An Unlikely Daddy (12 page)

But as he'd reminded her, they were both sorting things out. Maybe this mood was as ephemeral as everything else. Maybe she didn't deserve stolen moments of happiness, and what if they wrecked her more? Because Ryker would be moving on, back to a dangerous job. The very kind of life she had already lived with Johnny. She didn't think she could do that again.

In fact, she was quite certain. Not with a baby. So, steamy thoughts aside, she needed to avoid anything that could hurt her again. Anything.

* * *

When the lights were at last on the Christmas tree, Ryker stood back to eye his handiwork. There were some blotches of color, but not much and not too many. “Okay?” he asked Marisa.

“It's beautiful.”

Seeing her smile made it all worthwhile. He would, he realized, do almost anything to keep that smile there. That expression had been so rare when he had arrived, but now he was glimpsing a new Marisa, one who was no longer totally buried in her grief.

Oh, the grief was still there. He was no fool. She'd spend the rest of her life grieving for John, but the healing hands of time should ease it, lessen it, put it further in the background most of the time. If he could help that along, he would.

“I'm gonna get some more coffee before I start decorating,” he said. “Want anything?”

“I need to move around a bit,” she said decisively. As she started to wiggle forward, to get her feet properly balanced before she stood, he held out his hands. Without hesitating, she took them, and he tugged her gently up.

“I think I'll keep you,” she said lightly. “Getting up is getting harder.”

She stood only a few inches from him, and her natural scents filled him. His whole body responded with need. He forced himself to focus on what she'd said. “How come?”

“My balance has changed. It just takes a little more thinking and a little more work now. No biggie.”

He looked down into her amazing eyes, saw a smile there. “And how's Jonni doing?”

“She's fine. She's been a little quiet this evening, but still stirring.”

“That must be the most amazing experience.” Reluctantly, he let go of her hands, reminding himself that there were limits here, wise ones. Limits that protected them both from making a mistake. He didn't want to do anything she would regret, because if he did he'd be living with a pile of regret, too, and he wasn't a man filled with regrets.

He'd made his choices and lived with them. He couldn't see any point in regret because the past couldn't be changed; it could only teach lessons. He had, however, known plenty of people who could devote a whole lot of time to regrets, and he didn't know if Marisa was one of them.

He didn't really know her at all. Nor did she really know him. Worse, his secrets stood between them like an insurmountable barrier. Every time he failed to reveal who John had been working for, he committed another lie by omission. Yeah, he was bound to it, but you couldn't build anything on lies. The whole thing would be rotten, riddled by them. As she walked toward the kitchen, his gaze followed her, and he felt a savage hatred for the secrecy forced on him.

God, he needed to make some changes.

His cell phone rang, surprising him, and he pulled it out. The office, of course. Why the hell were they bothering him?

He grabbed his jacket and called to Marisa. “I'm stepping outside to take this call. Back in a minute.”

“Okay,” she responded.

Outside, the snow continued to fall. More shoveling in the morning. Making sure no one was within earshot, he answered the call before he even zipped his jacket.

“Tremaine.”

It was Bill. He recognized the voice instantly. “You've been rattling some bars, R.T.”

“I want to know. And there's a woman who deserves to know.”

“Of course she deserves to know. That doesn't change anything. It can't change anything.”

“Then at least have someone deliver the letter, let her know about the star. Someday she might even want to show the star to her child. Is that really too freaking much?”

Bill didn't say anything for a few seconds. “Maybe that's possible. I'll look into it. But stop rattling the cage. Some folks are getting nervous about you.”

As if he cared anymore. This had become personal. Maybe that reduced his effectiveness, but to hell with it. The certainty had been growing in him that, given his experience and expertise, he was far more valuable to them than they were to him.

“I'll let you know.” Then Bill was gone.

He stuffed his phone into his jeans pocket and stood for a while watching the snow fall. It was beautiful, but tonight it reminded him of frozen tears.

Finally he shook himself, remembering that Marisa was inside, probably wondering what was going on.

He found her in the kitchen, and all the happiness that had been written on her face was gone now. She sat at the table with a glass of cranberry juice and looked hollowly at him. “You have to leave.”

It sounded almost like an accusation. “No. Absolutely not. That was just a loose end.”

Her hands were wrapped around the glass, her knuckles white. “You don't need to lie to me.”

“I'm not lying. I don't have to leave.”

“Johnny got calls like that, then he'd be gone.”

He blew a loud breath, then said firmly, “I am not John, and I am not lying.” Except by all he couldn't say.

Of course he wasn't John. But he was so like John that it made no difference, he supposed. He got his cup of coffee, then sat facing her, tree forgotten. One phone call and her day was destroyed. In that instant he had a clear and ugly picture of what she had endured.

Reaching across the table, he pried her hands from the glass. They were now cold and damp. He swallowed them in his grip, holding on to her. He had a bridge to cross here, and he needed to do it quickly.

“You want the truth?” he asked.

She nodded, her face drooping.

“I've been trying to find out what happened to John.”

She caught her breath. “And?”

“And nothing yet. In fact, I got told to let it go. I can't say more than that.”

Her expression changed suddenly, her eyes widening a bit, despair replaced by worry. “You're not losing your job over this?”

“No.” Flat and firm. “But I guess I made some folks uneasy.”

All of a sudden her small hands gripped his back. “Don't do this, Ryker. Don't get yourself in trouble by trying to answer my questions. I'd hate it. I'd hate myself.”

“I've pressed it as far as I can,” he said honestly. “So don't worry about me. Besides, I think I'm close to shoving this job.”

“Really?” Her expression lightened a bit. “But what will you do?”

“If there's one thing I know I can do, it's take care of myself. I'm not worried about it. Now, how about we get back to the tree?”

* * *

Marisa helped decorate the tree. Well, the middle section of the tree, she admitted, feeling her mood improve. She couldn't bend over too much, didn't dare squat, and Ryker wouldn't let her reach high for fear she might lose her balance. He was big enough to work over her head, and he clearly had no difficulty squatting.

“This is turning out pretty good,” he said halfway through. “Did I buy enough ornaments?”

She eyed the tree and the remaining boxes. “More than enough,” she assured him. “If we use them all, we won't be able to see much of the tree.”

He laughed. “Can't have that. You like blue spruce.”

He was squatting beside her, and as she reached to the side to hang another bauble, she teetered a bit and quickly grabbed his shoulder for balance. Muscle stirred beneath her hand, and heat stirred between her thighs.

“You'd better take a break,” he said. “You don't want an early Christmas present.”

So she returned to her chair to watch as he finished up. So many bright colors, and the LED lights sparkled everywhere. He'd spared nothing on this project.

But he didn't seem like a man for half measures. Why would she be surprised by that? Johnny hadn't been one, either. The similarity at once disturbed her and comforted her.

If there was one thing she'd learned about men like Johnny and Ryker, it was that they did what they said they'd do, with full commitment. She liked that.

“There,” he said finally, stepping back. “What do you think? I don't want to bury it.”

She studied it, the smile coming back to her face. “It's beautiful. I love it.”

He grinned at her, started to gather up boxes and unused ornaments, then paused. “How about lights outside? Do you want me to do them?”

Amazement filled her, then humor, which unleashed a laugh. “Are you crazy, Ryker? It's cold out there, and that would be a whole lot of work and expense.”

“True,” he agreed, settling across from her. “On the other hand, I haven't decorated the outside of a house since I was a kid.”

“Oh. I never did...before. I like looking at other people's houses, but I've never done it.” He'd missed a lot, she thought, and she didn't want to deprive him of this if he wanted it.

“Well, we don't have to. It crossed my mind.”

Why was she raising objections? The Christmas tree delighted her, had brought a breath of fresh air into this house, one she had needed. Because of a Christmas tree, she had enjoyed nearly the entire day. Was that so wrong?

Then she understood something else. “Would you decorate outside because you want it, or because you think I'd want it?”

“Both, actually. I was thinking about how pretty it would be, and how I haven't done it in so long. But it's up to you.” He glanced at his watch. “Maude's is still open. Want some hot chocolate? People have been raving about it. Apparently she's spiced it up a bit with cinnamon.”

She wondered if he was having trouble holding still. “I'd like that,” she said finally.

“I'll be right back, then. In the meantime, you think about outside decorations.”

Maybe that call from work had bothered him, she thought as he went out the door. Certainly he hadn't seemed quite as lighthearted since then. But he could just be tired, too. He'd been out in the cold an awful lot today, going for the tree, cutting it before bringing it inside, then running to the store for all those ornaments...

Or maybe she was looking for benign explanations where there were none. She had a habit of doing that.

He said he wasn't in any trouble for trying to find out more about Johnny's death, but he might just have said that so she wouldn't worry. She didn't want him to have problems because of her. But would he admit it if he were?

Probably not. He seemed hell-bent on protecting her. Her friends had been trying to care for her all along, and she'd kept a distance, denying them the right to do something that would probably make them feel good. But then this man Ryker came out of nowhere, and somehow he'd worked his way past her resistance. She seemed more aware of what he might need as Johnny's friend than she had been aware of what
her
friends might need.

Gloom settled over her as she contemplated the selfishness that grief had created in her. She had some serious making up to do.

Ryker returned quickly with the hot chocolate and put a foam cup on the table beside her. “I picked up a couple of crullers, too. Want one?”

“I'd love it.” At least he looked as if his troubles had fled while he was out. She leaned her head back, staring at the beautiful tree they'd made together, thinking she needed to apologize seriously to some friends. Maybe have them over for a little Christmas party. Let them know how much she loved them.

“Outside decorations?” he asked as he settled himself with his own cocoa and cruller.

She thought about how it would brighten up the place, how it would welcome her friends if she gave a small party. “If you really want to do it,” she said. “And I was thinking about having a small get-together with some friends. I've been pretty much leaving them out in the cold for a long time now. Would you mind?”

“You're asking
me
? Your house, Marisa.”

“I'm still asking.”

He shook his head a little, then smiled. “Party away. Won't trouble me at all. But let me get the stuff outside up first.”

A smile surprised her, tipping up the corners of her mouth. “It would certainly look like an invitation.”

One she hadn't issued in forever, it seemed like.

He turned off all the lights except for the tree, and she sat in its magical glow, feeling everything inside her beginning to shift, as if something elemental had changed. Almost without knowing it, she had reached a decision.

At last she rose from the rocker and walked over to him, standing right in front of him. He looked up at her and put aside his own cup.

“Ryker.” Her heart beat so fast she wondered if she would collapse.

“Yes?”

“Take me to bed, please.”

A hundred emotions seemed to run over the face she had once thought looked like granite. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. She was sure of one thing: she was awakening, and she wanted to complete her awakening wrapped in Ryker's arms.

Chapter Nine

F
or Ryker, sex had always been easy to come by, easy to enjoy, casual and meaningless. As he rose and took Marisa's hand, he knew this was different. Very different. First there was her pregnancy. Then there was this woman's ability to shake him to his very core. This would be no casual encounter, but rather one that could change everything.

In his life he'd taken a lot of risks, but suddenly none of them seemed as huge as this. Worse, looking into her face he understood to his very core that turning her down would inflict a wound. She had taken a bold step, reaching for life again, but he suspected she didn't feel especially attractive right now, and he hadn't spent any effort on trying to make her understand that she was attractive to him in ways no other woman had been. He'd been avoiding all the build-up to this moment because he didn't want to harm her. With one word, right now when she was so vulnerable, he could have gutted her.

She had taken the decision right out of his hands.

He spoke quietly. “You
did
talk to your doctor?”

She nodded, her gaze hopeful and even a little frightened.

“That must have knocked him sideways under the circumstances.”

He was relieved to see a slight smile dance around her mouth. “If it did, he didn't show it.”

“Restrictions?”

“I have to lie on my side. Ryker...”

He could see it. She thought he was looking for a way out. That pierced him painfully, and he wasted no more time. For whatever reason, she needed this, and he wanted it. “Well,” he said forcing a smile of his own, “there are plenty of ways to give pleasure.”

Relief filled him as he saw her relax a bit. One thorny hill surmounted. All of a sudden, though, he became aware of his own inadequacies. He'd never made love to a pregnant woman. He had no idea how this would roll. No mission plan other than giving her a wonderful experience. A daunting task under these conditions. He wondered if he'd be good enough, careful enough, considerate enough...

And all the while he was wondering, he was leading her to her bedroom. The prepared baby crib at the foot of her bed seemed to glow with warning. A dangerous situation.

But it didn't dampen his desire for her. That had been plaguing him, and like a smoldering fire it had refused to go out. Now those embers were glowing, beginning to heat him throughout. He couldn't let them take control.

If ever his self-control had been tested, this would be one of the rare times he wasn't certain he had enough. Inside him flames were leaping. His body was already burgeoning and throbbing. Marisa became the sole focus of his universe.

He left the lamp on because he wanted to see her. He slipped his arms around her as they stood beside her bed, trying to support her back, and leaned in for their first kiss.

To have come to this point without any kisses, without any touches... A dance like this usually had some lead-in time, but not this time. It had arrived with a bang, like a herd of thundering horses. Everything he'd been avoiding, everything that should have preceded these moments, was missing, and he had to make it up to her.

Her mouth tasted sweet, of chocolate and cruller, but her tongue showed no shyness. He felt her hands grip his shoulders as their tongues dueled, as he swept the inside of her mouth and felt a shiver run through her. Her lips clung to his, drinking from him, speaking in a way no words ever could.

He could have lost himself right then and there, but he couldn't forget her precious cargo or her back. He didn't want her to start hurting, to lose these moments with a backache or other discomfort.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he took a half step back to reach for the hem of the shirt she wore. Johnny's shirt, he was sure. For an instant he wondered if he was betraying his friend, then dismissed the notion. Johnny was gone. He and Marisa were here.

No buttons fought him. He pulled the shirt away and filled his gaze with the sight of her full breasts, cased in white cotton, and the smooth bulge of her belly just below them.

Bending, he kissed her belly. “I'll take it easy.”

Marisa's hands cradled his head, holding him close as he rested his cheek on her belly. She caressed his hair, making him feel utterly welcome. Still kissing her tummy, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her pants and panties and pulled them down.

A gasp escaped her, further enflaming him. God, he wanted this. When he got her pants to her knees, he urged her to sit.

“I want to look at you,” he murmured. “But first we have to get rid of some stuff.”

A breathless laugh escaped her as she settled on the edge of the bed. Getting rid of her pants and slippers was easy. Then, kneeling in front of her, he pulled her head to his shoulder and reached for the clasp of her bra. As he released it, she drew a sharp breath. “Ryker...”

“I know,” he said, as his entire body pulsed. “I know.” If she was feeling anything like he was, they were going to light the night with their explosion.

Leaning back, he took her in. Her breasts were full, looking so firm as they readied for the child. Her areolae were slightly brown, unexpected, given her coloring. The secret place between her thighs was partly hidden. He'd never seen a more perfect picture.

Rising, he shed his own clothes quickly. “Condom?” he asked gruffly, wanting to be done with the last necessity.

“Bedside table,” she whispered.

He found the drawer and put the box on top of the table, beside the bed. Then he faced the woman he wanted with every cell of his being.

He realized she was sweeping him with a hungry gaze, taking in every detail. She could no longer miss how much he wanted her. But she also had to see the scars, and he hoped they didn't turn her off.

“Ryker,” she murmured, “you're beautiful.”

“That's my line,” he said. “You're the beautiful one. Stand up?”

The moment and passion had gripped her, he realized. She stood boldly, letting him see her delightful curves, unashamed of her swollen belly. That delighted him, but with so much passion hammering him now, he tucked away the memory for later.

He reached out to cup her heavy breasts, feeling how firm they were, brushing his thumbs over her engorged nipples. As he did so, she gasped.

“Hurts?” he asked, concern pushing hunger briefly aside.

“No, oh, no,” she said faintly. “Feels too good, so good...”

The image of her seared his mind. He knew he would never forget this moment, this gift. Then she lowered herself to the bed, stretching out, giving him another gift of her complete trust.

Something was being born in him, but he didn't want to think about that now. A beautiful woman was offering herself to him, a priceless offering. It touched him and stoked the blaze inside him, and he knew he would never be the same.

Carefully he stretched out beside her and, propped on one elbow, he began to explore her with his hand, stroking downward over every hill and curve. She responded to each touch as if it was electric. He dropped more kisses on her, sparing not an inch of her. She kept reaching for him, but with the last remnants of reason he remembered he must be careful. Supremely careful.

When at last he put his mouth to her breast and sucked, she arched and groaned and her fingers clawed at him, trying to drag him closer. Hammered by his own need, it was almost impossible for him to resist. Had he ever ached so hard for any woman?

His body wanted to take over, but he couldn't let it. The baby. He kept reminding himself, the last sane thought in a world spinning rapidly out of control. In near desperation, he urged her onto her side so that he lay behind her. His hand made another trip over her, causing her to cry out with pleasure, finding her breasts exquisitely sensitive, so sensitive that she finally clasped her hand to hold it there.

“Never stop,” she begged, sounding as desperate as he felt.

But he had other plans in mind. Pulling his hand free, he dragged it lower until at last he found the dewy place between her thighs. He slipped his own leg between hers, separating her, opening her to his touch.

The instant his finger found her sensitive nub of nerves, a deep groan escaped her. She reached back with one hand, seeking to hang on to him while he stroked her repeatedly and listened to her breathing grow more and more ragged. Her nails found his buttocks and dug in, driving him crazy with renewed hunger. He refused to give in. First her. He wanted to bring her to completion before anything else, to show her that he could give her everything while taking little for himself. He needed to give her that.

She rocked gently against his touches, her cries coming more often. He kissed the nape of her neck, savoring each movement she took toward satisfaction. He could feel her electric response inside himself as if they were wired together.

Then, finally, one great spasm took her. A beautiful cry escaped her. Satisfied, he cupped her with his hand, pressing hard, drawing the last drop out for her.

* * *

Her ears almost felt as if they rang from the intensity of her orgasm. Ryker had given her a wholly new experience, and as she slowly drifted back to earth, she listened to them both breathe raggedly. Gradually she came back, feeling the cool air of the room on her heated skin, feeling the man behind her keeping her warm with his own body heat. Holding her so gently and intimately. Feeling his erection hard against her bottom.

“Ryker?” she whispered.

“How are you?”

“Wonderful. Fantastic. But what about you?”

“Don't worry about it.”

She stirred, grabbing his hand, bringing it to her lips, smelling herself on him. A new arc of desire passed through her. “Please,” she murmured. “I want... Fill me. I need it.”

For long seconds he didn't reply. Maybe he couldn't figure out how to do this. She didn't really know herself. She just knew that a part of her had been empty for too long, and she needed a man to fill it. This man. Not just anyone, but Ryker. She didn't question the need, she just accepted it.

“Just a sec,” he said finally. He pulled away. She heard him open a condom, and her heart began to race again. When he came back, he slipped his leg between hers again and started caressing her from breast to belly. Never in her life had her breasts been so exquisitely sensitive. Something else good to say about pregnancy, she thought distantly as desire began to sizzle through her with renewed power.

“Promise me,” he murmured as he kissed her neck and caressed her breasts, “you'll tell me if anything hurts even a tiny bit.”

“Promise,” she answered with the last bit of air she seemed to be able to find. She was flying again, rising to the heights with this man. His hand found her center and the knot of exquisite nerves. For just an instant his touch almost hurt, but then her body began the inevitable blossoming.

“Ryker?” Impatience began to drive her.

“Shh...” A mere whisper as his fingers lashed her back to the precipice. Then, she felt him enter her, stretching her, filling her, answering a need she had forgotten she had. It felt so good to be filled with him, so good.

Then he drove her crazy by continuing to caress her and move very slowly within her. Gently. He didn't look like a gentle man, but his tenderness with her was amazing.

Little by little he carried her up, refusing to increase his pace, making her want to cry out for more. But he didn't give it to her, drawing the experience out, taking half a lifetime in which she reached new pinnacles of longing and pleasure, until the ache became too much to bear. Then, at last, the explosion rolled over her, leaving her nearly blind with its intensity. Only dimly did she feel him stiffen behind her, followed by the throbbing of his member as he reached his own satisfaction.

Replete, exhausted, she tumbled with him into utter bliss.

* * *

She fell asleep almost instantly. That amused Ryker, but he figured she'd had a long day, and she hadn't taken her usual nap. He reached across the bed, trying not to disturb her, and managed to pull most of the blankets over her to keep her warm.

Then he lay holding her, staring at the wall beyond her bed, dealing with the sense that something inside him had just changed permanently. No other sexual experience had left him feeling that way, except his very first, but Marisa had somehow changed him.

Or maybe the change had been coming on for a while. He'd certainly begun questioning himself in ways he never had before. Deep inside him resided an uncomfortable feeling, the sense that he was unworthy to hold this woman.

She didn't make him feel that way, but the very fact that he was feeling it acted like a warning flag. At some level he was trying to deal with a basic fact: he could go back to his regular life, or he could make a drastic change so he wouldn't feel unworthy of the gift Marisa had just given him.

He needed to be wary of such questions because they could blunt his edge, and all too often his life depended on his edge. So, pretty soon here he was going to have to answer the question: Was he going back or taking a different direction?

His hand rested over her belly, atop the blanket, and he felt the baby stir and kick. Absolutely magical. He spread his hand so he could feel it better and thought about a new little girl coming into this world, all shiny and spotless and eager for life. He'd like to feel even a touch of that eagerness again. He supposed Marisa would, too.

Life left no one shiny and spotless, though. Everyone got dinged and picked up some stains. Life sometimes shoveled manure as if it were a game.

The question was what you did about it. He thought he'd been accomplishing good and important things, that the inevitable stains didn't outweigh the good he'd done. Then he thought about a fatherless child who would soon enter this world and wondered whether any of his past missions could ever outweigh the importance of caring for a child.

Maybe Johnny had missed his boat to redemption.