Riley would have much preferred to take his SUV. Whoever was after Charlize likely knew what she drove, and wouldn’t be as likely to recognize his vehicle. He posed the argument to Charlize as she returned with two suitcases in tow—one for her and one for her aunt, she’d said—and headed toward the back door where her car was parked in a detached garage.
He tried to take one of the bags for her. She shook her head, holding on to both handles, though she had to turn one back sideways to get them through the kitchen.
“I’ll need my car where I’m staying,” she’d said.
And out in the garage, when he suggested that he drive, as he had experience with defensive driving and fast speed chases, she declined once again.
“This way you can keep watch and be able to use your gun,” she’d replied, but he didn’t think for a second she really expected that to happen.
She was letting him know that she was in control of her life, regardless of her need to stay with him. He got the message loud and clear. Respected her for it...and found it sexy.
So all the way to Lowell, he rode silently beside her, listening to her aunt chatter from the backseat, and keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity on the roads.
By the time they got to her aunt’s house, he practically sprang from the vehicle. He did not make a good passenger. Never had. And opted to wait outside, pacing the sidewalk, while Charlize went inside with her family.
She’d said she was only coming to his place because of her need to protect the baby. Intimating that there was absolutely nothing between them. He wasn’t so sure about that.
She was different. Not just as a person, but in his life. That one night...it had been like none other. More compelling, even, than those illicit nights with Marisol, his sometime partner at the FBI... He shoved those sensitive memories out of his mind.
And attraction aside, the baby Charlize was carrying, protecting, was his. That was a hell of a lot. No matter who raised the child.
Their families were forever, biologically, joined. And with his sisters, that meant they were joined emotionally, too. Any one of the Coltons would die for that child. Just as they’d die for each other.
Pulling out his phone he brought up his messaging app, clicked on the group chat that included all five of his siblings and typed.
I apologize for my abrupt departure. At this time, I have no answers to your questions. Will provide them once I do. Someone has threatened Charlize’s life. Shot at her this morning and missed. She will be staying at CI Headquarters until perp is caught. Don’t make more of it than it is.
He didn’t hit Send.
Didn’t want them up in his space.
But they had to know. The woman would be staying at the headquarters of their family business.
Bailey and Ashanti. They’d have to know there’d be another person in the building.
Did they also have to know she was pregnant?
What if they heard her in the bathroom, being violently ill? He didn’t want them calling 911 on her behalf.
The complications continued to pile up on him.
Charlize came out just as he was escalating to a whole new level of excess energy and he wasted no time getting back to the car, hitting Send on his text message before dropping his phone back in his pocket. “May I please drive?” he asked. It was her car. He couldn’t demand.
He wouldn’t beg.
“I have issues not driving when I’m in vehicles,” he told her. She might as well know. “Never take cabs for that reason.”
“What if you’re traveling?”
“I rent cars.”
She handed him the keys.
As tall as he was, he didn’t have to adjust the seat much. One of the things he’d noticed during their night together. He and Charlize fit well.
“What about buses?” she asked as he turned onto the main road out of Lowell.
“I avoid them whenever possible.”
Once they were on a country road, with long driveways up to homes that were mostly blocked from view by massive trees, Riley calmed down with every passing mile. And became aware of Charlize’s silence, too. His brain back in full gear, focused on the task at hand, a list took place in his mind’s eye. Immediate considerations.
They were going home together, to his place. Where they’d be living together, at least for a day or two.
The idea of sharing space with her didn’t fragment his control again. Didn’t even send up negative vibes.
Interesting.
But then, he knew it wasn’t forever. Or even for very long.
“I cook on Sundays.” He offered pertinent information. “Various meals. They’re marked and dated and in individual vacuum-sealed bags in the freezer. You’re welcome to any of them, and anything else in the house you might need or want,” he said. “And don’t worry, you’re not infringing or putting me out. My siblings have no qualms about helping themselves so I’ve learned just to keep things stocked. Half the stuff, I don’t even like.”
That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much. Some weeks he’d be fine with peanut butter, a loaf of bread and beer.
“Thank you.”
“It’s after five and I’m sure you need to eat,” he continued, traveling a conversational path that didn’t seem to bring any qualms from within. “I’ve got lasagna, vegetable soup, bourbon pork and chicken marsala, for sure.” He pictured the interior of his freezer. “And there are meatballs and several things of spaghetti sauce. The spaghetti’s in the cupboard. I have a microwave container that cooks it up quickly...” Being a good host was something he’d learned young. It wasn’t something you forgot, even if you preferred not to exercise the talent.
“The veggies are all done separately,” he continued. “In their own bags, and marked. You can choose what you want to go with whatever main dish.” The girls each had their own preferences and dislikes. And it was just easiest to feed them what they liked.
“And the veggie bin in the refrigerator is always filled with fresh produce.”
She was staring at him.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m trying to picture you pushing around a full cart in the grocery store...”
He wondered if she liked the image. And immediately disavowed it. “I don’t,” he quickly assured her, lest she build him into some kind of family man he was not.
“JJ, my housekeeper, does it. Twice a week. I’m a run in and run out kind of guy, if it’s a last minute thing, and I have no other option. She cleans, too. On Fridays.” Which was coming up.
He’d need to let JJ know he had a houseguest...
“There are three bedrooms upstairs,” he said. “All large enough to be a small apartment. I’m in the master at the end of the hall. You can have your pick of either of the other two. The downstairs bedroom has been converted to a filing and storage room for the business. You’ll have your own bathroom.”
Lest she think there would be forced intimacies in their near future. Or feared that he’d be planning on them.
He was ten minutes from home. Just one more thing to cover.
“As the father of the child you’re carrying, I’m hiring myself as your private bodyguard until this is over,” he said, choosing his words carefully. He wasn’t up for being flexible on this one. “Inside, you’re on your own, but when you need to leave, go to work, whatever, that baby has my protection. As a hired professional, I’ll make myself available to you as needed, on your schedule.” His laptop was state-of-the-art, his Wi-Fi excellent and he had the best unlimited data plan and phone hotspot on the market. He could do his research from anywhere.
He could see her looking at him. Peripheral vision didn’t provide much opportunity for accurate expression reading. So he prepared for whatever argument she might bring.
He was right on this one. And...
“You could have just offered,” she said after a long minute had passed. “I’d much rather have a gun beside me, than not, at the moment.”
Well, then. There you go.
Maybe life didn’t have to be so complicated, after all.
She didn’t feel safe out and about alone.
She hated being afraid. Hated letting fear win in any capacity. But she’d nearly been run over by a truck. She’d been shot at.
Only a fool ignored the warnings.
Giving in to them, quitting her job since they didn’t know which case was posing the threat, was not an option. Evil didn’t get to win.
But she had to take care. And didn’t have money to hire her own bodyguard. Most particularly not with a baby on the way.
Riley’s solution eased some of the tension that had been building within her.
And, as she took out her phone to avoid any further conversation between them in the car, checked her email, and saw that she’d had a response from her doctor’s office regarding an appointment, his solution brought a whole new realm of agitation.
Not anything she was going to tend to trapped in the confines of a moving vehicle.
Later, though, after she’d carried her own suitcase upstairs, having taken it from him as he’d lifted it out of the car, spent as much time as she reasonably could getting settled into the huge room farthest from his upstairs, she had to go back downstairs.
Deal with Riley.
And the situation they’d unknowingly created.
He wasn’t in the main office as she came down the stairs. Nor was he in the dining room as she passed through on her way to the kitchen. If she wasn’t in danger, she’d head out to get something to eat. But if she wasn’t in danger, she wouldn’t be there at all.
She pulled open the freezer. Tried to pretend to herself that she wasn’t curious to try Riley’s cooking, but the truth was, she wanted to try it all. Loved the idea of him keeping homemade meals stocked in the freezer for his grown siblings.
For a guy who’d sworn off marriage and family, he sure didn’t act the part. He hadn’t been kidding; the freezer was filled to the hilt, all with vacuum bags shelved by type, and clearly labeled. As she read, the choice got harder to make. So much of it sounded good.
Had he eaten? Should she make something for him, too? It would be rude not to do so. And yet, would it be too much like they were living together, rather than just staying in the same place, if they sat down to dinner together?
Where was he? Maybe there was a family room somewhere. Or a finished basement...
“The bourbon pork is the girls’ favorite.” She’d barely registered footsteps when he spoke.
“They’re hardly girls, Riley,” she said, to cover her abrupt switch from her appreciation of his caring nature back to the reality of standing in a virtual stranger’s kitchen perusing his freezer contents.
Try as she might, though, she couldn’t make Riley feel like someone she hardly knew. Instead, she continued to have the sense that she’d known of him forever.
“They’re all professionals with careers. Grown women.”
“I diapered all four of them. They’ll always be girls to me.”
With a sudden bout of deflation sliding over her, she pulled out a bag of pork. “Do you want one?” she asked.
“Yeah. And some of that broccoli and a baked potato, too. The potato is great with the bourbon juices. All the alcohol’s been cooked out of the sauce, just in case you were wondering.”
Looking for a baked potato, she stood there, until Riley reached around her, pulling out two bags of cut up white cubes.
She’d been about to fix dinner, and ended up collecting plates and silverware as Riley just set about doing what needed to be done to get their food on the table. He knew the microwave settings. Exactly how long everything took to reheat without overheating. The potatoes went in foil in a toaster oven set to broil.
“I eat in here,” he said as she headed toward the dining room table through the kitchen archway. The alcove he pointed to on the far end of the kitchen held an old Formica-topped table, square, with four padded chairs.
The man definitely had his ways. “Any particular chair?”
He pointed to a chair that backed to the wall with one hand as he pulled the potatoes out of the toaster oven with a mitt on the other, and she found herself imagining a much younger Riley at that table. In that kitchen. And saw a sudden vision of her own child there. With him. And not her.
Debating about whether or not she should sit with him, or take her food up to her room with her, Charlize knew she really had little choice.
They had a matter to discuss, whether he was going to like it or not.
She decided to wait until they were almost done eating—which they were doing in complete silence. No point in ruining a perfectly fine appetite with such incredibly good food on the table.
“I’m too old to be a father.” He’d taken a sip of the beer he’d pulled from the refrigerator. She’d opted for a bottle of spring water. Almost choked on the swallow she tried to take after he’d spoken.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” she told him when her throat was clear enough to speak. “Of course, you aren’t, but I’m guessing you aren’t really talking about years.
“In my experience, and I’ve got a lot of it, the healthy state of a family isn’t based on the parents’ ages—at least, not entirely. Obviously, some younger parents maybe wouldn’t have the struggles they do if they were a bit more mature, or wouldn’t have them to the same extent. But a person’s ability to love, to guide, to set and maintain boundaries, to discipline, to teach, and, to love, isn’t bound by age.” She put extra emphasis as she repeated the most important quality to happy family life—love.
“I’ve had a lot of years to develop my particular habits. I’m set in my ways. And I’m grouchy when I have to be flexible.”
Like avoiding the passenger side of any vehicle. He’d handled the situation just fine. So he wasn’t telling her the real problem. He wasn’t talking to one of his sisters, or a client or law-enforcement peer. He had a counselor at the table. One who was pretty adept at knowing when to hold her tongue.
Dinner was almost done. She still had that matter to discuss. Didn’t want to think about it. The discussion, or the actual event.
“If we were to ever go out with the kid together, you know to a teacher conference or sporting event, people would think I’m the grandfather.”
“You’re only thirteen years older than I am, Riley, not thirty. And you’re in better shape at forty-three than a lot of the fathers I visit who are my age. You’ve got an added maturity and wisdom that any child would be lucky to benefit from...” Because they were talking about him being a father, not them being a couple.
The former was happening. The latter was very firmly not. No matter how succinctly her subconscious kept remembering his lovemaking.
“Say we have a boy,” she started, and noticed him flinch at the word we. Almost let her thought trail away unspoken, and then chose not to do so. “Say he plays football. You’d be fifty-eight or so if he makes varsity. I’d be willing to bet my life’s savings that you’d still be able to outthrow him, and catch him on the field, too. Assuming disaster hasn’t struck before then.”
He glanced up at that, frowning. “What? Disaster? Who goes around making room for disaster?”
Smiling, she nodded. “Exactly,” she said. “Anything can happen to anyone at any age, in terms of physical disabilities or death. We don’t live our lives looking for either. Most of us live our lives hoping that they’ll be long and fruitful. And it happens more times than not. A good majority of us live to old age. So with that in mind, and with today’s longer life spans, this child will have gray hair by the time you’re heading out.”
Putting his fork and knife in the middle of his empty plate, Riley didn’t respond verbally or in his expression.
He stood, reached for her empty plate, carried them both to the sink. And when he came back for her silverware, said, “I’m closing in on half a century of living. I’m set in my ways.”
Leaving her to decipher the message she was supposed to take from that. Was he telling her he wasn’t going to be a father to the child they’d created?
Or just stating a fact she was going to have to learn to live with?
Maybe he was just reiterating that there was no hope for the two of them as a real family.
He needn’t have worried on that count.
Riley figured his handling of the dishes, combined with his surly mood, would be cue enough for Charlize to clear out of the kitchen. She continued to haunt him with the scent of her shampoo. And the beating of her heart in his personal space.
He could almost feel the palpitation. And the air she breathed in and out of that gorgeous body of hers. He’d been adamant about his right to protect his child. Pretty much left her no choice but to move in with him. Had been completely certain he was absolutely right in his insistence.
And he’d been wrong.
Having Charlize Kent in his personal space had not been a good choice. Having any woman there would have been an oddity. He’d never, ever brought a girlfriend or fling home to CI headquarters. Or the family home when it had been that.
Not ever.
Charlize’s presence in the space made things complicated again. Too complicated.
He wanted her; the chemistry between them as explosive as a match to gasoline. Had to stand at the sink after the dishes were in the dishwasher to keep his hard-on from becoming another unspoken conversation between them.
“I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning.”
Or...an announcement from her could shrink his penis right up.
Of course she’d have called her doctor. She was three months pregnant. And he, in all his smartness, had insisted on accompanying her every single place she went.
“They’re going to be doing an ultrasound, since I’m already starting my fourth month. The appointment will last about an hour. You can wait, or you can drop me off and pick me up afterward.”
Her dismissal of him, speaking of his presence there like it was no more than taking care of her, acting like the whole thing was no big deal...kind of pissed him off.
Whether it made logical sense or not, he didn’t like feeling dismissed. His phone vibrated in his pocket. Again. The fifth time since he’d texted his siblings. As he’d done with all the rest, he ignored it.
“As the father of the child, I’d like to hear what the doctor has to say,” he blurted, as much out of perverseness than anything else, he supposed. “And... I’d like to be present for the ultrasound.” Marisol had talked about her husband having been in the room when they’d found out they were having a girl...the conversation had been pertinent because she’d been missing her son so acutely one night...
He turned from the sink at Charlize’s silence. In the middle of the kitchen, halfway between the refrigerator and him, she stood, mouth open.
His bad mood dissipated way too quickly at the sight of that mouth. Yeah, because it looked so tempting and kissable, but more because he’d managed to make her speechless.
She wasn’t as unaffected by him as she pretended.
It was almost enough to make him take back his ultrasound statement. Yet, he didn’t. He’d never been to an ultrasound before. Was a bit curious.
And as Charlize continued to stand there as though she’d just heard the worst news of her life, he softened, no fractiousness left at all. “I’m not trying to make more between us than what’s there, or insinuate myself into your life. I’m not even sure I’m insinuating myself into the child’s life. I’d just like to be there for the ultrasound.” But it wasn’t nonnegotiable. “If that’s okay with you,” he added, to make that clear.
She closed her mouth. Studied him for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes, of course that’s okay,” she said. “As you say, the baby is your child, too.”
With that, she passed by him, left the kitchen and a few seconds later he heard her feet climbing the stairs. She’d gone without leaving the kiss on his lips he so desperately wanted.
Whether she’d be back down, or had locked herself in her room and would remain quiet enough that he shouldn’t know she was there, didn’t matter. She could be invisible and completely silent and he’d still feel her. Still want her.
And still not want a marriage and family of his own.
Heading into his office, Riley hoped to God he could lose himself in work. He hoped for a lot of things.
While the only thing he knew for certain, was that it was going to be one hell of a long night.