With Honor (11 page)

He heard a crashing of pins and then a loud whoop. Looking past his beer to the lane where Flanders and a few other guys were giving Jasmine a high five, he grimaced. Shit! The girl was either lucky or definitely a con. She’d made her third strike. His brain wouldn’t focus. With his mind on his dick and not the game, he was shit-deep in trouble. Getting beat by a girl.

But it was worth it. Seeing her jumping up and down, breasts bobbing, smile bright as the brightest star–yeah it was good. She did a little celebratory dance toward him, finger pointing, wagging teasingly and chanting, “Who’s the winner now? Who’s the winner now?”

He couldn’t hold back a round of laughter. Packing up and going home looked favorable. His ass was cooked.

“You’re just lucky.” He snorted

“Is that a sore loser I hear?” She chuckled and plopped down beside him on the orange plastic chair.

“Baby, you haven’t won yet. We still have a whole second game to play.” He got a strong whiff of her scent and had a strong desire to sniff her neck. “If you promise you’ll jump around like that again, I’ll consider letting you win.”

She laughed as she lifted her long wavy hair off her neck, holding the length in one hand, while fanning herself with the other. Staring at her, something filled his chest. The woman was sexier than hell with bright eyes and rosy cheeks. He had a deep need to kiss her. He didn’t give a shit who saw.

“I had no idea bowling could be this much fun.” She let her hair fall back to her shoulders. “Who knew I could actually toss a ball down a lane and hit pins?”

He’d think this was a joke, but having a hard-on for an off-limits woman was nothing to laugh about. “Yeah, who knew?” He guzzled the rest of his beer. He’d have another, but he definitely needed his wits about him.

“Come on, Shane. It’s only a game.” Her nose wrinkled when she smiled. “Ah, and one week’s worth of meals prepared for me.”

Flanders knocked down five pins. “Damn, this ball isn’t working for me,” the young man complained as he headed back to his seat. “Looks like we’re both going to lose tonight, eh Conner?’

“Speak for yourself, Flanders. I won’t give up until the last pin is in.”

Chapter 8

The next evening, Jasmine opened the door and welcomed Shane in. His arms were laden with groceries. “So, what are you making for me tonight?” She bit back a proud smile. Time for him to cook for her, since she’d won their bowling bet.

“Lasgana and garlic bread. And instead of alcohol…” He reached into one of the plastic bags and pulled out a bottle. “Sparkling for the lady.”

Jasmine took the bottle and one bag from him. He’d thought enough to grab non-alcoholic. His company each night would be enjoyable.

In the small kitchen, she put the bag onto the counter and placed the bottle in the fridge to chill. She closed the door and sneezed. Not once, but three times.

“You feeling okay?” Shane asked.

“I have a little bit of a headache.”

He had a worried look on his face.

“I’ll be fine, really.”

He reached up and touched the back of his hand against her forehead. “You feel feverish.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I think so.” He set the bag down. “Do you have a thermometer?”

“Yes.”

With a lifted brow, he asked, “Where?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Go sit down on the couch and I’ll be right back.”

“Shane, you really don’t have to do this.” She refused to be treated like a child.

“I know. I really don’t have to do anything, but I want to.” He gently guided her with hand on the small of her back and one on her elbow into the living room. He fluffed one crocheted pillow and gave a quick hand motion for her to sit.

Without argument, she did. She was feeling worse by the minute. And if that wasn’t enough, he took another pillow and laid it under her feet.

“Why are you being so nice?”

Straightening, he didn’t make eye contact. “I’m not being so nice. I have a responsibility in this.”

“But I told you I am not your obligation,” she said.

“Let’s not go through this again. I’m going to get the thermometer. No fever, you can get up.”

Noises came from the bathroom as he opened and shut drawers, looking through cabinets and closet. “Try underneath the sink,” she called out.

“Aha.” A second later he returned. “Now, shall I take it orally or anally?” He thumped the old thermometer against his palm.

“Try to get in my pants with that thing and you’ll find out why it’s best to choose oral.” Like a good patient, she opened, placed her tongue over the end of the glass and closed her mouth.

After three minutes, he told her, “Open.” He checked the gauge. “One-hundred-one.”

“So where did you learn to do all this?” she asked.

“Taking a temperature? I took medic training, although taking someone’s temp is far from difficult.”

“The more I learn about you, Shane Conner, the more interesting I find you.” And the more she enjoyed hearing him talk about his past. “Most men wouldn’t even know which end is up on a thermometer.”

“Wow, you mean you’re actually seeing past the first impression of a man who got you pregnant and left you?”

“Starting to, but don’t push it.” She turned slightly to get a better look at his face. “Sometimes two people can’t control a need, a desire.”

“Is that what we have between us?”

“Do you remember what I told you?” Playing with the strings of her shirt, she said, “I had never had a one-night stand before.”

“And whether you know it or not, I don’t sleep around with every woman I come into contact with. I’d just like to clear up that misconception that you have of me.”

She got a whiff of his cologne, with a bit of engine oil. He’d been at the hangar today. “You’re doing a good job of straightening up that misconception.”

“Glad I could.” Winking, he laid the thermometer on the table. “When did you start feeling sick?”

“I don’t feel sick.”

“Do pregnant women get fevers?” he asked.

“Not that I know of. Then again, I never thought I could throw up so much either.”

“Then lots of rest is the cure. You lie here and take a nap. I’ll go make dinner.” He got up and crossed the room.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I feel fine.” She sighed in frustration. The protective side manifested within him.

“No, you didn’t say that. You said you didn’t feel sick, so prevention is key. Anyway, the thermometer doesn’t lie.”

She watched him leave the room, resisting the urge to throw a pillow at his head. Truth was, she did feel a little tired. Closing her eyes wouldn’t hurt. The last thing she remembered hearing was the sound of the blender’s whir and the clanking of pots and pans.

Jasmine wasn’t sure how long she’d been out, but when she woke the house smelled of savory cooking. Her stomach growled. Sitting up, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and caught a glance of Shane. He sat on the chair across from her, passed out. Checking the clock on the wall, she saw it was nine-thirty. She had slept two hours. Why hadn’t he gotten her up?

She started to get up, but her head hurt and she felt nauseated. Would the baby sickness ever go away?

Shane sat up quickly and looked at the clock. “I dozed off. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Feeling any better?” He pushed out of the chair and stretched his arms high above his head. His shirt lifted and she caught a peek of his flat stomach and obliques. Maybe he should consider modeling as a second career. “Jasmine?”

Realizing she’d been staring, she dragged her eyes away. “Oh…my head hurts some.”

“Then don’t move a muscle.”

She would have allowed herself to feel all giddy on the inside at his caring attitude if she thought for a minute he wasn’t being all sweet and kind because of the baby.

An hour later, they’d finished dinner and Shane had done the dishes. When he came back into the living room, Jasmine thanked him for the delicious lasagna. “You really didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”

“No problem.” He sat back down in the chair he’d been napping in earlier. Extending his long legs and crossing them at the ankles, he rubbed his eyes. He looked tired.

“I’ve realized, Shane, that I know very little about your family. After all, your heritage is also the baby’s.”

“There’s not much to tell.”

“Is that your way of saying you’d rather not talk to me about your life growing up?” She didn’t feel the need to mince words.

“No, it’s my way of saying that my brother and I grew up in an average, but loving, house. Mom and Dad are gone. Dad first and then Mom, five years ago in June. I sold the farm right after.”

She wouldn’t let the conversation drop there. “You must have had an interesting life growing up on a farm. What made you decide to join the military?”

“Felt like I was born to fly. I knew as a kid I wanted to feel the power of a plane underneath these hands. I’m living out my dream.”

Did he truly feel he had all he needed, or wanted in life? “I guess becoming a father puts an obstacle in your plans then.”

“Let me ask, why are you having this baby, Jasmine? I mean, most women would have chosen an alternative plan.”

Knowing exactly what he meant by an alternative plan, she sighed. “I’m not most women. And I’ve told you, I don’t find this to be a mistake but rather an opportunity to have a family.”

“This is a huge responsibility. But you could have done it alone, I’m sure. So why come here and tell me?”

“We’ve been through this,” she said.

“I guess I’m still curious.”

“I think you’re trying to turn the spotlight onto me. I did tell you why I felt it necessary to come here. I put all of my ducks in a row so to speak.” She tucked her knees up against her chest.

One corner of his mouth lifted. “And I’m a duck? Not sure I like being compared to a feathered, small-brained creature.”

“No, you’re definitely not a duck. I needed to give you the chance to know your child.”

He nodded. “I understand that. Now you must appreciate that I’m not sure what sort of father I can be. For one, I have no parenting skills to speak of. And a huge setback is that I live for my career. The job dictates where I’ll be from year to year, month to month. I could be called away on duty tomorrow and be gone for a year, eighteen months. What sort of father skips out like that? I could also be transferred to another state–or, another country. How would you feel about that?”

“I don’t know.” She knew exactly what sort of father he’d be, though. A good one. Her instincts wouldn’t steer her wrong. “I wouldn’t call it skipping out, Shane. Skipping out is what my mother did when I was a child and she never came back. You will be leaving for a short time and returning. You also said you’re close to retirement.”

“Close, yes. In a few years. There is always the possibility–”

“That something will happen to you? Shit can happen to anyone,” she said softly. Without a thought, she reached up and touched his warm cheek with the tips of her fingers.

He gently took her wrist between his fingers. Truth glittered in his eyes. “Yes, there is always the chance.”

Electrical charges burst from the contact and surged through Jasmine’s veins. A connection held them both in its lustful clutch. He let her go, but the warmth remained and she touched her skin where he’d touched her. “Why are you afraid of me, Shane?” Her voice trembled with emotion.

“Afraid?” One brow lifted. “I’m not afraid.”

Her heart raced. “Could have fooled me.”

He hesitated. “I’m being respectful.”

“And I appreciate that, but we have done this before.” She almost sounded desperate and she didn’t like feeling that way. Relying on others had never been an option before. Not only for sex, but for something stronger…deeper.

“We’re both reeling right now. It’ll take me some time to get used to the idea of fatherhood.”