I tuck a pale strand that worked free from her braid behind her ear. “Maybe we’re both doing something we should have done years earlier. We’re listening to our gut.”
Her smile widens to something so pure she seems to glow. “Maybe you’re right.”
Then she hides a yawn behind her hand, stretches, and closes her eyes. “I’m so tired.”
“Go back to sleep. I could use some extra z’s, too. If you need anything, I’ll be in the next room.” I stand, grab my Glock, then palm her crown. “We’ll worry about everything else later.”
As I turn to leave, she grasps my hand and tugs me back. “Stay. Please.”
“You’re not ready for sex, Mandy. And that’s not love.”
She lifts her soft blue gaze to me, and it’s a sucker punch to my chest. God, if I could wrap my arms around her and take away all her pain, I would right now. But doing anything else tonight would only confuse her more.
“You’re right. But would you lie here and hold me?”
The hard outer shell of my resolve cracks. I lay my Glock on the nightstand again. “Of course.”
“Thanks.” She tugs me down to the bed until I’m flat on my back with my arm around her. She curls up to my side, resting her chin on my chest. “In case you hadn’t figured it out yet, I think you’re amazing.”
“And I think you should stop buttering me up before I fall for you even more.”
“Why would I want to stop that?”
Honestly, I’m not even sure I could if I wanted to. My heart feels as if I’ve pushed it over the cliff and it’s now in free-fall. When it reaches the bottom, either Mandy will catch it…or it will shatter into too many pieces to put back together. I’m not sure which, but that doesn’t stop me from holding her closer, kissing her forehead, and falling into a deep sleep beside her.
Chapter Eight
A few hours later, a light little giggle wakes me. What the hell?
Prying my eyes open, I look toward the sound—and find Mandy lying beside me. She’s still wearing that champagne nightgown that arouses the fuck out of me. She has her head propped on her palm as she looks down at Oliver, who’s between us laughing as his mother tickles his belly.
I can’t help but smile. “Someone’s in a good mood.”
“Both of us. I haven’t slept that well in months. Thank you.”
“I didn’t do anything except sleep, too.” And probably deeper than someone hired to keep her safe should. “Feel better?”
“Much. Breakfast?”
“Coffee first. How long has Oliver been awake?”
“About forty-five minutes. I changed him, then we’ve been cuddling. Sorry if we woke you.”
“Nope. I need to get up.”
Baby giggling snags my attention again, and I turn to him. He’s still grinning when he puts a little palm to my cheek. His feet kick as if he’s excited, then he lets out a happy squeal.
The joy on his face tugs at my heart. In fact, the scene feels domestic. Normal. Touching. I’m hoping to be a part of Mandy’s future, but that means I’ll be a part of Oliver’s, too. Maybe I’ll even end up being the closest thing he has to a father. The realization brings both a cold sweat and a lump to my throat.
“Go ahead,” she says. “I’ll make coffee and get this little guy some breakfast.”
With a groan, I haul myself out of bed, Glock in hand, and meander to the office and find my duffel bag. I toss on clean clothes, brush my teeth, and check my phone. Douglas Lund has already texted.
I’ve got a check for a hundred grand in my hand. Ready to tell me where to find Amanda?
I ignore his text. He doesn’t deserve a prompt answer, and I don’t need his shit—or his money. I’m focused on Mandy.
Instead, I plod to the kitchen, where the scent of java fills the air. Some country song plays from her phone. She hums along as she scrambles an egg for Oliver, who’s playing on the floor at her feet. He clings to her ankle with one hand and a toy truck with the other. She’s put a new braid in her long hair. She’s fresh-faced and smiling as she slides his egg onto a paper plate, chops up a banana, then sits him in her lap at the nook table.
She looks relaxed. Happy, like she knows she’s where she should be, which gives her a serenity she didn’t have even twenty-four hours ago. I hope I’m part of the reason for that.
“Hey,” I call out.
Mandy sends me a smile. “Hi. Coffee should be ready in a minute.”
“Thanks. What’s this song?”
“‘Woman, Amen.’ It’s Dirks Bentley.”
It’s upbeat and on the happy side. As I listen, I find myself identifying more than I thought I could with a genre I usually consider twang. But the world definitely has a way of shaking your faith. Mandy and I have both been rattled by it. Then the singer croons something that, on the surface sounds silly, but might explain why I’m falling for her so quickly. Her feelings for me, even if they’re new, are filling the cracks left in my heart. And I hope my love can do the same for hers after Barclay shattered it.
As the song rolls on, I agree that Mandy definitely renews my faith. I’ve been wondering if, after the divorce, I’d spend the rest of my life alone. But now I have hope. And I’ll do whatever it takes to convince Mandy to stay with me. I want to be strong for her, and that gives me strength in return. So I’m waiting for her love, preferably without end. And if it all works out? Then I’ll thank God for this woman, amen.
It’s funny how the roads of my life have led me to her. So many circumstances—her break-up, my divorce, and the angry mob on her tail—have brought us to Maui, and
