A Family Come True (25 page)

A skill that Moxie’s grandsons had fervently prayed she would learn.

“For another... Oh, Ian. There’s never been a woman so excited about a baby coming. She might have been surprised at first, true. But she spent the whole winter knitting little sweaters and hats and the most beautiful christening blanket I have ever seen. She was making such plans. But Darcy... Helene says it was like someone rebuilt the Berlin Wall.”

“Look,” he said, only to be distracted by a ribbon of black in the middle of her ice cream. “Is that Tiger Stripe?”

“Yep.”

“We stopped making that when I was a kid.”

“We stopped selling it.” Moxie spooned up another bite. “But every once in a while, I get a hankering for it. And what’s the point of being head of a dairy if you can’t get your favorite ice cream when you want it?”

There was that.

Dad wandered into the room. “Ian, your mother says she’s not positive, but her bet is that Cady is about three minutes away from total collapse.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there. Can you tell Xander bath is canceled for tonight?”

Dad nodded, took the spoon from Moxie’s hand, helped himself to a large bite and disappeared.

“I have to go. I’ll talk to Darcy about Helene, okay?”

“Oh, that’s rich.
You
giving someone a heads-up about not coming clean with someone they love?”

It was lucky for Moxie that Cady picked that moment to let out a wail that echoed through the first floor.

When the hell had life become so complicated?

* * *

D
ARCY WOKE TO DARKNESS.

At first, disoriented and groggy, she thought maybe the power had failed. Then other senses kicked in, slowly and sluggishly, and she figured out that the reason her nose was warm and her breath was moist on her own cheeks was because she was pressed tight against Ian’s chest.

What the—

Crap. She remembered talking to Sylvie, dropping her phone, telling Lulu she didn’t think Sylvie was telling the truth. Then she might have closed her eyes for a moment just to process everything and...

So much for her plan to spend the night making up for the hash she’d made of the morning. She’d fallen asleep fully dressed and— Oh, hell. Had he been stuck putting Cady down for the night?

She eased out of his embrace, pressed a kiss to his hand and then to his shoulder. Her fingers lingered for an extra heartbeat, soaking up the almost-forgotten mix of muscle and strength and heat that was so male.

No. Not just male.
Ian.

She checked the time—a little before three—and slipped through the passage to peek in on Cady. Sleeping soundly and obviously none the worse for her mother’s negligence. Not that leaving her child in loving and obviously capable hands was negligence, but...

She was almost out of the room, on her way back to her own bed, when she stopped and returned to the crib. She kissed her fingertips and touched them lightly to her baby’s cheek.

I’m sorry, sweetness. I’m messing up everything these days, but soon it will be just us again.

Of course, even that was changing with Ian moving back home. How was she supposed to give her child stability when the world insisted on turning and throwing everyone around?

She tiptoed around Lulu and through the kitchenette. Ian had rolled onto his back. His face tipped toward the door, almost as if he’d woken for a moment and looked for her.

She slipped into the bathroom and made a face at herself in the mirror. Nothing like seducing a man with her hair in spiky points and mascara smeared across her cheek.

She shimmied out of her capris and ditched the bra. Her T-shirt would suffice.

Wash face. Brush teeth. A dab of perfume. A smear of lipstick because even if it was dark she wanted to look her best for him, make this amazing for him. A smile and a shake of her hair, just enough to make it look as if it was ready to be rumpled some more.

Damn, she hoped he’d already brought the box of condoms upstairs.

She pressed one hand to her stomach, closed her eyes.
Savor this.
Much as she wanted to walk out of the bathroom and kiss Ian into wakefulness, she still wanted to hold this moment when her stomach jumped and her heart thudded and everything shimmered with promise.

One breath, two and then—

“Showtime.”

Ian slept half under covers, one leg and arm on top of the blankets, one below. She watched for a moment in the soft glow of the bathroom night-light. Where should she begin? The outstretched hand? The chest that she’d been facing when she woke? The mouth, oh, that mouth that had already ruined her for kisses from anyone else?

When she spotted the bit of hair falling over his eyes, she knew.
There.

She slid into the bed and scooted close to him. Her fingers slipped through the misbehaving hair and pushed it back, smoothing it into place. He sighed softly.

Enough sighs. It was time to crank up the moan machine.

Heart pounding she scooted closer and kissed his eyelids, soft butterfly kisses that wouldn’t wake him completely but would start things moving.

“Thank you,” she whispered after each one. “Thank you.”

His nose twitched, so she dropped the next kiss right there on the tip. His face tilted up the slightest bit as if inviting more, and the rush she felt at that simple reaction left her weak in the best possible way.

Hmm. If she was going to feel dizzy with every kiss, propping up on her arms simply wasn’t going to work. She needed a sturdier position. Such as...

Before she could lose her nerve, she slid up and over. Hands on his chest, knees on either side of his hips and a whole lot of happiness tap-dancing between her thighs.

Every thought and wonder and temptation that she had pushed down over the past God knew how long rushed back to the surface. She closed her eyes and slid her hands up his chest, bracing and steadying while her imagination raced ahead and her hands shook and she curled forward, burying her face in his chest, her hair trailing across the muscles.

“So long,” she whispered against his heart. “I’ve wanted this for so damned long.”

Strong hands gripped her sides, sliding along her ribs on a slow route north. A lingering route complete with some highly sensitive detours. When he reached her shoulders she curled down to kiss him, long, exploratory kisses, giving herself the chance to learn. To absorb. To savor and revel in Ian’s taste, Ian’s touch, Ian’s voice whispering her name in wonder.

This was what she wanted. Not desperation. Discovery.

And discover she did.

She already knew about the light dusting of sandy hair on his chest, but she hadn’t expected their crispness beneath her palms. She already knew about the scar on his collarbone—“The toboggan hit a tree,” he’d said. “And Cash’s boot hit me”—but she never would have guessed that a curve and a kiss lower, the brush of her lips above his ribs would start him shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Ticklish,” he said with a snort, and she paused, but, oh, all that shaking beneath and against her had started the most amazing sparks fluttering. She dipped her head and—slowly, deliberately—licked that spot again. He sucked in a breath and arched against her, sending the sparks racing and playing momentary hell with her determination to take her time. But she had to do this right, so she pulled back the tiniest bit.

“I think I found your on button, North.”

He laughed again, but since she was laughing, too, the shaking was mutual this time. It pushed her higher, but still within her control.

She already knew the curve of the muscles in his arms: she found a bruise above his inner elbow and kissed it with a promise to make all his boo-boos better.

“All of them?” he asked, and she closed her eyes, thinking of the hurts he carried inside.

“Every single one.”

“Glad to hear it.” He pushed her shirt higher. “’Cause lately I’ve been having this weird ache, right around the scars where I was circum—”

She silenced him with a kiss but her giggles broke through. Or maybe he was the one snickering. Hard to tell who was leading and who was following when they were pressed so close that his laughter rippled through her.

He tugged her shirt over her head, slowly and lazily, holding it from his extended arm for a moment before letting it drop to the ground. Playing. As though they had hours.

As though they had a lifetime.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” His voice had dropped about twelve octaves in the space of a few minutes.

“Such a man. Nothing counts until someone is naked.” She scooted forward. Her perch was a lot more crowded than it had been when she’d first hopped on board. And, oh, she couldn’t wait to feel that crowding deep inside.

Yes. She could wait. Could and would.

Though maybe if she were lucky, not too much longer. There was taking it slow and then there was cruel and unusual punishment.

“So, Mr. Typical Male. I know you paid a visit to the drugstore today.”

“Mmm.”

She wasn’t sure if that was agreement or pleasure. Probably both.

“Tell me you made a highly significant purchase.”

He appeared to be thinking. “Shampoo?”

“Wrong answer. Anything else?”

“A chocolate bar. I was hungry.”

Okay, that was it. A girl could only take so much.

She leaned forward, kissing a soft line from his neck down his chest all the way to his belly button. Once there, she stopped. Nuzzled his navel. Let her hand drift lower, two fingers slipping beneath the elastic of his sleep pants. And then, in a move that would probably leave her abs protesting tomorrow, pushed herself forward again, back where she’d been at first.

“Darce...”

She made her way back down his chest. Once more, twice more. Each time she lingered a little longer, drew out her attention, pushed them each a little closer to the edge. When she made her third lunge forward he groaned, grabbed her arms and flipped her over.

“You always play dirty, Maguire?”

“I always play to win.”

“Yeah? What do you get if you win?”

“You,” she whispered, and the little word bounced around inside her.

You.
Inside her, around her, at her side. Not just for tonight. Not just until he had to move back. But for that lifetime that this playful night promised.

She slid her hands down the muscles of his back. This time she didn’t stop when she hooked her fingers through his waistband.

This time when he said, “Wait,” against her neck, she held her breath and gave him the freedom to open the drawer of the bedside table.

This time when he took her in his arms, she didn’t hesitate to open to him. To whisper encouragement as he finally, finally filled her. To find his rhythm. Laugh against his heart. To turn
slow and special
to
now, yes, now
.

And then to nestle deep within his arms, pressed against him skin to skin, and drift to sweet, sticky sleep.

* * *

D
ARCY TRIED TO
think if she’d ever had a more perfect morning. The closest she could come was Christmas the year she had been six and got the Teddy Ruxpin she hadn’t dared to think she could receive. Waking up to Ian was even better.

They stayed in bed until Cady woke, when—oh, the man was perfect—he hopped out, dealt with the diaper and pulled her in with them. For a few minutes it had been just the three of them laughing and cuddling together. For that hour or so they were the family she was beginning to hope they could be.

Ian had to go to the dairy in the morning, but they had arranged with Xander to pay a visit to Memorial Park in the afternoon. As soon as nap time was over they squeezed into the Mustang—three adults, one child in a car seat and the dog—and took off. Cady was in a good mood and Lulu wasn’t too hyper, so they took the scenic route. Ian pointed out places he thought Darcy might remember from her childhood visits—the small family-owned grocery store where Helene still shopped, the church where Helene had shown her off to admiring friends, the ice cream bar run by the Norths. Bits and pieces of her childhood, all coming back.

They drove around until both Cady and Lulu had had enough and let it be known in no uncertain terms that it was time to get out of the car. She couldn’t blame them. She shared that need to move and enjoy. The sun was shining, the breeze was calling and, as for her, she had spent the night making sweet love to Ian. It was the kind of day that made anything seem possible. When Cady let out an ear-piercing shriek as they pulled up to the park, Darcy was even able to make a joke about her getting her lung power from Xander.

Once Lulu was on her leash and Cady was in her stroller and everyone had been given a drink, a snack, a coating of sunblock or all three, they set off.

“I remember this.” Darcy lifted one hand from the stroller to wave toward the low curving walls circling the flagpole at the center of the park. Xander and Lulu walked slightly ahead of them, loose-limbed and carefree. “My father brought me here. I think there was music. And fireworks.”

“Canada Day, probably. Or Victoria Day, or even the Rum Runners weekend. This is where the big things happen. Games, food and bands, and, yeah, fireworks at night.”

Xander turned back and loped toward them, his half-buttoned denim shirt flapping in the breeze.

“Hey. This is a big area.” He gestured toward Cady. “Could I maybe push her for a bit? Take her out of the stroller and walk with her?”

She bent to check Cady’s hat, buying herself a second. It wasn’t Xander’s fault that she was deep in Ian-Darcy-Cady fantasy family land. If he wanted to have a few minutes alone with Cady, she needed to give them to him.

After all, once he started work she would only need to do this a few days each month. Surely she could handle that.

“Okay. She’s more than ready to get out and move.”

Xander squatted in front of the stroller, fiddled with the buckles and pulled the straps away with a triumphant laugh. “Got you, you suckers.” He held out his hands to Cady. “Come on, baby girl. Let’s explore.”

Cady shoved her hand in her mouth and eyed him. Darcy’s grip tightened on the handles. Ian’s hand, warm and solid in the center of her back, was both a support and a reminder of how screwed-up this whole situation had become.