4. Harley

FOUR

HARLEY

After three weeks, it seemed like the girls had finally settled in. The only real excitement we'd had was meeting our new neighbor. Thankfully, the girls had been smart enough not to ask about that. Honestly, I was surprised they hadn't. Our little showdown on the front lawn had to have seemed really strange to them. Why wouldn't it? Some stranger had confronted their mother in front of their house a few days after we moved in. It hadn't helped that it had been obvious that we knew each other.

Tate hadn't been around for almost two weeks. He'd said he had a trip, but two weeks seemed excessive. It was hard to talk myself out of the idea that he was staying away, so he didn't have to see us.

One of our other neighbors, Mrs. Rose, introduced herself a few days after he left and informed me that he worked for some type of security firm. That tidbit of info would have been welcome in most situations. Knowing your neighbor was paid to protect people could come in handy. At least, that would have been the case if it didn't seem like he despised you.

That night, I had a hard time going to sleep. Too much to think about, too much drama, too much… everything. I decided to try and lull myself to sleep by reading. I had several books in a pile and figured it was a good time to get to work on them. I pulled one out I'd had my eye on for a few weeks, put on a robe, and got started.

The girls were asleep, and it was nearly halfway through a novel when there was a knock at the door downstairs. I sat up, almost dropping my book. The clock on my bedside showed that it was just past two in the morning. Who the hell was knocking on my door this late?

I stood and walked to my bedroom window. Tate's truck wasn't there, so it couldn't be him knocking for some reason. Glancing down, I saw the strangest thing I'd ever seen. There was a bright red sports car sitting on the curb by my house.

"What the hell?" I whispered.

Another set of knocks came, this time louder. I put on my slippers and headed down to see what was going on before this visitor woke the girls up. Hurrying down the stairs, I could see the silhouette of a slender body through the frosted windows beside my front door. A quick glance through the peephole caused me even more confusion.

On my porch was a young woman, maybe twenty-one at the oldest. She was gorgeous and familiar in a way I couldn't quite place. She was also wearing a long Burberry trench coat that looked like it was two sizes too big for her. There was no one else near the porch that I could see. Maybe she was in trouble?

I let out a frustrated sigh and unlocked the deadbolt and lock and swung the door open. The girl had been turned away from the house when I opened the door. Before I could say anything she started speaking.

"Are you still gonna say no to me, Tate?" In one fluid motion, she spun to face me while spreading her coat open, revealing a tight, toned, and tanned naked body.

My eyes bugged out and my jaw dropped. The girl had a half second of realization before she slammed her arms back together, covering her nude body back up with the coat. "Holy shit! I'm so sorry! Isn't this Tate Mills' house?" Her face was scarlet red with embarrassment.

I shook my head, and finally blinked and averted my eyes. "Uh…no. He lives next door." I pointed a finger across the street.

Almost like he sensed me pointing at his house, I watched as Tate's truck turned into the neighborhood. The timing was impeccable. In the light of the moon I saw Tate's face through the driver's side window. He was gaping at us with a look of surprise and irritation. He didn't even bother pulling into his driveway, but simply came to a stop beside his mailbox, got out and started striding toward me and the strange young exhibitionist on my porch. Having Tate walking toward my house like that sent a nervous tickle through my stomach. Things hadn't been great between us and a two in the morning show down was not on my list of relaxing activities.

If Tate was angry, he wasn't directing it toward me. Instead of glaring at my face, he was staring daggers at the woman On my porch. Strange.

"Tate, baby, I thought you'd never come home," the girl purred. She acted so familiar and sexual that I had a hard time not thinking they'd been intimate in the past. "I…uh…Thought you'd like a little welcome home present. I got the wrong house, though."

I was outside, standing beside the woman now. Tate didn't answer her, but instead, he continued up the walkway and mounted the porch steps. One of his hands gently slid around my waist. It was surprising how tender he was as he moved me aside. I went without question, stepping into the shadow beyond the light of the porch bulb. His gentleness was even more surprising when I heard what came out of his mouth next.

"What are you doing here, Britt? How did you even find my house?"

The woman smiled and tilted her head. "If there's something I want, I don't stop until I get it. Let's go next door and talk about it. Let this lady get some sleep?"

Standing there watching this play out made me more uncomfortable than I'd ever been in my life. The girl was obviously hot for Tate. Tate however seemed beyond irritated and confused by her presence. Maybe they didn't have a history? Was this woman making some desperate attempt to get a guy she couldn't have? She was beautiful, so I wasn't sure why she was going to so much trouble to get with a small town guy. Even one as gorgeous as Tate. Despite myself a little twinge of jealousy burbled up in my chest.

Tate's face twisted into a mask of irritation. I would have tried to slip back into my house, but Tate was almost blocking the door with his muscular bulk. I was forced to stay.

"Britt, I've told you a thousand times, I don't do things like this. I do not mix business with pleasure. No means no. Then you pull shit like this?" He said, gesturing toward her and my house. His voice was calm and quiet but there was an undercurrent of cold finality that sent a chill through me. I could only imagine what it did to the poor girl standing there.

Almost as though he had read my thoughts, he turned his eyes to me. "I'm sorry about this. The girls didn't get woken up did they?" he asked in a, blessedly, much kinder tone.

I swallowed hard, and said, "No. I don't think so. I was awake reading when she…umm, knocked."

He spun on his heel and glared at the woman again. She'd finally realized how ridiculous she must look in the oversized coat. She fumbled with the tie and sinched it tight around her waist and wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Britt, if I ever see you here again, I'll call your manager, and I'll leak to the press that you're batshit crazy and a stalker. We'll see how many albums you sell after that shit hits the fan. You got it?"

That was when I realized where I recognized her from. I'd seen her face every day for the past two years. Except, it was usually made up in garish makeup with an over-the-top hairstyle. She was on the poster above Jordyn's bed. The girl––whose freaking nipples I'd seen five minutes ago––was Brittany Leigh. Her stage name was BrittLeigh, and she was Jordyn's favorite pop star. There was no way in hell I would ever tell my youngest daughter about this. I was actually fairly surprised she would go to such lengths to try to get into Tate's pants. She was a sex symbol all over the world. Men from Los Angeles to Tokyo would probably cut off their left nut to get a chance to roll in bed with her, and Tate was tossing her out on her rear like it was nothing.

Britt took a hesitant step toward him. "Tate, I just wanted to have fun with you. I tried for months. I'm sorry, please calm down and don't be mad."

By the look of exhausted exasperation that settled over his face, Tate was over the whole situation. "I won't say it again. You've got to leave. Now."

She didn't bother arguing anymore. Instead, with tears in her eyes, she ran off the porch. She stumbled, but caught herself before climbing into the car and slamming the door behind her. I was still standing on the top step of my porch. Without any idea what to do next, I inched my way toward the door.

Tate glanced over and stopped me. "Don't leave yet." He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Are you guys okay?"

So far, I'd known two sides to Tate. A guy hot enough and charming enough to get me to throw caution to the wind for a one-night stand, and a paranoid, irate, and angry neighbor. But this side of him was different. There was concern in his voice. I could tell that he really did care whether we were fine.

Before I could answer, he added, "My life shouldn't touch you or your girls. I'm sorry. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

His words bothered me. I didn't want to be totally shut out. At best, we would be neighbors, and it would be nice to have a cordial relationship. At worst? He was the father of my unborn baby, and… well. Making sure my feelings weren't written all over my face, I took another small step toward my front door.

"Thanks for handling all that," I said before turning and stepping into my house. I shut the door, but glanced up right before it closed. Tate's eyes were locked on mine.

The next morning, Tate's truck was gone. Which was strange since he'd gotten home so late, and I'd woken up around six-thirty. Had he even slept before leaving again? I doubted I would get an answer to that. I had no clue how long he'd be gone. Not with the type of work he did. Each day, I'd look out the window and rub my belly absently. I was three months pregnant and still not showing. What would I tell Tate when it became obvious I was pregnant?