A Husband She Couldn't Forget Read online

  He bent closer. She felt his lips in her hair, reveled in the warmth of his breath on her skin. Every part of her—body, mind and soul—rejoiced at the contact.

  And then it was over.

  He lifted his arm from across her shoulders and moved slightly away.

  She shifted to face him. Looking straight into his wary eyes, she asked again for what she wanted. “Please help me, Connor. I don’t want you to lie to me or pretend you’re my husband when you’re not. I only want to spend some time with you, to stay in your house and to be with you. Not as lovers, not as husband and wife. As who we are right now.”

  A frown creased his brow as he stared at her for the longest time. She tried to brace herself for his final refusal. What more could she do? She’d pretty much pulled out all the stops, and if he still wasn’t going for it, she would need to accept his decision.

  But then he said, “Your dad and your brothers will probably kill me.”

  Was that a yes? It sure sounded like one. Her heart lifted. “Did you just say that I can stay here with you?”

  His frown only deepened. “I don’t want your dad and brothers pissed off. You don’t need that kind of stress.”

  “I can deal with them.”

  “You need time to heal. What you don’t need is a lot of family conflict right now—and neither does your mom, with the baby and all.”

  “My mom may be on bed rest, but I would bet on her against the men in my family any day of the week. As for me, I meant what I said. I will deal with them. It’s up to me where I stay and they’re going to have to accept that.”

  “Yeah, well. You know that doesn’t mean they’re going to be happy about it.”

  “Connor.”

  “What?”

  “It can all be worked out with my family. This isn’t about them. I want some time with you. Tell me you just said yes. Tell me I can stay here.”

  He looked at her probingly now. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “All right, then. My guest bedroom is yours.”

  Chapter Four

  Connor watched the glowing smile take over her face.

  He could hardly believe it. Three months of the two of them sharing a house. It seemed impossible.

  Impossible in a dream-come-true sort of way—only not. Because who was he kidding? He had doubts, serious doubts as to the wisdom of this decision.

  But he’d agreed and they were doing it. He just had to remember that the main goal was for them to make peace with each other.

  Peace. Closure. Learning to get along. Putting the past behind them once and for all. That kind of stuff.

  They were not trying again. They were practically strangers now and he would remember that. She was only doing this because of the bump on her head. She wouldn’t be anywhere near him if she hadn’t been in an accident that had turned things around in her brain.

  She said, “I know this will help me. I can’t thank you enough.”

  His arms ached to reach for her, to yank her close. He needed to slam his hungry mouth down on hers.

  But he caught himself just in time.

  Oh, man. This was a bad idea. Way too risky. For both of them.

  He should back out. Now.

  But when he opened his mouth, what came out was, “So. I’ll show you your room, then?”

  * * *

  He led her upstairs to the room at the front of the house. It had a queen-size bed and its own bath.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I love the big windows and the little balcony...” They stood at the foot of the bed she would sleep in, staring at each other. “Weird, huh?” she asked, her eyes so blue and wide open, staring into his.

  “Yeah.” He said it way too softly. “Weird.”

  The past was suddenly a living thing, rising up in the air between them.

  He remembered. Everything. Too much.

  Aly, as a little girl, her hair in pigtails, wearing red shorts and a white shirt with a grape juice stain on the collar, her little fists planted on her hips, giving Dante a serious piece of her mind. “Why can’t I play with you and Connor? Mommy said to be nice to me and you’re not and it’s not fair and I hate you. I hate you both...”

  Aly at thirteen, already curvy, so damn beautiful and totally forbidden, flouncing away from him when he told her to get lost.

  And that first day on the Memorial Quad at OU. She’d turned around and blinded him with a teasing smile.

  “Connor. Imagine meeting you here...”

  He knew then. There was no way he could keep his distance from her, not with both of them away from home, together—and Dante nowhere nearby.

  He knew that she would be his. And he would be hers.

  And Dante would just have to get past it and move on.

  She called him back to the present, saying, “I should probably get going. I need to check on my mom and pack up my things...”

  * * *

  Downstairs, he gave her a key. “I’ll follow you.”

  A puzzled frown drew those gorgeous lips down at the corners. “Why? All my stuff will fit in the Mazda.”

  “Your dad’s not going to be happy.”

  “So? He doesn’t make my decisions for me.”

  “Aly. I’ll be dealing with him one way or another. Might as well just do it now and defuse the situation as best I can right out of the gate.”

  “But it’s not your problem. I said that I would deal with him and my brothers.” She tipped her chin high and pulled her shoulders back.

  “Can we get real about this?”

  “But I am being real.”

  “No, you’re not. Ernesto’s not going to like this, and one way or another, he’s going to find me and let me know exactly how he feels. Why not be proactive about it?”

  She might be almost a stranger to him now, but he could still read her. She was actively restraining herself from giving him an eye roll. “I can handle my dad.”

  “Yeah. You can. He’ll give in to you—and then come looking for me. Can we cut all that down to one step? Please?”

  “Hmm. I guess I feel guilty for dragging you into this.”

  “And yet you’ve done it anyway.” He was razzing her and enjoying it far too much.

  She chewed on her lower lip as she considered her response. “Well, I’m not backing out. So you can get that idea right out of your head.”

  “I’m going with you, Aly.”

  They shared a mini stare-down. In the end, she blinked first. “Fine.” Which meant it wasn’t, but she was through fighting him on it.

  He quelled a grin of triumph. “We might as well just take the Land Rover. Plenty of room for whatever you need to bring over.”

  “See how you did that? I started out going in my rental car by myself and ended up in your car with you behind the wheel.”

  Whatever he said next would only bring on another argument. He kept silent and gestured her ahead of him down the stairs to the garage, Maurice trailing behind.

  When Connor opened the garage door, Mrs. Garber was standing on the sidewalk at the top of the driveway. Maurice ran to meet her. She bent to pick him up, then stepped out of the way of Connor’s vehicle, giving them a jaunty wave as he and Aly drove off.

  * * *

  At the Santangelo house, Aly paused in the foyer to remind him once again that she would handle her father.

  Connor kept his expression neutral. “Whatever you say.” He would do what he had to do. No point in standing there arguing about it.

  They followed their noses to the kitchen. Ernesto, in a white T-shirt, Carhartt dungarees and an apron, stood at the stove stirring red sauce in one pot while pasta boiled in another.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  Ernesto was smiling as he turned—but then he spotted Connor in
the doorway behind Aly. He scowled at his only daughter. “Why is he here?”

  Connor opened his mouth to take control of the situation.

  Aly beat him to it. “He’s with me, Daddy. I’ve asked Connor to let me stay at his place and he’s generously said yes.”

  “What did you just say?” Ernesto brandished his big wooden spoon. Aly opened her mouth to answer, but he cut her off before she could get a word out. “Don’t tell me. I heard you. You’ll give me a heart attack and you are doing no such thing. What is the matter with you?”

  “There is nothing the matter with—”

  “Stop.” He shoved his spoon in her direction. “What can you be thinking? You can’t just—”

  A hissing sound interrupted him.

  Behind him on the stove, the pasta had boiled over. The water sizzled and foamed as it ran down the sides of the pot. Aly’s dad swore a blue streak as he spun around to turn off the fire. The water settled a little. He turned the burner back on and carefully adjusted the flame before facing the two of them once more.

  “Bella,” he said, his voice more controlled now, still angry, but also tender. “You can’t go and live with him.”

  “I can, Dad.” She went to him and pressed her hand to his tanned, rough cheek. “And I’m going to. I’m here to get my things.”

  “You’re here to take care of your mother.”

  “And I will. Just you watch me.”

  “You’ve had an accident and you are not yourself.”

  “Oh, no. That’s not true. I’m all banged up, yeah. But I know fact from fantasy and I am very much myself.” She kissed him, a brush of her lips at his jaw. “Now, I’m going to go and see how Mom’s doing. Then I’ll pack up my stuff and Connor and I are out of here.” She turned and came toward him in the doorway, leaving her dad scowling after her. “Try not to kill each other,” she advised.

  And then she was gone.

  The silence hung heavy between him and his ex-father-in-law. Ernesto turned to his pasta and sauce.

  “I couldn’t say no to her,” Connor offered to the older man’s broad back.

  Ernesto shrugged. “At least you had the balls to show up here and admit it.”

  Connor tried to decide what he should say to that. Nothing, he decided. Better to quit while he was ahead. He kept his mouth shut.

  “Stay for dinner,” Ernesto said flatly. “There’s plenty.”

  * * *

  Marco arrived a few minutes later. There was more or less a replay of the confrontation with Ernesto. But Aly’s father had already given his reluctant blessing to the situation, so Marco unhappily fell in line.

  Cat came to the table to eat with them. She looked really good for a hugely pregnant older lady. And she seemed blithely unconcerned that Aly was moving in with him. Cat spent most of the meal quizzing him about his family—about his sister-in-law Keely’s six-month-old baby girl, and his sister Aislinn and brother Matthias, each of whom had gotten married within the past year.

  Connor felt so comfortable around Aly’s mom that he almost started blabbing about Madison Delaney, who had married local shipbuilder Sten Larson the month before. Madison, a bona fide movie star, was the newly found member of the Bravo family. She’d been switched at birth with Aislinn twenty-seven years before.

  So far, the switched-at-birth story hadn’t gotten out to the media. Madison and Sten wanted to keep it that way, so they’d all agreed not to mention their relationship to America’s Darling outside the family.

  And yet, even with Ernesto and Marco barely speaking, radiating disapproval and sending him dark looks, Connor almost revealed Madison’s secret right there at the Santangelo dinner table—because of his soft spot for Aly’s mom.

  Cat looked like an older version of her only daughter, and she could wrap a man around her finger same as Aly could. Way back when he and Dante were kids and Aly was just Dante’s bratty little sister, Connor had considered Cat like a second mom. When his own mom had died suddenly in that tsunami in Thailand, Cat had been right there for the Bravo family, bringing over the baked ziti and lasagna and lamb stew, ready to help out wherever help was needed.

  It came to him sharply as he shoveled in Ernesto’s excellent pasta that Aly wasn’t the only one he’d lost due to his own pigheaded unwillingness to admit what an ass he’d been, and make an effort to work things out. He’d missed her mom, too. And Dante, his lifelong best friend... What the hell, he’d missed all the Santangelos. He’d wrecked so much that was precious and irreplaceable. Maybe Aly thought they could somehow make it all right again.

  But the way he saw it, some doors were closed to him now and forever.

  “You’re quiet,” Aly said on the drive back to his house.

  He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t even want to glance her way. No woman had a right to look that beautiful—even with peeling air-bag burns covering most of her face. “Just tired,” he lied.

  At the house, he helped her carry her things inside, said good-night and retreated to the master suite. He had a little trouble sleeping, so he got out his laptop and caught up with email and a few minor loose ends that needed tying up at Valentine Logging.

  In the morning, he was up and showered and dressed at six, figuring he would head straight to Warrenton and the company offices, stopping off at a diner he liked for breakfast on the way. Was he hoping to avoid any chance he might run into Aly?

  Absolutely. He’d spent too much of the past sleepless night regretting giving in to her. She shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t good for her to be here—and not good for him, either. It was over between them. They shouldn’t be kidding themselves that they could somehow make everything right.

  And yet yesterday, he’d given in to her. He’d let her do that thing she did so well—let her convince him that what she wanted was good for him, too.

  Well, fair enough. He’d blown it, said yes when he should have firmly told her no, and now she was living in his house with him. But he was drawing the line at that. She could stay as long as she needed to stay to make peace with the past or whatever she thought she was doing here. She could have it her way, take care of her mom and sleep in his guest room.

  And he would go on with his life as before.

  When he pulled open his bedroom door, he smelled coffee, heard a cabinet door shut and a spoon clink against a cup. Evidently, Aly was already awake. The reality of that—of her actual presence, here in his house—hit him all over again, causing an exasperating lifting feeling in the cage of his chest.

  Not good.

  He needed to get out of the house and behind the wheel of his car. Unfortunately, the open-plan living area downstairs would make it just about impossible for him to escape to the garage without her spotting him.

  Like a tongue-tied kid afraid to face the prettiest girl in school, he hovered on the upstairs landing. Pathetic.

  She was staying for weeks. He couldn’t be freaking out at just the idea of coming face-to-face with her. It was going to happen. On a regular basis.

  When he finally made himself descend the stairs, she was sitting across the room, at the table by the windows in the living area, drinking coffee. Her midnight hair fell in thick, loose curls down her shoulders and she wore a tight pink shirt and black capri pants. The woman was too damn delicious for his peace of mind.

  She held up her mug to him. “Love that pod coffee maker you’ve got.”

  He crossed the room to her but didn’t take a chair. Instead, he stood by the table, his briefcase still hooked on his shoulder, ready to make his escape. “You’re up early.”

  She sipped from the mug. “I woke up at five. I think I’m still on New York time.”

  “You slept okay, though?”

  “Great, thanks—and I’ve checked the fridge, found the eggs and that Olympia Provisions chorizo you always loved. Want some breakfast bef
ore you go? I’m cooking and I can make it fast.”

  He shook his head and lied, “Thanks, but I need to get going.”

  That sinful mouth of hers kicked up at the corners in a hint of a smile. Her eyes said so what if he thought they were strangers now? She didn’t buy that crap. She knew him, those eyes said, knew him so well. “I was thinking that on the way home from Mom’s today, I’ll stop by Safeway, pick up a few things. I’ll fix you dinner, if you’re available.”

  Margo. The name popped into his head, flashing red.

  He couldn’t believe it. He’d forgotten all about Margo.

  Two lines drew down between Aly’s periwinkle-blue eyes. “Okay. You look like you just got some bad news. What’s going on?”

  “Uh. Thanks for the offer, but I can’t make it for dinner tonight.”

  She just sat there and looked at him, waiting for him to bust to whatever it was.

  There was absolutely no reason for him to feel like a guilty cheater.

  But he did. “I’ve got a date.”

  She set her mug down. They stared at each other. It went on for several seconds, until she said cautiously, “I don’t want to assume anything.”

  What did that even mean? “Good.”

  “But you did say there was no one special.”

  There wasn’t. With Aly on his mind, he’d forgotten all about Margo James—and whatever he said next, he would sound like a jerk. Probably because he was one. “This is the second time we’ve gone out, Margo and I. We set the date for tonight before your brother knocked on my door Wednesday.”

  She made a little humming sound. “I see. You couldn’t have mentioned this date last night?”

  There was no good answer to that one, so he just told the truth. “I’m sorry. Until just a minute ago, I forgot all about it.”

  She pinned him with a cool stare. “You forgot that you had a date.”

  “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  She did that humming thing again.

  He couldn’t read her. She seemed fine with him going out with some other woman—or if not fine, accepting. More or less.