Hard Hart, page 17
“That’s amazing. And so cool.” She felt a little stupid, standing next to this incredibly liberal and educated woman. What else could she say? Amazing and cool didn’t seem like responses worthy of this woman’s knowledge and expertise.
But Joy didn’t seem fazed in the least and just kept talking and cramming the turkey. “Was upfront with the boys from the get-go. None of this ‘pee pee’ and ‘wee wee’ bullshit. Call them by their real names, ‘penis’ and ‘vagina’ or ‘vulva’ to be more anatomically correct.”
This woman was raw and didn’t pull any punches, and Krista loved it. Loved her, even if she was a tad spooky when her mama bear came out.
“And when the boys’ father died, it was just me, so I had to be Mom and Dad. If they had any ‘manly’ questions, I needed them to feel comfortable enough to come and talk to me about it.”
“That makes sense.” Krista took a sip of her third mug of cider, allowing the warmth to flow down her throat. It tasted like Christmas.
“Masturbation, sex, relationships, anything they wanted to know more about, they could come to me.” She scooped some more stuffing out of the bowl and started really giving it to the turkey, trying to cram every last crumb in there. “The same open-door policy stands for you, too, you know. And the babe. I don’t judge.” She blew her salt and pepper bangs out of her eyes. “The amount of conversations I’ve had about masturbation and safe sex … ” She snorted at her own mirth. “Guess I failed Brock on that last one, eh?”
Krista’s eyes went wide, and she could feel her face getting warm once again. She knew it wasn’t just from the piping-hot cider. “Well … uh, thanks. I mean … judging on my current predicament, I’m all educated up on how babies are made, and I’ll be open and honest with our kids, too. But it’s nice to know that they have a nana to go to if they have any questions.”
Joy’s face broke into a giant smile, her eyes glittering like Venus on a clear night. “You said kids.”
Krista shoveled a forkful of turkey into her mouth and had to stop herself from groaning in delight, especially since the juicy breast and well-seasoned gravy made her tongue want to have a spontaneous orgasm. She was sure neither she nor Brock would hear the end of it if she made even a peep that sounded sexual. So instead, she put her head down, shut her eyes and let the flavors envelop her in silence.
“Are you guys at least dating?” Heath asked over a mouthful of mashed potatoes. His plate resembled the Himalayas if the sky snowed gravy. “Is she your giiiirlfriend, Brocky Boo?”
Brock shot his youngest brother a stern look of warning, but Heath shrugged it off and grinned with puffy potato cheeks.
Krista looked up at the man on her left. What exactly were they? Well, besides parents-to-be, roommates and fuck buddies? Was it a relationship? Were they dating?
She had to catch herself from snorting. Dating. Ha. Besides her staff Christmas party, which he had invited himself to and had ended horribly, they hadn’t been on one date. So no. They were not dating. But what exactly were they doing? Was there a label for it? Should they label it?
Brock lifted one shoulder. “Yeah, I guess so. I mean I like her, she’s hot, makes killer gingerbread men, and I’d rather stop breathing than stop screwing her. So … I guess she is my girlfriend.”
The table went dead quiet, and all eyes, all eight of them, stopped and stared at the patriarch sitting at the head of the table. Krista’s mouth hung open, and when she glanced around the table, she wasn’t the only person sitting there with a goofy paper Christmas Cracker hat on her head who looked like a widemouth bass.
Brock made a rude noise in his throat and took a sip of his beer. “Pass me the brussels sprouts, Rex … please.” Then everything went back to normal. It was weird and odd and all kinds of crazy. And as they sat there eating the incredible dinner that Joy had prepared, Krista couldn’t help the giddy feeling that bubbled inside her.
She was his girlfriend.
Uncomfortably full of dinner, but also Christmas cheer, Krista and Brock waddled through the front door later that night, gift bags in hand. Brock’s brothers must have had a sixth sense or something about Krista coming to celebrate Christmas with them, or maybe Brock had told them he was bringing her and not taking no for an answer, but either way, all three of them had a gift for her. And really wonderful gifts to boot.
Heath had bought her a gorgeous forest-green wool scarf with matching gloves, while Rex and Chase went in on a beautiful black leather jacket, one that matched Brock’s.
Joy had glowered for a moment at Brock for making her feel like a putz as she didn’t have a gift for Krista, but besides Brock, Krista didn’t have a gift for anyone, so if anything, she was the putz and said as much to Joy.
“Nobody is a putz,” Rex said with a laugh. “Well, nobody besides Brock. He really shouldn’t have blindsided you guys.”
“Agreed,” Joy and Krista had said in unison.
Brock had just sat there with a scowl on his face as he passed Krista her gift. And what a gift. Even though the scarf, gloves and jacket were amazing, Brock’s gift was out of this world. Literally. He’d gone and purchased a star, an actual up-in-outer-space ball of fiery gas millions of light-years away, with the intention of naming it after their baby once he or she was born.
And of course, as hormonal pregnant ladies are wont to do, Krista had welled up with big, fat, ugly tears and cried when she’d opened the envelope.
His amazing gift had certainly put hers to shame. She’d felt like the putz of putzes when, after opening up the envelope that contained the star, she was forced to hand over her gift. A lump of coal compared with his diamond.
She had no idea what to get the sexy teddy bear. Mostly because she didn’t know him. And every time over the past few weeks she thought of a gift for him, her mind immediately went to the gutter.
Thanks again, pregnant lady hormones.
Whipped cream and strawberries and her with no clothes on, edible underwear and kinky sex toys. A coupon book for nights of whatever he wanted. Dirty shit. Lots and lots of dirty shit.
So, in the end, she’d bought him a book. A freaking cookbook. A cookbook consisting primarily of stir-fry recipes, because that seemed to be his go-to meal. She’d yet to have a bad one, but he was getting repetitive.
Fortunately, and almost convincingly, he seemed genuinely interested in her gift and leafed through it for several minutes.
Next year she’d do better.
Brock’s house was cold, especially compared with the warmth and charm they’d felt at Joy’s just moments ago, and an involuntary shiver raced up Krista’s spine as she climbed the stairs. She was exhausted, even though she’d done nothing all day but eat.
“I’ll light the fire in a second.” Brock yawned, coming up behind her as she made her way down the hallway toward her room. He flicked on the furnace, and she heard it hum to life beneath her feet. “But first I want to show you something. It’s your other Christmas present.”
She groaned. “Another one? Jeez, you trying to make my gift seem even crappier?”
He shook his head and reached for her hand, his other one on the knob of the spare room that they never went in. “It wasn’t a crappy gift. I’ll get a lot of use out of my stir-fry book,” he said with real and genuine affection in his voice. He turned the doorknob. “Now, it’s not quite done. I thought you might want to have a hand in the final touches … ” He opened the door and flicked on the light.
She gasped and stared in amazement as she slowly spun around the room and took in the nursery. “Oh my God … ”
This man …
“You’d mentioned you wanted to do the baby’s room in yellow and gray with an owl theme, right?”
She nodded and ran her hand over the smooth, painted wood of the white sleigh crib.
“I haven’t put up much art or anything, just a few things I’ve found. But feel free to go crazy.”
“I … ” She shook her head “I can’t believe you did all of this. When?”
He shrugged. “You work a lot. I had time.”
“Did you make the crib?”
He shook his head and came up beside her. “No. I know a guy who does woodworking as a hobby. I commissioned it.”
“It’s … ” She ran her hand over the silky wood again. “It’s incredible.”
He shrugged and toed at a piece of nothing on the carpet. “I hope you don’t mind. I just wanted to help you. Take away the stress. My brothers thought I was nuts, given how big of a control freak you are.”
She was flooded with the need to be with him. Near him.
She ate up the distance between them and rested her arms on his shoulders, her hands tickling the nape of his neck. She had to lift up onto tiptoe to kiss his chin. “Thank you,” she murmured.
His arms drifted around her waist. He grunted.
She chuckled against his skin. “That all you have to say?”
He grunted again, his head tilting down and his eyes finding hers. “What do you want me to say?”
She blinked up at him and smiled. “I dunno. You just grunt an awful lot.”
He grunted again, and she giggled.
“I like the sound of your laugh,” he whispered, still gazing down at her. “It’s not a girly giggle.”
She lifted one eyebrow. “No? What is it? A womanly giggle?”
The corners of his eyes creased, and his mouth lifted into a lopsided smile. “Yeah.”
“I’m glad I moved in,” she said softly. “I’m happy I don’t have to do this alone.”
His hands tightened around her, and he pulled her closer. “You’re not alone.”
“Not now.”
His lips brushed her forehead. “Not ever. You, this baby, I’ll always be here. Protect you both. Take care of you.”
Emotion caught in her throat from his words. She pushed back up to her tiptoes again and lifted her head. He angled his down to hers and took her mouth. But unlike all their other passionate embraces that were fueled by lust and a carnal need, this kiss was slow, sweet and filled with something much more than Krista could even begin to decipher. Her heart constricted inside her chest, and a lone tear slowly slipped down her cheek as he continued to kiss her, to hold her, to protect her.
Her hands slid down from his shoulders and roamed across his big chest and down to the hem of his shirt. He was so warm. The heat from him radiated through the fabric and into her skin, swirling through her.
Seconds later, she found herself scooped up in his arms and being carried fireman-style down the hallway to his bedroom. He gently placed her on the bed and began peeling away her clothes. The way his eyes devoured her made her entire body pulse. He looked at her like no other man ever had. As if she was all he would ever need or want. Gooseflesh raced across her skin as he removed her pants and underwear. But his searing stare quickly warmed her. He wasn’t nearly as patient with his own clothes and removed them with deft precision and speed.
The man was perfect. And he was hers.
She reached for him. “Make love to me, Brock.”
Desire sparkled in his green eyes as he put one knee into the bed and covered her.
“Move into my room,” he said, hovering above her, his lips just inches from hers. It wasn’t a request. But she was used to his bossy alpha-hole ways, and for the most part, they only turned her on more.
She gazed up at him. This was the man she was falling for. Her mouth quirked up into a grin. “So we’re boyfriend and girlfriend?”
He grunted and let the tip of his cock brush her clit. Oh, he was playing dirty now. “Sleep here tonight,” he said. “Move into my room.” He did one of his signature hip swirls and she nearly combusted on the spot.
“Why?”
“Because.” He pushed deeper inside her. “I don’t like you being across the hall.”
“You like me in your bed?” she teased, squeezing her muscles around him. “Easy access?”
He pushed forward until he was all the way inside. They both let out contented sighs. Languidly, almost torturously slow, he began to thrust.
“I like you here. You belong here.”
“I belong here,” she said, more to herself than anything.
Until the police force, Krista had never really felt as though she belonged anywhere. She wasn’t like the other kids in high school or even her older brother. She’d always felt like a bit of a screwup or a black sheep compared with everyone else. But with the RCMP, she belonged. And now, with Brock, as his girlfriend, in his house, carrying his baby, she felt like she belonged. She was part of something. This was where she was meant to be. In his house. In his bed. Beneath him. With him.
“You belong here,” he repeated, his eyes not leaving her face. “You belong with me.”
Chapter 13
Brock was disappointed when Krista rushed off to work the following morning. He had the day off and hoped they could spend the majority of it in bed. Lord knows he’d grown to love nothing more than hammering her into the mattress until she passed out from exhaustion with a smile on her face.
She loved the nursery, loved the star for their baby and had agreed to move into his bedroom. Despite the fact that he knew she’d be seeing Slade today at work, he was in a pretty decent mood. His mother had also confided in him, as he and Krista were leaving the house the night before, that she was smitten with his new “roommate” and couldn’t imagine a better suited woman to “exorcise the miserable” out of him.
Jeez, thanks, Mum.
Chase came by shortly after Krista left, and the two spent a couple of hours downstairs in Brock’s home gym, neither of them saying much, which was how they both preferred it.
Afterward, he showered, shaved and then spent the rest of the day cleaning the house. He had a housekeeper, but Marlena was on vacation, and shit still needed to get done, so as much as he loathed it, he knew Krista would appreciate it. Then he moved the rest of her things into his room. If she was going to live in his room, she was going to do it properly, girlie shit and all. After all her clothes were put away, he chucked out some of his own shit, tossing it into storage under the stairs. He made a new stir-fry from his cookbook and then sat and waited for her to come home.
Brock drummed his fingers on the armrest of his La-Z-Boy as he tipped up a bottle of beer into his mouth with his other hand. He glanced at the clock above the mantle. Where was she? She only worked until five, and it was almost six. Was everything okay? Was she okay? Was the baby okay? There was still a fair bit of snow on the roads, and in their neck of the woods, the plow only bothered clearing one lane. What if she’d been in an accident?
Fear, anger, frustration and worry gnawed at the back of his neck like a rabid badger until he felt it all the way down his spine. Where the fuck was she?
It wasn’t until he heard the lock in the door that he realized he’d been gripping the armrest so tightly, his hand was cramping and his heart beat wildly in his chest.
“Get a fucking grip,” he murmured, not wanting her to see him sitting here waiting for her like some lapdog. He was no fucking lap dog.
“Hello?” she called, the sounds of her hanging up her coat and ditching her boots following her greeting up the stairs.
He grunted and pushed himself up from his seat, wandering over to the top of the stairs to look down at her. She looked exhausted.
“You’re late,” he said with another grunt.
Ascending the stairs, she rolled her eyes. “So? It’s snowy out there, and I had to finish processing someone. Just because the clock strikes five doesn’t necessarily mean my day is over. If I’m in the middle of something I finish it.” She lifted her head and wrinkled her nose. “Mmm, something smells good.”
Damn her fucking cuteness. He turned away from her and glanced at the news on the television. “Call next time.”
Her exasperated sigh niggled more frustration at the back of his neck. Why did everything have to be a fight? Why couldn’t she just do what she was told?
Would you like her half as much if she did?
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” she replied with a yawn, appearing bored with him and his tyranny. “I’m going to go have a quick shower.” She glanced at him, mischief twinkling in those gorgeous blue eyes. “That is, if I’m allowed.”
He simply grunted again, turned his back and walked into the kitchen.
“Missed you too, baby,” she called back, her voice already down the hall. “So happy to be home.”
Unable to throw anything or pound the wall, Brock gritted his teeth and turned on the wok, angry, but why?
Because you care about her. Worry about her, and she’s turning you into a sap with feelings.
“I’m not a fucking sap,” he grumbled around fifteen minutes later as he scooped rice out of the rice cooker onto two plates.
“Who said you were a sap?”
Her voice made him practically jump out of his skin, though thankfully he was able to hide his surprise and simply shrugged.
“Hmm?” she asked, coming up behind him and resting her hand on his back for a moment. “Who said you were a sap?”
His entire body responded on instinct to her presence, her scent, her touch. His balls tightened and his dick lurched as heat flooded his veins.
“Nobody.”
She leaned over the wok and grabbed a piece of broccoli, popping it into her mouth with a pleased hum. “All right then, Mr. CrankyPants.”
He thrust a plate into her hands. “Go eat.”
She saluted him. “Yes, sir.”
Moments later, they were sitting across from each other at the dinner table—for some reason, Brock had decided that they were going to eat dinner at the table, rather than in front of the television—and he felt his foul mood slowly disappear with each bite. And that’s when it hit him: He’d been so busy all day, cleaning and moving Krista’s shit into his room, that he hadn’t eaten. Had he even had breakfast? He didn’t think so. He was “hangry,” as his mother called it.
Son of a bitch.
Now he just felt like an ass.
