5

Andrastian Islands, Late November.

His brother frowned. “Let me get this straight. This woman—”

“Her name is Darla,” Bobby snapped, wondering again why he’d spilled his guts to Stuart.

Because you know you’ve messed up, you big wanker. And you have no fucking clue how to fix it.

“Apologies, brother. Darla agreed to your proposition to ‘give her a baby’ but on her terms.”

Bobby morosely picked at the label on the bottle. “Yes,” he bit out, the cool ocean breeze drifting around them, ruffling his hair, reminding him of times when Darla had run her fingers through it. He shook his head. He was such a sap.

“And those terms are …”

“I’ve already told you.”

“Just want to make sure I heard you right the first time.”

“Fuck off.”

“Might I remind you that you asked me for advice.”

He shot Stuart a stink-eye. His brother merely shrugged and lifted his own beer to his lips.

“Fine,” Bobby exploded. “She first rejected my offer outright and told me to get lost.”

“And you left?”

“I retreated ,” he corrected, “needing time to regroup and formulate a plan.”

Stuart harrumphed.

“What was I supposed to do, Stuart? She doesn’t trust me. I get that. I wouldn’t trust me either. I hurt her. Badly.”

“Still can’t believe you let the woman you love go all those years back.”

“I couldn’t live a lie.” Bobby lifted the bottle to his lips, trying to derive some pleasure from the alcohol, but the enjoyment was ruined by his bitter regrets. “But regurgitating my past mistakes won’t fix the pickle I’m in now.”

“True story. So, she called you a few days later?”

“She did.”

“And you met with her, and she laid out her terms.”

Her very business-like terms. “Yes.”

“And they were …” Stuart waved his hand about.

“We’ll meet during the time when she is the most fertile until she falls pregnant. Once she’s pregnant, I will be allowed to join her for two ultrasound appointments. And attend the birth of the baby if I so wish, but a friend will be her formal birth partner. While she’s breastfeeding, the baby will live with her permanently, but I will be allowed three one-hour visits during the week, and one four-hour visit on the weekend. When the baby is weaned, I can have an overnight stay on the weekend.” And fool that he was, he’d agreed!

“You left out splitting all expenses fifty-fifty,” Stuart added.

Bobby sighed. “I offered to cover all expenses, but she insisted.”

“And so far, you’ve had two, er, mating periods.”

Trust Stuart to get to the heart of his misery.

Mating periods.

Cold, clinical sex.

Seven consecutive days during which he showed up, they mated , and he left.

Below them, the turbulent waves of the Atlantic Ocean pounded against the rocks, over and over, relentless in its power. Fool, fool, fool , mother nature accused. Discordant sounds from the anniversary celebration drifted down the terraces, swirling around them, reminding him of the reason that brought him back to the islands. Watching the deep love between his parents, even after fifty years of marriage, made the arrangement he’d agreed to seem so … shallow and cold.

Which it was.

But he’d been desperate to get back into her life, so he agreed.

And what had that gotten him?

Fourteen fucks, that’s what!

“Yes,” he muttered.

“And you can get it up? Actually perform on demand like that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my equipment.”

And Darla was a beautiful woman. Just looking at her was enough to make him hard. And caressing her silky skin, hearing her moan, feeling her clench around his bare cock, shooting his release into her … all of that was sublime.

It was the afterward that was the problem.

Leaving Darla’s bed, dressing, walking out the door, climbing into his truck, and going back to his empty bed … he hated every moment.

And when it was day seven, and he left knowing there were twenty-one days until he was allowed back into her bed … that was hell. Absolute hell.

And at some stage, she’d fall pregnant.

Then it would be over, his stud duty done.

*

Meanwhile, in Bulwark …

Darla stared at the box, reluctant to pick it up.

Her period was one day late.

One day.

She was never late.

And she should be excited. This was what she wanted.

But if she were pregnant, then Bobby’s visits would cease.

And she really, really enjoyed their time together.

She cursed herself for being so weak, but it was becoming more and more difficult watching him walk out the door after each of his visits.

She was in hell. One of her own making.

With a huff, she grabbed the box and stomped down the hallway to the bathroom. She couldn’t help but stop and peer into the bedroom, her eyes zeroing in on the bed. The one he’d stumbled from sixteen days ago.

There had been something … more to that last time. Maybe they’d subconsciously known it would actually be their last?

Lying on top of her, connected in every way possible, Bobby had reached for her hands, placing them beside her head as he threaded his fingers through hers. Their gazes had locked and held as he started moving his hips, setting an unhurried rolling and drugging rhythm, somehow knowing exactly where to apply pressure, how much to retreat before pressing back down, filling her, going deeper, harder.

It had been a slow, intense climb, like the ascent of a lumbering roller coaster car reaching for its zenith. And then he’d held still, just a moment, suspended above her, his stare bright and honest, giving her a glimpse right into his soul. “Darla,” he’d whispered.

Her nerve endings had screamed for release, yet she could do no more than stare back, transfixed by the depth of emotion he revealed. He’d lowered his forehead to hers, breaking the stare, and his hips started snapping wildly. They had careened toward their climax, out of control, wild and delirious. Gasping for breath, he’d collapsed over her, his face buried in her neck, his heart pounding as hard as hers.

For a long while, a minute, maybe two, they’d lain like that, immobile, unable, unwilling to disconnect.

But when Bobby had lifted his head, his expression was shuttered.

Without a word, he’d released her fingers, shifted his body off hers, and risen from the bed.

And she had lain under the sheet, naked and sated, watching him pull the worn denim over his lean hips, biting her tongue.

Stay , her mind had screamed. Spend the night .

But she’d remained mute, caught in a web of distrust, unable to let go of past hurts.

Dressed, he’d turned to face her, and for a moment the shutters opened, revealing the raw longing as his gaze drifted over her covered form.

All she’d had to do was crook her finger, and he’d be beside her in a flash.

All she’d had to do was let go of the anger, the gut-wrenching distrust, and admit the feelings she kept under lock and key.

Feelings he shared, having revealed them in that unguarded moment.

She had wrestled with herself, her mind warring with her heart. How on earth had she imagined that binding herself to him with a baby was a good idea? Bobby wasn’t a person to turn his back on his child. He was a protector. It was an intrinsic part of him. Look how he’d sacrificed his family, sacrificed her , to honor a promise he made to a dying man.

Once their baby was born, his own flesh and blood , that protection would include their child. And by default her.

Dammit, she had not thought her plan through all those months ago.

And now she had a test to take.

Darla straightened her shoulders, cast a final look of regret at the bed, and moved to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, she stared at the results in silence. Bittersweet elation moved through her, and an old idiom popped into her mind.

Be careful what you wish for .

*

And back to the islands …

“You need to woo her,” his brother said.

“Woo Darla?”

“Court her. Romance her.”

“I know what woo means. But Darla won’t want that,” Bobby stated. “No strings. No commitment. She was very firm about that.”

Stuart snorted. “Of course she said that, dickhead. You broke her heart, and she’s protecting herself against further hurt.”

“Exactly.”

Stuart slapped the side of Bobby’s head.

“Ow!”

“Do you want to have a future with Darla? And I don’t mean just as co-parents.”

“More than anything. I love her, Stuart,” Bobby declared. “So bloody much.”

“Then win her back. Woo her.”

“How?”

“That, brother dear, is something you have to figure out yourself.”

*

After a night of tossing and turning, his mind refusing to switch off as it sought a plan to win Darla’s heart, Bobby stumbled down the narrow stairs of his childhood home and into the kitchen, surprised to find his mum already up and about. He moved across the room and dropped a kiss on her forehead. Tall and lithe, she almost equaled his six feet. Of Swedish descent, her hair was as fair as his, but held more silver, and pulled back in a low bun.

“Thought you’d sleep in after the shindig last night,” he said. “It’s not like you have to rush out to work anymore.” Both his parents had worked way beyond the recommended retirement age, but called it quits last year.

She smiled warmly. “Wanted to spend the last full day with my firstborn. Still making up for the lost time.”

A bolt of guilt slashed through him at the not-so-subtle reminder of his long absence. “Mum—”

She shook her head. “I understand, Bear. When you took up your position in the Royal Protection Services, we knew your focus had shifted. I won’t lie that it wasn’t hard, but I’m just glad to be able to have regular contact again.” She tilted her head. “I don’t suppose you’d consider—”

“My life is in Texas, Mum,” he interrupted.

She sighed. “Figured as much.”

“But you’re welcome to visit.” He’d issued the invitation last year, but his folks were homebodies. To his knowledge, they had never left the islands. Of course, that might change with a grandchild in the mix.

Would Darla allow him to bring their child here to visit?

His mother placed a mug of tea in front of him, as well as a colorful square card, a number eight in the corner. It took him a moment to recognize what it was. “I forgot about these,” he murmured.

“Christmas won’t be Christmas without our Advent cards. I’m grateful that you can write yours in person this year.”

On the last day of November, their family came together for a meal and wrote what they were thankful for on a card (twenty-four cards in total) and his father strung them above the mantel. When they were little, starting on the first of December, his mum or dad read the corresponding card over breakfast, but as they grew and moved out of the house, that was no longer viable, so reading all twenty-four cards took place on Christmas morning when the family gathered to open gifts.

Bobby’s throat thickened with emotion. He had missed out on so damned much.

Reaching for a pen, the idea took hold.

He knew exactly how to woo Darla.

And by Christmas, he would own her heart again.

I hope .