"You gonna hide behind your brothers all day or are you gonna come out and play?" McClain taunted. Damn him.
She didn't figure there would be much play to it. Seeing him was going to be hard. That's why she'd left Utah without so much as a "so long, it's been good to know you." She hadn't wanted to drag things out between them any longer than necessary.
Tiffany was safe and sound. The case was over. Therefore, they were over. A nice and tidy ending for a not so nice and tidy story.
She was tempted to let her brothers handle him—she knew they wouldn't really hurt him because he was injured—but just then he piped up again.
"Look, they can carpet the floor with me if they want. Paper the walls. I don't care. But I'm not leaving until I talk to you."
She hung her head in her hands. Shook it. Then looked up to face the music.
A strange thing had happened. Her brothers had disappeared.
She shot to her feet. "Hey. Where'd you guys go?"
McClain appeared in the doorway. "Guess I scared them off."
"In your dreams, McClain," came a chorus of deep voices from the far end of the hall.
One corner of McClain's mouth tipped up in a crooked grin. "OK. So maybe they decided they wanted to see you sweat a little."
If that was the case, they were going to be happy boys. Her palms were already sweating. And all she was doing was looking at him.
He had stitches and bruises on his face. His left arm was still in a sling over another patently ugly tropical print shirt. She could see the metal shafts of a knee brace beneath his baggy chinos.
And he looked so ... good that she felt all gooey inside.
Gooey.
God. What a girlie thing to feel.
"So," he said, leaning a shoulder against the door frame. "You left Utah in a hurry."
"Yeah, well. They were finished with me. And I'd left some things hanging back here that needed attention."
"What about me? Didn't you figure I needed attention?"
She couldn't quite look at him. She crossed her arms over her breasts. She'd worn a yellow sundress today. Scooped low across her breasts, fitted snug at her waist and hips. Her arms were bare and suddenly she felt cold. And hot. And angry as hell with herself for letting him fluster her this way.
Fluster. Another girlie word,
she thought in self-disgust.
"You've been taking care of yourself for years, McClain," she said, rallying a little self-respect. "I didn't figure you needed me around to hold your hand."
"What if I'd just
wanted
you around for that?"
Oh no. She wasn't going to let him lead her down that path.
"I love you, Eve."
Whoa.
Her gaze snapped to his. She stared at him, wild-eyed. Her heart did a little panic dance that reeked of excitement and longing and—hold the phone—wary doubt.
"Where do you come off, coming in here and saying something like that? Just... just popping it off out of the blue?"
He limped on into her office. Eased a hip on the corner of her desk and got comfortable. He picked up a round glass paperweight, studied it, set it back down again. "It's what a man says to a woman when he feels about her the way I feel about you. The usual response for the woman is to say, 'I love you, too.'"
She managed to muster an indignant snort. She didn't know why she felt such a pulse-elevating mix of anger and fear and anticipation. She let the anger make the call.
"Look, I don't know what your game is, but I seem to recall hearing those words from you before. I believe it was the night in Eddie Franco's cabana. They didn't mean anything then. Why should I believe they mean anything now?"
He grinned. "Come on. I was eighteen. I was horny. You were hot. I'd have said anything to get in your pants."
"You were a shit," she said, and for some ridiculous reason found herself close to tears.
"I was," he said, his expression suddenly gentle.
She hated it when he looked at her like that. Like he felt sorry for her. Like she needed him to make her feel better.
Well, what would make her feel better would be for him to argue with her, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
"What do you want from me?" she demanded, not caring that she sounded surly and childish. "The case is over. So are we. That's the way it was supposed to work."
"What are you afraid of, Eve? The past? The future? Me?"
All of the above,
she realized in a moment of clarity. "Go away. Leave me alone."
"Not going to happen. So. What are you going to do now?"
"Why are you being so difficult?"
He gave her a long, searching look. "Look. I know I hurt you. In the past, I mean."
"You don't know the half of it," she said before she could stop herself, then tried to cover herself. "But don't give yourself so much credit. You weren't the only one to run out on me."
"Men are idiots," he said. "I know I was. But I've wised up."
She snorted. "Because you think you love me?"
"Because I know I love you. Hell, Eve. I've fought it, too. But it's bigger than me. Bigger than you. Bigger than the both of us."
She rolled her eyes, telling him what she thought of his heavy-handed clichés but longing desperately to believe him.
"It was just supposed to be a sexual thing," she said defensively, but in truth, she had very few defenses left.
"Things don't always work out like they're supposed to."
Unable to sit still any longer, she rose, turned her back on him, and, crossing her arms over her breasts, looked out the window—and saw exactly nothing. She was too aware of him. Of what he'd said. Of how badly she wanted to believe him even though she'd been telling herself for days that walking away from him was the only logical thing to do.
Logic, however, didn't have much play at the moment.
"You think I haven't been dealing with a weighty portion of denial myself? You think I haven't tried to talk myself out of this? Hell. I failed at one marriage. I don't want to fail at another."
She whipped around. "Marriage?"
"Well, yeah. That would be the next step."
"You want to marry me?"
He hitched himself off the desk, walked over in front of her. His dark eyes glittered with emotion and truth and, oh my, love.
"I'm dying to marry you," he whispered, and drew her into his arms. "Now, unless you can come up with a damn good reason to tell me no, you know what I want to hear from you."
She couldn't help it. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. "I'm scared."
"I know, baby. So am I."
"You? Scared?"
He pressed his forehead to hers. "Damn straight. I'm scared that I won't measure up to the man you need to make you happy. Scared you won't want a washed-up cop with a bum leg."
She lifted her head, kissed his brow. "That doesn't matter. That could never matter to me." Her fingers trembled when she touched them to his cheeks.
"I want to be the best man I can for you. I'm afraid I'll screw that up. Hell, Eve. Look at you. You fulfill every fantasy I've ever had. You're smart and kind and brave and sassy. And you're sexy as all get-out. You're the brass ring, Eve. The one I was always grabbing for. The one I let slip away from me all those years ago. But I'm willing to risk screwing up again. For you. For us."
"Come on," he pleaded. "What's it going to take to cinch this deal?"
What could she say to a speech like that? What could she do but take the plunge and take the chance and wander through life with him—two people scared together?
"M&M's for life might do it," she said, and felt tears of happiness sting in her eyes.
He smiled and it was like the sun came out. "You got it, cupcake. M&M's and me."
She rose up on tiptoe to kiss him. "What a bargain."
Later that night, Eve finally told him about the baby. About the miscarriage. They cried together. And while she had forgiven him completely, it was going to be a while before he forgave himself.
"We'll make another baby," she said, soothing the hair back from his face. "Starting right now."
Much later, Eve gave a lazy all-over stretch and felt her inner muscles clench when she thought about how McClain had made love to her. He'd taken her to bed. He'd turned her on her stomach, drawn her to her knees, and, standing beside the bed, entered her from behind. He'd decimated her with multiple orgasms so strong and intense, she'd felt herself leave her body. Several times.
She smiled. Oh, yeah. The man had some moves.
Right now, he was sleeping; at least she thought he was until she felt a strong, muscled hand cup her breast, gently squeeze, then finesse her nipple into a tight, aching bud with his thumb and finger.
She rolled to her side, toward him, and he immediately replaced his fingers with his mouth as she slung her thigh across his bare hip and let him pleasure them both.
Yeah. He had a way about him. A way of touching her that made her feel very feminine and sexual and ready. A way of convincing her she could trust him with her heart.
"You have the most incredible breasts," he murmured, alternately laving her nipple with his tongue, then sucking as he cupped her breast in his hand, exploring texture and weight and sensitivity.
"And you have the most amazing appetite."
"Not a complaint, right?"
"Um." She loved the feel of his hands on her. Of his mouth loving her. "Not a complaint.
"McClain?" she said on a dreamy breath, and forked her fingers through his hair.
"I'm busy here."
She grinned and kissed the top of his head. "Forever and ever, right?"
He lifted his head, met her eyes with a softness she'd never seen before. "We're taking this to the limit, cupcake. So yeah. Forever and ever."
EPILOGUE
"I DON'T CARE IF YOU
are
family now. Do not mess with me, bub. You'll end up raw and bleeding. Case in point," Ethan said, and sent Mac's green ball flying off the course.
It was the annual Garrett family Fourth of July picnic slash croquet tournament and the entire crew was assembled.
"I told you they take their croquet seriously," Eve said as she stood beside Mac and watched his ball sail out of play.
"Bloodthirsty bastard," Mac sputtered, fighting to keep a grin from breaking through his surly scowl.
"Heard that," Ethan said easily as he slung his mallet over his shoulder and popped a cherry Life Saver in his mouth.
"You were supposed to." Mac stomped off after his ball.
Eve was glad to see Ethan enjoying himself. He was just too sober most of the time. Which made her think he was just too sad. It made her wonder if he still carried a torch for Darcy. Eve figured that he did. It had been five years since the divorce. He never mentioned Darcy's name. But then he never said much of anything about his personal life.
But today was not the day to be brooding over her big brother's happiness. Today was a day for celebration.
"Competitive, isn't he?" Dallas commented, coming up to stand beside Eve, his eyes on his new brother-in-law.
"In a word," she said with a grin.
They'd been married a full month now. Once she'd said yes, McClain had said he wasn't waiting around for her to change her mind. He'd whisked her off to Vegas—his idea of a good laugh, ha-ha—and they'd gotten married at the first chapel they'd run across. She felt she was fortunate an Elvis impersonator hadn't delivered their vows.
He'd made up for the impromptu ceremony with a honeymoon in Italy. It had been the most romantic two weeks of her life. And today was one of the happiest days of her life. She was surrounded by family and friends, all people she loved and cared about. Her parents had turned the Fourth of July celebration into a belated wedding reception of sorts.