Читать книгу Navy Seal Dad - Metsy Hingle - Страница 9

“Yours?” Mac repeated, feeling as though he’d been sucker punched.

Rachel hiked up her chin. “That’s right,” she told him. “Mine.”

Still reeling from the shock of discovering Rachel had a child, Mac looked from her to the dark-haired boy in her arms and back again. Rachel’s son and his, Mac realized as he stared into eyes identical to his own.

He had a son. A son!

A son he’d known nothing about.

Suddenly shock gave way to temper as the reality of the situation hit him. He kept his eyes trained on Rachel’s face. And even though he already suspected he knew the answer he asked her, anyway, “How old is he?”

When Rachel remained silent, he asked again. “How old is he, Rachel?”

“He’s eighteen months,” Chloe offered, and earned a scowl from Rachel.

He didn’t have to be a math wizard to figure out that Rachel had been about four weeks pregnant when he had left New Orleans. Had she known about the baby and chosen not to tell him? Or had she found out later and decided he didn’t deserve to know that he was going to be a father?

Either situation left a foul taste in his mouth and did nothing to ease his anger with Rachel or with himself. Doing his best to control the emotions slamming through him, Mac said, “Which means I’m his father.”

“Of course you’re his father,” Chloe told him as she moved beside Rachel and placed a protective hand on her shoulder. She looked him up and down, narrowed her eyes. “All you have to do is look at him to see that. Or do you need proof?”

Rachel groaned.

“No, ma’am. I don’t need proof. He’s my son,” Mac announced, daring Rachel to deny it.

She didn’t. She simply hugged the squirming tike to her.

“Down,” the little boy insisted.

“No, P.J. It’s time—”

“May I?” Mac asked. Taking a step forward, he held out his arms. When Rachel hesitated, he added, “You don’t have to worry that I’ll drop him. I have a couple of nieces and nephews. I’ll be careful.”

Rachel said nothing. She simply handed him the baby.

“Hey, big guy,” Mac managed to say past the lump in his throat. He stared at this miniature version of himself, recognizing the strong McKenna chin, the eyes so like his own. The nose was Rachel’s, though, he thought. So was the mouth. But there was no question that he was a McKenna. His son. His son, Mac repeated silently, rocked again by the realization that he and Rachel had created a child. When the boy reached for the hat Mac had forgotten was clutched in his fist, Mac laughed and gave it to him. “Hey, you’re a strong fellow, aren’t you?”

“He’s also stubborn,” Rachel offered. “No, no, P.J.,” she told him, and rescued the hat before the little guy could chomp down on it.

“What’s P.J. stand for?” he asked.

“Peter James.”

Surprised, Mac met Rachel’s gaze. “You gave him my name?”

“Actually I gave him our father’s names. I remembered you saying you were named after your father. And my dad’s name is James. I hadn’t planned to give him a nickname, but somehow, the initials seemed to fit him.”

Sort of the way the name Mac had always fitted him better than the names Peter or junior, Mac thought. “It happens that way sometimes,” Mac offered and noted the way P.J. was eyeing his medals. “It’s all right, P.J. You can touch them,” Mac encouraged, and earned a grin that warmed him down to his toes.

“That might not be such a good idea. I’m afraid that he’s at that stage where everything goes into his mouth,” Rachel began, but P.J. was already trying to sample one of the medals. “No, no, P.J. No eat,” Rachel corrected.

“Your mom’s right, buddy. Trust me. They look a lot better than they taste.” Reluctantly he started to hand him off to Rachel. P.J. had other ideas. Clinging to the medal, he began to wail in protest.

“Come on, sweetie,” Rachel cooed.

Those big, fat tears nearly did him in. “Hey, it’s okay,” Mac said, and gave serious consideration to ripping off his shirt and giving it to the little fellow. “Why don’t I just—”

Rachel leveled him with a look, and he fell silent as she pried the chubby little fingers free from his shirtfront. “There, there now. It’s all right, angel,” she murmured.

“Why don’t I take him inside and give him a snack?” Chloe offered. “I’m sure you guys have things to discuss.”

“Thanks, Chlo,” Rachel said, and relinquished the sniffling P.J. to the other woman.

“Come on, handsome. What do you say? Aunt Chloe is in the mood for cookies. Want to help me find some?”

“Tookie?” the tear-eyed tike repeated.

“That’s right,” Chloe told him, and disappeared inside the house.

Mac’s heart was still trying to recover from the impact of those tears rolling down P.J.’s cheeks when Rachel said, “He’ll be fine, Mac. He’s a baby, and babies cry.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just that he was crying so hard.”

“That’s because the tears work all too well. He has a very strong will and doesn’t like being told no. Unfortunately, I don’t use the word often enough. And neither does Chloe.”

“Yeah. Well, it’s easy to see why. He’s a cute kid.”

“I certainly think so.”

And he’s my son.

His son and Rachel’s. The reality of that fact hit him again.

The realization excited him.

It scared the hell out of him.

And it infuriated him to realize that he had missed the first year and a half of his son’s life. He shifted his gaze from the doorway, where P.J. had disappeared with Chloe, back to Rachel. She was tired. Even in the dim light on the veranda, he could see the shadows beneath her eyes. Strands of honey-colored hair had worked free of the braid she wore and now framed her face. A face that was far too pale. Yet seeing her exhausted like this only added to his frustration because he realized that not only had she had to support herself, but their son as well, without any help from him. “Why didn’t you tell me about him, Rachel? Didn’t you think I deserved to know?”

“Of course,” she answered. “And I wanted to tell you. I probably sat down to write you a hundred times, but I didn’t know where you were.”

“You could have reached me through Delta Team Six.”

“I know. And I was going to…”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I didn’t know how to tell you,” she said, some of the strain and weariness coming through in her voice. A gust of wind whipped across the veranda, and she huddled deeper into the navy-blue jacket she wore.

Mac immediately stepped in front of her to block the wind. “You’re shivering. Maybe we should go inside where—”

“No,” she shot back. “I’m fine. Really. I’d rather…I’d rather we talked out here.”

Though a part of him could understand her not wanting him in her home after the way he’d ended things between them, the rejection stung all the same. Probably because there had been a time when Rachel had eagerly welcomed him into the tiny apartment that had been her home, he reasoned. Of course, they had been lovers at the time, and she had believed herself to be in love with him.

As eager as he was for answers, it was obvious she was exhausted. “Maybe you should get some rest, and I’ll come back in the morning.”

“No,” Rachel snapped. “I’d just as soon answer your questions now.”

Mac hesitated a moment. “Then you’d better sit down before you fall down.” He motioned to the old-fashioned porch swing where he’d sat earlier to wait for her. “You’re dead on your feet.”

“I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

Mac recognized how she avoided touching him. Still, it didn’t stop him from noticing the way her nurse’s uniform rode up when she sat down or her efforts to tug the hem down toward her knees. Mac couldn’t help remembering other evenings when she’d been pleased to see him waiting for her at the end of a long day. Or how quickly her fatigue melted beneath his kisses. They would barely make it inside the apartment before they’d be reaching for each other—hot, hungry, insatiable.

“I suppose you’re wondering how this could have happened,” Rachel began, looking everywhere but at him.

“If by ‘this’ you’re referring to your getting pregnant, I have a pretty good idea. I was there remember? And I haven’t forgotten anything about the time we spent together.” Which was true. He hadn’t been able to forget Rachel—despite his best efforts to do so.

“I was talking about the fact that we always used protection.”

“Darling, we both know there’s only one form of birth control that’s guaranteed. Abstinence—which is something we didn’t come anywhere close to exercising.” Quite the contrary, Mac thought. During the month they had been together they had made love countless times, never seeming to be able to get enough of each other. And there had been one particularly steamy afternoon in late August just before a rainstorm had flooded the city. The desire between them had escalated along with the high temperatures that day until every touch, every glance, every breath had fed the gnawing ache inside them both. “It was that afternoon of the big rainstorm, wasn’t it? The one that caused a power outage in the city.”

As though it were only yesterday, the images came rushing back to Mac….

“The snowballs were a great idea,” he had told Rachel as they’d strolled lazily down the sidewalk in the unrelenting heat. Waves of heat shimmered from the paved street, and Mac swallowed another mouthful of the chocolate-and-cream-flavored ice. Despite the fact that it was already past six in the evening and thunder rumbled in the distance, the sun continued to beat down upon them.

They turned the corner onto the street that led to her apartment, and Rachel gasped at the rush of hot air. “I can barely breathe,” she complained. “Why aren’t you withering, too?”

Mac chuckled. “SEAL training, darling,” he told her and pitched his empty paper cup into the trash bin while they waited for the traffic light to change so they could cross the street. “You don’t know the meaning of hot until you’ve spent a week baking out in the desert.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she said dryly. Scooping a few fingers of the ice-only snowball she’d opted for from her cup, she began bathing her neck and collarbone with the swiftly melting ice shavings.

Mac’s mouth went dry at the sight of the water sliding down her throat, past the open neck of her prim uniform and disappearing between her breasts. It didn’t matter that they had made love less than two hours ago when she’d returned from work, his body responded immediately.

Rachel stilled. “Mac,” she admonished, her voice thready. She clutched the cup to her chest.

Removing the cup from her hand, he grazed the side of her breast with his fingers. Desire shot through him like a missile as he watched the answering flare of hunger in her gray eyes. He tossed the cup into the trash bin. “Come on,” he all but growled the command. Grabbing her hand, they raced down the long block toward her apartment. And while an observer might have attributed their mad dash to the fat drops of rain that began to pepper the city like bullets, he and Rachel both knew the urgency had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with their fierce need for each other.

They rushed up the stairs. Rachel’s hand trembled, and she dropped the key. Mac scooped it up. He slammed the key into the lock. And when the door opened, he ushered Rachel inside. The door had barely closed when Rachel reached for him.

“This is insane,” she told him.

“Yeah,” Mac agreed on a groan as she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. When she brushed her hand down the front of his jeans, he thought he’d die right then and there. Dropping the keys to the floor, he caught Rachel’s questing fingers. “Darling, you’ve got to slow down.”

“I don’t want to slow down,” she told him and pressed her lips against his neck.

Mac switched positions so that she was the one caged against the door. With her wrists imprisoned in his fist, he lifted them over her head. His body throbbed at the anticipation and excitement in her eyes. He dipped his head, heard her moan as he used his mouth to follow the damp trail left by the ice and rain. With teeth and tongue and lips, he sampled her neck, her collarbone. Using his free hand, he began unbuttoning the front of her uniform. When he reached the snap at the front of her bra, he twisted it open and tasted her flesh.

“Mac,” she whispered urgently, struggling to free her wrists.

He circled first one nipple, then the other with his tongue. And when he took one rosy crest into his mouth, she moaned again and pulled her hands free. She grabbed his face, pulled his mouth up to hers.

And she kissed him deep, her tongue sparring with his, her never-still fingers raced over him. When she reached for his belt and fought with the snap of his jeans, Mac tore his mouth free. “Rachel,” he gasped her name. Realizing how close to the edge he was, he sucked air into his lungs. “Darling, I’m about ten steps ahead of you,” he explained. “You need to give me a minute to slow down so you can catch up with me.”

She looked up at him out of eyes hot with desire. “I’ve got news for you, Lieutenant Commander,” she said, leveling him with a smile that was pure sin. She wiggled her fingers free and reached for the tab of his zipper. “You’re the one who has to catch up with me.”

Mac lost it. Any hope he had of reining in his own hunger went up in smoke. The small part of his brain that still functioned registered the lightning flash that illuminated the draped windows, the sound of rain pounding the rooftop, the squeals and slap of footsteps as people caught in the rain hurried past the door outside. But nature’s fireworks were no match for the fire in his blood.

He eased his palms from her waist to her hips, continued down until he reached the hem of her skirt. Then he slid his hands up her legs, beneath the edge of her panties, cupped her moist heat. When Rachel whimpered, pressed herself against him, Mac quickly discarded the scrap of lace. He tested her with his fingers.

“Mac,” she cried out. “Hurry.”

“In my pocket. Protection,” he told her.

And right there against her front door—with the crash of thunder ringing in his ears and the rain beating down on the roof, she wrapped those long, smooth legs of hers around his waist and he thrust into her.

Rachel trembled, clutched at him as he began to move inside her fast, faster and faster still. And when the first climax hit her, she shuddered in his arms and cried out, “I love you, Mac. I love you.”

Emotion had ripped through him at her declaration, swelled in his chest as she’d clung to him, and he’d thrust deeply again and again. And just as his own release had fired through him and he’d followed her over the edge into the storm, the condom had broken.

Rachel could feel the tide of color climb up her cheeks. She remembered all too clearly the night Mac was referring to. Even now, she had trouble reconciling the person she knew herself to be with her so out-of-character behavior with Mac that summer. Somehow during those wild weeks they had been together, falling in love with Mac had transformed her from the shy, conservative minister’s daughter into some bold, wanton woman she didn’t recognize. A woman who had shamelessly urged her lover to make love with her standing up inside the front door of her apartment. One look at Mac’s face and she knew he was remembering, too.

“When the condom broke. That’s when it happened. That’s when you got pregnant, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” she said, averting her gaze because just the memory still had the power to make her ache. She had loved him and had foolishly believed that Mac couldn’t possibly make love to her as he had and not feel the same way. And she’d been proven dead wrong. “Based on when P.J. was born, it was around that time.”

“Rach, that day when I came to say goodbye,” Mac began, his voice low, soft, as though it were difficult for him to speak. “Did you…did you know that you were pregnant?”

“No,” she whispered, surprised by the emotion swimming in his eyes. “I mean I knew I was late,” she explained. “But I’d been late before. It wasn’t until about a month after you’d left that I started getting sick in the morning and realized I might be pregnant. So I made an appointment with my doctor, and he confirmed it.”

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone,” he said, his expression as somber as his voice. “I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t alone. I had Chloe. And my parents. They were wonderful about everything. They helped me.”

“But they shouldn’t have had to. It…you and P.J. were my responsibility,” he argued. “If only you’d contacted my unit, my CO would have gotten word to me.”

“I told you I thought about it, but in the end I decided against it. There was nothing you could have done.”

“I could have been here for you,” Mac insisted.

“How? You were God knows where doing your Navy SEAL thing, remember?”

“I would have gotten an emergency leave or something. I would have come back, been here for you,” he told her, pacing as he spoke. “You didn’t get pregnant by yourself. You were my responsibility, and I honor my responsibilities.”

“By doing what? Offering to marry me?”

He stopped cold at the question. His fist stilled in his hair. “Yes,” he told her, his eyes seeking hers.

But Rachel hadn’t missed the slight hesitation. And it nearly broke her heart. He looked so brave, so strong, and she didn’t doubt for a second that Mac meant it. He would have offered to marry her—for the baby’s sake. Which was the reason she hadn’t contacted him. She’d been so deeply in love with him at the time that she might have been tempted to accept his offer. And had she done so, it would have ruined both their lives. “It would never have worked, Mac.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. And so do you. You said yourself that being a SEAL is who and what you are, that there isn’t room in your life for anything or anyone else. A wife and baby would never have fit in with your plans, Mac. That’s why you told me that I should get on with my life and forget you. That’s what I’ve done. That’s what we’ve both done. We’ve moved on with our lives.”

“But that was before I knew about P.J.”

“P.J. is my responsibility,” she told him.

“He’s my son. That makes him my responsibility, too.”

Worry began to stir inside Rachel as she noted the determined expression on his face. She rubbed her arms against the chill that had nothing to do with the November temperature and everything to do with the very real threat of Mac coming back into her life. Even worse was the idea that he might insist on being a part of P.J.’s life. Then what would she do?

“P.J. is as much my responsibility as he is yours. I’m sorry you’ve had to shoulder that responsibility alone until now. But that’s all going to change. I intend to do my part by—”

“Stop it,” she said. Unable to sit still, she stood and walked to the end of the veranda.

“Rachel?”

She spun around, taken aback to find Mac so close. He’d always had that ability to move without making a sound. She moved past him, needing distance and a chance to marshal her thoughts.

“I’d think you’d be happy to have someone share the responsibility of P.J. with. It can’t have been easy, shouldering everything by yourself. Now that I know, I—”

“Stop it,” she cried out and spun around. “Don’t you understand? I’m letting you off the hook here. I’m telling you there’s no reason for you to feel guilty or responsible or anything else you might be feeling because our…our fling resulted in my getting pregnant. I may not have planned to have a baby, but I wanted him from the moment I found out he was growing inside me.”

She bit down on her bottom lip, swallowed past the lump forming in her throat before lifting her gaze to meet his again. “Go back to your SEAL team, Mac. Ask your CO to send you off on some mission a million miles from New Orleans and forget about me. Forget you ever met me, that you ever found out about P.J. We don’t need you. We’re doing just fine without you.”

“Well, hell, darling,” he said, his voice mocking.

“There’s no need to soft pedal your opinion of me. You just go right ahead and give it to me straight. I can take it.”

Rachel winced. Despite his glib comeback, she’d caught that flash of hurt in his eyes. And it made her feel lower than the belly of a snake. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m simply trying to be honest with you. We both know that marriage and fatherhood were never in your plans. You made it clear to me two years ago that being a SEAL comes first for you, that there isn’t room for anyone or anything else in your life. All I’m trying to tell you is that I understand. So you don’t have to worry about me or about P.J. or that I’ll try to make any demands on you—financially or…or otherwise. I love P.J. And I can support him and provide him with everything he needs.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong, darling. And while I don’t doubt that you’re the best mother in the world, there is one thing that you can’t give him.”