CHAPTER Five
“Come on.” Connor held open the door.
Victoria hesitated only for a second. No way was she abandoning Dylan to Connor and the powerful Maserati.
She stepped past Connor, catching a whiff of lemon and male, and settled into the passenger seat. The acreage of leather was seductively plush, and before she could protest Connor had leaned across her and clicked the seat restraint into place, strapping her in.
She’d barely recovered from the jolt to her senses of having him so close when he joined her in the intimacy of the cockpit.
“Ready?”
Victoria nodded, unsure what she was letting herself in for.
The motor roared, and the rich, husky voice of Nina Simone poured from the surround-sound system, silencing even Dylan. Connor’s hands slid over the steering wheel with such tactile pleasure that Victoria had to suppress a groan. A moment later he swung the vehicle out of the churchyard.
The journey passed in a flash. As Connor throttled back the surging engine, Victoria glimpsed through the side window a familiar oak with wide, spreading branches.
What were they doing outside Suzy and Michael’s home?
She struggled impotently to unlock the car door, until—to her immense frustration—Connor strode around and freed her.
Clambering out, she slung her tote over her shoulder and asked, “Why have you brought us here, Connor?”
“Let me get Dylan first.”
Nostalgia welled up as she stared at the Edwardian cottage that had been Suzy and Michael’s home since their marriage—and where she had spent so many happy hours.
She wandered across the sidewalk to the low, white wooden gate.
Dylan had been baptized in this garden. Right there in the arbor tucked into the east side, under the canopy of girly, pale-pink roses. It had been one of the few times she and Connor had visited the house at the same time. As the baby’s godparents they’d been forced to put on a fa?ade of friendship for Michael and Suzy’s sakes.
The gate swung open under her touch. As she stepped onto the winding garden path a gigantic wave of sadness drowned her. The ghosts of Suzy’s laughter and Michael’s slow smiles lurked everywhere. In the pretty pansies that brightened the pots lining the pathway, in the fresh coat of lily-white paint on the shutters and in the shriek of a gull overhead, its wings icy-pale against the darkening sky.
She started as Connor came up beside her.
“Connor, I’m not sure that I’m ready to do this. I don’t think I can even go into the cottage yet.” A tempest of grief was imminent. Only Connor’s presence held the tears in check. “I need time.”
“Look.” Connor swung the baby seat forward. “I think Dylan knows he’s home.”
The baby was cricking his neck, and making gurgling sounds of pleasure.
Sorrow tasted bitter in the back of her mouth. What did poor Dylan know? “It’s not his home anymore,” she choked. “Michael and Suzy are gone.”
And she and Connor were going to have to decide—and agree—what to do with the house.
Michael had done a marvelous job restoring the old cottage—with Suzy and Connor’s help. But the maintenance would be a nightmare. Best to sell it and invest the proceeds for Dylan.
Moisture escaped from the corner of one eye and she quickly brushed it away before Connor could notice.
He swung around. “I’ve been thinking …”
She gave a surreptitious sniff. “What?”
“One of the reasons you felt that Dylan should live with you was because he’s grown accustomed to his surroundings in the past few days.”
“Well, yes …” It looked like she’d gotten through to him. Finally. The first thread of relief started to unwind. She glanced up at him, grateful for his understanding. “It’ll be much better for him than going to your home, which he doesn’t know.”
“I wouldn’t say he doesn’t know it,” Connor objected. “He has been there with his parents. But as you pointed out, it would be much better for him to be in familiar surroundings—like here.”
“Here?” Dismay filled her.
Connor nodded. “This is, after all, his home.”
In the distance thunder growled. Victoria decided that even the weather gods disagreed with Connor.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t live here.” The comforting sense of relief had vanished. There were far too many memories of Suzy and Michael. In every piece of painted wood, every flower. It would kill her to have to live here. “Don’t ask me to do that.”
“I’m not asking you to—I’ll move in. Can’t you see?” He was looking at her as if he expected her to applaud his perspicacity. “You were right, Victoria. And this way I won’t be displacing the baby. He’ll be in familiar surroundings.”
Her own arguments had caused him to come to this conclusion? Her heart started to thud in fear. She was going to lose Dylan after all. “You can’t do this!”
He thrust his hand into his pants pocket and brought out a bunch of keys. “Why not?”
Because Dylan is mine, she thought. But she couldn’t tell him that. She’d promised Suzy she wouldn’t reveal her part in Dylan’s birth.
Oh, dear God.
She tried to get her thoughts straight. Surely Suzy’s death released her from that promise.
Or did it?
She rubbed her fingertips against the sides of her nose. Finally she said thinly, “It’s macabre that you’re thinking of moving into their home when we only buried them today.” Her head started to ache. “Tell me you don’t mean this?”
But Connor was already striding up the path that wound to the wooden front door, keys jangling between his fingers, the handle of the infant seat hooked over his arm.
A splatter of moisture landed on her arm. Victoria glanced up, startled at how dark the sky had grown. She hurried after Connor and grabbed his arm.
He swung around. “Careful, you’ll awaken—”
“I’m not going in there. I’m not.” Barely conscious of the wetness on her cheeks, Victoria tipped her head back and glared at him defiantly.
Connor grew still. His free hand came up and touched her cheek with gentle fingers. “You’re crying.”
She ducked her head sideways, dislodging his touch. “I’m not crying. It’s the rain.” It seemed important to convince him of that. To reveal no weakness. Victoria pointed to the sky. “Look how low the clouds are.”
But his gaze didn’t waver from her face, and his eyes softened to the color of mist. “Okay, it’s the rain.”
“It’s going to get worse.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “We can’t stay out here. Dylan will get drenched.” Hunching her shoulders, she threw a haunted glance toward the cottage.
“I’ll take the two of you home.” Connor put an arm around her shoulder and turned her toward the gate, the infant seat swinging gently from his other hand.
The warmth of his body against hers flooded Victoria with a rush of emotion. She blinked frantically as he held the garden gate open for her, determined not to cry any more. This was Connor, why was he being so darned gentle? It made her want to cry all the more.
The rain began to fall in stinging drops. Connor dropped his arm from her shoulders and hurried to get Dylan into the back of the Maserati.
Victoria stood on the sidewalk, unmindful as the drops turned to sheets of water. She’d won. She could hardly believe it. He wasn’t going to force her—or Dylan—to go into the cottage. Conner was taking them both home.
So why didn’t she feel a thrill of victory? Why did she feel so terribly lost?
“You need to get out of that wet dress.”
Connor jerked his gaze away from the sodden material that clung to Victoria’s skin, blatantly revealing the gentle curves and the tight tips of her breasts as she shivered.
“But Dylan—”
“Is perfectly dry. I got him into the car before the heavens opened.” Connor’s attention fell onto the baby still sleeping in his infant seat.
“He’s exhausted.”
He knew without looking that she’d followed his gaze. Victoria must be exhausted, too. After all, she’d been holding the baby for most of the day. But if he said anything more, she’d only deny it. So Connor settled himself down onto a couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “Why don’t you go have a hot shower. I’ll watch the baby for a while.”
Edging forward, she said, “Why don’t you make yourself at home?”
“Not now, Victoria.” Weariness crept into his voice. He’d had enough of all the sniping between them.
She stared at him for a long moment, then bowed her head. “I’m sorry.”
Connor nodded and closed his eyes. Hearing so sound of movement, he cracked them open. She hadn’t moved. She stood in front of him, looking every bit as drained as he felt.
“You’ll feel better after a shower.”
“Maybe.” Her hazel eyes remained fixed on him. “But right not I don’t really want to be alone.”
“Oh, Victoria!”
Her reluctant admission moved him. She was so fiercely independent. Connor knew for her to reveal any weakness at all meant she must be feeling utterly empty. Dropping his legs down, he reached forward and scooped her off her feet. She landed across his lap with a squeak, a struggling mass of arms and legs.
“I’m wet!” she wailed. “I’m going to soak you, too.”
“Shh.” He bent his head over hers. “Just relax.”
Her body softened instantly. For long minutes he held her, not speaking, not thinking, simply savoring the scent of her, the softness of her body under his soothing palm that rubbed along her back in long strokes.
At last she shifted. “I must be heavy.”
Connor almost groaned as her bottom moved in his lap. Heat shot through his spine and he fought the urge to shudder in reaction. If she’d only stayed still …
Victoria froze. Her head came up, and startled golden-green eyes met his. Connor knew she’d felt his unmistakable reaction. He waited for her to pull away. She didn’t.
“Victoria …?”
With a groan he pulled her toward him. Her parted lips met his, and he sucked in the whisper of her breath. It was a hungry kiss, full of pent-up emotion, of passion long resisted. Connor licked the soft sweetness of her bottom lip, tasting her deeply, and she wriggled closer.
His fingers found the zipper of her dress, and he broke off the kiss. The rasp of the sliding zipper cut across the sound of their ragged breathing. Connor peeled the wet fabric off her shoulders and slid the dress over her hips, down her legs, his gaze all the time holding hers, watching as a flush of passion flooded her pale cheeks.
When the dress was off, he pulled her atop him so that her bare legs straddled his hips. Her naked skin shimmered in the evening light, as pale as pearl against the seductive black satin bra and panties. Connor’s breath caught at the sheer grace of her long limbs and sweet curves.
With shaking fingers she reached forward and undid the buttons of his shirt. “Your shirt is damp, too.”
“Just a little.” He’d gotten wet holding the car door open for her.
Pulling the edges apart, she murmured, “Then it will also have to come off.”
Connor leaned forward and shrugged his arms out of the sleeves. “Anything you say.”
A glint lit her eyes, and her lips curved into a delicious smile. “You should always be so amenable.”
“I’m at your mercy.” He stared at her rosy lush mouth.
She laughed. Driven by an impulse he could not resist, Connor reached out a shaky finger and outlined the full, wide, laughing curse. Her mirth died away, and the pink tip of her tongue came out and touched his finger.
“You undo me, woman,” he said hoarsely, “with one little flick of your tongue.”
“Then what about this?” She trailed a tantalizing finger down his chest, across his stomach, before halting an inch above his belt.
“Tease,” he groaned.
“Your skin is so silken,” whispered Victoria.
His erection leapt. “That’s my line,” he growled, yanking her to him and bending his head forward to ravenously plant a row of kisses along the tempting arch of her throat. Under his lips he felt her throat contract as she gasped. His mouth opened, and he tongued the silky skin. His open mouth slid down, over the narrow slip of black satin that joined the cups of her bra covering her breasts … down farther … savoring the sweetness of her flesh.
Grasping her hips between his hands, he lifted her up and kissed the smooth skin of her belly.
“Connor!” The sound was guttural, full of need and desire.
“Be patient.” His erection strained again his pants, rigid with desperation. He wasn’t so sure that he was capable of following his own command.
She pulled away and settled back astride his lap.
Connor’s back arched instinctively at the contact. “My God, woman.”
He felt the buckle of his belt give under the persuasion of her nimble fingers. His heart skipped a beat as she undid the button below. The sound of his breathing filled the room, hoarse and jagged.
Light danced across his eyelids as he squeezed his eyes shut. Sliding his hands up her sleek back, he reached the catch of her bra and fumbled, his fingers suddenly clumsy.
A cry filled the air.
Victoria’s hands stilled. “Dylan.”
She scrambled off his lap, tugging the clinging black dress over her breasts, and ran to the other side of the room. Lifting the baby out of the infant seat, she turned her head, and Connor’s throat closed up as he read the turbulent confusion in her eyes.
Bewilderment. Guilt. Shame.
And, underneath it all, the heat of desire, too.
Connor rose slowly to his feet.
“Put your shirt back on.” Her voice was a thready croak.
“It’s damp.”
“Please,” she implored.
“Okay.” He pulled it on and watched as she tried to juggle the baby while trying to push her arms back into the wet sleeves of her dress. “Give Dylan here—I’ll entertain him while you change.”
Without meeting his gaze, she thrust the baby into his arms and fled.
How could he have allowed—no, encouraged—that to happen?
Victoria couldn’t believe that she’d almost ended up having sex with Connor. She fastened her jeans and reached for a lambs wool sweater. If Dylan hadn’t woken up …
Oh, God!
How could she have been so foolish? And now she had to leave her bedroom to go back downstairs. She groaned in dismay. It would take all her courage to face Connor after what had happened. And to demand that he never touch her again. They both had a duty to Dylan. As his guardians. Passion couldn’t be allowed to interfere with their responsibilities.
As Dylan’s mother, she couldn’t afford to risk alienating Connor. It would be the height of irresponsibility to let passion rule her—and make her no better than her parents had been.
By the time she entered the living room, she’d pulled herself together, making sure that none of her trepidation showed. The man who’d kissed her to distraction was sitting on the carpet, and the contents of the baby’s diaper bag were strewn around the room.
Connor looked up at her entrance and gave her a sheepish grin. “I figured out how to change his diaper.”
Victoria yanked her gaze away from the chest she’d run her fingers over. Thankfully he’d covered the glorious muscles up with a shirt as she’d requested.
“Congratulations,” she managed and searched for the words to tell him that she did not want him to ever kiss her again—that it was a dereliction of their duties as Dylan’s guardians.
Dylan chose that moment to flap his arms and, gazing at her accusingly, he started to cry. Victoria picked him up, taking care not to brush against Connor’s legs.
“He’s hungry.” Forcing herself to glance at Connor, she said, “There’s a bottle ready in the fridge. Won’t you fetch it please?”
To Victoria’s surprise, Connor went without demur.
As the minutes passed, Dylan grew increasingly fractious. Victoria jiggled him up and down, hushing him, but to no avail, so she started to sing.
When Connor came back, Dylan’s cries intensified at the sight of the bottle.
“Give me a second, Dyl.” As Dylan protested she removed the plastic seal and replaced the top of the bottle, then sank onto the plump cushions of the couch and positioned him in the crook of her arm. “There you go,” she murmured, giving him the bottle.
She resumed humming a snatch of “Big Rock Candy Mountain,” then ceased as she became aware of Connor watching her, a smile lurking around his mouth.
“Don’t stop.”
Flushing, and terribly self-conscious under his intense scrutiny, she said, “I don’t hum—or sing—very well.”
“It sounded fine to me, and more importantly Dylan liked it. Look, he’s complaining because you’ve stopped.”
Victoria glanced down to see Dylan’s mouth working frantically, his tongue clearly visible as he prepared to let out a loud bellow.
“That’s not my humming he’s missing—it’s the teat.” Victoria offered the dislodged teat to him and the baby, latched on with gusto.
She slanted a faint smile up at Connor. “But thanks for saying he was missing it, even if it was the tallest tale I’ve ever heard.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“It was worse, but we’ll keep that our secret, okay?”
He gave her a long look. “Our secret.”
Suddenly feeling as if her skin had grown too tight, Victoria pulled Dylan closer. The silence surrounding the three of them seemed to quiver.
What in heaven’s name was happening to her? Victoria started to hum again. Anything to break that seething quiet. After a while she switched over to “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” and Connor joined in.
Dylan sucked the last dregs out of the bottle and his eyelids started to droop.
“I’ve been thinking …”
Instantly Connor had all her attention. “What?”
“Dylan should stay here.”
Euphoria swept Victoria along. She’d gotten what she’d wanted. Now she had to make it work, prove to Connor it was the right thing for Dylan. “I’m so glad you realized I was right.”
His gaze narrowed to cool slits and all the easygoing camaraderie evaporated. “Hang on, we’re not changing the custody arrangement of the will. He stays with you for now, but we’ll review the arrangement in a month.”
No, that wasn’t what she’d intended.
She considered arguing that his solution only meant unsettling Dylan later down the line, then decided to quit while she was still ahead. When the time came, she was sure she’d be able to convince him that Dylan would be better off staying with her. As for her resolve to tell Connor that she wanted to keep their relationship formal as Dylan’s guardians, it appeared that would not be necessary. Connor was all business. He certainly showed no signs of being a man overwhelmed by desire. She suppressed a ridiculous stab of something suspiciously like disappointment.
He was speaking again. “Dylan needs you. I can’t deny it—you’re so good with him.”
Victoria stared at him, astonished. Connor thought she was good with Dylan? He wasn’t the kind of man to give false praise. A surge of happiness swept her. So much for all her fears that she’d be terrible at the mothering stuff.
He was still talking. “But it’s going to slow down your career track.”
“I know, and I’ve come to terms with that.” She would have to speak to Bridget and tell her that she wouldn’t be working late into the evenings anymore. She gave Connor a bright smile that faded a little as his gaze intensified in a way that made her shiver inside.
“So you’ll need to take leave for a couple of weeks.”
Take leave? Averting her face, Victoria placed the empty bottle on the coffee table. How could she take leave? Especially now when everyone at ACE was working to full capacity. She’d tell him later that she had no intention of taking leave. Now was not a good time. He might renege on his decision to leave Dylan with her.
When she was sure she had her emotions under control, she raised her head—and clashed with Connor’s intense gaze. Her stomach rolled over.
Victoria drew a steadying breath. Now was not the time to be sucked in by Connor’s lethal charisma. She wasn’t looking for a man. And he was the last one on earth that she’d pick. Surely she hadn’t forgotten that?
He was all wrong for her—he’d just proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. He’d never let her retain the financial and emotional independence she’d fought so hard to attain. He’d want a woman who he could control and command. A woman who would give up work at his demand. And that would never be her.
She would never risk being at the mercy of a man’s whims. Like her mother had been. It wasn’t only the woman who suffered, but her children too. She had first-hand experience of what happened when children paid the price of impulsive passion.
But she wasn’t about to lose custody of the only son she’d ever have. So Victoria said carefully, “Yes. And I’m going to take a leaf out of your book and delegate more—hire a junior to assist me. That’s just one more thing I need to discuss with Bridget.”