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“What’s the hurry?” Rich asked. “You’d rather go home to an empty house than have a drink with me?”
James didn’t tell him the house wasn’t exactly empty. At least it wasn’t when he arrived home. Harper was usually finishing up in the basement or waiting for him in the hallway when he finished a day shift, and he was beginning to get used to it. More than that, he was enjoying it.
When he pulled his car onto his blacktop driveway, he could see Harper’s Toyota parked in front of the steps, and he felt his body warm from his toes to his head. For three years he’d hated coming home. Hated the reminders that hit him every time he stepped into the hallway and heard the empty echoes of his footfalls. But now he could hear the whirr of Harper’s sewing machine, or the sound of her humming as she walked up the basement stairs. Even the house smelled different now that she was here. Sweet and full of life. He wanted to capture it in a bottle and keep it safe, in case she stopped coming.
He climbed out of his car, shaking his head at himself. Of course she’d stop coming here. She’d told him herself that she’d saved enough money for her own place, and was actively looking for somewhere that could fit her, the baby, and her business.
He was still frowning when he opened the front door and walked inside. There was no sign of Harper, no clicking and whirring coming from the basement. “Hello?” he called out.
Panic hit him like a sledgehammer, taking him straight back to the day when he’d walked into a quiet house to find the police and his father waiting for him.
There was no reply. He took a deep breath in to stave off the rising fear, then pushed the basement door open. “Harper?” he called louder this time.
“James?”
The relief that washed over him was as strong as the panic. He ran down the stairs, his feet slapping out a fast rhythm, then into the main room, searching her out.
She was sitting on the old sofa in the corner, a pair of headphones wrapped around her swollen stomach. She was blinking, her cheeks pink with sleep. “Hey,” she said, smiling. “Is it that time already?”
He smiled back at her, still drunk with relief. “It’s almost six.” He glanced at her belly again. “What are you doing with those headphones?”
Harper laughed self-consciously. “I’ve been playing Mozart to the baby. I read somewhere that she can hear sounds now, and I figure it’s never too early to shape her musical tastes.”
“I took you for more of a rock chick.”
“I am, but I don’t want to burst those tiny eardrums. I like classical, too, and I’m hoping this kid is going to become a genius like her daddy.”
A shot of warmth rushed through him. He walked over to where she was laying and scooted down beside her, gen
tly pulling the earphones from her bump. “I’m hoping she’ll turn out more like you.”
“You’re admitting she’s a girl then?” she looked at him through her thick lashes. Her skin still creased with sleep.
“I’m just humoring you until the ultrasound. That’s if you still want to find out.”
“I do.” She moved her hands down to her bump, caressing it softly. He was so close he could smell the sweet fragrance of her body lotion. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the urge to touch her. He’d been doing so well, keeping a level of distance between them since that day his mom had visited her. Pushing down the need to be close to her, to touch her, to breathe her in.
“You can touch it, you know,” Harper said softly, as though she could read his mind. He glanced over at her, and their gazes caught. “I don’t mind you feeling the bump. Maybe she’ll like it.”
He swallowed hard as she pulled her top up to reveal the pale swell of her stomach. Desire pulsed in him, making his hot blood pool in his groin, as he reached out a hand and placed it gently on the side of her stomach.
God, she was warm. Her skin tender and smooth. He moved his fingers, tracing along her flesh, and he heard her breath catch.
“I’m getting stretch marks,” she whispered. “They’re ugly.”
“No they’re not. They’re beautiful.”
The urge to press his lips against her was like a drum in his head, beating out a rhythm he had to fight to ignore. He wanted to slide his hands up, to feel her waist, her breasts, then cup her face until it was angled perfectly to his.
“You should say something to her,” Harper suggested. “Get her used to your voice.”
It was as though he was in some kind of trance. He lowered his head until his lips were only a breath away from her skin, and she let out a long, deep sigh. He licked his lips, trying to think of what to say.
Then Harper’s hand was on his head, her fingers weaving into his hair, and it felt amazing. How he missed this, this feeling of skin on skin. Of a connection with another human being.
“Hey,” he breathed out, his lips an inch from her skin. “Hello, little baby, this is your daddy.”
Harper’s stomach moved as she took in a lungful of air.
