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Chapter Thirty-six
Once they returned to the house, Alia beetled into her room before temptation to pick up where they’d left off when Cassie called became too great. Anyway, she needed to have a Skype session with Ruby, one they’d planned before the woman left.
Alia had no doubts about Ruby’s arrival at her home. Positive her family would welcome her back into their fold with grace and the forgiveness she craved, Alia’s heart swelled for her best friend. Her biggest concern was that Ruby might not come back. Just thinking of that set all her nerves to clamoring.
How could she bring up Kean alone when she had so few qualifications for doing a good job? Hell, she even cringed when she knew a hug was needed. Overcoming her upbringing, her inability to be openly affectionate, would damage her and Kean’s relationship. She knew it. But Jesus help her, most times it didn’t feel natural, or easy… or possible.
With her laptop on her knee, propped against the wall and sitting on the bathroom floor so as not to disturb Kean, she made the connection.
Ruby glowed. And Alia had no choice but to celebrate with her friend. Ecstatic, her old nanny warbled on and on about her homecoming. Her father’s tears of welcome had healed the breach and even her sisters had rallied around her with open arms and loving greetings. She talked non-stop for ten minutes about her happiness, her relief about her flight, which had proved to be arduous, before grilling Alia about Kean and her own situation. Once assured that both were fine, she’d passed on reminders, orders that Alia needed to follow, and then signed off.
Later, Alia lay in bed, trying to calm her mind, conscious that Sloan slept on the other side of her bedroom wall. If she listened closely enough, she could almost imagine hearing him breathe.
He disturbed her. Set all her pre-conceived notions of men, and especially male agents she’d known, upside down. Most of the guys where she’d previously worked wore suits, had slick hair and the personalities of sour green grapes.
Here was a man who was completely different. His thick wavy hair constantly drew her attention to where her fingers itched to sift through and stroke. His everyday outfits, featuring khaki shorts, with either his Booker work tops or colorful Hawaiian shirts, caught her eye because any woman with good vision knew they covered a muscular frame most men would envy and females would lust over.
Then there were his slanted, chocolate-brown Hawaiian eyes, filled with gold and danger. This thought made her pull her legs together to stop the yearning hunger from drawing her fingers to help relieve sudden cravings.
She turned over on her back, bed creaking, wriggling uncomfortably and heard similar noises from behind the wall. Was that a moan? Yep. He’d moaned.Good! I bloody hope you’re having a hell of a time sleeping too, Mr. Sexy. Why should I be the only sufferer?
Oh, cut it out!She needed to stop fantasising about screwing the man, for heaven’s sake, and set her priorities straight. Right now her main goal was to do her job, while at the same time, keeping her ex-husband from getting close to Kean.
She’d die if Paul took her boy away from her. And the thought of giving in to his ludicrous demands to give him and his young bimbo a baby… well, she’d rather be dragged under the wheels of a bus.
If she thought for one tiny second that Paul had any affection for his son, she might be willing to open a dialogue. One where he’d get to know Kean, even form a relationship that every boy needed with another male, especially a dad.
But she knew better. The jerk only wanted to please his rich, well-connected wife. Withhereggs. No thank you very much! Her eggs were staying inside her body, and he could go to hell.
Libby’s words intruded and their earlier conversation came back to haunt her. The PI had followed her to Sloan’s house, but all the woman had to have seen was the taxi pulling away. Not their suitcases. Otherwise, she wouldn’t still be stalking the old house.
So she didn’t really know where Alia and Kean were living now. What Libby did know was her cell number. But that would be easy enough to get for anyone with Internet smarts.
Accepting the proficiency of the PI, Alia knew she’d soon figure out that they lived here now. When she passed that information on to Paul, Alia had no doubt that he would try something. The man didn’t like being refused. And, according to his boasts, the law wouldn’t stand in his way; he’d just use it to his benefit.
Friggin’, shittin’ hell!
