A Pregnancy And A Proposal

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“Ah, damn it.” This time he evaded her swatting hands, and cupped her face. “I know you’re not.”

“How? You don’t know me.”

“Instincts, then.” His thumbs massaged her temples.

She sniffed, mortified that the tears had slipped down her cheeks despite her strict efforts to hold them back. He should be hurling questions at her, yet instead he gave her tenderness.

“Your instincts are awful,” she said, not even knowing why she said it. Nothing made sense right now.

He eased her close. “Why in the world didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Her breath caught on a suppressed sob and she shrugged. Admitting that she was a chicken didn’t seem adequate for the moment.

He didn’t push. He simply held her closer. “It’ll be okay.”

“No it won’t.”

“Shh.” His palms were cold against her cheeks, his fingers gentle where they outlined the shell of her ear, cupped the back of her head. His head lowered, paused.

With exquisite care, he removed the colorful barrettes and chopsticks from her hair. Masses of naturally curly hair tumbled down, tangling with his fingers. Pinpricks raised goose bumps on her scalp and her arms. The roots of her hair hurt from being held up for so many hours, but his steady massage soothed…and inflamed.

Unconsciously she pressed against him. His gaze moved to hers, so strong and sure and utterly focused, holding her like a soft caress. She shivered, heard a silent click in her brain and knew she was already in too deep, knew too that there was nothing she could do to turn off her traitorous emotions.

The sound of her moan was lost in his mouth as his lips finally closed over hers. The jolt was almost too much to stand. She jumped, pulled back for an instant and once more met the heat of his eyes.

“Easy,” he whispered.

He took her lips again and heard her say, “Trouble.”

Yes. Definitely trouble. But it was the sweetest kind. The explosion of emotions that burst through him took him by surprise. Darcie Moretti was no shrinking violet when it came to giving and taking…or kissing. She didn’t play games or wait for him to lead. She participated, gave it her all. And man alive! What that “all” did to him.

He’d had his thirty-sixth birthday, and lately he’d been feeling jaded and old. With the simple, avid press of Darcie’s lips, he suddenly felt young and renewed.

He angled her head for better access and dove into the kiss, forgetting that Darcie’s family and his own daughters were on the other side of the door. He was caught up in some really glorious sensations, and for a while he just wanted to feel. Just that.

And he was feeling a lot—the soft warmth of her mouth, the pillowy feeling of her plump lips pressed to his, the heat of her thighs where they made a perfect cradle for his erection. Her pregnant belly was firm and spooned right into his stomach as though their bodies were made to fit that way….

As though the Almighty had made each with the other in mind.

And that thought scared him, big-time.

Darcie could hardly breathe, and then decided that breathing was overrated. There was a certain thrill in the dizziness born of lack of oxygen. At that moment, she was certain that she could sustain her life on Flynn’s taste alone—chocolate cake and milk and masculinity…and yes, trouble.

His kiss was sure and strong, yet soft and seductive. The joy he created with just that touch was potent, liberating. She wanted to go on forever, to take it further, to press closer, skin to skin….

The porch light winked on and off. Darcie’s eyes popped open and she leaped back from Flynn, her breath heaving, puffing white in the cold night air.

“Grandma Connor,” she explained, struggling for breath. “She used to do that to me when I was a teenager, too. It meant my dad was out of his chair and I was in danger of being caught.”

Flynn gave a strained laugh. “Been a while since I’ve worried about being caught necking on a girl’s front porch.”

“Yeah. Me, too. And that was pretty incredible.”

His dimples flashed, illuminated by the yellow porch light. “I could fall for you real easy, Darcie Moretti. I know that sounds weird with you being pregnant and all.”

Steady, she cautioned herself. Don’t jump. “Good thing we’re both sensible adults. And good thing neither of us has time to devote to a relationship.”

He took a step closer. She took a step back. “Who says I don’t have time for a relationship?” Never mind that she was right. It bothered him that she was thinking for him again.

“Your daughter does. Every time she calls the hot line. She’s your number one concern, Flynn. And mine. I won’t lose another kid.”

“Another one?” Flynn asked. It was difficult to think straight with desire still raging through him like a wildfire. But Darcie’s tone flashed warning signals in his sluggish brain, making him uneasy. Even more upsetting was her including his daughter in that category of kids whom someone could lose. “Are you talking ‘lose’ as in dead?”

She looked away. “It happens sometimes.”

He touched her cheek, turned her face back to him. “What happened to you?” he asked softly. “Who did you lose?”

“My best friend in high school.”

Not so recent, he realized, relaxing now that he was fairly sure she wasn’t talking about her hot line and his daughter. “Want to talk about it?”

“Are you sure you’re ready to hear this?”

“Yes.” No. He had an idea that as a father her story would cause him nightmares. But he wanted to know what made Darcie Moretti tick. And this was something that affected her deeply.

“Tammy’s dad was pretty strict, more so than most, and he wasn’t one to budge when he felt strongly about something. He’d been raising Tammy by himself, then one day he went to Atlantic City and came back married. Turns out he’d been seeing the woman for a while, but he’d never said a word to anybody, not even Tammy. He just brought Glenda home and expected Tammy to accept her new stepmother.”

“And she didn’t?”

“No. From then on, she went out of her way to be a rebel. She was bullheaded—a lot like your Heather, but older. She got pregnant and panicked.”

Flynn flinched and Darcie realized she probably shouldn’t have mentioned Heather and “pregnant” in the same breath.

“All Tammy thought about was that her dad was going to kill her. So instead of facing him, she ran away.”

Darcie leaned a hip on the brick half wall that surrounded the porch, and plucked a couple of berries off a juniper bush. “I was the last person she called. I didn’t think she was serious about staying gone. She’d threatened so many times before. I told her I’d come meet her, and she got mad at me and said I’d probably just tell my mom and then my mom would call her stepmom.” She glanced back at Flynn. “You know how it is with parents or neighbors sticking together.”

Cold bit at her cheeks and her insides as though an arctic blizzard had suddenly swept the yard. She could still see Tammy’s laughing face, still vividly remember the horror and then the giggles when they’d wrestled over a swing in grade school and Darcie had ended up with a broken finger.