Marriage, Maverick Style! Read online

  “We have to talk.” He growled the words at her.

  She cradled his face between her two small hands. “I know. Yes. I know we do.”

  He couldn’t wait a minute longer to have her mouth on his. She must have felt the same. Because her soft lips came crashing down, closing on his with a whimper of need.

  So good. Incomparable. Tessa’s hot little mouth moving on his, her sweet tongue spearing in, warring with his, her arms closing tighter, her body pressing closer.

  When she tried to lift her mouth away, he reached up a hand, his fingers spread wide to cup the back of her head. He guided her back to him, taking her mouth again.

  The second kiss tasted even better than the first. He held her firmly in place and plundered her mouth for all he was worth, lowering her to the folding table as he kissed her, laying her out onto the warm pile of towels.

  Finally, when she pushed a little at his shoulders and wiggled in his hold with growing resistance, he lifted up enough to look at her, at her mouth all swollen from his kisses, her hair tumbling down, coming loose from that topknot, her eyes dazed and dreamy. “I need an hour,” she said breathlessly, “to finish up the laundry.”

  He stroked a hand down her arm, along the gorgeous curve of her hip. Holding her gaze, he demanded, “Then we talk.”

  “Yes.”

  “No blowing me off this time.”

  She shook her head. “I swear.” She reached up, pressed her cool, smooth hand to his cheek. Damn, he had missed her—those gold-flecked, coffee-brown eyes, the sweet and husky sound of her voice, the gentle touch of her hand. Everything. All of her. “One hour,” she vowed. “And we’ll talk.”

  * * *

  He helped her fold the towels and sheets. They worked together silently, all the things that needed saying hanging in the humid basement air between them. He had about a thousand questions—most of them beginning with the word why.

  For now, though, he didn’t ask even one of them. No point in getting into it until they could be alone, with no chance of interruption.

  Between loads, they went upstairs together and visited with Melba and Claire in the kitchen. Melba asked him how long he would be in town this time.

  He cut a quick glance at Tessa. Their gazes caught and locked. He knew she was waiting for his answer—an answer he couldn’t give right then. “Not sure. It depends.”

  “Will you be needing a room?” Melba asked next.

  He’d already reserved his former suite at the Manor. But he might want a room at the boardinghouse, too, depending on what happened when he and Tessa were alone. “Still got the room next to Tessa’s?”

  Melba set down her coffee cup and rose from the table. “Been saving it for you.”

  Tessa’s eyes widened at her grandmother’s words, but she didn’t comment.

  Melba led him to the office, where he took that room for the rest of the month. If things went badly with Tessa, he might never set foot in it. But if he wanted it, he would have it. Never hurt to keep his options open.

  It was after four when he helped Tessa fold the last sheet.

  Then she said, “Come upstairs to my room.”

  “Not here,” he replied. The boardinghouse was a second home to her. Her sister or one of her grandparents might come tapping on the door at any time. No. He wanted her on his turf. “Let’s go to the Manor. We can talk in the suite. No one will bother us there.”

  She regarded him so seriously. He had no idea what might be going on behind those fine brown eyes. “Okay. I’ll just grab my purse.”

  * * *

  At Maverick Manor, in the sitting room of his suite, she took the sofa. He started to sit beside her, but she put up a hand. “Would you sit across from me? I want to be...face-to-face.”

  Was that a bad sign?

  Lately, with her, he just didn’t know.

  His gut knotting up again, the muscles between his shoulder blades drawing tight, he took the club chair across the coffee table from her. “All right. We’re face-to-face.” Now, what the hell is going on with you?

  “I...” She gripped the sofa cushions on either side of her, as though to ground herself. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you when I turned down the job with IMI. I should have.”

  He did want to talk about what had happened with IMI. Still, he had the strangest feeling that she’d just detoured from the main subject. Whatever that subject might actually be. But fine. He had plenty to say with regard to the job at IMI. “You said you would call.”

  “Yeah, I know. And I apologize.”

  “But why didn’t you?” He kept his tone as soft and even as he could manage. “Am I that hard to talk to?”

  “No,” she said instantly. And then, “Yes.” And then, “I think I mentioned before how it’s all happening so fast with us. And I, well, I’ve been feeling kind of overwhelmed. I told you I’m no good at this, at trying to make a relationship work.” Now she seemed flustered, and she rushed to add, “I mean, if a relationship is what we have, though I suppose it’s too early to get real specific as to what exactly to call this thing with us, and I...” She was clutching the cushions again. “Oh, God. I’m making no sense, none at all.”

  He almost laughed. “On second thought, forget about why.”

  Her eyes softened. And so did that mouth he was longing to kiss. “You mean that?”

  “Yeah. It’s all right. You’re sorry you didn’t call, and I accept your apology. Let’s leave it there.” He really wanted to touch her, to hold her. But she was over there, and he was over here. He needed to rectify that problem, and soon.

  And then, miracle of miracles, she held out her hand. “I know I asked you to sit over there. But would you come here? Please?”

  He wrapped his fingers around hers, got up and scooted around the table to join her on the couch. With a sigh, she swayed against him. He gathered her close, pressed his lips against her hair. “I still have questions.”

  A small sigh escaped her. “Go ahead.”

  “Did Jason or his team give you a hard time about how your job with the Storm woman ended?”

  She stiffened and drew away. “Absolutely not. They really did plan to hire me and Jason was... I like him. He called me personally to tell me I had the job. It was a good offer. And when I turned it down, he made a real effort to change my mind. We did speak of it, of course, of Della, but she wasn’t the issue. I promise you.”

  “So then, what was the issue?” He suspected that LA was the problem, that having to live there was a complete deal-breaker for her.

  If so, where did that leave them? He would do a lot to be with her, but he needed to be in LA much of the year to run the Drake companies effectively. Relocating to the wilds of Montana wasn’t going to cut it for him—even if he had grown strangely fond of Rust Creek Falls.

  “The truth is, Carson...” She faltered again, scooting farther away from him and grabbing for the sofa cushions. “I really don’t want a job that I get because you want me to have it. I don’t want a job I get on your say-so because my new boss wants to keep you happy.”

  So, then, in spite of what she’d said a minute ago, Jason and crew did mess it up. If so, heads would roll. Carson asked in a carefully neutral tone, “What you’re saying is they made it clear to you that they were only hiring you because I wanted you hired.”

  Her dark eyes flashed. She tapped one of her Chuck Taylors impatiently. “Of course not. I’ve told you. They were gracious and perfectly reasonable and they never said any such thing. Still, we all knew exactly what was going on.”

  “Which was?”

  “Seriously, Carson. How many ways do I have to explain this?”

  “What I’m saying is, even given that I instigated the process, they wanted to hire you. I just don’t get it. Where is the problem?”
r />   “I told you the problem. I want to find my own damn job.”

  “And you did.”

  She shot him a narrow-eyed glance, then instantly looked away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Look at this logically. You just said that IMI made you a bona fide offer, that they wanted to hire you. So you did it. You found a great job. All I did was get the ball rolling. Because face it—even I couldn’t get you hired if you weren’t going to be able to do the job.”

  “Please. You so could. And I don’t want that. I don’t want you to get me a job. I want to get my own job. Yes, I’m stumbling around in the dark about this, having a hard time finding my way. But still, I need to do this my way, for myself.”

  “I think you’re being naive.”

  Her sweet mouth thinned to a hard line. “Thank you so much for your input.”

  He tried to make light of it. “Ouch. The sarcasm is killing me.”

  Hectic spots of color flamed high on her cheeks. “Let’s make a deal. You stop treating me like a silly little woman and I’ll control my sarcasm.”

  “I was not—”

  “Yes, Carson. You were.” She was looking right at him now. It wasn’t a happy look. For a long count of five, she glared at him and he tried to figure out what to say next that wouldn’t have her bouncing to her feet and heading for the door.

  Because she mattered to him. A whole lot.

  It was of paramount importance to him that somehow they work this out. That she not give up on him.

  On them.

  All he’d wanted for years was his freedom, to taste every delight life had to offer. He worked hard and played hard. It had been great.

  But now there was Tessa with her dark gypsy eyes and her wide mouth made for kissing, with her sharp mind and guarded heart. Now freedom didn’t look all that wonderful, frankly. Freedom just felt like loneliness.

  Now he really needed to figure out how to keep her from walking away.

  Finally, she spoke. “I’m going to say all this one more time, and you’d better be listening. Jason and the team at IMI treated me well, with courtesy and professional respect. It’s not their fault that I’m not going to work for them. I said no to their offer, and I’m glad that I did. It was the right choice for me. I regret that I didn’t keep my word and call you about it. That’s on me, and I’ll do better next time.”

  He took her hand. When she didn’t instantly jerk away, he considered that a good sign. “Okay.”

  She swallowed hard. “Okay, what?”

  He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb, loving the feel of her, skin to skin, wanting to kiss her, wondering how long he would have to wait before she let him. Was he totally whipped? It kind of appeared so. “Okay, the job wasn’t right for you and you need to run your own career without interference from me.”

  “That’s it, yes. If I want your help, I’ll ask for it—and then you can decide if you even want to help me.” At least she said that kind of tenderly.

  “Of course I’ll help you any way I can.” The words came out raw sounding, rough with emotion. He made his confession. “I’m a complete fool for you, Tessa.”

  The sweetest, softest sigh escaped her. “You are not in any way a fool.”

  “Oh, yeah, I am. For you, I am. It’s been crap in LA without you. You’re what I think about. You’re what I want.” He reeled her in.

  And she let him, thank heaven.

  Damn, he was starved for the taste of her. He wrapped his arms around her and lowered his mouth to hers.

  * * *

  The kiss was long and deep and thorough, and Tessa reveled in it.

  When he eased his hand up under her shirt, she didn’t stop him. Far from it. She moaned in invitation and pushed her breast into his palm.

  When he took her shirt away and unhooked her bra, she loved it. When he unzipped her old jeans and guided her to her feet so he could slide them down to a pool of tattered denim around her ankles, she loved that, too.

  He went to his knees on the rug. She stared down at his dark head as he untied her shoes. At his command, she stepped out of them.

  Next he took down her satin boy shorts with the lace inserts on the sides. And then he pressed his mouth to the hot, feminine core of her and did things to her that probably ought to be illegal.

  She combed her fingers through his hair, clutching him to her, whispering his name, knowing herself for a dishonest coward—and crying out in pure joy anyway as she came.

  Later. The word whispered through her mind as she pulled him to his feet and stripped off his shirt, so eager to get to his bare skin that buttons went flying.

  Later, I’ll tell him. We’ll go to dinner. I’ll tell him then, just as I planned.

  But now...

  Well, now she was the one going down to her knees. She took him in her mouth, loving the salty taste of him, taking him so deep, sliding her tongue along the thick vein that ran the length of him, until he moaned her name and fisted his hands in her hair.

  When he pulled her up, threw her over his shoulder and headed for the bedroom, she laughed and kicked her feet and pretended to protest. And then he put her down so carefully on the bed, as though she were precious, fragile. Breakable.

  She didn’t let herself even think that she should tell him the truth about the baby first and take her pleasure later. When he rolled on a condom, she didn’t say a word about how they no longer needed one—well, at least not for contraception.

  She just opened for him and pulled him into her yearning arms and let the wonder roll through her, let his slow, hot, skilled caresses obliterate her until she was only a conduit for each thrilling sensation. Twice more, she came. It was magnificent.

  And when she finally felt him pulsing within her, she gloried in it.

  Later, she thought, when she held him close afterward. I’ll tell him at dinner, just as I planned.

  * * *

  At the Italian place in Kalispell, they got the same booth they’d had the time before—in a quiet little corner where they could talk without being disturbed. She joked with him that it was so nice be back at “their” Italian place.

  He agreed. “We need to come here often.”

  She wondered how they would do that, with him living in LA. But then, maybe she would move to LA, too, and they would find a favorite Italian place there.

  Maybe it would actually work out between them. She could find freelance work much more easily in LA. They would live together and raise their baby together, and maybe find a little getaway place of their own in Rust Creek Falls. They could visit a few times a year.

  Maybe.

  Or maybe not.

  Maybe that was all just a crazy fantasy.

  Who could say?

  The first step was to tell him.

  And she hadn’t even gotten there yet.

  But she didn’t let all those maybes show in her expression. She only laughed and said, “Yes. We should come here to ‘our’ Italian place at least once a week.”

  She ordered veal, and he had the chicken Parmesan. When he poured her a glass of Chianti, she didn’t stop him, though that would have been a good lead-in to breaking the news she should have shared hours ago. She let him pour the wine, and she never touched the glass.

  If he noticed, he didn’t let on.

  He talked about Drake Distilleries, about the terrific ad campaign IMI had developed for an all new product line of flavored liqueurs. And Drake Hospitality would soon be opening a new club in San Diego. He said he wanted to take her to the big first-night party at the end of August. She said she would love that, though August seemed a million years away and she thought to herself that anything could happen by then.

  He didn’t even want children.

 
How could this possibly end well?

  Panic jittered through her.

  She quelled it and reported that she’d picked up more work through her website and, yes, there had been a parade along Main Street on the Fourth of July. “It was strangely similar to the one on Memorial Day.”

  “I’ll bet. Barbecue in the park afterward?”

  “How did you guess?”

  He gave a low, sexy chuckle. “What’s Independence Day in Rust Creek Falls without a parade and a barbecue after?”

  “It was fun,” she said. And then confessed, “I wished you were here.”

  He set down his wineglass. “Me, too.” He said it quietly. And his dark eyes seemed to say she was the only other person in the world right then.

  Just the two of them, together. It could work. She knew it could.

  Except that it wasn’t just the two of them.

  Because baby made three.

  He smiled at her, a musing kind of smile.

  She asked, “What?”

  And he said, “I think I’m starting to like it in Rust Creek Falls. Ryan said it would happen. I hate when he’s right.”

  The waitress served the main course.

  Carson dug into his chicken parm and started telling her about how he’d run into Homer before he came looking for her at the boardinghouse. “I’m serious,” he insisted. “Literally, I ran into Homer—or almost, anyway. He popped up out of nowhere in the middle of Main Street. I barely hit the brakes in time to keep from plowing him down. He wanted a burger and to talk about his moonshine. So I took him to the Ace in the Hole and tried to tell him that the moonshine deal was off. He refused to hear me, just kept saying he needed another few weeks to make up his mind. It only got weirder.”

  “Knowing Homer, I can’t say I’m surprised.” She twirled up a bite of linguini.

  “He asked me how the ‘situation’ was with you.”

  “That’s a strange way to put it.”

  “I thought so, too. And then he said he knew you were pregnant and what was I going to do about that?”

  She froze with her forkful of linguini halfway to her mouth. Her face must have said it all.