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His Unexpected Heir
Maureen Child
Between duty, honour…and a baby!Six months. That's how long Rita Marchetti has mourned Jack Buchanan. Yet here he is, alive, standing in front of her, perfect…and devastatingly sexy! Even more amazing is the former marine's admission that he wanted Rita to think he'd died. But the two of them are about to become three and Jack is back just in time.That baby Rita is carrying is his. Despite the pain he holds so close to his heart, Jack can't walk away from his child. A marriage in name only would solve everything. Everything except a desire too deeply buried and too long denied…


Between duty, honor...and a baby! Only from USA TODAY bestselling author Maureen Child.
Six months. That’s how long Rita Marchetti has mourned Jack Buchanan. Yet here he is, alive, standing in front of her, perfect...and devastatingly sexy! Even more amazing is the former marine’s admission that he wanted Rita to think he’d died. But the two of them are about to become three and Jack is back just in time.
That baby Rita is carrying is his. Despite the pain he holds so close to his heart, Jack can’t walk away from his child. A marriage in name only would solve everything. Everything except a desire too deeply buried and too long denied...
Congratulations Maureen Child on OVER 14 MILLION copies sold worldwide with Harlequin!
She was pregnant. Very pregnant.
He had a million questions and didn’t have time to nail down a single one before Rita threw herself into his arms.
“Jack!” She hugged him hard, then seemed to notice he wasn’t returning her hug, so she let him go and stepped back. Confusion filled her eyes even as her smile faded into a flat, thin line. “How can you be here? I thought you must be dead. I never heard from you and—”
“Not here,” he ground out, giving himself points for keeping a tight rein on the emotions rushing through him. “Let’s take a walk.”
“I’m working,” she pointed out, waving her hand at the counter and customers behind her.
“Take a break.” He needed some answers and he wasn’t going to be denied. She was here. She was pregnant. Judging by the size of her belly, he was guessing about six months pregnant. That meant they had to talk. Now.
* * *
Little Secrets: His Unexpected Heir is part of the Little Secrets series: Untamed passion, unexpected pregnancy...
His Unexpected Heir
Maureen Child


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MAUREEN CHILD writes for the Mills & Boon Desire line and can’t imagine a better job. A seven-time finalist for a prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA® Award, Maureen is an author of more than one hundred romance novels. Her books regularly appear on bestseller lists and have won several awards, including a Prism Award, a National Readers’ Choice Award, a Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence and a Golden Quill Award. She is a native Californian but has recently moved to the mountains of Utah.
To my mom, Sallye Carberry, because she loves romance novels and shared that love with me.
Contents
Cover (#u1286700b-e8ae-53dc-8129-3898cf0de62d)
Back Cover Text (#u584a90b8-5259-5068-a460-517282e401bc)
Introduction (#u3b9b5194-7dfa-503f-86c0-55bafb6a9cb3)
About the Author (#uf3f0aeff-7d3a-54c2-841f-e73c639a4df9)
Title Page (#uaf1df2a2-2cb9-5ca7-93ea-1ac4d22988d4)
Dedication (#u6ccb7765-3c0a-57af-95a5-edcafac56ffa)
One (#u4626adde-9f57-5b1f-9659-ff8fa5992a2f)
Two (#u70d7cfd5-fd98-5a27-82fe-928981e546ed)
Three (#u4099cfa6-b6db-5df4-8bd4-8eafa4b9fd5a)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#u9409c86c-b21e-52c5-98a5-86a8650e3065)
Jack Buchanan listened to his interior decorator talk about swatches and color and found his mind drifting...to anything else.
Four months ago, he’d been in a desert, making life-and-death decisions. Today, he was in an upholstery shop in Long Beach, California, deciding between leather or fabric for the bar seats on the Buchanan Company’s latest cruise ship. He didn’t know whether to be depressed or amused. So he went with impatient.
“Which fabric will hold up better?” he asked, cutting into the argument between the decorator and the upholsterer.
“The leather,” they both said at once, turning to look at him.
“Then use the fabric.” Jack pointed at a bolt of midnight blue cloth shot through with silver threads. “We’re building a fantasy bar. I’m less interested in wear and more concerned with the look of the place. If you want black leather in the mix, too, use it on the booth seats.”
While the decorator and the upholsterer instantly jumped on that idea and put their heads together to plan, Jack shifted his gaze to encompass the shop. Family-owned, Dan Black and his sons, Mark and Tom, ran the place and did great work. Jack had seen that much for himself.
The shop itself was long and wide and filled with not only barstools, but also couches, chairs and tables being refinished. A chemical scent hung in the air as two men at the back of the room worked on projects. The low-pitched roar of an industrial sewing machine was like white noise in the background and the guy seated at it moved quickly, efficiently. Their work was fast and good enough that they’d also done jobs for the navy and Jack figured if they could handle that, they could handle his cruise ship.
But why the hell was Jack even here? He was the CEO of Buchanan Shipping. Didn’t he have minions he could have sent to take care of this?
But even as he thought it, he reminded himself that being here today, in person, had all been his idea. To immerse himself in every aspect of the business. He’d been away for the last ten years, so he had a lot of catching up to do.
Jack, his brother, Sam, and their sister, Cass, had all interned at Buchanan growing up. They’d put in their time from the ground up, starting in janitorial, since their father had firmly believed that kids raised with all the money in the world grew up to be asses.
He’d made sure that his children knew what it was to really work. To be alongside employees who would expect them to do the job and who had the ability to fire them if they didn’t. Thomas Buchanan raised his kids to respect those who worked for them and to always remember that without those employees, they wouldn’t have a business. So Jack, Sam and Cass had worked their way through every level at the company. They’d had to buy their own cars, pay for their own insurance and if they wanted designer clothes, they had to save up for them.
Now, looking back, Jack could see it had been the right thing to do. At the time, he hadn’t loved it of course. But today, he could step into the CEO’s shoes with a lot less trepidation because of his father’s rules. He had the basics on running the company. But it was this stuff—the day-to-day, small but necessary decisions—that he had to get used to.
Buchanan Shipping had interests all over the world. From cruise liners to cargo ships to the fishing fleet Jack’s brother, Sam, ran out of San Diego. The company had grown well beyond his great-grandfather’s dreams when he’d started the business with one commercial fishing boat.
The Buchanans had been on the California coast since before the gold rush. While other men bought land and fought with the dirt to scratch out a fortune, the Buchanans had turned to the sea. They had a reputation for excellence that nothing had ever marred and Jack wanted to keep it that way.
Their latest cruise ship was top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art throughout and would, he told himself, more than live up to her name, The Sea Queen.
“Mr. Buchanan,” the decorator said, forcing Jack out of his thoughts and back to reality.
“Yeah. What is it?”
“There are still choices to be made on height of stools, width of booths...”
Okay, details were one thing, minutiae were another.
Jack stopped her with one hand held up for silence. “You can handle that, Ms. Price.” To take any sting out of his words, he added, “I trust your judgment,” and watched pleasure flash in her eyes.
“Of course, of course,” she said. “I’ll fax you a complete record of all decisions made this afternoon.”
“That’s fine. Thanks.” He shook hands with Daniel Black, waved a hand at the men in the back of the shop and left. Stepping outside, he was immediately slapped by a strong, cold breeze that carried the scent of the sea. The sky was a clear, bold blue and this small corner of the city hummed with an energy that pulsed inside Jack.
He wasn’t ready to go back to the company. To sit in that palatial office, fielding phone calls and going over reports. Being outside, even being here, dealing with fabrics of all things, was better than being stuck behind his desk. With that thought firmly in mind, he walked to his car, got in and fired it up. Steering away from work, responsibility and the restless, itchy feeling scratching at his soul, Jack drove toward peace.
Okay, maybe peace was the wrong word, he told himself twenty minutes later. The crowd on Main Street in Seal Beach was thick, the noise deafening and the mingled scents from restaurants, pubs and bakeries swamped him.
Jack Buchanan fought his way through the summer crowds blocking the sidewalk. He’d been home from his last tour of duty for four months and he still wasn’t used to being surrounded by so many people. Made him feel on edge, as if every nerve in his body was strung tight enough to snap.
Frowning at the thought, he sidestepped a couple of women who had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to argue about a pair of shoes, for God’s sake. Shaking his head, he walked a little faster, dodging gawking tourists, teenagers with surfboards and kids racing in and out of the crowd, peals of laughter hanging in their wake.
Summer in Southern California was always going to be packed with the tourists who flocked in from all over the world. And ordinarily Jack avoided the worst of the crowds by keeping close to his office building and the penthouse apartment he lived in. But at least once a month, Jack forced himself to go out into the throngs of people—just to prove to himself that he could.
Being surrounded by people brought out every defensive instinct he possessed. He felt on guard, watching the passing people through suspicious, wary eyes and hated himself for it. But four months home from a battlefield wasn’t long enough to ease the instincts that had kept him alive in the desert. And still, he worked at forcing himself to relax those instincts because he refused to be defined by what he’d gone through. What he’d seen.
A small boy bulleted around a corner and slammed right into Jack. Every muscle in Jack’s body tensed until he deliberately relaxed, caught the kid by the shoulders to keep him from falling and said, “You should watch where you’re running.”
“Sorry, mister.” The kid jerked his head back, swinging his long blond hair out of his eyes.
“It’s okay,” Jack said, releasing both the boy and the sharp jolt of adrenaline still pumping inside him. “Just watch it.”
“Right. Gotta go.” The boy took off, headed for the beach and the pier at the end of the street.
Jack remembered, vaguely, what it had been like to be ten years old with a world of summer stretched out ahead of you. With the sun beating down on him and a sea breeze dancing past, Jack could almost recapture the sensation of complete freedom that everyone lost as they grew up. Frowning at his own thoughts, he concentrated again on the crowd and realized it had been a couple of months since he’d been in Seal Beach.
A small beach community, it lay alongside Long Beach where he lived and worked, but Jack didn’t make a habit of coming here. Memories were thick and he tended to avoid them, because remembering wouldn’t get him a damn thing. But against his will, images filled his mind.
Last December, he’d been on R and R. He’d had two weeks to return to his life, see his family and decompress. He’d spent the first few days visiting his father, brother and sister, then he’d drawn back, pulling into himself. He’d come to the beach then, walking the sand at night, letting the sea whisper to him. Until the night he’d met her.
A beautiful woman, alone on the beach, the moonlight caressing her skin, shining in her hair until he’d almost convinced himself she wasn’t real. Until she turned her head and gave him a cautious smile.
She should have been cautious. A woman alone on a dark beach. Rita Marchetti had been smart enough to be careful and strong enough to be friendly. They’d talked, he remembered, there in the moonlight and then met again the following day and the day after that. The remainder of his leave, he’d spent with her, and every damn moment of that time was etched into his brain in living, vibrant color. He could hear the sound of her voice. The music of her laughter. He saw the shine in her eyes and felt the silk of her touch.
“And you’ve been working for months to forget it,” he reminded himself in a mutter. “No point in dredging it up now.”
What they’d found together all those months ago was over now. There was no going back. He’d made a promise to himself. One he intended to keep. Never again would he put himself in the position of loss and pain and he wouldn’t ever be close enough to someone else that his loss would bring pain.
It was a hard lesson to learn, but he had learned it in the hot, dry sands of a distant country. And that lesson haunted him to this day. Enough that just walking through this crowd made him edgy. There was an itch at the back of his neck and it took everything he had not to give in to the urge to get out. Get away.
But Jack Buchanan didn’t surrender to the dregs of fear, so he kept walking, made himself notice the everyday world pulsing around him. Along the street, a pair of musicians were playing for the crowd and the dollar bills tossed into an open guitar case. Shop owners had tables set up outside their storefronts to entice customers and farther down the street, a line snaked from a bakery’s doors all along the sidewalk.
He hadn’t been downtown in months, so he’d never seen the bakery before. Apparently, though, it had quite the loyal customer base. Dozens of people—from teenagers to career men and women waited patiently to get through the open bakery door. As he got closer, amazing scents wafted through the air and he understood the crowds gathering. Idly, Jack glanced through the wide, shining front window at the throng within, then stopped dead as an all too familiar laugh drifted to him.
Everything inside Jack went cold and still. He hadn’t heard that laughter in months, but he’d have known it anywhere. Throaty, rich, it made him think of long, hot nights, silk sheets and big brown eyes staring up into his in the darkness.
He’d tried to forget her. Had, he’d thought, buried the memories; yet now, they came roaring back, swamping him until Jack had to fight for breath.
Even as he told himself it couldn’t be her, Jack was bypassing the line and stalking into the bakery. He followed the sound of that laugh as if it were a trail of breadcrumbs. He had to know. Had to see.
“Hey, dude,” a surfer with long dark hair told him, “end of the line’s back a ways.”
“I’m not buying anything,” he growled out and sent the younger man a look icy enough to freeze blood. Must have worked because the guy went quiet and gave a half shrug.
But Jack had already moved on. He was moving through the scattering of tables and chairs, sliding through the throng of people clustered in front of a wide, tall glass display case. Conversations rose and fell all around him. The cheerful jingle of the old-fashioned cash register sounded out every purchase as if celebrating. But Jack wasn’t paying attention. His sharp gaze swept across the people in the shop, looking for the woman he’d never thought to see again.
Then that laugh came again and he spun around like a wolf finding the scent of its mate. Gaze narrowed, heartbeat thundering in his ears, he spotted her—and everything else in the room dropped away.
Rita Marchetti. He took a breath and simply stared at her for what felt like forever. Her smile was wide and bright, her gaze focused on customers who laughed with her. What the hell was she doing in a bakery in Seal Beach, California, when she lived in Ogden, Utah? And why did she have to look so damn good?
He watched her, smiling and laughing with a customer as she boxed what looked like a couple dozen cookies, then deftly tied a white ribbon around the tall red box. Her hands were small and efficient. Her eyes were big and brown and shone with warmth. Her shoulder-length curly brown hair was pulled into a ponytail at the base of her neck and swung like a pendulum with her every movement.
Her skin was golden—all over, as he had reason to know—her mouth was wide and full, and though she was short, her figure was lush. His memories were clear enough that every drop of blood in his body dropped to his groin, leaving him light-headed...briefly. In an instant, though, all of that changed and a surge of differing emotions raced through him. Pleasure at seeing her again, anger at being faced with a past he’d already let go of and desire that was so hot, so thick, it grabbed him by the throat and choked off his air.
The heat of his gaze must have alerted her. She looked up and across the crowd, locking her gaze with his. Her eyes went wide, her amazing mouth dropped open and she lifted one hand to the base of her throat as if she, too, was having trouble breathing. Gaze still locked with his, she walked away from the counter, came around the display case and though Jack braced himself for facing her again—nothing could have prepared him for what he saw next.
She was pregnant.
Very pregnant.
Her belly was big, rounded and covered by a skintight, bright yellow T-shirt. The hem of her white capris ended just below her knees and she wore slip-on sneakers in a yellow bright enough to match her shirt.
He saw and noted all of that in a split second before he focused again on her rounded belly. Jack’s heartbeat galloped in his chest as he lifted his eyes to meet hers. He had a million questions and didn’t have time to nail down a single one before, in spite of the crowd watching them, Rita threw herself into his arms.
“Jack!” She hugged him hard, then seemed to notice he wasn’t returning her hug, so she let him go and stepped back. Confusion filled her eyes even as her smile faded into a flat, thin line. “How can you be here? I thought you must be dead. I never heard from you and—”
He flinched and gave a quick glance around. Their little reunion was garnering way too much attention. No way was he going to have this chat with an audience listening to every word. And, he told himself, gaze dropping to that belly again, they had a lot to talk about.
“Not here,” he ground out, giving himself points for keeping a tight rein on the emotions rushing through him. “Let’s take a walk.”
“I’m working,” she pointed out, waving her hand at the counter and customers behind her.
“Take a break.” Jack felt everyone watching them and an itch at the back of his neck urged him to get moving. But he was going nowhere without Rita. He needed some answers and he wasn’t going to be denied. She was here. She was pregnant. Judging by the size of her belly, he was guessing about six months pregnant. That meant they had to talk. Now.
She frowned a little and even the downturn of her mouth was sexy. Which told Jack he was walking into some serious trouble. But there was no way to avoid any of it.
While he stared at her, he could practically see the wheels turning in her brain. She didn’t like him telling her what to do, but she was so surprised to see him that she clearly wanted answers as badly as he did. She was smart, opinionated and had a temper, he recalled, that could blister paint. Just a few of the reasons that he’d once been crazy about her.
Coming to a decision, Rita called out, “Casey,” and a cute redhead behind the counter looked up. “I’m taking a break. Back in fifteen.”
“Right, boss,” the woman said and went right back to ringing up the latest customer.
“Might take more than fifteen,” he warned her even as she started past him toward the door.
“No, it won’t,” she said over her shoulder.
Whatever her original response to seeing him had been, she was cool and calm now, having no doubt figured out that he deliberately hadn’t contacted her when he got home. They’d talk about that, too. But not here.
People were watching. The redhead looked curious, but Jack didn’t give a damn. He caught up with Rita in two steps, took hold of her upper arm and steered her past the crowd and out the door. Once they were clear of the shop, though, Rita pulled free of his grip. “I can walk on my own, Jack.”
Without another word, she proved it, heading down the block toward the Seal Beach pier. The tree-lined street offered patches of shade and she moved from sunlight to shadow, her strides short, but sure.
He watched her for a couple of minutes, just to enjoy the view. She’d always had a world-class butt and damned if it wasn’t good to see it again. He’d forgotten how little she was. Not delicate, he told himself. Not by a long shot. The woman was fierce, which he liked and her temper was truly something to behold. But right now, it was his own temper he had to deal with. Why was she here? Why was she pregnant? And why the hell hadn’t he known about it?
His long legs covered the distance between them quickly, then he matched his stride to hers until they were stopped at a red light at Ocean Avenue. Across the street lay the beach, the ocean and the pier. Even from a distance, Jack could see surfers riding waves, fishermen dotting the pier and cyclists racing along the sidewalk.
While they waited for the light to change, he looked down at her, and inevitably, his gaze was drawn to the mound of her belly. His own insides jumped then fisted. Shoving one hand through his hair, he told himself he should have written to her as he’d said he would. Should have contacted her when he came home for good. But he’d been in a place where he hadn’t wanted to see anyone. Talk to anyone. Hell, even his family hadn’t been able to reach him.
“How long have you been home?” she asked, her voice nearly lost beneath the hum of traffic.
“Four months.”
She looked up at him and he read anger and sorrow, mingled into a dark mess that dimmed the golden light in those dark brown eyes. “Good to know.”
Before he could speak again the light changed and she stepped off the curb. Once again he took her arm and when she would have shaken him off, he firmly held on.
Once they crossed the street, she pulled away and he let her go, following after her as she stalked toward a small green park at the edge of a parking lot. Just beyond was a kids’ playground, and beside that, the pier that snaked out into the sea.
The wind whipped her ponytail and tugged at the edges of his suit jacket. She turned to look up at him and when she spoke, he heard both pain and temper in her voice.
“I thought you were dead.”
“Rita—”
“No.” She shook her head and held up one hand to keep him silent. “You let me think it,” she accused. “You told me you’d write to me. You didn’t. You’ve been home four months and never looked for me.”
Jack blew out a breath. “No, I didn’t.”
She rocked back on her heels as if he’d struck her. “Wow. You’re not even sorry, are you?”
His gaze fixed on hers. “No, I’m not. There are reasons for what I did.”
She folded her arms across her chest, unconsciously drawing his attention to her belly again. “Can’t wait to hear them.”
Two (#u9409c86c-b21e-52c5-98a5-86a8650e3065)
Rita was shaking.
Her hands clenched, she tried to ease her galloping heartbeat and steady her breathing. But just standing beside Jack Buchanan made that almost impossible. She slid a glance at him from beneath lowered lashes and her breath caught. Even in profile, he was almost too gorgeous. That black hair, longer now than it had been when they met, those ice-blue eyes, strong jaw, firm mouth, all came together until a knot of emotion settled in her throat, nearly choking her.
For one magical week six months ago, she had been in love and she’d thought he felt the same. Then he was gone, and she was alone, waiting for a letter that never came. So the last several months, Rita had been convinced he was dead. Killed in service on his last tour of duty. When they met, she knew he was a Marine on R and R. Knew that he would be returning to danger. But somehow, she’d convinced herself that he would be safe. That he would come back. To her.
He’d promised to write and when she didn’t hear from him, Rita had mourned him. She’d had to face the stark, shattering truth that he was never coming home again. That he’d made the ultimate sacrifice and everything they’d found together so briefly was over.
And now, he was here.
“How did you find me?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t. I was just walking down the street. Heard your laugh and it stopped me cold.”
Oh, God. Just an accident. A whim of Fate. He hadn’t been looking for her. Had probably forgotten all about her the moment he left her six months ago. And what had she done? Mourned. Grieved. The memory of that pain fueled her next words.
“I thought you were dead,” she finally said, and hoped he couldn’t hear the pain in her voice.
He took a breath, blew it out and said, “I wanted you to.”
Another blow and this one had her reeling. He’d wanted her to mourn him? To go through the pain of a loss so deeply felt that it had been weeks before she’d even been able to function? The only thing that had kept her going, that had gotten her out of bed in the mornings, was her baby. Knowing that Jack had left her with this gift, this child, had given her strength. She’d gone on, telling herself that Jack would want her to.
Now she finds out he wanted her to believe he was dead?
“Who are you?” she asked, shaking her head and blinking furiously to keep tears she wouldn’t show him at bay.
“The same guy you used to know,” he ground out.
“No.” She stiffened her spine, lifted her chin and glared at him. “The Jack I knew would never have put me through the last six months.”
For an instant, she thought she saw shame flash across his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, so Rita put it down to wishful thinking.
“This isn’t about me,” he said quietly and she heard the tight control in his voice. “You’re pregnant.”
“Very observant.” God. She wrapped her arms around her belly protectively.
“How far along?”
Shocked, Rita bit back the words that first flew to her mouth. Temper spiked, and she had to wrestle it into submission. She knew what he was asking—who’s the father? And she didn’t know if she was more hurt than angry or if it was a tie between the two.
“Six months,” she said pointedly. “So your cleverly veiled question is answered. You’re the father.”
Not that she was happy about that at the moment. She loved her baby, had loved its father. But this stranger looking down at her through icy cold eyes was someone she didn’t even recognize.
“And you didn’t tell me about it.”
Before she could stop it, a short, sharp laugh shot from her throat. Shaking her head in complete wonder at his ridiculous statement, she countered, “How was I supposed to do that, Jack? I had no way of contacting you. You were going to write to me with your address.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed, but she didn’t care.
“I don’t think sending a letter addressed to Jack Buchanan, United States Marine Corps, somewhere in a desert would have found you.”
“Fine. I get it.” He pushed the edges of his jacket back and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The wind lifted his dark red power tie, turning it into a waving flag. His hair was ruffled, his eyes were cold and his jaw tight. “Like I said, there were reasons.”
“Still haven’t heard them.”
“Yeah. Not important right now. What is important,” he said, his gaze shifting to the mound of her belly and back up to her eyes again, “is my baby.”
“You mean my baby,” she corrected and instantly wished she hadn’t come to work that day. If she’d taken the day off, she wouldn’t have been in the bakery when he walked by and none of this would be happening.
“Rita, if you think I’m walking away from this, you’re wrong.”
“Why wouldn’t I think that?” she argued, moving away from him, instinctively keeping a safe distance between him and her child. “You walked away before. Never looked back.”
“That’s not true,” he muttered, letting his gaze slide from hers to focus on the ocean instead. “I thought about you.”
Her heart twisted, but Rita wouldn’t allow herself to be swayed. He’d walked away. Shut her out. Let her mourn him, for heaven’s sake. I thought about you just didn’t make up for the misery she’d lived through.
“And I should believe you?”
He slanted her a glance. “Believe or not, it changes nothing.”
“That much is true anyway,” Rita agreed. “Look, I have to get back to work.”
“Your boss won’t fire you if you take more than fifteen minutes.”
She laughed a little, but there was no warmth in it. “I am the boss. It’s my bakery and I have to get back to it.”
“Yours?”
“Yeah,” she said, turning away to head back up Main Street.
“Why did you come here?” he asked and had her pausing to look over her shoulder at him. “I mean, here, Seal Beach. You lived in Utah when we met.”
Rita stared at him and whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, there was a jolt of need inside her she couldn’t quite ignore. With the sun pouring down on him, he looked both dangerous and appealing. He was tall and broad-shouldered and even in an elegant suit, he looked...intimidating. Was it any wonder why she’d fallen so hard for him?
That was then, she reminded herself; this was now.
“I moved here because I wanted to feel closer to you,” she admitted, then added, “of course, that’s when I thought you were dead. Now, the only thing that’s dead is what I felt for you.”
When she walked away, Rita felt his gaze fix on her. And she knew this wouldn’t be the last time she’d see him.
And that was both worrying and comforting.
* * *
That afternoon, Jack went back to the bakery, took a table that allowed him to keep his back to a wall and ordered coffee. A seemingly never-ending stream of customers came and went, laughed, chatted and walked out with red bakery boxes. This was her place, Jack thought with admiration. The shop was small but it had an old-world elegance to it.
Gleaming wood floors, dark blue granite counters, brass-and-chrome cash register, glistening glass display cases boasting pastries and cookies. There were brass sconces on the walls and pots of flowers and trailing greenery in strategic spots. It looked, he thought, just as she wanted it to. Like an exclusive Italian shop.
His gaze tracked her employees as they hustled to serve their customers, then shifted to land on Rita herself. She was still ignoring him, but he didn’t mind. Gave him time to think.
Jack’s mind was still buzzing. Not only at news of the baby but at seeing Rita again. He’d worked for months to wipe her out of his memories and now everything came rushing back in a tidal wave of images.
He saw her standing at the water’s edge, moonlight spearing down on her from a cold, black sky. December at the beach was cold and she was wearing a jacket, but she was holding her shoes in one hand and letting the icy water lick at her toes.
Her hair was a tangle of dark brown curls that lifted and swirled around her head in the ever-present wind. She heard him approaching and instantly turned her head to look at him. He should have walked on, cut away from her and headed for the pier, but something about her made him stop. He kept a safe distance between them because he didn’t want to worry her, but as he looked into her big brown eyes, he felt drawn to her like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
“Don’t be scared,” he said. “I’m harmless.”
She smiled faintly and tipped her head to one side. “Oh, I doubt that. But I’m not scared.”
“Why not?” he asked, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Empty beach, in the dark, strange guy...”
“You don’t seem so strange. Plus, I’m pretty tough,” she said. “And I run really fast.”
He laughed, admiring the way she stood there, so calm and self-assured. “Noted.”
“So,” she said, “I’m a tourist. What’s your excuse for being at the beach when it’s this cold?”
Jack turned to look out over the spread of black water dotted with white froth as it tumbled toward shore. “I’ve been away for a while, so I want to appreciate this view.”
“You’re in the military?” she asked.
He glanced at her and smiled. “That obvious?”
“It’s the haircut,” she admitted, smiling.
“Yeah,” he scrubbed one hand across the top of his head. “Hard to disguise I guess. Marines.”
She smiled and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“Well, thank you for your service,” she said, then added, “do you get tired of people saying that?”
“Nope,” he assured her. “That never gets old. So, a tourist. From where?”
“Utah,” she said, smiling. “Ogden, specifically.”
“It’s pretty,” he said. “Though it’s been a few years since I’ve been there.”
Her smile brightened, nearly blinding him with the power of it. “Thanks, it is gorgeous, and I love the mountains. Especially in fall. But—” she half turned, letting her gaze slide across the ocean “—this is hard to resist.”
“Yeah, I’ve missed it.”
“I bet,” she said, tipping her head to one side to look at him. “How long have you been gone?”
He shrugged, not really wanting to bring the desert heat and the memory of gunfire into this moment. “Too long.”
As if she understood what he wasn’t saying, she only nodded and they fell into silence until the only sound was the pulse and beat of the sea as it surged toward shore only to rush back out again.
At last, though, she reached up to push her hair back out of her face, smiled again and said, “I should be getting back to the hotel. It was nice meeting you.”
“But we didn’t,” he interrupted quickly, suddenly desperate to keep her from leaving. “Meet, I mean. I’m Jack.”
“Rita.”
“I like it.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you really have to get back, or could I buy you a cup of coffee?”
She studied him for a long minute or two, then nodded. “I’d like that, Jack.”
“I’m glad, but you sure are trusting.”
“Actually,” she said quietly, “I’m really not. But for some reason...”
“Yeah,” he answered. “There’s something...”
He walked toward her and held out one hand. She took it and the instant he touched her, he felt a hot buzz of something bright, staggering. He looked down at their joined hands, then closed his fingers around hers. “Come with me, Rita. I know just the place.”
“Excuse me.”
The tone of those words told Jack that it wasn’t the first time the woman standing beside his table had said them. It was the redhead. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Rita says to tell you this is on the house,” she said, setting a plate with two cannoli on it in front of him.
He frowned a little.
“Yeah, she told me you wouldn’t look happy about it,” the woman said. “I’m Casey. Can I get you more coffee?”
“Sure, thanks.” She picked up his cup and walked to the counter, but Jack stopped paying attention almost immediately. Instead, his gaze sought out Rita.
As if she was expecting it, she turned to meet his stare and even from across that crowded room, it felt to Jack as it had that first night. As if they were alone on a deserted beach.
Well, damn it.
Casey was back an instant later with a fresh cup of coffee. Never taking his eyes off Rita, Jack leaned against the wall behind him and slowly sipped at his coffee. They had a lot to talk about. Too bad it wasn’t talking on his mind.
* * *
A couple of hours later, the customers were gone and Rita was closing up. He’d already seen the sign that advertised their hours—open at seven, closed at six. Now as twilight settled on the beach, he watched Rita turn the deadbolt and flip the closed sign. Jack had had enough coffee to float one of his cargo ships and he’d had far too long to sit by himself and watch as she moved through the life she’d built since he’d last seen her.
“Why did you stay here all day, Jack?” She walked toward him. “This is borderline stalking.”
“Not stalking. Sitting. Eating cannoli.”
Her lips twitched and he found himself hoping she might show him that wide smile that he’d seen the first night they met. But it didn’t come, so he let it go.
“Should you be on your feet this much?” he blurted.
Both of her eyebrows lifted as she set both fists on her hips. “Really?”
“It’s a reasonable question,” he insisted. “You’re pregnant.”
Now her big brown eyes went wide with feigned surprise. “I am?”
Jack sighed at the ridiculousness of the conversation. “Funny. Look, I just found out about this, so you could cut me some slack.”
She took the chair opposite him, sitting down with a sigh of relief. “Why should I? It’s not my fault you didn’t know about the baby. You could have been a part of this from the beginning, Jack, if you had written to me.” She reached over and plucked a dry leaf off the closest potted plant. Then she looked at him again. “But you didn’t. Instead, you disappeared and let me think you were dead.”
Yeah, he could see this from her side, and he didn’t much care for the view. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d done what he thought was necessary at the time. He’d had to put her out of his mind to survive when he went back to his duty station. Thoughts of her hadn’t had any place in that hot, sandy miserable piece of ground and keeping her in his mind only threatened the concentration he needed to keep himself and his men alive.
Sure, at first, he’d thought that having her to think about would get him through, remind him that there was another world outside the desperate one he was caught up in. But two weeks after returning to deployment, something had happened to convince him that images of home were only a distraction. That keeping her face in his mind was dangerous.
So, he’d pushed the memories into a dark, deep corner of his brain and closed a door on them. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d been convinced that it was the right thing to do.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
“Why?” she asked, folding her hands on top of the small round glass-topped table. “You could at least tell me that much. Why did you never write, Jack?”
His gaze locked on hers. “It really doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s done. We have to deal with now.”
Shaking her head, Rita sat back in the chair, and tapped the fingers of her right hand against the tabletop. “There is no we, Jack. Not anymore.”
Beside him, a wide window overlooked Main Street. Late afternoon sunlight shone on the sidewalks, illuminating the people strolling through the early evening cool. It looked so normal. So peaceful. Yet seeing even that small crowd of pedestrians had Jack’s insides going on alert. He didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t really relax around a lot of people anymore, but he had to accept that fact. So he turned away from strangers to look at a woman he’d once known so well.
“As long as there’s a baby, there’s a we,” he told her. “If you think I’m going to walk away from my own kid, you’re wrong.”
Instinctively, she dropped her hands to the curve of her belly and he realized she made that move a lot. Was it something all women did, or was Rita feeling threatened by seeing him again?
“Jack—”
“We can talk about it, work it out together,” he said, interrupting her to make sure she understood where he was on this. “But bottom line, I’m here now. You’re going to have to deal with it.”
“You don’t get to give me orders, Jack.” She gave him a sad smile. “I live my own life. I run my own business. I raise my own child.”
“And mine.”
“Since your half and mine are intertwined,” she quipped, “yes.”
“Not acceptable.” And this conversation was veering into the repetitive. It was getting him nowhere fast and he could see the flash of stubborn determination in her eyes that told him she wasn’t going to budge. Well, hell. He could out-stubborn anyone.
“I really think you should go, Jack.” She stood up, rubbing her belly idly with one hand.
He followed that motion and felt his heart trip-hammer in his chest. His child. Inside the woman that had been his so briefly. Damned if he’d leave. Walk away. It probably would have been better for all of them, but he wouldn’t be doing it.
“I’ll take you home,” he said, standing to look down at her.
She chuckled. “I am home. I live in the apartment upstairs.”
“You’re kidding.” He frowned, glanced at the ceiling as if he could see through the barrier into what had to be a very small apartment. “You live over a bakery.”
She stiffened at the implied insult. “It’s convenient. I get up at four every morning to start the baking, so all I have to do is walk downstairs.”
“You’re not raising my kid above a bakery.”
When her eyes flashed and one dark eyebrow winged up, he knew he’d stepped wrong. But it didn’t matter how he’d said it if the end was the same. His kid was not going to live above a bakery. Period.
“And, the circle is complete,” she said, walking to the front door. She unlocked it, opened it wide and waved one hand as if scooping him out the door. “I want you to leave, Jack.”
“All right.” He conceded on this point. For now. He started past her, then stopped when their bodies were just a breath apart. When he caught her scent and could almost feel the heat shimmering off her body. Everything in him twisted tight and squeezed. Giving in to the urge driving him, he reached out, took her chin in his hand and tipped her face up until her eyes were locked with his. “This isn’t over, Rita. It’s just getting started.”
* * *
Sitting on her couch in her—all right, yes, tiny apartment—Rita curled her feet underneath her as her fingers tightened on her cellphone. “What am I supposed to do, Gina?”
Instead of answering, her sister called out, “Ally, do not pour milk on the dog again.”
“But why?” A young, loud voice shouted in response.
In spite of everything going on in her life at the moment, Rita grinned. Ally was two years old with a hard head, a stubborn streak a mile wide and a sweet smile that usually got her out of trouble.
“Because he doesn’t like it!” Gina huffed out a breath, came back on the line, and whispered, “Actually he does like it, idiot dog. Then he spends all night licking the milk off himself, my floor is sticky and he smells like sour milk.”
It was times like these that Rita really missed her family. Her parents. Her sister. Her two older brothers. All of her nieces and nephews. They were all in Ogden, working at the family bakery, Marchetti’s. Rita’s family was loud, boisterous, argumentative and sometimes she missed them so much she actually ached to be with them.
Like now, for instance.
“Michael and Braden Franco!” Gina shouted. “If you ride your skateboards down the steps and one of you breaks another bone, I will burn those boards in the fire pit—”
The five-year-old twins were adventurous and barely containable. It’s what Rita loved best about them.
Gina broke off with a satisfied sigh. “Another crisis averted. Sorry sweetie, what were you saying again?”
Back to the matter at hand. “Jack. He’s alive. He’s here.” Rita bit down hard on her bottom lip and blinked wildly to keep the tears filling her eyes from falling. Though there was no one there to see her cry, she didn’t want to give Jack the satisfaction.
Hadn’t she already cried rivers for Jack? After two months had passed without a word from him, Rita had known that he was gone, no doubt killed in action somewhere far away. What other reason, she’d told herself, could there have been for him not to write her?
They’d had such an amazing connection. Something strong and powerful had grown between them in one short week. She’d loved him fiercely even after so short a time. But then her mother had always told her that time had nothing to do with love. If you knew someone five days or five years, the feelings didn’t change.
It had taken Rita much less than five days to know that Jack was the one man she wanted. Then he was gone and the pain of loss had crippled her. Until she’d discovered she was pregnant.
“He’s there?” Gina whispered as if somehow Jack could overhear her. “At your apartment?”
“No,” she said, though she tossed a quick look toward the door at the back of the building that opened onto a staircase leading to a small parking lot. She half expected Jack to show up on her landing and knock. Shaking her head, she said, “No, he’s not here, here. He’s here in Seal Beach. He came into the bakery today.”
“Oh. My. God.” A moment or two passed before Gina continued. “What did you do? What did he say? Where the hell has he been? Why didn’t he write to you? Bastard.”
A short laugh shot from Rita’s throat. She heard the outrage in her sister’s voice and was grateful for it. How did anyone survive without a sister?
“I nearly shrieked when I saw him,” Rita confessed. “Then I hugged him, damn it.”
“Of course you hugged him,” Gina soothed. “Then did you kick him?”
She laughed again. “No, but I wish I’d thought of it at the time.”
“Well, if you need me, Jimmy can watch the kids for a few days. I’ll fly out there and kick him for you.”
Rita sighed and smiled all at once. “I can always count on you, Gina.”
“Of course you can. So where’s he been?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t he write?”
Rita frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Well, what did he say?”
Rita picked up her cup of herbal tea and took a sip. “He only wanted to talk about the baby.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Exactly.” Sighing more heavily now, Rita set the cup down on the coffee table again. “He was...surprised to find out I was pregnant and he didn’t look happy about it.”
“We don’t need him to be happy. But why wouldn’t he be? Who doesn’t like babies? Hold on. I’ll be right back.”
While she waited, Rita’s head dropped back against the couch. Her apartment wasn’t tiny, it was cozy, she thought in defense as her gaze swept over the space. A small living room, an efficiency kitchen, one bedroom and a bathroom that, she had to admit, was so small she regularly smacked her elbows against the shower door. But the apartment walls were a soft, cheerful green and were dotted by framed photos of the beach, the mountains and her family.
“There,” Gina said when she was back. “I took the baby to Jimmy. I have to pace when I’m mad.”
Rita laughed. “Gina, I’m okay, really. I just needed to talk to you.”
“Of course you did, but we’re Italian and I need my hands to talk as much as I need to move around. Besides, I just finished feeding Kira. Jimmy can take her for a while.”
Her sister had four gorgeous kids, the youngest only eight months old and a husband who adored her. A small pang of envy echoed in Rita’s heart. Then to ease the hurt, she rubbed the mound of her baby with slow, loving strokes, and reminded herself that she had a child, too. That she wasn’t alone. That it didn’t matter that Jack had walked away from her only to suddenly crash back into her life.
“So,” Gina said a moment later, “what’re you going to do about this? How are you feeling?”
“I’m not sure, to both questions.” Pushing up off the couch, Rita walked to the window overlooking Main Street and smiled, thinking Gina was right. Italians thought better when they could move around. Looking down on the street, she enjoyed the view that was so similar to the one she grew up with. Historic 25th Street in Ogden also had the old-fashioned, old-world feel to the buildings, the lampposts and the bright, jewel-toned flowers spilling out of baskets.
But as pretty as it was, it wasn’t home. Not really. She was alone in the dark but for a slender thread of connection to her big sister.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, “because I don’t know what he’s planning.”
“Whatever it is, you can handle it.” And, as if Gina had read her mind, she added, “You’re not alone, Rita.”
Her mouth curved slightly. “Not how it feels.”
“You still love him, don’t you?”
Rita laid her hand on the glass, letting the cold seep into her skin, chilling the rush of heat Gina’s question had awakened.
“Why would I be foolish enough for that?” she whispered.
Three (#u9409c86c-b21e-52c5-98a5-86a8650e3065)
“What’s going on with you?”
Jack looked up. His father walked into the office that, up until four months ago, had been his. Thomas Buchanan was a tall man, with salt-and-pepper hair, sharp blue eyes and a still-trim physique. Though he’d abdicated the day-to-day running of the company to his oldest son, Thomas maintained his seat on the board and liked to keep abreast of whatever was happening. That included keeping tabs on his son.
“Nothing,” Jack answered, lowering his gaze to the sheaf of papers on the desktop. “Why?”
“Well,” Thomas said, strolling around the room, “you nearly bit Sean’s head off when he couldn’t get the shipping schedule up on the plasma fast enough.”
“It’s his job,” Jack said, being perfectly reasonable. “He should be able to accomplish it when asked.”
“Uh-huh.”
Jack knew that tone. He glanced at his father, saw the wary curiosity-filled expression and looked away again. He wasn’t in the mood for a chat and couldn’t satisfy his father’s curiosity. He knew that ever since he’d returned to civilian life, his family had been worried about him and no one more than his father. There didn’t seem to be anything Jack could do about it, though. He didn’t need therapy or sympathy and didn’t want to talk about what he’d seen—what he wanted to do was forget about it and pick up his life where he’d left off. So far of course, that wasn’t happening.
Rather than try to explain all of that to his dad, Jack chose to ignore the man’s questions, even though he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere. The worry would remain, along with the questions, whether spoken or not. After a few seconds of silence from him, though, Thomas seemed to understand that it was a subject Jack wasn’t going to address.
“Still don’t understand why you changed the office furniture around,” his father said, surprising Jack with the sudden shift of topic. “My father’s the one who put that desk in front of the windows. I don’t think it’s been moved since then. Until now.”
Jack squirmed slightly in his oversize black leather chair. He’d made a few changes since he’d stepped into his father’s shoes. The main one being that he had moved the old mahogany desk across the room so that he could have his back to a wall and not be outlined in a window.
Yes, he knew it was foolish without anyone pointing it out to him. He didn’t have to worry about snipers here, but it was hard to shake ingrained habits that had kept him alive.
“I like it where it is,” Jack said simply.
“Yeah.” His father gave a resigned sigh, then admitted, “I wish you could talk to me.”
His father’s voice was so quiet, so wistful, Jack’s attention was caught. He looked up and found his dad watching him through concerned eyes.
He didn’t enjoy knowing that his family was worried about him. In fact, it only added to the guilt and the pain that were crouched on his shoulders every day. But he couldn’t ease for them what he couldn’t ease for himself.
“We do talk,” Jack said.
“Not about anything important,” his father answered. “Not since you got back. It’s like you’re still too far away to reach.”
“I’m right here, Dad,” he said, trying to help, knowing he was failing.
“Part of you is,” his father agreed, “but not all of you. I wonder every day when my son will finally come home.”
So did Jack. It was as if a piece of him had been left behind in the heat of a desert and he didn’t know when or if he’d find that part of himself again. Jack sat back and let a long breath slide slowly from his lungs. “I’m doing my best here, Dad.”
“I know that.” Thomas stuffed his hands into his pants pockets and rocked uneasily on his heels. “I just wish there was something I could do to help. That you would let me do. I thought that stepping down, having you take over here, would make a difference. Drop you back into the world and, all right, force you to find your life again. But you continue to shut yourself off. From me, from your sister and brother. Hell, you haven’t even been on a date since you got back, son.”
“I don’t want to date.” Lie. Everything in him wanted Rita, but he wouldn’t give in to it. He was in no shape to be in her life and he knew it.
“Right there should tell you that there’s something wrong.”
“I’m fine,” Jack said, hoping to head his dad off at the pass. He’d heard this before. Knew that his father had the best of intentions. But Jack couldn’t give the older man what he wanted most.
Thomas shook his head, then nodded. “You’re not, but you will be. I wish you could believe me on that.” He walked toward his son, laid both hands on the desk and leaned in. “I know you don’t. Not yet. But someday you will, Jack. Just give yourself a chance, all right?”
“I am.” He looked into his father’s eyes and lied again. “Everything’s good. I swear.”
Nodding, the older man pushed up from the desk. “Okay. We’ll leave it there for now.”
Thank God, Jack thought in relief.
“On another subject entirely,” his father said, “I’m headed down to San Diego tomorrow. Sam and I are taking the boat out fishing for the weekend. Want to join us?”
The Buchanan Boys, as his mother used to call the three of them, had gone on hundreds of fishing weekends together. And in the old days, there had been nothing Jack liked more than getting away with his younger brother and his father. But now, the thought of being caged on a boat in the middle of the ocean with a too-curious father and brother sounded like a nightmare. They’d hammer him with questions, he’d resent being prodded and they’d all have a crappy time.
Besides, he told himself, there was Rita. Decisions to be made.
“I can’t,” he said. “I’ve got plans I can’t get out of.” Not that Rita knew of his plan to corner her into talking with him about their baby.
“Plans?” Thomas gave him a pleased smile. “That’s good, son. Really good. To prove how happy that makes me, I won’t even ask you what you’re going to be doing.”
“Thanks,” Jack said wryly.
“All right, then.” His father slapped his hands together then gave his palms a good scrub. “I’ve got to go by the house, pick up my fishing gear. Then I’m headed to San Diego. I’ll have my phone with me if you need to contact me.”
“I won’t,” Jack assured him. “But thanks. And say hi to Sam.”
“I will.”
Once his father was gone, Jack took a long, deep breath and willed the tension out of his body. It didn’t work, so he got up, walked across the well-appointed office without even noticing the familiar furnishings.
Beige walls, dark red carpet, thick and plush enough to take a nap on, and twin couches facing each other across a low wood table. Windows were on two walls and Jack had moved the desk out of the line of sight of both of them.
Now, though, he walked to a far window and looked out over the sea. He didn’t look at the beach below or the crowd of early-summer sun worshippers spread out on the sand. Instead, he watched the steady rise and fall of the water as wind and its own weight formed ripples and waves that seemed to go on endlessly.
It was quiet in the office and normally he treasured that. But now, that silence tapped at the edges of his mind like a persistent knock on a closed door. As that door opened, images of Rita flooded his brain, from before, from yesterday, until he half expected her to simply appear physically in the office. But that wasn’t going to happen.
Rita would never come to him, she was too angry and he couldn’t blame her for it. But that wouldn’t stop him from doing what he had to do. She was pregnant with his child and damned if he’d ignore that.
There was a knock on the office door just before it opened and his assistant stepped inside. A middle-aged woman with a brisk, no nonsense attitude, Linda Holloway said, “Excuse me, Mr. Buchanan, you’ve got a twelve-thirty meeting with the captain of The Sea Queen.”
In the last four months, Linda had been responsible for Jack’s seamless takeover of his father’s position. She kept meticulous track of his schedule, his tasks and anything involving Buchanans. He was grateful, but right now, he didn’t appreciate the interruption.
“The captain will meet you at the dock so you can take a walk-through of the areas you didn’t see on your visit last month.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I remember.” The Sea Queen was their latest ocean liner. And yes, he did have to meet the captain if only to go over any last-minute concerns about the ship’s maiden voyage coming up in about a month. But not today.
“Cancel it,” he snapped and stalked across the office.
“What?” Linda watched him, eyes wide. “But the captain has come in from his home in Arizona specifically for this meeting.”
Yet one more guilt straw landed on the bale already situated on his shoulders, but he accepted it and moved on.
“It can’t be helped. I’ve got personal business to take care of. Put the captain up in the best hotel in the city and tell him we’ll meet tomorrow morning.”
“But—”
“Eight o’clock on the dock. I’ll be there and we can take care of this business then.”
He snatched his suit jacket out of the closet and shrugged into it. What good was being the boss if you couldn’t make the rules?
“But—”
“Linda,” he said firmly, “I have somewhere to be and it can’t wait. Make this happen.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, the slightest touch of defeat in her tone.
He didn’t address it. “Thanks,” he said and walked around her to leave without a backward glance.
* * *
“Tall, dark and dangerous is back.”
Rita glanced at her friend and bakery manager, Casey. “What?”
She jerked her head toward the small cluster of tables in one corner of the bakery. “The guy who swept you out of here yesterday? He’s back and looking just as edible as ever.”
Rita’s pulse skittered as she slowly, carefully, looked over her shoulder. Jack was sitting at the same table he’d spent hours at the day before. He wore a black suit, with a black dress shirt and a dark red tie. He looked exactly how Casey had described him. Dangerous. Edible.
As if he sensed her looking at him, he turned his head and his gaze locked with hers. Instantly, her blood turned to a river of fire and the pit of her stomach fluttered with nerves and expectation. He’d had that same effect on her from the beginning.
The minute he took her hand that first night on the beach, she’d felt it. That something special. Magical. There was a buzz between them that was electrifying.
She hadn’t been afraid when he’d walked toward her out of the darkness. Maybe she should have been, but instead, it had felt almost as if she’d been waiting for him.
They walked to a small café, took a table on the sidewalk and ordered coffee. There they sat for three hours, talking, sharing their lives, though Rita did more of that than he did. He hadn’t talked about his family or where he lived, only that his name was Jack Buchanan and that he had a week to be back in the real world and how he didn’t want to waste a moment of it.
And when he walked her to her nearby hotel, neither of them wanted to say goodnight. He escorted her through the lobby to the bank of elevators with mirrored doors and she looked at their reflection as they stood together. He was so tall, she so short. But they seemed to fit, she thought, as if they’d been made for each other.
He turned her in his arms and asked, “Tomorrow? Be with me tomorrow, Rita.”
“Yes,” she said quickly, breathlessly.
“Good, that’s good.” A brief smile flashed across his face and warmed his cool blue eyes. “I’ll be here early. Nine okay?”
“How about eight?” Rita asked, wanting to be with him again as soon as possible.
“Even better.” He cupped her face in his palm and held her there as he bent his head to kiss her.
Rita held her breath and closed her eyes. Once, twice, his mouth brushed hers, gently, as if waiting for her response to know if there should be more.
And she wanted more. She wanted it all. Never had she felt for a man what Jack made her feel. Just talking with him stirred everything inside her and now that she knew the taste of his mouth, she hungered for him.
Rita answered his unasked question by wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in to him. Her breasts pressed against his chest and her nipples ached as her body hummed. He actually growled and that sound sent her head spinning as he grabbed hold of her and deepened the kiss. Devouring her, his tongue tangled with hers, his breath mingled with hers and Rita felt as if their souls were touching, merging. Every inch of her body lit up and awakened as if she’d been in a coma all of her life and was only now truly living.
Neither of them cared about who might be watching, they were too lost in the fire enveloping them. Light-headed, loving the feel of his big strong hands sliding up and down her back, Rita could only think how badly she wanted him, but she wasn’t a one-night stand kind of woman and didn’t think she could pretend she was, even for Jack.
When finally she thought she might never breathe again, he broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers while they both fought to steady themselves.
“You are a dangerous woman,” he whispered, a half smile curving his mouth.
“I never thought so, but okay.”
His grin flashed. “Trust me.”
She smiled back at him and felt her equilibrium disintegrate even further. Honestly, he didn’t smile often, but when he did, it was a lethal weapon on a woman’s defenses. Her mouth was still tingling from his kiss and the taste of him was flooding her system.
“Looking into those brown eyes of yours makes me feel like I’m diving into good, aged whiskey,” he murmured, reaching out to smooth his fingers over her face. “Makes me a little drunk just losing myself in them.”
“Your eyes remind me of the color of the sky after a mountain storm,” she said, “clear, bright, with just a hint of shadow.”
His smile faded then and Rita wished she could pull her words back. She hadn’t meant to say anything about the darkness she saw in his eyes, but her urge to ease those shadows was nearly overwhelming.
“I’ve shadows enough, I guess,” he admitted, letting his hand drop to his side. “But when I’m with you, I don’t notice them.”
“I’m glad,” she said and went up on her toes to kiss him again.
Putting both hands on her shoulders, he held her in place and took a long step back. He shook his head and said, “If I kiss you again, I’m not going to be able to let you go.”
That sounded pretty good to Rita, but she knew it wasn’t smart to go to bed with a man she just met no matter how much she wanted to.
“So,” he continued, “I’m going to leave while I still can.”
“Probably a good idea,” Rita said though, inside, her mind was whimpering, demanding that she beg him to stay.
“You keep looking at me with those whiskey eyes and I’m not going to be able to walk away.” His voice was wry, his eyes flashing with heat.
“Then I will,” she said, reaching out to punch the elevator call button.
“I do like a strong woman,” he told her.
“Not so strong at the moment,” Rita admitted when she looked at him again and felt a rush of heat settle and pool at her core. “But I will be. So, good night. I guess I’ll see you at eight.”
“Seven,” he said.
“Even better,” she said, throwing his own words from earlier back at him. The elevator dinged and the doors swished open. She stepped inside, then turned to look at him again. “Seven. I’ll be ready.”
“Good,” he said as the doors slid shut on a whisper of sound, “because I’m ready now.”
Alone, Rita leaned against the wall of the car, smiled to herself and lifted one hand to her mouth as if she could capture his taste and hold on to it forever. As the elevator rose to her floor, she told herself she wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight, but her morning was going to be wonderful.
“Rita?” Casey’s voice and an insistent shake of her arm. “Hey, Rita? You okay?”
“What?” she tore her gaze from Jack’s and looked at her friend. Coming up out of that memory that had been so filled with sensation and sound was like breaking the surface of the water when you were near drowning. You were back in reality but still too stunned to accept it easily. “Sure,” she said, nodding for emphasis. “Yes. I’m fine. Really. Just...tired.”
And sexually frustrated and angry and hurt and confused and far too many other emotions to even name.
“You sure?” Casey tried to steer Rita toward a stool. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“No.” Rita shook off all those unwelcome emotions and smiled. “I’m fine. Really. Um, will you keep an eye on the front while I go in the back to restock the cannoli tray?”
“Absolutely,” Casey said, “as long as you call out if you need me.”
“Don’t be such a worrier,” Rita told her with a pat on the arm.
Hurrying through the swinging door into the kitchen where she could get a couple of minutes to herself, Rita gave a sigh of relief to be on her own. She needed a little time to settle. Do the ahooom thing until she could breathe without feeling like she was going to shake apart at the seams.
“Get a grip, Rita,” she mumbled as she snatched an apron off the hook by the door. Slipping it on over her head, she drew the string ties around her ever-expanding belly then tied it down. The simple, familiar task helped her get steady again.
She scrubbed her hands in the kitchen sink, dried them on a fresh towel, then turned to survey her domain. She might have chefs come in to help her, but this bakery was all hers, right down to the last cookie.
She was most comfortable in the kitchen. Rita and her brothers and sister had grown up working in their parents’ Italian bakery in Ogden. From the time she was a little girl, barely tall enough to reach the mixing table, Rita had been helping the bakers. Even if it was just sprinkling flour on the cool white marble so dough could be rolled out. She loved the scent of baking cookies, cakes, pastries. She loved the feel of getting her hands into a huge bowl of dough to knead it. She’d worked off a lot of temper by working bread dough into shape.
“But there’s not enough dough in the world to help me through this,” she whispered, laying out paper doilies on a stainless steel tray. Then she moved to the end of the counter and carefully set fresh cannoli, some draped in shiny chocolate, on each doily. To her, presentation was as important as taste so before it went out to the shop, it would be perfect.
Once she was satisfied that all of her cannoli were lined up like soldiers, Rita checked on two more bowls of rising dough, punched them down, then covered them again, so they could do a second rise.
She’d be making bread before the bakery closed because her customers liked picking up a fresh loaf on the way home from work. Then she checked the meticulously aligned steel racks against one wall and made a note to have Casey get someone back there to box up the maple-nut biscotti.
“And I’m stalling,” she said aloud to the empty room.
“Question is, why?”
Her eyes closed on a sigh as Jack’s deep voice echoed all around her. Of course he wouldn’t be ignored. He was the kind of man who got exactly what he wanted when he wanted it. A trait that was both sexy and annoying.
“You shouldn’t be back here, Jack.”
“Your friend Casey said you weren’t feeling well.”
She rolled her eyes and told herself to have a little chat with Casey. Wouldn’t do any good, of course. If a gorgeous man asked Casey to stand on her head, the girl would. And they just didn’t come more gorgeous than Jack, so Casey really had been putty in his hands.

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