Jill Shalvis: Long-Lost Mom

“So what do you want me to do?”

“What I want doesn’t matter.”

“You want me to leave,” she whispered, deflated by his composure.

“I’m not that selfish, dammit.”

They heard the outer shop door open, and Stone’s face changed, turning fierce as a mother bear. “Don’t even think about it,” he said harshly.

“Daddy, where are you?” Sara’s light musical voice rang out.

Jenna knew what Stone was telling her. She wasn’t to tell Sara who she was, at least not until they’d finished discussing it.

It wasn’t very flattering that he could think she would. “I won’t.”

He glared. “I mean it.”

Jenna lifted her chin, her eyes flashing angrily, though her voice remained just above a whisper. “I told you I wouldn’t, and I won’t go back on my word.”

“I have to protect her,” he said. “You know that.”

He could have no idea how that protectiveness thrilled her, yet made her yearn at the same time. “Yes, I know.”

When he was about to turn away to greet Sara, Jenna put a hand on his forearm to stop him. “Thank you,” she whispered, not quite succeeding in keeping the emotion out of her voice.

“For what?”

“For not kicking me out. For giving me this chance with my daughter.”

“I’m not giving you anything.”

His vehemence startled her.

“You’re doing this,” he insisted quietly. “You’re making your own destiny.” He stared at her hard, the warning clear. “Just make sure you make the most of it this time, without hurting that child. Or fate or not, I swear I’ll make sure you never get another chance with her again.”

He disappeared then, and she hadn’t even had time to accept her bitter disappointment when he was back. He tossed down a heavy photo album in front of her and said simply, “Here. Before I forget.” Then he turned and left.

Stunned, she sank into his chair. She had no idea how long she sat staring at the leather-bound book before pulling it close and opening it with shaking fingers.

“Oh,” she breathed, as she soaked up the precious photographs.

Sara, one week old, propped up in Stone’s huge hands and apparently wailing at the top of her lungs while Stone grinned down proudly.

Sara, six months old, sitting between Stone’s legs and looking up at her daddy with an expression of rapt love.

Trembling, heart drumming, Jenna closed her eyes, tormenting herself with should-have’s. Forcing her eyes open, she turned the page-and gasped in laughter and anguish.

Sara on her first birthday, shoving a fistful of cake into Stone’s laughing mouth.

Sara at two, then three, then starting kindergarten. The pages went on in time.

Jenna had missed so much. She’d never forgive herself. And, she wondered, if she couldn’t forgive herself, how could she expect Stone and Sara to?

Long after she’d finished studying the photos she couldn’t bring herself to shut the book. Heart thundering, her vision blurry with tears, she got to her feet and looked up. And found herself staring in Stone’s surprisingly kind eyes on the other side of the desk.

He moved around and came up behind her rigid body. Gently he closed his hand over hers, helping her shut the heavy album. Jenna continued to hold herself stiffly, head bowed, but he only moved closer, pressing against her, solid and real.

She tried to hold it all in-oh, how she tried!-but a horrible sound escaped her, a high keening cry she was helpless to contain. Mortified, she covered her mouth.

Stone’s arms came up, sliding around to anchor her back to him, tight to his chest. He bent his head over hers with a soft wordless murmur, meant to console. It did, enough so that she lost control completely.

She couldn’t help herself; his unselfish gesture had stunned her. She’d hurt this man in the worst possible way, and yet he put that aside to offer himself, because she needed him. For Stone, it was that simple.

He turned her to face him and gently removed her glasses.

“I’m fine,” she gasped, and he slowly shook his head. “But Sara…”

“She’s next door at the printer’s, playing with her friend. Let go, Jenna. For once, just let go.”

Blinded by hot tears, Jenna tried to fight it, but it was like holding back Niagara Falls. Then she was in his arms with no idea whether she’d put herself there or he’d pulled her to him.

Still, she might have managed to control herself, but Stone cupped the back of her head with such heart-stopping tenderness suddenly she was sobbing.

Stone let her burrow closer, and while she was appalled by her helplessness, she was powerless to stop. She needed him, needed to have his tall muscular body support her, needed to feel secure. She wished he’d squeeze even tighter, and just as she thought it, he did, making her tears come faster. His big hand held her head close, and the other moved slowly, soothingly up and down her quivering back.

The mix of regret and grief and anger was almost more than she could bear, and she cried herself to exhaustion. And when she stood there, head buried in his now wet shirt, Jenna found herself grateful for his tact and silence.

“Thank you,” she said to him, her voice thick and husky.

He pulled back. “You can keep the album for a while.”

She offered him a watery smile, and he studied her for a long moment.

“Feel better?”

“Lighter maybe,” she said, jokingly referring to how much water she’d shed.

“Don’t.” At his urging tone, she looked at him.

“Don’t hide.”

Slowly she nodded. “Are you still mad?”

He made a disparaging sound. “It’s not that easy to define, Jenna. Only time will tell for now.” And he handed her back her glasses and left her alone.

“You traveled around all the time you were gone?”

Jenna didn’t jump at this question Stone fired at her. She’d gotten used to such questions over the past few days, gotten used to him poking his head around her office door-or his office, if she was working there.

No greeting preceded these questions, no warnings. Other than that day he’d held her while she’d cried, there’d been no apparent softening in his attitude. But Jenna took the fact that he asked her anything at all as a good sign.

Shutting her filing cabinet, she turned to meet his unblinking gaze. His dark hair was damp and so was his shirt, reminding her it was raining rather hard outside. And he’d clearly stalked from his office to hers, needing his question answered, without regard to the weather. Her heart constricted.

“Pretty much,” she said, knowing that one of these days her honesty would break through. She’d see his slow sexy smile, and he’d look at her with enough heat to melt an iceberg.

Although he still looked at her with undeniable heat, he just didn’t allow it to go any further than looking. Not as he had before, when he’d let his natural sensuality come out, when he’d found any excuse to linger, to touch…to taste.

She missed that with all her being.

“Where did you go?”

“You name the state, I was there,” she admitted ruefully. “Never took me long to get bored. I saw Europe, too.”

“What did you do for money?”

“I worked everywhere I went. You’d be surprised how cheaply you can live.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” he said flatly, reminding her that in the beginning at least, he’d struggled, too. “You never stayed anywhere long. I would have found you.”

“Any ties felt… traitorous.”

“To Sara?”

“Yes. And to you.”

He nodded as if that made sense and turned back to the door. Head bent, wide shoulders tense, his hand still on the knob, he didn’t move. Discontentment rolled from him.