No bra. White lace panties.

Black high heels.

He’d die if he waited any longer. With one quick move, he scooped her up, all that silken skin, her hair as cool as water, and carried her to the living room and dumped her unceremoniously on the couch, falling on top of her.

She was laughing now, and the sound...the sound just told him what he already knew.

He loved Jessica Dunn.

He always had.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“LOOK AT THAT SMILE. You’re gross.”

Connor looked up at his sister. “Now you know how I feel about you and Lucas.”

“So she finally took pity on you, huh?”

“Yep.” Quite a few times over the past five days, as a matter of fact. He grinned.

“Stop smiling! You’re disgusting. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

It was nine o’clock on Wednesday morning, and they were in O’Rourke’s kitchen. Connor was working on the paella, a spicy New Orleans–inspired dish with shrimp, scallops, crawfish tails, mussels, chorizo, roasted red peppers, red onion and garlic, and the smell was making him nearly drunk. He also had to start the soup, which would be French onion, because it was cold and rainy today, and he’d guess they’d sell out of both.

Colleen was taking up space. More and more these days. “You feeling okay?” he asked.

“I guess so. Kind of uncomfortable.”

“Got her name picked out yet?”

“You’re so sure it’s a girl, aren’t you?” She smiled. “We want the name to be a surprise.”

“And yet you’ll tell your big brother.”

“So Lucas thinks she’ll be Amelia, but I was thinking it’d be nice to name her after his mom. Isabelle. She died when he was little.”

“That’s beautiful, Dog-Face.”

She scowled at him. “I barely recognize you. You’re all cheerful and nice. It’s freaky. But listen, as long as you’re on a roll, and don’t be mad at me, because I’m pregnant and have horrible heartburn and you have to pity me. Dad’s coming in this morning to see you.”

“Why?”

“He has something to tell you.”

“What?”

“Let him tell you. I have to pee. This baby must have both knees right on my bladder. Besides, Dad just walked in. Bye. Be nice.”

She left, and Connor growled. Felt a pang of sympathy heartburn, which irritated him. He finished cutting the shrimp, then the sausage, then tossed them into the pot. Washed his hands carefully, twice. Wiped down the counter. He didn’t mind making his father wait in the least.

Then, with a sigh, he went into the restaurant. Pete was sitting at a table. “Hey, son,” he said, standing up. “How are you?”

“Fine. How are you?” Completely polite.

“Sit down, sit down.” His father gave him that laser-white smile. Connor waited.

“So. Uh, things are good? Colleen says you’re starting a brewery? That’s wonderful. Can I do anything to help?”

“No, thanks.”

“Well, if you change your mind, or need financing, or... I’m here.”

Connor waited some more. Being the quiet twin had its advantages.

Pete O’Rourke took a deep breath. “I have some news. Good news, I think. Well, no, it’s definitely good news. Um... Gail is pregnant. It’s a boy this time.”

So that was why Gail looked like hell lately.

Connor waited to feel something. Nothing came.

He’d be thirty-three years older than this kid. Old enough to be the father. His father, odds were, would be dead by the time the kid graduated from college. Gail the Tail was pushing forty herself.

Oddly, the only thing he felt was pity.

“Best wishes,” he said.

“Son, I just want you to know that you’ll always be—”

“I’m not ten. There’s no need for a pep talk. I’ll be a good brother.”

“I already know that.” Pete looked at him, with difficulty, it seemed. “Connor, it’s just that ever since Savannah was born, there’s been this distance between us.”

“The distance was there long before Savannah. You just didn’t notice.”

“It seems to have gotten worse.”

“Well, yeah. Come on, Dad. You made a laughingstock out of my mother. The middle-aged man with a hot babe on the side, proving his virility by getting her pregnant.”

“But Gail and I have been married for almost eleven years now. Even your mother has found someone else. She’s even getting married again. And I’m a good father to Savannah, aren’t I?” The question wasn’t boasting. He wanted an answer.

“You are,” Connor conceded. “Listen, I have work to do. Congratulations on the baby. I hope everything goes well.”

“That’s it?”

“Did you think there’d be more?”

Pete looked at the table. “I guess not.”

“I’m not trying to punish you, Dad,” Connor said. “I just don’t want anything from you.”

His father flinched. “Got it.”

Connor stood up and went back into the kitchen. Through the window, he could see his father, sitting at the table for another minute before getting up to leave.

Did Pete think they were going to toss a ball around? Go camping together? They hadn’t done that when Connor was ten.

It was strange, therefore, that he felt an unsettling sense of guilt all the same.

* * *

JESSICA LEFT BLUE HERON for lunch, something she didn’t often do. “I hear you’re sleeping with my son,” Jeanette said as Jess went through the tasting bar.

“Oh...hi, Jeanette.” Jess felt the blush creep up from her chest.

“I approve, don’t worry,” the other woman said. “Hey, I just had a thought. Would you like to be one of my bridesmaids? Colleen’s my matron of honor, and Paulie’s a bridesmaid, and Carol Robinson was saying that older women never get to be in wedding parties, so she’s in, too. What do you say? It’d be nice to have my son’s girlfriend here. Maybe you two will be next.” She beamed at Jessica and raised her eyebrows.

Oh, God. What had Connor been telling people? Jess took a steadying breath. “What a nice offer, Jeanette.” She’d never been a bridesmaid before, but serving at Jeanette’s...it was an odd thought. A sweet thought, too.

“Guess what!” Marcy burst in the front door, shaking the rain from her hair like a puppy. “I just got John Holland approved as justice of the peace! Is that freaking genius or what? People can have the owner of the vineyard perform their ceremony! What a fantastic idea! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before! High five, Jeanette! Hey, you want him to do you and the Chicken King?”

“Oh, what a great idea! Our daughters are best friends, after all.”

It was a good idea. “Nice job,” Jessica said. She’d give credit where it was due. Who wouldn’t want John Holland performing the ceremony? Marcy was right.

Since the press release, Marcy had been doing more and more PR. Well, she’d been trying to. She suggested events for the vineyard, though none of them had been green-lighted; at this point in the year, the calendar was full with everything from a full-moon ride in a horse-drawn wagon to Wags and Wine, a pet show/wine tasting. Again, all Jess’s domain, all firmly under control, all proven successes.