A Forever Kind of Family (11 page)

“Oh. Um...thank you, but I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“A night out might be welcome even if it’s not necessary.”

Harper opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. She got the impression that the older woman thought her relationship with Ryan was something more than it was, and it was instinctive to want to clarify the situation for her. But in the end, she just wanted to get her groceries and get home.

“You’ll remember what I said about calling me to babysit if ever you need me?” Fran prompted.

“I will,” Harper promised.

“Then I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

Harper thanked her again and started to push her cart forward as Mrs. Murphy continued the opposite way. She was nearly at the end of the aisle before she realized that she hadn’t decided which cereal to buy. She backtracked and put both boxes in her cart.

* * *

When Harper got home from the grocery store, Ryan had Oliver secured in his high chair playing with the homemade dough she’d made for him, so he helped her unpack and put away the groceries.

Shopping had been much simpler when he was just feeding himself—mostly from the frozen-food section. He’d bought a lot of meals that could be taken out of a box and put directly into the microwave. Easy cooking and easier cleanup.

Harper was a fan of fresh fruits and vegetables—and salad. He’d never known anyone who ate as much salad as she did.

He’d brought home a couple of salted caramel brownies from The Sweet Spot one day, just because he’d been near the bakery and decided that he was in the mood for something sweet. Harper had looked at the brownies with unmistakable longing—and then at him as if he was the devil for putting temptation in her path.

And he knew that she had been tempted—but she’d resisted.

He’d eaten both of them for dessert that night; she’d had a bowl of strawberries.

“I got chicken for dinner,” Harper said. “Do you want to grill it or should I make a stir-fry?”

Over the past few weeks, they’d fallen into a routine of making and eating dinner together. It wasn’t anything they’d planned—it had just happened that way—so it hadn’t occurred to him to tell her that he had other plans.

“Actually...I have a...um...date tonight,” he told her now.

“Oh.” Harper put the package of chicken breasts in the refrigerator. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry—I should have said something earlier.”

“You don’t have to clear your schedule with me,” she assured him.

“I didn’t because, honestly, I forgot about it until Whitney texted me half an hour ago.”

“It’s okay,” she said again, putting a rack of ribs in the freezer. “Have a good time.”

Her tone was neutral—as if she honestly didn’t care that he was going out or even whom he was going with. And she probably didn’t. She’d made it more than clear four years ago that the one night they’d spent together would not be repeated. And one sizzling kiss aside, there had been absolutely no indication that her opinion on the matter had changed since then.

But it felt strange to Ryan, to be getting ready to go out with Whitney when the woman he really wanted was under the same roof.

He’d considered canceling his date. In fact, he’d picked up his phone at least half a dozen times to do just that. But for what purpose? So that he could spend another night at home, in the same room with Harper but not actually with her? Not exactly his idea of a good time.

Whitney offered at least the possibility of a good time. A few hours out of the house in the company of a beautiful, interesting woman he’d met a couple of months earlier on a flight from Raleigh to Philadelphia.

He’d been on his way to a business meeting; she’d been heading to West Chester for her sister’s wedding. They’d had coffee together during the layover in Washington and chatted throughout the rest of the flight. As a single woman six years older than the bride, Whitney had been bracing herself for the false sympathies of her numerous cousins over her unmarried status.

After all, she was—she’d whispered the confession— almost twenty-eight years old and, according to her mother, who had married at nineteen, on the verge of spinsterhood. But she’d assured Ryan that she wasn’t in any hurry to get married or settle down—she was enjoying her life too much to want to change it.

And in the end, that was why he didn’t cancel. He just wanted to spend some time with someone who had no expectations of anything from him. When he arrived to pick her up, he was glad that he hadn’t changed their plans. She’d obviously gone to some effort to get ready for their date and was wearing a strapless red dress that clung to her curves—and she had some very nice curves.

She was undoubtedly an attractive woman, with blunt-cut blond hair and clear green eyes, and if he passed her on the street, he’d probably do a double take. But aside from that initial and basic stirring of male appreciation, he felt nothing. No zing of heat, no sizzle of desire.

Instead he found himself thinking that she was taller than Harper, a little curvier than Harper, more outgoing than Harper, and he grew frustrated with himself for the continuous comparisons. As he drove toward Valentino’s for their eight o’clock reservation, he suspected that he was wasting her time as well as his own. But she was easy to talk to and he was hungry, so he ignored his misgivings and made an effort to enjoy the evening.

She ordered the portobello mushroom ravioli in a creamy sun-dried tomato sauce, he opted for the chicken marsala, and they shared a bottle of sauvignon blanc.

Conversation was casual throughout the meal. She regaled him with stories of her sister’s wedding that had him chuckling along with her. He told her about Oliver and his current living arrangement, wanting to be up front with her because it had turned out to be such an issue with Bethany. Whitney didn’t seem concerned.

As she sipped her wine, she told him about her job as a yoga instructor and how years of training and discipline ensured that her body could bend in ways he probably couldn’t even imagine. The smile that accompanied the claim suggested that she wanted him to imagine, but he really wasn’t tempted by the implicit invitation.

“Is everything okay?” Whitney asked when he failed to respond to her teasing comment. “You seem a little...distracted.”

“Sorry. I was thinking about Oliver.”

She winced. “Am I that boring?”

“Of course not,” he denied. “It’s just that he has specific routines before bed, to help him settle down, and I’m usually the one who gives him his bath. I’m just a little worried that he’ll give Harper a hard time.”

“I’m sure they’re fine.” She reached across the table and brushed her fingertips over his wrist. “But if you want, maybe we could go back to my place and you could tuck me in.”

She was a beautiful, sexy woman and she’d been sending him clear signals all night. He wasn’t oblivious. Unfortunately, he also wasn’t the least bit tempted. Because while Whitney was undoubtedly attractive, he was not attracted.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Harper, wanting Harper. Despite the fact that she’d given no indication that she felt the same way and all kinds of hints to the contrary, he knew he couldn’t be with one woman when he was preoccupied by thoughts of another.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “There’s too much going on in my life to start a relationship right now.”

“Who said anything about a relationship?” she challenged. “I just want to have a good time.”

Which he didn’t need to be a linguistics expert to know translated into simple no-strings sex. A one-night stand. He hadn’t had a one-night stand since...Harper.

What was it about the woman that all of his thoughts seemed to circle back to her? Was it a natural consequence of their circumstances—living together and raising a child together? Or was it more than that? Because even though he knew a relationship between them would be messy and complicated, she was the only one he wanted.

“Ryan?” Whitney prompted.

“Let me pay the bill and I’ll take you home.”

She smiled. “I’m just going to make a quick trip to the ladies’ room to freshen up.”

Ryan signaled for the bill, then pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Harper.

how’s everything there?

Good.

oliver settling down ok?

He’s already asleep.

He hadn’t expected that and was, perhaps, a little disappointed that he obviously wasn’t needed at home.

Is everything okay there? she prompted.

great

He sent the single-word message, then followed up with another.

i might be late

No problem.

He figured she couldn’t make it any more obvious that she didn’t want the same thing he did.

He signed the credit card receipt and tucked his phone away again as Whitney came back to the table. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Eight

H
arper stared at the message that Ryan had sent and wondered why the man couldn’t seem to capitalize or punctuate his text messages.

i might be late

It was laziness, she decided, annoyed that he couldn’t be bothered to make an effort. Or maybe she was more annoyed by the content of the message than the delivery, because the brief statement confirmed that he was having a great time on his date with Whitney and wasn’t in any hurry to come home.

She was annoyed, too, with her own response.

No problem.

But what other response could she have given? What could she have said? She didn’t want to admit that she still struggled when she was on her own with Oliver, and she definitely didn’t want to admit—even to herself—that the idea of Ryan with another woman drove her insane.

Which was crazy, because she didn’t want him. Or—as he’d pointed out—she did want him, but she didn’t want to want him. And if she hadn’t had enough reasons four years ago, their current situation added another.

And her current situation was pacing the floor with an unhappy baby.

“You said he was sleeping.”

She jolted at the sound of his voice from the doorway. “And you said you were going to be late,” she reminded him, shifting Oliver to her other shoulder.

He shrugged. “Change of plans.”

“Well, Oliver
was
asleep,” she said, then sighed. “He woke up when I put him in his crib and hasn’t stopped crying since.”

“Do you want me to take him?”

She responded by transferring the little boy to his arms.

Of course, as soon as she did so, Oliver drew in a long shuddery breath and stopped crying.

She shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder why I’m even here.”

Ryan rubbed Oliver’s back as the baby snuggled against his shoulder. “Because he needs you.”

“Apparently he needs
you
.”

“And when you’re not here, he’s just as fussy for me,” Ryan told her. “He needs both of us.”

She crouched down to pick the scattered toys up off the floor. “I just thought I’d be better at this by now.”

“You’re doing great. He just needs some time to get used to the new status quo.”

“How much time?” she wondered.

“I don’t think there’s a definitive answer to that,” he said. “But you should probably count on the three of us being together for the next eighteen years or so.”

“I hope it won’t take that long for him to learn to put himself to sleep.”

“It wouldn’t really be so bad, would it—for the three of us to be a family?”

“Of course not,” she said. “It’s just that I had no plans for a family—at least not at this stage in my life.”

“So when?”

“When I was where I want to be with my career.”

“Where’s that?” he asked curiously.

“Executive producer.”

“Will you really be satisfied with that? Or will that just become a stepping-stone to something else?”

“What are you talking about?”

He shrugged. “It seems to me that you’re always looking for something more or better than what you have.”

“I’m not
always
,” she denied.

“What about the night of Darren and Melissa’s wedding?”

She froze. “What about it?”

“I thought we were pretty spectacular together that night.”

“I—I don’t remember.”

It was a blatant lie, of course, and the smile that curved his lips confirmed he knew it, even before he whispered “Liar” close to her ear, then nibbled gently on her lobe.

Her eyes instinctively closed and a low moan sounded deep in her throat.

“Do you remember how many times I made you come that night?”

“No,” she said, which wasn’t a lie, because she’d lost count. The things he’d done to her body, the way he’d touched her, with his hands and his lips, had given her mindless, endless pleasure.

“Neither do I,” he admitted. “But I never got tired of hearing you scream.”

She started up the stairs. “It was a long time ago.”

“You don’t think I could make you scream again?” Ryan asked, following right behind her.

“I think Oliver does all the screaming we need in this house.” She turned on the light in the baby’s room, pulled back the sheet on his bed so that Ryan could put him down.

He did so—and they held their collective breath for a moment, waiting to ensure that he was really asleep.

Ryan nodded and she gently laid the sheet on the baby, then turned toward the doorway. She started past him, but he caught her around the waist and pulled her close.

Her breath caught; his teasing smile faded; and the air fairly crackled with sexual energy. She lifted her hands to his chest, to keep him at a distance. He caught them with his own, held her close.

“Whitney invited me back to her place tonight,” he told her.

“So why didn’t you go?” she challenged.

He held her gaze. “Because I couldn’t be with her while I was thinking of you.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t even kiss her.”

She didn’t ask why—she didn’t want to hear him say that he wanted to kiss her. Because she was afraid that if he did, she’d invite him to do so.

But he didn’t seem to expect a response—or an invitation.

He lowered his head and covered her lips with his.

And just like the last time, just like the first time, she melted. Not just into the kiss but into him. His mouth moved over hers, boldly, confidently, not just coaxing but demanding a response.