Crosscheck Page 18

  Mara nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Okay?” he pressed again, his thumb brushing away a tear that had fallen.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  Zane nodded, then pressed his lips to her brow, holding her close to him. His lips dusted softly across her hairline, but without any real pattern or direction. Delightfully soothing and almost ticklish though it was, it didn’t seem to be part of any PDA that might be on his agenda. It was more absent, more comforting.

  More distracting.

  Mara tested a theory, tugging herself just a little closer, and Zane obliged, increasing his hold, his lips still at her hair. He didn’t say a word; he just held her.

  Or was she holding him?

  “What’s wrong?” Mara murmured.

  The fact that he didn’t immediately put off her concern seemed significant. “Something’s come up,” he said in a low, tight voice. “I’ve been working on it for days, and it’s not getting better. I don’t know if I should . . . if you would . . .” He exhaled shortly, pressing his lips against her hair with more intent for a second. “I don’t know what to do, Mara, and I don’t know if I want you in all of this.”

  Something in her chest tightened, and not exactly with pleasure. “Why?”

  “I’m worried it will scare you off,” he admitted, something in his voice almost giving out, which weakened her knees in an instant. “That you won’t want . . . I need . . . I want to tell you everything, but if it . . .”

  Mara’s tears renewed at his hesitation, and she pulled back with a sniff, taking his face in her hands, meeting his eyes. “I’m right here,” she told him with as much strength as she could muster. “Not going to run. Not easy to scare. If you need something from me, Zane, I’ll give it, if I’m able to.” She went up on her toes to kiss him softly, for once not intending to start something.

  Zane pressed one of his hands against hers, turning his face to kiss her palm, then laced their fingers together. “Okay.”

  Smiling as gently as possible, Mara tugged on his hand and led him over to a nearby bench. She sat and patted the spot beside her, which Zane took, surprising her by not sitting closer or putting his arm around the back of the bench. Instead he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking out at the pond in front of them as the colors of sunset faded from it, the lights of the park winking on.

  Mara tucked her hand between his arm and his body, wrapping her fingers loosely around his arm, if for no other reason than to maintain contact with him, and waited.

  “I got a call from Michelle the other day,” Zane began, his voice rough and sounding as though it scraped through his throat. “I thought she was going to complain about scheduled visitation again and say she couldn’t make it work. She always does that. I’d say that nothing she does surprises me anymore, but she got me good this time.”

  Questions rose and swirled around Mara in a frenzy, but she bit them all back, sensing she needed to just let Zane talk. He knew that she was here and that she was listening. That just might be enough.

  He swallowed hard. “She told me . . . she told me that she wants to voluntarily terminate her parental rights.”

  The night was instantly colder, and Mara would have sworn birds stopped singing. “What?” she whispered, ignoring her plan to stay silent.

  Zane didn’t seem to hear her. “I didn’t think she knew what that meant or what it entailed, but she’s actually done some digging, and I got the paperwork from her lawyer. Intention to forfeit parental rights, it says. Can’t be filed yet, the state of Illinois doesn’t like to grant this sort of thing without a contingent parental figure to step in.”

  Mara’s cheeks flamed at the image her mind conjured, her fingers brushing against Zane’s arm anxiously as she scooted closer.

  “She doesn’t want to be Hope’s mom,” Zane went on. “At all. In any way. Doesn’t want Hope to call, doesn’t want to see her . . . couldn’t even call our daughter by her name.” He rubbed his hands over his face, then lowered them again, shaking his head. “How can she not want our baby girl? She carried her, we felt her first kicks together, we both cried when we first held her . . .”

  Something broke in Mara as she heard Zane’s voice catch. She leaned her head against the back of his shoulder, her hand sliding down his arm until she laced her fingers with his. He was almost cold to the touch, and she squeezed her eyes shut at the pain lancing through her in hearing this.

  “How can she willingly give that up forever?” Zane asked hoarsely. “She’s not an unfit mother, she’s got the kind of life to support her. How can she look at our daughter and decide after all these years that she doesn’t want her? I just . . .” He shook his head before lowering it with a faint sniff. “Hope already doesn’t remember much about her mom. I’ve tried, but I can’t . . . and now . . . how do you tell a kid that one of their parents just flat out doesn’t want them?”

  Mara swallowed a wash of tears and softly kissed Zane’s shoulder.

  Zane sniffed again and sat up, prompting Mara to do the same. “I’ve talked with my lawyer a few times, and he’s going to look into it. We’ll give it to her, I guess, but we can’t even do that yet. I haven’t told my parents yet, I don’t know how they’ll respond. The Pit knows, and they’re ready to start a war for Hope. That’s something, I guess. I just . . . I feel like I have failed Hope so spectacularly that it hurts to even look at her.”

  “How in the world have you failed Hope?” Mara demanded before she could stop herself. Rage roared through her veins, and she shoved at Zane’s shoulder, forcing him to turn and face her. She took his face in hand and practically shook him. “It is not your fault that Michelle doesn’t want to be a mother anymore. That’s on her, not you. And if she feels this way, it’s better that she’s out now rather than when it might crush Hope. You are an incredible father, Zane, and your daughter adores you. She is so loved.”

  Her voice broke as she saw a tear leak from Zane’s eye, and she wiped it away with her thumb. “So loved,” she said again, her voice nearly as rough as his had been. “And she knows it. She’s got you, your family, your friends, her classmates, me . . . my gosh, Zane, one of the things I love most about you is how you are with her. No father could love his daughter more than you do. If anything is your fault, it is that Hope is one of the greatest little girls I have ever met. Do not give that woman any more power in your life, or in Hope’s. Don’t.”

  Zane’s eyes searched hers, hope and want and hurt giving their dark depths an earnest light that made Mara ache somewhere deep inside. He didn’t say a word, he just reached out and ran his thumb along the side of Mara’s face once, then again with a slow nod.

  She’d take that as a response, and she leaned in for a hard kiss, not caring that he barely responded to it. “Okay. We need to do something tonight.” She sniffed and stood, tugging him to a standing position. “My mom told me we need more cinnamon rolls. Let’s go.”

  “Go?” he repeated as she pulled him down the path. “Go where?”

  “The bakery,” she called over her shoulder, her mind spinning as they walked, the bakery less than a block from where they were. “Kinda hard to make cinnamon rolls out here.”

  “You make them?”

  Mara grinned and gave him a quick look. “Most of the time, yeah. Surprise.”

  There were no words for the delight that filled her at his laughing grin. Nobody knew that she was actually the mastermind behind their most popular pastry, and she liked to keep it that way. Her mom had put her own spin on the thing a time or two, but the family’s classic cinnamon roll recipe was all Mara.

  Now Zane would know it.

  As he should.

  Her parents greeted Zane with enthusiasm when they entered the kitchens, but also with a startling amount of normalcy, given that her mom immediately started directing Zane on where all necessary ingredients were. If they had thought anything of the pair of them holding hands when they arrived, they said nothing about it, muc
h to Mara’s relief. Zane took the apron from her dad with all good graces, and he even offered to sweep the floors once they were done, though neither of her parents would allow him to do that.

  Once the pair were situated, her parents vanished with an airy, “Don’t forget to lock up, Mars!”

  Then there was silence.

  Zane looked around the large kitchen, then at Mara with a surprised grin. “You planned this.”

  Mara held up her hands in surrender. “I did not, I will show you the text my mom sent me twenty minutes before we met up. I didn’t even respond to it.”

  His eyes narrowed as though he didn’t believe her. “Uh-huh. And your parents just happened to vacate the premises when we showed up?”

  She could only shrug at that. “They are very smart people. And they like you.”

  Zane quirked his brows. “Not as much as their daughter, I’m guessing.”

  “I hope not,” Mara shot back, propping a hand on her hip. “That would be really awkward.” She drummed her fingers on the countertop, then pointed at the large fridge behind him. “Open that up and get out a giant silver bowl.”

  He turned obediently and did as she asked while she sprinkled flour over the surface of the countertop before dusting her hands with flour. “Oh, and after you bring that here, why not turn on some music? System controls are over there in the corner.”

  “Any song requests, chef?” he inquired as he set the bowl down.

  “Nothing that will make it feel like a rave is going on in here,” she replied, unwrapping the bowl and pulling half of the dough out to set on the floured countertop.

  She began patting the dough down when the strains of slow oldie songs reached her ears. She looked up at Zane in disbelief. “Really?”

  He chuckled, shrugging as he came back over to her. “What can I say? I’m in the mood for slow songs with my girl and learning how she does all the incredible things she does.”

  A very slow, very hot wave began to cascade its way through her body, and she returned her attention to the dough, forcing a laugh as she pressed it out. “That’s a list of maybe three things, and this is one of them. Lucky you.”

  “I was just thinking that. Lucky me.”

  The wave rolled again, and Mara exhaled through her nose, reaching for a nearby rolling pin and flouring the surface. “Ever attempted cinnamon rolls before?”

  “Nope,” Zane told her as he came over to her. “Mom went through a bread-making phase when I was ten or so, but that’s about it. Tell me your secrets, goddess of mine.”

  Mara turned to face him, pointing the rolling pin at him. “Stop that. No flame-on, flame-off game with Mara while making baked goods, okay?”

  “Flame on, flame off?” he repeated, grinning broadly. “That sounds like my kind of game, what are the rules?”

  “No,” Mara said in as firm a tone as she could manage while her legs shook. “Working here.”

  Zane nodded, wiping the grin from his face. “Understood. Tell me what you’re doing.”

  She didn’t trust his innocent expression, but this had all been her idea, so there was nothing else to do but get back to it. “Right. So I’m rolling this out into a big rectangle. Not too thin, but even.”

  “Looks good,” he told her, nodding in approval as he took up position at her left shoulder. “Now what?”

  What was it about him standing so close that immediately made her pulse race? She craned her neck and gestured to the butter that was sitting out, softening. “Stick that in the microwave, will you? Just needs to be melty.”

  Zane grunted. “Melty butter. Making things melt is my specialty.”

  Oh lands . . .

  Mara took advantage of his back being turned to wipe at her brow, though she miraculously wasn’t perspiring. “Oh good, should be a great job for you then,” she managed to say without sounding breathless.

  “Something in the oven?” Zane called as he fidgeted with the microwave. “Smells awesome.”

  “Mom whipped up a batch earlier,” she told him. “I’ll ice those when they’re done.”

  He didn’t need to know that, why had she told him that? Why was she rambling?

  She fidgeted with the dough while Zane melted butter, the music somehow managing to build tension between them across the kitchen while they both wore stained aprons.

  Great.

  “Melty butter, as requested,” Zane announced, somehow getting back to her without her hearing him.

  “Great!” Her voice was too quick, but she covered by grabbing the bowl and gently pouring the butter along the surface of the dough. She grabbed a spoon and spread it around as evenly as possible. “Okay, can you hand me the blue bowl over there?”

  It was in her hands in an instant. “Cinnamon sugar?” he guessed.

  Mara smiled at that. “Yep. The recipe just says sugar. Trade secret: I use brown sugar. Much sweeter, brings the game to a whole new level.”

  “Does it?” Zane took a pinch of the mixture and dropped it into his mouth. “Wow. Yeah, much better.”

  “Zane,” Mara scolded, rolling her eyes. “I need all of that for this batch. It’s really specific.” She started to sprinkle it over the buttered dough, ignoring how Zane was inching closer.

  “A whole new level, you said,” he murmured behind her. He reached for the bowl again, barely managing a pinch before Mara spun away, shaking her head at him, smiling in anticipation.

  “Huh-uh. Let me finish.”

  He tilted his head at her. “Put the bowl down. Try this out.”

  “I’ve tried it,” Mara assured him as she returned the bowl to the counter, warily watching him. “Lots of times.”

  “Come here,” he coaxed, crooking a finger.

  She shook her head again. “I don’t think so.”

  His smile was slow and deliciously hot. “Flame on, Mara.”

  As if he truly had the power, her skin began to warm from her toes on upward, and though she didn’t come closer, she didn’t move away either. Zane came to her, his eyes trained on hers, the tension between them swirling almost painfully with every step. He stopped when he reached her, so close she could feel him when she breathed, and that awareness sent shocks skittering through her.

  He raised his hand and sprinkled a pinch of cinnamon sugar along the crest of her cheeks, nose, and mouth, startling her. “What . . . ?”

  His lips were on her skin before she could finish the question, and her breath snagged in her throat. His mouth dusted against the surface in faint brushes, lighting fires in their wake, and Mara’s fingers flailed helplessly in response until they gripped his apron tightly. She arched her neck as he ran his lips down the column of her throat, though she couldn’t recall if any speck of sugar had fallen there.

  Zane’s hands were at her hips, locking her in place, though there was no pressure there. The pressure was within her, building, burning, churning every sensation into something wild and desperate. She exhaled a shaky gasp of breath, which seemed to signal something to Zane, as he immediately raised his head and brought his mouth to hers, his kiss sharp and sure. The sweetness of the cinnamon sugar heightened everything, seared their connection into something forever imprinted on her heart, and Mara gave herself up to it. To him.

  She tugged at him, raising herself up as she did so, crushing herself to him in a heady surrender that felt more like victory. His kiss turned deeper, slower, more filled with longing and adoration than anything Mara had imagined a kiss could be. She sighed into him, turning languid in his arms despite pressing herself into him. He hooked his fingers into the belt loops at her hips and hoisted her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around him as though they had been designed to do so.

  He turned them slightly, just so she rested against the counter, and Mara folded her arms around his neck, her lips nipping at and molding with his in a slow, sensual dance. Again, Zane traced his lips along her throat, this time lingering where her shoulder started, dipping his lips into the hollow of her thr
oat with a caress that elicited a mixture of a purr and growl from her. He chuckled against her skin and did it again, groaning when her legs tightened around him.

  He nibbled his way back up to her chin, and Mara let him drag her mouth down to his for one more agonizing, painfully slow, impossibly thorough kiss.

  Gradually, he pulled his mouth from hers, and dazedly, Mara opened her eyes, convinced she was seeing stars when she looked at him.

  Zane didn’t look quite that steady himself. He ran his hand over her hair, seeming to tremble slightly as he did so. “Brown-sugar-cinnamon-speckled Mara. Now that was delicious.”

  Mara let herself exhale very slowly, lowering her chin to give him a steady look. “You’ve ruined me for cinnamon rolls ever again,” she rasped. “You know that, right?”

  His grin clenched her stomach hard. “Sorry not sorry. Personally, I’ve always loved the taste of cinnamon rolls, but I definitely prefer the taste of you.” He patted her hips and kissed her brow quickly. “Flame off, sweetheart, or we’re never leaving. I’m gonna go stand over there and wait for the batch in the oven.”

  Mara nodded firmly. “Good idea.” She unlocked her legs, which felt like Jell-O once they were freed, and watched Zane stride to the ovens, a much safer distance from her.

  Lands. She needed to get this done and get out of this overheated kitchen before something else overheated entirely.

  But not before she got in one final jab. “Hey, babe?”

  Zane froze at the oven and, almost warily, looked over his shoulder at her.

  Mara lifted her shoulder in a half shrug where she sat. “You’re not so bad sweetened up yourself.”

  His gaze darkened, and he shook his head. “You don’t play fair, Mara.”

  “Rule number one of this game, Zane,” she said with a slow smile. “Fair play is highly overrated.”

  “What’s rule number two?” he asked with a laugh.

  She hopped down off of the counter, her legs still shaking slightly. “I’ll tell you in Chicago this weekend.”

  A wild grin exploded across his face, nearly making Mara cry or laugh or some combination of the two. “You’re coming with me?”