12

Darla watched Bobby crawl to her, then over her, sinking to one shoulder. His cock, long and thick and velvety hard, pressed against her hip. Anticipation and desire, hot aching desire, flamed higher. His head lowered to her breast, and his mouth closed over the nipple, sucking it deep and hard, and his free hand teased the other. The dual stimulation pummeled her senses, leaving in its wake nothing but need.

Urgent, reckless, boundless need.

A need only Robert Bjorn Bellerose could satisfy. “Ro-bert,” she keened.

“Darla,” he groaned, his mouth vibrating against her sensitive nipple. His hand moved, down, down, and he teased her right there , his fingers slick with her desire. He pushed inside, one finger, then two. She came apart, crying incoherently, her orgasm ripping through her body, every nerve ending alive, her back arching off the bed. He stayed with her, whispering sweet nothings, slowly bringing her back to earth.

And when she opened her eyes, her vision dazed and hazy, he surged inside, filling her to capacity. He lifted her legs to drape over his shoulders, and he pushed deeper still. It was his turn to cry her name as his hips thrust harder, deeper (how was that even possible?), his fingers digging into her hips.

And then she felt it.

The second climb.

Only with Bobby.

Somehow, he was able to coerce her sated body to give more.

“Bobby, Bobby, Bobby,” she chanted, shaking, thrashing, her hands clenching at the sheets.

“Name,” he growled.

“Robert,” she cried, knowing what he needed. “Robert. Ah! Bjorn. Belle— Argh! ” She clenched around him. “Yes. Yes. Yes !”

“Darla,” he moaned, hovering above her, his neck thrown back in ecstasy.

And he climaxed, hot spurts shooting into her until he stilled completely. He sank down, pressing her deep into the mattress.

She took his weight, reveling in it.

He was hers. Hers.

Robert Bjorn Bellrose was her future.

And she was not letting him go.

But she might make him grovel a bit more.

*

“Taffy!”

Darla lifted her head at the sound of Bobby’s annoyed cry. She pulled the shirt over her head, patted her wayward curls, and sauntered out of the bedroom. Despite their disastrous introduction, she and Taffy had called a truce.

“Seriously, cat,” he continued. “You’re one incident closer to being evicted to the barn.”

Her gaze followed the cat zipping around the coffee table before leaping into her rather elaborate multilevel lair. It shook with the force of her jump. “That’s a bit harsh.”

“If it wasn’t for the fact that she’s booked for spaying next week, I’d haul her there right now.”

“What has she— Oh.” Darla blinked, cocking her head as she surveyed the bits of meat littering the glass stovetop. “At least she only ate from the one corner.”

Bobby merely grunted.

“And the mash is untouched,” she added, lifting the lid off the bowl filled with whipped potato.

He raised a brow. “You’re defending the menace?”

Darla grinned. “We had a little talk earlier.”

She picked up the serving spoon and scraped around the missing chunk of meatloaf. None of the yummy sauce covering the remainder of the loaf seemed disturbed. “See? More than enough left,” she said, disposing the contaminated meat in the trashcan. “But we do need to reheat the food.”

She ignored the puzzled looks Bobby kept throwing her way as they moved around the small area, both their stomachs grumbling in anticipation.

They opted to sit in front of the fire and eat. Initial hunger sated, she casually said, “No more than six foot.”

Stuffing his mouth, Bobby mumbled, “What?”

“My tree. Max six foot. Last year I tried an eight-footer, but it dwarfed my living room.”

He shook his head, scooping his next bite onto his fork. “Darla, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“My Christmas tree, Robert. You shine brighter than the Christmas lights . Rather cheesy message.”

Hand halted halfway to his mouth, he gaped at her. Then his eyes shot to the desk in the corner of the living room, and back to her. Lowering his fork, his face glowed a dull red. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bopping. “How?”

“Taffy.” At least he didn’t accuse her of snooping . Which she had. Totally. Call it payback for his snooping and spoiling her pregnancy surprise.

“Taffy?”

“She used your desk as a landing strip. I tidied up after her. And found your … list.” At first, she had stared at the paper in confusion, unable to make sense of the scribbles and arrows and deleted words, but then a pattern formed as certain things jumped out at her. “When I understood what I was looking at, I stopped reading. But I did notice the little Christmas tree drawn next to a sixteen with buy written in before it.” She squinted at him and gave a lopsided grin. “Promise I did not look through the stack of cards.” A girl’s gotta keep something for a surprise.

At first, she considered not telling him about her discovery, but Bobby was a smart man and would recognize feigned surprise. If she wanted complete honesty from him, he deserved the same from her.

“It’s a family tradition,” he mumbled placing his fork down.

She fluttered her eyelids. “ ‘ Wooing Darla’ is a family tradition?” she asked, reciting the heading of the list. And how was it possible for his face to flame more?

“On the last Sunday of November, our family gathers to write little cards of appreciation about each other. Twenty-four Advent cards. And we peg them on string strung across my parents’ living room. On Christmas morning, my parents read them aloud. I—”

He stopped talking when she took his plate and set it down on the coffee table beside hers. And swung her legs over his, settling her butt on his thighs.

She placed her hands on either side of his head. “I really like your daily notes,” she said, huskily. “And the fact that you take the time out of your hectic morning routine to drive into town to deliver—”

A thought popped up. “You do drive into town yourself?”

Placing his hands on her thighs, he whispered, “I’d never delegate such an important task.”

Her heart melted, and she lowered her head and rested her forehead on his. “I like being wooed, Robert.”

His hands slipped beneath the cotton top, moving up her back, his callused palms scraping lightly over her skin. He applied pressure to his fingertips, and she shifted her hips forward.

“I like wooing you,” he murmured, his mouth closing over hers.

Much later Bobby lay on the rug before the fireplace, with her sprawled over his torso. Resting her chin on linked fingers, Darla looked at him from beneath hooded eyelids. “I really like bumping hips with you.”

Beneath her, his body shook with laughter. “That’s good, because I really, really like bumping hips with you .”

The scraping sound of steel against china had them both lifting their heads to look in the direction of their discarded plates. “Taffy,” they yelled in unison.

Taffy paid them no heed, continuing nibbling away what her humans discarded

“Guess we’d better save her from getting sick,” Bobby muttered, rubbing his hands over her butt cheeks.

She huffed and pushed onto her elbows. “And I need to visit the bathroom.”

He pulled her back down. “In a minute.”

A minute morphed into two, then three, but eventually they got to their feet, and she stumbled to the bathroom. On returning, she found him in the kitchen. “Let me help.”

He shook his head and pointed a spoon to the couch. “Go sit. Put your feet up.”

Which suited her just fine. After three intense orgasms, she was content to sit on her behind and stare into the crackling fire. A glass of wine would’ve rounded off the glorious evening, but yeah, that was not an option. Her gaze moved around the room. Not much had changed in the years since she had last been here.

Except for the framed photos on the mantelpiece.

And the large family portrait hanging above his desk. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, too fascinated with discovering his list.

She studied it now. Smiling couple with their seven children ranging in age from baby to early teen. The siblings were a mix of their parents, some with dark hair, some fair like Bobby. It was easy to pick him up in the group. He got his looks from his mother.

It struck her. Robert Bjorn Bellrose was a family man. One who spoke of his parents with love in his voice, admitted deep regret that his one sister refused to forgive him.

And he was no longer hiding. He openly displayed his family; his undercover Bobby Bell days were over.

She turned her head and looked at that man moving around the kitchen. A kitchen in a cabin set on a ranch in the harsh Texas Panhandle, thousands of miles from the islands.

A man who chose to stay in a place where the summer sun burnt his skin, and the winters withered his nuts.

A man who considered her worthy enough to make a list to woo her.

To win back her love.

Her gaze returned to the painting.

She looked forward to meeting them one day.

And setting his recalcitrant sister in her place.

Robert Bjorn Bellrose was worthy of forgiveness.

A man bursting with integrity and loyalty, compassion and love.

Darla smiled and put her head back.

And he was courting her.

The next few weeks were going to be so freaking exciting.

She must have drifted off, because next thing she knew Bobby had her in his arms again.

“You know, I can walk.”

“But you don’t have to.”

She pressed her cheeks to his shoulder, relishing his warm skin. And placed her palm against his chest, the steady drum of his heart reassuring. It would be wonderful to climb back into bed and fall asleep with her head resting exactly where it was.

Alas, that was not to be. She gave a heartfelt sigh. “I need to go home, babe. You know I can’t sleep without covering my hair. Oomph!” she gasped, bouncing on the mattress when he dropped — dropped! — her.

She crunched upright and opened her mouth to give him an earful but stopped when noticing the item in his hand.

“Stay,” he said.

“That’s … my scarf?”

“Hmm. You left it here. Before. I hoped that one day you’ll end up in my bed again.”

*

She stayed, and Bobby drove her home at the crack of dawn. But not before confiscating the scarf. “Keeping it hostage till next time you stay over,” he’d said.

A while later, Darla left her apartment and walked down to her car. King’s Auto had delivered it before she left for the ranch yesterday afternoon. The first thing she noticed was the object beneath her windshield wiper. Grinning from ear to ear, she quickly removed the card featuring a blue number seven with a red bauble hanging from the tip.

I really, really, really liked waking up beside you this morning. And the cherry on the top … seeing you (dare I say it?) barefoot and pregnant in my kitchen.