11

His answer stole her breath. And for the first time she pondered what it had cost Bobby to break it off with her. He’d made a dying promise to his best friend, a man he considered a brother , had even left his family, his country, to fulfill that promise.

When his identity had become known, she had found the newsclip of Prince Edmund’s final moments on the internet. And recognized a much younger Bobby among the swarm of people. Distraught, yet on full alert for further danger, he had escorted the body of his friend to the ambulance.

For years, Robert Bjorn Bellerose lived a lie but for a very honorable reason. That lie ultimately led him to walk away from her because he could no longer live that lie and be with her .

She had always known there was some part of himself he withheld from her. Diverting conversation when she prodded about his background had been a dead giveaway. One she foolishly chose to overlook. At least he hadn’t been hiding a wife . “I never told you about Dirk.”

“Dirk?”

“A doctor I briefly worked with before returning home. A new partner in the practice. Long story short, he charmed his way into my bed. Until a very pregnant woman walked into the reception area and introduced herself as his wife.”

“Bloody wanker.”

“I was devastated. And so very, very ashamed,” she whispered, recalling those dark days.

“You didn’t know.”

Her laugh was hollow and bitter. “The signs were there. We never went to his apartment. He had excuses. Just moved. Blowup mattress. Not unpacked yet. Blah, blah, blah. Then there were the furtive phone calls. Last minute cancelling a date.” She huffed. “But I was too enamored, too stupid to comprehend his duplicity.”

He placed his left hand over their joined ones and squeezed.

“It gets worse,” she continued. “The wife knew. I got a note from her a couple of days after that visit. ‘ Dirk likes dipping into chocolate. ’ ”

Those words still stung. Not that she hadn’t dealt with racist comments before that moment, but the nasty crudeness of the note had hurt something awful. “When you broke up with me, I wondered …” She trailed off, admitting a deep-seated fear.

“If you being Black had something to do with it?”

“Yeah.”

“The color of your skin was never a factor for me, Darla. I was a goner from the moment we met. I did, however, immediately picture that pale pink lacy item you threw at me on your dark skin. It was a huge turn-on.”

Her cheeks heated remembering their first encounter. “Perv.”

He grinned. “Guilty as charged. But it was your sass that really hooked me.”

“Sass?” She widened her eyes. “I am not sassy.”

His laugh was hard and genuine. “Love, you looked me up and down, and said, ‘Well, aren’t you a shiny knight in dusty armor? Did your horse get tired, or are you just here for the view? ’ ”

She chuckled. “You remember that?”

“I do. And later, when I dropped you off at your brother’s place, your parting words were, ‘So, do cowboys come with a warranty, or is this a one-time ride? ’ ”

“I did not say that,” she protested. But she had. She remembered, too. She also recalled how excited she’d been when he’d contacted her the next day and asked her out.

His expression sobered, and he twisted his torso to face her fully. “You’re a stunning woman, Darla. Inside and out. A wonderful friend. An excellent caregiver. A fantastic lover. And you’re going to make a superb mom.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and placed a kiss on the back. And his gaze, glittering with emotion, held steady as it locked with hers. “And I am so incredibly grateful to be on this exhilarating journey with you.”

Wow. Just … wow.

A loud ping sounded, jarring them both. Annoyance flashed across his face as he released her hand and palmed his cellphone. He read the text. “I need to go back to the stables,” he said. “New arrival. A filly.”

She held her disappointment in check. “Go. Dinner will take a while to prepare. And it’s meatloaf. It will hold if you’re a bit late.”

A grin, a cocky grin, formed. “You’ll wait?”

“I’ll wait.”

He kissed her, a quick peck on the lips, and stood. “Your meatloaf is my favorite.”

“I know.”

That cocky grin widened. “Till later.”

“Till later.”

At the door, he stopped and looked back. “I like knowing you’ll be here when I return.”

His words lingered even after he left.

“Three,” she whispered into the empty room. “I want three children.”

*

She was fast asleep when he returned several hours later. Bobby removed his jacket and boots, added a few more logs to the fire she had started, and moved closer to the couch. Firelight danced across her smooth skin, casting a glorious tawny glow to her cheeks. He resisted the urge to sink down to his knees and kiss her senseless. Strip her naked and—

Taffy meowed and jumped onto the armrest beside her head. He scooped up the cat. “Behave,” he whispered, placing Taffy on the floor.

“We’ve made peace,” Darla said, stretching out her legs.

“Bollocks, love. I woke you. Sorry.”

“I was resting my eyes, not sleeping,” she snipped.

Bobby grinned. She was so full of shit. Her breathing had been even and deep not three seconds ago.

“Your filly sorted?” she asked, pushing upright.

The move pulled the soft cotton she wore taut against her breasts, and Bobby fought back the wave of desire. Especially because she had changed out of the tailored blouse she’d arrived in and donned one of his T-shirts. He really liked Darla in his clothes.

And he really liked having her in his home. Walking into the cabin, seeing Darla resting on his couch, smelling the food she had cooked in his kitchen … nirvana. Even better, he liked the subtle message it portrayed. Things were changing between them.

He folded his arms and leaned a hip against the back of the couch, his stare hot and lascivious as it raked over her. “My filly is … where she belongs.”

She narrowed her stare. “Did you just call me a filly?”

“I’d never,” he lied, and changed the subject. “Smells delicious.” And it did. His stomach had been reminding him for a while that breakfast had been a long time ago.

She stood, and Bobby followed her to the kitchen, enjoying the sway of her hips in his sweatpants as she plodded across the floor in sock-covered feet. He stopped at the sink and gave his hands a thorough scrub, despite having cleaned up before leaving the stables. Drying his hands on a paper towel, he turned and caught her bending over the open oven. And noticed the outline of her panties visible beneath the tight fleecy material.

His heart swelled with love. And his dick swelled with desire.

The moment she placed the oven dish on the stove top, he pounced, done with the wooing shit.

He took her by the shoulders, turned her to face him, shoved his fingers into that thick mane of curls he adored, and plundered her lips. She emitted a surprised yelp, a sound he gladly absorbed with his mouth as he shoved his tongue deep. There was nothing gentle or quiet about their kiss. Teeth gnashed; lips sucked; tongues dueled. They both moaned, and he lifted her onto the counter, shoving things aside. Cutlery clattered to the floor.

Darla grabbed the plackets of his shirt, and buttons popped as she ripped it open. He shrugged it off his shoulder and down his arms with her help. He grabbed the bottom of her (his!) shirt and (reluctantly!) tore his mouth from hers to peel the cotton over her head. She pushed his undershirt above his pecs, and her tongue licked a long line up the middle of his chest. Nails scraped over his nipples, and growling, he closed his eyes, whipping the material off, desire pulsing through his veins.

Vision clouded with lust, he unhooked her bra and dragged the straps down her arms. He caught her hands in one of his, securing them behind her. Taut and high, her tits exposed for his viewing pleasure, Bobby lowered his head and ravaged those delightful orbs. He licked and sucked on the left, his free hand kneading and plucking the right.

Darla arched, crying out, smashing her chest against his face. She hooked her ankles into the small of his back, her pussy hot against the denim strangling his erection.

“Hold on,” he muttered, hauling her from the counter, his hands now full of luscious arse.

It was a quick walk to the bedroom, and they toppled to the bed. He shot to his feet, fumbling with his zipper while watching her peel his sweatpants over her hips. “Stop,” he cried, hoarsely.

Eyes wide, she stared at him in confusion.

“Let me.”

She dropped her hands to the bed, fisting the cover.

He took a moment to drink in the vision of perfection. Dark skin, bare breasts, nipples hard, one glistening from his saliva, flat stomach (not for long, he thought with satisfaction!), rounded hips half revealed by navy sweats, the white band of her panties peeking out on one side. He hooked his fingers on the thick fleece and the white band, and pulled, exposing her fully.

The cream bandage on her thigh (the only material still covering skin) gave him pause. His gaze shot to hers. “The scratches?”

“Are fine. But if you don’t get rid of your jeans in the next second, I am going to pounce and inflict some damage to your body.”

He grinned, shedding the remainder of his clothing. His cock jutted out, turgid and aching, and he closed his fist around it, giving it a firm pull. Darla groaned and spread her legs, exposing her center to him. Planting her feet on the bed, she moved back, giving him space to settle between her legs.