No Ring Required

Mary sat beside him. Maybe he’d been right that day in his office, after their musicless dance, maybe they were becoming friends. God only knew why, after their history. But the fact was she understood him a little better now, understood what drove him. Her mother had felt some of the same feelings of not being good enough, not knowing where she belonged or who really cared about her for herself and not how much money she had.

“She’s right.”

Ethan’s words jarred her, brought her back to the present. “Who’s right?”

“Your grandmother. I’m not worth much more than the trailer I was born in.”

“That’s not exactly what she said.” Mary knew that she sounded as though she were defending Grace, when that’s not what she was trying to do at all. She knew her grandmother had been cold and cruel, but Ethan could be that way as well.

“That’s what she said, Mary. I’ve heard versions of that diatribe many times. From my ex-wife, from my own mother. Doesn’t seem to matter how hard I work.” He shrugged. “I’ll never escape it.”

“This self-pitying thing has to stop, Ethan.”

He sat up, stared at her with cold eyes. “What?”

“Why do you care?” she demanded.

“What?”

“Why do you care what any of them think?”

The anger dropped away, and he shook his head. Just kept shaking his head. “I have no idea.”

“Why can’t you be satisfied with the life you’ve created?”

The double meaning wasn’t lost on either of them, and in that moment, Mary knew it was just a matter of time before she confessed the truth about her pregnancy. She didn’t want to care about him. He’d forced her to make some abominable decisions…and yet…

She put a hand on his shoulder, and in less than an instant he covered it with his own. “Under that layer of pride and arrogance,” she said softly, “is a pretty decent guy. I can’t help but believe that.”

He leaned in until his forehead touched hers. “Even with everything that’s happened?”

“Yes.”

He tipped her chin up and with a soft groan his mouth found hers in a slow, drugging kiss. Mary opened to him, even suckled his bottom lip until he uttered her name and pulled her closer, his tongue mating with hers.

She protested when he pulled away from her, whispering a barely audible no.

With his face still so close to her own, he regarded her intently. “Are you pitying me, Mary?”

She wanted his mouth, his tongue, his skin against hers and no more questions. “Does it matter?” she uttered huskily.

A long moment of silence passed, and then Ethan groaned, a frustrated, animal-like sound. “No,” he muttered, closing his eyes, nuzzling her cheek until he found her mouth again.

Five

Despite the open window, the air in the room had become stiflingly warm. Mary’s limbs felt heavy, and she clung to Ethan for support. His mouth was hard on hers, his breath sweet and intoxicating. For a moment she wondered if she was drunk, but then realized she had been sipping seltzer water all morning. Mouth slanting, Ethan unleashed the full strength of his need, his tongue against hers, caressing the tip until Mary was breathless and limp. Whatever he wanted to do, she was a willing participant.

Without a word, Mary started unbuttoning her white blouse, her fingers shaking. Her skin needed to breathe, needed to be touched. As Ethan chuckled softly against her lips, she tugged away at her shirt, wishing she could just rip it off.

“Let me,” he uttered hoarsely.

“And this,” she practically begged, struggling with the hooks on her pale-pink bra.

“Tell me what you want, Mary.”

“You.”

“My weight on top of you? My chest brushing against your nipples?”

“Your mouth.”

His head was in the crook of her neck, his forehead nuzzling her, his teeth nipping at her skin. “On your mouth? On your breasts? Do you want me to suckle them like I did your tongue?”

“Yes,” came her ragged whisper.

Gently he pulled the straps over her shoulders, eased her bra to her waist. She felt as though she were falling, sliding down, down, until she landed against plush, fuzzy white carpet. Her back to the floor, Ethan poised on top of her, his dark blue eyes hungry, almost desperate, Mary struggled to catch her breath.

“Ethan,” she rasped.

Ethan paused, his body pulsing with heat. He’d never heard her say his name like that—desperately.

His body tight to the point of pain, Ethan slid his hand up her torso to her rib cage and gently cupped one breast. Instantly hungry for more, he brushed his thumb over her nipple until it stiffened into a rosy peak. His mouth watered. He’d tasted her before, but the memory had been little comfort over the past weeks.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, leaning forward into the warmth of her body, her skin, his mouth grazing the tender bud.

Gasping, she arched her back, her chest rising and falling rapidly, one hand fisting the carpet. Her skin was so hot, electric, and he couldn’t help himself, he covered her with his mouth and suckled deeply.

“Oh…” she uttered breathlessly, cupping her other breast. “Oh, Ethan, please.”

Ethan rooted between her ribs to her other breast, over her fingers until he found the sweet, taut peak in the center. Her body danced beneath his, her hips pumped as though he was inside her, and how he longed to be.

So caught up in the moment, Ethan gently sank his teeth into the pink flesh surrounding her nipple as he continued to flick the tight bud. Her breath quickened, and he could hear her heart pounding in her chest. He wanted to make her climax, just with his mouth on her breast, and she was close, so close. But then outside the window came the sounds of people laughing and talking, some loud enough to hear.

“Where do you think Curtis ran off to?” one said.

“Back to the office?” someone suggested, chuckling.

The conversation wasn’t lost on Mary or Ethan, and they stilled, looked at each other, their breathing labored. Then after a moment, Mary let out a frustrated sigh and rolled away from him.

Feeling like an ass, Ethan didn’t say anything as he watched her dress, but when she finally looked at him, pink-cheeked, slightly disheveled and, judging by her eyes, still on the verge of orgasm, he couldn’t stop himself.

“No farther?” he asked gently.

She shook her head, deep regret in her eyes, but from what, he wasn’t sure. “We have to get back to the party.”

“God, why?”

“They’re leaving.”

“I don’t care—”

“Yes, you do,” she said, coming to her feet, smoothing her blouse. “We need to make an appearance, say goodbye to those who remain. You don’t want people thinking that you completely disappeared.”

“I don’t give a damn what they think.” Desire still raged through him. He wanted to play caveman and drag her off to his bed and lock the door behind him. “I want to finish this.”

“Another time.”

He was about to tell her that he didn’t want to wait, but he knew that determined look on her face, knew better than to try to sway or push her. “I’m holding you to that,” he grumbled.

By the time they returned, separately of course, to the party, most of the guests had gone. There were a few stragglers milling about, and while Mary thanked and paid the staff, Ethan showed his face to the last of the guests.

He was in his office when Mary found him a half hour later.

“Well, the general consensus is that everyone had a good time,” she said.

“Everyone?” he asked pointedly, his gaze intense.

She bit her lip, which made his groin tighten painfully. “I should get going.”

“Stay until the end,” he said.

“This is the end. Everyone’s gone, even the wait and kitchen staffs have taken off.”

He sat back in his chair. “I meant stay until the end of the night…when it gets light outside and my housekeeper serves breakfast.”

“Ethan…”

“You could stay upstairs in my bed. Because you want to…this time.”

She sighed, let her eyes fall closed for a moment. When she opened them again, he saw the same look in her eyes as he had upstairs. She wasn’t finished with him or what they’d started, but she also wasn’t about to agree to stay with him, either. She shook her head. “I’m sorry.” Then turned and left the room.

Her ancient Betty Boop bedside lamp clicked on and Mary uttered a tired, “Man…”

Her father’s face, bed-worn and confused, stared down at her. “What are you doing here, lass?”

“Sleeping.”

“Why?”

She glanced at her matching Betty Boop clock, both it and the lamp presents from her parents for her twelfth birthday. “Because it’s four in the morning.”

Hugh sat on the bed and dragged a hand through his rumpled hair. “Why are you here and not in your apartment?”

Right. Mary glanced around her old bedroom. Not a thing out of place since she’d found her own apartment at nineteen. Same red-checked curtains and white dresser. She smiled halfheartedly when she spotted her Xanadu album in the corner by the old turntable.

Her father cleared his throat, and Mary looked at him sheepishly. “All right, I ran away.”

“Did you indeed?” he said, his shaggy brows lifting.

“From a boy.” Actually from a man, a gorgeous, fever-inducing man, who wanted her in his bed almost as much as he wanted the nonexistent child in her belly. Mary shook her head. What a mess. She burrowed deeper under her old, white down comforter.

“You won’t be telling me why you’re running from this boy, will you lass?”

Her lips pressed tightly together, she shook her head like a stubborn toddler. How could she possibly? Her dad wouldn’t understand what she’d done—the lengths to which she’d gone to protect him. Or worse yet, he’d understand perfectly, feel incredibly guilty and fall deeper into the chasm of despair he was already stuck in.

“You just need a bit of the old family house, do you?” he asked finally, shooing a tiny insect away from the lamp.

She gave him a grateful smile. “If you don’t mind, Pop.”

“You know you’re always welcome here, lass.” He paused for a moment, his eyes concerned. “I just don’t want you to be running away from your problems too often. You’ll never have time to sit down and take a breath if you do.”

“I know.”

“I love you, lass.”

“I love you too, Pop.”

When her father left the room, Mary lay back against her pillow and stared out at the same moon she’d watched change from sliver to crescent to full so many times when she was a kid. What had started out as the only foreseeable way to keep her father out of jail, or from a trial at the very least, had become a nightmare that she wanted to wake up from. She and Ethan had a meeting next week, and no matter how difficult it would be, she was not going to run away from the truth. She was going to tell him everything.

The wind off the lake whipped her hair from side to side, as though trying to make up its mind which direction to go. It was Sunday morning, a day Mary usually reserved for the newspaper, coffee and as many Danishes as she could eat without exploding, but when Ivan Garrison had called and asked her to see his boat, she’d readily accepted. The fact was, she was dying for some impersonal work to take her mind off Ethan.

After seeing his eighty-four-foot yacht, and having a quick discussion about where he’d like everything set up for the gala, the captain had asked her to take a sail on the very boat that he would be racing that day. Mary had been on very few sailboats in her time, and had been a little afraid of seasickness, but after popping a couple of Dramamine, she’d hopped aboard and found life on the water rather magnificent.

After they’d rounded the lake twice, Ivan headed back to the marina. Over the wind and the lapping of the water, Mary called, “This is great! I think your guests will be very impressed, Captain.”

Ivan grinned at her. “Not just by the gala, I’m hoping.”

Confused, she said, “I’m sorry?”

“I’ve decided to take your advice and make this a charity event.”

Mary nodded. So, the captain did have a soul after all. Shocking, he wasn’t just a Lamborghini-driving playboy. She’d have to tell Olivia.

“So all the entry fees will go to charity?” she called as Ivan maneuvered around in the marina, approaching the dock at a very slow speed.

“My financial advisors have told me that this will be a great tax write-off.”

So he wasn’t exactly Mother Teresa, but at least he had agreed to do something worthwhile. Maybe she wouldn’t mention this to Olivia.

“Have you decided which charity appeals to you?” she asked him.

“Cancer’s pretty popular.”

“True.”

Ivan slowly entered the slip, then placed the transmission in neutral and let the wind blow the boat back. “But which one to choose?” he called, securing the boat’s front dock line first. “Children? Lung? Breast?”

Mary removed her life vest and placed it beside her on the bench. “Well, how about the Cancer Research Institute? They pretty much cover it all.”

“Perfect.” Staring onto the dock, Ivan squinted, then frowned. “Is he waiting for you or me?”

Mary glanced up, saw what Ivan was seeing and felt her pulse jump inside her veins. Standing there, arms crossed and looking murderous, was Ethan. “That would be for me.”

Six

Ethan’s body tightened at the sight of Mary walking down the dock toward him. A white T-shirt, pink shorts and bare feet had never looked so dangerous on any woman. Visions swam in his mind, images of soft skin against his mouth and long legs wrapped around his waist, cute round buttocks cupped in his hands. This intense physical reaction was becoming way too famil iar, and he wondered if the only way he was going to get rid of it was to take her to bed again.

Ethan had known many women in his time, but his need for them had faded quickly. Why wasn’t it the same with Mary Kelley? Why had the desire to taste her, fill his nostrils with her scent, open her thighs and bury himself deep inside her only intensified over time? Was it the baby or something else, something more?

Her pale-blue eyes mocked him as she came to stand before him, a grin tugging at her mouth. “You are officially stalking me now, Curtis.”

“Well, one of us has to protect the baby,” he muttered grimly.

“What in the world are you talking about?”

He gestured to the water. “Out there on the open water, no life jacket, no nothing.”

“Open water?” she repeated, laughing. “Come on. This is a lake, calm as a sleeping kitten. There’s no danger here.”

Ethan eyed the man coming up behind her. “Isn’t there?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Mary said as her sailboat buddy walked by with a smile and a wave. She waved back and called, “I’ll call you on Thursday,” then returned her attention to a very annoyed Ethan. “I was wearing a life jacket, and the captain—he’s just a client.”

“The captain,” Ethan drawled with derision. “Please don’t tell me that he makes you call him that?”

Mary regarded him incredulously. “Let’s not get into crazy demands from clients, shall we?”

“Fine,” he muttered darkly, following her down the dock and toward the parking lot.

As she dug the car keys from her purse, she asked, “Now, what’s brought you all the way out here?”

“Do you have a doctor?”

She stopped, turned to look at him. “Why? Do you have a medical emergency?”

Her joke was lost on him and he scowled. “Be serious for a second.”

“I have a doctor, Ethan.”

“For the pregnancy?”

Her gaze flickered to the ground then back up, and he wondered if that was too intimate a thing to ask her.

“Yes, I have a doctor,” she said finally. “A family-practice type thing. Why?”

He shook his head. “That’s not good enough. You need an Ob/Gyn.”

Exhaling heavily, she walked away from him toward the lot, but he was on her heels. “I’m serious, Mary.”

“I’m going to come to your house and take every one of those books away from you. Foot massage is one thing, buddy, but—” she fumbled in her purse again for her keys “—you’re getting way too knowledgeable on Girlfriends’ Guides and Mothering and You, and frankly, it’s making me feel a little weird.”

Ethan paused. He didn’t have those two books, but he made a mental note to get them. “Listen, I have a client whose wife is Deena Norrison.”

“Never heard of her.”

“She’s only one of the best Ob/Gyn’s in the country.”

When Mary reached her car and still couldn’t find her keys, she looked ready to explode. Undeterred, Ethan continued, “She’s agreed to see you.”

“I have a good doctor, Ethan,” Mary assured him, her hand stuffed inside her purse again, perspiration beading on her brow.

“Good is not great, and Deena’s the best. Doesn’t our child deserve the best?”

“Aha!” Mary held up her keys triumphantly, but her glee was short-lived when she noticed the stern look on Ethan’s face. She sighed. “When is this appointment? This week is swamped for me, and next week we leave for Mackinac Island.”

“How’s today?”

“Today,” she repeated, the blood draining from her face.

“Right now.” He took her cool hand in his. “There’s no reason to be nervous. I’m sure everything is fine.”

“Now?”

“I know. Isn’t that great? She’s a pretty cool lady. She’ll fit you in at four. Ultrasound and everything.”

Mary shook her head. “But—”

Ethan didn’t give her time to refuse. Once she saw the kid’s heartbeat and heard from the best doctor in the country that everything was just as it should be, she’d relax. “Come on,” he said, gently guiding her toward his car. “I’ll drive.”

Dr. Deena Norrison’s reception area looked like a photograph straight out of the pages of Victoria magazine. Surrounded by cabbage-rose wallpaper, clients sank down into soft and cushy deep-pink sofas with rolled arms. The love seats and chairs, Mary was certain, had down pillows.

Mary sat on one of the love seats, her purse perched on the Queen Anne table before her. The scent of flowers was dizzying and made her feel as though she was trapped inside an English garden at the height of summer.

“Are you okay?” Ethan asked beside her.

“No. I don’t know.” The deodorant she’d put on this morning had disappeared, and she felt wet and uncomfortable.

“I can get you some water or something?” Ethan suggested.

The woman at the front desk stood, smiled at them and said in a polite whisper, “Mrs. Curtis?”

“Oh, jeez,” Mary muttered.

“We can correct that later,” Ethan assured her, then turned to the receptionist and said, “She’s right here.”

“We’ll be taking you back soon,” the woman informed them.

Mary saw it all in her mind: an examination table covered in a crisp old English linen sheet with exquisite crocheted trim and white slip-covered booties on the stirrups. She giggled a little hysterically.

“You need to relax,” Ethan suggested gently.

“Easy for you to say,” Mary uttered as the receptionist held out a clipboard with a flower pen attached.

“If you can just fill out this paperwork.”

Sensing that Mary was not about to move, Ethan retrieved the papers for her and placed them in her lap. “I could do this if—”

“No, it’s fine.”

As Mary filled out the forms, the words blurred together, and she had to stop and take a deep breath. The front door to the office opened and a woman came in. She was really far along in her pregnancy and looked exhausted. She dropped down in the chair beside Mary’s love seat and exhaled heavily. When she spotted Mary, she smiled. “Long way to go yet, huh? When are you due?”

“What? Oh…ah…” It was all she could get out. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, and waves of nausea were hitting her every few minutes. She needed air, needed to breathe something other than that damn flower smell. Suddenly panicked, she stood, dropped the paperwork on the table and ran out of the office. She spotted a stairwell to her left and ran to the door. Down the stairs she flew, her shirt spotted with sweat, her breathing labored. She heard Ethan behind her, calling her name, but she didn’t stop. Once she made it to the lobby, she swung the front door open wide and ran to a grassy spot where a few nurses were eating their lunch.

Breathing heavily, she wanted to collapse on the grass, but instead she started pacing.

“Mary?”

She didn’t look at him, didn’t stop moving. “I can’t do this.”

“It’s okay.” His voice was soothing, and she hated him for his concern. He was the one who’d gotten them into this mess in the first place, damn him. “You don’t have to see her,” he continued. “Use your own doctor. I just thought it would be—”

“It’s not the doctor, Ethan.”

“Then what?” When she wouldn’t stop pacing, he grabbed her shoulders and held her against him, his tone worried now. “What the hell is wrong?”

His chest felt so strong and she wanted to sink into it, disappear inside of it, but he wouldn’t allow her to hide. Easing one hand from her shoulder, he tipped her chin up so she had to look at him.

“Tell me what’s going on, Mary.”

Miserably, she shook her head. “There is no baby.”

“What?”

“No baby, Ethan.”

He went white. “Did something happen…that boat ride…”

“No.” She stared at him, into those beautiful dark-blue eyes she’d believed for so long were soulless. What a damn mess. This whole thing. “I just wanted my father to be okay.”

He still looked confused, but after a moment, realization dawned and confusion was swapped for a fiercely accusing gaze. “You were never pregnant?”

Shame coiled in her belly and she shook her head. “No.”

“You were never pregnant,” he repeated.

“I’m sorry.”

Ethan stared at her, his eyes wide in fury. “Yes, you will be,” he uttered, his jaw knotted with the force of emotion.

“Ethan.”

“I should’ve known.”

“Ethan, please, I—” But her words fell on deaf ears. He had already turned his back on her and was stalking toward his car. Feeling as though she’d just assaulted someone, Mary dropped onto a hard picnic bench and watched his BMW leave the parking lot, tires squealing.

Seven

Twenty minutes later, Ethan entered the crumbling stone gates of Days of Grace Trailer Park. As he drove past the shabby office, muscle memory took hold and his BMW practically steered itself to the curb beside number fifty-three. The one-bedroom mobile home his father had sold just before his death looked as though it had been remodeled, as though someone were really trying to make the place a home, with fresh paint, a nice carport and fenced garden.

“About damn time,” Ethan muttered, opening his window a crack before killing the engine.

It was ironic. At sixteen, he couldn’t have gotten out of this park fast enough. He’d had big dreams, big plans, and he’d sworn to himself he’d never be back. But here he was, drawn to it like scum to bathroom tile. How was it that he felt infinitely more comfortable parked outside his father’s trailer than at his home or office? Why was it that he could breathe here? The air was stale and slightly mildewed; nothing had changed.

He shoved a hand through his hair. He should have expected Mary to lie to him. People were never honest, never to be trusted—including himself. Why the hell hadn’t he learned that in all this time? Maybe because he’d thought himself worthy of a family, good enough to make a child with a Harrington.

A large man in his early thirties wearing a baseball hat and ripped jeans came out of the house. When he spotted Ethan, he lifted a hand in a wary hello. Wasn’t the first time the guy had seen Ethan parked there, but he’d never called security. No doubt the guy knew he could’ve handled the situation himself if things got out of control. After all, he was pretty big.