Courting Chloe (Hudson Valley Heroes Book 1) (18 page)

Chapter Eighteen

“He’s finally asleep,” Ian said, coming up behind Chloe to press a soft kiss on the nape of her neck. She released a contented sigh and leaned back, offering him more of her throat to nibble, but he paused instead, his attention caught by the video link on her laptop. “What are you watching?”

“Oh. That’s Jake,” she said. “My next client. I have a meeting with his speech therapist tomorrow morning.”

Ian pulled up a chair beside her. They’d polished off the Chinese food a few hours ago. In the interim, while Ian got Preston ready for bed, she’d set up her laptop and spread her paperwork across the dining room table.

The video showed a handsome thirteen-year-old boy, the kind of effortlessly cool kid destined to break hearts and make middle-school girls swoon. Jake’s skin was tan, his eyes a brilliant blue, his shoulder length hair bleached blond from the sun. He wore knee-length boarder shorts, a sleeveless tee, and a puka shell choker.

Speech therapists often used real world simulations to ready their clients for everyday situations they might find challenging. In this mock retail set-up, Jake was given the task of returning a shirt that was too large and swapping it for a smaller size.

Looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else, Jake stepped up to the counter, glanced at the woman standing behind the cash register, and promptly fell apart. Words didn’t come. In their place were repetitive, mono-syllabic sounds and agitated grunts. For four torturous minutes the video played on, Jake turning red with mortification, his entire body rigid with frustration as he gestured to the shirt and struggled to form the words
I want
small
.

“Poor kid,” Ian said.

“Wait a minute,” Chloe said. “Not so fast. Now watch this one.” She switched to the next video link, one that had been filmed after three months of intense work with a speech therapy dog. She watched in satisfaction as Ian’s brows shot up.

“Holy shit.”

“Exactly.” The progress was extraordinary. Granted, Jake still stuttered. But he was far from non-verbal. He could form full sentences. Not only that, the awful tension that had filled the boy in the earlier video was no longer there.

Chloe launched into an animated discussion of the exemplary work speech therapists had done by including canine assistants as part of their clients’ repertoire of tools. Speaking directly to a therapy dog was strikingly helpful in reducing a client’s speaking stress, creating a judgment-free zone to sound out difficult words, and expand his vocabulary. The technique didn’t always succeed, but when it did, the results were amazing. Literally life-changing. After a few minutes she realized their conversation had been entirely one-sided. She gave a self-deprecating laugh and shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on like that. It’s just so…
exciting
, isn’t it? I can’t wait to meet Jake.”

“You’re incredible.”

She sent him a jaunty smile. “Just noticing that now, huh?”

Ian returned her smile with an expression of somber resignation. He leaned back in his chair. “Well?” he said. “Go ahead. I’m waiting. Aren’t you going to say it?”

“Say what?”

“‘I told you so’. You were right and I was wrong.” He shook his head. “I should have listened to you sooner. Turns out, he can’t wait to get back to school, to be around kids his own age again.”

“Ah. That.” Chloe powered down her laptop, carefully clicked it shut.

“Not only was I wrong,” Ian continued, “I was a complete ass about it. Too hard-headed to listen to a word you were saying. I’m sorry.”

She sent him a soft smile. “Apology accepted.” Hard to hold a grudge when he’d only been trying to protect Preston. Even now, he looked so unabashedly remorseful, she might have let it go at that. But technically he was still a client, and the trainer in her was too ingrained to miss such a perfect teaching opportunity. She reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You think it’s bad now, Ian, just wait until he wants to go on his first sleepover, or spend a week away at camp, or get behind the wheel of a car.”

He pulled back, shocked. “You think he’ll be able to do that one day? To drive?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. The course of pediatric seizure episodes is almost impossible to predict. Particularly in cases like Preston’s, where a traumatic injury was involved. The point is, it’s all about learning to let go.”

“It’s not easy.”

“No, it’s not. Not for anyone raising a child.”

He raked a hand over his lower jaw, absorbing that. Then his gaze shifted to her. His lids lowered slightly. Heat filled his stunning amber eyes, turning them from deep moss green to a flickering golden flame. An anticipatory shiver raced down Chloe’s spine. She knew that look.
Loved
that look. A look of desire and possession, a look that promised intense pleasure was only a few heartbeats away.

“What’d I do to deserve you?” he asked, his voice husky and low.

“Absolutely nothing. You just got lucky.”

A devilish grin curved his lips. “Speaking of getting lucky…”

He pulled her out of her chair and straddled her across his lap so that their chests were nearly touching. He undid the buttons of her blouse, working steadily until the garment fell open, revealing the lacy front of her bra. Brushing aside her hair, he kissed the soft column of her throat, kissed the shadowy cleavage between her breasts. Continuing his slow perusal of her body, he traced his lips across the tops of her shoulders, over the delicate ridge of her collarbone.

Chloe clung to his broad shoulders and arched her back, her eyes closed, drinking in the sweet, sensual sensations. He knew exactly how to touch her. He knew where she liked a soft, gentle touch, and where she liked it rougher. He knew that rubbing his bristly chin against the creamy skin of her breasts, that taking her nipple in his mouth and scraping it between his teeth, would cause heat to pool between her thighs. He knew that a playful slap on her ass would send tremors racing down her spine. He knew how to make her sigh, make her shiver, make her laugh. He knew exactly how to excite her, and reveled in doing so.

And she knew him. She worked his shirt free, slipped it from his shoulders, and traced her hands over every muscular ridge and masculine contour of his body. Her gaze hungrily raked over the rippled abdominal muscles of his stomach, the breadth of his shoulders, the corded strength of his arms.

She knew his scars—the ones he’d earned from his days as a bouncer (including the jagged one across his upper chest, when a jealous, drunken boyfriend had lunged at him with a knife), the one on his left bicep that came from a reckless bike accident (speeding on the New York Thruway in the rain), and the ones he’d earned as a child, particularly the crescent-shaped scar that marked his right temple, the result of his getting between his father and a bottle of scotch.

She knew how he slept—curled on his right side, her body spooned against his, his arm protectively wrapped around her waist. He liked the heat of her body against his, liked the smell of her skin on his sheets. He didn’t snore, not until recently. (Not until his faith in Prince’s ability to immediately Alert him if Preston should have a seizure was firmly secured.) Then Ian’s sleep grew deep and regular. He woke refreshed, hard and ready for her again, eager to make love while the sheets were warm and the morning sun slanted through the windows.

And she knew how to excite him, too. How to touch, to tantalize, to tease. How to drag her fingernails lightly across his biceps, his muscular torso, the light smattering of hair that marked his chest. Her fingers moved lower still until they settled atop the pulsating bulge hidden beneath the denim of his jeans. Filled with a quiet sense of power, she reveled in his response. His muscles quivered at her touch, his erection strained to fill her palm.

With a growl of deep longing, Ian gathered her in his arms and stood. He carried her into his bedroom and deposited her on his bed. The mattress groaned beneath his weight as he kneeled beside her. He captured her lips with his own. They kissed softly at first, then with a passion that took her breath away.

Impatiently they clutched at their clothing, kicking off shoes, toeing off socks, wrestling out of jeans. Within seconds they were both naked. Ian pulled the elastic band from her hair. It cascaded over her shoulders in wanton disarray, a mass of deep brown silk. He studied her in silence, his gaze a slow burn as it traveled over her body. He lifted his large hands and touched her with infinite gentleness, reverently skimming the swell of her hips, the softness of her belly, the shadow of her ribs.

Chloe’s heart drummed wildly in her chest and heat spread through her belly as she drank in the sight of him kneeling above her. There was nothing,
nothing
, soft and pampered about Ian Dowling. He looked as though he’d been sculpted from stone. Tall, powerful, and fascinatingly male.

She ached to reach for him, to hurry him along, but she wouldn’t allow it. She wanted this to last. Ian seemed to be of the same mind. They made love slowly, each touch a testament to some greater, unspoken emotion. Finally Ian could take no more. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her above him and positioned her so that her thighs straddled his hips. His rigid erection rubbed against the soft curls that covered her sex. An aching, throbbing emptiness rose inside her, demanding to be filled.

“Chloe.” His voice was ragged, strained with the effort of holding himself back.

She lifted her hips, then lowered herself atop him, taking him in. His gaze seared into hers as she began to rock back and forth, up and down, moving her hips to an ancient rhythm that swept them both away. She threw back her head, her breasts bouncing as she moved. She felt a rush of heat race to her thighs as a tight, fiery knot filled her belly. Her breath caught and her pulse doubled. She arched her back and clutched his shoulders, gasping his name as her orgasm neared.

She wrapped her thighs around his slim male hips, drawing him more deeply within her. She felt her inner muscles tighten, felt him throbbing inside her, so rigid and slick and absolutely necessary. With each deep, driving stroke, a shiver of raw delight spiraled through her body. Her muscles tensed and her toes curled. He gave an exploratory thrust, then pulled back and drove himself inside her with one final, swift stroke.

A tremor built within her, tingling through her belly and down her thighs. Then a flood of sensation wracked her heightened nerves. Spasms of pleasure burst between her legs and rocked up her spine. She gave a cry of release as her climax swept through her. She shuddered and collapsed against Ian, burying her mouth against his shoulder, his skin deliciously slick and salty against her tongue.

For a long moment, Chloe was aware of nothing save the wild beating of Ian’s heart. As she roused herself from her dazed, sated wonder at their union, she became aware of several things at once. The way Ian's ragged breathing matched hers. The potent scent of their lovemaking filling the air. The way the moonlight spilled through the tree branches, casting dancing shadows across the ceiling. She took in every detail, wanting to cement it all in her memory.

He rolled onto his side and gathered her into his arms, spooning her against his chest as though he never meant to let her go. He brushed a light kiss against the nape of her neck.

"Chloe?"

"Yes?"

"Stay with me."

She waited a beat, but when no more words were forthcoming, prompted, “Tonight?”

“Yes. Tonight.” Another kiss, this one on her shoulder. “And the night after that, and the night after that, and the night after that.”

She twisted around in his arms so that she was facing him. “Ian—”

“I love you, Chloe.”

His voice was low and husky, as gentle as an embrace. A soft light filled his gaze.

“If you walked away from me and I never saw you again,” he continued, “I’d survive. It would be awful, but I would survive it. I’ve learned that about myself. But I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen. I can’t promise to keep you safe, or even to always keep you happy, but I will promise that you’ll be loved. There will never be a day when you’re not deeply, deeply loved.”

Chloe swallowed hard as tears gathered in her eyes. She reached for him, lightly brushing her knuckles along his cheek. “But my job is here. And I thought you were going back to Brooklyn.”

A look of aggrieved acknowledgement marred his handsome features. “True.”

“Then how—”

“I don’t know yet. But we can make this work, the four of us. You, me, Preston, and Prince. We’ll figure it out. What we have won’t exactly fit on a Hallmark card, but it’ll be ours. It’ll be good.” He caught her hand and pressed a soft kiss against the back of it. “Stay with me, Chloe.”

Chloe managed a tight nod, her heart so swollen with emotion she thought it might burst. “All right.”

Chapter Nineteen

The following morning, Ian, Preston, and Prince waited in the busy foyer of the Hudson Valley Elementary School. They’d arrived a full hour before the start of school to fill out the paperwork that would allow Preston to join the second grade—maybe as a temporary visitor, maybe permanently. He and Chloe hadn’t quite figured it out. They’d met the teacher, Mrs. Donovan, a twenty-year veteran who’d greeted Preston and Prince with the perfect blend of welcome and reserve and invited them to tour the classroom.

Once Preston’s jacket and lunchbox were properly stowed and he’d been assigned a desk, they returned to the front of the school to watch the buses arrive. Students poured out, noisy and rambunctious, their energy level just below that of an invading army. A few children said ‘hi’ to Preston as they ran by, a few others excitedly pointed out Prince. But no one stopped. Preston chewed his bottom lip, shifting from foot to foot, nervously scanning the faces for the boys he recognized from the playground.

Ian bent down. “You know,” he said, “you don’t have to do this, Preston. If you change your mind and want to—”

“Hey! Aren’t you that kid from the playground?”

A small boy skidded to a stop in front of Preston. In his arms he balanced a sack lunch, a musical instrument (Ian guessed it was some kind of horn) and a papier maché art project (either a volcano or a whale, Ian wasn’t quite sure). At Preston’s nod, the boy gave a bright smile. “Are you going to school here?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Cool! Who’s your teacher?”

“Mrs. Donovan.”

“I have Mr. Pierce. Our classes have art, gym, and recess together.”

Another child stopped, and then another, collecting around Preston like a flock of brightly colored birds. “What’s your name? Where are you from? What grade are you in? Can we pet your dog? What’s his name? Why do you have him?”

A bell rang and Mrs. Donovan swooped in. “Off to class everyone, you don’t want to be tardy. And no, Jillian, you may not pet his dog. The vest he’s wearing means he’s a service dog, remember? He’s with Preston because he has a job to do. Now—who’s my hall monitor today?”

She sent Ian a warm smile and then turned away, the children happily gathered around her skirts, Preston among them. “Has anyone decided what they’re going to be for Halloween?” Ian heard Mrs. Donovan ask, but the excited replies were too jumbled for him to distinguish.

He watched them move down the hall, growing smaller and smaller as the distance stretched. Before they rounded the corner, Preston glanced over his shoulder. His gaze locked on Ian. He frowned and broke away from the group, racing back to him. He wrapped Ian in a fierce hug, then tugged at his sleeve, indicating he wanted to deliver an urgent message. Ian bent down to hear it. What followed were the three little words that tore at every parent’s heart.

“Go away now.”

Ian let out a choked laugh. He straightened, then gave Preston’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Okay.”

Preston and Prince ran back down the hall, eager to catch up to the other children.

Ian fought a lump in his throat as he watched him race away. With a jolt of awareness, he realized he’d finally found the one thing he’d so desperately sought. After the accident, it was something he’d coveted from afar, a word he thought he could never again claim.

Normal.

This was normal. School. Life. The child you loved happily running away from you to embrace new people, new places, new adventures. The pang of loss and pride that accompanied that moment. They’d made it.

Now it was time to go.

He made his way down the hall and ducked back into the front office to sign out. He looked at the secretary. “I’m Preston’s uncle—”

“Of course.” She sent him a kind, grandmotherly smile. “I know who you are, Mr. Dowling.”

“I left Preston’s medication with the school nurse.”

“Very good. If we need you, we’ll be in touch straightaway.”

Feeling somewhat at a loss, Ian nodded and turned away. He reached for the door to leave, and then stopped. Plastered on the wall was a poster he hadn’t noticed before. It showed a dancing, tutu clad hippopotamus holding a bouquet of daisies and beaming a bright smile of greeting. Below the hippo were the words,
I’m happy you’re here!

The hippopotamus was bright purple.

Preston was right. There was purple everywhere, he just had to look for it.

The panic that had underscored his every waking movement slowly slipped away, evaporating like water draining from a tub. In place of the burden of grief he’d carried, a deep sense of peace filled him. He took a deep breath, and for the first time he could remember, his lungs didn’t ache. The loss still there, but the jagged edges had been smoothed away. It didn’t cut as deeply.

“Thanks, Barb.”

The secretary looked up. “I beg your pardon?”

Ian shook his head. “Nothing. I’ll be back at three to pick him up.”

*     *     *

“You’re being very mysterious, aren’t you?” Chloe said, her body angled slightly toward him to watch him drive.

“What’s so mysterious about wanting to take you out to lunch?”

“Um, the fact that you won’t tell me where we’re going?”

“That’s called a surprise, not a mystery.” He changed the subject. “So how’d it go this morning with Jake’s speech therapist?”

“Good, actually,” she replied. She filled him in on the events of her morning and Ian told her about dropping Preston off at school. And while the conversation was light and comfortable, Chloe couldn’t help but notice a change in Ian.

He seemed… less guarded. Profoundly so, in fact. The change in him was amazing. Just four weeks ago she had sat in this very seat, watching him drive, and had been deeply disturbed at the tension that had radiated off him in waves. Now there was a looseness about the way he held his body, a confidence that radiated from his very core. He seemed unshakeable. When they’d first met, Ian Dowling had struck her as the kind of guy who would use his fists to battle his way out of a crisis. No more. Now he was the kind of guy who’d walk into a room, sum up the situation with one glance and say,
Hey. No problem. I got this.

Masculine confidence and quiet authority, traits that Chloe found sexy as hell. Particularly when stuffed in a six-foot-three-inch, rock solid package that included a tight male ass that looked spectacular in jeans, washboard abs, biceps to drool over, and a sinful grin. Oh, and dimple
s
.
Dimples
. Dark, spiky eyelashes. Ridiculous—as though the man needed more to make himself attractive. And his hands… God help her. Just thinking about the way he touched her sent a shiver down her spine.

He glanced at her, then reached over and turned down the AC. “Better?”

Chloe swallowed a laugh and gave a tight nod.
Stop it.
The man was
driving
, for God’s sake. Squish that lust into a tight little box and open it later. Wrong image. A giggle rose to her lips as she pictured all that tightly coiled lust springing open like a Jack-in-the-box. God, what was wrong with her? She was drunk. That was it. She’d only consumed two coffees, but she was drunk on love. Drunk on lust.

They turned into the town’s recreation park. She sent Ian a curious glance as they pulled into a space near the playground and parked. “Burgers?” she said, glancing at the diner. “I don’t think it’s open today. Just weekends this time of year.”

“Actually, I thought we’d head downtown to that salad place you like, if that’s okay.”

“Sure. So what are we doing here?”

He turned off the engine and swiveled to face her. “I wanted to talk to you first. Get your opinion on something.”

The giddiness fled and she sobered quickly. “Sounds important.”

“It is.” He raked a hand through his thick, dark hair. “My phone’s been ringing off the hook—my broker calling, emailing. There’s a property in Brooklyn that’s become available. It’s a corner building, great traffic, trendy neighborhood.” He paused with a faraway look in his eye, as though picturing the building in his mind. “I chased after it, put in offer after offer, wanted it for so long. Now it’s finally mine.”

Chloe’s thoughts spun, landed heavily. “That’s great, Ian. Congratulations.” She forced a smile. Brooklyn. Okay. So they’d do the long-distance thing. Not ideal, but they could make it work if they had to. They’d find a school for Preston and—

“But now that it’s finally mine—or almost mine—I’m not sure that I want it anymore.”

She frowned. “You don’t strike me as the fickle type.”

“I’m not. It’s just, the bar would’ve been great for me. But it’s not just me anymore. Whatever I do next has to work for all four of us.” He paused, and a hint of excitement lit his gaze. “And the truth is, I think I found something even better.”

He stepped out of the SUV, grabbed a rolled set of paper renderings from the back seat, then went around and opened her door. He walked her toward the diner. “They’re closed today, but I met with Jim this morning and he—”

“Jim?”

“The guy who owns the place. He and his wife are selling. I met with him this morning and told him I wanted to bring you back to have a look around. Get your opinion. They’re out, so he gave me a key, told me to let myself in.”

“Wait a minute. Ian, you want to buy a diner?”

“Not just a diner. I mean, yeah that’s part of the package—actually, I ran some numbers. It’ll be a great way to generate revenue while the other buildings are under construction.”

Chloe shook her head, smiling at Ian’s enthusiasm, but confused. “What other buildings?”

They’d been walking as they talked. Now Ian stopped. He took her by the shoulders and turned her bodily to the right. “Chloe,
look
.” She looked, and her chin dropped open. A breathtakingly beautiful view greeted her. Rolling mountains, lush meadows, serene pond. All tucked away from view behind the tacky diner. She’d never even known it was there.

Ian rolled up his sleeves and opened the set of architectural drawings he held. “Jim’s kept all he permits up-to-date, so the construction can start almost immediately, but I’d want to make a few changes first…”

Chloe listened as he described the vision he had for the property. The way it would lay out against the land, the way the sun would set over the mountain, where he’d place an outdoor fire pit, even the sort of menu he’d offer and the clientele he hoped to attract. Chloe had never seen this side of him before. The businessman setting goals and brokering a deal. He sounded energized, totally absorbed, and she found herself loving him even more for it.

“It won’t be cheap,” he finished. “It’ll mean I have to sell my properties in Brooklyn, go all-in on this. Restaurants are always a gamble. If it fails—”

“You’ve never failed once, Ian Dowling. You’re not going to fail now.”

He grinned. Wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. “I want out of the bar business,” he said flatly. “It was a crutch, and I don’t need it anymore. I want to build a life here, put down roots.” He nibbled the lobe of her ear, whispering softly, “I want to marry you, Chloe.”

Her shock must have shown on her face, for he shook his head and softly chastised, “You can’t be surprised. You know that I am madly, deeply, in love with you.”

“And I am madly, deeply in love with you.”

His sinful grin widened. “Excellent. So there’s that.” He kissed her full on the mouth, then nuzzled the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. “Damn. I had one chance to get this right, and I blew it. If I’d thought this through, I’d be down on one knee right now and have a ring in my pocket.”

She leaned against him, enjoying the sensation of her body melting into his. “I like you right where you are, and the ring can wait. Put the money into the restaurant.”

He frowned at that and pulled back. “No, and that’s non-negotiable. I want the biggest, gaudiest diamond ring I can find. The kind of ring that’s so bright it interferes with satellite signals. I don’t care what it costs. I want everyone to be able to glance at your left hand from a mile away and know that you’re taken.”

“Hmm. Not exactly my style.” Chloe smiled softly and rested her forehead against his. “Maybe just a simple band of gold.”

“Whatever you want, Chloe. Anything. Name it and it’s yours.”

“Ian?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

*     *     *

Ian and Chloe arrived thirty minutes early to pick up Preston from school. They were waiting in the lobby when Jackie, the school nurse, popped out to greet them. She smiled at Chloe and wrapped her in a tight hug. They chatted for a bit—they’d been friends for years—and then Jackie turned her attention to Ian.

“Mr. Dowling!” she said. “Excellent. I was hoping I’d have a chance to see you again.”

Ian stiffened. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s perfectly fine. I believe Preston’s class is in the library at the moment. Would you like a peek?”