ny Man of Mine:

Doesn’t Have Other Girlfriends

(especially skinny girlfriends)

Conner dropped Autumn’s fingers and pushed the elevator button. In his free hand, he held a little box with a cupcake inside. A brown cupcake with gummy worms and chocolate sprinkles that they’d made that morning and Conner had decorated himself. The door slid shut, and the two rode the elevator to the loft on the tenth floor. It was a little after ten in the morning. Normally, Conner would be in school, but after last night, he needed to see his father.

It had been well after one in the morning before he’d finally cried himself to sleep. He’d been so sure that Sam was dying. “They took him away in the amb-amb-lance,” he’d sobbed.

“That’s just because it’s more comfortable,” she’d lied in an effort to soothe him. Shortly after Sam had skated from the ice, someone from the Chinooks’ organization had found Autumn and Conner and told them that Sam was being transported to Harborview for tests and X-rays.

“I don’t thi-ink so, Mom.”

Conner was getting older and harder to trick, and those moments as they’d watched Sam laid out on the ice had been horrific for Conner. He’d burst into panicky tears, and Autumn had to admit that, even though she’d wished Sam harm on many occasions, the reality had given her a knot in her stomach.

“I want to go see my da-ad.”

“I’ll take you to see him in the morning,” she’d promised, even though hanging out at Sam’s was about the last thing she wanted to do.

The elevator opened, and they walked down a short hall. “Remember that we’re not staying long. Just long enough for you to see that your dad’s okay.” Conner rang the doorbell, and within a few short moments, Faith Savage answered, looking tall and gorgeous and pregnant. Autumn didn’t know who was more surprised. Her or the owner of the Chinooks.

“Well, hello, Autumn. You know Sam?”

“Yes. We have a son together.”

“I didn’t know that.” She lowered her gaze to Conner’s blond hair.

“Not many people do.” She put her hand on her son’s head. “Say hello to Mrs. Savage.”

“Hi.” Conner leaned to the left for a better peek into the loft. “How are you?”

Faith smiled. “I’m well. Thank you.” She stepped to one side, and Conner shot past her.

“Dad!”

Autumn moved into the entry and shut the door behind her. “How is Sam?”

“Cranky.” Faith looked over her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Obviously, she didn’t know her and Sam’s relationship. “How are you feeling?” she asked Faith, as they moved into a living room filled with overstuffed leather furniture, a huge entertainment center, and a wall of windows looking out onto the city. The whole space was open and filled with expensive furnishings and art. Just the sort of bachelor pad she would expect of Sam.

“Good now. The first three months were a little rough. I just can’t imagine how horrible it must be for those poor women who are sick the entire nine months.”

Autumn laughed and raised her hand. “I was one of those women, and it was horrible.” She unzipped her black fleece jacket as the two moved to the open kitchen, where Sam and Conner stood at the counter. “Do you know if you’re having a boy or a girl?”

“Not yet. We’ve only had the first ultrasound.”

“Oh. I remember that one. Conner looked like a chicken nugget.” She laughed. “That’s why we call him Nugget.”

Sam looked up from the cupcake on the marble countertop. On the outside of his white T-shirt, he wore a figure-of-eight splint over his shoulders, and his left arm was in a sling held tight against his chest. The right side of the shirt was tucked into a pair of nylon running pants, while the left side hung down his hips. His hair was messed, and dark blond stubble shadowed his cheeks and chin. “I thought you called him Nugget ’cause he was conceived in Las Vegas.”

She glanced at Faith out of the corners of her eyes and shook her head. The night Conner was conceived in Vegas wasn’t something she wanted even to think about, let alone discuss. She and Sam had never talked about that time, and she didn’t want to start now. Especially in front of Faith Savage.

“I’ll let you enjoy time with your son,” Faith said as she moved toward a barstool and gathered her red wool coat and Hermès handbag. “Sam, you let me know if there is anything you need.”

“Thanks for coming by. I’ll see you out.” He moved toward her, but she held up a hand. “I can find my way. You rest.” She smiled at Autumn. “It was nice to see you again.”

“You, too.”

And then Faith was gone, leaving behind the scent of expensive perfume. The door closed behind her, and Autumn was alone with Sam. In his loft. On his turf.

“Can you move your arm?” Conner asked his dad.

“Yeah,” Sam reassured Conner. “I broke my clavicle.” He pointed to his collarbone. “I’m just wearing the sling to keep my arm still.”

Conner looked up at his father and shook his head. “I saw that man hurt you.”

“This is nothing compared to the time I busted up my ankle. At least I can walk around this time.”

She put her Hèrmes knockoff from Target on the barstool with Conner’s Old Navy hoodie. She left her own jacket on because she wouldn’t be staying long enough to get comfy. “But should you be walking around?” Autumn much preferred being around Sam in her house. Where she felt some semblance of control. Although with Sam, control had always been an illusion.

“Yeah. But I’m about to sit down.” He pointed to the cupcake. “I’ll eat the red worm. You have the green one.”

“Okay.” Conner grabbed a worm and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Later though.” He shut the top of the cupcake box as if the sight of worms coming out of a dirty-looking cupcake made him a bit queasy. “I’m not sure a worm will agree with all the medicine I just took.” Slowly, he moved past her, and Conner trailed behind. Maybe she should leave. Come back in an hour. She didn’t belong there. In Sam’s bachelor pad.

“Autumn, could you grab a bag of peas out of the freezer?”

“Sure.” She moved across the stone floor to a stainless-steel side-by-side and opened the door. The first breath of chilled air hit her face and the hollow of her throat as she looked inside at frozen juice, a box of Toaster Sticks, and about ten bags of frozen peas. She grabbed the one on top and walked from the kitchen. Sam sat on a leather sofa, Conner by his side. With his arm trussed up and the straps of his splint around his shoulder, he looked almost helpless. Well, as helpless as a six-two, two-hundred-plus wall of solid muscle could look.

She handed him the bag of peas. “Should I call Natalie for you?”

“Why?” He put the peas on his shoulder and sucked in a breath.

“Isn’t she your ‘assistant’? Maybe she should assist you.”

“Mostly she’s Conner’s babysitter. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Seeing him in pain, he not only looked helpless, but he really didn’t fit her image of him. The image she’d had over the years of a man with multiple girlfriends and even more sexual partners. He looked like a regular guy. Well, kind of. A regular guy with a scruffy five o’clock shadow on his movie-star jaw. “Do you need anything else?”

“No.” He shook his head and looked up at her through sleepy blue eyes. She didn’t know if he was tired or doped up. Probably both.

She glanced at the watch on the inside of her wrist. Five more minutes.

“Dad, what does conceived mean?”

Both Autumn and Sam looked at Conner, then at each other.

“What?”

“You said I was conceived. What does that mean?”

“Well ahh…” Sam stammered, and slid his gaze to his son. “It means that when two people… It means that…” He shifted the peas on his shoulder. For a guy who’d had a lot of practice at conceiving, he sure was having a hard time explaining it. Not that she wanted to give it a try. Especially not in front of Sam. When she had “the talk,” she didn’t want an audience. “Well, it’s when…” He winced as if he was in sudden and excruciating pain and couldn’t possibly think. “Ouch. My shoulder hurts. Ask your mother.”

“Me?”

He pointed to his collarbone. “Cut me some slack. I’m in a lot of pain here.”

Which wasn’t an excuse. “Fine.” She could probably answer the question better than Sam anyway. Her answer would be safer, at any rate. She sat on the sofa and turned to face Conner. “It means made.” There, that was easy.

“Oh.” He stared up at her though blue eyes so much like his father’s it was crazy. “I was made in Las Vegas?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He swallowed, and she could practically see the wheels turning in his little brain. “How?”

She’d always known that someday she’d have to answer this question. She was prepared. She’d gone over it in her head several times, but never in her imaginings had Sam been sitting two feet away, a bag of peas on his shoulder, looking like he wanted to know the answer, too. “Well, when two people make love, they sometimes make a baby.”

“Oh.” Autumn held her breath, waiting for the next “how.” The questions were only going to get harder. He turned and faced Sam. “Can I have your gummy worm?”

“Go for it.”

Conner jumped up and ran into the kitchen as fast as his little sneakers could carry him.

A sigh of relief escaped her lungs as she scrubbed her face with her hands. “I feel like I just dodged a bullet.”

“I was kind of interested in how you were going to answer the questions working their way through his brain.”

She frowned and dropped her hands. “You were no help.” She leaned forward to make sure Conner was still in the kitchen before she said, “He asked you, and you certainly know what conceived means. Good God, you’re the biggest perv on the planet.”

He laughed, not at all ashamed. Of course not. He was Sam. “Not the biggest.”

“You’re right up there.”

“Which is why I probably shouldn’t answer such delicate questions.”

Conner returned, munching on a red gummy worm. The little wheels in his head were still turning. Just because he’d taken a worm break didn’t mean he was ready to let the subject go.

“Okay.” Autumn jumped to her feet before Conner could get his questions out. “We better get going now.”

“We just got here.”

“We talked about this, Conner. You knew we weren’t going to stay long. Your dad needs to rest.”

“What I need is a shower.”

She started toward the kitchen. “Let’s get your hoodie.”

“I need your help.”

That stopped her, and she slowly turned to face Sam. He was looking at her. “Me? You need me to help you take a shower?”

He chuckled and used his good hand to push himself up. “No. Not unless you insist.” He tossed the peas on the coffee table and pointed to his sling. “Somebody hooked this thing up in the back, and I can’t get it off.” He moved past her, just naturally assuming she’d help him out. “I’m not so sure I need it anyway.”

“Can I have your cupcake, Dad?”

“Knock yourself out, but just make sure you eat at the bar. I can’t break out the DustBuster after you leave today.” He looked back at Autumn over his shoulder. “Come on.” When she didn’t move, he stopped and turned to look at her. “I’m not trying to push you around. I just need a little help.”

That wasn’t the reason her feet were glued to his carpet. Helping him out of his sling felt a little too intimate. A little too close.

As if he read her mind, he asked, “Do you think I’m going to try something on you?”

He made it sound so ridiculous that there was only one thing left for her to do. She shook her head and shrugged out of her fleece jacket. She tossed it on top of her purse and followed Sam. “Of course I don’t think that.” They moved down a curved hall and passed a room that could only be Conner’s.

“That’s good, because I’m in no condition to start something that I can’t finish,” he said over his shoulder. “No matter how pretty you beg.”

If he hadn’t already been hurt and moving kind of slow, she might have been tempted to hit him. Instead, she kept her attention focused on the dark blue figure-eight splint across the back of his white T-shirt and the beige strap of his sling. He was right. The figure-of-eight and sling were Velcroed in back.

She followed him into the large master bedroom with a spectacular view of Elliott Bay. The bed itself was still unmade and rumpled from the night before, and a pair of hockey shorts, socks, and big pads had been kicked to one side. The walk-in closet was as big as her bathroom at home and the bathroom as big as her kitchen. Only fancier. A lot fancier.

He flipped on a switch with his good hand and a brushed-nickel chandelier and rows of canned lights shone down onto white-and-black marble. The shower stall could comfortably seat a family of six and was enclosed in glass and black granite with tiny silver flecks.

He stopped in the center of a zebra-skin rug. She was fairly sure it was a cowhide dyed to look like a zebra, but it was still mildly disconcerting.

He turned to face her. “What?”

She ran her gaze up his legs, past his waist, over the arm pinned to his chest, to his face. “That rug is a whole cowhide.”

“Yeah?”

She shook her head. “Aren’t you disturbed by it?”

“No more disturbed by it than by your leather sneakers.”

To her, it wasn’t really the same. Her shoes served a worthy purpose, and she thought animal skins used for nothing more than decorations were creepy. Like skulls and heads and antlers. Yuck. Her feelings didn’t have to make sense to anyone but her. She moved around behind him and reached for the buckle just above his right shoulder blade. “Has Conner seen it?”

“Yeah.”

Her knuckles brushed the warm cotton of his T-shirt. “Did he cry?”

“No, but he doesn’t like to walk on it.”

That was her boy. “He has a kind heart. He doesn’t like to hurt people or animals.” Which brought her to a subject she’d wanted to talk to him about. “Last night, he totally lost it when he saw you.” She rose onto the balls of her feet and tried to touch him as little as possible. She lightly put one palm in the center of his back for support as she pushed a strap over his shoulder. “It really upset him.”

“I know, but getting hurt is a risk that I take every time I step on the ice.” She moved around him as he slowly lowered his arm. “Last night was a freak accident.”

She carefully pulled the beige sling from his arm, sliding it past his elbow. She wanted Conner to take a break from hockey games, but she supposed the subject was moot for a while. At least until Sam returned to the ice. “From where I sat, it looked on purpose to me.” She glanced up into the grimace bracketing the corners of his mouth. She was so close, she could pick out every whisker on his stubbly chin.

“Oh, the hit was on purpose.” He sucked in a breath and looked down into her eyes. “The injury was a freak accident. I slammed into the wall at a bad angle.”

She set the sling on the black granite vanity top, then moved behind him once more. She ripped the Velcro on the figure-eight bandage and lightly slid her fingers beneath it.

“Shit.”

“You okay?”

“I’ve been worse.”

She slipped the bandage from his shoulders and set it next to the sling.

“Conner will learn that getting hit is just a part of hockey. He’ll be okay.”

She doubted it and once again moved to stand in front of him. “He’s a pacifist.”

“He’s a LeClaire.”

He was also a Haven. Nonviolent. Well, except for Vince. “Conner’s a lover, not a fighter.”

Sam gathered the hem of his T-shirt with his good hand and pulled it free. “You say that like he has to be one or the other. He’s a LeClaire.” He glanced up, and a slow smile curved his lips. “We’re gifted in both areas.”

She shook her head. “Even after all these years, I’m still amazed by your gigantic conceit.”

“It’s not conceit.” He motioned for her to help him out with the T-shirt. “Not if it’s true. I just don’t suffer from false modesty.”

Or any sort of modesty at all. She took a step closer and grabbed the edge of the soft cotton. She undressed Conner all the time. This was no different. It was mechanical. No big deal. She lifted his shirt past his waist and up his chest. See. No big deal. No biggie. No—Holy mother of God! She’d forgotten what corrugated muscles and six-packs and happy trails looked like up close. Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed hard. “Can you pull your arm out?” She didn’t like him. She didn’t hate him. Emotionally, she felt nothing. No pitter-patter of her heart, but physically… Physically, she felt like she’d been hit in the stomach with a flaming ball of lust. Reminding her for the first time in a very long time that she was more than just Conner’s mother. She was a thirty-year-old woman who hadn’t had sex in over five years.

He grabbed her hand and pressed her palm against his chest. His warm, hard, bare chest. Once upon a time, she’d licked that chest. Run her mouth up and down that flat belly like he was an all-you-can-eat buffet. “Did I hurt you?” When he didn’t answer, she looked up. Up past his hand over hers. Past his thick throat, and parted lips, and into his blue eyes.

“The first time I saw you,” he said, “I thought you had the prettiest hair I’d ever seen.”

What? While she’d been thinking about his hard belly, he’d been thinking about her hair. “Are you high?”

He grinned. “Very.”

He was goofy from pain medication and helpless from his injury. She didn’t have an excuse for her mental wanderings.

“I still think your hair is pretty.”

That was obviously the drugs talking. “Now, don’t say anything you’ll be embarrassed about tomorrow.”

He brushed his thumb across the backs of her knuckles. “Why would I be embarrassed?”

“Because you don’t like me.”

“I like you.”

He lifted his good hand and slid his big warm palm across her shoulder to the side of her neck. Suddenly, he seemed neither goofy nor helpless. “Sam.”

“You smell good. Like cupcakes.” He lowered his face and pressed his forehead into hers. “I like cupcakes.”

She gave a little laugh, and her fingers curled into his T-shirt. “You’ve never had my cupcakes.”

“Honey, I’ve had your cupcakes.” His fingers plowed through her hair, and he held the back of her head in his hand.

Her voice sounded kind of breathy and strained when she said, “I didn’t mean that.”

By contrast, he didn’t sound breathy at all. “I did.”

“Dad?”

At the sound of Conner’s voice, Sam lifted his head, and Autumn jumped back. Her hand fell to her side.

“Yeah, buddy?” Sam ran his gaze over Autumn’s face and hair before his own hand dropped to his side.

“The doorbell rang.”

“It’s probably Howie. Go ahead and let him in.”

“What are you doing?” asked the little voice from the doorway.

“Chatting.” Autumn moved from behind Sam. “And I’m just helping your dad out of his splint so he can take a shower.”

“Oh.” He looked from one parent to the other. “Okay.” Then he turned on the heels of his little sneakers and disappeared.

“Who is Howie?” Autumn asked in an effort not to think. About abs and cupcakes and her son walking in and seeing… what? His mom and dad chatting? Yeah, chatting about cupcakes.

“One of the Chinooks’ trainers. He’s coming by today to check up on me and help with the sling.”

She looked up and across her shoulder at him. His shirt had slid back down his chest, but the marks of her finger still wrinkled the cotton above his right pec. “So you didn’t even need me?”

“Sure I did. I knew he was coming, just not when. And I stink.”

He didn’t. She wished he did, though. Wished he stank so badly that she’d thought of bars of soap instead of licking his abs. “Well, I’m sure he knows what he’s doing and can help you with your shirt better than I can.”

“Probably, but he doesn’t have your pretty hair.” He grinned. “And he doesn’t smell like cupcakes.”

“Sam?”

Autumn’s gaze shot to the doorway, and the stunning woman standing there like she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Autumn recognized her immediately.

Slowly, Sam turned. “Veronica? What are you doing here?”

“I came as soon as I heard that you were hurt.”

“You should have called.”

“I tried.” Her dark brown gaze lowered from Sam’s face to Autumn. Within the blink of an eye, the supermodel assessed and dismissed Autumn as any sort of threat. Autumn was more amused than insulted. Seriously, she didn’t care until Veronica asked, “Are you one of the assistants?”

Autumn got hot and cold at the same time, and she forced a smile. “Time for me to go. You have lots of help now.” She moved across the bathroom and slipped by the tall skinny woman in the doorway. She didn’t know designers made women’s jeans in little-girl-size 6X. “Excuse me.”

“Autumn,” Sam called out to her but she kept on going. She had an overwhelming urge to be anywhere but there, and she grabbed Conner’s hand as she passed him in the hall. “Your dad has company, and we have to get going.”

“Can we go to McDonald’s on the way home. I’m hungry.”

“Didn’t you just eat your dad’s cupcake?” She grabbed their jackets and her purse off the kitchen barstool.

“Yeah, but there’s a dinosaur in the Happy Meal.”

“You have dinosaurs.” She could feel her cheeks flush. She wasn’t angry. There was nothing to be angry about. She was embarrassed.

“Hold on.” Sam caught up with them at the door and held out his good arm. “Give me a hug good-bye,” he told Conner. He carefully gathered Conner to his side, then looked up at Autumn. “Why are you so mad?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re tearing out of here like you are.”

She shoved her arms into her jacket. “I just don’t appreciate one of your many girlfriends mistaking me for another one of your many girlfriends.”

“Natalie isn’t my girlfriend.” He lowered his voice. “Neither is Veronica. She’s just—”

“Sam, I don’t care,” she interrupted, and held her hand up to stop him.

“You look like you care.”

“I don’t. This is your home. You can certainly entertain any woman you like here. Just as I can entertain whomever I like in my house.” She hung her inexpensive purse on her shoulder. “I just don’t like being confused for one of your women. I like to think I look smarter than that. That I am smarter than that.” She was smarter, too.

Well, except for just a few moments ago when she’d stood in his bathroom touching his pecs, thinking about his abs, and talking about her cupcakes. Falling for his b.s. She knew better, too. She knew from painful experience that nothing good would ever come from falling under, over, or on top of Sam LeClaire’s bullshit.