Still the One (4 page)

appeared as if he were just seconds away from blowing his top. If Creigh had

anything to say about it, the only thing that would be getting blown around here

was him. She refused to let their first night of peace and quiet end so soon.

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Lena Matthews

Desperate, she went to him, wrapped her arms around his tense frame, and

laid her head on his back. She could hear his heart beating, loud and clear. It was a

sound that soothed her and spurred her on. “We can just ignore it.”

“We can‟t,” he said harshly. “The kids are asleep, remember.” The bell rang

again, longer and more insistently than before, as if the person was leaning on the

buzzer instead of just pressing it.

Irritation radiated off Dean like steam. “But they won‟t be for long if we don‟t

get rid of the person at the door.” He sounded anything but pleased.

“True.” Creigh dropped her arms to her side as another interruption took

precedence over their love life.
Fuck
! Frustrated, she stepped away from him and

tried to edge past Dean. She wanted to curse and rage at the heavens for their

untimely disruptions, but she held her tongue. It wouldn‟t do either of them any

good, but it didn‟t stop her from pouting. “So much for my early gift.”

Before she could get more than a few feet away, Dean reached out and grabbed

her hand, stopping her in her tracks. “Like hell.” With a quick jerk of his hands,

Dean pulled her up against his hard chest. “I‟ll get the door, and you get ready.”

The last part of his sentence came off not as a request but as an order. One

that made her stomach clench and her pussy drench. “I‟ll be waiting.”

“You better be.” He crushed his lips down onto hers and silenced any comeback

she might have had with a flick of his tongue across hers. He plundered her mouth

for a few joyous seconds before pulling away with a growl as the doorbell rang

again. “Now go.”

“Fine. Fine. Fine.” As if she could move.

“Now.” Dean landed a quick smack on her ass, motivating her in ways words

never would. Creigh laughed as she double-timed it to the bedroom. She wanted to

be ready when Dean returned for any punishments or rewards he might be willing

to dish out.

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21

Dean waited until Creigh made it upstairs and his erection had gone down

before he slipped on his discarded T-shirt and headed to the front door. This was not

the way Dean had envisioned the evening going. But to be fair, the first ten minutes

wasn‟t what he‟d imagined either. Attacking Creigh while she loaded the dishes was

as far from Don Juan as it could get, but then there were some things that just

couldn‟t be helped.

He was a red-blooded Italian man; it went against his DNA to bypass a

beautiful woman in an insta-boner position and not comment on it. His wife was

beautiful, sexy as all get-out. One look at her bent over and all thoughts of romance

went right out the window.

Not that Creigh had seemed to mind. Not at all. In fact, the rougher he

handled her, the cruder he spoke, the wetter her pussy became. It was amazing to

him how someone he‟d known almost his entire life could still surprise him—and in

such a good way.

The flip side to his happy discovery was the person on the other side of the

door—cock blocking like a kid brother tagging along on a drive-in movie date. It was

if the gods were laughing at his frustration. He wanted to get rid of whoever was at

the door as fast as possible so he could get upstairs and into his wife‟s arms. He

refused to allow this night to end as the previous nights had—with him alone in the

bathroom stroking while the woman he loved was sound asleep.

Although he was impatient, he didn‟t want to be a jerk, so he took in a deep

breath before unlocking and then opening the door. He had words of dismissal at

the ready, but it all slid away when he spotted the well-dressed man at the door.

“Uncle Roland.” Surprise and pleasure mingled as one in Dean‟s voice as he

stared at the familiar face of his former boss and family friend. Thanks to

conflicting work schedules, Dean hadn‟t seen the elder man since the holidays—a

fact that didn‟t sit well with him at all. Although only seconds before, he had been

willing to take off the head of the person at the door, he was pleased to see that if he

was going to be delayed bedding Creigh, it was at least for someone who was

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worthwhile and not someone peddling religion or candy. With a smile on his face,

Dean stepped back and gestured for Roland to enter. “Come in, old man. Long time

no see.”

“It…it has been a while.” The normally jovial African American man seemed a

bit apprehensive. The carefree smile that usually graced his lined face was nowhere

in sight. A sign of trouble if ever there was one. Roland was dressed in a suit as if

he‟d just come from a late night at the office. The older man hardly ever worked

until this hour. The only reason Dean could think he would was if something was

wrong at the plant.

Concerned, Dean closed the door behind him. “Is everything all right?”

“I‟m not real sure.”

That didn‟t sound good at all. From the downtrodden expression on the older

man‟s face, Dean could tell he wouldn‟t be joining Creigh as he‟d hoped anytime

soon. This night was just not going his way at all. “Let‟s go in the living room.”

“Okay.”

With a heavy heart, Dean followed the man who‟d been like a second father to

him into the living room. Whatever the burden weighing down Roland, Dean knew

he would do his best to help lighten it. As long as it wasn‟t life-threatening, that is,

because Dean didn‟t think he could bear it if there was anything wrong with Roland

or his wife, Sharon.

He and his siblings were as close to the older couple as they would have been

to their parents if they had still been alive. High school buddies with Dean‟s dad,

Roland had been a part of Dean‟s life for as long as he could remember. After Dean‟s

mother and father passed away, Roland and his wife had quickly stepped into the

roll of surrogate parents. They‟d gone beyond the call of duty for kids who weren‟t

their own: loaning Gino the money to start the bar and paying not only for Dean‟s

sister Annabelle‟s wedding, but also for Sergio to go to school. Roland and his wife

were so ingrained in their family that Dean didn‟t know what he would do without

them. He damn sure knew he couldn‟t lose another set of parents.

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23

Instead of sitting on the couch as was his custom, Roland walked over to the

fireplace and stared at the mantel. His silence only added to the uncertainty of the

situation. God, he felt like a kid again. “Uncle Ro—”

“Are Creigh and the kids in bed already?” he interrupted without turning

around.

“Yes. They‟ve already turned in for the night.” And he hoped the kids stayed

that way until after his guest left and Creigh was thoroughly ravished. The thought

alone caused his cock to stir. Not exactly something he wanted to happen while

sitting in front of his uncle. Shaking his head, Dean tried to concentrate on the

problem at hand and not his hopefully nude wife upstairs. Taking a deep breath, he

walked closer to his friend. “What‟s wrong?”

“There‟s been something on my mind. Something I‟ve wanted to talk to you

about for a while, but there hasn‟t really seemed to be an opportunity to do so.”

Roland turned and faced Dean. “I was waiting for you to come to me. Waiting for

you to say something, because I‟ve always thought you knew you could. Come to me,

that is. About anything.”

“I can. I have.” Dean frowned. He didn‟t have an inkling where this was going.

“Not about everything.” Roland reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a

small black-and-white photo. He looked at it for a second before handing it over to

Dean. “Not about this.”

Confused Dean took the photo and glanced at it. The second he did, he felt as if

his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, and he knew there was no way in hell he

was heading upstairs anytime soon. He also understood what Roland was referring

to when he‟d said, “
Not about this
.”

The photo his uncle handed him was of Roland‟s wife, Sharon, holding their

son, Trace, as a toddler. The resemblance between mother and son was very

evident. As was the similarity between Trace and Dean‟s youngest daughter, but

Dean refused to dwell on that. Instead he focused on the attractive woman in the

picture. “Aunt Sharon hasn‟t aged a day.”

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Lena Matthews

A brief smile flickered across Roland‟s face. “That makes one of us.”

“You still look good for your age. A little rough around the edges,” Dean teased.

“But still passable.”

“Sharon thinks so, so I guess that‟s all that matters.”

“Very true.”

Roland‟s smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared just seconds earlier.

He was back on topic, and if his demeanor was anything to go by, he was done with

making nice. “But she‟s not the only one in the photo.”

“I know.” Dean let out a heavy sigh as he handed back the damning evidence.

“This is a conversation you should be having with your son.”

A shadow passed over Roland‟s face. “If I wanted lies, I would.” Roland slipped

the picture back in his pocket. “But I wanted the truth, so I came to you.”

Dean dragged his hand through his dark brown hair. “Maybe it‟s not my truth

to tell.”

“I think I deserve it. Sharon deserves it.”

This was definitely not how Dean had ever wanted to have this conversation,

and he especially didn‟t want to have it tonight. “Listen. If—”

“In all these years, Dean, I‟ve never asked anything from you.”

Dean closed his eyes for a brief moment, willing this matter to disappear. All

he wanted out of this life was his wife and kids. All three of them. “Don‟t do this.”

“I‟m asking now.”

“She‟s my daughter,” he said through clenched teeth. “In every way that

matters.”

Roland nodded. “Yes, but is she my granddaughter?”

Dean inwardly grimaced but did his best to keep his expression neutral. He

wasn‟t going to lie to the man. At least not overtly. The lie of omission had already

occurred. But as he‟d noted earlier, this wasn‟t his story to tell Roland. It was

Trace‟s. And damn the other man for not speaking up. Dean had given him a chance

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25

to do the right thing, he‟d damned near begged him to do so, and the loser still

couldn‟t do it.

Son of a bitch.

His silence spurred Roland to a point Dean never thought he‟d go. “Dean, I‟m

begging you as a friend. As a father. Tell me, please.”

Dean was silent for a long time, but when he finally spoke, he spoke from the

heart. “She‟s mine,” Dean reiterated firmly, so there would be no mistake. “But

she‟s also your granddaughter.”

Roland swallowed hard and nodded as if Dean was only confirming what he

already knew. But of course that was exactly the case. Dean took the older man‟s

arm and guided him to the couch and then joined him, neither man saying a word or

looking at the other. They sat in silence for a moment before Roland turned to Dean.

“Why didn‟t you say something?”

“Because he asked us not to.”

Roland frowned. “Since when have you ever listened to Trace?”

“Since we both wanted the same thing.”

“For Sharon and I not to know?” Disbelief and hurt flashed quickly over

Roland‟s face.

“No”—Dean met Roland‟s confused glare with a stony one of his own—“for him

to not be held responsible.”

“But he is.”

“No. I am. Because she‟s mine.” Weary of the whole sordid mess, Dean ran his

hand over his face. This was not what he wanted. Not by a long shot, but he couldn‟t

go on ignoring it. “Look, I never wanted you and Sharon to be cut out of Halla‟s life.

That was never my call. Never my decision to make.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because we had a deal. Your ignorance was the price I agreed to.”

“Price.” Roland cringed in disgust. “For money.”

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Lena Matthews

“No,” Dean chided, a bit put out Roland would even have to ask. “For his

signature. He gave up his rights, and I kept quiet.”

“Was that your idea?”

Dean shook his head. “No. It was his.”

“Of course it was.” Roland sat back with a sigh. “I don‟t even know why I

asked.”

That was easy. “Because he‟s your son.”

“And she‟s my granddaughter. A fact he would have been happy with me not

knowing.”

Never in his life would Dean have thought he would be in a situation to defend

any action Trace made, but he found himself doing so anyway. “Maybe he didn‟t