The Bravos: Family Ties: The Bravo Family Way / Married in Haste / From Here to Paternity

“You know this … how?”

“I know it here.” Caitlin fisted a hand and pounded her chest with it. “And I also know that you’re the woman to open him up.”

“Er … you do?” Cleo’s apprehension faded as she realized that Caitlin was quite a character—but not necessarily anyone Cleo needed to take too seriously.

Caitlin loosed a hefty sigh, and the bright beads on her red dress glittered madly with the movement. “I didn’t get me three sons by a psychopath without learnin’ a thing or two about what goes on in men’s minds. I been worried about Fletcher, I truly have. Worried not knowing how he’d ever allow himself to let down his guard and find the love every man needs. But tonight I met you, sweetheart. And I can honestly say I’m not worried anymore. You’re the woman that he has been waiting for.”

Cleo resisted the urge to make some flippant remark concerning Caitlin’s amazing psychic abilities. No. That would be cruel. Caitlin meant well. Cleo could see her sincerity in her black eyes. “Well. I, um, promise to do my best.”

Caitlin laughed her raucous laugh again. “You don’t believe a thing I’ve told you, now do you? And don’t answer that. I’ve said what needed sayin’ and that’s all she wrote for this particular conversation.” She grabbed her sequined bag and pushed herself to her feet. “I wish you health, wealth and love aplenty, darlin’, on this your wedding day.” Then she turned for the door and went out without looking back, her high red heels tapping hard on the black marble floor.

The next morning Cleo and Fletcher took off for a Bravo-owned five-star resort in Cabo San Lucas. Fletcher’s mother and stepdad stayed with Ashlyn at the penthouse for the four brief days they were gone.

Those four days were beautiful. Cleo and her new husband lay in the tropical sun and swam in the blue, blue sea and made love—a lot.

Twice—the afternoon of the first day of their honeymoon and two days later at dinner—Cleo found herself thinking that her groom seemed just a little preoccupied, a little bit withdrawn. Both times she asked him if something was bothering him. Both times he reassured her that there was absolutely nothing wrong.

The second time she asked, at dinner on their private balcony overlooking the beach and the fabulous jewel-blue ocean, he reached across the table. She gave him her hand and reveled, as always, in the sheer thrill of his touch.

“How could I be preoccupied?” he said. “I’m right where I want to be—with you.”

They returned home midweek, said goodbye to Fletcher’s folks and then they both rushed around playing catch-up, getting on top of what hadn’t gotten done while they’d been lying in the sun. Fletcher had a series of killer meetings that stretched into the evening on both Thursday and Friday, so Cleo and Ashlyn shared dinner on their own.

Friday night, Cleo was sound asleep long before Fletcher returned to the penthouse. Deep in the hours between midnight and dawn, she stirred, opened her eyes—and stared into the darkness at Fletcher’s side of the bed.

Empty.

She stretched out a hand, felt the cool, undisturbed expanse of silk. The red numerals on his bedside clock read 3:13. So very late. Where could he be? He’d said nothing about being gone all night.

Restless and beginning to worry, she rolled over.

And there he was, sitting in the buff leather easy chair five feet from the bed. His bow tie was undone and his collar unbuttoned, but otherwise he was fully dressed in a gorgeous black tux.

She canted up on an elbow and pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes. “Hey. There you are. I was just wondering what might have happened to you….”

“Late night,” he said, his voice a low, soft rumble, his gaze never straying, trained on her. “Entertaining the whales.”