Having Tanner Bravo's Baby. Christine Rimmer
That’s harassment. The least you can do is sue the bastard.”
“Tanner. Listen.”
“What?”
“I only told you all this because…well, I don’t know exactly why I told you. But I do know I don’t need any help with this issue. I’ve done what I had to do, which is to quit. I’m finished. It’s over. End of story, time to move on. Are we clear on that?”
“Sure.” His voice was flat, his eyes more so.
God. What had possessed her to tell him about her horny jerk of an ex-boss? She never should have told him that. Incredible, the things people say when they should be saying something else.
“I want your word,” she demanded darkly. “I mean it. I don’t want you to find out who my boss was. I don’t want you to track him down. I don’t want you do anything. Except listen the way you just did. That’s all I want. Honestly. Just for you to listen.”
“That’s crap.”
“No, it’s not crap. It’s…a woman thing. Women actually appreciate a friend who listens. For a woman, sometimes it’s all she needs. Someone to listen.”
He picked up his beer then and poured about half of it down his throat. She watched his Adam’s apple slide as he swallowed. Then he leaned back against the futon and studied her, looking the way she imagined a hungry panther might look as he regarded his lunch.
When he didn’t talk for about thirty seconds, she said, “Don’t give me the Clint Eastwood routine, okay? This is my business, which I shared with you. Mine. Get it? Mine. Nod if you can hear me.”
A count of ten. And at last, with obvious reluctance, he dipped his head.
She said, “I mean it, Tanner. Promise me you’ll stay out of this. Stay away from my ex-boss.”
“I don’t like it. It’s not right. That SOB was out of line. Someone has to step up and show him what’s what.”
“Got that. Understood. And you are not that someone. Because this is not your business. Now, give me your word you won’t try to find out anything about him, won’t approach him, won’t contact him, won’t do anything to him.”
Just when she was certain he wouldn’t agree, he said, “All right. If that’s how you want it.”
“It’s how I want it.”
“Then fine,” he grumbled, looking like he wanted to break something. “You have my word.”
The buzzer on the stove went off. “That’s the garlic bread,” she said brightly. “Let’s eat.”
Crystal cut the lasagna, just to see if some of it might be salvageable. It wasn’t. But at least there was plenty of bread and salad.
Crystal offered Tanner wine or another beer. He chose the beer. She left the bottle of wine on the counter.
He looked at her sideways. “You’re not having any?”
It was a great opening. Or at least, as good a one as she was likely to get. She might have gently segued into how she wasn’t having wine because she was having a baby….
But in the end she said only, “No, I’m not,” and that was it. He didn’t look at her strangely or ask if there was something she wanted to tell him. He only pulled out his chair and put his napkin across his hard thigh.
They ate. It didn’t take long.
When the meal was over, he helped her to clear the table. She was bending to put the last plate in the dishwasher when he came up behind her.
Her breath tangled inside her chest, and her skin was suddenly all prickly and hot. She shut the dishwasher door. “Coffee?” she asked as she straightened up.
“No, thanks.” He slid those big, warm hands of his under her arms and clasped her waist.
She stifled a silly, hungry little gasp. “I have these great cookies. Dark chocolate with white chocolate chips…”
He bent close. She felt the lovely heat of him. He was already hard. His erection brushed against the small of her back, making her yearn and melt for him.
“No cookies.” He brushed her hair to the side and kissed her neck.
Oh, those lips of his…
She sighed, even though she tried not to. He ran his hands slowly along the twin outward curves of her hips. Her body went molten. What was it about those hands of his, about those lips, about the feel of his body touching hers?
Chemistry.
Oh, yeah. Chemistry. So good. So right…
“Tanner,” she said on a breathy, drawn-out sigh, bringing her hand up, clasping the back of his head, pulling him closer when she should have been pushing him away. His hair was so silky, so thick. She speared her fingers into it. “Tanner…”
“Mmm…” He stuck out his tongue and licked the side of her neck. Then he nibbled where he’d licked.
She couldn’t stop herself. She wiggled back against him and he groaned, pressing himself more tightly into her, letting her feel what he wanted to give her.
Oh, she was losing it. Losing it again…She groaned in arousal and frustration.
It was the third time Crystal had set herself the task of telling him, and the third time was supposed to be the charm, wasn’t it? She’d sworn she would tell him this time, no matter what. And yet, here she was, her hands in his hair, her body arching, her neck stretched to the side for him, inviting him to kiss her there some more.
He trailed nipping kisses upward and then licked her earlobe.
“Oh, God,” she whispered.
He made a low, masculine sound of arousal and agreement. “The feel of you,” he said rough and low. “The scent of you. You drive me crazy, you know that?”
“Oh, Tanner. I know. I’m so sorry.”
He made a low sound that might have been a laugh—or a groan. “Sorry, huh?”
“It’s the same for me.”
And then those amazing hands of his were on her shoulders. He turned her until she faced him. Her body instantly curved close to him. She lifted her mouth to his, helpless at that moment to do anything else.
He still smelled faintly of smoke from the ruined lasagna. But he also smelled…delicious. So tempting in a way she could never quite define. He smelled so very masculine. It was a clean scent. A scent that drew her, that made her yearn, made her forget all over again that he was all wrong for her.
She couldn’t get enough of him; at the same time as she felt shamed deep within herself. After all, she’d sworn, she’d vowed, that tonight was going to be different from all the other nights.
Yet here she was, willingly wrapped in his arms. What a total fool she’d been to imagine it could go otherwise.
And then he kissed her. His mouth covered hers, and the last wispy remnants of the real world, of her obligation to tell him he would be a dad, floated away. There was nothing but the feel of him, the taste of him, the strength in those hard arms around her, the softness of that beautiful mouth as he kissed her.
It was long and deep and wet and wonderful, that kiss. Like all his kisses, starting from the first one, on a night in early March outside the dance studio where his niece, DeDe, had just finished a recital. They’d gone to his place that night.
Afterward, they’d talked about how the night had been just something that had to happen, something they needed to do, to get their yen for each other out of their systems.
Something they would never do again…
He raised his head—but only to slant