By Tess St. John

Exhausted from football practice, Andre Biel yanked the chain hanging from the ceiling fan twice and reclined on the couch. The fan whirled to high, disbursing the cool AC air. He relaxed his sore muscles. Even though he was a high school sophomore, he’d been pulled up to varsity and the games and practices were kicking his ass. He continued to rush for more than a hundred yards a game although the bigger, older players hit harder—much harder.

His sister rushed into the room. “I need a favor. I need you to meet Knox and help me convince Mom he’s a good guy before I introduce them.”

Tracy’s straight black hair swayed halfway down her back as she paced the tiny living room. She darted glances at him, her eyes expectant and hopeful. Her emotions constantly ranged from happy, excited, and thrilled to depressed, sad, and miserable. Most girls at school acted the same way. They could never just be chill. People talked about teenage boys being awful, and he knew his share of guys who’d done some dumb shit to get a girl’s attention, but from everything he’d witnessed, teenage girls seemed worse.

“Why do you need my help? What’s wrong with Knox?”

“Nothing. He’s amazing. It’s only...” She looked down. “He’s a little older than I am.”

“How much?”

“He’s in college.”

“Forget it.”

“Please. I really like him.” The desperation in her voice caught his attention. “We met a couple of months ago at a party. Knox plays football for the University of Houston.”

“Knox Pinster?”

Her face lit up. “You’ve heard of him?”

He ignored her excitement. “What are you doing seeing a college guy? Why’s he interested in you?”

“When we first met, I told him I was a senior. He assumed I meant in college. The third time we went out I told him my real age. By then he liked me so much it didn’t matter.”

Dre didn’t dare ask what she’d done for the guy to be interested in her, afraid his sister would do almost anything to be noticed by an older guy. He ran a hand over his face. “Knox has great technique. He rarely misses a tackle.”

She beamed. “I just know you two will hit it off.”

“Mom’s never going to let you go out with him.”

“She will if you vouch for him. Please.”

Though he tried hard not to show it, he felt some crazy, protective bullshit for his sister, and she could talk him into doing just about anything. He considered himself her protector, probably because she’d lived her life without a dad. He had too, but she’d been five when Dad died and retained memories of the man. Dre remembered nothing about him. His only knowledge of his dad came from photos and stories told by Mom, Tracy, and other people who knew him.

Of course, if he and Knox became friends the guy might invite him to parties. Dre wouldn’t mind hanging out with some college girls and other players. “See if he’s free tonight.”

“Thank you. Thank you.” She ran into the kitchen to grab the wireless phone. She often complained they needed cell phones, a luxury they couldn’t afford. His mom worked at one of the retirement homes in town and didn’t make enough to afford very many extras. Tracy tried to work afternoon jobs but never stuck with any of them. While Dre mowed their neighbors’ yards for extra money when he wasn’t practicing or playing football, what he earned would never be enough to pay for cell phone bills every month.

Tracy excitedly darted back into the living room. “He’ll pick you up in an hour.”

Dre ate a couple of peanut butter sandwiches and had just stepped out of the shower when Tracy hollered, “Knox is here.” The door creaked open and slammed shut. He pulled on shorts, a t-shirt, and tied his sneakers.

He exited the front door and approached the street, the afternoon sun causing a shadow from the house to take up half the yard. This neighborhood didn’t have driveways, so everyone parked on the road in front of their house.

Tracy and Knox stood beside a shiny, black Mustang. His hands rested at her waist as they talked facing each other beside the open driver’s door. At least six foot two and hair in cornrows, Knox probably weighed two hundred pounds. He towered over Tracy.

She giggled.

Dre rolled his eyes.

When she spotted him, Tracy said, “Dre, this is Knox.”

“Hey,” Knox called.

Dre nodded, walked around to the passenger door, and ducked inside. The immaculate car smelled new.

Knox slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door. Tracy leaned down to look through the open window. “Have fun.”

A rap song played on the radio as they took off.

“Tracy make you do this?” Knox asked.

“Why are you hanging around a high school girl?”

“Your sister’s hot, man. I don’t care how old she is.”

“The police might.”

Knox chuckled. “I’m not much older, nineteen.”

“You’re legal, she’s not. My mom is never going to approve. Tracy’s wasting your time, and mine.”

“I’d never consider anything having to do with your sister a waste.” His words and tone sounded defensive. Did he truly care for her?

“You’ll never believe what she made me do last Saturday night.”

Dre had no idea what Tracy told his mother about where she’d been last Saturday night, but it wasn’t out with this guy.

“She spotted a homeless woman on the side of the road and made me drive through Jangles to buy her a meal.”

Earlier this year, when Dre got his driver’s license, Mom handed him five dollars and said, “This is to buy a meal for anyone you see who is in need. I want you to be a person who helps when you can. Do you understand?” He knew she’d said the same to Tracy when she got her license. Since he didn’t usually have a car to use because his mother worked so much, if Dre saw someone in need he’d ask whoever was driving to stop, and he’d buy the person food. His best friends, Kasey and Zack, now kept five dollars in their wallets for the same reason.

“I mean, who does that? Your sister’s different.”

Dre didn’t bother explaining why his sister bought the food. She’d clearly not mentioned Mom’s helping others’ speech. “Where are we going?”

“Thought I’d show you around U of H.” Knox sped onto the feeder road of Highway I-10 and stayed in the left lane to enter the on-ramp.

“What’s your major?” Dre crossed his arms.

“I’m taking basics for now. All I want to do is play football.”

Dre stopped himself from shaking his head. Coach Banks often told them playing pro football was unlikely. Thousands dreamed of going pro, yet few, very few, actually made it. He made certain the players planned something else for their future to support themselves.

It seemed Knox hadn’t been taught this.

“Nice car.”

“It’s my dad’s.”

The phone in the cup holder played the theme from the Addams Family. “That’s him now.” Knox reached down and grabbed it, then put it to his ear. “Hello ... Sure, I’ll be right there.” He put the phone down and took the off-ramp from the highway. “I’ve gotta pick my dad up. He’s having car trouble.”

Traffic was light for Houston, which still meant lots of cars, just no slowing down. Knox took turn after turn and pulled up in front of a skyscraper.

A man in dark slacks and a cream coat holding a large cardboard box hurried their way. He motioned with his head for Knox to pop the trunk. Dre opened his door, got out to flick the seat forward, and squeezed into the back.

After securing the trunk, the man righted the seat and got inside. “Thanks for picking me up. My Beemer wouldn’t start.”

A new Mustang and a BMW, the man must be loaded.

Knox eased back into traffic. “Dad, this is Dre.”

The older gentleman twisted in his seat and held out his hand. “Mac Wallace. Call me Mac.”

Curious why they didn’t have the same last name, Dre kept that question to himself and shook the man’s hand. Mac’s white smile brightened his dark features.

“He’s Tracy’s brother,” Knox explained.

“Oh, she’s a darling girl.”

Dre suspected his sister had downplayed her relationship with Knox, especially if she’d met his dad.

“Take a left,” Mac instructed.

“I thought we were taking you home.” Knox put on his blinker.

“I’ve got a bit of business to complete on the way. It’ll only take a second.” Mac returned his gaze to Dre. “Tracy tells me you’re a running back.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mac beamed with pride. “A year ago I told Knox I’d moved to Houston and couldn’t believe it when he decided to take a scholarship from the University of Houston. If you ask me, I won the lottery to have my boy so close.” Personable and talkative, Mac explained how they seldom saw each other because Knox lived in California with his mother after she and Mac parted ways when Knox turned two. Mac moved a lot over the years and never lived close to Knox. “I’m so proud of him.”

Dre had never missed having a dad. Yet seeing the expression on Mac’s face as he spoke about Knox, Dre felt—the only word that came to mind was cheated. Cheated out of something special.

“Pull up behind the red truck.” Mac faced forward.

Knox stopped and set the car in park.

Engrossed in Mac’s enthusiasm, Dre hadn’t paid attention to where they were going. He peered out the window and realized the sun had set. They were on a deserted street with boarded-up storefronts.

Mac opened his door. “Knox, there are three briefcases in the box I put in the trunk. Would you get the black one?”

Knox hopped out.

“We’ll be right back, Dre.” Mac slid out and started for the truck. The truck had seen better days. Dents marred the fender, and the tailgate showed rust spots. Knox slammed the trunk closed and hurried after his father. Mac grabbed the briefcase from him and hopped inside the truck.

A sinking feeling cramped Dre’s gut.

He couldn’t see what was happening, but he also wasn’t born yesterday. Business transactions on roads like this more than likely involved buying or selling something illegal.

Dre yanked the seat adjuster, and the front seat jolted forward. He reached for the handle, opened the door, and clambered out of the Mustang.

Sirens pierced the quiet night.

Streetlights illuminated an unmarked four-door sedan with flashing lights in the back window.

Knox stood beside the open truck door. His panicked eyes met Dre’s. Someone yelled, and Knox jumped inside. Tires screeched and smoke spewed from the muffler as the truck sped off.

The police car followed in pursuit.

Terror streaking through him, Dre started off the way they’d come, ready to jog home.

He’d only gone five steps before blaring sirens and more flashing lights stopped him cold. He spun to find a patrol car racing straight toward him.

Shit.

The car’s headlights blinded him.

“Hands on your head,” came over the car’s loudspeaker.

He raised his hands.

Two cops stepped in front of the squad car and came forward. The car’s headlights behind them made them appear like shadows. One headed to the Mustang, and one approached Dre. “What’s your name?”

“Andre Biel.”

“How do you know Mac Wallace and Knox Pinster?”

“I don’t, sir.” Dre tried to slow his breathing. He wasn’t guilty of anything, except getting into the car with people he didn’t know. Of course, didn’t criminals on Cops claim the same thing?

One policeman stepped close enough for Dre to see his small frame and young face. “You were in the car with them. We’ve been watching since you arrived.”

“I met them tonight.” The truth sounded so dumb he considered lying. “I don’t suppose I can say I was doing a favor for my sister as explanation.”

“I suppose not.”

“Sir, the truth is going to sound lame.”

The other cop flipped up the trunk of the Mustang, and Dre’s insides flipped with it remembering the box Mac placed back there. He concentrated on the police officer in front of him. “My sister asked—”

“Guns,” the other cop called.

Guns?

The first policeman yanked out his gun and pointed it at Dre. “Get on the ground.”

His heart dropped to the pavement with his knees.

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Aiden ~ Danby Series (Short Story)

Aiden Danby knocked as he opened Pops’ front door. “Anyone home?” Pops moved into this upscale retirement village three years ago, following Mimi’s death. The one-bedroom condo was spacious and filled with antiques Pops and Mimi collected over the years. When he entered the house, the cuckoo clock on the wall chirped the half hour.

“Come in. Come in.” Pops rushed into the living room from the kitchen, a dishtowel in his hands. The elderly man, rugged and strong for so many years, showed signs of frailness in his thinning gray hair and pale blue eyes. “What brings you to town, son?” Pops shook Aiden’s hand and clasped his back.

“Work.”

“Hey, bro,” Brock called from the kitchen doorway. In basketball shorts and a t-shirt, Brock was likely on his way to a morning workout. “You’re just in time. Pops made cinnamon rolls.”

Oh, God. Mimi’s cinnamon rolls. Aiden and his brothers had them every Saturday growing up. Nearing the kitchen, he caught the delicious scent of butter and cinnamon. It smelled like home.

The circumstances of why Aiden was put into foster care at the age of eleven might have been dire, but his life greatly improved when Pops and Mimi took him in. For the first time in his life, he’d experienced stability and safety when they adopted him—along with four other boys they were fostering at the time, including Brock.

Aiden scooped out one of the cinnamon rolls and put it on a small plate, the glaze dripping as he did. His mouth watered. “I haven’t had one of these in years.”

“That’s what you get for living out of town.” Brock poured them each a glass of milk.

Taking a bite, Aiden closed his eyes for a second, letting his taste buds enjoy. “I’d move back to Houston just to get these often.”

Pops grinned. “Like Mimi used to say, ‘Man cannot live by cinnamon rolls alone.’”

Brock held up his glass as if making a toast. “He can if they’re these rolls.”

“I agree.” Aiden took another bite.

“How long will you be in Houston?” Pops asked.

“All week. I have a presentation to make to a potential client on Friday.” Aiden pulled a paper towel from the roll and sat at the draw-leaf table. “So I’ll be able to make Sunday dinner.”

A phone rang and Brock pulled out his cell. Checking the screen, he answered, “Brock Danby,” and walked into the living room.

Pops sat next to Aiden. “Your job is going well?”

“Very well.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Brock hurried back into the kitchen. “One of the guys at the firehouse came down with the flu. They need me to finish his shift this week. But I promised Charli I would babysit the kids. Her in-laws are out of town.”

“I’ll watch the kids,” Pops offered.

With a shake of his head, Brock said, “They’d kill you.”

Pops laughed. “I raised five rambunctious boys. I can take care of two toddlers.”

“You were a bit younger then, Pops.” Brock sighed.

After a minute of silence, Pops asked, “Aiden, can you do it?”

Aiden’s heart gave a start, from unease or excitement, he wasn’t certain. “Sure.” He’d enjoy spending time with the kids, they were a blast. And if he were being honest, he’d do it solely for an excuse to see Charli. “What time do I need to be there?”

Charli Simmons rinsed out the glass she’d been using and set it in her new stainless steel dishwasher when something flying across the living room caught her attention.

“No, no, no.” Her four-year-old son, Jacob, ran to pick up the action figure. “Spiderman can’t fly, Tiff. He casts webs and they hold him up.” Rushing over to her three-year-old daughter, Jacob gave the toy back to her. “He swings from webs that come from his hands.”

Jacob showed Tiffany how to make Spiderman swing from place to place and Charli grinned. Tad’s unexpected death may have upended her life three years ago, but he left her two precious gifts. Both resembled him with their curly brown hair and dark brown eyes. She’d been a stay-at-home mom at the time and pregnant with Tiffany. Two months after Tiffany’s birth, Charli found work as a night club manager—the pay was better than any nine-to-five job she could find—and it allowed her to spend her days with the kids.

Charli wiped down her cabinet top with a sponge. She loved how her updated kitchen now connected to the living area, perfect for keeping an eye on the kids. Amazing how taking out one wall made her house much more open. The stainless steel appliances and granite countertops gave the space an updated fresh look. Not to mention the Italian leather couch and chair she’d purchased last week.

The doorbell rang.

She jumped. She’d been a bit on edge since Brock called and said Aiden would watch the kids tonight. “Can you get that, Jacob?”

“Sure, Mommy.” He ran toward the door, Tiffany toddling behind him.

Charli grabbed the garbage and hurriedly brought it through the mudroom and out the back door, careful not to get anything on her dress.

When she stepped back into the house, she heard Jacob excitedly cry, “Uncle Aiden!”

“Hey, buddy,” his deep voice called.

She washed her hands in the mudroom sink and checked her reflection in the mirror. She rolled her eyes. It was silly to be this excited about seeing Aiden.

Charli returned to the kitchen, and her heart thudded to a near stop. Gorgeous as ever, Aiden Danby stood in the middle of her living room with Jacob perched on his back and Tiffany on his hip. He looked natural with them hanging on to him. His black suit fit his toned body perfectly. A red tie hung loose around his neck, giving him a casual appearance. His light brown hair—shorter than when she’d seen him a month ago—was spiked in front.

Those piercing green eyes of his smiled when he spotted her.

“Hey, beautiful.” His words caused her stomach to flutter. Although he called her beautiful often when they were young, he hadn’t greeted her that way in years. Funny, his words just now gave her the same thrill as when she was a girl.

As she made her way to the living area, his eyes trailed her from head to toe and he whistled. “You probably get hit on every night at the club.”

She waved a hand, dismissing his words, before glancing away. “I do not.”

“You’re lying. You can’t glance away, Charli, that’s the most common tell. Guilty people do it on the stand all the time.” He bounced Tiffany on his hip while studying Charli. “Tell me how many times a night does a man come up to you and compliment you, or ask for your number?”

She held his gaze this time, heat rising up her neck. “None.” Since the first day they met, Aiden had the ability to tease her and make her blush.

“You’re a terrible liar.” He chuckled. “I’m not going to give this up until you tell me.”

Exasperated, she said, “Once in a blue moon a drunk will ask if he can escort me home.”

He beamed like he’d won a prize. “That’s because you look amazing.”

The fluttering inside her became a flurry. Her response, So do you, hovered on her tongue. She kept silent.

“I love what you’ve done to the house.”

“Thanks.” Charli smiled. “I didn’t realize you were in town until Brock called and said you’d be taking his place tonight.”

“I’m working out of the Houston office this week.”

“I hate to impose on you.” But she truly needed his help. Her in-laws were out of town, and her teenage babysitter, Heidi, wasn’t allowed to stay until two-thirty in the morning on a Monday night.

“It’s not an imposition.” He nodded to his briefcase by the door. “Once the kids go to sleep, I’ve got work to do.”

“I can’t thank you enough.”

A lazy, sexy smile curved his lips. “You better get going.”

She approached him and kissed Tiffany. While close, she pecked Aiden’s cheek. She stepped back, and their gazes met. His green eyes were so clear, they appeared almost see-through, and she noticed flecks of gold in them she’d never seen before. She caught a whiff of his sultry cologne.

Her body, of its own volition, swayed toward his. She wanted to be closer to him. To his decadent scent. To his fascinating eyes.

“Night, Mommy.” Jacob put his chin on Aiden’s shoulder.

She broke eye contact with Aiden. Thank the heavens her son brought her back to reality before she embarrassed herself. She kissed Jacob’s nose. “You and Tiff be good.”

As she opened the door to leave, something caused her to turn back to Aiden. “Be thinking about how I can repay you for this.” Oh, no, her words sounded like a come-on.

His eyebrows lifted. “I’ll come up with something.”

Another flutter ran through her stomach, lower this time. “Love you all.” She never missed an opportunity to tell the people in her life how much she cared for them—she understood how important it was—so she had no regrets in case she never saw them again.

Once in her car and on her way, she replayed in her mind what she’d said to Aiden. Be thinking about how I can repay you for this. Good Lord. What did I mean by that?

He’d come to her rescue because of Brock. When her parents died, Charli’s great-aunt invited Charli to stay with her, but on a small pension, her aunt couldn’t afford to take Brock also. So Brock was put into foster care and sent to the Danbys. They also fostered Aiden, Tyler, JC, and Levi. Of a similar age, not even a year separated the youngest boy from the oldest.

She and Brock had not lived together since their parents’ car accident. However, they stayed close and visited each other daily while growing up. She spent a lot of time with Brock’s adopted family. The boys were kind, and Aiden always went out of his way to tease her and make her feel like a part of their family.

If only his teasing meant more.

But it didn’t. Over the years, Aiden made it clear he considered her a sister-like friend.

Aiden finished reading another Dr. Seuss book with Jacob at his side and Tiffany asleep in his lap. He lifted Tiffany to his shoulder. “Let me put her down, buddy, then I’ll piggyback you to bed.”

“Uncle Aiden, will you read me one more story?” Jacob held up his index finger. “Please.”

“Once you’re in bed. Deal?”

Jacob, outfitted in Spiderman pajamas, jumped off the burgundy leather couch. “Deal.”

After another story, a drink of water, and feeding a rather plump goldfish, Jacob finally settled into bed.

Aiden ignored the call from the comfortable couch, needing to get some work done. He retrieved his briefcase and spread everything on the kitchen table facing the great room and the TV. He turned on an Astros game with the volume low.

While waiting for his laptop to boot, he noticed a picture of Charli and the kids on the wall. He approached the photo, remembering the first time he met her. The day he’d been sent to live with Pops and Mimi, Charli came over that afternoon, and upon seeing her, Aiden had a crush. He’d only been eleven at the time, Charli twelve. Curly red hair had framed her heart-shaped face and blue-green eyes.

As a young boy, he never got up enough nerve to tell anyone he liked her. She was Brock’s sister for crying out loud. How did a guy tell his brother that he liked his sister? In high school, he convinced himself he shouldn’t have those types of feelings for her.

Since he moved to Austin for college and stayed after graduation, he hadn’t seen a lot of Charli until the last year. Pops started inviting her and the kids to Sunday lunch at his house and Aiden had seen her at least once a month. He was shocked to find his attraction to her still there, stronger if possible.

His phone rang and he withdrew it from his pocket, identifying the caller by the ring. “Hey, Brock.”

“How many Dr. Seuss books did you have to read to Jacob?”

“Six.” Aiden laughed.

“You got off easy. I wanted to say thanks for—” A siren blared in the background. “Shit. I gotta go.”

“Be careful.” Aiden often wondered why Brock became a fireman after he earned a chemical engineering degree in college, but respected his brother’s choice.

Aiden slipped the phone back into his pocket and studied the picture again. He stared at Charli. She’d blossomed into a stunning beauty. Her hair, more brown now with a hint of red, was cut to her shoulders and framed her face. Although petite, her body curved in all the right places.

Tonight, when she bussed his cheek, it took herculean restraint not to kiss her back. A slight turn of his head would have caused their lips to meet. And what had that look between them meant? His imagination must be wreaking havoc with him because he could have sworn she’d leaned closer to him while their gazes held.

He shook his head, went to the fridge, and searched for something to drink. In the back, behind the fruit cups and yogurt, he found a Dr. Pepper. Enough fantasizing about Charli, his concentration needed to be on his job. Not a stupid seventeen-year-old crush.

Charli quietly entered the kitchen from the mud room.

“How was your night?” Aiden turned toward her, and his smile instantly died.

She’d stopped her tears before getting out of the car, but her eyes and nose must be red.

“What happened?” he asked, coming out of the chair.

Tears flooded her eyes again. Her throat constricted as if someone was squeezing her windpipe, trying to crush it. She bowed her head.

Strong arms encircled her. She fell into Aiden, her sobs uncontrollable.

He held her, rubbing her back with one hand, his other holding her body to his. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

She buried her face in his shirt. How she missed arms to hold her any time she needed. For minutes, she let him soothe her with his warmth and strength. She finally caught her breath and regretfully pulled away. As she sat at the dinette table, he went to the fridge and came back with a couple of water bottles. She accepted one, taking a cold sip.

Aiden returned to his seat beside her.

“I saw a wreck on the way home.” She wiped under her eyes with the pads of her index fingers. “It’s so silly. I didn’t even see it happen, but I can’t pass a wreck without crying.”

“It’s not silly, Charli.”

“Yes, it is. I’m over Tad’s death, I truly am.” She sucked down a breath. “Wrecks not only remind me of his accident, but also my parents’. I always wonder if someone died and who they might be leaving behind.” The familiar ache of loss weighed in her chest.

“I don’t think the loss of a loved one ever goes away.” He covered one of her hands with his. “When I was sent to live with Mimi and Pops, my mom had just overdosed.”

She stilled and listened intently. Although Brock told her about Aiden’s mother years ago, she’d never heard Aiden speak of her.

“Even though I’d only been eleven, I found her and understood what happened. Pops and Mimi didn’t try to convince me differently or make light of my loss. They sat me down and said the damnedest thing.” He took a swig of water. “They said, ‘Aiden, your mom didn’t want to leave you.’ Such simple words, yet any time I felt alone or sad, I remembered them. I still do.” He rubbed the back of her hand. “Neither your parents nor Tad wanted to leave you, sweetheart.”

His quiet words triggered a lightness in her chest. “Thank you, Aiden. You’ve been my savior today.”

“Glad to help.” He leaned over and kissed her temple. “I better go.” Standing, he began gathering his things.

Her mind scrambled for something to say so he wouldn’t leave. For some reason, she felt contented with him here. Safe.

But he had a life, a job, and it was already two-thirty in the morning.

Aiden picked up his suit coat and grasped his briefcase. “Oh.” He dropped everything on the table and held up his hand. “I think Tiffany and I are engaged.”

A small pink plastic donut encircled one of his fingers. How hadn’t she noticed it before now? She laughed.

“I can’t get the damn thing off.”

Laughing harder, she motioned toward the sink.

“I tried soap,” Aiden said.

“Olive oil will do the trick.” She drizzled the oil over his hand, saturating his finger and the donut. Their hands slipped against each other while she tugged and worked the plastic. He has such strong hands. He stood motionless until the donut slid off. She poured soap on their hands and started the faucet.

“I should have called you. It was starting to cut off my circulation.”

She giggled and lifted a rag out of the drawer.

Aiden took the rag. “About you paying me back for watching the kids.”

A spark flicked her insides. “Yes?”

“If I babysit the rest of the week, will you be my date to a business dinner Friday night? The partners are anxious to land the designer Heather Noble. They want me to persuade her to sign with our firm.”

He hadn’t asked her on a real date, yet she was excited anyway. Plus, his offer to watch the kids answered her prayers. “Heather Noble. Of Noble Fashions?”

“One and the same.”

“Wow, sure. I’m off on Friday and my in-laws fly back that morning, they should be able to keep the kids. Sounds like fun.”

“I’m not sure how much fun it’ll be. Heather has been stand-offish to others at my firm.”

“If anyone can woo her, you can.” He could certainly woo Charli with very little effort.

“I hope you’re right.”

“Where are you staying while you’re in town?” she asked.

“A hotel near the office.”

“Since I don’t get home until late, why don’t you stay in our guestroom the rest of the week?”

He smiled. “That sounds great. I’ll bring my stuff tomorrow night.” Gathering his things off the table, he headed for the front door.

She followed and hugged him in the open doorway. “Thank you for everything. Love you.”

Arms full, his lips grazed her forehead. “Love you too. Good night.”

As his car lights faded in the distance, Charli let the curtain fall back into place. Even after the wreck upset her, he’d managed to make her laugh.

If only they might share more than friendship.

She dismissed that thought. He lived and worked in another city. Plus, she might be attracted to Aiden, but he’d never acted the least bit interested in her.

Nine o’clock rolled around with Aiden on the floor with the kids coloring. Over the last few nights, he’d learned he needed to calm them down about eight-thirty if he had hopes of getting them to bed by nine, so he suggested they color. They talked, Jacob asking Aiden twenty questions about Spiderman.

“We better get you two ready for bed,” Aiden said.

Tiffany crawled into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You stay.”

He patted her back. “What, Tiff?”

“Aiden stay.”

“Do you understand what she means?” he asked Jacob.

“She wants you to stay. She cried this morning when you weren’t here.”

Aiden’s heart thumped as he held her. Tuesday evening he moved into the extra bedroom and had been here Wednesday morning to have breakfast with the kids. But this morning he’d had an early meeting and hadn’t seen them. “I’m sorry, doll.”

He got a kick out of how both kids excitedly met him at the door each time he arrived. He’d had a ball with the kids and enjoyed spending time with Charli when she returned home. Staying at her house was supposed to help him get more sleep. Except every night he’d waited up for Charli, wanting to make sure she made it home safe. Wanting to spend time with her.

Simply wanting her.

He’d never felt such a strong attraction to other women he dated. And he’d dated a lot of women. Smart, successful, sexy, fun, each had her own special appeal, but none held his attention for long.

It took them a few minutes to find Mr. Jingles, Tiffany’s stuffed bear, before he put her to bed. For once, Jacob went to bed without asking for a story, water, and to feed the fish. Aiden tucked him in and flicked on the night light.

He closed Jacob’s door and noticed a lamp on in Charli’s bedroom. At her door, he took a deep breath. Her soft vanilla perfume slightly scented the air. Two framed hand prints were on one wall—tiny little fingers and palms—one in blue paint, the other in pink. No doubt, those were Jacob and Tiffany’s hands. On the nightstand was a five-by-seven photo of Tad holding newborn Jacob.

His eyes shifted to the bed. A pink comforter was bunched in spots, as if someone had been lying on it.

His body ached to carry Charli to the bed and make love to her throughout the night.

The first night he babysat, while she’d covered his hands with olive oil and caressed his fingers, her soft touch had been electric, like a lightning strike going straight to his groin. And the other nights, once she made it home and they talked about their days, he experienced the strangest desire to comfort her, hold her, as he had after she witnessed that wreck.

Thankfully, she had no idea of his crush. Although, he had to admit, it was getting harder and harder to hide his attraction to her. His body leapt to attention any time she entered the room.

Every time she saw him, or anyone in her life, she made it a point to tell him how much she loved him. She’d explained she and Tad had gotten into a routine before his accident and she wasn’t sure the last time they’d said the words to each other and vowed she would never let that happen again. He wished for more than the kind of love she showed everyone though.

Clicking off the lamp, he headed to the living room thinking about how much he wanted to do as Tiffany said—stay.

Charli drove into her driveway at two-fifteen in the morning. She grabbed the bag of food off the passenger seat and entered her back door.

Aiden sat at the kitchen table, where she’d found him each night. All week she’d been excited to make it home. She tried to tell herself she worked too late and hated to be away from the kids, but she hadn’t felt this way prior to this week. Truth was, she couldn’t wait to see Aiden.

Her stomach flipped.

He’d always been handsome and playful. This week she realized what a gentle, sweet man he’d become. Her kids adored him. And she was even more attracted to him than ever.

They’d stayed up much too late each night, talking about everything and nothing. Totally at ease with each other, catching up on years of separation. He’d also practiced his presentation on her a few times, and she could tell he was nervous about meeting with Heather Noble tomorrow night.

A smirk came to his lips as she dropped the bag of food on the table. “A woman gunning for my heart.”

He wore a snug white t-shirt and pajama pants. Odd, she never pictured him in pajamas. She figured he slept in boxers or the nude. Hair damp, he smelled of her mango soap. He’d obviously taken a shower recently. Day-old stubble on his jaw made him even more handsome. She wanted to run her fingers through his short hair. Kiss the strong lines of his face.

No longer the young boy who always teased her, Aiden was now a full-grown man, who incidentally still teased her, and appealed to her in every way. A strong, sexy man.

And her brother’s brother.

Her heart dropped in her chest.

Aiden got up from his chair and grabbed them each a soda from the fridge. He also picked up some napkins off the kitchen counter. “The kids went right down.” He settled back into his chair. “Which I’ve decided was a miracle since Jacob seems determined to kill that fish by feeding it.”

Laughing, she picked up a burger and took the seat opposite him. “Nemo’s lived almost two weeks now.”

“I expect him to burst soon.”

“Don’t say that.” She stifled a laugh and slapped his arm. “Jacob’s asked for a dog since he turned four. I can barely keep up with him and Tiff, what would I do with a dog? So I started buying fish instead. Our last goldfish only lasted one week, but I have hopes for Nemo living a long life.”

“Then you better hide the fish food for a few days.” His beautiful green eyes flashed with humor.

“You’re right, I will.” Studying him, a question that had been bothering her since he told her of his mother’s overdose came to her mind. “Aiden?”

“Yeah?” He folded back the paper from around his burger.

“Following your mom’s death, why didn’t you go live with your dad?”

“I remember meeting my father once when I was maybe five. After Mom overdosed he never claimed me.” He sounded so matter-of-fact, not the least bit bitter. “If he didn’t care enough to marry my mom or want to be a part of my life, I figured I was better off without him. Turns out I was right. I’m not sure I could have had a better life than the one Mimi and Pops provided. Plus, I was an only child, and after having four brothers for years now, I can’t see my life without them.”

She saw his contentment, his happiness—even felt it in her heart having spent so much time with Brock, Aiden, and all the Danbys while growing up. “I worry about Jacob not having Tad. Boys need a daddy.”

He sat upright in his chair. “Does he ask about Tad often?”

“No. He was only a year and a half when Tad died. I don’t think he remembers him at all.” She pointed down the hallway. “I have a picture of Tad next to my bed and I tell him that man is his daddy, but what does that mean to a four-year-old?”

Aiden hesitated. “Jacob and Tiffany have Brock, Pops, me, and our other brothers. Maybe between us, we can make up a tiny bit for Tad not being here.”

“You do.” She swallowed a knot in her throat. Her brother, Brock, was a constant in the kids’ lives. He babysat them often and spent time with them whenever able. Also, his brothers were usually at Sunday family dinner at Pops’ house and they always played with the kids. “You really do.”

“I’m glad.” He smiled.

Oh, that sexy smile of his did crazy things to her insides. She ached to experience his kiss. To learn what his lips would feel like against hers. To discover what his hands and body would feel like caressing her skin. What would it be like to be with him, to make love to him, to spend time in his arms? Charli wished for just one night to find out.

She wondered if he would be interested. No one would have to know. He’d always been discreet, but it did appear that short-term relationships were the only kind he ever had. In high school she couldn’t remember him having a serious girlfriend, and he hadn’t spoken of anyone special in college or since. Could she even get up the nerve to ask him?

Her contemplating a casual liaison with any man was insane, but with Aiden?

She glanced at him.

No, there were too many ties between them. Too many connections. Pops, Brock, the other brothers. He was part of her extended family, and that family was very important to her.

He teasingly said, “Now tell me how many men hit on you tonight.”

A giggle bubbled inside her. She loved how easily he made her laugh.

“My guess is at least three.” He crossed his arms, daring her to challenge him.

Actually, four men fed her a line tonight, none of which remotely appealed to her. Not like Aiden’s playfulness did.

“How many, Charli?”

“Four.”

“I knew it. I told you. You’re hot.”

She tucked his compliment inside her heart.

Standing in the foyer staring out the plate glass window, Aiden tapped his thumb against his leg. This restaurant, a few blocks from his firm’s downtown office, was surrounded by huge skyscrapers. The blue sky darkened with each minute—signaling dusk—and the streets were busy with traffic, but not congested.

Mr. James stood beside him and seemed as tense as Aiden.

Heather Noble planned to move her designer firm operations to Houston and would choose new legal counsel soon. If he convinced her to sign with his firm, he would be on the fast track for partner. And being partner at the age of twenty-nine wasn’t his only incentive. He owed the firm a lot. They’d hired him while he was in college and he worked in their Austin offices. They helped with his tuition, telling him they were investing in the future of the firm. Aiden had been blown away by their kindness. They put faith in him, and he’d worked hard to finish school, pass the bar, and earn their respect.

So far so good.

A lot depended on tonight though. He needed everything to be perfect. His pulse beat in his ears.

Charli called him three hours ago and told him not to bother driving out to get her. Her in-laws’ airplane had been delayed, and she would meet him at the restaurant as soon as she could drop the kids off. But she hadn’t shown up yet.

He took a deep breath. Why was it so important she be here? He’d attended many acquisition meetings. But this time he’d do a presentation to a multi-million dollar company CEO. And, damn it, he needed Charli in his corner.

A limousine stopped in front of the restaurant. “That’s got to be Heather,” Mr. James said. The driver came around the car and opened the back door. Not having met her yet, Aiden had seen pictures of Heather Noble and recognized her blonde hair and tall, lanky, model-like body. He opened the restaurant door and held it wide. Mr. James stepped through and waited right outside the door. “Heather, nice of you to join us this evening.”

“Harold,” she said and shook his hand, her face a mask of indifference.

Mr. James pointed toward Aiden. “I’d like you to meet Aiden Danby.”

Aiden smiled. “A pleasure.”

Heather nodded. “Aiden.”

He held the door for Heather and Mr. James to enter the building. Glancing around one last time, Aiden caught sight of Charli rushing down the sidewalk, looking too damn good in a red evening dress that hugged her lovely bosom all the way to her shapely thighs.

God, one particular part of his body was going to be painfully hard the entire night.

“Mr. James, Ms. Noble, I’ll be right in,” he said and hurried toward Charli.

Upon seeing him, a smile took over her entire face. What a beautiful smile. “My in-laws’ plane finally made it. I dropped the kids off at their house and drove like a bat out of hell to get here. Have you been waiting long?”

“No, Heather arrived a moment ago.” He grabbed Charli’s hand in his and started for the door. Her skin against his was comforting.

“Don’t be nervous,” she whispered. “That won’t help anything. I’ve seen you in action, you can charm a pissed-off mama bear.”

He stopped on the top step and faced her, his mood lifting from her words. “Charm, huh?” He wanted to ask how he might charm her out of that sinful dress.

“Yes.” She brushed something from the shoulder of his jacket. “Your charm and good looks are just extra arsenal. Your presentation is going to blow her away.”

Once through the doors, Charli hurried over to the mirror on the wall in the foyer. She pulled something red from her purse and snapped it into her hair. When she turned toward him, he froze. A hideous shabby red flower was perched on the top of her head.

How to say this? “Charli, you look incredible.”

“Thank you.”

“But do you have to wear that flower in your hair?”

“Yes.”

“Did one of the kids make it?”

She smirked. “No.”

“You know how important this dinner is to me.”

“And my wearing this...” She pointed to her head. “Will affect Heather Noble’s decision of whether to sign with your firm or not?”

“She’s a fashion designer. It’s like you’re insulting the whole designer industry with that thing.”

“Stop it. I wouldn’t embarrass you. It’s the style.”

Before he could respond, she took off toward the maitre d’. Watching the sway of Charli’s hips lightened his mood again, making him wish dinner was over and they were on their way up the drive to her house.

To what end?

Although she was accompanying him tonight, they were not a couple. And they certainly wouldn’t be going back to her place to take care of his hard body part.

Damn it.

He was going crazy.

Bad enough he was nervous as hell about giving his presentation to Heather, but dealing with Charli was driving him insane. Between the stupid hairpiece, her sexy smile, and her knock-out body, Aiden’s mind reeled as if in a tornado.

Catching up to her, he grasped her elbow. The maitre d’, dressed in a red tuxedo jacket, greeted them.

“We’re with the James’ party,” Aiden said.

“Yes, sir. This way.”

The enormous restaurant had low lighting, a dance floor, and a stage where band equipment waited. Tables, outfitted with white cloths, were set with sparkling crystal glasses and shiny silverware. Mr. James and Heather Noble were seated near the corner. They stood when he and Charli approached.

Mr. James frowned.

Heather beamed from ear to ear. “Oh, my.” Heather hurried to Charli’s side. “Where did you get that flower?”

Charli smiled. “A friend gave it to me last Christmas. I love it.”

“It’s from my Chic/Shab Collection.”

“Is it?” Charli laughed. “I had no idea.”

Aiden mentally kicked himself. He should have realized Charli would have done her homework. As Mr. James helped Heather sit, Aiden turned toward Charli. She winked.

He smiled back, wanting to cover her grinning lips with his.

Following his presentation and dinner, Aiden tugged Charli to the dance floor for a slow song. “Why didn’t you tell me the flower was one of Heather’s designs?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I sort of did. I asked if one of the kids made it.”

She bit her lips, humor brimming in her eyes. “And I told you they didn’t.”

“You didn’t say Noble designed the damn contraption.”

“If I had, it might not have distracted you.” Her words were a riddle.

“Distracted me?”

“I knew how nervous you were about the presentation. So I wore the flower in hopes of impressing Heather and distracting you.”

“It did.”

“And that distraction calmed you, exactly what you needed.”

She was right. He’d breathed and spoken easier after Heather gushed over the flower.

As they danced, he tried to ignore the sweet scent of Charli’s perfume, the softness of her body pressed to his, and how much of a temptation her perfectly shaped lips were. “I owe you a thank you and an apology,” he said.

“Yes, you do, and yes, you do. I’ll let you make it up to me somehow.”

He liked the sound of that.

“You won over Heather,” she said softly. “I watched her during your presentation, she was impressed.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Hand on his neck, her fingers rubbed his nape. God, how he loved her soft touch.

“Relax. Even Mr. James managed to crack a smile during dinner.”

Aiden tilted his head to talk into her ear. “Thank you for coming tonight. You kept the conversation going. How long have you been studying up on Noble Fashions?”

“I found the flower barrette and had it shipped overnight. I Googled the trends and Heather’s interests.”

“Well, you’ve been a wonder.”

She kissed his cheek. “I’m taking care of my future son-in-law.”

Aiden laughed, remembering the plastic ring Tiffany put on his finger. He bowed his head and instantly regretted the move. He could see down the front of her dress. A red bra pushed up her cleavage. He hungered to get a glimpse of all of her, to know what every inch of her body looked like, felt like, tasted like.

He lifted his head before she realized what captured his attention. “What can your future son-in-law do to thank you?”

Her eyes met his. “Buy me one of those decadent desserts to take home.”

“You got it,” he said, a bit deflated that was all she wanted.

At the end of the evening, Heather requested they draw up the papers for Noble Fashions to become a client of the firm. Mr. James motioned Aiden aside and told him to expect a nice bonus check and practically promised him a partner position.

Back at Charli’s house, Aiden went to the fridge for a bottle of water.

“Can you grab a couple of forks?” Charli called.

He got the forks and turned toward the living room area. She was spreading a blanket on the floor. What the hell?

“The kids and I played fort today. Why don’t we have a picnic for dessert?”

He’d sure as hell rather eat on the couch or at the kitchen table to keep some morsel of control over his body. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep his hands off of her.

“Here we are.” She sat, the hem of her dress rising as she straightened her legs out in front of her and crossed her ankles. She unhooked the flower from her hair and rubbed her scalp.

He settled next to her, and they shared the cake. He didn’t even taste the chocolate, his every sense focused on how he wanted to nudge her backward and sample every inch of her body. He closed his eyes, hoping to distract himself from wanting Charli.

When he opened them, she was licking chocolate off her fork.

His insides clenched.

“Aiden. Can I ask you a favor?”

He forced his gaze from her lips to her eyes. “Sure.”

Heart pounding, Charli leaned toward Aiden. He smelled good, faintly musky and uniquely Aiden.

Had she picked up on the right signals? At the restaurant, he’d been attentive and thankful, but she felt there was more than friendship in his eyes, in his gestures. The way he held her while they danced and whispered in her ear, spoke of an intimacy they’d not shared before. And had he been staring at her while she licked her fork?

Or was that wishful thinking?

She prayed she’d read him right.

Without another thought, she pressed her lips to his.

Eyes closed, she didn’t move. She’d been bold, she’d made a move. Now it was his turn to respond.

It only took seconds before his palms framed her cheeks and he deepened the kiss. His lips on hers did shocking things to her. Desire pooled low in her belly. She melted into him, not able to get close enough.

Aiden broke lip contact and kissed his way to her neck.

She tilted her head back, needing his mouth on her.

He lightly bit her earlobe. “What did you want to ask?”

“For one night.”

“One night?” He let go of her and jerked back like she’d slapped him.

“Yes, one night.”

He jumped to his feet and paced on the blanket. “Why?”

“Well, you are, and always have been, hot. We’ve known each other for years. And this week I’ve realized what a wonderful man you are. You’re helpful, smart, and funny.”

He stopped and glared at her. “I refuse to screw you and go on with our lives like nothing happened.”

“I come with a lot of baggage, Aiden. One night is all I can give you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“A bit hypocritical considering none of your relationships have lasted longer than a weekend.”

“I can’t do that with you.”

Hurt, she glanced away. “Because I’m Brock’s sister?”

“Partly, but also because you’re you.”

“Aiden, you don’t have time or room in your life for me and the kids. Not to mention you live two hundred miles away.”

“I had time this week. That worked out fine.”

“What are you saying?”

He rubbed his eyes. “We’re not fixing to have a one-night stand.”

She frowned. “You kissed me back. I thought you wanted me.”

“I do, believe me, I do.” He knelt in front of her and kissed her hard, his lips almost punishing. “Don’t ever tell another man you want a one-night stand. I’ll put you over my knee if you do. And worse, I’ll tell your brother.”

He huffed and grabbed his fork again, stabbing at the cake. They ate in silence, his body rigid beside hers. After a couple of minutes, he finally said, “I have to admit one thing.”

“Oh?”

“Your invitation is one every man dreams of hearing.” He lifted his hand and caressed her cheek. “But you’re too important for a quick fuck, sweetheart.”

She batted her eyelashes. “How about a slow one then?”

Aiden’s body flamed, causing his blood to flow like fire through his veins. “Damn it, Charli,” he said in a strangled voice. He stared into her eyes, the same color as Caribbean water.

There were good reasons to get up and leave, ignoring her insane request, but he’d been denied getting to know her intimately for years. At what point did a man stop wishing and indulge? Especially when the woman in question was begging him to take her?

“No,” he said. Not only would guilt eat at him for the rest of his life, he wouldn’t use Charli like that. As he’d said, she was too important.

And although he’d never made love to her, he inherently knew one time would never be enough. Pulling her to his chest, he sat straight, his chin on her head. Holding her he realized he never wanted to let go.

If he wished to have her for the long term, and he did, he would have to take things slow. Build their relationship and work out the logistics of their living arrangements. Convince her she had room in her life for romance, love, and him. Then, after a while, they’d explore the sexual side of things.

Plan set, he sat back and waited for her to look at him.

Slowly, she lifted her head—raw hunger in her eyes.

He abandoned the plan and kissed her, drawing her down to the blanket.

She sighed against his mouth. “Oh, Aiden.”

The sound of his name rolling off her lips broke the sensual haze.

Back to the plan. He would not complicate things more by making love to her. Breathing through his nose, he calmed his thrashing heart.

Resolved to the fact he would get no satisfaction tonight, there was no reason he couldn’t take care of her needs, give her a glimpse of what they might share one day.

He turned her onto her stomach to unzip the dress, exposing more of her supple skin. He kissed her spine and slightly raked his teeth on her sensitive nape as he unhooked her bra. Seconds later, he flipped her to her back. His eyes devoured her bare body. “You’re stunning.”

She was no longer a mystery, and better than anything he ever imagined. Grinning, she sat up and reached for him. She kissed him, untucking his shirt and releasing the buttons. He took off the shirt, but when she reached for his belt, he covered her hands with his. There was no reason for him to be unclothed.

His mind screamed to stop her. Yet his body sang with hope. The war inside him real as any fought on a battlefield.

The plan, the plan, the plan.

She bent forward, kissing his abs.

Defenseless against her sweet assault, he let her help him shed his clothes.

Oh, damn. Am I really going to do this?

If he made love to her, there would be no going back. They would be in a relationship. Instead of that realization terrifying him, it strangely satisfied him. At that moment, he realized Charli had always been the one. He’d hidden his attraction to her, stifled his feelings for her, but she was the reason no other woman held his attention.

His heart turned over in his chest. Pops had talked about love. Said the boys would recognize it when they met the right girl. In this moment, Aiden knew. Or maybe he’d always known Charli was the one.

He stretched her out on the blanket and covered her body with his, letting her feel the power of his need. She whimpered as he kissed his way down her body.

The plan. He hesitated.

Charli arched her back off the blanket.

She was too much of a temptation. To hell with the plan.

I’m doing this.

For minutes on end, he caressed, kissed, lingered—loving every part of her.

He’d had sex with many women but never made love. This first time, he was determined to get it right.

Shoving his desire aside, he took his time learning her body, finding out what she liked. He never gave her enough to push her over the edge, just kept ratcheting up her fervor.

He grabbed his pants and yanked out his wallet—then a condom. He placed it in her hand. Unsure what to say, he decided to put everything on the line and tell her the truth. “I planned to woo you slowly. Try to convince you I might be worthy of a chance with you. But right now I want to show you what it’ll be like with us. How good it’ll be.” He swept a lock of dark hair back from her forehead. “I love you and your kids. I have for years. Now I want to find out if that love can be something more.”

She smiled. “I’ve loved you since we were kids. This week that love has changed to something more meaningful, more important. I’ve seen a new side of you. A caring, sweet side. I must be in love with you because I wouldn’t be here naked with you if I wasn’t.” She handed the condom back to him. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

Seconds later, he rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. “Show me, sweetheart. But slowly, it’s been a while for you.”

Her body settled over his, gradually joining with his.

She closed her eyes.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Perfect.”

He was swiftly lost in sensation. She felt too good, too right. Never had he been so aware of a woman, so in tune with her needs. Her every move felt like it was specially made to please and excite him. It was his turn to close his eyes. He only prayed he could hold out long enough for her to—

“Aiden.”

Something about her calling his name made him open his eyes. He focused on her face.

Tears ran down her cheeks.

Devastated he might be hurting her, he lifted a hand to the side of her face. “Are you in pain?”

“No. No.”

“Then why are you crying, sweetheart?”

She smiled down at him. “They’re good tears. How could they be anything else? You feel it, don’t you? Our connection.”

He did. Tenderly, he put a hand around her neck and pulled her head down and kissed her, confirming their connection.

She soon tumbled over the edge.

Her sweet surrender was too much. His body erupted, exploded. His heart pounded harder than ever before.

This wasn’t sex. And although he’d never experienced it before, this had to be love. Concentrating, he inhaled and exhaled until he breathed normally again. “You okay?”

“Never better.” She sniffed, her body draped atop his. “I’ve never experienced anything so...” A tear splashed on his chest.

He stroked a hand over her hair.

“Tad and I were great together, but, Aiden, that was magical. So, so good.”

With the grin of a conqueror, he said, “I want to be good at it all, Charli. I want to be in your life. In the kids’ lives.”

A surprised expression on her face, she sat up, straddling him.

“Before you start with the ridiculous yammering about baggage, don’t. Your kids aren’t baggage—they’re a part of you. A sweet innocent part of you. I love them. After this...” He ran a finger from her neck to her bellybutton. “You and I both know I love you. Give us a chance.”

“Aiden, it’s not only the kids. You don’t even live in Houston. Plus, you have plans. You have a great job, and you’ll be partner in no time. Do you really want to tie yourself to me?”

“Until death do us part.”

“Marriage?” she made it sound appalling.

Damn, he hadn’t meant to say so much already. “No, I’m not proposing.” Oh, what the hell. “I’m not proposing yet. I just want a chance to show you I can be the man in your life. That I can take care of you and the kids.”

“I’m not sure, Aiden.” She rolled off of him and rested beside him on the blanket.

Not sure about what? She’d said she loved him. They had an amazing connection.

His heart sank.

He got up. Once in the bathroom, he took a quick shower, confused as to why Charli was uncertain.

He walked out of the bathroom to grab his clothes. The sight of Charli made his knees weak. She was on her back, her soft accepting body and face glowing. She’s exquisite.

“Aiden?” she said. “I didn’t say no.”

“You didn’t say yes.”

“You surprised me.”

“I told you this wouldn’t be a one-night stand.”

“Yes, but we didn’t talk marriage.”

He had to give her that. He held up his hands. “You’re right. Having a crush on you for years has me talking crazy.”

“A crush?”

“Since the day we met.”

“Brock never said anything.”

“I never told anyone.”

“Why?” she asked.

“As a kid and teenager I couldn’t like Brock’s sister. I moved away. You got married. It was never the right time.”

Charli contemplated him for a long minute. “I never dreamed of us like this. No, that isn’t true. As a young girl and this last week I dreamed of it, but I never let myself hope we might share more than friendship.”

Her words should have thrilled him, except he heard hesitation in her voice.

She sat up, her gorgeous body a most unholy temptation. “Come here.” She patted the blanket beside her.

Ignoring his body’s reaction to her, he sat.

She snuggled close. “I want to give us a chance, but I have one huge problem.”

“What is it, Charli? Whatever it is, we can face it together.” He picked up her hand and laced their fingers, determined to be patient and try to give her time, space, whatever she needed.

“Well...you see...my daughter will be crushed when she learns you and I are together. She wants you for herself.”

The next second he had her on her back, tickling her. “Damn it, Charli. You’re the worst kind of tease.”

She squealed. “Serves you right for your endless teasing since the day we met.”

He stopped and gazed down at her sparkling eyes and smiling lips. His heart so full, so happy. His future so amazingly beautiful.

On Sunday, Aiden, Charli, Jacob, and Tiffany showed up at Pops’ condo for lunch. Levi, Brock, Tyler, and Tyler’s fiancée Faith, were already huddled on the couches getting ready to watch a baseball game. JC was the only brother missing. He was in the middle of a world tour. Being a rock star kept JC on the move. And since his wife suddenly left him months ago, JC had put his focus on his career.

Brock’s brows rose as Aiden and Charli entered the house holding hands. Levi and Tyler also looked surprised, but Pops didn’t seem shocked.

“Yes,” Aiden said. “Charli and I are together.”

His brow now almost reaching his hairline, Brock’s gaze switched from Aiden to Charli and back again. “Congratulations.”

Aiden let out a sigh of relief. Charli had assured him Brock would be thrilled, but he hadn’t been certain. Aiden had never been the poster boy for fidelity. At least not before he learned how in love he was with Charli.

Tiffany tugged Aiden’s hand. She’d fallen asleep in the car and looked tired. He picked her up, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

Pops rose from his chair. “I hope you both will be happy together.” He kissed Charli’s cheek and patted Aiden’s forearm, motioning toward the kitchen. Aiden handed Tiffany to Charli and followed Pops.

Once they were alone, Pops said, “It’s always been Charli, hasn’t it, son?”

“How did you know?”

“The teasing, the laughter. Keep those good times between you. Life will get crazy, so laugh often and nurture the love.” Pops suddenly snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait. I have something for you.” He rushed from the room.

Aiden sent up thanks, like he often did. Following his mother’s death, anyone might have taken him into their home and given him a place to live, but Pops and Mimi gave him security and a family.

Now he’d do the same for Charli, Tiffany, and Jacob. Tiffany toddled into the room and ran to him, her arms open wide. He stooped and caught her. She squeezed his neck tight. He would never get tired of her hugs.

Brock came into the room and leaned against the doorjamb.

Uncertain what to say, Aiden settled Tiffany on his hip.

Brock rubbed his forehead. “Aiden, when did this happen?”

“This last week. I’ve had a crush on her forever.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Aiden shrugged. “She’s your sister. You know the issues I’ve had with women.”

“Yeah, man, but I figured once you found the right woman, you’d be faithful. You’re that kind of person.”

“I’m going to be that way with Charli,” he said, wanting to assure Brock.

“You don’t need to convince me.”

“I feel like I do. You’re her brother, I know you want her and the kids settled. I’ll be requesting a transfer to the Houston office.”

Pops came back into the kitchen with a gray strongbox in his arms. “Now, if only I can find the key.”

Brock walked over and clasped Aiden’s shoulder. “I hope it works out. I’m going to go check the pit. The brisket should almost be done.” He held out his arms to Tiffany. “Want to go outside?”

She nodded and leaned toward him. Aiden handed her over, and they exited the back door.

“Let me see.” Pops opened a drawer and pulled out three key chains. Flipping through them, he located the key he was searching for. “Here it is.”

He set the box on the kitchen cabinet and unlocked it. The insides were bursting with papers, coins, and envelopes. Pops dug to the bottom and drew out a small yellow envelope. “These were the only possessions you had when you were sent to us.” When he opened the envelope, two rings fell into Pops’ palm.

Aiden stared at the rings. One was a big round diamond, probably two carets. The other a large amethyst, his birthstone. Had his mother’s birthday been in February too?

“They belong to you. To be honest I had forgotten about them until just now.”

Pops placed them in Aiden’s hand. He didn’t remember them. He couldn’t remember much of his life prior to his mother’s death. He guessed the shock of finding her on the floor dead blocked out all his other memories.

He glanced at Pops. His memories of life with the Danbys were wonderful, though. How happy Pops and Mimi had been together. How they treated the boys as equals and taught them to love and respect one another.

“I’m not sure what to do with these rings,” Aiden said.

“If things work out with Charli, maybe you can have them remounted into something she would enjoy wearing.”

“I don’t remember my mother wearing these.”

“You were a young boy. I’m sure you recall very little.”

“Eleven isn’t young, Pops. I might have repressed some things.”

“Who hasn’t?” The older man waved his hand as if shooing a fly. “I’m glad you did. I have no idea what your life was like before you came to us. Repressed or not, no one has all good memories of their childhood.”

This man’s down-to-earth rationale had always been simple. Like no one should go back in life, only forward. Whatever may have happened to Aiden, he’d healed living with Pops, Mimi, and his brothers.

His mind flashed back to the beginning of the week. “Why did you ask me when Charli needed help with the kids? Tyler and Faith or Levi could’ve done it.”

“I figured you and Charli needed a little push.”

He bear-hugged Pops. “You’re an amazing father. I’m lucky you took me in.”

The old man’s pale blue eyes appeared a bit watery. “All Mimi and I did was give you a chance, Aiden.”

“No, Pops. You gave me a life.”

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Don’t Let It Show Excerpt

“We find the defendant guilty.”

Attorney Abigail Martin summoned all her self-restraint to keep her breathing steady and her head high while the judge thanked the jury. The final strike of the gavel started a pounding in her head.

The bailiff handcuffed her client, Damien West, and led him away. But not before Gail met his tortured gaze and saw the anguish, the torment, the unmistakable innocence in his eyes.

Verdict rendered, the courtroom emptied quickly. Lives were altered daily in these Houston courtrooms, yet the venue never changed—same wooden benches, same massive judges’ desks, and the same scent of lemon polish.

She turned to Conrad Sanders. “You have to file for an appeal.”

“Let it go, Gail.”

“Whoever set up West did an incredible job incriminating him. He didn’t murder Austin Armstrong.”

“Then who did?” Since he’d been forced to take over Gail’s position as lead counsel on this case, Conrad never indicated whether he believed in West’s innocence. The expression in his hazel eyes and the tone of his voice never changed. He remained detached.

If only she could do the same. “I don’t know. We must have missed something.”

“What could we have missed? Two eyewitnesses gave West’s description.” He threw three legal pads into his briefcase. “I’ll talk to West tomorrow about an appeal.”

“Can’t you talk to him now?”

Conrad grabbed his day planner. “I’m due at the office.”

“Then I’ll talk to West.”

“No, you won’t.” He pointed the planner at her, his voice perturbed. “You lost the right to stick your nose in this when you jeopardized your law license.”

His words beat through her—pum pum pum. Although she’d enjoyed listening to The Little Drummer Boy on the way to work this morning, now it was as if he was in her head and madder than hell. How could she have been so reckless in the courtroom two months ago?

Tears battled for position to drop first, and she forced herself to sniff them back.

“Sorry.” Conrad blew out a loud breath. “We both need a little distance from this case. I’ll visit West tomorrow and suggest a couple of lawyers if he chooses to appeal.” She opened her mouth to object, when he said, “Please, Gail. Let it go for now.”

She raised her hands. “Fine.”

“Take the rest of the day off.”

“I can’t.”

“Gail, learn to keep your feelings and personal beliefs separate from this job. I’ve been telling you that since the firm hired you and it hasn’t sunk in.”

“I’m hardheaded.”

“You’re stubborn. Be careful you don’t piss off the partners. Of course, you’ve already proven you’re a pain in the ass, and they tolerate you anyway.” Conrad grinned at her scowl and took off down the center aisle.

Before closing her computer, Gail clicked on the e-mail icon. The same message title popped up on the screen numerous times.

What’s in a name?

Not again. Once a week for the last three months, the annoying e-mail showed up dozens of times. She’d tried replying to the sender, but her e-mails always bounced back, Undeliverable.

She read the insistent message.

First “a friend”

Next the Royal “beloved”

Somewhere between is a rightful heir

Again revealed at Ketuvim’s end

Life is the key

The words never changed—total gibberish.

Gail slid the laptop into her briefcase and headed out the side entrance where harsh, bright lights lit the pallid hallway. Paul Watterson, Houston’s police chief, hurried toward her. His gray hair was windblown and his blue eyes were concerned. “I just heard the verdict.”

She plopped onto one of the many marble benches positioned throughout the courthouse. “I failed him.”

“You didn’t fail anyone.” He sat next to her. A great friend to her mother and like an uncle to her, Paul kept close tabs on Gail. “You can’t even practice law right now.” She understood he wasn’t purposely trying to hurt her, but his words felt like a punch in the stomach.

“West’s conviction will never leave my conscience if he doesn’t appeal.”

“Lose the conscience, honey,” he suggested. “Life will be easier.”

His glib words didn’t fool her. Paul had too much integrity to feel that way.

“Strange words coming from a man who upholds the law. Speaking of the law, don’t you have a big murder case in need of your attention?”

“Yes, a police chief’s work never ends. I just wanted to check on you. And to make sure you know the policeman’s ball is in March this year.”

“I’m fine. And I didn’t know about the ball. I’ll start shopping for a gown.”

Paul knew how much she enjoyed the fancy affair and had taken her as his guest since she turned eighteen. She hugged him before he rushed off and disappeared around the corner.

Drawing her phone from her suit coat pocket, she saw a message from her firm’s managing partner and hit the voicemail button.

“Gail.” His voice sounded urgent. “They’re ruling on your case today.”

Her heart beat in time with her head—pum pum pum.

“One o’clock in Judge Jacoby’s courtroom. Call if you need me there for support.”

She wouldn’t call him or anyone. She’d gotten into this mess by herself and that’s how she’d face the hearing. Her phone read eleven-fifty, over an hour to wait.

If the judges suspended her, how long would it last? A year? Two? Would she lose her job? What if they disbarred her?

She’d go nuts if she sat here worrying.

On her way down the corridor, she wondered what they’d missed in Damien West’s case. She remembered his innocent, tortured eyes.

Suddenly, another set of innocent, tormented eyes flashed in her mind. Helplessness pulsed inside of her, as it had eleven years ago. Her legs wobbled with each step. She stopped and leaned against the wall.

A familiar ache shrieked in her soul.

The eyes belonged to the man convicted of her mother’s murder.

From a shadowed corner of the Houston courthouse hallway, Sam Newton studied the statue of Lady Justice. He understood the sword she held—the speedy strike of justice. And the blindfold over her eyes—an impartial judge. What mystified him was how she let the scale in her hand so often tilt in the wrong direction. Shouldn’t truth be her guide?

Truth. Did anyone care about the truth? He’d been fighting crime since graduating college. Now, at the age of thirty-two, he didn’t believe in the truth or goodness of mankind. He’d witnessed too many crimes, murders, and the downright degradation of humanity.

How would Lady Justice treat him after this assignment, especially if truth was a factor? Was his job a good enough reason to shed his scruples and not have any repercussions?

No, there’d be repercussions.

His cell vibrated.

“Newton.”

“Now maybe the hoopla surrounding West’s case will settle.” Yvonne Delacroix was in no-nonsense agent mode. “Did you make it in time to be in the courtroom for the verdict?”

Three men in suits hurried past. “No, but I’ve been standing in the hallway since it adjourned.”

“Any familiar faces?”

“Alex Franklin, the captain from my precinct. The murder happened in his jurisdiction.” Sam looked out the window at the crowd still gathered on the courthouse steps. “Conrad Sanders just held a press conference.”

“What about the assistant?”

“Sanders left the courtroom alone, no visual on Abigail Martin.”

“Well, she...”

A commotion broke out across the lobby. “Hold on a second, Yvonne.” He spied two women in a heated conversation. The one dressed in a conservative black suit drew his gaze. She made the slightest move to her right, bringing her into a ray of sun shooting down from the skylight. Her auburn hair was the darkest shade of red he’d ever seen.

The photos and news footage he’d seen of her didn’t begin to do her, or her hair, justice.

Sam spoke quietly into his phone. “I found Abigail Martin.”

“You know what to do.” Yvonne disconnected.

He kept the phone to his ear. Even with the hustle and bustle of dozens of people scurrying in the foyer, which helped camouflage him, he heard the women.

“You let him get convicted.”

Miss Martin set down her briefcase. “I only assisted in your husband’s case, Mrs. West.”

“You don’t believe he’s guilty, you told us so.”

“That hasn’t changed. I don’t believe he murdered Austin Armstrong.”

“How could you let this happen?” West’s wife wiped a tear from her mascara-streaked cheek.

While the women talked, he scrutinized Abigail Martin. Her small frame appeared slender without being skinny. Her black heels jacked her height from five-four to five-seven. If he didn’t know she was twenty-seven, he’d have guessed a couple of years younger.

Mrs. West turned and shuffled down the corridor.

Abigail Martin checked her phone and started for the huge glass doors leading to the outside steps.

He pocketed his cell and followed, but not closely.

She pushed the door wide and was waylaid by reporters. “Miss Martin, what’s your response to the verdict?” “Will there be a petition for appeal?” “Do you still—” The voices grew so loud Sam couldn’t make out what was being said.

Miss Martin yanked on the door handle to escape back inside. The crowd surrounded her, trapping her. “You’ll have to direct your questions to Conrad Sanders,” she shouted.

“You proclaimed West’s innocence,” a reporter yelled. “Do you still believe he’s not guilty?”

“My view hasn’t changed.”

“He admitted to dealing drugs.”

“Just because—”

Sam pushed the door, bumping a couple of reporters out of the way, and grasped Miss Martin’s arm. She seemed stunned as he drew her inside and down the hallway.

Yards from the door, she jerked from his grasp. “Why did you do that?”

He couldn’t tell her, to shut you up, so he waved toward the door he’d pulled her through. “You’re welcome.”

“Look, Officer...” She squinted at his nametag.

“Newton.”

“Officer Newton, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” Her brown eyes flashed with anger.

“I’m sure you are.” He frowned. “But just now you were cornered like a rat.”

She hesitated, her anger transforming into a frown creasing her brow.

He felt like a heel. It wasn’t her fault West’s conviction was vital to his assignment. She just happened to be caught in the crossfire.

“I was doing fine with the press.” Her entire body wilted. “However, they’re not my responsibility.”

“Then now is a good time to thank me for rescuing you.”

“I didn’t ask you to rescue me.”

“Think of me as your guardian angel.”

Her lips twitched before she slid a scowl back into place. “Guardian angels come with wings and halos, Officer Newton.”

He leaned forward, his voice soft, as if telling her a secret. “Not all of us.”

She shyly smiled and rubbed her nape, clearly fighting a headache. He knew the signs.

“Would you like to get a cup of coffee?” he asked.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“What about hot chocolate?”

She studied him. “While your accent is southern, it doesn’t sound Texan. Where are you from?”

Luckily, the truth wasn’t a secret. “Georgia.” He motioned toward one of the corridors. “Are we going somewhere to talk?”

“I assumed you were thirsty. Not hoping for companionship.”

He hid a grin at her bravado and started down a hallway. After a few steps, he turned to her. “You coming?” He might be able to find out if the outspoken Abigail Martin would let the West case quiet down.

And if his mission to find Austin Armstrong’s real killer could truly begin.

Gail led the cop out the back entrance of the courthouse, avoiding reporters. Three blocks down a side street, they entered a Starbucks. The rich aroma in the café was thick and pleasing, the full-bodied scent robust and satisfying. She didn’t care for the taste of coffee, yet loved the smell.

Officer Newton ordered and Gail found them a tiny brown table with green plastic chairs. While he stood at the counter, she quickly inspected him. His black hair was short, his build powerful and tall.

Minutes later, Gail sipped her hot chocolate while Officer Newton nursed a cup of coffee. The drink heated her after being in the cold, windy December weather. She checked the clock on the wall, twelve-fifteen. Forty-five minutes until she learned her fate.

“I’m Sam.”

Her gaze met his. “Gail Martin.”

“You want to talk about what happened at the courthouse?”

She shook her head. All she wanted was to find out if she’d screwed up her career by letting her conscience get the best of her. The clock now read twelve-sixteen.

Could time move slower?

“Must be hard with the press frenzy feeding on you.”

“They’re doing their job. Surely you’ve been on a high-profile arrest or two.”

“Guardian angels don’t have to deal with the media.”

A sudden smile came to her lips. He was definitely a welcomed distraction. She hadn’t needed his help with the press, although it’d been nice when he swept her away. “I’ve been a tad outspoken about a case. After my client’s conviction today, the press wanted to know if I still believe he’s innocent.” She wanted to say, I’m prepared to go to whatever lengths to prove it, but Conrad’s reprimand echoed in her head. She needed to learn to separate her feelings from her cases.

“Will you try for an appeal?”

“I’m not involved in that decision.” She looked into Sam’s brown eyes, and for a heartbeat, they held her mesmerized. She’d never seen eyes so dark.

“You were still trying to defend him to the press. You know, maybe it’s your approach. Often people pay more attention to a whisper than a shout.”

“Have you found whispering helpful in your line of work?”

“I rarely work with innocent people.” An expression passed behind his eyes, then instantly fled. Where had it come from? What did it mean?

She felt the need to lighten the conversation. “I guess all you angels have to work with are us imperfect humans.”

His lazy grin sent a tingle zipping through her. “You humans are a pain in the ass.”

Gail laughed. “I’ve already been called that once today.” She rubbed the back of her neck.

“You have something for your headache?”

His concern lit a tiny flicker near her heart. “How do you know I have a headache?”

“We angels know everything.”

She lifted her cup. “I’m sure this will take care of it.”

They chatted about nothing in particular—the weather, the Texan’s horrible season, the upcoming spring training for baseball, and eventually she relaxed and enjoyed the conversation.

When she checked the clock again, it read twelve forty-five.

Pum pum pum.

She stood. “Officer Newton, oh, sorry, Guardian Angel Newton, thanks for your unneeded help today.”

“I live to serve.” He rose and winked as they shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Counselor.”

Counselor, she liked that.

Once at the door, she glanced back at him and smiled. Thanks for the diversion, Sam.

In a rush, she dodged pedestrians, cars, and bicycles. She hustled inside Judge Jacoby’s courtroom and, before she had time to sit, heard the rustle of fabric. Three judges entered, two men and a woman, each with gray hair. Their black robes were dull in the fluorescent lighting. None of them looked happy as they sat behind the enormous bench.

“Miss Martin.” One of the men gestured for her to come forward. “Approach the bench.”

Dread filled her every hesitant step. Luckily, no one else was in the courtroom.

“Miss Martin,” the judge began.

The room spun. She tried to listen but had to concentrate her strength to keep up with her erratic breaths and stand upright.

Random words registered, “...ethics...passion...total disregard...law school...learn from your mistakes...” She caught the judge’s last words. “Your law license is suspended. It’ll be reinstated a year from today, provided there are no other infractions.”

The other male judge glared at her. “We’ll be watching you.”

She nodded.

“You’re dismissed.”

Every inch of her skin felt like it was being pricked by needles as she grasped her briefcase and marched toward the exit. Making it to the lobby, she collapsed onto a bench.

Sam looked at the door Gail left through half an hour earlier. Before heading in the direction of the courthouse, she’d hesitated and looked back at him. Her killer smile was a hint of everything unattainable in his life.

He finished his java and left the coffeehouse—the brisk breeze and cold air refreshing. Cutting across the lobby of the courthouse, on his way to the parking garage, he glanced at Lady Justice in her corner. Gail sat on the bench in front of the statue leaning forward with her head in her hands.

When they first arrived at the coffee shop, she kept checking the wall clock. And when she left abruptly, he assumed she had a meeting or a case.

He approached her. “Doesn’t appear the hot chocolate helped your headache.”

She swiped a hand across her face before she lifted her head. Eyes teary and face blotchy, she grimaced. “No.”

“Can I do anything?”

“Sam, I don’t mean to be rude—”

“Then don’t.” He grabbed her ice-cold hand and led her across the hallway to a vacant meeting room where she dropped her briefcase on the floor and slumped into a chair. Not wanting to crowd her, he walked to the other side of the conference table. “What happened?”

Her voice choked. “My law license has been suspended.”

So the hearing he’d read about in her file had been today. No wonder she was nervous earlier.

“I lost my temper in the courtroom two months ago.” Her fidgety fingers constantly moved on the wooden table. “I was a bit too zealous with one of my cases.”

A bit too zealous? During the trial, she’d objected to the prosecuting attorney’s line of questioning many times and finally accused him of being a sexist. Granted, after reading the transcripts from the trial Sam agreed with her, but when the judge overruled her objection for the fourth time and she turned to him and accused him of aiding the prosecuting attorney, she sealed her fate. She was lucky she’d just been suspended.

She rubbed her nape again. The headache.

He slowly moved around the table and sat beside her. “Turn the other way.”

She faced him and narrowed her gaze. “Why?”

“It’ll be painless, I promise. Give me one minute to get rid of the headache nagging you.”

“It won’t work. I’m too wound up.”

“I worked my way through college as a masseur,” he said reassuringly. “One minute.”

A skeptical glint in her eye, she twisted away from him.

Sam ignored the silkiness of her hair as he swept it out of his way and grasped her shoulders. He rubbed the knots of tension, stress, and strain in her muscles. He started out softly stroking and continued to apply more pressure on the nerves in her neck and at the base of her skull. Within minutes, he’d released the coiled-up tightness.

Shoulders relaxed, she tilted her head back. “You are an angel.”

He chuckled softly.

She turned and he let his hands fall away.

“Thank you.”

“Glad to help.” He resisted the urge to rescue an errant curl from her cheek and brush it in with the rest of her hair.

“I need to find out if I still have a job.” She slowly rose from her seat.

“Put ice on your neck when you get a chance.”

“Yes, sir.” She picked up her briefcase on her way out the door. Her body wasn’t trembling, no more shaking. He’d done that for her. He felt a small satisfaction in being able to help her.

What the hell am I doing?

Thinking about Gail was a distraction he couldn’t afford.

Mind back in focus, he strode to the parking garage. His truck engine growled to life as his phone vibrated. He checked the caller ID and considered not answering, but he’d have to talk to her sooner or later. “Hello, Audrey.”

“Most children call their mothers Mom.”

“Most moms earn the name.”

A long, tense moment locked them in silence. She couldn’t defend herself when the subject of motherhood was in question.

“I saw the press conference announcing West’s conviction,” she said.

He shifted the truck into drive, although he usually didn’t drive when he spoke to her—too afraid he’d experience road rage. In her younger days, she worked as an undercover agent. Still with the FBI, she’d been brought in to consult on this case.

“What about the idiot lawyer who claimed West’s innocence?” Her voice grated on the phone.

“Abigail Martin?”

“Yes. Did you silence her?”

“You make it sound like I’m supposed to kill her.”

“That’d be too easy.” His mother’s twisted sense of humor was anything but funny. “Was she disbarred? She couldn’t practice law when West’s case started.”

“Her ruling came down today. Her law license has been suspended.” His hand on the steering wheel clenched as he remembered Gail’s trembling shoulders.

“For losing her cool in the courtroom, right?”

“Yes.”

“Is she as stupid as she sounds?”

He swerved to the left, barely missing a jaywalker. “Why are you interested in Abigail Martin?”

“Even if she’s misguided and a poor excuse for an attorney, she doesn’t believe West is guilty of murder, which means she’s got good instincts.” Audrey continued, “But if she keeps claiming West’s innocence, she’ll be putting her life in danger.”

He stiffened. His mother’s instincts were usually spot-on.

His phone beeped. “Audrey, I’ve got another call.”

“Fidelity, bravery, and integrity,” she said, ending the call with the FBI motto like she always did. Never love you or take care.

Before he hit the button for his next call, he pulled the phone away from his ear. His mother’s words, she’ll be putting her life in danger, still echoed in his head.

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Second Chances Excerpt

England, August 1820

Emma tried to turn the doorknob again, knowing it would still be locked. Other times she’d frantically yanked at the knob for hours, but eventually learned it did no good and only served to heighten her fear. With no moon tonight, it was dreadfully dark—too dark for shadows. And her every move caused the floorboards to creak and moan. She despised being locked in the attic.

Two days now, and her father had not opened the door. Scratching an itch on her cheek started it bleeding again. She hunched over and tugged the hem of her skirts to her face to wipe the wetness.

Her father never struck her before yesterday. She couldn’t understand why he’d gotten so angry. After being introduced to her betrothed, she’d gone for a long ride on Lancelot. From the time she was a young girl, her father explained she would be married shortly after turning sixteen. Nevertheless, actually meeting her betrothed, an entire year before the wedding, proved to be a bit of a shock and she’d needed to be alone to adjust to the idea.

When she returned, her father waited at the stable. He yanked her from atop the horse. “You will not ride off alone again,” he shouted and cracked the back of his hand across her cheek, so hard her head snapped to the side. His ring must have cut her, because her cheek had bled intermittently ever since, and the spot where he hit her smarted.

Now, as she remembered meeting her fiancé, Lord Ashton, a chill ran up her spine. His age surprised her more than his paunchy build. He must be older than forty years, or fifty. When he kissed her hand, he hesitated and glared at her with frighteningly cold eyes. She couldn’t even recall what color they were.

The scrape of the key in the lock startled her. She straightened and stepped away from the door. Emma saw the outline of a woman’s skirts. Was she bringing Emma food? Only her father ever opened the door during her punishments.

The woman grabbed Emma’s hand and tugged her toward the open door. Emma snatched her hand back. If she left the attic and her father returned to release her, he would be furious if she wasn’t here.

“Come with me.” Emma recognized Selma’s soft voice.

“But—”

“Now.” The maid’s words were quiet, yet forceful. She pulled Emma’s hand and this time Emma followed. Without so much as a candle to guide them, they tiptoed down the servants’ stairway and rushed through the kitchen to the back door of the house. Selma unlatched the lock and they escaped into the night.

Taking a deep breath of damp air, Emma stopped and lifted her face to the heavens. The August night, filled with the sweet scent of roses, smelled so much better than the musty attic.

Selma yanked Emma’s wrist. She took the maid’s cue and ran alongside her. Having not eaten in two days, her stomach burned. Colors flashed before her eyes. Her legs caught on her skirts and she stumbled. Selma helped her regain her footing and they rounded the house and darted through the garden on the front lawns of her father’s estate. The property was handsomely enriched by beautiful flowering gardens. Once in a part of the garden protected by a stone wall, Emma ripped her arm from Selma’s hold and stopped running. She bent over at the waist and tried to catch her breath.

“We must continue,” Selma urged. “It isn’t much farther. You do want to be away from your father, don’t you?” Selma pointed down the path.

Two silhouetted carriages waited.

They ran fast as they neared the coaches. Emma’s legs gave out again. She fell face first into the grass. Selma tried to pull her hands, but Emma was too exhausted to pick herself up.

Suddenly, strong arms whisked her from the ground and lifted her into the air. Emma would have shrieked if she had any breath. Not able to fully see the man’s face, his profile appeared blunt and his nose rounded.

Selma hurried ahead and opened the door to the second carriage. The man thrust Emma to the floor inside. Before Selma closed the carriage door, she said, “Be happy, Miss Emma.”

“Wait!”

“Shh.”

Emma spun around and could barely see men’s trousers. She tried to move.

“Wait, little one,” his croaking voice whispered. “Let us get away from here before we try to get you up.”

The carriage began moving, and Emma rested her head against her folded arms and stayed in a heap on the floor. She concentrated on her breaths and tried not to gulp in air.

The man’s words were kind. Little one. No one had ever called her that. After a while, the man lit a lamp and she lifted her head. He leaned over and offered his wrinkled hands. She raised her arms and he wrapped his cold fingers around her clammy ones and pulled until she was high enough to sit on the seat across from him.

“You will never have to fear your father again.” With only the light from one lamp, his eyes appeared dark and his hair gleamed white. He sat hunched over, slumped. She got a closer view of him and decided he had to be the oldest man she’d ever seen.

The carriage, decorated with rich deep colors, dark wood, and comfortable seats, was elegance at its finest. This man must be of great means.

“Good heavens, you look a fright.”

No doubt his words were true.

“Pardon, you aren’t responsible for your appearance.” He frowned. “Would you like some food?” He handed her the basket from the seat beside him. She smelled the heavenly scent of bread and cheese. When she brushed aside the linen covering and peeked inside, she also found meat pies, fruit, and a corked bottle.

“Thank you. Would you like some?” she asked.

“No, but it is very kind of you to offer.”

She pulled the cork out and sipped the liquid. Water never tasted so refreshing. She knew to eat and drink slowly. The first few times after being deprived of food for a long while, she’d gorged and made herself sick. She began chewing on a piece of bread.

“We must decide what to do with you, child.” The man’s gray brows puckered. “I am prepared to take you to my estate. I am often in need of someone to help with my household accounts...can you do mathematics?”

She swallowed her mouthful. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Also, I am sometimes sick and in need of someone to care for me.”

“Are you asking me to become a maid? If my father learns of my position, he will retrieve me. I am betrothed.”

The man nodded. “I know. Selma is my housekeeper’s niece. She is the one who arranged for you to escape after learning of your betrothal to Lord Ashton. Rumor is he killed his first wife.”

A shiver passed through her. No wonder her fiancé’s eyes had been so cold.

“My father will learn Selma helped me run away.”

“You need not worry about Selma. She will be on a ship with two of her brothers tomorrow headed for America.”

Good. She did not want Selma reprimanded.

The old man smiled sadly. “You appear to have survived a war.” He swiped the linen covering the basket and wiped her cheek, it must be bleeding again. “I will kill the bastard.” His gruff words should terrify her, but he obviously was not mad at her.

“My name is Miss Emma Kerr.”

“I am Harmon Westbourne. Earl of Easton.”

“I have never had the pleasure of meeting an earl.”

“We are an ornery lot.”

She laughed and realized how long it had been since she’d enjoyed merriment in her life. She wanted to feel comfortable with this man and a part of her did, except another worry crouched in and crowded her mind. “Sir, my lord, if my father learns I am at your estate, he will insist I be returned home.”

“Not if he has no legal claim to being your guardian.”

“Sir...my lord, I am only fifteen.”

“I contemplated your dilemma during my ride. If your father found you working at my estate before you turned the age of one-and-twenty, he would have a legal right to claim you as his ward. However, if you were living there in another capacity, he could not.” His dark eyes softened. “Do not misinterpret my words. I simply want to protect you. I know of only one way.” He wiped her cheek again. “I pledge to protect you, feed you, and clothe you. But I will need a vow from you in return.”

If he was promising she’d never be locked in the attic or be married to Lord Ashton, she’d acquiesce to almost anything. “Of course.”

“You must read to me when I ask, balance the account books regularly, and help me in any capacity I may need. Can you do those things?”

She nodded.

“Shall we be off to Gretna Green then?”

Gretna Green. People went there to marry. Her heart pounded so hard, she wondered if he could hear it. “I am not of an age to marry.”

“In Scotland you are. An elopement is the only way I can shelter you from your father. We will be husband and wife in name only. Do you understand?”

Her head spun.

“Do you know what goes on between a man and a woman in a marriage bed? Do you know how children are conceived?”

Befuddled, she shook her head.

He let out a frustrated breath. “No one has explained procreating to you? I suppose with no mother, how would you learn?” He smiled sadly again. “A paper will say we are married, Emma. But you and I will be making vows to be friends.”

“We will be married?”

“That is the single lawful way I can protect you. Some will be shocked a man as old as I would marry a girl as young as you.”

“They would not want us to be friends?”

“They would not want us to be married. They would think it unnatural.”

Her face scrunched. “Forever why?” She had heard of older men marrying younger women. And she was betrothed to Lord Ashton. What was wrong with marrying an older man?

He snorted. At first she thought he might be upset, but then he chuckled. “Only an angel could be as innocent as you.” He reached out and patted her hand. “Others will not understand we are friends. They will think we...that is to say...they will think we share a marriage bed.”

Bother, she felt like a fool.

“I will treat you as I would a sister or a child.”

She flinched, thinking of her father.

“Look at me, Emma.”

She lifted her head, and his shadowed eyes met hers.

“I will never hurt you.” The truth in his voice set her at ease.

“Or procreate with me?”

“Correct.”

“And that will please me?”

He grinned. “Yes, child. Although, one day I have confidence you will find a man to love and learn the splendor of affairs of the heart.”

Confounded, she didn’t understand a word of what he was saying.

The earl cleared his throat. “I think you will be happy living at my estate. You can be your own person. Read whatever you like. And you can speak freely with me.”

There was no decision to make. This would save her from Lord Ashton and her father. “I accept your proposal, my lord.”

“Harmon, you must call me Harmon.” He reached over and grabbed his cane, striking it against the roof of the carriage. Their rolling pace quickened. “It will take three days to reach Gretna Green.”

She picked an apple out of the basket and a small knife. Cutting the apple down the center, she handed him half, feeling comfortable, safe, and happy for the first time in her life. “Well, Harmon, three days should give you ample time to explain procreation to me.”

Her husband-to-be laughed.

Northampton, England, February 1825

Emma smoothed a few strands of gray hair from Harmon’s forehead, wishing for a way to forestall the inevitable. The huge four-poster bed dwarfed his frail, feeble body. Gold brocade drapes and bedspread cast a regal glow to the chamber, adding a jaundiced yellow to his already pallid complexion.

A fit of coughs rumbled in his chest. Harmon reached for a glass of water on the bedside table. His clumsy fingers couldn’t quite grasp it, and he knocked it over. “Bollocks.” He slumped back on the bed.

She’d been so young when they married five years ago his gruff words and manners should have terrified her. But from the first moment they met, she’d found Harmon’s ways endearing. She knew if she offered any type of sympathy he’d scoff, willful old man that he was.

Emma snatched a linen cloth from the bedside drawer and swabbed the mess. After pouring another glass of water, she leaned over him. “May I be of assistance?” She carefully put an arm around him and held his head and shoulders straight, then brought the glass to his lips. Once he’d taken a sip, she leaned him back on the pillows.

“Damn. I hate that you have to do everything for me.”

She smiled. “You are quite welcome.”

A ghost of a grin passed his lips. “Please forgive me.”

Shock ran through her. She’d never heard him utter the word please.

Hands slightly shaking, unsure if the tremors were from his words or because she hadn’t broken her fast this morning, she doused a cloth in the basin filled with warm water. She wiped Harmon’s face and neck. He would undoubtedly fall asleep soon and rested better when clean. She splashed a tiny amount of sandalwood cologne on her palm and rubbed it on his jaw. Weeks ago he’d grumbled about how he feared he smelled like death, so she’d made this a daily habit. The clean, fresh scent tickled her nose.

Harmon didn’t open his eyes when he said, “Tell Simmons to send Drake up as soon as he arrives.”

She straightened the bedclothes around him. “You are going to drive Simmons to Bedlam. You have told him dozens of times.”

“I must see Drake.”

“I will remind him.” Her feet were leaden as she trudged across the floor. Before she shut the door, she glanced back at the bed. Harmon’s eyes were closed, and his chest heaved with each breath he fought to take. Stacked on the nightstand were his beloved books. He never tired of listening to Byron, Blake, and other poets and authors.

How many more times would she enjoy reading to him?

Voices from the foyer caught her attention, and she peeked down the stairwell.

Harold Drake, the fifth Viscount Drake, his tall, lithe form meticulously dressed in black, stood at the entrance. Simmons took his coat and pointed toward the stairs. Lord Drake acknowledged each servant by name. He’d been an esteemed guest at Westbourne for years. She’d never known a time when he didn’t visit once a month. Not even two years ago, following his wife’s death.

She glimpsed back at Harmon’s door. What did he want to discuss with Lord Drake?

“Lady Easton.” Lord Drake climbed the last few steps. “How is he? Simmons practically pushed me up the stairs.”

A lump lodged in her throat. If she saw sympathy in his eyes, she would not be able to stop her tears. Not meeting his gaze, she motioned to the door with her arm.

He gingerly slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and placed it on his coat sleeve—it was still cold from the freezing weather. Together they made their way to Harmon’s room. After a quick knock, Lord Drake towed her over the threshold. “Look what I found in the hallway.”

Harmon cracked his eyes open. “You have a treasure there, my boy.”

Lord Drake squeezed her arm and released her before he approached the bed. “We are due for a ride, Harmon. Shall I saddle Endicott?”

Harmon’s eyes flashed with longing. “I am want for a ride.”

“It is good to see you.”

“At least I am alive.” Harmon coughed.

The men usually exchanged many quips during their visits, but today Harmon cut their banter short. “I am glad you are here, Drake. We need to speak.”

She started for the door.

“Emma, please stay,” Harmon said.

A shiver raced through her. He’d used the word please again. “As you wish.” She moved to the opposite side of the bed from Lord Drake and sat in an armchair.

Harmon reached out a trembling hand, and she leaned over the huge mattress to clasp it.

He inhaled a shallow breath. “Drake, the day your father saved my life, he and I became brothers. You are like a son to me. That is why I want to grace you with my most prized possession.” He grabbed Lord Drake’s hand and placed it over hers. “Emma will make you a good wife.”

Lord Drake’s stunned gaze collided with hers.

A heated flush spread through her body. She broke eye contact with Drake and glared at her husband. “Bloody hell. This is what you had to speak to him about?”

Harmon coughed, dislodging everyone’s hands.

Lord Drake patted Harmon’s shoulder. “I will be back shortly. I need something for my parched throat.”

Or he needed fortification upon hearing Harmon’s proclamation. Emma cringed.

Lord Drake started for the door.

She whispered to Harmon, whose hearing had never been impaired in the least, “Why would you want to shackle him or any man to me?”

“So they know angels walk the earth.” His words wrapped her in warmth, but his declaration she marry Lord Drake still stung in her chest like a bee set on vengeance. His boney fingers lovingly stroked her cheek. “Marrying Drake will solve your problems.”

“You know I plan to find employ as a companion or a nurse.”

“That is no position for a lady,” he rasped.

“Then I will venture to America.”

“As a widow?” Harmon scowled. “You’d never make the crossing without protection.”

Emma said what she always did when he would not listen, “You are a foolish old man.” They’d argued several times about what she would do when he passed. And just like now, he disagreed with everything she suggested. But with his time growing so short, she didn’t want to exchange harsh words. Instead, she teased him. “Perhaps I can seek the protection of a.... What does one call a man who supports a mistress?”

His eyes widened. “You will not be a whore—”

“Harmon, your language.”

“Expect me to return from the grave if you do.”

She kept trying to get a grin out of him. “What a sight you would make. A ghost haunting my—”

“It will not be a sight, because it will not happen.” His lips remained in a straight line, but his brown eyes met hers with a hint of humor. She wondered what kind of a young man he’d been. Now in his eighties, his body was failing, while his mind stayed as sharp as ever. He gripped her hand. “Emma, if you will not marry Drake, I will bequeath all my personal holdings to you.”

“We discussed this time and again.” Teasing aside, she shook her head. “The cash notes you insisted I take will be plenty to live on for the rest of my life.”

“Yes. However, with my holdings, you can hire a staff for protection. You would not worry about anyone hurting you or your—”

“No. Trevor will inherit everything.”

Harmon’s paper-thin lips tightened into an aggravated frown. “You have been more a comfort to me than any of my children. Trevor doesn’t deserve a shilling. He’s greedily accepted his allowance and gone about his way.”

“The earldom is rightfully his. We both know that decree is written in blood, not ink. If you leave me any part of the estate, even your personal holdings, it will cause a scandal.”

“Our whole marriage has been one scandal after another.” He shrugged. “What’s one more?”

“I would face this one alone.” Her heart ached in her chest. She would face the rest of her life without him. “Trevor will inherit everything. I cannot give him more reason to hate me.”

Since their marriage, Trevor visited only once. Three years ago he’d shown up after Emma wrote and explained the doctors didn’t think Harmon would live much longer. She had not a clue what was said between father and son, but Trevor left with his face blood red and his words harsh. Only the devil would be so stubborn as to live this long.

But Harmon had never been a devil to her. The only devil she knew lived a day’s carriage ride away. She’d lived with him for the first fifteen years of her life.

Harmon’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Trevor doesn’t hate you. He merely resents you. He knows without your care, I would have died long ago.”

She couldn’t pass up the opportunity to taunt him. “You have lived a damned long time.”

He barked out a laugh. Not a rich, healthy chuckle—more like a weak cough—but knowing she brightened his day made it a wonderful sound.

“Lord Drake is not the answer to my problems. If I am in need of companionship, I will find a husband.”

His sigh sounded heavy, like it took Herculean effort to breathe. “You need protection now.”

She heard footsteps at the door and stood. “Lord Drake, Harmon has lost his capacity to think with any semblance of clarity. I will leave you to explain he cannot issue a directive that we marry.” She hurried from the room. As the door closed behind her, tears stung her throat and nose. No longer able to keep her composure, she choked back a sob and ran down the stairway.

“You shouldn’t vex your wife so, Harmon.” Drake lounged in the seat Lady Easton just vacated. A strange scent of sandalwood mixed with rose soap lingered.

“She has to be protected, Drake.” Harmon’s voice waned softer with each word. And his pale complexion made him appear like a ghost of his old self. “The best way to ensure her safety is for you to marry her.”

“I never plan to marry again.”

“You must, for Samantha’s sake.” He coughed as he tried to sit up. “She needs a mother as much as you need a wife.” Harmon’s head dropped back to the pillows. “Emma has been my countess for five years. I am not sure what shape the earldom would be in if she hadn’t been running it. She will slide right into the role of your viscountess.” Harmon pinned him with a stare. “Plus, you need an heir.”

Drake moved to the bed and adjusted the pillows behind Harmon. The man’s words were true if he cared one whit about society. But he didn’t give a tinker’s dam. “I will invite Lady Easton to live at my estate. My mother and aunts are both in residence.”

“She needs a husband, Drake. Not a bloody friend.”

“And she will make an excellent match when she is ready.”

Harmon scoffed. “Emma has never even attended a blasted ball. She is too naive to find a husband by herself.”

“My mother will be delighted to help.” His mother loved to play matchmaker.

“Do you think any reputable men would approach her after the scandals involving our marriage?”

Ah, yes, the scandals. Their elopement to Gretna Green, the fact Emma had not yet turned sixteen when they married, and the way she’d disregarded society and lived as Harmon’s nurse.

“The simple solution is for you to marry her.” Harmon’s blue-veined hands gestured toward the doorway. “Can’t you see how generous and giving she is? Don’t you miss a warm body heating your bed, son?”

Drake paced beside the bed. “How can you say such things?” He stopped and examined his father’s best friend. His father’s confidant. The man who’d treated Drake as one of his own children. “We are talking about your wife.”

Harmon gathered his strength and leaned up on his elbows. “Whether you marry her or not, you must protect her from her father.” Eyes usually full of mischief and intelligence now looked pained. “Give me your vow.”

“I promise to protect Lady Easton from her father.”

Harmon’s head fell to the pillow, his body limp. “That man is the devil.”

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Claiming Lady Brinton Excerpt

London, England ~ Fall 1819

Lady Millicent Brinton held her head high. No one gawked at her, whispered behind their fans as she passed, or ceased their conversations when she was near. The miracle she’d prayed for every day the last two years finally happened. She’d gone from being the focus of endless gossip—to being invisible to London society.

Thank the heavens.

Music from the ballroom became fainter as Mr. Jeremy Winslow led Millicent out the doors and into the fall night. A breeze welcomed her with a cool kiss against her skin. They made their way into the garden and away from the house. Moments ago, they’d stepped off the cramped dance floor, and she requested he escort her outside for a breath of fresh air. Overheated from dancing, she did not need her cape.

They ambled along in silence. The Duke and Duchess of Wells, a distant relative to Jeremy, hosted the ball. Although he held no title, Jeremy received invitations to many ton events because of his relation to the Wells. Fifteen years her senior, he worked for her father. He’d proposed to her three days ago, and she accepted. Their marriage would be one of friendship. Easiness settled inside of her. In her life, all twenty-six years of it, she’d learned if one never had an opportunity to experience love, contentment proved the very best alternative.

People milled about on different paths through the garden filled with hedgerows and statues. The scent of moss filled the air, as did quiet conversations. Gaslights around the paths offered a modicum of illumination.

At the edge of the garden, they stopped and faced each other. Afraid he might try to kiss her, she shivered. While she enjoyed Jeremy’s company well enough, she had a difficult time thinking of him in a passionate way. He must have noticed her shudder and assumed she was cold because he ran his hands up and down her arms.

“Would you please...” a deep voice interrupted from behind her.

That voice.

Merciful heavens.

Her heart dropped to her toes.

“Remove your hands from my wife.”

She whirled around.

A shadowed figure of a man moved toward them. With his every step, her pulse pounded in her ears. He stopped just close enough for the lights to show his face.

Lord have mercy.

It was impossible her husband, Viscount Brinton, stood twenty yards away. Yet there he was. His hair was cut shorter than he used to wear it, his face clean-shaven, and his powerful build impeccable in a black suit. He looked more handsome than the last time she’d seen him two years ago.

Her throat tightened.

“Tristan,” uttered from her lips.

“So, you do recognize me, darling.” A hint of his distinctive sarcasm rang in his words.

Her vision blurred. She closed her eyes and prayed not to swoon.

The pounding in her ears changed to a roar.

She struggled to breathe.

The world spun, and she swayed.

Jeremy grabbed her arm to steady her. He helped her take a few awkward steps and sit on a stone bench. Then he walked forward and held out his hand. “Lord Brinton. I’m glad to know the rumors of your demise were obviously unfounded.”

Tristan shook his hand. “It is good to see you, even if I do take offense to you touching my wife.”

Twice already he’d said my wife, his tone inexplicably possessive.

“Can you excuse us, Winslow?” Tristan asked.

Jeremy glanced at her, his lips in a straight line.

She wished to say something to him, but speech eluded her. She couldn’t possibly find her voice with thousands of questions flooding her mind.

“We will return to the ballroom soon,” her husband said.

“Of course.” Jeremy bowed and marched away.

Being alone with Tristan brought her from her stupor. She stiffened her spine and rose from the bench.

He walked toward her.

She stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated. “How long have you been back? Where were you? Why did I receive news you’d died?”

“I have much to answer for.”

“You certainly do.” Her original shock waned, while alarm still jolted through her.

“We cannot discuss anything here. We need privacy.” He advanced and stared at her as if he feared she would vanish. Each step he took caused her pulse to beat faster. The expression on his face was one she’d not seen previously. He looked sincere. Once near, he reached out and ran the back of his fingers across her cheek. “You are more beautiful than I remembered.” His palm cupped the side of her face. “So lovely.”

The gaslights did not provide enough light for her to make out the extraordinary color of his green eyes. She caught the most alluring scent of his sandalwood and spice cologne. Her husband possessed the mien of an angel, disguised in the body and mind of a devil.

“I missed you, Millicent.”

If only she might believe his words.

She couldn’t.

Tristan had been somewhat charming when they first courted, taking her for rides in the park and dancing with her at balls. But, following their betrothal his true nature had been revealed and until his death—well, clearly he wasn’t dead.

Dear God, he’s not dead!

After their betrothal, he’d declined to be in her presence longer than a few moments and rarely touched her—only to perform the obligatory dances and gift her with one swift kiss at the pronouncement of man and wife.

Now he claims to have missed me. How absurd.

He was definitely up to something.

Carefully, he wrapped his arms around her. One of his hands came to rest on her lower back and the other at her nape. He bent his head and kissed her cheek, then whispered, “Every day I was gone, I thought of returning to you.”

Startled by his words, she gazed up at him.

He smiled and kissed her, a soft, gentle caress on her lips. Liberties any husband had a right to take.

Except this husband.

She pushed at his chest and shuffled backward. He promptly released her.

The distance eased her thrashing heart, while her lips had been sweetly branded forever. “Explain all this to me.”

“I am uncertain I can. I will tell you what I know when we are alone.”

“You will tell me now,” she demanded. “Where—”

“Tristan!” Willowy thin, Lady Posey Dillard ran toward them in a most unladylike fashion. Tristan embraced his aunt as she excitedly threw her arms around him. She had tree-trunk brown hair piled high atop her head, almost black eyes, and a too-pointy nose. While her appearance may be considered somewhat plain, her vibrant personality and loving demeanor were not.

“You are alive. Thank God. Thank God.”

His aunt, who lost her husband ten years ago, adored her family and friends. Since the day Millicent became betrothed to Tristan, Posey treated her like a daughter.

“Aunt Posey, at least you are happy to see me.”

“I am overjoyed.” Posey gripped his shoulders and studied him. “You are more handsome if that is possible.”

It is possible and true.

Posey dashed over to hug Millicent and squeezed her tight. “He is home. He is home.”

“Yes, he is.”

The woman hurried back to Tristan, her enthusiasm endearing. “You must tell me everything. Where have you been?”

“Tristan?”

At hearing her brother’s voice and seeing him rush toward them, Millicent sighed.

“Devan!” Tristan clasped her brother’s outstretched hand, tugged him close, and slapped him on the back. “Good to see you, mate.”

Even though they only met a month prior to Tristan’s disappearance, the two men formed a quick and easy bond. They were of a similar age, and her brother had needed the friendship Tristan showed him. Since Father cared solely for business and bettering their family’s position, he’d not spent much time with his only son. Instead, he’d concentrated his efforts on the high-bred match he could arrange, essentially purchase, for Millicent.

Her brother smiled at her. “It is wonderful to have him back.”

She had no response to that.

“Aunt Posey, Devan,” Tristan began. “I hope you will come to our home tomorrow evening for dinner. Right now, I promised my wife a dance.”

He’d done no such thing. Millicent did not wish to dance with him. And she positively loathed the idea of going back into the Wells’ ballroom to be under the scrutiny of everyone inside.

“Actually, I believe I will take my leave,” she said.

In unison, her brother, Tristan, and Aunt Posey quickly turned their heads and regarded her with concern.

“Are you feeling poorly?” her husband asked.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Devan offered.

She could not answer them. A sudden wave of insecurity washed over her. Her heart sank. With Tristan’s return, her long-awaited anonymity in London society would vanish. Also, when everyone believed Tristan was dead, she knew her place in the world. She was his widow.

Now, where did she belong?

Tristan addressed his aunt and Devan. “You should go inside, it is cold out.”

Funny, she felt neither cold nor hot. Rather, she was just numb.

“We will be in shortly,” Tristan assured them.

The two looked back and forth between Millicent and Tristan. “Do not be long,” Posey called as she latched on to Devan’s arm. They walked away excitedly chatting.

“What is the matter?” Tristan inquired.

“Oh, I don’t know, my lord. Perchance I am a mite shocked you came back from the dead.”

“I was never dead.”

“I thought you were. Everyone did. How difficult could it have been to send a missive? Two years and I received nothing.”

She expected they would treat each other how they had after their betrothal—like hostile, indifferent strangers. So it surprised her when he patiently replied, “I am afraid someone will overhear us here. I promise to tell you everything when we have privacy.” His voice softened even more. “Please tell me why you do not wish to go inside.”

Please? She’d never heard him use the word, had doubted it was part of his vocabulary.

Her husband had a lot to learn about her, so she may as well let him understand that now. “I try to avoid being the center of attention. I know it is a position you relish. I, on the other hand, abhor it. If we go inside, all eyes will be on us. Everyone will want to know where you’ve been and why I, your wife, didn’t know you were alive.”

“Is that the only reason?”

She shook her head.

Silence.

After a moment, he prompted a response from her. “What else is troubling you?”

She threw up her hands, her voice louder than she wanted. “How can you even ask? Do you remember the last time we were at a ball together? Our engagement ball?” She looked at him, thinking she would see a smug smirk on his face at his antics from that night.

Instead, he grimaced.

“Anyway...” she continued. “I detest, absolutely detest, the thought of being anywhere near the women who will be gushing over you while you choose which one, or ones, you will bed next.”

“There is no need to worry about that, darling.” His words rumbled through her like thunder, making her entire body quake. “I will bed you next.”

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