Heart of a Hero: The Soldier's Seduction / The Heart of a Mercenary / Straight Through the Heart

She looked amused. “Well, I expect if you’re living next door, you’re gonna see me from time to time. Now go greet your wife the way you want to.”

Oh, boy. The lady had no idea what she was suggesting. He strode through the yard with Bridget and stepped up onto the back porch. Phoebe stood there in the navy skirt and the matching sweater with crayons on it that she’d worn to work.

“Hi,” she said. “How did it—mmph!”

The sentence stopped abruptly as Wade hooked an arm around her waist and brought her up against his free side, setting his mouth on hers at the same moment.

He sought her tongue, sucking lightly and then probing deeply as he felt her body yield to his, her tension evaporating. She had put her hands up and clutched his shoulders when he’d grabbed her, and after a moment she flattened her palms, smoothing them over his back and up to his neck. Kissing Phoebe was like a drug, he decided, juggling the baby so that he could pull her closer. Addictive. Very, very addictive.

When he finally gentled the kiss and released her mouth, he blew out a breath. “Wow.”

“What was that for?” She rested her forehead against his shoulder. Her hands slid down his chest and grasped his forearms.

“Ack!” Bridget threw herself forward and Phoebe put up her arms just in time to catch her.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said. “We didn’t mean to ignore you.” Her face was red and she didn’t meet Wade’s eyes as she jiggled the baby and blew kisses against her neck, making Bridget giggle.

“For Mrs. Bridley,” he said.

“Hmm?” She raised her gaze to his, but the connection to her earlier question seemed forgotten.

“The kiss,” he said patiently. “Your neighbor is delighted that I’m home from Afghanistan. I didn’t think we should disappoint her.”

Phoebe’s forehead wrinkled. “Oh.” It was slightly gratifying to see that his kiss had scrambled her circuits so thoroughly. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

He reached around her and held the screen door open, ushering her into the kitchen. “Interesting that she thinks you have a husband.”

“I never told her that.” Phoebe sounded startled.

“I guess she assumed. She’s an interesting woman.” He gave the adjective special emphasis, and Phoebe finally smiled.

“She’s unique.”

“Good word for it. How was your day?”

“My—? Oh, fine. How did you two get along?”

“Famously,” he assured her. “I managed to change a couple of diapers and get more food into her than on her, and she took both her naps. So I’d say we were successful.”

“Good.” She looked genuinely pleased. “No emergency calls to Angie, hmm?”

“Nope. Not a one.” He took the baby as she got down two glasses and filled them with ice and sweet tea. She cut a slice of lemon, which she squeezed into his, then stirred with a long spoon. As she slid one across the table to where he’d taken a seat, he said, “You remembered.”

She stopped with her own glass halfway to her mouth. “Remembered what?”

He lifted his glass as if he were toasting her. “My tea. With lemon.”

Her color had almost returned to normal from their kiss on the porch, but it was back in an instant. “Just a lucky guess,” she said.

Right. A warm feeling stole through him. She’d remembered.

She made spaghetti for dinner while he set the table and changed Bridget. It was just bizarre, Wade decided. To go from not even knowing how to find her to living with her in less than a week.

He had anticipated—hoped—that she would still be free and still have feelings for him when he finally tracked her down. And he’d thought about the rest of his life and he’d known he wanted it to include Phoebe. But he’d expected to court her, to date until she felt comfortable with him. So much for expectations, he thought, eyeing the cozy table, the baby in the high chair at one end, and the easy way Phoebe moved around him as if he’d always been there to get in the way.

He’d take this any day, although it certainly hadn’t been anything he’d imagined in his wildest dreams.

While they ate, he told her about the other dad with the eight-month-old son he’d met at the park earlier, and she recounted her day. He set Bridget in her infant seat while he helped Phoebe clear the table, and then he said, “I’d like to invite my father to visit at Thanksgiving or Christmas. Do you have a preference?”

She was still looking at him and her eyes went wide. “Thanksgiving or Christmas?” she said faintly. “The holiday season is more than a month away.”

He was puzzled. “Yeah. And…?”

“Exactly how long are you planning to stay in my house?” There was a note of what sounded like panic in her voice.

He looked at her closely, unsure he’d heard her right. “I don’t have any plans to leave,” he said evenly.

“But…but you can’t just live with us forever! What if I wanted to—to get married or something?”

“To who?” He couldn’t have kept the note of naked aggression out of his voice if he’d tried. He hadn’t seen any signs of a man in Phoebe’s life, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. “Is there somebody I should be worrying about?”

“No.” As soon as the word popped out, she closed her mouth abruptly, as if she was aware that she’d just given him a major tactical advantage.

“Good.” He stepped closer and she backed away, but the table was behind her and she couldn’t go any farther. And he stepped forward again, until they were almost nose to nose. He reached for her wrists and captured them with his hands, then very slowly leaned forward until their bodies were pressed together from neck to knee. And just like the first time on the dance floor, he felt that little frisson of awareness, that feeling that this was right, click into place. “If you want to get married, that’s fine. But the only man who’s going to be putting a ring on your finger is me.”

She gaped at him. Literally stood there with her mouth hanging open. “Marry…you?” Her voice was faint.

“Yeah.” Dammit, she didn’t have to act so repelled by the idea.

“No way.”

Her instant refusal rattled him, but he wasn’t about to let it show. “Why not? We share a child.”

“That’s not a reason to get married!”

“It is in my book,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. “You and I grew up in the same community, we have a lot of memories in common. We owe it to Bridget to give her a solid foundation.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you ever wish your childhood had been a little different?”

“I—no.” She shook her head, avoiding his gaze, and he wished he knew what was going on behind those blue eyes.

“Why not?” he asked again. “Give me three good reasons why you won’t marry me.”

She was silent, looking aside with her head tilted down.

“You can’t, can you?” He still held her hands and he slowly raised them, pulling them around his neck. She didn’t embrace him but she didn’t drop them when he released her hands and slid his arms around her, settling her more tightly against him. “We are good together, Phoeber,” he said in a lower tone, “and you know it as well as I do. We know each other so well. We could make this work.”

He put one hand beneath her chin and lifted her face to his, slowly setting his lips on hers. Her mouth was warm, her lips pliant as he kissed her, but slowly she began to respond, kissing him back with an ever-growing fervor that he remembered from the single time he’d made love to her. The response awakened the need for her that always lurked just beneath the surface, and he growled deep in his throat as he gathered her even more closely against him, pressing her head back against his shoulder as he sought the depths of her mouth.

She clung to him, giving him everything he demanded. Sliding one hand up her hip, he slipped it beneath the bottom of her sweater. The skin above the waistband of her skirt was warm and silky, and an even stronger surge of desire shook him.