Читать книгу From Exes To Expecting - Laurel Greer - Страница 10
ОглавлениеLauren woke up on Saturday morning and reveled in not having set an alarm. Clear sky glowed blue through the skylights in her loft bedroom, promising a cloudless morning. And she planned to enjoy her three days of freedom. Freedom from blood, freedom from needles. She wasn’t free from her contract, but at least with the financial glitches she could drag her heels a little longer before signing in triplicate. And her 10:00 a.m. date to help Mackenzie make chair decorations and centerpieces all but guaranteed she’d be able to steer clear of Tavish. No way tulle pew bows and glass vase arrangements would capture his interest. He barely stayed still long enough to snap pictures on the ultra-fancy camera habitually slung on his shoulder.
He was happy enough to be still when we were snuggling in bed together.
Swallowing the lump that formed in her throat, she shot out from the covers. Her plush featherbed and Egyptian cotton sheets felt way too much like the bed they’d shared during their honeymoon in Las Vegas. She needed to clear her Tavish-and-work-filled brain with some fresh air before she headed into town to meet Mackenzie. Throwing on a sports bra, thin jacket and cropped leggings, she jogged downstairs.
Wanting her space to reflect the outdoors, she’d decorated the spacious, cathedral-ceilinged main floor in soft moss and earth tones to complement the green visible through the expansive panes of glass at the front and rear.
She loved it.
Never wanted to leave.
Her gaze landed on the thick manila folder on her reclaimed-barnwood dining table. Damn. Usually never wanted to leave. But the house was full of specters this morning. She’d fled the enchanting reminders of nights tangled in Tavish, only to run headlong into her work anxiety. She needed to get away from that contract before it sprouted legs and chased her around the butcher-block island.
Yoga on the dock. Yes. An excuse to leave the house without feeling like a total chicken.
Crisp forest air pricked her sinuses as she opened the glass French doors and toted her yoga mat down the stairs to the long wooden raft. The sun had risen far enough above the lush pines on the opposite bank to lend a hint of warmth to the light breeze. She sat cross-legged on her mat and stared at the ripples marring the surface of the water.
Living out on Moosehorn Lake, a twenty-minute drive from the town center, gave her enough distance not to feel truly pathetic about the double knots keeping her tied to home. She was close enough to take care of her dad and her sister, and to help Mackenzie and Andrew once the baby arrived, but far enough away she wasn’t living in their pockets.
She was independent. Owned a stunning, green-roofed log house on a pristine chunk of waterfront. Had a meaningful job that connected her to her mom. So what if she chose to be a homebody, to put her family first? Just because her chosen lifestyle was the polar opposite of Tavish’s didn’t make it any less valid.
Though it does mean we shouldn’t have exchanged rings...
And shouldn’t have made promises neither of them was capable of keeping.
She was stretching into downward dog when the roar of a ski boat broke through her meditative breathing. Teenagers, probably. Her nearest neighbor, the quintessential get-off-my-lawn sort, would be pissed off to have boat noise before eight.
A quick glance west corrected her assumption of the age of the perpetrators. She immediately recognized not only the stripe down the side of the sleek vessel barreling in her direction, but the passengers within it.
Not teenagers.
Clearly the groom had escaped any serious abuse at the bachelor party if he was on the lake at this hour. The early-morning sun silhouetted her brother’s broad shoulders as he steered from his perch on the top of his seat. Mackenzie’s red ponytail blew in the wind from her position in the bow seat, facing backward as the spotter. Cadie snuggled in the passenger seat across from Andrew, the hood of her zippered sweatshirt pulled up.
Lauren didn’t need to look to know who they were towing.
Every muscle stood out on Tavish’s wetsuit-clad body as he tore up the water behind the boat, creating an incandescent rooster tail taller than his six-foot frame.
So much for steering clear of him.
All four of them waved as they passed Lauren, seemingly headed for the slalom course a few hundred yards east of her dock.
Giving up on yoga and ready for any entertainment that could distract her from the little voice in her heart that said things she didn’t want to hear, she pulled her knees up to her chest.
Her brother aimed his boat through the two white marker balls. She shadowed her eyes and reluctantly admired Tavish as he passed through the course, creating an S pattern as he cut around the balls positioned on alternate sides of the center guides.
She’d have accused him of showing off, but he had perfect right to do so. Tavish Fitzgerald carved up the water like a four-star chef did a Christmas turkey.
Something hot and needy, something she didn’t want to acknowledge, pulled at her core and made her skin tingle. She rubbed at the goose bumps on her arms and tried to focus on his skill rather than his amazing body.
After Tavish successfully rounded all six obstacles, Andrew slowed the boat and Tavish sank into the water. Cadie unhooked the tow rope and reattached it at a shorter length, and Andrew kicked the boat up to a roar once again.
Tavish didn’t look as competent with less rope to deal with, bailing hard after two passes. Lauren’s breath caught in her throat until she heard his laugh echo on the water. Andrew didn’t waste any time getting Tavish back up and heading in the direction of her dock.
She cursed her brother’s efficiency. Tavish in a wetsuit five hundred yards out had heated her to the point of needing to jump in the chilly lake. Said man, plus said wetsuit, but minus four-hundred and ninety-nine yards might get her on the evening news for proving spontaneous combustion wasn’t a myth.
The boat ripped by, and he let go of the rope. He was nice enough not to spray her. As a teenager, he’d been able to drench the entire public dock without getting his hair wet. She imagined he hadn’t lost that talent. Then again, had he sprayed her, it might have saved her a load of embarrassment by killing the flush she knew had crept up her cheeks. He knew how to read her. Would know what her pink face meant.
Lauren bent down at the edge of the dock to catch his ski and shook her head in disbelief. “The lake’s freezing and the sun is barely up.”
“I don’t see any ice.” With a powerful stroke, he pushed his ski toward her. It skimmed into her waiting hands.
He climbed up the ladder just as she lifted the ski out of the lake, bringing her gaze within inches of the pull of his violet eyes.
She straightened, breaking away from the hypnotizing effect he had on her brain. “You’re not supposed to get stitches wet. Plus, the strain could tear them.”
“Drew and I made a waterproof dressing.”
“And tearing?”
He grinned cockily. “I’m a risk taker.”
They were interrupted by the rumbling of the boat as Andrew maneuvered it up to the dock and cut the engine. He turned down the dial on the stereo, lowering the volume on the country song blasting out of the speakers by half.
She smiled at her brother, then shook her head at Tavish. “You’re a dumbass.”
Tavish laughed and scrubbed the water from his hair. A few chilly droplets landed on Lauren’s cheeks. She was surprised they didn’t evaporate on contact.
“Nice welcome there, Laur.” Andrew raised a teasing eyebrow as he shoved up his sunglasses.
“One of the many services I provide.” Lauren grinned. Mackenzie tossed her the bow rope and she fastened the length around one of the cleats.
“We figured you wouldn’t be busy,” Mackenzie said as Andrew hopped out of the boat and proceeded to offer both his hands to help her to the dock. “We can hold off on the pew bows for an hour or two. Garnet’s covering for Andrew this morning.”
An hour or two. Doable. Right?
But Lauren had been wrong about Tavish one too many times to believe her own bravado.
Smiling stiffly at her siblings, she tried to ignore her ex-husband as he peeled off his wetsuit.
She failed miserably. There were things a girl could forget in her life. Tavish’s ripped abdominals, marred only by a faded appendectomy scar, didn’t qualify. But they didn’t look exactly the same as they had the last time she’d seen him shirtless—a tattoo wrapped his torso under his left arm, a watercolor nature scene bleeding out of a bold diamond-shaped frame. The bottom of the frame dipped below the waistband of his navy-and-white surfing shorts. The scene looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She fought the urge to reach out and trace the outline from mountain peak to stream.
Admiring Tavish’s taut stomach, another urge built deep in Lauren’s belly.
She fought that, too.
Mackenzie tossed him a towel, and he dried the water droplets clinging to the butterscotch-colored hair sprinkled on his well-formed chest.
Lauren jerked her gaze away. “Cadie, is Ben with Dad?” she asked, referring to her sister’s baby son.
Her sister nodded. “They headed off to see some of the new horses at Auntie Georgie’s ranch for the day.” Doting on Ben became a downright family competition at times. Parenting solo had been that much harder given Cadie had been recently widowed when Ben was born, so everyone pitched in when they could. “We brought chocolate croissants, Laur. Thought we’d have a bite to eat and then do some more skiing.”
Accompanied by Tavish’s perfectly formed pecs. Great. Drawing from the same well of determination as when she dealt with bodily fluids at the clinic, she forced her lips into a grin and reached for the box of pastries. “I’ll take these up to the patio table and go put on a pot of coffee. Want me to boil some water for herbal tea, Kenz?”
“Please,” Mackenzie replied, eyes slightly narrowed. She’d glanced between Tavish and Lauren more than once since getting out of the boat.
Lauren beat a hasty retreat to her kitchen. She had to do a better job of hiding her reactions to Tavish over breakfast.
For the next twenty minutes she sipped her coffee, munched on a croissant and participated in small talk. She even did a decent job of keeping her eyes on her food and off the way Tavish’s arms bulged under his T-shirt.
Setting down his empty coffee cup with emphasis, Andrew looked at her with a cheeky smile. “You going to try to beat my slalom-course record today, Laur?”
“I just may.” She grinned back, feeling in her element for the first time since Tavish showed up for stitches yesterday. Skiing, she could do. She ran into her house to grab her wetsuit and skis, early hour and ex-husbands be damned.
When she returned, Cadie and Mackenzie had taken up residence in the pair of cushioned lounge chairs on the dock. Her brother sat sideways in the driver’s seat of his boat, sandals propped on the passenger’s dashboard. Tavish straddled the port-side gunwale, one bare foot in the boat and one on the dock. All long limbs and straining T-shirt and way too delicious.
As Lauren strolled down the gangplank with her ski in one hand and her life jacket in the other, she caught him watching her. His throat bobbed. Yeah, she knew she looked good in her wetsuit. The neoprene enhanced each one of her curves. A thrill zipped through her body that he’d noticed.
“I’m up next,” she announced. “I want to see what my new ski can do.”
“I think it’s more the skier than the ski, Laur.” Tavish raked a hand through his hair. Sunlight reflected off the twisted gold-and-silver links of a bracelet on his left wrist. “When was the last time you went out?”
“Last weekend.” She walked to the end of the dock, watching him with a confident eye as she sprayed lubricant in the bindings and slid her feet in.
“I don’t remember you being that into waterskiing,” he said, sounding puzzled.
She mimicked the cocky grin he’d sent her way when he’d skied up to the dock. “That’s what happens when you stay away—people change. And learn how to trounce you on the slalom course.” She sat on the edge of the dock, both feet secure in midcalf-high boots, and held her hand out for the tow rope.
“You want this length?” Tavish’s eyes widened. The rope was still the length he’d last used—one requiring a good deal of skill.
“For now. I’ll use it as a warm-up.”
He guffawed. “A warm-up. Right.”
“Yeah. Right.” She left no room for misunderstanding in her voice.
“Okay.” He didn’t sound at all convinced as he tossed her the rope and sat on the passenger side of the boat with his feet resting on the carpeted engine cover.
Andrew turned to Tavish. “Ten bucks says you eat your words.”
Tavish snorted. “Done.”
Within a minute they roared away from the dock. Lauren channeled her frustration over Tavish’s doubt into cutting back and forth across the wake until they entered the slalom course. Then all thoughts of her ex-husband disappeared as she focused on leaning against the rope, flying back and forth. Releasing her outside arm as she rounded each ball, then pulling the rope in tight to her hip as she turned in the other direction, she did her best to send up a cascade of water twice the size of Tavish’s.
As she cut around the third ball of six, she let out a whoop—she’d beaten Tavish’s performance. Ha. Her competitive streak hadn’t kicked in this strong in a while. She’d blame him for that, too. He was already at fault for stealing away the peace of her morning; what was one more charge?
Successfully reaching the end of the course, Lauren held up a palm in a stop signal. Andrew slowed the boat to an idle, and she sank into the water.
“Take the rope in, Tavish,” she called.
“Seriously?” His voice lifted in surprise. “Twenty-eight feet off is damn tough.”
“And I’m damn good.” Satisfaction spread through her at being able to bring the glow of amazement into Tavish’s eyes. “Change the rope. And hurry up. Pretty sure I can feel ice crystals in my capillaries.”
“Don’t get testy. I just didn’t know you were trying to go pro.” Tavish unhooked the rope and refastened it, six feet shorter.
“I beat you. Now I need to do the same for Andrew.” Lauren took a breath and gripped the rope handle. She’d have to stretch out parallel to the water to get around any of the balls—her five feet and one scant inch worked against her at this point.
“Ready, Lauren?” Andrew called.
“Hit it.” Lauren tucked and let the boat pull her out of the water.
She quickly adjusted to the short rope. The heat of temper buzzed in her muscles as she stretched out toward the first ball. Releasing the handle with one hand, she cut around the obstacle. Inches from the surface of the lake, she somehow managed to pull herself up with enough time to repeat the feat on the other side. Her arms and quads screamed at her. She forced her body to submit one last time but that was it. Muscles totally gassed, she ripped back toward the middle of the wake where she stayed instead of trying for the remaining balls. That tied her brother’s personal best—she’d beat him by the end of the summer. And surpassing Tavish tasted too sweet to fuss about Andrew’s record. Tapping her head with the palm of her hand to signal she wanted to head home, she made lazy passes all the way back to the dock.
Cadie and Mackenzie clapped loudly as she let go of the rope and sank into the water. She shimmied out of her ski and propelled it toward Cadie, who waited for it on the dock. “My turn!” her sister announced, getting ready to enter the water.
Tavish climbed out of the boat, and Mackenzie took his place as spotter, and then Andrew gunned the engine once more.
Lauren busied herself drying off and slipping back into her yoga pants, not happy to be left alone with her ex-husband, who stood by the ladder. With his back to her and his arms crossed, she could only guess that he was feeling the same. But she wasn’t in a hurry to find out if she was right on that. The out-in-the-wide-open dock smothered like a musty closet.
By the time she acknowledged him with a quiet “Pretty sure you owe Andrew ten bucks,” the boat was at the far end of the lake.
Sitting on one of the lounge chairs, he stretched out his long legs. He linked his fingers behind his head and fixed her with an inquisitive look. “You trying to prove something out there?”
“Maybe.” She sat down on the other deck chair and snuggled against the backrest. “Guess I wanted to remind you that just because I’m a homebody doesn’t mean I’m boring.”
He stared at her for a few seconds, shaking his head. “Pixie, I haven’t had a boring moment with you once.”
Pixie? Oh, God. He’d started calling her that back in high school once he’d officially surpassed her by a full foot. It had made her laugh then, so she’d put up with it. After she broke up with him—college plus distance did not mix—he’d stopped using the endearment. Until he and Andrew had crashed her friends-only trip to Vegas to celebrate her finishing her residency. He’d confessed to still loving her, to wanting to make it work. And she’d loved him enough to try to compromise. Once they’d exchanged vows, he’d added “Pixie” back into his lexicon.
Usually when he was trying to get her out of her clothes.
Then again, “I love you” had worked like a charm, too. But it had only taken a couple of weeks to learn no compromise was enough to keep that love alive.
He pressed his lips together and looked away. Was he as tortured by the memory as she? He deserved to be, damn it.
“Quite the place you found,” he ground out.
Glancing up at the sparkling glass and stained logs, Lauren smiled. “I bought it in the fall.”
His eyes turned serious. “I’m surprised you’re this far out of town, though. Given how you insisted you wanted to stay close to your dad and Cadie.”
“Just because I want to be close to them doesn’t mean I need to live next door.” Glaring at him, she pressed her water-chilled hands against her too-hot cheeks.
He got a near-apologetic look on his face. “Or maybe they don’t need you as much as you claim they do.”
The heat in her face spread down her neck, spiraled into her belly and legs. She dropped her hands, clenched her fingers. “I’m less than a half hour away. That’s pretty fricking close.”
“And if we’d been somewhere else and they’d needed you, you could have—” He sighed. “Never mind. I needed to talk to you about—”
“We’ve done enough talking.”
“I—” He shifted his gaze to the end of the lake, where the boat had turned around. The hum of the engine reached a crescendo as it approached. “I guess it can wait. So, you were pretty impressive to watch out there.”
She wanted to insult his own performance to regain a fighting position in their spar, but couldn’t, not when any insult would be a lie. “You, too,” she admitted.
His expression flickered with amusement. “Was that so hard?”
“No.” Some lies were worth the guilt. She pivoted, feeling stronger facing him head-on, and rubbed her hands together to try to increase the blood flow to her ice-cold fingertips. Sometimes she could forget, could go back to when she was seventeen and he was eighteen and they had all summer to flirt and gibe. Other times, the pain of his desertion—and the knowledge she was equally to blame as he was—hurt so badly she expected to spit up blood.
He leaned forward and took her hands in his. The warmth of his touch immediately seeped into her skin. “I didn’t think we’d end up like this. I thought we’d move on.”
A solid rush of frustration erupted in her chest. “How am I supposed to move on when you keep poking at me, trying to make it sound like it was all my fault we couldn’t make this work?”
He sat, mouth open, gripping her hands so she couldn’t get away. She pulled, but he hung on.
“Let go, Tavish. We failed at being together. And I’ve been lying to my family about it for a year. Two transgressions I don’t take lightly.”
He met her challenge with a gaze that bit straight through to her core. His grip on her fingers changed from a utilitarian warming rub to a more sensual press. “It’s not something either of us should take lightly. And had you been willing to tell our families about what happened in Vegas, you might not be so damn stuck.”
“I am not stuck.” And he’s not going to believe me unless I stop shouting. She lowered her volume. “What would it say about me if I didn’t feel bad for lying to my family?”
“They didn’t need to know. That’s what you said, anyway.” He traced his fingers against the backs of her hands. His touch felt too gentle, too caring, coming from someone incapable of a functional relationship. Lifting one of her hands to his lips, he kissed her fingertips, setting them off like sparklers.
“I don’t need you to validate my guilt, Tavish,” she snapped. Not only might their siblings be watching from the boat, but his lips plus her skin still equaled electric currents—both problems with potentially disastrous outcomes. Yanking her hands away, she stood. “I’m going to go get more coffee.”
By the time she climbed the stairs to her house and entered her kitchen, all her self-preservation had drained from her like a trail of gasoline from the dock to the house, ready to ignite and burn to cinders. She poured herself a fresh mug of coffee but didn’t drink, just let the heat from the pottery leach into her hands. It was a safer heat than Tavish’s.
Her life felt like an “Oh, God, Dad’s coming over in ten minutes and the house is filthy” moment. But she had carefully stuffed her crap into closets so no one would realize how messy she was. She’d been Cadie’s sounding board since Sam died, and her father’s since her grandparents’ fatal car accident last May. Last May when she’d been secretly standing at an altar with Tavish. Goddamn it. Sure, Andrew was a rock, but he had Mackenzie and the baby to worry about, and couldn’t always be there for Cadie and their father like Lauren could.
Somehow, she needed to construct a Rocky Mountain-size barricade between herself and her ex-husband. Gripping the kitchen counter, she stared through the window as the boat returned to the dock and everyone piled out. She relaxed at the prospect of no longer being alone with Tavish. Until realization struck—she’d let him chase her off her own dock. Shameful. She stomped back down the stairs.
Cadie flopped onto a lounge chair and snuggled under a towel, and held her hands out to Lauren. “Can I hold your coffee for a few minutes? My fingers are numb.”
“Sure.” Lauren passed the mug over and sat down in the chair next to her sister’s, trying to convince herself that the smell of sandalwood lingering on the cushion hadn’t come from Tavish’s soft hair. He’d climbed back into the boat and sat in one of the stern seats, concentrating intently on the screen of his cell phone. He’d zipped into a hoodie, but that did nothing to minimize his hotness—just one more article of clothing to strip off him. Getting to undress him in their honeymoon suite while he stood stock-still, eyes burning with need, had been one of the best—
Ugh. What is my problem today?
He stretched, exposing a thin line of tanned, tattooed skin between his hoodie and board shorts.
Thanks for the taunt, universe. That was a hypothetical question. Didn’t really need the object lesson.
“Let me know when you’re warmed up, Cadie,” Andrew said, tugging Mackenzie into the bow seat and pulling her in close next to him. “You can drive and I’ll ski back to the boat launch. After this run, I’m going to head into the office for a few hours.”
“You were supposed to take the day off,” Tavish said in a half-engaged tone, still focused on whatever he was reading on his cell.
“And so were you, but you seem pretty absorbed in your emails,” Andrew countered.
“Yeah, just got my itinerary for my Thailand assignment in the fall.”
Leaving again. Of course. She steeled herself before disappointment struck, before she wasted any more emotions on Tavish.
Turning off his phone, Tavish jammed it in his pocket. “Sorry. All yours until tomorrow.”
Andrew rubbed his hands together and let out an exaggerated cackle. “Better get used to it. In no time it’ll be the wedding and I’ll own your ass. I think I’ll start training you this afternoon so there’s less to do in July.”
Training? The word skittered down Lauren’s spine like an unwelcome insect. She shivered and pinned Tavish with a questioning look.
He paled. “Uh, well—”
“What is going on?” Her heartbeat filled her ears, drowning out the sound of water slapping against the dock.
“Finally found you help for while I’m away,” Andrew said, climbing out of the boat with an oblivious grin on his face. “Tavish is going to be your assistant.”
* * *
Gripping his sandwiched-together flip-flops in one hand, Tavish smacked the rubber against his thigh and huffed out a breath. Ah, hell. That was not how he’d wanted Lauren to find out. He should have told her when he had the chance.
Turning white, she stammered out an excuse of having to have a shower before meeting Mackenzie in town for wedding prep. She sprinted up her multileveled deck as if trying to escape an encroaching forest fire.
And it was up to Tavish to put out the flames. He tilted his chin at Drew, who was sitting on the dock waiting for his turn for a ski. “You know, Lauren and I need to coordinate our best-man/maid-of-honor speeches. I’m going to stick around, throw some ideas by her. I’ll catch a ride into town with her.”
Drew nodded and zipped up his life jacket. He caught the tow rope from Mackenzie. “See you at the office?”
“Yeah, give me an hour.” Provided he made it to town without Lauren dispatching his body on a deserted dirt road.
He hugged his sister and Cadie, ignoring the suspicion written on their faces.
A minute later the roar of the boat retreated into the distance. He stared up at the house, the one Lauren had bought and made into a home without him. Not that he needed a house. Just the opposite.
After Mackenzie had shacked up with Drew, Tavish had taken over her apartment to avoid having to find a new place to stash the few boxes of childhood mementos and photography equipment he’d been keeping in her spare closet. That served as more than enough of a base. No point in owning a chunk of property or some neatly constructed glass and logs if he wasn’t ever going to be in town long enough to enjoy them.
He took a deep breath and trudged barefoot up the sets of half stairs. His knock on the glass door went unanswered, so he pulled it open and stepped into the open-concept kitchen and living area. Running a hand along the green-flecked granite counter, he blinked as his eyes adjusted after being in the bright morning sun. “Lauren? You here?”
The dining table sat empty, as did the chocolate-colored leather couches and armchairs curved around a stunning river-rock fireplace that soared all the way to the pine-planked ceiling. He let out a low whistle. Talk about a showpiece. But the house managed to look livable, too.
Touches of Lauren livened the room: clusters of family pictures and splashes of color in throw pillows and an orchid, plum and cream-striped floor rug anchoring the couches. Job hazard, noticing color. Though that didn’t stop his friends from giving him grief for knowing the difference between orchid and plum. Whatever. The predominant moss-and-tree-bark motif made him think of curling up with a bowl of popcorn under a blanket and listening to spring rain on the tin roof. Thanks to the sudden end of their marriage, they hadn’t had the chance to do normal husband-and-wife things, movies on the couch and the like. But they’d been pro snugglers when they’d dated in high school—it took zero effort to remember the comforting shape of her shoulders under his arm.
He wandered over to the mantel, to a pair of photographs in mismatched standing frames. None of him there, not that he expected it.
But he did recognize himself in one sense—he’d taken both the pictures on display. A shot of Drew, Cadie and Mackenzie laughing on a chairlift—he’d been on the chair in front of them and had turned around at the exact right time to capture the women doubled over at one of Drew’s jokes. The other one, though—he had to close his eyes for a second before he could fully take in Drew and Lauren on their trip to Vegas, sitting in the center of a small group of Lauren’s friends. Lauren wore a tiara, a silly gift from her brother for finishing her residency. Tavish had been working on a magazine spread in LA, so he’d joined them on impulse. And the day everyone else had left, Tavish and Lauren had exchanged rings.
“Why are you still here? Your ride’s gone.” She threw the accusation out from somewhere behind him.
He turned, held up his hands in mock surrender. “I come in peace.”
Gripping the newel post, she shuffled her feet on the bottom tread of the staircase. Her sleek hair hung in just-showered tendrils around her shoulders, making damp spots on her silk bathrobe. That material would be touchable as hell and, with her soft skin, it would be hard to tell where silk ended and flesh began.
Cool it, Fitzgerald.
He jammed his hands into the front pockets of his hoodie sweatshirt. “Just needed to explain myself.”
“Explaining yourself is well and good, but you’re getting back to town how?” she demanded.
“Uh, you?”
“Try again, Tavish.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she sent him a death stare.
Okay. So his prediction he might end up in a shallow grave wasn’t far off. And no way were his fingers getting even close to touching her.
Instead of verbally running in circles, he went for the easy out. He pasted a cheeky smile on his face. “That’s a pretty complicated half hitch in your panties, Lauren.”
“You can dream about seeing my panties, but it’s not going to happen.”
He chuckled. She made it so easy. “I don’t need to dream, sweetheart. I got my fill in Vegas. You still like lace, or have you moved on to the waist-high, granny kind?”
“Wouldn’t you love to know?”
A predictable response, clichéd even, but it pierced the bull’s-eye. Discovering white lace under Lauren’s wedding dress had killed him. And getting to touch her over the soft material, coaxing sexy moans from her with his fingers? The memory still kept him up at night. He barely held in a groan and ran a hand over his face before she realized just how much he’d love to delve under her robe. To find out what she had hidden beneath. Maybe nothing but her sweet skin.
“Nice house. I recognize the artwork.” He jabbed a thumb toward his photography on the mantel.
“Don’t read anything into it. You have a way with a camera.” Her pink cheeks contrasted with her blanched knuckles, which were clenched in fists at her sides. “And with ruining my summer vacation, apparently.”
“You going to give me the chance to explain before you reduce me to ash with that glare?”
“By all means.” She stomped into her kitchen and started opening and slamming cabinets before yanking out a coffee canister and grinder and placing them on the granite island. Sure, her anger had grown to the point that he could almost see it shimmering on her skin, but too much white showed around her irises to peg her as solely pissed off. She was covering for something he didn’t want to poke too much. Unearthing their feelings could suck him past the point of no return.
He strolled to the island and leaned his forearms on the surface across from where she was shakily scooping beans into the grinder. “Mackenzie and Drew needed help, Lauren. Otherwise they were going to have to cancel their honeymoon.”
“Nice to know you’re more concerned about your ex-brother-in-law than your ex-wife.” She pressed her lips together, brows knitted into a near V-shaped blond line.
Tavish’s heart dropped. “That’s not... I didn’t know I’d be working with you when I offered. And it’s about my sister, too, not just Andrew.”
Beans whirred in the grinder. She stared at the counter and gripped the machine as it slowed into silence.
“I figured you’d be so busy at the clinic that we’d barely see each other.” He offered the excuse in a gentle voice.
“Whatever.” Deserting the coffee, she circled the island and stood close enough to him that she had to tilt her chin to look him in the eye. He had a good foot on her, something she’d always complained about. Why, he didn’t know. It had just made it easier for him to pick her up, pin her against a wall and send her into oblivion. Her fresh-from-the-shower scent drifted into his nostrils, a hint of tropical summer and sugary sweetness. His mouth watered for a taste, just one...
And now he was lying to himself and not just his family. Great.
She slumped against the counter. “So, two weeks?”
The urge to touch her, comfort her, licked up his arms. He fisted his hands. “I’m sure if we schedule things right, we can avoid actually being in the office at the same time.”
“That’s not the problem!” She jabbed him in the chest. Her utilitarian-length nail wasn’t sharp enough to dig in, but she put enough force behind it for it to sting. “I can’t believe you’d step in with this, but you wouldn’t stick around for me!”
He caught her by the wrist before she could poke him again. “You needed more than two weeks, Lauren.”
Swiping at her eyes with the back of her other hand, she nodded. “I needed a lifetime.”
“And I couldn’t give that to you. Still can’t.” Not if it meant holing up in Sutter Creek. He ran his thumb along the fleshy base of her palm. The tendons in her hand tensed under his touch.
She glanced down at his fingers circled around her wrist, then back up to his face.
Those damp eyes. Holy hell. Through all of his travels, the countless people he’d captured with his camera lens, he hadn’t come across irises that exact blend of amber and spring green. Nor had he ever encountered eyes that could stare right to the core of his soul. A fist clamped around his stomach. He released her arm and tucked a damp wave of hair behind her ear. “That’s why we cut and ran. Better for both of us.”
“Was it really? Better, that is.” Her lips parted and her chest rose and fell faster than normal.
“I’m betting my mom would say it was. My dad jerked her around for almost a decade—did the same to Mackenzie and me—before disappearing. Our decision seems miles more responsible.”
Her expression softened, and she touched his face. Skilled physician’s fingers drawing down his cheek, leaving behind a trail of aching emptiness. They settled on his left pec. Did she know she owned the organ beating under her palm? That he’d given it to her in high school, and even through long-distance breakups and divorce, he’d never quite gotten it back?
“I’m not putting all this on you, you know,” she said. “I changed my mind. Was just as much at fault as you sticking to your need to roam.”
He settled his hand over hers and squeezed. “Never thought you were.”
“We’ll get through working together somehow. Through seeing each other every day.”
Anticipation, blended with dread, fused his heart to his lungs. He wanted to see her every day. And knew he’d feel like he was walking on knife blades each day he did.
“Maybe it’ll help us find closure,” she added.
He snorted.
“What?”
“We’ve wanted each other for over a decade. I don’t see that ending for me after spending two weeks watching you trot around the WiLA sites in tight technical gear.”
Her cheeks pinked. Her hand still rested on his chest and her fingertips dug into the muscle a fraction. “Kind of like you showing up on my dock in a fricking wetsuit?”
“I couldn’t exactly turn down the invitation when Drew extended it. Figured the fewer questions the better.” Sending her a pained grin, he brushed the backs of his fingers along her jawline. “And you can’t point fingers about wetsuits.”
The corner of her mouth curved as she toyed with the open zipper on his hoodie, running the tab up and down the teeth. “Pretty sure Cadie and Mackenzie suspect something’s going on between us.”
“We’ll hide it. Even if you did decide that you were ready to be honest about our marriage, dropping it on our families right before Drew and Kenz tie the knot would be the definition of unfair.”
Nodding, she slid her hand under the cotton of his hoodie. It rested on his waist. What he would give for her to drop that hand lower, cup his hardening length. He closed his eyes and shifted his weight, hoping she didn’t notice how much of an effect she was having on him. “I should probably go.”
It would be a long walk back, especially in flip-flops, but he didn’t trust himself to stay in her presence any longer without reaching for the row of tiny buttons holding the fabric of her robe snug under her breasts.
She stepped into him, until only an inch separated their bodies. A charged, heated energy thrummed between them, seeped from his skin deep into his bones. He couldn’t be the first to close the space. Couldn’t do that to her.
He didn’t have to. Standing on her toes, she pressed a kiss just above the collar of his T-shirt. “I dunno. If we’re needing closure... Maybe you should stay.”
