Authors: Erin Nicholas
“Thanks.”
“I’d better go to work.”
Her heart thumped. Work. At The Camelot. With Luke. “Is Luke there?”
“Probably.”
“Are you going to tell him I’m here?”
Marc looked at her, then sighed. “He’ll find out eventually. Isn’t it better if I break it to him instead of him running into you?”
Yeah, maybe. Probably. Hell, she didn’t know. “What do you think?”
“I think I need to tell him.”
“That I’m here or…”
Marc shook his head. “Let’s start with you being here. That will be enough of a shock.”
She breathed again. “Yeah.” She wasn’t ready to see Luke, talk to Luke, or tell Luke about the baby.
Of course, she’d never be ready and she didn’t think it could wait quite that long.
“I’m going to go up and change and then head out.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“We’ll…talk later.”
She had no idea what that meant. He was the chef in a restaurant. He wouldn’t be home until late. And she didn’t expect him to entertain her, or cook for her, or play host.
He headed up the stairs two at a time, leaving her alone to study his house. She’d never been here. In college, he and Luke had shared a house with two other guys and she’d been there a number of times, but when they moved back to Justice they were all in transition and both guys moved back in with Dave and Karen until the restaurant got up and going. Kat had told her that they’d each bought a house the following year.
She smiled as she made her way through Marc’s house. Photographs of his friends and family hung on the large wall across from the front door. She could see through the arched doorway into the living room. There was a fireplace and a huge, bulky dark gray couch, a big screen TV, an extensive home theater and music system and a coffee table piled high with magazines and newspapers and a coffee cup. There were more photos on the wall and along the mantel as well as some art prints hanging on the walls. Two floor lamps, three table lamps and an old video arcade game—Ms. Pac-Man—completed the cozy, obviously lived-in room.
It was comfortable. A real home. She found herself less surprised by Marc’s surroundings than she would have guessed. She didn’t think she knew him that well, but his house was somehow what she would have expected.
The house smelled good too—a combination of wood polish and lemon-scented cleaning fluid along with the spices that he used in his cooking.
It made sense that after losing his parents and going to live with the Hamiltons, family and home was important to Marc. She was surprised that she’d noticed that but now that she thought about it cooking, entertaining and collecting mementos were all habits that she associated with Marc, even in college. Comfort, happiness and security were important to him.
“I’m gonna…”
She turned toward his voice. He was dressed for work in gray pants and a black knit polo. He looked really, really good.
Marc stopped short at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you crying?”
She sniffed and smiled at him. “No.”
“Yes you are. Are you okay?”
“I’m great. I like your house.” She sniffed again.
“You do?”
“It’s you.”
Surprise lit his eyes. “What does that mean?”
“Sounds dumb, I know, since I didn’t think we knew each other that well. But this place feels good.”
He came forward and she realized that he’d been keeping a healthy distance between them. Probably a good idea since the minute he came a few inches closer she wanted nothing more than to have him fold her into his arms and complete the feeling of a safe, happy homecoming that was welling up inside of her.
Really weird since he wanted this homecoming less than anyone in the world.
Before she could think of any reasons why it was a bad idea, Sabrina took a large step toward him, wrapped both arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. It took a second, but she felt his arms around her a moment later. She closed her eyes, leaning into him fully. She breathed in the scent of soap and cinnamon—the spice she would forever associate with Marc—and absorbed the comforting warmth and strength of his chest.
“This feels good too,” she whispered.
He cleared his throat, the sound rumbling through his chest against her ear. She felt his hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair and she moved her cheek against the softness of his shirt.
“Seattle—”
She pulled back enough to tip her chin up and meet his gaze. That’s all it took.
“Ah, hell,” he muttered just before his lips met hers.
Everything within her softened and melted into him.
It was a gentle kiss at first, his lips exploring hers, as if asking permission. But once she gave that permission, something else took a hold of them both. Passion, want, need quickly consumed them and their lips and tongues moved wildly, tasting and tempting, asking and answering a whole host of questions all at once. And the answer to the most important question resonated for them both even when Marc pulled back and stood staring down at her:
Yes, I want you.
He took a deep breath. “That probably shouldn’t keep happening. You sure you’re okay?”
She nodded and smiled. “I’m absolutely okay. I…”
“You’re tired,” he said when she trailed off.
She shook her head. “No. I’m overwhelmed. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a place where I felt comfortable and been able to go to bed knowing that I’ll be safe and not alone.”
He pulled away, something flashing in his eyes. “How long?”
“How long what?”
“How long since you’ve felt safe going to bed?”
“A while,” she admitted. It was over so she might as well tell him the truth. “There were these guys who lived down the hall who would come home drunk almost every night, make all kinds of noise and sometimes come banging on doors looking for more beer, or drugs, or…”
“Or?” Marc pressed, his jaw tight.
“Money. Whatever they needed.”
“Did they ever threaten you?” His eyes were hard and Sabrina was glad they were so far from Seattle. If they’d been in her old apartment, she had no doubt Marc would have gone storming down the hall looking for her obnoxious neighbors.
She wasn’t stupid. She knew those were all excellent reasons to choose Justice over Seattle to raise her child. She also knew she was lucky to have the choice. Not every single mom did.
“No, they never threatened me. But they did give my friends across the hall a hard time one night. One of the girls had to pull her gun out before they’d leave her alone.”
“You lived across the hall from a woman who kept a gun?” Marc asked incredulously.
“She had a nasty ex-boyfriend.”
“Hell,” Marc said, pushing a hand through his hair. “Why did you stay there?”
“It was my home,” she said with a shrug.
“That wasn’t a home. Not if you were scared when you were there,” Marc said firmly.
Sabrina looked around the living room again and she knew she couldn’t argue with that.
“Thanks for letting me stay here.”
He swallowed and nodded. “No problem. I’ll find Kat. Her receptionist likes me. You stay and rest. And eat later. Something good.”
“I’m fine.”
He gave her a dubious look. “You could pack your whole wardrobe in those bags under your eyes and you were heavier when you were in seventh grade than you are now.”
She looked down at her waist. It would begin thickening anytime now, she supposed, though she wasn’t exactly sure how this went. She’d probably need to get one of those books soon so she would know what to expect. But, he was right. She had lost a lot of weight.
“That doesn’t mean the bags are very big. I don’t have much of a wardrobe.” She meant it as a joke, but his eyes narrowed.
“Then you’ll need to go shopping too.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“I know. I’ll take care of it,” he said through gritted teeth.
She didn’t like that he might assume her lack of money was because of her inability to get or hold a job, or because she was terrible at managing her finances. Things hadn’t been a piece of cake, but she’d done fine. And it wasn’t her fault— Okay, it wasn’t
entirely
her fault that Paul had stolen her credit cards and accessed her bank records online, then drained all her accounts. It wasn’t like she’d had millions, but she’d had enough to pay her rent and bills. On time. In full. Every month, thank you.
Marc was assuming the worst of her and that annoyed her. She hadn’t been living on the street, wasn’t addicted to anything, wasn’t in prison. She was pretty sure all of those possibilities had occurred to him and he should at least acknowledge that she’d done better than that.
“I will get my own clothes,” she told him.
He raised an eyebrow at her surly tone.
“Right after I get a job.”
“I’d recommend the corner at Fifth and Main.”
Her eyes narrowed as she remembered their conversation from the night before. “Should I ask how you know where all the good hooker corners are in town?”
He leaned in close. “Women want to pay
me
when it’s over. Trust me.”
It was good he said things like that. If he stopped being irritating, she might like him all the time. And that would likely be a bigger problem than being penniless, alone and pregnant.
Chapter Six
Captain Crunch
. That was all Sabrina could focus on as she made her way down the staircase. She’d seen it on the counter when she’d come through the kitchen. She loved Captain Crunch.
She’d ended up sleeping after all—for over an hour—then showering. She smelled like Marc’s shampoo and soap—not necessarily a bad thing but more masculine than she was used to for sure—and was wearing a T-shirt she’d found on the chair in his room. Her clothes were all dirty. She hadn’t had the money to stop at a Laundromat on her way to Justice. And she hadn’t expected the trip to take her as long as it did. So, she’d thrown a load in the washer before she’d laid down—sleeping in the nude again like she had in Wyoming. She’d fallen asleep before transferring them to the drier.
The clock above the stove read one thirty-four.
Her students at the community center would be arriving for their two o’clock lesson. Summer break meant classes at the community center, the senior center and private lessons at the school. It was amazing to her that in the same day she could have students who were five years old and eighty-five years old, students from the poorest families in the area and students from the most affluent families. She loved it all and was incredibly proud of the programs she’d built. The private lessons were pretty straightforward—every instrument and ability level imaginable—but the programs for the at-risk kids and the seniors were about more than learning to play instruments. They were about music appreciation, composing, styles of music and the role music played in various cultures. It was fun, plain and simple, and she’d quickly learned that teaching others to appreciate and create music could be as fun as doing it herself.
She frowned at the pang of sadness she felt thinking about her students at both locations. Yes, she would miss them and for the first couple of weeks they’d miss her, but someone would take over. Both had become popular programs. Sure it had been her idea. Sure she had been the one carting all the instruments to and from. Sure it was always a thrill to see someone’s face light up when she played the right note or when he strung those notes together into a song for the first time. But it could be a thrill for someone else. Nothing wrong with that.
She needed to focus on the things she would
not
miss. Not being able to nap in the middle of the day, for instance.
There was no doubt that she was more of a night person and sleeping through the morning into the afternoon had been commonplace in her life for a long time. The first two years had been spent on the road with the band, as everyone assumed. In clubs until the wee hours of the morning, working odd jobs—bartending, waitressing, cashier—to pay the bills, practice sessions in the evening or hitting the road to the next town. That was more the schedule her internal clock enjoyed. Napping in the afternoon again felt wonderful.
On top of that, the bed in Marc’s guestroom was so comfortable, the quilt so cozy and the room so quiet that she’d been unable to resist. She’d probably still be sleeping but her bladder woke her up and then her anxiety about being back in Justice had not allowed her to go back to sleep.
Yep, she was sure napping would take the place of helping her students find the joy and comfort of music. No problem. Ha.
She poured a glass of orange juice and was pouring the Peanut Butter Captain Crunch cereal into a bowel when the back door banged open. She jumped, spilling little cereal balls all over the counter. She swung to find Marc inside the door, looking panicked.
“Go upstairs.” He looked back over his shoulder.
“What are you talking about?”
“Get out of sight. Seriously.” He came toward her, took her by the shoulders to point her in the direction of the living room and pushed. She dug her heels in.
“Marc, what’s going on?” She was concerned now. “Why are—” She tried to face him.
“No!” He gripped her shoulders, preventing her from turning. “Upstairs.”
She tripped over her own feet. “Marc!”
Suddenly he stopped pushing and his hands dropped away. “What are you wearing?”
“I’m doing laundry.” She pointed to the bras she had hanging over the back of a kitchen chair. She pulled at the neck of the T-shirt. “This is yours.”
His eyes widened. “Please tell me you have underwear on.”
“I’m. Doing. Laundry,” she repeated.
He closed his eyes and groaned. “You have to get out of here—”
“
Sabrina
?”
She turned in the direction of the amazed whisper.
Luke stood at the back door.
Crap. Hell. Damn.
She pasted on a big smile. “Hi, Luke.”
“Sabrina?” he repeated, clearly shocked.
“Yeah. It’s me.” She wasn’t ready for this. She knew eventually she would have to see him, but she’d thought she would be in control of when and where. Obviously, she wouldn’t have chosen to see him for the first time barely dressed, in Marc’s kitchen.