Chapter 36

36

Powell lived in a house that made the entire apartment building Gunnar lived in look small. The first time he had driven her there while he had been guarding her, he had almost choked on his tongue. All of that house for one very small woman. But to her, it was normal. Maybe. She said she'd had a condo a few months before they'd met. This place was definitely no condo.

She opened the door. Stood there, staring at him. "Hey."

"Hey." She still had on the jeans and the thin little Eat at Flo's Masterson Diner T-shirt she'd been wearing earlier. "How was dinner at the Colesons?"

"Chaos. Utter chaos. Like I have never seen before. But the fun kind. Heather acted completely different there. And Hope is doing well."

"How does Heather act differently?"

"She looks like Zoey, yes, but she's very outgoing. She is the center of everything. Spontaneous hugs for people, fussing over them all, cuddling the kids. She's more people-oriented than she shows at the TSP, I think. Far, far more than Zoey. It surprised me. She acts very much like Zoey when she's on the clock. Reserved, businesslike, almost abrupt and distant. Hell, it's not that surprising, is it? And she's definitely one of the ones in charge in her family. She's just…hurting now, I think. But that makes sense, considering what Wilson did to her."

"I suppose it does. She's really lucky. To have all those women around. Together. Sisters and everything."

"I think so. Bonnie sent me home with leftovers." He held out the pumpkin orange bowl in his hands. "It's in vintage Tupperware or something. Are you hungry?"

"I could eat again, actually. Apparently, Baby likes food tonight. I had two plates of meat loaf at Mom's. Totally insane. But really good meat loaf. Probably making up for the breakfast I couldn't keep down this morning. I am blaming you, by the way. I figure that is only fair."

And then he was inside the mansion that belonged to the mother of his child. He stood there, holding an orange Tupperware bowl of beef stew with dinner rolls wrapped in plastic wrap. Waiting.

He followed her into the kitchen. She reheated the leftovers, sending him little looks that drove him crazy. She was nervous. It was hard to miss.

Those little looks turned him on. She didn't have a clue.

Hell, he wanted her far more than he wanted beef stew. He could just scoop her up and carry her off to her bed. Show her what she meant to him.

"I'm not going to bite you, you know." Not that he didn't want to put his mouth right there on the side of her neck. Taste her right there. She'd squealed when he'd done that before. She had been so responsive and loving, and he wanted to have her in his arms all over again. Then, he'd just hold her all night long. Again, like he had that one beautiful night before.

"I know."

He waited, but that was all she said. Then she sighed. And turned to him. "I am so confused about everything right now."

That was her. She'd be quiet for hours, mulling over things in that complex brain of hers. Then she'd just shoot from the hip. A smart man would have to run to keep up. "About the baby? Do you want the baby?"

Her expression softened. Her eyes went dreamy. She smiled, so beautiful. His gut tightened. Just like that.

"More than I have ever wanted anything in the world. In my life."

"Then lay it on me. Because I'm just as confused as you are. Maybe we can figure this out together."

Oh, who wrote the man's lines? He was just so perfect at everything. Powell wanted to curl up right there against him—and let him make the world perfect for her. Even if it was just for a little while. Then she wanted to do the same for him. To make him see that he mattered to her. And he did.

This man mattered to her.

Maybe that was what was so terrifying. She wasn't good at romance. What if she seriously screwed everything up and ruined everything completely? "So what do we do next? Everything has changed, but has it? We agreed in Wyoming that it was a mistake."

He shot her a look of such intensity that Powell's breath caught.

"And I think maybe that was the mistake."

"Of course, you say that now," Powell said. The microwave dinged behind her. But she just kept her eyes on him. "Now that there is a Viking baby baking and you feel responsible?—"

And that was her fear number one. He thought she was his responsibility now—she knew how a man like him was programmed. She'd grown up with three barbarians running roughshod over her forever, after all.

"I am responsible. I am the man who took your clothes off, remember? Greatly enjoyed it too." And now those eyes were burning blue fire. An answering fire started inside her—and not from an ulcer.

"I could have told you no." Well, yes, she could have. But the instant his hands had strayed beneath the safe territory of her sweater that night, she had been toast.

She'd wanted him to touch her.

To hold her. His arms around her had felt perfect. Beyond perfect.

That was her problem with Gunnar Erickson. The man was just too perfect in every way. From the way he looked, to the way he talked to people, to how perfectly kindly he treated people, to the way he'd touched her.

And the last thing Powell felt was anything but perfect. Hadn't she already established that to herself? Long ago?

It felt like she had to work and work and work just to keep up with the real world around her. To make lasting connections, that kind of thing. Everything had always been so easy for her brothers where people were concerned. At least for Mac and Brandt anyway.

It wasn't easy for her. And never had been. Why would being in a relationship with this man be any different? Maybe that was why he scared her so much? She was afraid she'd work and work and work—and still screw everything up in the end? It was a real possibility.

"Whatever happened in Masterson—something I relive in my dreams frequently, no point lying about it—it doesn't change what is happening now . "

She was not touching that comment with a ten-foot pole. The man had heat in his eyes when he stared at her now. "No. I don't suppose it does."

"I want to be in my kid's life, Powell Melissa. Don't ever doubt that for a moment. And damn it, I want to be in yours. More than anything. I want to be with you."

She didn't want to sound like a cliché, so she kept the question to herself. But how could anyone in her situation not at least think it?

Did he want that because he wanted her, or was it because of the baby tying them together?

"That's what you doubt, isn't it?" He stepped around the kitchen island. Powell immediately tried to go the opposite direction. Self-preservation and everything.

But, well, the man was fast. Really fast.

Probably the mile-long legs, honestly.

He had her trapped against the marble countertop in an instant. She could smell him, the slightly spicy scent of Gunnar. It had her mouth watering—and not for food.

His chest was right there, perfect and muscled and just beyond…

Perfect.

There was that word again. She almost growled.

"Doubt what?"

"I know you. You are probably standing right here, wondering if I'm only interested in something with you now because of this baby." His hand covered her stomach, sending heat blazing right through her. "Well, if that's what you are thinking, forget about it. It's more than that. Far more than that. I am the one who kissed you first in Wyoming. I am the man who wants you more than I want air. I still want you more than breathing, Powell Melissa Barratt. And I have, since the moment you kicked me in the shin all those long months ago."

That was not a day she would ever forget.

"But…why? We're nothing alike, for one thing."

"So the hell what? Who says we have to be? Would you say Jake and Shelby are alike? I sure don't think they are." His hands were around her waist now. Pinning her. She was pinned against the island. Captured. Powell seriously fought melting right now. "But that works for them."

If he lifted her to the island, she could wrap her arms around his neck and just pull him closer. Kiss him again. Right there in the kitchen she had redecorated to be more her than any other room in the house. She had a cleaning staff for the house, but the kitchen was hers. Just like her mom had always claimed their kitchen growing up.

She could see if the kisses in her memories were just flukes or something.

As if he read her mind, he did just that. Lifted her right off her feet. Like he had before. Like she weighed nothing at all.

Powell hated being small. She mostly thought it had something to do with having to compete with her brothers and her cousins her entire life—and they were all behemoths. Not one of those Barratt boys was under six two.

Except she was . The only girl in the batch.

Gunnar was the same size as Mac, or pretty close to it. But she liked how she felt when Gunnar was holding her. She didn't feel small at all. She felt almost cherished, or something equally unlike her. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and hold her all night and tell her things were going to be okay, that they would figure this out together.

That she wouldn't screw it all up somehow because she wasn't good at this kind of thing. Romance, relationships, babies ? Her ?

She had both a law degree and an MBA. Powell had worked hard to make those goals happen. She was good at that, not romance.

The idea of being a mother terrified her, really.

That wasn't something she had ever anticipated. At least not since she'd hit puberty and somehow ended up more fascinated by business than by makeup and boys. She'd been the weird girl in school—sometimes she hadn't felt like a girl at all. It had taken her a long time to realize that.

Powell had never fit in with the other girls around her. She had always been aware of that fact—since about early junior high. She was different.

She had never fit in with the other women around her, either, except maybe her mom and aunts. She had been in college before she'd had a real, deep, lasting friendship with another woman. And that had been because she and Haldyn were stuck together as roommates first.

They'd hated each other on sight, after all. But some random quirk of fate had paired them up—they hadn't become friends on their own. It had just happened.

So where was she supposed to have figured out all of this?

"I really don't know what to do right now." The words slipped out before she could stop them.

"About me."

Her parents had always raised her to tell the truth. She made herself a promise then—no matter how hard it was, she would always tell him the truth. Even if it hurt. Or scared her. "Yes."

"Well…we'll just have to figure it out. But remember one thing. I am not going anywhere."

Then his mouth was on hers, and Powell was just kissing him because it felt right. Like what she was supposed to do at that moment. Like it was the perfect thing to do in that moment.

Maybe it was.

She could stay right there and let him kiss her forever and be perfectly happy. No matter what.

Powell had never felt this way about anyone before. And that scared her more than anything ever had.

But she held on tight.

She didn't let him go until his stupid phone rang, and he pulled away with a curse.

The TSP was calling him. Again.

Imagine that.