Because of the Baby(58)

Instead of handing her the towel she pointed to, he wrapped it around her. The kiss he gave her was hard and quick. Mostly he’d wanted a second to enjoy the softness of her breasts crushed against his chest. He kept his hands away from any naked skin. Touching her silky wet skin would only delay getting to Grace.

“I guess I can wait until it warms up in April.” And with a provocative pat on her towel-clad backside, he exited the bathroom.



Lark stared at Keaton’s retreating form while his words played over and over in her mind. April? He was thinking they would still be living together three months from now? Surely he didn’t believe that Skye would still be in a coma or Jake would continue to be missing. That meant he expected to still be together even after they no longer had Grace’s welfare to look after.

A shiver raised goose bumps on her arms. She grabbed a quick shower and washed her hair, then dressed in a pair of her new silky pajamas. Keaton enjoyed running his hands over the slippery material, and she adored having every inch of her curves caressed by him. The thought made her smile. Even though her desire had been sated by their earlier lovemaking, it took very little to rouse the ache between her thighs.

Telling her body to behave, Lark headed into the kitchen to find Gloria’s lasagna and open a bottle of red wine. Another perk of having Keaton living with her was that she’d learned to appreciate the finer vintages. Luckily the Holts’ wine cellar hadn’t been damaged during the storm and he enjoyed sharing his favorites with her.

While she heated up the lasagna, she kept one ear tuned to the nursery. Grace had calmed. Keaton certainly had the magic touch with her. The baby had probably woken wet or messy. She was very particular where her diaper was concerned. Someday she’d probably be equally determined about her fashion. Something that might make her acceptable to her grandmother.

From the time Skye was a toddler, she’d been thrust onto the pageant circuit by their mother, whose obsession with appearance and winning had been extreme. Lark remembered visiting Skye’s room when she and their mother were gone for the weekend and trying on her sister’s massive crowns or whatever sequined, tulle-enriched dress had been left behind. There’d been dozens in Skye’s closet, some of them for the pageants that required specialty routines.

One time her father had caught her and paddled her backside hard. She wasn’t sure which had hurt more, the spanking or his disappointment. Fortunately he’d kept the tale from his wife or Lark might have been punished worse than she had. In later years, when she’d begun to understand the value of things, she’d discovered those silly, overembellished dresses cost between five hundred and a thousand dollars apiece.

Keaton carried a very wide-awake Grace to the infant gym and laid her beneath the arches. He then joined Lark in the kitchen, where she offered him a lingering kiss. The microwave dinged before they got too carried away and Lark fetched her dinner. She decided to break her rule against eating on the sofa so she could join Keaton while he watched another one of those educational shows he’d introduced her to.

As they sat in companionable silence, attention alternating between the enormous television and their niece happily batting at the animals suspended above her, Lark decided not to broach the question tickling her since Keaton had teased her about naked Sundays. Instead she let herself enjoy the weight of his hand on her thigh and the familiar jump in her pulse as he kissed her neck and shoulder during the commercial breaks.

At long last, nerves mellowed by Keaton’s solid presence, a delicious meal and two glasses of wine, Lark called her mother. Keaton offered to leave the room, but she needed his strength beside her. With her arm linked with his, she waited for her mother to pick up. By the fifth ring Lark was convinced there would be no answer and had moved her thumb to end the call when she heard her mother’s voice.

“Yes?”

“Hello, Mother. It’s Lark. I was just returning your call.”

“It’s about time. I’ve left you five messages.”

Lark hadn’t realized that. She avoided looking at her phone log since her mother had begun calling. “Sorry.” She had no excuse. “What’s so urgent?”

“Haven’t you listened to any of my messages?”

“No.”

“That’s very inconsiderate. What if something had happened to your father?”

“Has it?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?” The question came out a little more bluntly than she’d intended.

She’d had no contact with her parents since the little incident outside the ICU, and the silence had been nice. Immediately guilt lashed at her. This was her mother. As little as they got along, Lark owed her respect. Or if that wasn’t possible, civility.