Hearts in Motion (8 page)

“Nah.” Ryan grinned. “The penis.”

“In that case, you should be asking strippers at the VaVaVoom Bar to marry you.”

His brows rose. “Ha, ha, ha. Don’t turn this around to me. I’m not the one about to make the second biggest mistake in my life.”

“Right. You’re the one not making any mistakes. When was your last serious relationship? What’s the matter? Why are you afraid to commit?”

“Told you, it’s not me.” Ryan gave him the same smile that made women slip him their phone numbers and bra sizes. “It’s my penis.”

“Your penis drives your brains. Now I know your problem.”

“Every man thinks with his penis when it comes to women.” He nodded his chin at Holden. “Except you. And that’s your big problem. Your marriage to Portia will be like Grandma and Grandpa’s.”

“They were married for sixty years before Grandma died.”

“And I’m sure they were sixty looooong years. How often do you think they had sex?”

Holden shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

“Neither did they. There was a reason our father was an only child.”

“You’re an asshole.”

Ryan shrugged. “I’m telling it as I see it. When was the last time you and Portia got sweaty together?”

Holden glared at him, his lips clamped together.

If he said anything out loud, Ryan would know.

Ryan unhooked his leg from his knee and sat up straight. “Shit, don’t tell me. You aren’t having sex with her.”

Holden stood, wishing he’d never come back this afternoon. “What Portia and I do or don’t do isn’t any of your damn business.” He grabbed his suit jacket. “I’ve had it for the day. I’m going home early. If any important calls come in, I’ll tell Sherry you can take them.”

“Yeah, but can you trust me?” Ryan grinned again, but his shoulders were stiff, and his gaze didn’t leave Holden’s face.

“If I didn’t trust you, you think I’d let you take care of the business?”

A ripple of emotion flashed through Ryan’s face, then he looked the same, still grinning, but the tension gone. And as Holden stepped past him, Ryan grabbed his arm, and now his grin was gone, too, the serious look on his face making him appear more mature and less of an overgrown frat boy.
 

“Hey, I don’t give a damn who sleeps with who—except my own sleeping partners. I’m concerned that you’re making another huge mistake. The first time out, you married a woman just like Mom, and that was disaster number one. This time you’re marrying Grandma. I can practically see disaster number two coming.”

Holden stared at his brother. “If you need to know, we did have sex.”

His brother’s forehead creased. “You ‘had sex.’ Like, it was once?”

“I’m not talking about this anymore.” He jerked his arm away, grabbed his briefcase, and strode out. He was leaving early, but this day was a bust. And no way was he going to tell his brother that the sex was fine. That it happened the night he’d proposed to her, and she’d said yes.

She’d been a virgin, the fact shocking him. Pleasing him. Not because he wanted to be a woman’s only lover. It pleased him because it was proof of her self-control and that, after their wedding, she wouldn’t turn into a wild child like Juliana.

So what if fireworks hadn’t gone off? After all, she wasn’t experienced. And after that one time, she’d asked if he minded if they waited until after the wedding “to do it again.”

Even if their lovemaking didn’t get better with marriage, it wouldn’t matter. It wasn’t as if most married couples he knew had a hot sex life. Years of living together had a way of making sex dull. But if you had respect and shared values, it could still be a good marriage.

His brother was a fool. That’s what marriage was about.

But as he walked away, his mind wanted to stop thinking about Portia and think instead about Abby. About the way she loved so much. If Juliana was like his mother and Portia his grandmother, Abby was like no one else he knew.

She was the unknown.

And like most men, he felt the urge to explore the unknown.

But he wasn’t most men, and he could and would control himself.

He was raised to resist temptation, and a small, sexy redhead wasn’t going to break him.

10

“We didn’t expect you so early,” Abby said, standing in the kitchen, knowing her face was turning an unlovely shade of pink that clashed with her hair. She reminded herself that Holden was engaged, and it didn’t matter if her face turned green or purple. He was off-limits. “You may as well stay for dinner.”

He stared at her for a long moment, and she stared back. She felt his awareness of her, warmth prickling through her skin.

“This is awkward,” she said. From her sister’s bedroom came the voices of Cara and Grace, both excited and happy as Grace went through her jewelry box, giving Cara old jewelry that was too childish for her.

“My coming early?”

“No, this thing between us.” She was glad the girls were in the other room. It was good to say this. Good to get it out in the open.

He stood still, his eyes never leaving hers. She kept her chin up.
 

“I’m glad I’ll only have to see you for six more days,” she said.

His eyes gleamed, and she was reminded that men were hunters and went after what they couldn’t have.

Too bad. He was engaged, and that was that. Engaged men had their hunting licenses revoked. There were always the ones who hunted illegally, but from the little she knew of Holden, he was the kind of man who did everything legally and with honor.

Besides, she knew his fiancée—vaguely, and it had been a long time ago. Just an hour ago, she’d looked up Portia’s images online. There were quite a few photos of her at different events, and it was not fun for Abby, who had been hoping she’d put on a few pounds or that her complexion wasn’t as flawless anymore.

None of that had happened. Portia looked like a model. Tall and slender with a pale complexion and dark hair in a pixie cut.
 

Abby couldn’t imagine herself in a pixie cut. Her hair would look like red fuzz, and her eyes would be too big. The only time she would ever want that look would be on Halloween. And even then, she would scare small children coming to her door. They’d run to their parents screaming, and she’d stand on the porch feeling awful, stuck with a bagful of candy.

“So you have a thing for me,” he said.

“And you have a thing for me,” she said.

He stared at her. “I’m engaged.”

“I hope you keep remembering that.”

“I don’t forget.”

“You should call Portia and see her tonight. Cara can sleep over with us.” With each word, she was punishing herself, but she needed this punishment. Needed it to stop these emotions that she had no business feeling. “You’re not my type, anyway. I usually go for guys who are more fun.”

“And you’re not mine. I usually date women who are more... Just more.”

“Is that a cut on my height?” Now her voice rose with indignation, when she wanted to be aloof and uncaring.

He was holding back laughter; she could see it in the clenched muscles around his mouth and the small lines raying out from the corners of his eyes. Usually she loved laughter, even when the joke was on her. Maybe even more in that case. But now... Well, sometimes a girl just didn’t feel like laughing. Once again, she had to fight to keep from kicking him in the shins.

Or higher.

“No insult intended,” he said.

“Because I am more.” She held her arms out at her sides. “I am so filled with life that when I was young, I would climb up on the roof and yell that I could fly.”

He laughed, a rumble that came from his belly, joy in his face. “I can picture you doing that. What happened to that little girl?”

She tilted her head. “Are you kidding? I still think I could fly.”

“Aren’t you missing something?”

“A pair of wings. That’s all I need.”

“I was going to say an airplane ticket.”

“That’s the difference between us.”

“The difference between us,”—he leaned toward her and lowered his face, until their lips were a hand-width away—“is that I already picture you with wings.”

As she gasped, a voice called out, “Daddy!”

He jerked back, looking guilty.

So he should feel guilty, Abby thought fiercely. He was flirting with her. Trying to seduce her.

And she was flirting back. Trying to seduce him.

That was the last time she started a conversation with a man by telling him to stay away. Obviously it was a case of wanting what they shouldn’t take and what she couldn’t give.

But his attention was on Cara now, as she padded into the kitchen, her eyes shining, but still too shy and insecure to run to him.
 

He held out his hand to her, his face different. Serious. As if he knew how fragile she was.

Coming up behind Cara, Grace frowned, her gaze flickering from Abby to him and back. Abby shifted her eyes away from Grace’s. Her sister was old enough to feel the thickness in the atmosphere that happened when two people were shooting off their pheromones, creating a kind of sex soup.

“Good thing I made extra food tonight.” Abby made her voice cheery, but it came out too loud and too forced. “Cara, your dad is joining us for dinner. You know where the plates and silverware are. Do you want to set a place at the table?”

Cara’s flushed, happy face looked much better on a six-year-old than a twenty-eight-year-old, though Abby thought a happy face looked good on everyone. The world’s best beauty secret.

Grace helped Cara set the table, and Abby served the food. The meal was simple: salad and spaghetti. There was plenty for everyone to eat. The conversation was lively with the girls talking about the cats and the dog. Though Cara didn’t talk as much as her and Grace, she kept saying “my kitty,” her face lit with happiness. Abby thought it was almost as if another little girl had taken over her body.

She glanced at Holden. He was frowning, and sudden anger flared inside her. She gripped the paper napkin on her lap, squishing it.

How could he have let this happen to his daughter? He seemed so solid, so trustworthy. How could he have neglected Cara like this?

In that second, he didn’t look sexy to her anymore. With these thoughts inside her head, he wasn’t even a man she liked.

His gaze switched to her, and she glared into his eyes, giving him the silent message that he’d lost her respect.

Yet she didn’t look away. She wanted to ask him
Why? How? When?
As if there was a good reason for his neglect. The questions too many women asked of men when they did something wrong. Ready to grasp any excuse and say, “Yes, yes, yes, I see.”

But the only good reason for neglect of a child was if you were seriously injured or if you didn’t know about the child.

Or if you were dead.

He was none of those things.

She turned her head away and found it was easy to look away. Not all women would accept lame excuses. Not her.

Anyway, he was engaged, and it was nothing to do with her.

In a little over a week, Cara would be gone. After that, she would have no reason to see him again.

She would count down the days.

A small hand touched her arm, and she looked to her side at Cara, who gazed up at her with concern, as if she saw her unhappiness and was offering comfort.

Abby smiled and bent forward, putting her hand on the side of Cara’s face. Cara leaned into her palm, much like Lion would do. And Abby felt her heart thump hard and steady as if new love poured into it, filling it. Love for this small girl who knew more than she should have about unhappiness.

An urge came over her to tell Cara that she wished she was her daughter, but she clamped her teeth together, holding back the words.

Yet tears burned her eyes as she pushed away her plate with spaghetti still on it. Cara took the hint and leaned away from her hand.

Good. She was too involved with this man and his daughter. She rescued dogs and cats, not an unhappily engaged man—because if he was happy, she was the wealthiest woman in the world—and his lost daughter.
 

“Anyone ready for ice cream?” she asked. And right then, she knew what she needed to do. It had started with Holden’s Aunt Daisy. Who better to end it?
 

11

The house seemed empty once Cara, Epic, and Holden left. The dishwasher was on, and Grace was in her room. Abby settled in the living room, Minnie on her favorite perch next to her, Lion on the floor. Quigley wasn’t around, and Abby guessed he was in Grace’s room. Or the basement. Or one hundred other places to hide in.

Cats weren’t like dogs. Cats went where cats wanted to go. In a closet. A drawer. Sleeping on her bed or, as had happened more times than she liked to recall, throwing up on her bed.

When it happened, she sighed and dealt with it. Just as she was dealing with her inappropriate feelings for Cara’s dad.