“Love you, too, Lo. Never stopped.”
She believed him. But that didn’t make things any easier. “Come to bed.” She stepped back. “It’s late. It’s been a long day.”
“You’re telling me.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Lead the way.”
Threading her fingers into his, she led him through the darkened living room and into her bedroom. “The bathroom is right here,” she said, flipping on the light in there. “Make yourself comfortable.”
She gave him a little nudge and then left him, climbing into her four-poster bed. She’d bought her bedroom furniture with her first paycheck from Nate. It was white—a little girly, maybe. But she’d been trying to cheer herself up.
Many of those early nights she’d lain here, just wishing Mike Beacon was here in the apartment with her.
How weird that he actually was.
He emerged from her bathroom a couple of minutes later, shutting off the light behind him. In the glow of the ambient light shining through her windows—Manhattan was never dark—she watched him strip out of his suit, dropping the pants and shirt over the upholstered bench at the end of the bed.
“Nice apartment,” he said huskily. Off came his boxers.
“It’s dark. You can’t even see it,” she teased.
He shrugged. “You’re in it. That’s what makes it nice.” He walked around to the side of the bed and tugged the quilt aside. He slid into bed and rolled to face her. “Come here, sweetheart. Let me hold you.”
She went willingly. Greedily, even. She laid her head on his chest, lifting a hand to sift her fingers through the silky hair dusting his pecs and thickening over his abdomen into the happiest of happy trails. His chest hair was her secret fetish. She regarded it as evidence of his abundant supply of testosterone.
Lying there in silence, she was gripped by a powerful déja vu. So many nights they’d gotten into bed together after a game, both of them tired, yet kept awake by the thoughts spinning through their respective brains. The comfort of skin on skin was what eventually put them to sleep.
“I had a terrible fight with Elsa last night,” he said eventually.
“Oh, I’m sorry! Was it about me?”
He didn’t answer right away. “It’s never really about you. It’s always about me.”
“I understand. But she didn’t like it that I showed up to have dinner with you.”
He sighed. “It’s just going to take her some time to accept her mother’s loss. She’s angry, and any little thing that changes makes her jumpy. But life is full of change. It doesn’t stop to let you get your bearings.”
“Did you make up with her yet?” she asked, picturing their hug in the corridor tonight.
“Sort of. We both apologized. But lately she’s like a grenade with the pin pulled, you know? I never know when she’s going to blow. I can’t tell which parts are grief, and which parts are just plain thirteen-year-old girl.”
“Is there someone she talks to?”
“Like a shrink? She had one for a year on Long Island. But then we moved. The doctor told me she’d be happy to find us someone in Brooklyn if I thought we still needed it.”
“Maybe you do,” Lauren suggested softly.
He groaned. “I’ll call tomorrow. I feel like a shit dad all the time. Shelly did all these things as a full-time job, you know? She also needs braces, probably.”
“In three weeks you’ll be available full time for her.”
“Three weeks, huh?” He gave her ass a friendly squeeze. “You’re taking us to the finals in your little calculation. That’s a jinx, missy.”
“You can blame me if it all goes wrong in game seven.”
They fell silent for another moment. His hand trailed down her ribcage, then onto her tummy. He pressed his palm against her lower abdomen, then rubbed gently. She closed her eyes and sank into the sensation.
“What’s the countdown now?”
“On?”
“Our secret project. When am I allowed to ask how it’s going?”
“You’re asking right now. That’s against the rules. The ref just gave you a two-minute bench minor.”
“So I can ask in two minutes?”
“Oh, fuck off.”
He laughed into her hair.
“Give me a week at least.”
“That’s too long.”
“Mike!”
“You want me to stop asking? Come up here and shut me up, then.” He grabbed her hips and pulled her body onto his, and then kissed her.
She relaxed onto his big frame, like a cat taking up residence on its favorite lap. He obviously didn’t understand her reluctance to speculate about a pregnancy. He was so sure it would succeed, and she was somehow positive it wouldn’t.
And if it didn’t . . . then what? Would he still be here in her bed thinking optimistic thoughts?
His long fingers threaded through her hair. “I’m so tired. Kiss me again before I fall asleep.”
What was the saying? It takes fewer muscles to smile than to stay up all night worrying about the future. So she kissed the man again as he closed his eyes.
TWENTY-FIVE
Beacon woke to the sound of an unfamiliar alarm tone.
Beside him, Lauren cursed and fumbled for her Katt Phone, silencing it. Then she snuggled closer to him, her back to his chest.
He tugged her little body closer to his, then wrapped an arm around her waist, letting his fingers drift on a slow tour of her body. She was wearing a gloriously skimpy nighty. He smoothed the silk down her belly, then lifted the hem to palm her bare belly.
When he’d showed up at Lauren’s door last night, it hadn’t been for sex. He’d needed to lie in the dark with someone who loved him. When they were together, she had always been a steadying force in his life. Hell—she was a steadying force before they ever held each other in bed, or even kissed for the first time.
His wife . . . wasn’t. Shelly had been attracted to him once. But the whole hockey wife thing had worn thin for her when Elsa was still a toddler. She was angry at her lot in life, and she felt free to take it out on him. When they argued over anything, she would remind him that he was just a “dumb jock.”
He felt like one, too, every time she said it.
Last night he’d taken a cab to Lauren’s place after losing a big game. Then he’d proceeded to admit that he didn’t have a clue what to say to his own kid. Yet Lauren didn’t pander or praise him. Neither did she judge him. She just held him instead.
Slowly, he dragged his fingertips between her hip bones, discovering that she was not wearing panties. This revelation caused him to let out a shameless little moan, and he wasn’t even embarrassed.
“Everything okay back there?” she asked sleepily.
“Mmm-hmm.” He skimmed his fingertips down over her mound, through the tiny V of silky hairs she had there.