Chapter 20

20

They gained a party and ended up at a large table in the dining room. Powell, her brothers, Gunnar, and Heather and Cara and the girls. Dinner was as awkward as Powell thought it could get.

At first.

Gunnar was brooding over something. Preoccupied and worried.

Heather was tired and overwhelmed—it wasn't hard to miss.

Heather had returned and carried her older daughter into the dining room. The little girl was fussy—waking in a strange place had definitely upset her. But Heather calmed her down, snuggled her, and had her happy within minutes. Then Heather had just matter-of-factly taken her fussing baby into her arms and settled in to nurse her baby.

Then Heather had dealt with Mac.

Mac deserved it.

He had been needling Heather and taunting her—they all knew that. Probably because Heather had said a few very not-nice things about Mac's bestest friend forever, Commander Butthead McKellen, when she'd come back in out of the cold.

Well, Powell couldn't blame her—it was freezing out there.

But Mac had that whole buddy-loyalty thing going on. And Heather just seemed to set her older brother off.

Powell had bit back a laugh when the waitress—one of Charlotte's many cousins—had thought Mac and Heather were together and the girls were his. They were such a beautiful family, and everything.

Powell had snickered. Mac and Heather together would make a far-too-beautiful couple. No one could ever miss that. Her brother looked like he was computer-generated perfect—she'd had that thought before. And Heather was as gorgeous as Zoey.

Mac and Heather, side-by-side, definitely got looks. Lots of looks.

Yes. They would be a beautiful couple, no denying that. If they could stand each other anyway. Heather didn't like Mac any more than he liked her. They were subtly making that known. Well, not-so-subtly, actually. They were just almost behaving in front of Heather's preschooler.

They were actually very funny as they battled—both had intelligence and snark in spades. And weren't afraid to use it. Against each other. Within the boundaries of what was acceptable. Mostly.

Heather had egged the waitress on. Cooing at Mac—who had so deserved it, he'd been an ass to Heather a few times—and telling the waitress they were considering another baby really, really soon. Because she wanted six. Heather had laid her head down on Mac's shoulder and just looked at him adoringly. She'd asked him if she should move on to the next guy on her list yet since Mac was having such a hard time getting it up for her lately.

He just couldn't perform. So disappointing, so dissatisfying.

Then she'd looked at Alex and Gunnar consideringly and said she was just having so much trouble deciding which would be next. She'd asked the waitress for her opinion, too.

Mac had just frozen and stared down at Heather, an odd look on his face Powell couldn't interpret. Heather had disconcerted him with that one. No denying that.

Heather had definitely enjoyed Mac's discomfort. Until the little girl had told the waitress that mommy was just pretending again—Frankie and Ember didn't have a real human daddy like other kids. Because Frankie and Ember were both spawned. By aliens. From Mars.

After the waitress was gone, Powell turned to Heather. "Spawned by aliens from Mars?"

"Cashlyn told her that. I still haven't been able to reprogram Frankie after that one. And it works, so why not, right?" Heather gave a wicked grin, looking very much like Zoey, and readjusted her nursing baby. Heather had just calmly nursed her baby through it all. She'd looked at Powell. "What can I say? We Colesons were all spawned by aliens. None of us truly know how to behave. It's a well-known fact. Just ask the Snotty Garlic —and it is a matter of family pride."

"I'm starting to believe it." Powell hadn't had that much fun eating with her brothers in a restaurant in a long time.

Then everyone was heading upstairs—they'd all ended up on the same floor, including the bodyguards Heather and Cara weren't really acknowledging—and she was faced with her biggest dilemma yet.

She and Gunnar were in connecting rooms. Whoever had checked him in had put him right next to her.

The Fates were out to get her.

Or it could have been Charlotte who'd done that. Well, actually, it probably had been Charlotte, now that she thought about it. That was something Charlotte Rhea Talley definitely would do.

Powell was going to get back at that woman later.

And it was time she and one Detective Gunnar Erickson had a talk.

The inevitable had happened. She was almost alone with him.

She couldn't wait any longer.

Time to change that man's life. Rock his world? Create utter chaos in his existence?

Anything was possible.

They were having a baby—and the man needed to know. As soon as humanly possible. Unlike Heather's beautiful babies, Powell's most certainly had not been spawned by aliens.

Hers was pure Viking-barbarian-spawn through and through.

And he deserved to know.

Powell cornered him in the elevator when they were the first ones in. "I need…we need to talk."

Beautiful blue eyes showed surprise. "About?"

Powell bit her bottom lip and stared at him. She fought the urge to shift from foot to foot. "I just…come to my room. We really need to talk."

He nodded as her brothers caught up with them and crowded into the elevator. Watching her with those blue, blue eyes of his that missed nothing. "I'll be with you as soon as I can. I have to make a few phone calls first, and there is better reception downstairs."

Powell leaned closer. She could smell him around her. It made her want to cuddle closer. Right there, in the center of his perfect chest. And just stay there forever. "I need to shake my pet baboons. Fifteen minutes?"

He ran a scorching hot hand down her arm. Powell shivered.

He did it again— looked at her the way he had. And melted her insides completely. It really was no wonder she was carrying Gunnar spawn here. The man was utterly irresistible.

"I'll be there."