Pride And Pregnancy

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The Home Depot truck was still in Troy’s driveway when he returned, sans children, around ten. Meaning that, he presumed, Karleen was still there, as well.

One of those good news, bad news kind of things.

Troy sat in the car for a good ten seconds, his chin crunched in his palm, mentally ticking off all the reasons why he needed to get over this idiotic attraction to the woman. Why acting on some chemically induced urging was pointless. If not downright stupid.

He glanced back at her pinwheel-and-stone-critter-infested front yard. The plastic roses stuck incongruously along the base of the front porch. The birdhouses. The five million sparkly, twirly things dangling from her porch. And he shuddered. Mightily.

Then he remembered the sight of her fresh out of bed this morning, all rumple-haired and makeup-free, her sleep-graveled voice, and he shuddered again. Even more mightily.

Okay, he thought, getting out of the car and slamming shut the door, so she was cute and sexy and helpful, and she wasn’t holding silver crosses up in front of the kids, but he didn’t know anything about her, except for her penchant for excessive lawn ornamentation and that caution muddied her eyes. And besides, she wasn’t interested, he wasn’t interested (okay, so he was interested, just not that interested), end of discussion, case closed.

He could do this, he thought as he walked inside his open garage and through the maze of boxes and crap he’d yet to figure out what to do with, and there was Karleen, in some kind of flippy little skirt and a soft, hip-grazing sweater practically the color of her skin, and she was wearing a pair of backless, high-heeled shoes that were like sex on a stick, pink ones, with glittery, poufy stuff across the toes, and his mouth went dry. She looked about as substantial as cotton candy.

Only five times tastier.

And she was clearly driving the poor, mountainesque delivery guy insane as she made him put both machines through their paces.

“Okay,” she said as she took the clipboard from him, “I just wanted to be sure, because the last time I got a new washer—not from y’all, but I’m just saying—they didn’t hook it up right and I ended up with a lake on my garage floor…. Oh! Troy! You’re back! Sign,” she said, thrusting the clipboard at him. And that first, full impact of her perfume, the vulnerability trembling at the edges of her self-confidence, nearly shorted out his brain.

He gave the machines a cursory glance to make sure they were indeed the ones he’d bought before scribbling his signature on the bottom of the form. The delivery guy tore off his receipt, said, “Have a good one,” and lumbered off, leaving Troy staring at a pair of control panels clearly modeled after the space shuttle.

Karleen stepped up beside him, her arms crossed. Her perfume nanny-boo-boo’d him. Her still hanging around confused the hell out of him. Way too many whys and whatchagonnadoaboutits floating around for his comfort. Then she reached out and—there was no other word for it—caressed the front of the washer, sliding two fingers along the smooth, cool porcelain edge, and Troy’s mind went blank.

“I hate to admit this,” she said on a soft rush of air, “but I am having serious appliance envy. My washer’s one step up from a rock in the river.”

“Right now,” Troy said, forcing his attention to the gleaming white appliances in front of him and away from the fragrant blonde at his elbow, “a rock in the river isn’t looking half-bad.”

He could feel her bemused, incredulous stare. “Please don’t tell me you’ve never used a washer before.”

“Only three times a week for the past four years,” he muttered. “But believe me, my expertise begins and ends with shove clothes in, dump in detergent, turn machine on, take clothes out.” He squinted at the panel. “I’m guessing I’ll never have to use the delicate cycle.”

“Not unless you’ve got silk boxers.”

“Uh…no.”

She giggled, and his insides flipped. “Stick with normal and you’ll probably be okay.”

“Always been my motto,” he said, and turned, and she was far too close, and it had been far too long, and it was far, far too soon to be feeling this far gone.

“How come you’re still here?” he asked softly, and her gaze flicked to his before she shrugged. Just one shoulder. Sadness radiated from her like sound waves.

“Where’re the kids?” she asked.

“Still at the school.” Troy leaned one hip against the dryer, his arms folded over his chest. Watching her not looking at him. Trying like hell to figure out what was going on here. “They wanted to stay for a little while, so I’m picking them up after lunch. If all goes well, they’ll start full-time on Monday. It seems like a great place.”

Another quick glance. A small smile. “Feel better now?”

“A bit. It’s a challenge, doing this on my own. I worry constantly about whether I’m making the right choice.”

Her silence enfolded him, half soothing, half unnerving. “At least you do worry about them.”

“That’s what parents do.”

“Not all parents,” she said, the sadness turning more acidic. Without thinking, he slipped his hand around hers. Her head jerked up, her eyes wide. But not, he thought, particularly surprised.

“Thanks,” he whispered, frozen, staring at her mouth. “For, you know. Being here.”

“No problem,” she said, equally frozen, staring at him staring at her mouth. “Um…don’t take this the wrong way, but are you thinkin’ about kissing me?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m thinking about doing a lot more than kissing.”

Outside, birds twittered, breezes blew, gas prices continued to yo-yo. Inside, life-altering decisions hovered on the brink of being made.

“What happened to just wanting to talk?” Karleen finally said.

“Apparently, I’ve moved on.”

The planet hurtled another few thousand miles through space before Karleen at last lifted her hand to trace one long, pale fingernail down his shirt placket.

“So I guess this means we’re gonna have sex.”

Somewhere, way in the back of his buzzing brain, Troy heard a resignation in her voice that, under other circumstances, might have tripped his sympathy trigger. At the moment, however, the safety on that particular trigger was firmly in place.

As opposed to other triggers, which were cocked and very, very ready.

“That’s bad, isn’t it?” he said. Still not moving. Away, at any rate.

“It sure as heck isn’t good.”

“Because…of everything you said.” He lifted one hand, cupping her neck. Her breathing went all shaky. So did his.

“Uh-huh.” She made a funny little sound in her throat when he touched his lips to her forehead.

“One of us should walk away,” he whispered into her hair, which was a lot softer than he’d expected.

“I know,” she said, and tilted her head back, and he lowered his mouth to hers, and his entire body sighed in relief, as though he’d been waiting for this moment for five years instead of five days. He knew it was wrong and foolish and pointless and he didn’t care, didn’t give a damn about anything except that brief shudder of surrender when their mouths met, the soft heat of her tongue against his, the softer, hotter press of her breasts against his chest. And, of course, the ever-popular collision of her pelvis against the aforementioned good-to-go trigger.

In fact, he was enjoying the whole kissing-pressing-colliding thing so much, it took a while before it sank in exactly where all this kissing and pressing and colliding was going on.

“For the record,” he said, “I don’t generally go around seducing women in my garage. Especially ones I’ve only known for less than a week.”

“Somehow,” she said, trickling her fingers down his arms, “I knew that.”

His pulse thudding nicely in several crucial pressure points in his body, he took her face in his hands. “So how come you’re not walking away?”

“Because…” Six inches from his face, her breasts rose as she sighed. “I guess I figure, since you have moved on, you may as well do that moving on with me.”

“O-kay…” Troy shook his head, but the ringing was still there. “But why?”

Karleen linked her hands around his neck, toying with the bristly hair at the nape, and little flickers of happiness erupted all over his skin. “Because I can handle this for what it is—a man who’s gone without for too long who needs…an outlet. Somebody to take the edge off, to ease you back into things.” She shrugged, and the little flickers flickered more earnestly. “The way I see it, I’m actually doing the women of Albuquerque a favor. So when you go out there for real, you’ll be able to see what you’re actually looking for without sex cloudin’ your brain.”

She had a point. Except that, as murky as things definitely were in the old gray matter, he wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t catch the tiniest hint of self-deprecation in her voice. “How…altruistic of you,” he said, letting his hands slide down to cup her sweet little backside.

She snorted. “Not exactly. Because it’s been a while for me, too, so I’m not gonna lie, I want this as bad as you do. But, see, I’m not lookin’ for anything serious, and you’re not lookin’ for somebody like me—and don’t deny it, you know it’s true—so this way, we both get what we need out of the deal. And anyway, we could both tiptoe around this thing for God knows how long until one or the other of us combusts…” Her gaze lowered to his neck, which she stood on tiptoe to—oh, man—lick. “Or,” she murmured, her breath cooling the moist spot, “we could get this out of the way and be done with it.”

He gripped her ribs, bringing her startled gaze up to his. “I’m overdue. Not desperate. Trust me, there’s not going to be anything quick about this.”

One eyebrow arched before, slowly, her mouth stretched into a smile that was pure challenge.

“Guess we’ll have to see about that,” she said, then took him by the hand and led him back to her house, as his garage door groaned closed behind them.

Chapter Four

If nothing else, nobody could accuse Karleen of not being able to think fast on her feet.

Because, even after Troy’d kissed her, and her blood had gone all syrupy in her veins, she’d realized she was in far more control of the situation than she’d expected to be. Or that she’d ever been before. That she could have walked away, if she’d wanted to. And that her not wanting to had nothing to do with her being powerless, or weak, or over-sexed; it had to do with realizing she had a duty to pry open this guy’s eyes before things got out of hand.

Because, she thought as clothes flew about her bedroom, once they got over the momentary sex crazies, he’d remember his mission, which was all about finding someone to share the rest of his life with. And Lord knew, that wasn’t gonna be her—

Mouths crashed, tongues tangled, bedsprings creaked as they fell backward onto the unmade bed she’d pulled together only an hour before.

—because, see, she’d taken a little peek into his house while she’d waited for the Home Depot guys. Not that she’d gone upstairs or done any serious snooping or anything, only enough to confirm what she’d pretty much figured, which was that Troy Lindquist liked things safe and predictable and traditional to the point of mind-numbing. Lots of browns and beiges and tans, relieved by the occasional splash of navy-blue. She wouldn’t last five minutes. So she figured—

“Condoms, top drawer,” she murmured when he unhooked the front clasp to her bra, but he said, “Thanks, but I’m in no hurry.”

—she, uh, figured…where was she? Oh, right. She figured one good look at her place would pretty much wipe the goony look right off his face. Although it might take a while before he noticed much of anything except what was going on between them right at the moment, men not being generally known for their ability to multitask. In fact, right now, all he was getting a good look at were her breasts. With, it pained her to notice, an expression not dissimilar to the one he’d been giving the washer control panel a little while ago.

Oh, hell. He knows.

Karleen straddled him, still in her pale pink embroidered silk high-cuts. Then she leaned over (shyness in these situations having not been an issue for a very long time), knowing the hazy sunlight filtered through the lace curtains showed the darlings off to perfection. “I got the good ones,” she said. “Trust me, they won’t leak, deflate or pop.”

Troy frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake—” She grabbed his hand, planting it on her boob. His mouth pulled into a not bad expression before he tentatively gave it a little squeeze, and she went slightly cross-eyed.

“So…I’m guessing you can feel that?”

“Of course I can feel that, I’m not a blow-up doll. Think of this like…booster seats for breasts. The same, just taller. So could we please get on with it?”

He laughed. And cupped the other breast, flicking his thumbs over her nipples, and it was like first sinking into a warm bath. With candlelight. And Elvis crooning “Love Me Tender” in the background. “What’s the rush? I’m having fun—” clearly getting into things now, he moved on to light plucking “—right here.” He grinned. “Aren’t you?”

“Mmm, yeah.” Hissed breath. “But we only have an hour.”

“Oh, honey,” he said, flipping her onto her back, “you’d be amazed what I can accomplish in an hour.”

“You bragging?”

“No. Warning.” Troy shifted to lean his head in his hand, circling one nipple with his knuckle. “I have to admit, they’re very pretty.”

Karleen started to look down again, only to remember she got a terrible double chin when she did that. “They should be, considering how much they set Nate back,” she said, and he laughed and tugged her in for another kiss. And oh, my, the man could kiss, like he wanted to get to know each nerve ending one at a time…and then he started on a lazy, meandering journey, nibbling and kissing and licking and sucking his way up…and down…first one rarely explored back road…then another…and another…

And she thought, Hmm, not what I expected, and from somewhere down by her knees, he said, “Why are you so tense?” which of course tensed her, even as she said, “I am not!” and he chuckled and moved up, stroking the insides of her thighs, cupping her bottom, lowering his mouth, and she was gone.

“Not tense now,” she said a minute later, and he said, “Where are those condoms again?” and she limply flailed one arm toward her nightstand, vaguely considering when she’d last restocked. Although she didn’t suppose it was that big a deal, since she seriously doubted disease was an issue and she’d just finished her period a week ago and besides, nothing had ever happened before….

Then Troy grinned, and she thought, What now? and he sat up, settling her in his lap, filling her to somewhere around her eyeballs, and she gasped, startled, even though by rights she should have been way past being startled. But the skin-to-skin was good, he was so good, his gentleness breaking her heart, bringing unexpected tears to her eyes.

And they stilled, him inside her, her surrounding him, each reflected in the other’s eyes, and she thought, I don’t even know this man, and he wrapped her up tight, and she felt safe, and thought, Damn.

He moved, still gently, still pushing, and she pushed back, not so gently, and they didn’t so much find their rhythm as it swallowed them alive, swallowed up everything, everyone, that had come before. She hung on like she was almost afraid of being thrown, as the sweetness built and built and built and built….

Karleen arched, cried out, collapsed…and he tangled his fingers in her hair and brought their mouths together in a hard, fierce kiss, all the nerve cells colliding in a victory rumble, and another shudder of need ghosted through her, like the gradually diminishing thunder from a finished storm. Then she carefully lifted herself off, and after he got up to take care of business, she wrapped the sheet around herself, oddly self-conscious, although she could not have said why.

Well, that was different, she thought, although she couldn’t pinpoint that, either.

And for sure there was nothing even remotely Muzak about the way the man made love, a thought that sent a shiny, tender green garden snake of regret slithering through her, that they wouldn’t be doing this again.

Sitting tangled up in her sheets, she watched Troy—not a drop of self-consciousness in his veins, obviously—stroll back to the bed, naked as the day he was born and with a look on his face like he was half contemplating jumping up on something and beating his chest. Brother.

He sat beside her, slinging one arm around her shoulders and tugging her close to rest his cheek in her hair. “Thank you,” he whispered, and Karleen heard herself ask, “What was your wife’s name?”

Being sensitive was one thing. Clairvoyance was something else entirely. So while Troy had pretty much figured out that Karleen’s tough-girl persona was so much BS, he had no clue what was behind it. So he’d watched, in the reflection from her bathroom mirror, as she’d pulled that sheet around herself, seen an almost pained confusion crumple her features, thinking, What the hell?