Burned Hearts (16 page)

Dane's fingertips brushed along the baby's plump cheek. “He's definitely something else. We're really lucky, Ari.”

“Yes. We are.”

He kissed me. Softly, sweetly, passionately. I could have just skated away with the soulful moment. But Amsel stirred and made a small distressed sound that I figured was related to the need for food.

Pulling away from Dane, I asked, “Would you mind getting Dr. Preston? I have a lot of questions about feeding and burping and changing Amsel. All that.”

“Mind if I sit in on the lesson?”

“Of course not.” A second later, my brow dipped. “But don't you have to get back to Quantico or wherever the FBI is hiding you?”

With another sexy kiss, he said, “It's not Quantico. And I can hang a while longer.”

He left us briefly and I returned my attention to little Amsel Bradley Bax. My blackbird.

“So, Kid,” I mused as he kept up the adorable gurgles. “What do you think of your family so far? Lots of people, all willing to do anything in their power to keep you safe. They're pretty fabulous. And wait until you meet your granddad. He's a golfer. Very laid-back dude. You'll learn a lot from him.” I suddenly couldn't wait to introduce the two of them.

As I went all gooey over my dad and my son bonding, there was a small knock on my bedroom door. I barely heard it.

“Come in.”

Lisa entered first—she was one of the specialists for the little autistic girl, Chelsea, whom Macy accommodated for inpatient care. “We're not interrupting, are we?”

“No. Great timing, actually.”

Lisa moved farther into the room. Chelsea followed suit, though stuck to the fringes. She was a petite blonde with a frail frame and springy curls. A gifted child whose mother had done everything she could to raise Chelsea in a secure and nurturing environment but hadn't quite been equipped to deal with the complexities of autism.

The more I'd gotten to know Chelsea during my stay, the more I'd come to realize how fascinating she was—and how specific her needs were. I'd set up a foundation for autistic children as a result and one for single-income mothers, such as Chelsea's, in the small community of Sedona, where the cost of living could prove challenging.

Chelsea benefited greatly from Macy's retreat. Dane and I had paid for two years of her future care, which I now considered extending, seeing what good it did for Chelsea. When I'd first met her, she never would have made this bold of a move, coming to my room for an amiable visit. I prayed others reaped similar advantages from our efforts.

To the delicate little blonde, I asked, “Are you here to see my baby?”

She hung back, as was her nature. She didn't like anyone invading her space. I could relate. I'd never liked it, either. Hadn't been able to get over the affliction until I'd met Dane, actually.

“His name is Amsel,” I offered in a soft voice. Like me, Chelsea was averse to loud noises. For entirely different reasons, of course. I'd heard enough slammed doors and shattered glass to last a lifetime.

I waited a few moments, not saying anything. Lisa remained silent as well. This was how Chelsea acclimated.

Mostly, she spent her time at a large table just inside the solarium that overlooked the gardens and courtyard. Chelsea had the phenomenal ability to replicate landmarks out of Erector Sets and Legos. If we could channel that talent into rebuilding the Lux, we'd really be in business.

Five or so minutes passed with no one rushing Chelsea or making a move. Amsel stopped fussing and slept in my arms. I was captivated by the sight of him, the feel of him, the smell of him. I resisted the urge to lift him to my nose and inhale deeply.

Finally, Chelsea inched forward. Slowly. She eyed Amsel from various angles. Subtly.

I watched, while trying to appear as if I weren't.

When she reached the bed, she tilted her head, checking out the minuscule package. Then she climbed onto the mattress. That was a surprise, her being the spatially conscious type. I didn't say anything, didn't make as though this was a shock.

She crawled toward Amsel, sat on her knees, then very gently poked at my son. His leg. His arm. His shoulder. Not jarring him in the least, just sort of feeling him out.

I bit back a laugh. Lisa shot me a warning look—as though to remind me of how not to upset Chelsea with raucous sounds or sudden movements.

I whispered, “He's brand-new. Cute, huh?”

She studied him closely. Didn't say a word, not that I was surprised, because she rarely spoke to anyone other than her specialists. And Kyle.

“Smells nice, too. I'm keeping him.”

She glanced up at me.

“I'll bring him to see you whenever you want. If you want.”

Chelsea took a few moments to visually inspect Amsel a bit more. Then she nodded. She gave a couple more faint jabs and smiled.

“I promise he'll be awake next time.”

Still, she didn't seem to mind. She climbed off the bed and wandered off.

Lisa said, “She definitely likes him.”

“I think it'll be mutual.”

 

chapter 9

We were all back at the creek house three days later. Dr. Preston didn't feel the need to keep Amsel under close observation at the retreat after that period but requested she be allowed to check in on him twice a week. I agreed wholeheartedly, and with Dane's approval Amano didn't have much choice but to acquiesce as well.

I felt a chill factor between my bodyguard and me that was distressing. I knew I'd pushed the limit when I'd wanted him to keep the premature birth from Dane, but I'd been thinking of Dane's safety—all of the coming and going made him a moving target and that worried me.

Dane stayed a couple nights more. The baby didn't seem to miss a beat when it came to eating, doing his little business, and sleeping. All the activity in the house garnered his attention, exhausting him. Everyone loved holding him. When they could pry him from my arms, that was.

I would sit and stare in wonderment at him for endless amounts of time, until someone came along and wanted to take over. Rosa mostly, but Amano was clearly hooked on our bundle of joy, too. Kyle was equally infatuated, which surprised me. I wouldn't have thought he'd be so keen on Dane's son. Typically, anything related to my husband made Kyle grumble. But Amsel was addictive, all cuddly and squeaky clean and only slightly fussy.

Of all the people fascinated with the baby, it was Dane who amazed me the most, as he cataloged every single detail when it came to our son. Dane watched me care for Amsel, but didn't shy away from feedings, changings, bathings. And he talked to Amsel about how incredible his life would be, how fortunate he was to have me as a mom, how much we all loved him.

Dane was smitten. Over the moon, smitten. He obsessed over me, certainly. But his admiration of Amsel was so incredibly endearing, my heart melted every time I happened upon father and son, sharing affectionate moments I knew would help to shape Amsel's life.

A tinge of envy also washed over me. My own dad had never failed to make me feel loved and wanted. Yet he'd never been particularly demonstrative, physically. My mother, of course, had exhibited zero warmth for either of us, so I'd grown up lacking those hugs and cheek kisses most kids found doting when they were young, annoying when they were teens, and reassuring when they were older.

Dane did not possess that reserved emotional sensor that kept him from expressing his feelings. It choked me up. I honestly couldn't have loved either one of them more than I did. And I literally just wanted to eat them both up. It was such a bizarre craving, this need to be with them, to watch them, to absorb them.

Dane tolerated my hovering. He didn't take offense, or fear it might be that I observed in order to make sure he didn't do anything wrong with the baby tasks. He seemed to like the tight family unit we'd become, even if it did include Kyle.

I had to admit that we all were a bit overprotective of the new household addition. Even as Amsel slept in his crib in our bedroom, Dane and I stood alongside the railing, unable to take our eyes from him.

Our son had been asleep a good half hour one evening when I finally admitted, “Okay, we are officially creepy.”

Dane chuckled. “Not creepy. Mesmerized.”

“And staking him out just to make sure nothing happens to him if we turn our backs for two seconds.”

“He's just so—” Dane shook his head, appeared to search for the right word.

I offered, “Yummy?”

“Now you're creepy.”

I playfully shoved at him. “You know what I mean,” I whispered. “I want to hold him 24-7. Snuggle nonstop.”

“I like hearing that. Except…” Dane wrapped his arms around me—having made a full recovery from the gunshot wound—and pulled me close to him. “I told you a long time ago that I wouldn't share you.”

“You have no choice now.”

“And I'm not complaining. At all. But I still get my time with you.”

“Do you ever.” I encircled his neck with my arms, pressed my body against his. “Take me to bed.”

He kissed me. Deeply, passionately, possessively. Then he said, “To sleep. Because you're exhausted and need to rest. And I want to hold you while you do.”

He didn't have to say the words
before I have to go
. They always lingered between us. Painfully. Tauntingly. Regretfully.

I swept my fingers through his lush hair. “You're Husband of the Century.”

He snickered, though not in jest. “You know my stance on that. I wasn't even with you during the delivery.”

I knew better than to mention that Kyle had been. That would only twist the knife. And I needed Dane to understand that all of his angst over not being with me, about us not having a normal relationship or marriage, was wasted energy. Because I loved him. No matter the circumstances.

Keeping the mood light, I told him, “Soon to be Father of the Century.”

“Right.”

Scooping me up in his strong arms, he carried me to the bed.

“And might I add, you already have Lover of the Century covered.”

He placed me gently in the bed and I cuddled under the covers with his hot and hard body next to mine.

“I plan to take that concept to all-new levels,” he told me. “When you're ready.”

“I'll be taking you up on that pledge very, very soon.”

*   *   *

After Dane left, I went back to my work in the office. He hadn't stepped into this room while visiting, so preoccupied had he been with me and the baby. A relief. I didn't have to explain my crazed methodologies to him or feel guilty about having taken over his space and ruining the walls with nails and permanent marker.

I really did feel bad about the latter, but I could fix it all up when the current FBI predicament was said and done.

When …

I followed news of the trials and generally tried to keep an even temperament, regardless of all the memories of the explosion they stirred up. Kyle was a little tenser than normal, and I wondered if that was for the same reason as my stress or if he was deliberating over what he'd do once the corrupt society members were behind bars and we were all free to go about our business. I didn't get the impression he'd figured out yet what to do with his future.

I struggled a little with that as well, if things didn't pan out with the Lux. By that, I meant if Dane decided he didn't want to keep the resort. I'd loved it from the time I'd first set foot on the grounds, and now that I was engaged in top-secret revival planning I felt even more a part of the exclusive hotel. Amsel's legacy.

Luckily, the two main contacts I worked with understood my need for secrecy, having partnered for numerous years with Dane on his various projects. They didn't mind that I changed e-mail addresses and phone numbers every week when I touched base with them. I'd gotten pretty good with the covert stuff and did everything I could not to take any chances with security or compromise my progress.

The late-summer monsoon season started and Amsel seemed to enjoy the sound of the heavy rains as we sat on the covered back patio most afternoons. We were admiring a vibrant rainbow over the tops of the trees when my dad made his first visit to see the baby.

“Look at that,” Dad said in his casual tone. “You have a kid.”

I laughed. “His name is Amsel. No nickname as of yet—other than Kid.” To my son, I said, “And he's pretty much just going to be Gramps. Nothing fancy.”

“Definitely nothing fancy,” Dad agreed as he took my son in his arms. “Aren't you something else?”

I beamed. “Pretty awesome, huh?”

“He's incredible. Look at all that hair.”

“I know. It's crazy. He already looks just like Dane. He's going to be a handsome devil, and all the girls will go nuts over him.”

“That'll be fun for you,” Dad deadpanned.

“Yes, well, they'll have to get past me if they want to date him.”

My dad laughed heartily. “I'm scared already.”

“So am I.”

He settled into a chair across from me. Oak Creek rushed along the smooth rocks just beyond the terrace, filling the silence. In addition to Amsel's normal cooing. He seemed to amuse himself wiggling gleefully and making silly little noises. I was dying to know what went on inside that tiny head of his. I was completely enthralled. And, knowing how brilliant Dane was, I wouldn't be surprised if our child was currently working out algorithms in his brain.

While my dad was held spellbound as well, I asked, “Any sign of Maleficent?”

He gave a half snort at my reference to my mother. “She has a literary agent.”

“What?” My blood pressure likely just shot into the stratosphere. “You have got to be kidding!”

“She felt it was the courteous thing to let me know.”

I fought a gape. “So she's serious about this book?”