Chapter 6 #2
Laura’s heart pounded as she waited to see what he would do. She noted the slight tremble of his hands as he unbuttoned her shirt and pushed it open. Her enhanced pregnancy breasts overflowed the cups of her white cotton bra, which was mortifying. “I keep meaning to buy bigger bras.”
“Don’t,” he said, his voice hoarse as he lowered his head and pressed his face into the valley between her breasts. “You’re so sexy.”
Laura arched her back, encouraging him.
He released the front clasp, and her breasts sprung free into his waiting hands. “Oh, God, you’re gorgeous.”
Before she had time to prepare, his mouth was feasting on her nipple, hot and hungry. She clutched his hair, which was the only thing that kept her from sliding off the counter into a boneless pile on the floor.
“How many days until Friday?” he asked, his lips vibrating against her breast.
The question made her laugh, nervously. He was putting her on notice that the minute Justin knew about the baby, their relationship would shift to the next level. “Three.”
He turned his attention to her other breast. “I’m not going to make it.”
Laura’s stomach chose that moment to let out a keening growl.
“Shit,” he muttered. “I’m pawing you like a madman, and you’re probably starving.” He dipped lower to press his lips to the tiny baby bump.
Touched by his attention to the baby, Laura combed her fingers into his unruly hair, attempting to smooth and straighten.
He looked up at her, and the raw emotion she saw shining in his eyes was nearly her undoing.
As she watched him pay homage to the child growing inside her, she realized that she no longer had to worry about the possibility of falling in love with him.
It had already happened, probably quite some time ago as he was peeling her off the bathroom floor and making her tea and tending to her every need as if he’d been born to do exactly that.
With what seemed to be great reluctance, he stood up straight, tucked her breasts back into her bra and refastened the buttons on her top. When he was done, he rested his hands on her shoulders.
Laura tipped her forehead against his chest, gathering herself. She couldn’t let him see that she’d fallen for him. The last thing she wanted was to make him feel trapped. If he felt trapped, he might run, and she really wanted him to stay. More important, she wanted him to want to stay.
“Let’s get you and the little guy fed,” he said.
Grant McCarthy was rarely intimidated, but Stephanie’s stepfather, Charlie Grandchamp, intimidated the hell out of him.
It had taken Grant days to work up the nerve to drive out to the small house Charlie had rented from the island’s resident land baron/cab driver, Ned Saunders.
The media attention following Charlie’s release from fourteen years of wrongful imprisonment had driven him to the island, seeking peace and quiet—and the chance to be closer to the stepdaughter who’d been relentless in her efforts to get him released.
Grant parked the motorcycle he’d borrowed from his brother Mac in the yard and took a deep breath for courage before walking up to the open front door and knocking.
No answer.
Great. I finally make it out here, and he’s not around. Spotting the other man’s small pickup truck, Grant walked behind the house to the barn that served as a workshop and garage. “Hey, Charlie?”
“In here.”
Grant swallowed hard and stepped into the dusty space that smelled of dirt and mildew and other substances he didn’t try too hard to identify.
Charlie was bent over the workbench sanding a block of wood.
He was tall and muscular with a gray buzz cut and a piercing blue-eyed stare that Grant found unnerving—particularly since it was often directed his way. “Um, how’s it going?”
“Fine.” Since Charlie’s release, Grant had learned his girlfriend’s stepfather was a man of few words, especially where Grant was concerned. “Something on your mind?”
“Ah, well, Stephanie, actually.”
That got Charlie’s attention. He spared Grant a brief glance before he returned his attention to the project on the bench. “What about her?”
“I, um, you know we’ve been together for a while now.”
“Coupla months,” Charlie said with a harsh-sounding chuckle. “Does that count as a while these days?”
Grant had no idea what to say to that. He decided to go with the truth. “She has a lot of insecurities because of everything that happened when she was younger. I’ve been thinking about how I could make her feel more secure. About me. About us.”
“And what’ve you come up with?”
“I’d like to ask her to marry me.” Grant met that steely stare, determined not to blink.
He almost succeeded. “Before you tell me why it’s a terrible idea, let me assure you that we wouldn’t get married right away.
I just want her to know I’m in it for keeps so she won’t get that haunted look on her face whenever we disagree about something. ”
“I know that look.”
It was the first thing Charlie had ever said to him that didn’t make Grant feel like the guy hated him for being alive.
“What?” Charlie asked. “Are you surprised I know what you’re talking about? I looked at that face every week for years when she came to see me in prison, and that line between her brows tore me up as much as it tears you up.”
With that one statement, he tripled the number of words he’d said to Grant in their brief acquaintance. Grant cleared his throat. “I want her to know I’m not going anywhere without her. Not now. Not ever.”
Charlie ran the sandpaper back and forth over the block of wood while Grant stood twisting in the wind, waiting for the other man to say something. Anything. Without looking at Grant, he finally said, “You love her? Really, really love her?”
“Yeah,” Grant said. “I really, really do.”
“What if she decides she doesn’t want to live here on the island? What if she wants to go home to Providence and open the restaurant she’s always talked about?”
She’d talked about a restaurant? To whom? Not to him. Stunned to hear that, Grant forced himself to focus. “We’ll go to Providence, if that’s what she wants. I can work anywhere.” His failed relationship with Abby had taught him that much. “I want her to be happy.”
“I want that, too. More than you know. She gave up a big chunk of her life trying to get my sorry ass sprung from jail.”
“She’d do it again in a heartbeat. You know that.”
“She’s a good kid. She deserves better than what she got from her mother and me.”
“From her mother, maybe. You saved her life. I don’t think she feels you owe her anything.”
“I owe her everything,” Charlie said, his eyes flashing with a rare show of emotion. “She’s the only one who gave a shit about whether I rotted in prison for the rest of my life. She deserves the whole world served up on a silver platter.”
A knot of emotion lodged in Grant’s chest. He couldn’t agree more. “I want to give her that. If she’ll let me.”
“She’ll fight you if you try to do too much for her.”
“Believe me,” Grant said with a shaky laugh, “I already know that.” He forced a deep breath to his lungs. “Would I have your blessing?”
“Does it matter so much to you that an ex-con approves?”
“Yes, it matters. Very much so.”
Charlie picked up a rag off the bench and wiped the dirt from his hands. “I’ll give you my blessing if you promise you’ll always be good to her, put her needs before your own and be faithful to her. Can you do all that?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat again. “Sir.”
“In that case . . .” Charlie extended his hand to Grant.
Grant shook his hand. “Thank you.”
“No, Grant,” Charlie said, calling him by name for the first time. “Thank you. I’ll never have the words to properly thank you for what you did for me—and for Stephanie.”
Overwhelmed by Charlie’s rare show of emotion, Grant said, “All I did was make a few calls.” Charlie’s fortunes had changed dramatically when Grant asked his celebrity lawyer friend Dan Torrington to take on the case.
A call to Grant’s uncle, Superior Court Judge Frank McCarthy, had also helped the cause.
“They were the right calls, and they made a huge difference.” Charlie shook his head, almost in disbelief. “I wake up every morning to the sound of the ocean and seagulls, and I still think I’m dreaming.”
“I’m really glad it worked out—for your sake and Stephanie’s.” He paused before he added, “When you’re ready, I’d like to talk to you about the movie.”
“I’m not there yet.”
“Whenever. I’d better get back before Steph starts to wonder where I am.”
“When will you propose?”
“In the next few days. When the time is right.”
Charlie nodded. “Good luck.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you.” As Grant walked back to the motorcycle, he picked over the conversation in amazement. It was, without a doubt, the most substantial conversation he’d ever had with Stephanie’s stepfather, who’d seemed wary and suspicious of him from the day they met.
He was puzzled, however, about why Stephanie had never mentioned her dream of opening her own restaurant. He’d have to find a way to bring that up.
Riding the bike back home to her, Grant tried to think of the perfect way to ask her to marry him. It had to be as special as she was. Once she had his ring on her finger, maybe she’d stop worrying that what they had wouldn’t last. Maybe they both would.