Navy Seal Dad. Metsy Hingle

for cookies. Want to help me find some?”

      “Tookie?” the tear-eyed tike repeated.

      “That’s right,” Chloe told him, and disappeared inside the house.

      Mac’s heart was still trying to recover from the impact of those tears rolling down P.J.’s cheeks when Rachel said, “He’ll be fine, Mac. He’s a baby, and babies cry.”

      “Yeah, I know. It’s just that he was crying so hard.”

      “That’s because the tears work all too well. He has a very strong will and doesn’t like being told no. Unfortunately, I don’t use the word often enough. And neither does Chloe.”

      “Yeah. Well, it’s easy to see why. He’s a cute kid.”

      “I certainly think so.”

      And he’s my son.

      His son and Rachel’s. The reality of that fact hit him again.

      The realization excited him.

      It scared the hell out of him.

      And it infuriated him to realize that he had missed the first year and a half of his son’s life. He shifted his gaze from the doorway, where P.J. had disappeared with Chloe, back to Rachel. She was tired. Even in the dim light on the veranda, he could see the shadows beneath her eyes. Strands of honey-colored hair had worked free of the braid she wore and now framed her face. A face that was far too pale. Yet seeing her exhausted like this only added to his frustration because he realized that not only had she had to support herself, but their son as well, without any help from him. “Why didn’t you tell me about him, Rachel? Didn’t you think I deserved to know?”

      “Of course,” she answered. “And I wanted to tell you. I probably sat down to write you a hundred times, but I didn’t know where you were.”

      “You could have reached me through Delta Team Six.”

      “I know. And I was going to…”

      “Then why didn’t you?”

      “Because I didn’t know how to tell you,” she said, some of the strain and weariness coming through in her voice. A gust of wind whipped across the veranda, and she huddled deeper into the navy-blue jacket she wore.

      Mac immediately stepped in front of her to block the wind. “You’re shivering. Maybe we should go inside where—”

      “No,” she shot back. “I’m fine. Really. I’d rather…I’d rather we talked out here.”

      Though a part of him could understand her not wanting him in her home after the way he’d ended things between them, the rejection stung all the same. Probably because there had been a time when Rachel had eagerly welcomed him into the tiny apartment that had been her home, he reasoned. Of course, they had been lovers at the time, and she had believed herself to be in love with him.

      As eager as he was for answers, it was obvious she was exhausted. “Maybe you should get some rest, and I’ll come back in the morning.”

      “No,” Rachel snapped. “I’d just as soon answer your questions now.”

      Mac hesitated a moment. “Then you’d better sit down before you fall down.” He motioned to the old-fashioned porch swing where he’d sat earlier to wait for her. “You’re dead on your feet.”

      “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

      Mac recognized how she avoided touching him. Still, it didn’t stop him from noticing the way her nurse’s uniform rode up when she sat down or her efforts to tug the hem down toward her knees. Mac couldn’t help remembering other evenings when she’d been pleased to see him waiting for her at the end of a long day. Or how quickly her fatigue melted beneath his kisses. They would barely make it inside the apartment before they’d be reaching for each other—hot, hungry, insatiable.

      “I suppose you’re wondering how this could have happened,” Rachel began, looking everywhere but at him.

      “If by ‘this’ you’re referring to your getting pregnant, I have a pretty good idea. I was there remember? And I haven’t forgotten anything about the time we spent together.” Which was true. He hadn’t been able to forget Rachel—despite his best efforts to do so.

      “I was talking about the fact that we always used protection.”

      “Darling, we both know there’s only one form of birth control that’s guaranteed. Abstinence—which is something we didn’t come anywhere close to exercising.” Quite the contrary, Mac thought. During the month they had been together they had made love countless times, never seeming to be able to get enough of each other. And there had been one particularly steamy afternoon in late August just before a rainstorm had flooded the city. The desire between them had escalated along with the high temperatures that day until every touch, every glance, every breath had fed the gnawing ache inside them both. “It was that afternoon of the big rainstorm, wasn’t it? The one that caused a power outage in the city.”

      As though it were only yesterday, the images came rushing back to Mac….

      “The snowballs were a great idea,” he had told Rachel as they’d strolled lazily down the sidewalk in the unrelenting heat. Waves of heat shimmered from the paved street, and Mac swallowed another mouthful of the chocolate-and-cream-flavored ice. Despite the fact that it was already past six in the evening and thunder rumbled in the distance, the sun continued to beat down upon them.

      They turned the corner onto the street that led to her apartment, and Rachel gasped at the rush of hot air. “I can barely breathe,” she complained. “Why aren’t you withering, too?”

      Mac chuckled. “SEAL training, darling,” he told her and pitched his empty paper cup into the trash bin while they waited for the traffic light to change so they could cross the street. “You don’t know the meaning of hot until you’ve spent a week baking out in the desert.”

      “I’ll take your word for it,” she said dryly. Scooping a few fingers of the ice-only snowball she’d opted for from her cup, she began bathing her neck and collarbone with the swiftly melting ice shavings.

      Mac’s mouth went dry at the sight of the water sliding down her throat, past the open neck of her prim uniform and disappearing between her breasts. It didn’t matter that they had made love less than two hours ago when she’d returned from work, his body responded immediately.

      Rachel stilled. “Mac,” she admonished, her voice thready. She clutched the cup to her chest.

      Removing the cup from her hand, he grazed the side of her breast with his fingers. Desire shot through him like a missile as he watched the answering flare of hunger in her gray eyes. He tossed the cup into the trash bin. “Come on,” he all but growled the command. Grabbing her hand, they raced down the long block toward her apartment. And while an observer might have attributed their mad dash to the fat drops of rain that began to pepper the city like bullets, he and Rachel both knew the urgency had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with their fierce need for each other.

      They rushed up the stairs. Rachel’s hand trembled, and she dropped the key. Mac scooped it up. He slammed the key into the lock. And when the door opened, he ushered Rachel inside. The door had barely closed when Rachel reached for him.

      “This is insane,” she told him.

      “Yeah,” Mac agreed on a groan as she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. When she brushed her hand down the front of his jeans, he thought he’d die right then and there. Dropping the keys to the floor, he caught Rachel’s questing fingers. “Darling, you’ve got to slow down.”

      “I don’t want to slow down,” she told him and pressed her lips against his neck.

      Mac switched positions so that she was the one caged against the door. With her wrists imprisoned in his fist, he lifted them over her head. His body throbbed at the anticipation and excitement