from a thousand years ago.”
“Still, you made your own way. That’s commendable. Why a field nurse and not in a military hospital?” He respected her drive. And her selfless career choices. She wanted to help people. Something told him she would have been a good field medic. Strong, knowledgeable, fearless.
“I did not want special treatment or protection because of my family’s position. And still, I ended up as a translator not even allowed anywhere near a combat zone.” Her voice took on a new determination. A tenacity he found incredibly attractive.
“So you made plans to continue your education after your service was finished.” He knew she’d registered for coursework that would begin next month in the UK but had assumed she would ask for her spot to be held until after the children were born.
“I will not be deterred from my plans because of my family’s interference.” Eyes narrowed at him. Every bit a princess with that haughty stare. “I can support myself.”
“Of course you can.” He brought his negotiating skills to the conversation, hoping to make her see reason. “This is about more than money, though. You have a lot on your plate. Let me help you and the babies while you return to school.”
“That makes it sound like I am incapable of taking care of myself the way my parents always said.” Bitterness edged back into her voice. And something that sounded like dulled resignation.
“This isn’t just about you. Or me. We have children to think of. You know I want you to marry me. I’ve made that clear. But if your answer is still no, at least move in with me. Make this easier for all—”
She pressed her mouth to his, silencing him until she leaned back, water dripping between them again.
“Gervais, please, this time is for us to get to know one another better. This kind of pressure from you about the future is counterproductive.”
One thing was for sure—she had been opening up. Maybe asking her to marry him again was too much too soon. But he could feel the connection between them growing. So he would back off. But not forever. He just had to figure out a way to show her how good they were together. “Then how about we find food?”
Her smile was so gorgeous the water damn near steamed off his skin. “Food? Now that is music to this pregnant woman’s ears.”
* * *
The strands of Erika’s hair fell damp against the cloth of the jersey. They sat in the suite’s kitchen. She was on the countertop, cross-legged, peering over at Gervais’s back.
He’d retrieved an assortment of ripe fruit—pitted cherries, chocolate-dipped strawberries, pineapple slices and peach slices. At the center of the platter was a bowl of indulgent-looking cream.
Stomach growling, she looked on in anticipation. He brought it next to her and pulled up a bar stool so that they were eye level.
Extending her hand to grab a cherry, he stopped her.
“Let me, Princess.” With a playful smile, he lifted a cherry to her lips. Inside, she felt that now-familiar heat pulse. He was tender, charming.
A threat to her plan of objectivity, too.
She popped a chocolate-dipped strawberry into his mouth. He licked the slightly melted chocolate off her fingertips, sending her mind back to the shower. Back to when she had thought this was uncomplicated.
Needing to take control of the situation, Erika cleared her throat. Her goal was the same as before. To get to know him. “What did you want to be as a little boy growing up?”
Finishing chewing, he tilted his head to the side. “Interesting question.”
“How so?” It had seemed like a perfectly reasonable question. One she had been meaning to ask for a while now.
“Everyone assumes I wanted to be a pro football player.”
To Erika, Gervais had seemed like the kind of man who wasn’t nearly as cut-and-dried as that. He might live and breathe football, but it didn’t seem as if it was the only dimension to him. Childhood dreams said a lot, after all. She’d wanted to be a shield maiden from long ago. To protect and shelter people. Her adult dream was still along those lines.
A nurse did such things. “And you did not want to be a football player like the rest of your family?”
“I enjoy the game. Clearly. I played all through elementary school into high school because I wanted to. I didn’t have to accept the offer to play at the college level. I could afford any education I wanted.”
“But your childhood dream?” She pressed on, before taking the cream-covered peach slice he’d offered her. She savored the taste of the sweetness of the peach against the salty flavor of his fingers.
Looking down at his feet, then back at her, he smiled sheepishly. “As a kid, I wanted to drive a garbage truck.”
Her jaw dropped. Closed. Then opened again as she said, “Am I missing something in translation? You wished to drive a truck that picks up trash?”
“I did. When my parents argued, I would go outside to hide from the noise. Sometimes it got so loud I had to leave. So I rode my bike to follow the garbage truck. I would watch how that crusher took everyone’s trash and crushed it down to almost nothing. As a kid that sounded very appealing.”
Thinking of him pedaling full-tilt down the roads as a child put an ache in her heart she couldn’t deny. “I am sorry your parents hurt you that way.”
“I just want you to understand I take marriage and our children’s happiness seriously.”
His brown eyes met hers. They were heated with a ferocity she hadn’t seen before.
This offer of a life together was real to him. His offer was genuine, determined. And from a very driven man. She needed to make up her mind, and soon, or she could fast lose all objectivity around Gervais.
It had only been three days since he’d gotten home from the loss in St. Louis. He needed time to think of his next strategy. And not just for the Hurricanes. With Erika, too.
Which was exactly why he’d pulled on his running shorts and shirt. Laced up his shoes and hit the pavement, footsteps keeping him steady.
Focused.
Sweat curled off his upper lip, the taste of salt heavy in his mouth. The humid Louisiana twilight hummed with the songs of the summer bugs and birds.
This always set his mind right. The sound of foot to pavement. Inhale. Exhale. The feel of sweat on his back.
He’d been quite the runner growing up. Always could best his brothers in distance and speed. Especially Jean-Pierre, his youngest brother.
Jean-Pierre had to work harder than all his older brothers to keep up with them as they ran. Running had been something of a Reynaud rite of passage. Or so Gervais had made it out to be. He’d always pushed his brothers for a run.
