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He, on the other hand, was wide-awake on their wedding night. Jason adjusted his pants, not that it helped ease the pinch of erection straining at his fly. Not much he could do about that now. He’d been so focused on working that wedding band onto her finger and getting her into bed, he hadn’t realized the tougher part was still ahead of him.
Keeping the ring in place.
Seven (#ulink_4740e595-3616-55b3-8631-d59ff985c689)
How would she just pick up her old life in a couple of weeks?
Lauren sagged onto the edge of the bed, alone on her wedding night. What was left of it, anyway. By the time the chartered flight had landed and Jason drove them back to the house, the sun was already fighting to break over the horizon, oranges and yellows painting a hazy glow in the distance. She would have liked to watch the dawn with him, but he was already showering before he left for the office—some unmissable meeting, he said, but he vowed to come home early. She’d assured him she had business calls and work on her computer.
Strange wedding day. Strange honeymoon. Yet neither of them could afford to take time off. They were both struggling to launch careers. It was silly to want something more.
Too restless to go back to sleep just yet, she kicked off her shoes and wandered back into the upstairs hall. She didn’t dare go near where Jason showered. She wasn’t sure she could resist the temptation to slide under the spray with him in his luxuriously remodeled bathroom. Everything she’d seen in the house thus far was top-of-the-line, from the kitchen to the three bathrooms, to the master suite with a sitting area. She hadn’t checked out the other bedrooms, but suspected they were just as sleek.
She creaked open the room to the door next to the master suite. Empty. Just hardwood floors, intricate crown molding and a few packing boxes. The view would make it a lovely guest room.
The next room—equally as empty—had a domed ceiling that called to her fingers to create a little Sistine Chapel with angels for a nursery. Swallowing hard, she closed the door behind her.
One bedroom left. She opened the door and found he actually had furniture here. Not much. Just a cherry table with an elaborate computer, printer and fax machine set up. A tangle of wires led to a power bar on the floor.
A nautical scene scrolled across the screen. Jason had talked about being near recreation, but the only personal items she saw in his house were business suits and work materials. As much as she understood the satisfaction work could bring, a part of her itched to fill his house—his world—with more. Furniture. Plants.
Lazy mornings watching a sunrise.
Sunbeams eased thicker and stronger through the sheers in the window. She needed sleep, for the baby if not herself. She pivoted on her heel—
And stopped short when a frame on the wall snagged her attention. It couldn’t be. She stepped back into the room, closer until she saw clearly. Her stomach tightened. Framed on the wall across from the desk…
… the pen-and-ink drawing of a sailboat for a cologne campaign, a drawing created by her.
Her hand shaking, she traced the edges of the image and thought back to how he’d left her office without any argument, hadn’t called in four months. Yes, she’d told him to leave, she’d pushed him away.
But could he have been thinking about her just as often as she’d dreamed of him?
Later that day in the MC boardroom, Jason wasn’t any closer to figuring out how to keep Lauren in San Francisco. He seesawed his pen on the large oval acrylic table, turning the red leather chair ever so slightly from side to side.
Fellow ad exec Gavin Spencer eyed his rocking pen and raised an eyebrow.
Jason stilled. Damn. He felt like a kid hyped up on a pack of Pixy Stix, all because he wanted to be home with his new wife.
Instead, he was stuck at a mandatory meeting at work. Located in the center of the sixth floor, the boardroom was a huge space, with all four walls made of clear glass that turned opaque with the touch of a button. One wall was currently lit up as a huge screen for the computer-generated presentation of the day.
Brock clicked away the final image on his PowerPoint presentation before turning to the table again. “That’s all for now.” He turned to his assistant, Elle Linton. “You’ll forward the specs from my presentation to everyone?”
She nodded efficiently, her brown hair clasped back smoothly and unpretentiously. “Will do, Mr. Maddox.”
Brock tapped the button, transforming the opaque walls back into clear windows. “Jason?”
He forced his attention front and hoped like hell the CEO wasn’t about to ask what the last slide was about. “Yes?”
“Let me be the first to officially congratulate you on your wedding. On behalf of everyone here at Maddox Communications, we wish you and Lauren a long and happy life together.” Brock started a round of applause.
As the cheers and clapping subsided, Flynn stood. “Everyone here at Madd Comm is looking forward to getting to know your new bride better at the company dinner party.”
“Absolutely, we’ll be there.” The dinner gathering would be more formal than their get-togethers at Rosa Lounge. Wives were expected to attend. Rumor had it that Flynn’s estranged wife had chaffed under all the pressure that came from the hours demanded by MC to stay ahead of Golden Gate Promotions.
Jason cricked his neck from side to side, not sure how anyone managed to balance it all, especially in today’s competitive market where there were plenty of hungry dogs ready to take his portion. Success had an added edge for him now that he had a wife and baby depending on him.
Gavin clapped him on the shoulder. “What the hell are you doing here leaving that pretty new bride of yours alone?”
“Don’t be eyeing my accounts while I’m away,” Jason answered, only half joking.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Gavin said, his own competitiveness shining through. But that edge would keep MC on top, which was good for both of them.
Jason rolled his large leather chair back, his feet itching to hit the road. He couldn’t afford to take his eye off the ball at work, but an afternoon away the day after his wedding seemed more than reasonable. In fact, it would look strange otherwise. And he did need to make inroads with Lauren to keep her and the baby in San Francisco. “I’m knocking off early today. Lauren and I are planning our honeymoon for later. She understands I have the Prentice account to contend with right now. In fact, she’s looking forward to meeting Walter Prentice at the big bash.”
Brock studied him through narrowed eyes, assessing. “Perhaps we’ll have a chance to get to know your bride in a more informal setting, maybe for an after-work drink at Rosa Lounge sometime this week.”
“I’ll speak with Lauren and let you know.”
Brock nodded shortly. “Sounds like you have a real keeper there, sharp business lady, to boot.”
“Thank you. Lauren’s a special lady. I’m happy she’s willing to follow me out here to California, especially given she has a company of her own back East.” There. He’d laid the groundwork for her returning to NewYork as he’d promised her he would do, but damned if he would give her up that easily.
Her?
It was about their baby, right? About being a full-time father to his kid in a way his father had never been for him and his sister. Hell, time to stop lying to himself. He wanted Lauren here. He wanted her in his bed and in his life. She fit. They’d already proved they got along well as friends and at work.
They definitely were in synch sexually.
California was the right place for her to stay. He could ease the stress for her at work and in her family. They could have it all here in San Francisco. He just had to convince Lauren.
Now that he thought about it, she knew as well as he did that they had chemistry. He’d put all his effort into seducing her when he should work on convincing her on a practical level, showing her the ways their lives could fit together. He needed to think less about returning to his wife’s bed and more about persuading her they could make a real family here together in San Francisco.
So for now, he would keep his hands to himself while he romanced his wife.
Lauren tugged her bathrobe tie tighter as her foot hit the last step leading into the hall. Supper with Jason had left her edgy, the carry-in Latin cuisine amazing, their legs brushing against each other at the kitchen island frustrating. She’d hoped a shower would help ease the tension, but no luck. She’d spent the whole time under the spray imagining inviting him to sit on the seat opposite her.
Then joining him to straddle his lap, instead.
A trickle of water slipped from her hair down the V of the robe, between her breasts, heavy and achy with desire. She stared through the carved archway into the living room. A fire crackled in the fireplace. Jason knelt in front, jabbing at the logs with a poker. Jeans pulled taut across his lean hips, the muscles in his thighs rippling against the faded denim and calling to her fingers to explore his strength up close and personal. The blaze in the hearth and between her legs both beckoned. She walked closer, the wood floor chilly beneath her bare feet.
His back still to her, Jason stood. He reached into a cardboard packing box and pulled out a thick striped comforter. With a snap of his wrists, he whipped the spread out and let it rest on the floor in front of the crackling fire.
“Did you finally give up on the chair and opt for the floor?”
He smiled back over his shoulder. “You seemed pretty awake at supper, so I thought you might want to hang out and talk.”
“Talk. You want to talk?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Thinking of her sailboat drawing he’d kept framed in his home office gave her the courage to step into the romantic setup he’d prepared. On the corner rested the same black lacquer tray he’d used to bring her breakfast. A couple of cooking utensils—grill tools?—rested on the edge. This time, the wineglasses contained…
“Grape juice. I thought it was only fair you enjoy grapes in some form, since you have to bypass California’s amazing wines for a few more months.”
Tucking her robe around her knees, she sank onto the comforter. “How was work? Was everyone grilling you for details about the Vegas nuptials?”
“Some natural curiosity. Lots of congratulations.” He glanced over his shoulder quickly, then went back to work on the fire. “Everyone wants to get to know you better, of course. There’s a dinner party this weekend for the big Prentice account.”
“Of course I’ll be there. That’s why we did this whole marriage thing, right?”
He jabbed the fire, his pause overlong. “The office also goes to a local hangout for drinks every now and again. We don’t have to go this week if it’s too much for you. You’re working all day, as well.”
“Drinks are fine—well, water with lime—but I don’t have a problem spending time with the people from MC.” Except for Celia. That could be damn awkward now that she thought about it. Suddenly she didn’t want to talk about work anymore. “You have a way of making the no-furniture thing work… well, other than your furnished office upstairs.” She glanced out the corner of her eye, watching for any telling reaction from him.
“I brought a few things from New York with me.” He nodded toward the packing boxes. “Linens. Kitchen supplies. My clothes and some books.”
“And your computer desk?” And the sailboat she’d drawn.
“Sure.” He pressed a hand to the plush comforter. “This was my bedspread back in New York.”
“For freezing winters, but not milder San Francisco temperatures, so it’s stayed in the box so far.” How strange to lead an unpack-as-you-go kind of existence.
“Exactly. Not so cold here.”
“But chilly enough for a fire tonight.” She angled forward to inhale the rich woodsy scent of an authentic fire. No gas logs here.
“And warm enough for gardens.” He rolled up his shirtsleeves as the temperature in the room rose. “I was wondering if you would take a look at the flower beds and offer some suggestions.”
A full-out plan already grew through her mind like vines clinging to a trellis, much like the one she could envision in his backyard leading to a hot tub. But this wasn’t her house. She wouldn’t be staying, and right now she wasn’t sure she could take having more things to regret leaving behind when she returned to NewYork. “Wouldn’t you rather hire a landscaper?”
“I would rather have my highly talented graphicartist wife draw up a plan and put the landscaper to work. But only if you have the time, of course.” He dipped his head into her line of sight. “I mean it. I’m not BSing you here.”
She would probably regret this later, but… “Okay then, I’ll take a look and sketch some ideas.” She stared at her wedding rings. “It’ll be fun thinking of things the baby will enjoy when we come to visit.”
“Great,” he said, smiling—another thing she would miss seeing when she left. “And speaking of the baby, I brought late-night snacks to go with the grape juice, if you’re hungry.” He reached behind the packing box and lifted a small grocery sack.
“I’m always hungry at the end of the day now.” The baby fluttered inside her as if already anticipating whatever he had inside that bag.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He pulled out graham crackers, marshmallows…
… and Godiva chocolates.
Her mouth watered. She eyed all the ingredients in his hands. “We’re making Godiva s’mores?”
“Unless you don’t want them. I understand about finicky cravings.” He tucked the gold box against his chest. “I can eat them myself.”
“Do it and die.” She snatched the box of chocolates, tore off the ribbon and popped one of the truffles in her mouth. “Mmm.”
His smile went downright wicked. “I take that to mean you do want a s’more.”
“Or three,” she said, relaxing into the makeshift camp. Although they hadn’t stocked Godivas in the tent when she’d been a Girl Scout.
She sat cross-legged on the thick comforter, leaning back on a packing box, the fire warming her as much as the romanticism. Jason put together the s’more and rested it on a grilling spatula with efficient hands. The way he read just what she needed touched a part of her she hadn’t known sought tending. She prided herself on her independence, her competence. And while she could have fed herself, she never would have come up with Godiva s’mores.
While she may have known Jason for a year already, he was still surprising her more and more by the second. Like how well he’d handled the discussion on the plane about her mother’s mental-health issues. “Thank you again for everything.”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Wait until you taste it first.”
“I meant thank you for how understanding you were about my mother.”
“I’m sorry she upset you on the phone.” Firelight illuminated the genuine concern in his brown eyes. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“It’s okay. I don’t really need her approval anymore.”
“But she still has the power to hurt you,” he observed too damn astutely.
“I guess maybe there’s a part of us that never gets past wanting to see our artwork on Mom’s refrigerator. The problem is, my mother only wants me to paint her kind of pictures. Her dreams.” A dry laugh slipped free. “Although she certainly can dream big.”
“Big is good.” He placed the heated s’more on a small plate, chocolate and marshmallow oozing from the sides, and passed it to her.
“No. I mean big. Mount Everest big.” She smiled her thanks and took the plate. “My mother had those grandiose kinds of fantasies. Two days into my tap lessons she was making plans for Broadway. A dive into the pool and she was talking Olympics.”
“That’s a lot of pressure for a kid.”
“She had the same sort of plans for herself and her artwork. She always talked about how marrying Dad—” she dipped her finger into the warm, soft goo seeping from the treat “—and having me cost her Paris.”
“Your mother is an artist?”
“An amazing talent, but the high-brow kind, which means she thinks I’m a sellout.”
She popped her finger in her mouth and sucked off the chocolate-marshmallow mix just a smidge purposefully, enjoying the way he reached to loosen the neck of his shirt—only to find the top two buttons already undone. She couldn’t deny the rush of pleasure, even the slightly hopeful edge after the torment of showering alone.
“You’re a sharp businesswoman.” His eyes tracked her every move, eyes turning as dark as the charred wood.
She couldn’t help but revel in the appreciation in his gaze. What pregnant woman wouldn’t be happy to feel desirable and sexy? “So sharp my bookkeeper is enjoying all my profits on some island retreat.”
She took a bite of her s’more, her tongue chasing every drizzle. Was that moan from her or from Jason?
“Crap like that happens.You’re recovering.” He shifted on the blanket, adjusting his jeans covertly. Well, almost covertly, except she couldn’t miss the growing bulge pressing at his fly. An answering heat flamed inside her.
At least until her thoughts went back to her mom.
“I just question myself at times like this, examine every move I made for mistakes, carelessness. Lack of focus.” She set her s’more back on the plate. The fun of the evening faded. “What about your parents? Have you called them yet?”
“I don’t speak to my folks.” He turned back to the grocery sack, preparing a second graham-cracker treat for the fire.
“That’s sad.”
