Taking a Chance on the Single Dad

Don’t leave too much scent in the air. I have to live here after you’ve gone.

‘Does your stepmum still own the house?’

‘No. When Dad went into full-time care I bought it off them. Mum sold their other house at the same time to buy the apartment, so she didn’t have to worry about lawns and maintenance. It also meant there was money for Dad’s expenses.’ Topped up by her and her sisters so that Mum never needed to count the cents.

Hunter had no compunction about following her indoors but hesitated in the kitchen to look around. He seemed disappointed.

‘Hunter?’

He swallowed. ‘Nothing.’

Oh, yes, there was. She stared at him, trying to fathom what was causing that tight look in his face. ‘What were you expecting?’

He shrugged. ‘You’re quite the interior decorator, aren’t you?’ Did he have to make it sound like a fault?

‘It’s paint and fabrics mostly, with tiles replacing the hideous old carpet.’ Bi-folds instead of sliding glass doors, stone benches to replace the old, chipped laminate ones. ‘You don’t like it?’

‘I haven’t seen enough to know.’

Got it. He’d been expecting everything to be the same as it had been when they’d lived here, renting it off her parents. Before he’d left and she’d bought it. Because—Because he was stepping back in time to when they’d been in love and had had plans of one day buying this place together.

Reality shocked him, brought it home that she had moved on, was living life, not waiting for it to tick past, not sitting in a holding pattern in case the day came when he returned to her. Was this why he’d insisted in coming to her doorstep—not to check she’d be safe? No, there had been genuine concern reflected in his eyes, but obviously there’d been more going on behind that. Might as well get the elephant out of the way.

She tried for a shrug, got it half-right. ‘Take a look around.’ Really see my home as it is, not was.

Woof, woof. There was no getting away with not feeding Poppy right away. ‘Come on, girl. Bring your bowl.’ She walked away, leaving Hunter to his musings. Whatever they were. Did he actually think there was a chance of them getting together again? Truly? Would she have to be blunt and spell it out for him even before he said anything to indicate he might? Like...‘I am not getting back with you. I’m not sure if I ever want to try another relationship. The pain when they go wrong is horrendous.’

Anyway, Dylan meant she had no place in Hunter’s life. Sure, Dylan had to come first, always. She got that, would be upset if he didn’t. But Hunter had shown he was incapable of blending all aspects of his life so that everyone had a place with him and weren’t put aside for someone else. Hunter made choices between everything, everyone.

While Poppy guzzled down chicken-and-rice-flavoured dry food, Brenna put the kettle on to make tea. Wine would be better but then she’d have to offer Hunter one and she really needed him gone. She mightn’t want him to leave—damn, she really didn’t know what she wanted—but for sanity’s sake it would be best if he headed away because there were already vibes making her body pulse and had her watching him out of the corner of her eye as he stood in the middle of her sitting room, staring around. Vibes that could do with a cold shower.

To hell with it. The fridge door swung back against the wall. Snatching the open bottle of wine, she slammed the door shut again and reached for two glasses in the cupboard above. Wine sloshed as she tipped it into them. ‘Here, welcome back to Vancouver.’ She shoved one glass at Hunter.

Damn the man to hell and back for returning, for walking into her life like nothing had gone wrong between them, like they could start over, like she wanted to see him and remember all those steamy sessions—some of which had happened in this house—like she needed to be aware of him and learn what his goals were and how he’d been married and now had a child, and that there was no future for them because she was afraid of being rejected again. She gulped a large mouthful and gasped as it went down the wrong way.

‘Careful.’ Hunter’s splayed hand was between her shoulder blades, banging only hard enough to affect a cough.

Fine, if she wasn’t remembering those palms and the mischief they could cause to her libido. Stepping away, she sipped the wine, stared at her feet and wondered what the hell to say next.

Go away. You’re screwing with my head.

Hunter wasn’t getting the vibes or the message. Instead he stared at the collection of framed photos on the far wall. ‘You were always good with a camera, but these are outstanding.’

Her fickle heart swelled with pride. Was nothing on her side? Putting aside her glass, she replied, ‘Thank you. I won an international photographer’s award with the one of the tandem skydiver.’ It was her favourite photo of the thousands she’d taken since giving in to the need for adrenalin rushes that shut down thoughts of a sedate family life—with Hunter.

‘You skydive now?’ He was still staring at the photos, holding his breath as his gaze flicked from one photo to the next.

Watching his face, she replied, ‘I’ve done a couple of jumps.’

Hunter looked down at her, amazement warring with anger all over his face. ‘Why, Brenna?’

Because I couldn’t have the life I wanted so I found another one.

She had to push him. How else could she deal with this man standing in her house looking gorgeous, and sexy, and so—so Hunter-ish? Her shoulders were tense as she rolled them. ‘Why not? People do it all the time.’

‘You enjoy living dangerously? You want to hurt those who love you when it goes horribly wrong?’

Said the man who’d hurt her badly. ‘There are always plenty of safety measures in place.’

‘They’ve been known to fail.’ He stepped closer, taking her shoulders in his hands. ‘Did I do this to you, Bren?’ There was pain in his eyes, darkening the silver shade to brooding clouds. ‘Did I?’

She sagged into his grip. ‘It has little to do with you, Hunter. Believe me. It’s about me and my life.’ He’d added to her need to prove herself worthy of attention when he’d left her, but he hadn’t started it. ‘There was a day after my mother left us—I was eight—when I climbed the Douglas fir in the neighbour’s yard. All the way to the top.’

‘Let me guess. You refused to come down until she came home.’

‘You’ve got it.’ She could smile about it now. ‘Dad cajoled, and begged, and growled. Nothing worked. He started climbing up to me, and the higher he got the more the top of the tree swayed. I held on like grim death until he reached me.’ She could still remember his warm hand wrapping around her ankle in such a tender manner that had told her how naughty she’d been, and how loved she was, that she was lucky one parent cared enough to climb the tree for her.

‘There was no colour in his cheeks and I had to talk him down. He suffered from vertigo.’ He was the best dad anyone could ask for.

‘Promise me you’ll never tell Dylan that story. I don’t get vertigo, but I hate climbing trees and getting jabbed by branches all the way.’

‘That could cost you.’ She smiled sadly. ‘About a month after you’d gone, I woke up one morning and decided I could either find another tree and hope you’d find me or I could get out there and enjoy life, even take some risks. Calculated ones, I assure you.’

‘Things can still go wrong, no matter how many safety precautions you put in place,’ he murmured.

‘I think we’ve both learned that lesson.’ She could admit she hadn’t fought to keep Hunter in her life, hadn’t decided to move east with him, but then she’d be admitting she’d been afraid to risk losing the love of her father when he’d been there for her when her mother had deserted them, and for everything afterwards. Her chest rose on a breath, and she shifted the conversation sideways.

‘I tandem dive but haven’t been solo. I tried but sitting on the edge of the p

lane, staring down at the ground way below, knowing it was entirely up to me to land softly and not someone attached to my back making the right moves, seriously scared me.’

‘Thank goodness for something.’ His sigh whispered against her cheek. ‘I was starting to think I don’t know you at all.’ Relief flickered in the depth of his gaze. ‘That would be too much, would make a mockery of my memories.’

Her heart rocked. Hunter had memories too? Good ones? Like hers? Low in her belly heat unfurled. For a moment she didn’t feel quite so alone. As though she might be able to find someone to warm her heart, to keep her safe and happy. Because, as much as she denied it, that was what she truly wanted. A partner to share everything with. Could she begin to let go some of the knots that had held her together over the years?

‘Where have you gone?’ His finger brushed over her hair.

‘I’m not sure,’ she answered truthfully. The pounding in her chest got louder as she looked into the dark gaze she’d never forgotten, had been looking for over the years. ‘I’m really not sure.’

Hunter was leaning towards her, his hands ever so gently drawing her closer to him.

Brenna tried to straighten up, away, but couldn’t. It felt right being there, close to that strong chest and the warmth emanating from his whole, long, wide body. Flipping her head back, she gazed up at Hunter. He was—He was Hunter. The man she’d sworn to love for ever, to have babies with, to grow old beside. Her heart skipped a beat. All those wonderful things that she still wanted. Something deep inside began melting as her body reacted to the need that she’d been fighting for days took over. It pushed aside her fear of making a mistake, letting hope take over. Her mouth dried as the gap between them lessened.

His scent swirled around her, his warmth heated her, the light stubble on his chin reminding her of how it felt on her skin, blocking out all thought. As if by their own accord, her feet lifted onto her toes and she was reaching for him, her arms sliding around his neck, her mouth seeking his.

Hot. Hungry. Demanding. Giving and taking. Brenna pushed hard against him, her mouth devouring his, her hands pressing into him. Hunter returned her kiss, hot, hungry, his tongue teasing her mouth, his body plastered to hers, one hand clasping her bottom.

Yes. Haze and longing and heat swamped her. Burned her.