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His hands cupped my face and slowly slid down my neck, over my breasts, suddenly hot and heavy with a desire I thought had been satisfied. My nipples hardened and I sighed with pleasure as his hands curved over the taut swell of my belly, feeling every contour of the sleeping baby inside.
“What’s…ah…your secret?” I asked, my train of thought totally derailed.
“I didn’t know this about myself,” he said. “But I think I’m hot for pregnant women.”
“We’ll have to keep you away from Lamaze classes,” I said, and the heat between us dissipated as we both laughed so hard we had to lean against each other.
“Zoe,” he said. “This is really strange, but I’m so glad you stood up on that chair.”
I leaned back, surprised and touched. Warmth filled me like sunshine on a hot day. “Me, too,” I whispered. “Me, too.”
The phone on the counter buzzed with an e-mail, ruining the mood, and I sat back, trying not to be irritated because he had warned me that he didn’t turn the phone off for anyone.
But honestly, it was the middle of the night and I was naked.
Without batting an eye, Carter just reached over and held down the power button.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Turning it off. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning.”
Well, I thought, letting him pull me from my chair and lead me back into the lush shadows of the bedroom—as far as tokens of his affection, that one was hard to beat.
CARTER
It was Thanksgiving and I had spent most of the day working from home, starting some campaign financing initiatives and looking over staff résumés that Amanda had forwarded me. I had the football game going on the TV in the corner, but by three o’clock I was done pretending that I wanted to work. Or even needed to.
The press conference yesterday had gone off without a hitch and already I’d gotten several calls of support. Eric Lafayette had come by the office with a giant check.
“We need more men like you working for this city,” he’d said, and my belief in myself, in the good I could do for Baton Rouge, had skyrocketed. All those second thoughts brought on by my mother were gone.
Hell, even Blackwell was leaving me alone.
But now it was Thanksgiving Day, and there was nothing that needed to be done. I had a fridge full of Thanksgiving Day food but no one to share it with. I checked my watch—driving down to Bonne Terre now would get me there far too late for dinner, and besides, I didn’t really want to see my family.
I wanted to see Zoe.
Zoe in the moonlight. Zoe laughing so hard salsa splattered out of her mouth. Zoe curled up beside me, the weight of that baby pressed against my hip.
Operating on instinct I packed up all the food, including the remaining sugar pie, and left my house. Zoe was going to be thrilled to see me, or maybe she’d be thrilled to see the sugar pie, but either way, this was the way I wanted to spend Thanksgiving.
In her gypsy camp.
My car lights flashed and the horn honked when I pressed the unlock button on my key ring.
“Hi, Carter,” someone whispered, and I jumped out of my skin.
“Who—?”
My mother stepped out of the shadows beside my garage.
15
“Christ, Mom, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” I said.
“Sorry,” she murmured, lingering in the hazy place between shadow and late-afternoon sunlight.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long. I was about to go up and knock on your door.”
“You okay?” I noticed that her lip was swollen and she held her hand against her chest as if it hurt. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she said, her smile quick and painful looking. “Nothing you need to worry about. I saw you on TV. Mayor, huh?”
“That’s the plan,” I said on a gust of breath. I wasn’t impatient, I just didn’t understand why she was here.
“Now that’s a con,” she said with a shake of her head. “Fundraising money alone would keep you in champagne—”
“It’s not a con,” I said, angry that she saw everything within those parameters. “I think I could do some good. I’m not sure you’re familiar with the concept.”
Her eyes were shadowed and the smile fled her face. Her lip looked painful, and I leaned closer to see her, but she backed farther into the shadows.
“What happened to your lip—”
“I’m fine. Trust me. I’ve had worse.”
The silence dripped and simmered between us.
“How’s work—” I said, just as she said, “So, it’s Thanksgiving.”
We laughed awkwardly.
“Work’s…ah…fine. Good. Doing real good,” she said. “Boss really likes me.”
“That’s great,” I said, wondering if everything that came out of her mouth was a lie or just seemed like it.
“So, it’s Thanksgiving,” Vanessa said. “You going to Bonne Terre?”
“No,” I said. “It’s too late.”
