Truly Madly Deeply Boxed Set(146)
He leaned forward for a brief but satisfying kiss. “I was hoping one was on its way,” he said in a voice he barely recognized.
“If not, I’m sure we can work on it.”
Her light, tinkling laughter warmed him. To Mike, it was the sound of promise, of his future. He splayed his hand over her flat stomach. Her hand covered his and the dog nudged at her leg. She laughed again. He wanted to grow old listening to that sound, and he would.
“I like your thinking, and that might take care of one of those kids... but I had something else in mind.” She was teasing him and he knew it.
“And here I thought I had all the surprises for today.”
She waved papers in front of him. “I did some research, and there’s an adoption agency placing orphans from war-ravaged countries. Now I know it’s a big responsibility, and I know many of these kids come with problems, but we can handle it. I mean, if you want to.”
Did he want to? Give a home to kids who’d lost parents as he had? Only this time, these kids would know love and happiness... and security... Mike glanced back at the old house, and the woman with whom he would make this place a home. He didn’t know what he’d done in this life to get so lucky, but he intended to enjoy it.
He took Carly’s hand. “I said it from day one: You’re something else, sweetheart.”
Her eyes glistened with sheer happiness. “So tell me—what’s the dog’s name?”
Mike paused in thought. “How about Lucky?”
She leaned down to scratch the dog’s head. “It sure fits.”
Mike grunted and pulled her close. “What do we do with him while we’re on our honeymoon?” he murmured in her ear. “He’s not paper trained yet remember?”
Carly smiled.
Mike grinned.
“Peter,” they both choked out, laughing at the thought.
* * * * * * * * *
Solitary Man
PROLOGUE
He killed his partner. He might as well have taken the gun and pulled the trigger himself. Only forty-eight hours had passed during which he’d doubted anything would help him forget. How ironic it was that the woman in his bed had done what a bottle of scotch could not. She’d been a blessing, something he didn’t deserve.
She tossed and turned in her sleep. He understood the source of her distress; it was his as well. Grief washed over her in waves, burrowing into her heart, reaching deep inside her soul. He knew and felt her pain as if it were his own. He should, considering he was the cause. Yet she’d reached out for him and he hadn’t been able to turn her away. Not when she’d looked to him for comfort, and not, damn him, when comfort had turned to desire.
He dressed in silence, not wanting to wake her, not wanting to face what he’d done. He’d slept with Nicole. Worse, he’d never felt so close so fast, never felt anything so right. He exhaled a harsh groan but she didn’t stir.
When he screwed up, he screwed up royally. He’d arrived on the scene too late to help, but in time to watch his partner die. He’d been too busy tending to his drunken father and Tony was dead because of it.
Then, when Tony’s sister had turned up on his doorstep seeking comfort, he had taken her to bed. If he were capable of real emotion, he’d think they had more than just sex. He knew better. Guilt weighed heavily because Tony was dead and he wasn’t. Because he’d let his partner down. Twice. Because Nikki, for all her bravado last night, was an innocent. He muttered a curse and allowed himself one last glance at the rumpled bed. Her black hair stood out in stark contrast against the white sheets and her soft skin beckoned to him. He wanted nothing more than to join her, to lose himself in her once more, because she’d brought him more peace than he’d ever known. More than he deserved. If he thought he could bring anything good to her life... He shook his head in disgust.
He knew what he was, who he was. Hadn’t the events of the past two days proven he wasn’t any good at caring for anyone but himself ? He tossed his duffel bag over his shoulder and did what he did best: He turned and walked out the door without looking back.
ONE
Kevin Manning let himself into the rambling house he’d inherited a month ago. No sound greeted him as he entered, just the echo of his shoes on the hardwood floor. The quiet enveloped him, welcoming him home and leaving him alone with his thoughts. Not a pleasant place to be lately. Maybe he ought to get a dog. At least someone would get some use out of the grassy backyard. And he could use the company.
He tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and grabbed a cold bottle of beer from the fridge. The steady red flicker of the answering machine caught his eye and he hit the play button, listening as the digital voice announced one message. He tilted the bottle to his lips and let a hefty sip of brew slide down his throat as the first call played.