Brock stopped midstep. “A father,” he echoed. “I’ll always be a father to our child,” he promised.
“Will you show up at most of his soccer games or her ballet recitals?” she asked.
He took a quick breath. “Yes, I will.”
She nodded and started to walk again. “That’s good,” she said, making her way down the trail.
“When you were a little girl,” Brock said, “what kind of husband did you want?”
“I dreamed of Prince Charming sweeping me away to a fairytale kingdom with a huge castle with housekeepers and cooks. But I was in charge of the babies,” she said. “We didn’t have nannies because the prince and I took care of our children.”
Her childhood dream moved him.
“Crazy, isn’t it?” Elle said.
Brock pulled her against him. “Not crazy at all.”
As they made their way down the last part of the path, Brock asked half a dozen more questions.
“What are your favorite movies?” he asked.
“I hate to say it,” she said.
“Sandra Bullock movies,” he said.
“Yes, and Julia Roberts. I like girl-power movies. Comes from being left in the shadow of my father and grandfather,” she said.
“Understandable,” Brock said. “Your favorite flower is the rose. And you especially love a multicolored arrangement.”
She stared at him in surprise. “How did you know that?”
“I got you flowers a few times. I caught you smelling the roses more than once.”
“I didn’t know you’d noticed,” she said, meeting his gaze.
“I didn’t notice as much as I should have,” he said. “But I noticed a few things. I’ll notice more in the future,” he promised.
She rested her forehead against his. “What’s your favorite flower?”
Surprise rushed through him. “I’ve never thought about it.”
“Think about it,” she said, smiling.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Wild flowers?”
“Hmm. I’m not so sure about that.”
“You’re not going to argue with me about my favorite flower, are you?” he challenged.
Elle sighed. “Okay,” she relented. “So which sports event are you dying to attend?”
He laughed. “Lots of them, but I can’t make time for them all,” he said. “Would you go with me?”
“Of course.”
“Good,” he said, pulling her into a hug and sliding his hands down over her butt, lifting her against him. “You never quit making me want you,” he said.
Elle brushed her lips over his. “Who, me?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “You.”
That night as she snuggled in his arms, Brock wanted her more than ever. His need for her alarmed him, but the sensation of her skin against his and her clean, sexy scent distracted him. He resigned himself to another night of frustration and forced his eyes closed.
Seconds later, he felt her hand drift over his chest, down to his abdomen. He caught that wicked, curious hand just before she touched him where he was hard and wanting her. “No teasing,” he said in a low voice.
She lifted her lips to his, her eyelids fluttering to a sultry half-mast. “What if the teasing will be followed by satisfaction?”
“I thought you wanted us to take some time—”
She rubbed her mouth against his, sliding her tongue just inside. “I want you, too, Brock,” she confessed. “It’s hard for me to stay away from you.”
“If you’re sure,” he said, loosening his grip on her hand. Two breaths later she was touching him intimately and kissing him as if there was no tomorrow. He wondered if he would ever get enough of her.
They made love that night and when Brock awakened in the morning, he was caught between wanting to take her again and giving her a break. He wanted Elle too much. She got under his skin.
The following week, despite their discussion, Brock came home late every night. Elle refused to be a nag. She occupied herself by visiting her mother and grandfather, and continuing with redecorating the house. On Friday, Brock left before she rose, but Elle decided to take breakfast in the sunroom, anyway.
Yawning, she indulged in eggs, bacon and blueberry pancakes. The housekeeper brought her the newspaper and she scanned it as she ate. Just as she was finishing a gooey, delicious bite of pancake, she glimpsed a photo of Brock with a beautiful blonde. He was lifting a glass of wine and she was laughing
Elle’s food lodged in her throat. “Oh, my God,” she said, choking, coughing then swallowing. She read the caption beneath the photo. “Hot San Francisco Mad Man Brock Maddox charms cosmetics queen Lenora Hudgins.”