Ian wasn’t backing off until Darcy gave the word.
Cady whimpered and burrowed her head into the cleft between his shoulder and Darcy’s. Xander’s hand dropped away. Ian wasn’t sure if he should feel guilty, victorious or ashamed, so he settled for giving thanks that—for the moment, at least—he was still in the picture.
Darcy spoke up. “She’s getting tired. Xander, why don’t you give me your number and we’ll set up a time to get together again. Let’s see, today is Tuesday, so maybe—”
“Tomorrow?” Xander had never sounded so excited about anything for as long as Ian had known him.
Darcy stiffened a little in Ian’s embrace. “I’ve got a lot going on over the next couple days. How about the end of the week?”
A lot going on? Darcy worked from home and had no appointments other than delivering Cady to and from her mornings at day care. He knew for a fact that she had kept the next few days open, because he was her usual hairdresser-and-dentist babysitter, and he was heading to Comeback Cove Thursday morning.
If Darcy was putting Xander off, it meant she wanted time. For what, he didn’t know. But he’d be damned if he would let her set up something for the days he wasn’t going to be around.
Unless, of course, that was what she wanted...
But no. He hadn’t imagined that wariness that had come over her. Until he knew she felt safe, he was going to stick to her like the snap pea vines clinging to Lulu’s coat as she slinked out of the garden.
“Hang on, honey.” He thought fast. “Did you forget that we’re leaving in the morning?”
“I—”
He turned to Xander, watching them with way too much curiosity. “We’re going up to see my folks, spend Father’s Day with my dad. So it’ll be next Monday, Tuesday, before we get back.”
“Oh, right.” Darcy laughed and elbowed him in the ribs while adjusting Cady. Accidentally? “How could I forget? Like I said, teething, not enough sleep.” She shrugged. “It does a number on me.”
Xander studied them, skepticism apparent in his crossed arms and narrowed eyes. Ian’s stomach clenched. The truth would have to come out at some point, but damn it, he didn’t want that to happen until he’d had a chance to talk to Darcy and find out what she needed.
He slipped sideways, turning to slide his hands around a droopy, half-asleep Cady. “Here. I’ll take her in while you get Xander’s number.”
Darcy nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”
He paused, considered and then—before he could talk himself out of it—brushed a quick kiss against her mouth.
He kept it light. Fast. Barely long enough to register the hint of ginger on her breath, nowhere near hot enough to account for the rush of God, yes that hit him even as he reminded himself that it was all for show. It was clumsy, so awkward that if Xander had been taking notes, he probably would have seen through them in a heartbeat.
But, damn, she tasted good.
And, whoa damn, when her lips parted—purely from shock, he knew—he had to drag himself away.
And, hot damn, but if this was a mistake, it was the best one he’d made in a long time.
TEN MINUTES AFTER saying goodbye to Xander, fifteen minutes after Ian had bestowed the third surprise in her hat trick of shocks for the day, Darcy pulled down the shade in Cady’s room and started the recording of acoustic covers that passed for lullabies chez Maguire. With all the routines accounted for, she turned on the monitor and tiptoed out of the room, closing the door behind her and leaning against it while she breathed.
“Dear God, Maguire, when you mess up, you don’t hold back, do you?”
So much for her carefully organized life. So much for those daily affirmations reminding herself that she was strong, she was independent, she could handle whatever the universe threw her way. In a little over an hour, that had all been blown to hell.
Xander was back.
Which she had been dealing with until she’d found out he’d been in freakin’ jail.
And then Ian had kissed her.
Her fingers rose to her lips and she gave a shaky laugh. Yes, everything else was crumbling around her, but her brain kept tugging her back to that moment in the yard when Ian’s mouth had brushed hers. For one second, maybe two or three, her worries about Xander and custody agreements and criminal acts had been banished by the soft play of warm lips against hers. It had been reassuring and comforting, a welcome reminder that she wasn’t alone, which was, she was sure, the only reason he had done it. And she really hoped that was the only reason she kept coming back to it. It was nothing more than her touchstone, a moment of peace and sanity when everything else was whirling.
A nice story. Too bad her treasonous brain also insisted on reminding her of the infrequent but oh-so-vivid dreams she’d had over the past few months. Dreams in which Ian played a highly significant and usually shirtless role.
Every time she woke from one of those dreams, she spent the next few days staring at the ground or at Lulu or praying that his work would take him out of town for an extended period. Because, seriously, lusting after her best friend?
At least she’d pulled away from the kiss before her long-denied hormones had kicked in. She could not, would not, upset the balance of their lives more than had already been done. Especially not at a time such as this when she could really use a friend.
But how was she supposed to look at him now?
Not that she had a choice. He was in her kitchen waiting for her, as he’d done so many times over the past year. She had to tell him the truth about Xander and find out what kind of criminal DNA was swimming in Cady’s genes, all while feeling as if she’d been plugged into an outlet and was being hit by bolts of electricity at random times and in the worst possible places.
And what kind of parent was she that of all the things that had happened, she continued to fixate on the one that had made her feel better for a minute, the three seconds that had served her?
Dear Lord, she was turning into her mother after all.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook away the thought. She would get through this. She would talk to Ian—talk, Maguire—and send him to his apartment. She would sit at the computer and come up with a strategy. Later, if she was still this...unsettled, she would put Cady to bed and have herself a private film festival. One featuring Harrison Ford in his prime, fully whipped. Tomorrow, she could wake with a clear head and focus on what mattered—getting Cady through this change without turning her childhood into the same kind of convoluted mess Darcy’s had been.
All she had to do was get through the next hour.
* * *
LOOKING IAN IN the eye as she descended the stairs took about as much intestinal fortitude as telling Xander that he had
