Brenda Harlen - A Forever Kind of Family

She blamed Ryan for her lack of sleep the night before. After she’d put Oliver down in his bed and gone back to her own, she’d lain awake for a long time thinking about what he’d said—and silently damning him for being right.

Because she did still want him. Just being near the man made her blood heat and her heart pound. And there had been a brief moment in the doorway of Oliver’s bedroom, as Ryan had slowly and gently traced the outline of her mouth with the tip of his finger, when she’d wished he would stop teasing her and start kissing her. She’d wanted to lift her hands to touch him, sliding her palms over the rippling muscles of his belly, the hard planes of his chest. And yes, dammit, she had wanted to drag him across the hall and have her way with him.

Of course, he probably had the same effect on most females. Because how could any woman resist the intense focus of those green-and-gold eyes that made her feel as if he saw nothing but her? How could she deny the allure of that sexy half smile that promised all kinds of sensual pleasure? Harper didn’t think it was possible.

She knew that guys like that, who had women falling at their feet, were often selfish lovers—concerned only with their own satisfaction. She also knew that Ryan Garrett was not one of those guys.

However, one spectacular lovemaking experience more than four years earlier couldn’t change the fundamental fact that they were completely and totally wrong for one another. Like her favorite Godiva salted-caramel chocolate bars—he might be tempting and delicious, but she knew she would inevitably regret the indulgence. It was that knowledge that had finally given her the strength to move away from him.

Unfortunately, the memories of that long-ago experience churned up by his casual touch had kept her awake into the early hours of morning. And wasn’t it a sad reflection on her love life that, four years later, she could still recall every detail of that night?

She shook her head, as if to banish the unwelcome memories, and realized that while she’d been gathering her scattered thoughts, her assistant had taken her cold coffee cup away and returned now with a fresh, steaming cup.

“Thanks,” Harper said gratefully.

“You have—” Diya gestured to her own cheek “—paper creases on your face.”

So much for maintaining the illusion that she had been hard at work rather than sleeping at her desk. “I guess I dozed off for a minute,” she acknowledged.

“Why don’t you go home and get some proper sleep?” her assistant suggested gently.

“Because when I get home, I’m on baby duty,” she admitted.

“Babies nap—you have to learn to sleep when they do.”

It was the same advice she’d read in countless books, but it seemed to Harper that whenever Oliver was napping, there were a million other things to do before she could even consider sleep.

“That sounds simple enough,” she agreed. “But when I put my head down on a pillow, my mind refuses to shut off.”

“But when you put your head down on a desk, sleep comes?”

Her smile was wry. “Apparently.”

Diya shook her head. “What are you working on there?”

She had to look at the computer screen to remember. “Finalizing the shopping list for our cooking segment tomorrow morning.”

“‘In the Kitchen with Kane.’” Her assistant sighed dreamily. “That man is as yummy as everything he cooks.”

“And an absolute tyrant when it comes to his supplies and ingredients. Three of the items he wants for tomorrow— banana blossom, rau ram and Thai basil—are only available from that specialty cooking shop in Raleigh.”

“What’s rau ram ?”

“Vietnamese coriander—which is apparently similar to cilantro, but Kane can’t use cilantro. He has to have rau ram .”

“Send the list to my phone—I’ll go.”

“Really?”

“Sure. My sister, Esha, lives in Raleigh and I was planning to stop by to see her this week anyway.”

“That would be a huge help,” Harper told her.

“I’m the assistant producer’s assistant—it’s my job to help,” Diya reminded her.

“Well, thank you for saving me a detour to the grocery store on my way home.”

“Anytime.”

But as Harper was making her way to her car, her phone chimed with a text message.

can u pick up milk for Oliver?

And she realized she was going to have to make that detour anyway.

* * *

Only a few weeks earlier, Ryan had texted his brother to tell Justin that he would pick up the beer on his way over to watch the game. Today he’d texted the woman he was living with to ask her to pick up milk for the baby.

Obviously his life had undergone some major changes, not the least of which was that he was now playing house with Harper Ross. Beautiful, smart, sexy and infinitely challenging Harper Ross.

He used to think he was smart, too, but his unrelenting attraction to his co-guardian suggested otherwise. He’d been attracted to other women—a lot of other women, and he’d taken a fair number of those other women to his bed. Whether a relationship lasted a few nights or several months, it would inevitably run its course. And when it did, he and the woman in question would part ways, usually amicably.

The problem, from his perspective, was that his relationship with Harper had never run its course. One night with her hadn’t been enough. Not even close. But after that first night, she’d made it clear there wouldn’t be a second.

And he’d accepted her decision. He hadn’t tried to change her mind. If she didn’t want him, there were plenty of other women who did. Unfortunately, countless nights with other women hadn’t helped him purge his desire for her. It was still Harper he wanted, her taste that he craved, her passion that he coveted. He’d hoped the yearning would fade with time and distance. Of course, their current circumstances ensured that he would have the benefit of neither of those to help assuage the ache inside him.

He heard a thump through the monitor on the counter and, glancing at the screen, saw that Oliver had kicked the headboard of his crib. The kid was a restless sleeper. He always started in the middle of the mattress, but he never finished there. He sometimes woke up on his belly, sometimes on his back, but never in the same position he’d started from. Ryan figured it was a good thing Oliver’s bed had four sides—otherwise the little guy might wake up in the hall.

As he dumped some pasta into a pot, he kept an ear tuned to the monitor, listening for any other indications that Oliver was waking up from his nap. For now, he was sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware that the “mama” and “dada” he still called out for weren’t ever coming home again. Ryan tried not to dwell on that fact too much himself, but it was an unassailable truth that squeezed like a fist around his heart.

He missed his friend. He hated that Darren’s life had ended so tragically and prematurely only weeks after his thirtieth birthday. And there were moments, though he would never acknowledge them aloud, when he resented having his own life derailed by the responsibility of helping to raise Darren and Melissa’s child.

Those moments never lasted long—probably not more than a few seconds. Just long enough for the thought to form and guilt to slice him in half. Because how could he be mad at his friend for anything when Darren had lost everything? How could he begrudge caring for his best friend’s son when the little boy already owned his heart?

Maybe Ryan had never given much thought to being a father, but he knew that Darren had been as excited as Melissa when they’d learned she was expecting their first child. And even when Ryan had teased his friend about trading in his Audi for a minivan, Darren hadn’t minded. He’d been sincerely looking forward to Cub Scouts and soccer games and all the things that most dads did with their sons.