Expecting Thunder's Baby. Sheri WhiteFeather

to hold her afterward, to rekindle those tender moments from their youth. A tenderness she hadn’t felt since she was married to him.

      He studied a pair of jeans. “Are these tight?”

      “They stretch.”

      “Kind of like rubber?” He flung them at her. “I’ll bet you look hot in them.”

      She heaved the jeans back at him. “I don’t need you choosing my wardrobe.”

      “Oh, yeah?” He snared her gaze, using those deep dark eyes as bait. “Then why did you sneak that sexy lingerie into your suitcase?”

      Damn, she thought. He’d caught her, even while his back had been turned. But what did she expect? He was a security specialist, a man who’d been trained to be aware of his surroundings.

      “Can’t a girl have a few secrets?” she said.

      “Not with me around.” He sat on the edge of her unmade bed, crinkling the floral-printed sheets. “Can you take a longer vacation?”

      “What? Why?” The change of topic threw her.

      “Because I want you to stay with me for more than two weeks.”

      She sat on the other edge of the bed, looking at him from across the rumpled linens. “I might be able to swing an extra week, but not if you keep bullying me.”

      “Fine. You can choose your own wardrobe.” He stood up, blocking the window, shading the waning sunlight. “I’ve missed you, Carrie.”

      Her chest turned tight. Was missing her the same as loving her? No, she thought. It wasn’t. Her mother was grasping at straws.

      “I’ve missed you, too,” she admitted, telling herself it didn’t matter.

      This wasn’t a reconciliation.

      After her vacation ended, they would still be divorced.

      

      Thunder’s beachfront property was a few feet from the sand, with a stretch of sidewalk separating the three-story structure from what could only be described as paradise.

      Carrie couldn’t help but sigh. She stood beside Thunder in front of his house, with her suitcase in tow, looking out at the sea. “I’m impressed,” she said.

      “I bought this place a while ago.” He gestured to the other buildings scattered along the sidewalk. “Most of these are vacation rentals, but I live here year-round.”

      “I can understand why.” The ocean provided a sense of power, of peace, of beauty. Dusk settled in the sky, while the surf crashed upon the shore, leaving foaming waves in its infallible wake.

      “As you can see, it’s not a private beach.” He indicated the shops and eateries farther along the walkway. “There’s always activity around here. But I like to people-watch.”

      “You always did.” She did, too. Even now she was mesmerized by a young couple who were strolling hand in hand, heading in the direction of the restaurants.

      “Are you ready to settle in?” he asked. “To unpack?”

      She nodded, then glanced at the military-style duffel bag he’d used as luggage while visiting his parents. Old habits ran deep, she thought. Somewhere deep inside, Thunder was still a soldier. “You need to unpack, too.”

      He unlocked the front door, carried their bags inside and disabled a sophisticated security system. She looked around, intrigued by the split-level structure. The foyer presented two sets of stairs, one leading to the top floor and the other leading to the bottom. The middle level, decorated with casual furniture, offered a spacious living room, a tidy kitchen and a half bath.

      “I sleep upstairs. And the guest room is below.” He latched onto the handle of her suitcase. “Where do you want to sleep?” He charmed her with a smile. “The master suite has a balcony with a view of the beach.”

      She shook her head, laughed a little. “We just got here, and already you’re trying to con me into sharing your room.”

      “Is it working?”

      “Nope.” She itched to kiss him, to taste all that machismo, but she wouldn’t dare. Playing hard to get was part of the game, part of protecting herself, of building up the courage to have a mind-spinning, dangerously thrilling, much-too-lethal affair with her ex. “I’ll take the guest quarters.”

      “If you say so.” He led her downstairs, where a medium-size bedroom with a pine dresser and a mirrored closet awaited. The color scheme was blue, like the ocean she couldn’t see. Several small windows showcased the house next door.

      “There’s another room down here,” he said. “It’s on the other side of the bathroom. I made it into a gym.”

      She peered into the hallway and caught a glimpse of an open doorway, where his workout equipment gleamed. “This house fits you.”

      “The master suite is the best part. Are you sure you don’t want to stay there with me?”

      “I’m sure,” she said, even though her skin tingled with a dying-to-be-touched sensation, reminding her of how good it felt to be near him.

      “Then I’ll let you unpack. After that, we can catch some dinner.”

      She lifted her eyebrows. “Catch? We’re not going fishing, are we?”

      He chuckled. “Not quite. I’m going to take you to the Crab and Clam. It’s within walking distance, and they serve the best .50 Calibers in town.”

      “Is that a bullet or a drink?”

      He chuckled again. “Both. But I was referring to the drink. It’s guaranteed to knock you on your ass.”

      So would a .50-caliber bullet, she thought. “Getting me drunk won’t help your cause. I’m sleeping here tonight.” She patted the guest bed. “This is my safety net.”

      “Yeah, but for how long?” He moved a little closer, flirting unmercifully.

      She flirted, too. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

      “You’re driving me crazy, Carrie.”

      “That’s the idea.” She unzipped her suitcase. “Is the Crab and Clam casual or dressy?”

      “Casual.” He scanned the length of her. “They have a stripper pole in the middle of the bar.”

      She sucked in a breath. “Sounds like a classy place.”

      “It’s perfect for what I have in mind.” He reached out to touch her cheek, using the tips of his fingers, making her much too warm.

      Then he walked out of the room, leaving her alone.

      And wondering about the night ahead of them.

      

      Thunder walked beside Carrie, with an ocean breeze stirring the air. The streetlights cast a warm glow, making the reddish strands in her hair more apparent. She’d changed into cropped pants, a lightweight blouse and a pair of tennis shoes. She blended into the scenery, like a girl who lived at the beach. But she didn’t. She was only visiting, becoming part of Thunder’s life for a minimal amount of time.

      They reached the restaurant, a rustic establishment with seashells imbedded in the walls. They entered the building and waited to be seated.

      “We’d like to eat in the bar,” Thunder told the hostess, who was the owner’s sun-and-surf daughter.

      “Sure.” She gave him a familiar smile, recognizing him from the countless times he’d frequented the place. The locals all knew each other.

      The hostess smiled at Carrie, too. Thunder had never brought a date to the Crab and Clam. He preferred to keep his favorite haunts to himself.

      Until now.

      He