hesitated to lie to get her divorce. She wouldn’t hesitate to tell the truth to keep her child. And whatever decision she came to about Peter’s custody rights, Owen knew it would be the right one. She was a strong woman, extremely capable of making decisions, willing to travel a rough road if that’s what it took to do the right thing.
His lady was also hurt and vulnerable—he was just beginning to understand how much. She’d built a mountain between herself and intimacy…his lady who smelled like hyacinths, who had a terrible pride about facing problems alone, who’d brought warmth and laughter to his life without even trying.
He was in love with her. In his head, he knew Laura had to be the one to tear down that mountain. In his heart, he wanted to do it for her. Either way, he knew he had to tread carefully.
Laura woke with a start. Sunlight was streaming over her bed as if it were midmorning. A glance at the clock confirmed it was nearly eight o’clock, and a glance at the dented pillow next to her confirmed that she hadn’t slept alone.
This just wasn’t possible. Mari should have been starving two hours earlier, and as for Owen—he couldn’t possibly have spent the night, because she wouldn’t have let him. Except that snapshot memories darted through her mind like the click of a camera. Quick images of telling him her whole life story, then of Owen bringing the baby to nurse in the middle of the night. Of falling asleep and finding the baby gone. Of reaching out in the wee hours of the morning, of being enfolded in warm, strong arms, of feeling his palm cup her breast, of feeling his thighs spooned against hers… Cheeks flushed, she bolted from the bed, whipped on an ivory cotton sundress and hurried down the hall.
The baby’s room was empty. So was the bathroom. So were the hall, stairs, living room, kitchen… Heart thudding, she threw open the back door, and abruptly collapsed in relief against the doorjamb.
Owen was stretched out on a chaise lounge on the deck, barefoot. The baby was lying on her back on his stomach. Both appeared to be reading the business section of the newspaper, and Owen had a cup of coffee next to him. “Morning, lazybones.”
So bright, so innocuously cheerful. Laura was highly tempted to pick him up and throw him into the nearest body of water—but he was a little heavy, and there wasn’t a body of water handy. And unfortunately, at that exact moment, she had the terrible feeling that her heart was already dangerously attached to the man. Partly because of the way Mari looked in his arms. And the way he parted his hair. And his nose. Laura. She tried to make her voice sound lethally polite. “I don’t believe it’s this late.” Or that you’re still here was understood.
Owen’s eyes took a lazy path from her bare feet to the soft ivory sundress to the tousled hair curling on her shoulders. En route, he noted without surprise the fire in her turquoise eyes. He’d known the peaceful interlude couldn’t last. Sleeping, Laura had proved wonderfully moldable, curling around him like a temptress. He’d known better than to expect such pliability once she woke.
Folding the paper, he stood up, swinging the baby to his shoulder. “I’ll make breakfast while you feed her.”
“No,” Laura said swiftly. “I’ll feed her, then make breakfast. You —sit.”
The man didn’t have an ounce of obedience in him. By the time she’d nursed Mari, brushed her teeth and restored a little order to her hair, Owen was humming over a frying pan of scrambled eggs. One would think nothing had happened the night before. One would think that he hadn’t spent the night in her bed, that Peter had never been there, that Owen hadn’t very clearly been told she wasn’t in the market for a man in her kitchen.
“We have something to discuss,” she said firmly as she sat down to an overflowing breakfast plate.
“Shoot.”
“You’re in the habit,” she started
His lady was also hurt and vulnerable—he was just beginning to understand how much. She’d built a mountain between herself and intimacy…his lady who smelled like hyacinths, who had a terrible pride about facing problems alone, who’d brought warmth and laughter to his life without even trying.
He was in love with her. In his head, he knew Laura had to be the one to tear down that mountain. In his heart, he wanted to do it for her. Either way, he knew he had to tread carefully.
Laura woke with a start. Sunlight was streaming over her bed as if it were midmorning. A glance at the clock confirmed it was nearly eight o’clock, and a glance at the dented pillow next to her confirmed that she hadn’t slept alone.
This just wasn’t possible. Mari should have been starving two hours earlier, and as for Owen—he couldn’t possibly have spent the night, because she wouldn’t have let him. Except that snapshot memories darted through her mind like the click of a camera. Quick images of telling him her whole life story, then of Owen bringing the baby to nurse in the middle of the night. Of falling asleep and finding the baby gone. Of reaching out in the wee hours of the morning, of being enfolded in warm, strong arms, of feeling his palm cup her breast, of feeling his thighs spooned against hers… Cheeks flushed, she bolted from the bed, whipped on an ivory cotton sundress and hurried down the hall.
The baby’s room was empty. So was the bathroom. So were the hall, stairs, living room, kitchen… Heart thudding, she threw open the back door, and abruptly collapsed in relief against the doorjamb.
Owen was stretched out on a chaise lounge on the deck, barefoot. The baby was lying on her back on his stomach. Both appeared to be reading the business section of the newspaper, and Owen had a cup of coffee next to him. “Morning, lazybones.”
So bright, so innocuously cheerful. Laura was highly tempted to pick him up and throw him into the nearest body of water—but he was a little heavy, and there wasn’t a body of water handy. And unfortunately, at that exact moment, she had the terrible feeling that her heart was already dangerously attached to the man. Partly because of the way Mari looked in his arms. And the way he parted his hair. And his nose. Laura. She tried to make her voice sound lethally polite. “I don’t believe it’s this late.” Or that you’re still here was understood.
Owen’s eyes took a lazy path from her bare feet to the soft ivory sundress to the tousled hair curling on her shoulders. En route, he noted without surprise the fire in her turquoise eyes. He’d known the peaceful interlude couldn’t last. Sleeping, Laura had proved wonderfully moldable, curling around him like a temptress. He’d known better than to expect such pliability once she woke.
Folding the paper, he stood up, swinging the baby to his shoulder. “I’ll make breakfast while you feed her.”
“No,” Laura said swiftly. “I’ll feed her, then make breakfast. You —sit.”
The man didn’t have an ounce of obedience in him. By the time she’d nursed Mari, brushed her teeth and restored a little order to her hair, Owen was humming over a frying pan of scrambled eggs. One would think nothing had happened the night before. One would think that he hadn’t spent the night in her bed, that Peter had never been there, that Owen hadn’t very clearly been told she wasn’t in the market for a man in her kitchen.
“We have something to discuss,” she said firmly as she sat down to an overflowing breakfast plate.
“Shoot.”
“You’re in the habit,” she started
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