfast. I made way too much food.”

She took a bite of bacon. “I’m starving.” She hadn’t eaten bacon in years—never touched the stuff. But it was so delicious she savored every bite and reached for another.

“I’m starving, too,” he said with a grin. “And I don’t mean for food.” He cupped her cheek in his warm, big hand and she felt like she would melt like the butter on her toast.

“It’ll be
baby interruptus
unless we wait till naptime,” she said.

“I can wait.” She loved those little crinkles around his eyes. She wanted to trace every single one. And bask in this incredible feeling she hadn’t felt since . . . well, since she was eighteen years old.

“Last night was . . . amazing. Spectacular,” Brad said. He had this way of making her feel like she was, well, exactly that. And beautiful. Every one of her billion nerve endings hummed with happiness.

“I feel the same way.”

“Olivia, I—”

A sharp rap sounded at the backdoor. Shielding his eyes against the glass of the door and peering inside was the face of her father.

Staring at her and Brad in all their post-lovemaking unruliness.

Oh. My. God
.

She wanted to close her eyes and wish herself back to her New York apartment where no one poked into her business except occasionally Mrs. Bertolini and her Cocker Spaniel.

Her father saw her and waved. Olivia’s first impulse was to scream
Run! Hide!
Like when they were caught necking afterhours in the school parking lot by the police chief. But she wasn’t a teenager and Brad was anchored to the table by Annabelle. So Olivia sucked in a breath, pulled her robe together, and made her way to the door.

“Hi, Dad.” Her voice sounded faint and riddled with guilt. She wedged her body between the doorframe and the door to block her dad’s view of Brad, but she could tell by the shocked expression on his face that it was too late.

Her father looked past her shoulder. “Bradley.”

Olivia heard Brad say “hi”
as she fully opened the door and stepped back.

“Olivia,” her father said with a nod. To his credit, he recovered his usual calm expression pretty quickly. “I brought you a replacement screen for that window. And I brought coffee, but it looks like you’ve already got some going.”

Pecking him on the cheek, she took the cups from his hands. “You know I love Mona’s. Come sit down.”

She worried her lower lip. What must her father think of her, sleeping with Brad knowing she had to go back to New York in a couple days.
Bad judgment. A terrible error.

Olivia tried to get up the steam to scold herself but just couldn’t muster it. She felt too giddy, too happy. For once, she didn’t try to apologize or ramble on. It was what it was, and whatever
that
was, it was between her and Brad.

Brad stood up with Annabelle out of respect. “Morning, Mr. Marks. As you can see, I made enough food to feed half of Mirror Lake. Hope you’ll join us.”

Frank Marks looked around. His gaze did a panorama of Brad’s naked chest, Olivia’s wild hair, Annabelle’s drooly smile, and the spread of food at the table. He chucked the baby under one of her chins and sat down. “Well, I don’t know about you all, but I’m starved.”

Olivia blew out a pent-up breath. Brad poured an extra orange juice and set it on the table. When he said, “Let’s eat while it’s still warm,” she flashed him a smile of gratefulness for being so welcoming to her crotchety dad. How could he sit there so unembarrassed, so at ease, when she was the exact opposite of calm and collected?

Unbelievably, her father filled his plate, wiggled his fingers for Annabelle, and vocalized some awkwardly silly sounds for her benefit. Olivia passed him a fresh cup of coffee.

He took a bite of eggs and pointed his fork at Brad. “You made these?”

“I took a bunch of cooking classes so I could select menus with my chefs. But truth is, I came to enjoy cooking.”

Good-looking, great in bed, loves kids, cooks. The icing on the delicious, extraordinary Brad cake.

“Tasty eggs. But what are your intentions with my daughter?”

Olivia sputtered her coffee. The bacon she’d just scarfed churned sickly in her stomach. She had the sense that what she was about to hear would be life altering, and every cell halted its biological functions to listen.

Brad smiled, as unaffected as if her dad had just asked for his phone number. But on close inspection, a tiny muscle in his jaw throbbed. And the smile looked a little forced. He also took a bit longer than usual to reply. “Mr. Marks, I . . . have the greatest respect for you and your daughter. But I have to ask that you give us some time to figure that out.”

Oh
. Her heart stuttered, faltered a little. The bright, shining happiness that had filled her dimmed a little. But she put on a bright smile. “Let’s eat, okay?”

Her dad shot her a glance that she knew to be fatherly concern, but he was kind enough to mumble something like “fair enough” and keep eating.

God, Brad had
hesitated.
He
never
hesitated.

She’d expected the Cinderella answer. Something like, “Mr. Marks, I’m in love with your daughter. Always have been, always will be.”

Clearly, she was into the fairy tale and he wasn’t. He’d warned her, of course, that day in Bridal Aisle. He’d accused her of always wanting the Disney ending.

An ending, apparently, he might not be capable of giving.

The few bites of eggs and toast she managed to choke down might as well have been chalk and dust. She made a few attempts at small talk, but mostly she just listened to Brad and her father talk about construction problems.

You’re taking this too seriously
.

That’s right, she was. In that moment, Olivia realized that she’d unconsciously set up a vision of her life with Annabelle that had included family, friends, a home, a full life—and Brad.

Suddenly, her life in New York seemed way lacking.

But maybe he didn’t share that. Maybe he’d just given in to the combustible attraction that always seemed to surround them like an aura. Perhaps she was no more than a bead on his string of women that he had fun with while he enjoyed his single, carefree life. Once again, she’d thought he’d cared—okay,
loved
her—and she couldn’t be wrong. Or could she?

“Oh, I almost forgot,” her father said over his second cup of coffee. He dug a Post-it out of his pocket and handed it to Olivia. “Joe and Beth Hastings have a daughter in New York who adopted a baby. They thought she might be able to give you some insights.”

“Lots of people adopt babies, Dad.” She wasn’t sure how this particular person would help, except it was always good to meet potential friends for Annabelle.

“It was an unexpected adoption. Happened while they were waiting on another baby. They had one day to make a decision, without any time to prepare.”

“What’d they decide?”

“They took the child—a girl. Then, nine months later, the other agency was finally ready. So they adopted a boy, too.”

“Interesting. So they became parents suddenly, too.” Without the benefit of months to prepare or adjust. Just like her.

She was about to ask him more when her cell rang. Olivia looked at the name on the screen and blinked.
Sylvia.

Her boss was finally calling back.

Olivia’s heart kicked up in nervous anticipation as she walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway for privacy. Sylvia knew she was tough and aggressive, had brokered increasingly larger deals, and had worked her way up to editorial director in six years. She was too good an employee to let go.

Hope bloomed in her chest. With a saner schedule, she could hire a great nanny and see Brad on weekends. Not the perfect solution, but doable. Maybe this could all work out.

“Olivia, I need you back ASAP.” The cigarette-tainted grittiness of Sylvia’s voice added an extra layer of harshness to her words. “Helen quit and Ryan Connor is threatening to leave the house. I’m sorry, but reducing your hours is out of the question now.”

Olivia’s heart, anchored by disappointment, sank to rock bottom. Icy fingers of fear pricked her spine. The rosy future that seemed within reach minutes ago was ripped away.

Her brain raced to process a hundred different emotions, all of which sucked. “Why did Helen quit?” she asked.

She knew why, even before Sylvia spoke. Her biggest author, Ryan Connor, was particular, quirky, and obsessive, and for most people, working with him was a trial. The only reason she could was because she understood him in an elemental way. He was a meticulous perfectionist and she got that. They’d actually become friends.

“Helen couldn’t take the heat. Connor wants you back or he’s pulling out. How soon can you get here?”

Brad found Olivia in the hallway, clutching the phone to her chest. He didn’t have to guess the news was bad.

“Sylvia needs me back in New York right away.” Her voice was a clotted whisper. “The author I’ve been working with for the past year is threatening to bail.”

“The self-help guru?” Yeah, Brad knew who Ryan Connor was. Every colleague of his who wanted to be a success in business had a copy of his last book on their shelves,
The Assertiveness Project: Work Hard, Plan Hard, Get What You Want.
He’d made the rounds on every talk show, been written up in
People,
and his book was everywhere, from the big chain bookstores to Target.

She nodded. “Our biggest client. He’s refusing to work with anyone else.”

Brad paced the darkened hallway, his lighthearted mood dissolving in the dim light. He understood she had an important job. But what kind of employer did that to a new mother, especially under these circumstances? She needed more time to adjust, adapt, rest. He hated the thought of her jumping at her boss’s call and even asking
how high
. Her eagerness to get back meant something he couldn’t accept.