Savor the Seduction Read online

  He nodded, then released a weighty breath. “Family’s a strange thing, you know? Too many surprises, too many damn secrets.”

  “I know.”

  His gaze sunk into hers, wouldn’t let go. “I have Spencer’s blood in my veins. Doesn’t that scare you a little?”

  “No,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “It sure as hell scares me.”

  “You’re nothing like him, Grant,” she said, easing herself from his grasp.

  Looking frustrated, and very confused, Grant muttered, “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  “I know,” she said, wanting to comfort him, but remaining as impassive as she could. “But you have to figure that out.”

  He paused, his jaw working. “Without your help, is that what you’re saying?”

  “That’s an incredibly selfish question.”

  The lines in his forehead deepened. “I’m afraid I’m a selfish bastard when it comes to you.” He reached out, touched her face. “You’re a good woman, Anna.”

  Her skin tingled under his touch. Or maybe it was the chills. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Let me help you.”

  “No.” She stood tall, tried to look less feeble. She didn’t want Grant to know how sick she felt. He’d insist on coming over, helping her, putting her to bed. He was such a nice guy that way. But she couldn’t handle his gallantry right now. She needed to get her heart under control.

  “I think we should take a break from each other for a while,” she said, then quickly moved away from him and toward her child. “Let’s go, Jack.”

  “Bye-bye, Gwant,” Jack said as he was tugged off toward the cottage.

  “Bye, Jack. I’ll see you later.” His voice turned deep and serious. “I’ll see you both later.”

  As Anna walked away, as she fought every quiver and quake in her belly, every squeeze of her heart, she pretended she hadn’t heard that last bit.

  Grant brought the stallion to a sharp halt. Sure he’d made skid marks in the dirt, he glanced down, but there was nothing, nothing but hoofprints and animal tracks.

  Boy, it felt good to be on a horse again, he thought, letting his stallion prance in a circle. Made him feel alive and free, the wind in his face. But the scents in the air were different, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pretend he was on his land in Nebraska and away from speculation and controversy. No, this was California country, Caroline’s land—the one thing Spencer hadn’t taken from her.

  Spencer Ashton.

  The name made Grant cringe, made his fist tighten around the leather strap in his hand. That man had caused so much grief to so many people, yet from that grief and web of lies, he’d brought many people together. The irony had Grant chuckling sardonically. Did he thank the ghost that had introduced him to siblings he now considered friends? Did he thank Spencer’s memory for making Jack or bringing Anna into his life?

  He gave the stallion a light kick and urged him to walk through a wide row of grapevines. He had no answers to such complicated questions. His life in Nebraska had been so simplistic, so steady, predictable, no surprises. He could appreciate that now.

  But then again, Nebraska lacked many things: his half brothers and sisters; his little brother, Jack and Anna Sheridan.

  Tall, thin, with brown leather eyes so large and liquid a man wanted to drown in them. Never had a woman captivated his mind and body like her, he mused as the sun set casually before him. And he was pretty sure she felt the same about him. Hell, hadn’t she said as much? But unlike him, she wanted a relationship, a father for her boy and a husband for herself. And Grant Ashton, this new Grant Ashton that was made just months ago, this Grant Ashton who had been lied to, taken advantage of, abandoned by his father and tossed in jail for a crime he hadn’t committed, had no stomach for commitment. Besides, he’d seen way too many people end up hating each other over a love gone wrong, over unsure futures and selfish choices. And he’d seen too many kids torn apart in the process. Himself included.

  He wasn’t going to risk that with Anna and Jack.

  But, hell, he thought, emerging from a row of vines and breaking into a canter across an open patch of land, even with all those good reasons to steer clear, to follow her wishes and stay away, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting her.

  “Pardon the cliché, but I’m truly sick as a dog.”

  Standing in the cottage doorway, Jillian gazed at her friend with concerned eyes. “What can I do?”

  Wrapped in a blanket, feeling insanely hot and cold at the same time, Anna said, “I don’t want Jack to get this, whatever it is. Can you take him up to the house for tonight?”

  “Of course,” Jillian said, then gestured to Anna. “But who’ll take care of you?”

  “I’ve nursed myself out of the flu too many times to count. I just want Jack to be all right.”

  “He’ll be fine. Rachel is so excited she’s ready to burst. And so’s the rest of the clan.” Jillian studied Anna’s face. “Please let Caroline bring you some soup or toast or—”

  “I’m okay. I have soup and bread and Popsicles. Caroline is a busy woman, and has been wonderful to me. I don’t want to be a burden.”

  Jillian rolled her eyes in an, “Oh, for heaven’s sake” type of look. “Promise me this, okay? If you start to feel really bad, you’ll call?” When Anna didn’t answer, Jillian pursed her lips and warned, “That boy of yours needs his mother.”

  Anna attempted a smile. “Okay. I promise.”

  “Good,” Jillian said, pacified.

  “Come here, Jack.” Anna moved aside and let the little boy through. Jack took the hand Jillian offered him, but looked up at Anna with sad eyes. “Mama?”

  Her heart tripped, and if she didn’t feel like something that had been caught in a drain, then promptly battered and fried, she’d take her baby in her arms and never let go. But desires had to come second to her boy’s health. “Just one night, love. I promise.”

  “’Kay,” he said softly, then smiled. “Wuv you.”

  “Love you, too, baby.”

  After he and Jillian left, walking off toward the house, Anna closed the door. For a moment, she sagged against the wood, feeling depleted and incredibly lonely. She didn’t know what ached more, her bones and muscles or her heart.

  After pushing away from the door, she staggered over to the couch and collapsed onto the fluffy white pillows. Her muscles aching, her stomach churning, she pulled one of Caroline’s beautiful quilts up to her chin. The movement was exhausting. Lord, it was going to be a long night.

  The kitchen clock ticked away as she lay there trying to urge herself to drink fluids. After a few sips of water, she let her eyes drift closed. For what seemed like hours, she moved in and out of sleep, waking up when a supreme dose of cold or heat rushed up her spine. Shaking sadly, sweat beading on her brow, she wished someone would conk her on the head and put her out of her misery for a while.

  She groaned when she heard a knock on the door, but then forced herself to rouse when she realized it could be Jillian and Jack.

  But when she pulled back the cottage door, she got a surprise. Grant stood there, the twilight to his back, a scowl on his handsome features.

  “You really are sick.”

  “It would seem that way.” She knew she looked like hell, but she didn’t care.

  “You said you were fine, just tired.”

  “Did I?”

  He ignored her sarcasm. “Why the hell didn’t you call me?”

  “You know why.”

  “I’m coming in.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Grant, I can handle this, it’s just a bug.”

  He lifted one very serious brow. “Are you going to step aside or do I have to pick you up?”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” she said.

  “And you’re being a stubborn child.”

  She felt ready to wilt right there, and stepped back to allow him entrance. “No, what I
’m being is practical and protective.” She leaned against the wall as a wave of nausea hit her.

  He cursed, eased her from the wall and into his arms. “You don’t have to protect yourself from me, ever.”

  The nausea moved like ocean waves in her gut. He just didn’t get it. Of course she had to protect herself. Unlike him, she was in love and ready to have her heart broken whenever he was able to leave Napa.

  “My poor, Anna,” he whispered against her hair.

  His voice was soothing, and he felt so cool and strong and just what the doctor ordered that she allowed herself to relax against him.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” she muttered against his brown leather coat.

  “You’re sick, Anna.”

  “I know.”

  “So apart from applying a cold cloth and feeding you soup, I’ll keep my hands to myself, okay? Just let me help you.”

  Her neck felt so tight, her bones ached terribly. Could she? Could she just allow him to help her for one night?

  A shot of liquid cold snaked up her spine, then spread.

  Yes, tonight she could.

  “What are you feeling?” he asked her gently, guiding her back to the couch.

  She collapsed on the soft, familiar fabric. “Hot and cold, chills, hot, sick to my stomach, cold and weak.”

  He sat on the coffee table, pulled the quilt up to her chin. “Did you eat something funny?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s probably just the flu.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then his brows dipped low and his voice followed. “Anna?”

  “What?”

  “Are you sure this is the flu?”

  “What do you mean? Of course it’s the—”

  “Well,” he began slowly, taking her hand in his, “we were together almost a month ago. The weakness, nausea…”

  Oh, for goodness’ sake. She shook her head. “Grant—”

  “It all makes sense.”

  ““Not to me,” she said, her heart pinching under aching ribs.

  He leaned toward her, his eyes a brilliant green mask from whatever emotion he was feeling. “Could you be pregnant, Anna?”

  Two

  His life flashed before his eyes.

  All forty-three years.

  From birth to now. From his fatherless childhood, to a mother who worked her hands raw and her feet into a nightly salt soak just to keep clothes on their backs and food in their mouths. From grandparents who had given them all a home, to his mother’s battle with cancer, to his rebellious sister Grace who, after the death of their mother, went wild and careless and gave birth to two children—and finally to the leap into parenthood when Grace had abandoned those children.

  Grant’s gaze slipped from Anna’s bleary brown eyes to her belly. He had become an adult, a father—a parent—early and quickly. And even with all of the trials and setbacks, he’d managed to raise two amazing people.

  Yet, he wasn’t sure he could do it again.

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to do it again.

  “Grant.”

  He looked up, back into Anna’s soft gaze.

  “You can unclench that jaw. There’s no baby.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “We were always careful.”

  “Things happen. Condoms break. Especially when two people get a little wild.”

  “Just a little?” She tried to smile, though it looked almost painful to do.

  He leaned toward her, stroked her hair. “You look really pale.”

  “You gotta stop flattering me like this.”

  He chuckled, leaned in and gave her a kiss on her damp forehead.

  Admittedly he was a responsible guy. He did the right thing most of the time, had the respect of his friends and workers. Made sure the job was done and done right, no matter how long it took. But when it came to nursing, to caretaking, for someone other than himself, he had pretty meager instincts. Sure, he’d been there for his kids when they’d been sick, stayed up all night, held their heads, held them close, whatever they needed. It was those other things; singing, soothing with words—all that stuff that seemed to come so easy to a woman, to a mother.

  When he looked down into the face of this woman he wanted to have all manners of soothing on hand. It was like that with Anna. He felt merely a man with her, when he wanted to be everything and give her everything.

  “You’re too close, Grant.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll get sick, too.”

  “Nah.” He grinned, eased a wisp of auburn hair off her cheek and gazed down at her. “And what if I do? You can take care of me.”

  She closed her eyes, shakes hitting her full-on now. “Oh, Grant. How…will we…stay apart if…”

  He shook his head. “You need to lie down.”

  “I am lying down.”

  “No, not properly. You need a bed.”

  “Bed would be good. But it’s too far away.”

  “Not so far,” he said softly, sliding his hands under her and lifting her up, blanket and all.

  “Listen, Grant,” she said weakly as he carried her toward the bedroom. “I appreciate your help, but I’m really capable of taking care of myself.”

  The two cuss words that fell from his mouth were followed up by an imperious, “You’re weak and sick. If you are…well, carrying a child, especially in the early months, that can make you—”

  She looked up at him, said with much more vigor than she probably possessed, “I am not pregnant.”

  Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t, he thought, pulling her closer in his arms. But he wasn’t taking any chances. “We’ll see.”

  “I just don’t want you to worry about it, not with everything that’s going on right now—”

  He laid her on the bed. “I’m not worried.”

  But Grant was worried. For many reasons. His bloodline was riddled with people who ran from their responsibilities. Sure, he’d proven himself once. He’d raised Ford and Abigail, and had always been proud of that fact, not to mention proud of them. But things had changed—he’d changed—since he’d come to Napa Valley. Spencer’s rejection, his murder, his lies about the past. Grant’s arrest and Anna’s cover-up. The deceit that surrounded him was abundant, making the future look bleak and unsure.

  There were times when Grant wondered what kind of man he had become.

  He glanced down at Anna. She was asleep, her cheeks flushed with pink, her breathing labored. His chest constricted as he pulled the loose blanket up to her chin. Despite all of those other concerns, there was one far more powerful and troublesome. If Anna were carrying his child he would be bound to her for life, and the idea both excited and terrified him.

  She wrapped her arms around her child as she ran through the alley. Someone was following her, slowing when she slowed, quickening his pace when she sped up. Her heart thundered in her chest and her forehead dripped with sweat. She was so exhausted, and her baby couldn’t keep up as they hurried through the long unending tunnel of darkness.

  At one point, she tripped on something wet and hard. Down she went, Jack with her. Panic rose in her blood and she forced herself up, forced herself to pick up her child and run.

  She could feel the man’s hot breath, smell his sickeningly sweet cologne.

  “Go away,” she shouted, her breathing heavy, the bullets of sweat dripping down her forehead to her cheek. “He’s mine. Mine!”

  His breath came quickly, too, as he remained one step behind her.

  The hair on her neck bristled and bile rose in her throat.

  “You’ll never have him. Don’t touch him!”

  “Anna! Anna?”

  She screamed and struggled with arms that bound her.

  “Anna, wake up.”

  Anna’s eyes flew open. She was sitting up, her heart thundering inside her chest, her face wet with perspiration. She blinked, swallowed, then stared, unfocused, into green eyes. Wide, concerned eyes.

  “Grant?” s
he whispered, then released a cry of relief and let her head fall against his chest.

  “Yeah.” Grant cradled her. “You were having a nightmare.”

  “It was him again.”

  “Spencer?”

  “He was taking Jack from me.”

  “It’s all right now,” he assured her, stroking her hair, holding her as tightly as she’d allow him. “He can’t hurt you ever again, and he will never take your child from you.”

  “It won’t die. This dream won’t die. Why couldn’t it die when he did?” Spencer chasing her, wanting to take her baby from her. Over and over. Night after night since this whole thing began. The last time she and Grant had been together, under very different circumstances of course, she’d woken up screaming, panicked from the same dream.

  She wiped the sweat from her hot forehead. “Oh, God. I have a fever.”

  “I know.” He grabbed a bottle from the bedside table and turned it over, shook out two caplets onto his palm. “Here, take these.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just take them.”

  Too exhausted and too sick to argue, she did as he instructed, then gulped down the water he offered.

  Heat, unlike anything she’d ever known, settled over her and she felt as though she couldn’t breathe. Her mind a blurry, bleary mess, she started ripping off her clothes.

  Grant stared at her. “What—?”

  “Hot. So hot.” But she barely had her shirt over her head when weakness took her and she sagged against Grant’s chest.

  “Let me, sweetheart.”

  Through her fever haze, she thought she might have smiled. She loved when he called her that. It had only been three times, twice during lovemaking, and once tonight. She wished it could be always.

  With deft fingers, Grant lifted her T-shirt over her head, then snapped the hooks of her bra and removed it from her scorching skin. He laid her back against the pillow, and eased down her pajama bottoms and underwear at the same time. She sighed as air rushed over her skin.

  But the cool and comfortable feeling lasted for about ten seconds.

  Goose bumps rose on her skin and she thought she would be sick to her stomach if she didn’t get warm. “Now I’m freezing. Oh, and every bone, every muscle in my body aches. Even my hair hurts.”