McIver's Mission (14 page)

She rolled over again and sighed. There was no point
in wishing for things that couldn't be. She'd never been able to make a
relationship work. Even Brad, who'd professed to love her, had turned away when
he'd learned the truth about her past. Shaun wouldn't be any different, and
she'd have to be a fool to think otherwise. She wouldn't be such a fool again.

Yet, she almost wanted to be. She hadn't been honest
with Shaun when she'd said she might want to have children someday. She
did
want children. She wanted to have a baby so much she ached with the longing.

She couldn't imagine anything more wonderful than
carrying a baby in her womb, feeling it grow and move inside her. She wanted a
child to lavish with love and affection; she wanted to be the kind of mother
she never had. At the same time, she was desperately afraid that she'd end up
being like her own mother.

She shook off the thought. It was unlikely she'd ever
carry a child in her womb when she couldn't sustain a relationship with a man.
Because as much as she wanted a baby, she wanted a husband, a family—the whole
package. She wanted what Nikki and Colin had found and forged together.

Arden had been there for every step of Nikki's first
pregnancy, she'd watched her belly swell with the child she carried, she'd held
her hand through every minute of the sixteen hours of labor. She'd cradled
Carly
in her arms when she was only a few minutes old: a
squalling, wriggling mass still warm from her mother's womb.

That single moment had changed Arden's life. She felt
her lips curve as her eyes started to drift shut. Yes, she definitely wanted a
child of her own.

When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed about a
baby.

She was standing beside the crib, looking down at the
sleeping infant. The baby was on its tummy, one arm tucked close to its little
body, the other flung wide. She always put him to sleep on his back, as the
books said to do, but he insisted on rolling over. His knees were tucked under
him, his diapered bottom stuck up in the air.

She reached down and patted it gently, stroked his
back, trailed a finger over the soft, downy hair. The baby's eyelashes
fluttered a little, as if he was dreaming. One pink cheek was pressed against
the mattress, the other round with the natural plumpness of a well-fed infant.
His Cupid's-bow lips were slightly parted and subconsciously mimicking the
gesture of nursing. Her breasts swelled in response, reminding her that he'd be
awake soon for a snack. He wasn't yet sleeping through the night, but she
didn't mind.

She sat in the rocking chair beside the crib, content
to wait. She could spend hours just sitting and watching him sleep, this
miracle of life. Her baby.

She heard something in the hall and glanced at the
doorway. She saw the barrel of a rifle just before she heard the shot explode.

She woke up screaming.

Chapter
8

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^
»

A
rden
was still out of sorts when she crawled, exhausted and bleary-eyed, out of bed
the next morning. After she'd awoken from her nightmare, she'd given up on
trying to sleep. She'd been plagued by similar nightmares since Denise and
Brian Hemingway had been killed, but her role had always been limited to that
of an observer. It had been years since she'd been a victim in her own dreams.

She moved into the kitchen and turned on the
coffeemaker. She was going to need a lot of caffeine to get through the day on
less than two hours' sleep. Or maybe she could just drown herself in the
shower.

She padded into the bathroom and turned on the faucet,
adjusted the temperature to cool, shivered as she stepped inside. Ten minutes
later her skin was still covered with goose bumps but her mind was at least
semifunctional
. She followed the scent of coffee back into
the kitchen, hoped a good jolt of caffeine would do the rest.

She was refilling her mug for a second cup when she
was startled by a brisk knock at the door. She glanced at the clock on the
microwave, saw it was only eight-thirty. She couldn't think of anyone who would
be at her door at this early hour on a Saturday morning. Her heart leaped and
lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her throat, as she recalled her nightmare
of the previous evening and the anonymous letters she'd received. She walked
resolutely toward the door, refusing to be a victim of her own overactive
imagination. Most likely it was Greta Dempsey, needing to borrow one thing or
another to bake more cookies.

But when she peeked through the peephole, she saw that
it wasn't Mrs. Dempsey on the other side. It was Shaun.

Arden put a hand over her chest, where her heart had
started to dance. Sooner or later, she promised herself, she'd stop reacting
this way every time she saw him. She hoped it would be sooner rather than
later. She turned the dead bolt and opened the door.

Before she could say hello, before she could say
anything at all, Shaun had her in his arms, his mouth on hers.

Arden wasn't prepared for the onslaught of emotions,
so she just closed her eyes and lost herself in the kiss.

Man, could he kiss.

His lips devoured her, devastated her.

She heard a low moan somewhere deep inside her, and
everything else faded away. There was nothing but Shaun, and nothing else
mattered.

"Good morning," he said, when he lifted his
head.

She blinked, trying to put the world back into focus.
"Good morning," she responded huskily.

"That," he said, brushing his lips over hers
again, "was for last night."

"Last night?" she echoed, wondering why her
brain didn't seem to be functioning.

"Colin and Nikki came home before I could steal a
good-night kiss," he told her.

She cleared her throat, tried to remember the
boundaries. "I thought we agreed that there would be no more
kissing."

He grinned. "I never agreed to any such
thing."

She struggled to remember their conversation of the
previous evening, but her mind was still reeling. Still, she was sure she'd
objected to the kissing. There was no way they could establish a friendship if
he kept kissing her like that, and friendship was all she was prepared to offer
right now.

"In fact, I was hoping that you'd just gotten out
of bed," he continued. "And that maybe I could talk you back into
it."

She wouldn't admit that she was the least bit tempted
by his proposition. Boundaries, she reminded herself again. "I was just on
my way to the office."

"In that?" He gestured to the old terry
cloth bathrobe she'd wrapped around herself when she'd stepped out of the
shower.

Arden felt her cheeks color. She'd forgotten that she
wasn't dressed. She'd forgotten everything when he'd kissed her. She tightened
the belt on her robe, suddenly self-conscious.

"After I get dressed," she said.

"It's Saturday," he reminded her.

"A lot of my clients work Monday to Friday, so
they come in on Saturday."

"What time's your first appointment?"

She eyed him warily. "Ten o'clock."

"So you still have lots of time to get to the
office."

"I'm
not
going back to bed."

He grinned. "Of course not. The first time we
make love, I want to spend hours just touching you."

She ignored the assumption implicit in his statement.
She wanted to take issue with the arrogance of his words, but she was afraid
any denial on her part might sound more like a challenge. And she wasn't sure
that they wouldn't end up in her bedroom if he kissed her again.

"I was only thinking," Shaun continued, as
if aware of the internal battle she was waging. "That maybe we could go
somewhere for breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

"You'll get through the day easier if you fuel
your body properly," he told her.

Her body was feeling plenty revved and ready to go
after that kiss he'd planted on her. She probably wouldn't even need her
habitual dozen cups of coffee this morning. "I appreciate the
thought," she said. "But I don't need someone to take care of
me."

He sighed. "Why is everything always a battle of
wills with you, Doherty?"

"Why do you always think you know what I
need?"

"Okay. Let's just say that I would like some breakfast,
and I would appreciate some company."

Arden wasn't sure he was being forthright, but she
didn't want to make his invitation into a battle. Was she always suspicious?
Confrontational? Why couldn't she have just said yes and gone for breakfast?
"I could use a cup of coffee," she said.

"That's what we call a compromise," Shaun
said cheerfully.

* * *

Shaun
ordered blueberry waffles with a side of bacon; Arden insisted she only wanted
coffee.
Stubborn
, he thought, with a combination of amusement and affection.
She challenged him, she intrigued him, and every time he was with her, he found
himself falling a little bit more in love.

Love?

He choked on his coffee, nearly spewed it across the
table.

Arden's brows drew together. "Are you all
right?"

He coughed, nodded. "Yeah. Fine."

Of course he was fine. He was
not
in love. That
was ridiculous. Yes, he enjoyed Arden's company. He was undeniably attracted to
her. And he wanted—almost desperately—to make love with her. But there was a
big difference between making love and being in love. His stomach lurched
uncomfortably. He wanted to believe it was hunger pangs, but he knew better. He
was
halfway in love with Arden, and still falling helplessly.

It didn't matter that this wasn't what he wanted, that
she wasn't what he wanted. As he'd told her last night, it wasn't about choice
or preference. He still wasn't sure that two career-oriented people could make
a relationship work, but he knew they had to try.

Arden sipped her own coffee, but she continued to look
at him with a mixture of caution and confusion. She'd dressed casually for her
office appointments today, in a pair of softly faded jeans that molded to her
long legs and the curve of her buttocks. Tucked into the jeans was a
peach-colored flannel shirt, of which the top two buttons were undone,
revealing a tantalizing glimpse of creamy flesh. Her hair fell loose past her
shoulders, like a soft wave of silk that his hands itched to dive into. Her
eyes, he noted, were wary, and there were purplish smudges beneath them.

"Rough night?" he asked.

She seemed startled by his question, apprehensive.
"Why do you ask?"

"You have shadows under your eyes."

"So much for the wonders of cosmetics," she
muttered.

He didn't think he needed to tell her that she still
looked beautiful. There was something about her fragile beauty that intrigued
him. Her skin was flawless, almost translucent, like the porcelain dolls his
mother used to collect. Her outward appearance gave no indication of the
strength inside. She was steel wrapped in silk, but even steel had a breaking
point.

"I'd like to think you laid awake all night
thinking about me," he teased. As he'd done, thinking about her. But he
sensed that whatever caused her sleeplessness was deeper in origin.

"Yeah, that's it," she agreed dryly.

"Are you worried about the letters?"

"No."

Any further inquiry was stalled by the delivery of his
breakfast. His mouth watered as the plate was set in front of him: two thick
Belgian waffles piled high with blueberries and dusted with powdered sugar, a
half dozen slices of crisp bacon on the side. He picked up the syrup dispenser,
poured a liberal helping of warm maple syrup over everything. Arden, he noted,
was eyeing the plate with interest.

He cut off a piece of waffle, bit into it. The pastry
was warm and fluffy, the berries plump and tart. He murmured with pleasure.

"This is so-o-o good."

Arden sipped her coffee.

"You have to try it." He cut off another
piece and held the fork toward her.

She opened her mouth to accept the offering, then
chewed slowly, savoring the rich flavor. "It is good," she admitted.

"Are you sure you don't want your own?"

She shook her head. "No, thanks." But she
did nip a slice of bacon from his plate, munched on it while he continued to
work his way through the waffles.

"Why do you always seem to be feeding me?"
Arden asked.

"I'm trying to fatten you up."

"Why?"

"I like my women soft and cuddly."

Her eyes narrowed; Shaun grinned.

"Did I offend you?"

"Not at all," she said primly. "Because
I have no interest in being one of your women."

He chuckled. Damn if he didn't want to haul her into
his arms right now and kiss her senseless. As much as she might want to
establish boundaries for their relationship, he knew they both wanted the same
thing when she was in his arms. When he kissed her, when she kissed him back,
nothing else mattered.