Thank you for all of the kind notes about this story. Thank you for taking the time to read and review. So here's hoping you enjoy Chapter 3! And have a marvelous weekend!
What the hell was she doing here?
Regina gazed up at the restaurant marquis, illuminated by well-placed street lights, L & M's Pub & Trattoria staring back at her in a teasing fashion, just daring her to step forward and walk back inside. But her legs were immobile, and she just stood there, continuing to shiver in the night air as she hugged her pea coat tighter around her body. Why in God's name had she come back if she was just going to linger here in the cold like a teenager mooning over her first crush?
She knew damn well why, and the answer was fair-headed, blue-eyed, tight-assed, and more than likely waiting for her on the other side of those doors.
He was in there—the blasted owner whose dimples caught her attention and who's bumbling attempt at asking her out made her heart flutter precariously. Come back when you've finished, he'd told her, even after she'd banged his nose up pretty badly. Poor man—she winced as she remembered just how sharp the contact between her head and his nose had been, how his eyes had teared up in spite of himself, how he was likely to have a nasty bruise for at least a week thanks to her.
Yet here she was, too afraid to make a move, too insecure to step through the door and face him again, because….well, just because...
Because he did things to her—things that felt great and terrifying at the same time.
This was ridiculous—she was a grown woman, a doctor, and she inhaled deeply, the act of filling her lungs somehow bolstering her courage just enough to propel her forward. She could do this—she could approach this man.
"Here goes nothing," she muttered to herself, reaching out a gloved hand to grab the handle, only to find it locked. Closed the sign in the window declared, and her chest deflated instantaneously. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all—a sign, perhaps, that she should get the hell out of Dodge while the getting was good. Then the door cracked open, and a spikey-haired, doe-eyed man looked her over before shrugging in her general direction.
"Sorry, love," he stated, his thick British accent taking her a bit off guard. "We're closed for the night."
"I—I see that," she stammered, pasting on a bright smile as she took a step backwards, mortification nearly buckling her knees on the spot. "I'll just be going. Sorry to have bothered you."
She turned on her heels, her face burning, her heart sinking down to her stomach, feeling like one big idiot on three inch heels.
"Wait. You wouldn't happen to be Regina, would you?"
She stopped dead in her tracks, every nerve on high alert.
"And if I am?" she questioned, her heart beginning to thud uncomfortably as she turned back in his direction.
"If you are and I accidentally sent you away, my boss would have my head on a platter come morning."
He held the door open for her, and she stared at him, at the entrance, at this juncture in her life beckoning her forward as her mind scurried off in one hundred different directions.
"Listen, love," he cut in. "Its cold out here. Are you coming in, or aren't you?"
"I'm coming," she heard herself answer, rather amazed at how steady her voice sounded, wishing her legs felt as sturdy. Then the warmth of the room wrapped her up like a blanket, and she took it all in, the lingering smell of food prompting her stomach to protest out loud.
"Don't worry," the man chimed in, slinging a dish towel over his shoulder. "I'm pretty sure he's saved you some food. But if not, let me know. I've got a stash of Snickers in my backpack."
She pressed her lips together, noting the tasteful embroidery on his shirt that identified him as Will.
"Thanks, but I think I'll hold out for the eggplant," she mused, eliciting a shrug from the man.
"Your loss," Will quipped as he began walking back into the heart of the restaurant. "If you follow me, I'll take you to him."
To him. Damn it. Why did those two words make her thighs tingle and her nipples stand at attention? This was ridiculous, and she was certain she should just turn the opposite direction and high tail it out of this pub-trattoria of temptation before the situation got any more out of control.
But she didn't.
"Lead the way," she heard herself instruct the younger man, wondering just who it was that had invaded her body as she tried to swallow down what felt like paste in her throat. Shit, what was she actually going to say to Robin when she saw him? She barely knew the man, after all, had only bantered with him earlier this evening and admired his assets from afar. Well, they hadn't actually been that afar from each other right before she had to leave, she admitted to herself with a measure of reluctance. They'd been close enough for her to whap his nose pretty effectively, but still, that was beside the point. This was ludicrous, unreasonable, impulsive and so very, very unlike her. She nearly talked herself into turning around and bolting out the front door just as Will directed her back through the area in which they'd sat earlier in the evening, and she dared a look at their table, a small grin creeping across her face in spite of herself.
Roland's black eyes danced in her memory, as did the clean, pine-like scent of his father, the mere thought of him tickling her rear in anticipation as she tried to rein in her body's reaction.
"Wait here," Will stated as they came to the narrow hallway in which she and Robin had collided. "I'll let him know you're here."
She opened her mouth to say something—anything, but nothing came out. So she just stood there like a Greek column—waiting, nervous, alone. Until her feet became restless, that is, and thoughtlessly guided her towards the table. She stroked its weathered but smooth surface, knowing Mary Margaret would be grinning at her like an idiot if she knew just where she was at this moment. Shit, she'd tell Regina to follow her heart, even if it took her straight to this man's bed before they'd even had a first date. Which, if she were being completely honest with herself, didn't sound like all that bad a prospect.
Wait—was this their first date? Or simply a trial meeting to see if what had happened between them earlier had been nothing more than a sex-starved fluke? Her pulse sped up as footfalls sounded behind her, her chest caving in as she sensed him drawing closer, ever closer, her skin tingling at his perceived nearness.
"You came."
There it was, that Irish lilt edged with lager, and she turned around slowly to face him, her breath hitching uncomfortably as she did.
Not a fluke. At least, not on her part.
"I came," she echoed, biting her lower lip nervously.
"I'm so glad that you did," he murmured, and her heart did something then, something that propelled her forward two steps, making him grin down at her in the process. Shit—why did temptation have to look so good in a nice-fitting pair of Levis and a forest green Henley?
"Your nose looks better than I expected it to," she stated, reaching forward to touch it, halting just shy of his face.
"Go ahead," he stated. "You are a doctor, after all."
"Glad you remembered," she hummed, touching his face delicately, careful to stop whenever he winced.
"How could I forget?" he returned, one side of his mouth dragging upwards in a lazy fashion. "It's not every woman who leaves her mark so vividly."
She chuckled, she couldn't help it, and he joined her, the sound deep and luxurious as it rippled out from his chest.
"I believe in making an impression," she hummed, emboldened by the mischievous glimmer in his eye.
"You succeeded," he confessed, moving one step closer himself. "My plastic surgeon will attest to that fact."
God, she actually laughed then, and her ribs felt buoyant as earlier misgivings faded away like yesterday's lipstick.
"I hope you're insured," she cautioned as his hand reached out for hers, tentative yet welcoming, the contact sending pinpricks of excitement everywhere at once. "Look what happened at our first meeting."
"I've taken a few precautions for tonight," he shrugged, moving to her side as he enveloped her hand fully, going no further until she made it clear she wouldn't pull away. He looked at her then, his head cocking to one side in a mannerism she found strangely endearing. "Helmet, shoulder pads, there's even a full body cast ready and waiting in the closet, and my old crutches are on stand-by."
"Oh," she mused, feeling a bit mischievous herself as she flashed her eyebrows in his direction. "I wasn't sure just what sort of precautions you were talking about, but those should prove to be more than sufficient no matter what we get into."
He coughed suddenly, nearly choking on thin air, and she was unsure if his face was red from embarrassment, coughing, or simple out and out amusement.
"First my nose, and now you've nearly choked me to death," he managed, his voice ragged between fits of coughing and laughter. "We won't ever need any precautions if you keep this up."
She had to stop in place, her laughter nearly making her stomach hurt, the expression on his face egging it on.
"If it's up already, we could be in trouble," she quipped, making him actually wheeze as he fell back against the wall.
"Should I send out an S.O.S. now or later?" he questioned, clearing his throat loudly as his breathing finally began to steady.
"Later," she answered, wiping under her eyes. "I'm too hungry to bother with that now."
He was grinning back at her with an expression she felt but couldn't define. All she knew was that she liked this man, she really liked this man, even though she knew so little about him. This could get really dangerous really fast.
"I'm sorry…I shouldn't be so bold when we barely know each other," she stated, her gaze falling to their joined hands, wondering why she just didn't cut her losses and leave. He then gave her a slight tug in his direction, guiding her closer and closer until their bodies were nearly touching, his breath warm and steady just above her ear, and she melted on contact.
"Be as bold as you like," he hummed, reaching up to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "You'll get no complaints from me." They gazed at each other for a moment, and she felt like purring as his fingers brushed over her scalp.
"Even if I border on audacious?" she questioned, her pulse now skipping rope in her neck.
"Especially if you border on audacious," he hummed, the vibration of his voice near her skin making her legs feel like silly putty. He smelled just as she had remembered, only better, and she blinked repeatedly, wanting him to kiss her, half-terrified he just might.
What the hell had gotten into her?
"Hey, Romeo!" a voice cried out from the back. "Don't be getting any ideas before we've even met the lady."
She watched him blush from hairline to neck, and he pursed his lips together, drawing back a bit to look at her fully.
"My brother-in-law Frankie," he explained with a nod in that direction. "He's not exactly known for being subtle."
"I gathered that," she returned as his raised and lowered his brows. "Your sister's husband?"
He paused, eyeing her steadily as he exhaled into the space between them.
"My late wife's brother," he explained, making her feel like she'd like to crawl under a table and hide the rest of the night.
"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I wouldn't have asked if I'd known.."
"It's alright," he interrupted, giving her hand a slight squeeze. "I was going to tell you about my circumstances tonight anyway. And you already know I have a son."
She nodded, guilt still gnawing at her gut for asking so unceremoniously.
"What happened?" she asked, seeing the remnants of pain in the play of his facial muscles.
"Car accident," he answered, and she pressed no further, knowing how quickly a life full of promise could descend into tragedy with one phone call. "Two years ago." She felt his fingers fidget around her hand, sensing he wanted to move on from this subject at the moment.
"Henry is adopted," she offered, evidently catching him by surprise if his expression was anything to go by. "I wasn't seeing anyone, I wanted to be a mother…"
"So you adopted a child," he expounded, a flicker of approval shining back at her. "As a single mother?" She nodded in affirmation, and he bit his lower lip, a maneuver that was far too attractive for her own good. "That's rather admirable."
"No," she corrected. "There was nothing admirable about it. I wanted a child, and he needed a mother. I was the lucky one in this equation."
He smiled at her then, the same smile she'd seen when she'd spoken of her patient, a smile that warmed her from top to bottom and rolled her insides over a time or two.
"I'd say you were both lucky," he observed. "At least from where I'm standing."
"He changed my life," she admitted as she leaned towards him unconsciously. "For the better."
"Children do that, don't they?" he mused, forging a new and fragile connection between them. "I can't imagine where I'd be without Roland. He was my salvation for a very long time after..." He paused, and she waited for him, sensing some old wounds were still somewhat tender. "After Marian died."
"I can imagine," she whispered. "I'm glad the two of you had each other."
His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but his gaze cut through any and all pretense.
"So you've never married?" he asked, and she raised her brows at the direct nature of his question.
"No," she returned. "I was engaged once, but that ended badly."
"His loss," Robin noted, tugging a smile back across her face. "I'm already certain of it."
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she felt her breathing still in her throat, licking her lips in anticipation as his eyes sought hers for permission. Her face felt hot, her palms oddly dry, and her gaze flickered from his mouth to those bluer than blue eyes, full of something she wanted to experience for herself.
"Alright, Lover Boy," Frank interrupted from the other room, ruining the moment as effectively as if he'd paraded through on a buffalo. "If you're not in here in ten seconds, we're sending in the cavalry."
"Shit," Robin uttered, wrinkling his nose. "Shall we get this over with?"
Their noses were nearly touching, her free hand resting on his chest of its own accord.
"Sounds like a plan," she agreed, inhaling as her brow creased in concern. "Should I be nervous?"
"Only if you offend easily," he quipped, making her giggle as beads of sweat broke out on the back of her neck. "I've actually instructed them to be on their best behavior as far as you're concerned. But I'm certain it will be open season on me."
"I didn't know there was such a thing as Robin season," she mused, already loving the way he grinned at her.
"Private permits only," he clarified as he turned her towards their destination. "So you should aim carefully, my lady."
"I thought that was your job," she teased, feeling his grip tighten on her hand as he studied her with a curious smile.
"My aim is ever true," he boasted. He bit his lower lip again as she tossed both brows in his direction. "Well, at least I like to think it is."
"Robin Hood, then," she goaded, and he rubbed his free palm over his face.
"God, the number of times I heard that growing up," he admitted. "I actually enjoyed it until I was about eight."
She let him guide her down the narrow corridor towards the large kitchen, swinging a hard left down three steps that led them into a cozy, square room. It was dominated by a round table covered with stacks of chips and encircled by five men holding cards. Two were older, and three looked to be close to Robin's age, one of them reminding her somewhat of Hagrid from the Harry Potter movies.
"Everyone, this is Regina," Robin began, exhaling audibly as his hand snaked around her back. He was warm, overly warm, and she relaxed a bit at the realization that he was just as nervous as she was. "Regina, may I introduce my father-in-law, Alonzo Menotti, his brother Marco, Marco's son August, my oaf of a brother-in-law, Frank, and my dear friend John."
All the men stood, Alonzo maneuvering himself around the table, reaching out to her and giving her a surprisingly firm hug.
"Regina," he beamed, what white hair he had bouncing over his balding head, his thick goatee quivering with glee. "I am Roland's Nonno, and I'm so happy to meet you. Now tell me, is Robin treating you alright?"
She couldn't help but grin back at the man, his warm brown eyes making her feel more at ease by the second.
"So far," she returned, and he squeezed her shoulders, nodding his head vigorously.
"Good," Alonzo returned, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper more than loud enough for the entire room to hear. "He's like a son to me, and he's a good boy, I promise. But it's been a while since he's been out on a date. We've all been a little concerned about him, you understand. He's a bit out of practice, I'm afraid, maybe a bit rusty at kissing and such."
"I see," Regina hummed with a grin, wondering how many shades of red Robin had turned as he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, he's holding his own at the moment, so you can relax."
"He's been holding his own too long," Frank mused to August under his breath. "That's why he needs a woman."
John then ceremoniously whapped Frank over the head with a rolled-up newspaper as Regina felt Robin's grip on her tighten.
"Apologize to the lady, Frankie," John instructed, drawing himself up to his true height which was considerable. "Or you and I will have words later."
"Calm down, Johnny," Frank returned, brushing the big man off as he stepped forward and focused his attention on Regina. "But I am sorry, Regina. More often than not, I act like an asshole. My sister got all the class in the family, and I got left with the good looks." She smiled in spite of herself as she shook his offered hand. "No offense meant towards you, I promise."
"None taken," she stated, feeling Robin's hold on her ease. "Although I somehow think your sister probably took the lion's share of the good looks, too."
An appreciative Ooooo rippled through the men, and she received at least three nods of approval as Frank tossed her a salute.
"God, Frank offends me all the time," August cut in, putting his hand towards hers, shaking it firmly. "You must be a better person than I am, Regina."
"No question," Frank sputtered, rolling his eyes in August's direction. "And she's a hell of a lot prettier too."
"That's because you haven't seen me in my red dress," August rebutted, tossing Regina a wink as the man's father rolled his eyes.
"When you talk like that, Augusto, it's no wonder you're not married," Marco sighed, making his own way to Regina and kissing her on the cheek. He was a shorter version of his brother, his hair more gray than white, his lively dark eyes instantly reminding her of Roland's.
"Bellisima," Marco smiled, holding both of her shoulders and drawing back. "I approve Robin, and you know how hard it is to get my approval."
"Yes, Marco," Robin returned, scratching the back of his ear. "I know."
"If you're not good to her, I'm asking her out myself," Marco added with a wink. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
"I stand warned," Robin noted, raising his hands in mock-surrender.
"God, Marco, you're such a flirt," the Hagrid-esque man stated, moving towards Regina like tower with feet. "I'm John," he said as he took her hand gently, nudging Marco out of the way. "And we're all really glad to meet you, Regina. You have no idea."
Robin cleared his throat just behind her, warming her own ears as she smiled.
"I'm happy to meet you, too," Regina breathed, relaxing into John's grip. "But I hope there's no test on names at the moment."
"The test comes after the cake," Frank explained. "Dessert always comes first in this family. It's important you understand priorities around here."
"I've heard your cake is quite something," Regina mused, smiling broadly at Alonzo. "But I have to tell you, I make one mean Italian Cream Cake myself."
"Ooooo," the men hummed together as Alonzo's bushy eyebrows moved over his scalp.
"Are you challenging me, Signorina?" the older man asked, the gleam in his eye unmistakable.
"Perhaps," Regina cooed. "But not at the moment. I need to taste my competition first."
Alonzo beamed back at her, clapping his hands in delight.
"I'll eagerly await your verdict," the man stated with a bow. "And keep in mind—Roland helped me frost the cakes tonight. It's hard to beat the expertise of a boy like him."
"That makes it even more enticing," Regina smiled as Robin slid in close behind her. "Of course, my son Henry has been known to help out with cake preparation at my house. He's rather good at it himself."
"A fair challenge, then," Marco interjected, eliciting comments from the other men in the room. "Shall we wager on who will win this little contest?"
"I don't care who wins," Frank cut in. "As long as there's cake involved."
"I don't know," August added, rubbing his nose. "I'm afraid to bet against Regina. You see what she did to Robin when he said the wrong thing."
An appreciative chorus rose up among the men, and she dared a glance at Robin who was shaking his head.
"Betting against your own family recipes," Alonzo sighed. "Remember who feeds you around here, Augusto."
"Speaking of," Robin cut in, seeing his opportunity and grabbing it. "I asked Regina back here tonight for the express purpose of making certain that she didn't miss her dinner. I believe it's time I made good on that promise."
"You'd better make good on a lot of things," Frank tossed in, ducking just as Robin sent a jab in his direction. "Papa's expecting a report later tonight."
"Then you'll be sorely disappointed," Robin assured him, earning himself a round of groans from the men as they settled back to their cards. "I don't kiss and tell."
"You don't even kiss," August clarified, earning himself a guffaw from John.
"A fact he may well remedy soon," Marco added, wiggling his gray brows in her direction.
"No kissing until after the cake," John interjected, pointing at Robin. "House rules. Remember?"
"Ten bucks says they don't even make it through dinner before he lays one on her," Frank challenged, drawing all the men's attention. She heard Robin's sigh of exasperation, his presence behind her making her thighs clench and pulse speed up.
"I've got fifteen saying she gives him a black eye to match the nose," August added as Regina tossed a wave good-bye over her shoulder, grateful for the fact that Robin was now steering her out of the room and into the kitchen with more haste than necessary.
"God," he breathed when they were out of earshot. "That was worse than I ever imagined. And you're still here."
"I'm starving," she stated, feeling the warm grin he tossed her down to her toes. "After I'm fed, all bets are off."
He smiled, maneuvering himself until their bodies just touched.
"I'm afraid there are more bets on the table than we realize," he noted, and she made an appreciative noise at the thoughts of what the men might be wagering on now that they'd left the room.
"So who's going to win?" she asked, forgetting to breathe as his nose rubbed the side of hers.
"No question," he whispered, tickling her cheek with his words. "I've already won, just because you're here."
Giddiness pooled behind her rib cage, leaving her in no doubt of just how interested in this man she was already.
"You're that easy?" she teased, his mouth so close she could nearly taste him.
"Try me," he returned.
That's all it took.
She bridged the distance between them in a second, touching her lips down on his, absorbing their weight and softness, feeling him respond immediately. Initial surprise morphed into something more exciting and desperate as hot hands slid around her waist, tugging her closer, coaxing her lips open with his mouth and tongue. God, he felt good, and he tasted like spice and mint and something she thought had to be uniquely him. Her limbs melted like butter, and she leaned into him, nipping and sampling, sparks skittering through her veins like pixie dust on crack.
"Hmmm," he hummed into her mouth, drawing her upper lip languidly through his, stoking embers simmering just below her belly. "You're quite a good kisser."
"I know," she managed as they drew back from each other just enough to breathe, enjoying the feel of his laughter against her chest. "But I'm still hungry. Famished, in fact."
Foreheads touched as her fingers fisted into his shirt.
"Thank God," he returned, his thumb tracing an invisible pattern on her cheek. "Because my appetite has just been whetted." His eyes held her captive, his mouth just begging her to kiss him again.
"It's awfully quiet in there," Frankie called out, and she groaned as he sighed, her head dropping on to his shoulder. "Did you kiss her, Rob? Cause if so, I just won twenty bucks!"
"Come on," he grinned, whispering into her ear. "Let's get you some dinner."
He led her around a corner to a small wooden table sitting by a window, carefully set with two placemats, a bottle of malbec and a candle for good measure.
"And here I thought you were going to hand me a carryout box and ask for my number," Regina mused, staring back at him in wonder.
"Well, I am going to ask for your number," Robin confessed as his arm rounded her waist, tempting her to forgo dinner at the moment and feast on him instead. "But you deserve far more than a Styrofoam box and plastic utensils. Especially on a first date."
"So this is a first date?" she asked as her brows raised in time with his.
"It is if you want it to be," he returned. "Which also means you must allow me to take you on a second one." He worked his lower lip over with his teeth, fiddling his brows in her direction. Shit. She liked it too much when he did that—far too much.
"Alright," she agreed just as he moved away from her to pull out her chair. "First date it is. But the second one depends on how this one goes." She sat down and allowed him to adjust her seat for her, holding her wine glass out as he uncorked the bottle and poured.
"That's fair," he mused. "And I must admit that I'm delighted to discover that you do kiss on the first date."
He filled his own glass just before he leaned down and pecked her lips, effectively silencing her before she could protest.
"Only when there's Italian Cream Cake involved," she clarified with a smoky grin. "And don't be getting any ideas about going any further tonight. I do have my standards."
"Too late," he admitted, looking somehow like a cross between a sheep and a ravenous wolf as he moved towards an oven and placed an oven mitt on his hand. "I have more thoughts than should be legal this early on." Her breasts practically squealed at that remark, and she adjusted herself in her seat as she finally slid her coat off her body. She inhaled as he pulled two trays out of the oven, the mingled scents of lasagna and eggplant parmesan reminding Regina just how hungry she actually was. He busied himself with their plates, topping them off with steamed broccoli before delivering them to the table.
"Buon Appetito," he grinned, setting her plate down in front of her as her stomach nearly pounced on to the table. God, it smelled heavenly, and she was tempted to shove a bite in her mouth without pretense as her salivary glands went insane. She eyed him over the rim of her wine glass, licking her lips suggestively as he hung her coat on a nearby rack before sitting down across from her.
"Nice Italian," she mused, reining in her dignity. "But I was hoping you'd say it in Irish."
He eyed her as he laid his napkin across his lap, picking up his own glass of wine.
"Taitneamh a bhaint as do chuid béile," he stated, earning her admiration as he toasted her from his seat. "Anything else you'd like to hear?"
"Bottoms up?" she teased, shivering all over at his husky chuckle.
"Don't tempt me," he returned with a glimmer in his eye. His pupils expanded as her lids lowered seductively, and she picked up her knife and fork, cutting herself a piece of eggplant she slowly slid into her mouth.
"Álainn," he hummed just before taking a sizable bite of lasagna. She gazed back at him in curiosity, her nipples peaking as he tossed her a pointed glance.
"Do you plan on telling me what that means, or are you going to leave me hanging?" she questioned just before indulging in another bite.
"After dessert," he stated, putting her on a low simmer. "And technically, I believe that's my question."
She smirked her approval, allowing the lasagna to linger on her palate and tongue, chewing slowly so as to enjoy every bite.
"This is delicious," she stated. "Alonzo is quite the cook."
"That he is," Robin agreed. "And it's almost as delicious as the company."
"I had no idea you were such a smooth talker," she noted, spearing a bigger bite of eggplant than she should on a first date.
"I'm not surprised," he mused. "When I could barely string a coherent sentence together while trying to ask you out." He smiled in approval as she popped the overly-large bite in her mouth, and she watched as he took a leisurely sip of his wine, enjoying it in the same way she sensed he would like to enjoy her neck. "And I'm far from a smooth talker, you should know. If I'm coming across like that, it must be that I'm inspired by my company."
"Smooth," she teased, wiping the corners of her mouth, hoping with everything she had there was no stray marinara lingering on her face. "So how long can you keep it up, Prince Charming?"
He tossed her a wicked smile that hit her right between the legs.
"Robin Hood, remember?" he noted with a wink. "And as for how long I can keep it up..."
His brows flickered in her direction, her own tossing him a challenge.
"The proofs in the pudding, so to speak?" she chided, wondering if it was him or the wine going straight to her head.
"Why, Doctor Mills," he hummed. "The things you say."
"You have no idea," she grinned, emboldened as the tips of his ears flushed red. "Just wait until I get warmed up."
"Something to look forward to, indeed," he noted, leaning forward just enough to make his dimples look edible. Damn.
Talking with him was easy, too easy, and she caught herself opening up about parts of her life she usually kept to herself. They discussed children, careers, his immigrant father's friendship with Alonzo and Marco which led to the eventual opening of a restaurant nearly twenty years ago and his romance with Marian, a saga that had been on and off again since high school. She told him of putting herself through medical school despite her mother's disapproval ("It's easier to marry a doctor than to become one yourself.") and expounded on her decision to adopt Henry, nearly tearing up as she described her daily visits to the NICU until he had been able to breathe on his own.
"That can't have been easy," he observed gently. "Leaving your baby in the hospital for weeks, praying he'd get strong enough to come home."
"It was hell," she confirmed with a shake of her head. "And I'm a pediatrician, for God's sake. I knew why the stay was necessary, but I still felt helpless."
"It's different when it's your own child," he noted. "Nothing can ever prepare you for the depth of feeling you carry as a parent. Nothing."
She gazed back at him, her heart full of something she rarely mentioned out loud.
"Thank you," she whispered, watching his brow crease in confusion. "For understanding that…"
She paused, swallowing hard as she reached for her water glass and took a sip.
"For realizing that adoptive parents love our children with the same ferocity as biological ones."
He leaned back, shaking his head as if he was having to process what she had just said.
"Of course you do," he stated. "When you adopt, you're a parent by choice and choice alone—there's no chance to it."
Her lips trembled as her fingers toyed with the napkin in her lap, a sense of ease washing over her nerves like an unleashed dam.
"I know," she affirmed, her tone somewhat fragmented. "But not everyone realizes that."
"Then they're not worth your time," he observed, pushing his chair back as he stood and moved directly in front of her. He extended his hand, and she took it, the feel of his skin—pulsing and alive—doing things to her heart and body.
"And you think you are, Robin Locksley?" she questioned as he eased her against him, his palms on her back, his mouth a breath away. "Worthy of my time, that is?" She tingled from scalp to sole, wondering if he felt the same current flowing between them that she did, the question driven from her mind as his lips brushed over hers with the pressure of a fairy's wings.
"I certainly hope so," he replied, his tone deep, his gaze direct. "Happy Birthday, Regina."
She started to correct him, remembering that Henry had referred to this day as that earlier. But he was too close, too warm, and then lips demanded and mouths took, hands tracing curves and planes as a moan ricocheted up from her gut. His fingers were in her hair, on her hip, skimming her ribs, and she felt a wall press up against her back, allowing her to pull him as close to her as she could. God, this was glorious, amazing, mind-numbingly perfect, and she arched into him as his lips began a slow journey down her neck, rocking every nerve as she began to ache hard.
"I knew it!" a voice exclaimed, and Regina's heart shot into her throat, her body suddenly cold as they shot apart from each other with the speed of a bullet train.
"Roland!" Robin breathed, his face as muddled-looking as her mind. "What are you doing up?"
The child looked back at them and rubbed his eyes, his Ninja Turtle pajama top raised partially over his belly.
"I had a bad dream," the boy answered with a shrug of his shoulders. "But I'm all better now."
He then sprinted in her direction before she had time to think, sleep mussed black curls bobbing on top of his head, and he took her hand immediately, tossing her a grin that could melt an iceberg.
"I knew you liked us, Gina," Roland insisted, his smile infectious and disarming. "I told Daddy that you did, and I was right."
God help her—this boy could charm a cobra.
"Yes, you were," she confirmed as she squeezed his small hand in her own, her mind still caught in a whirlpool. She then caught Robin staring at her—no, at them, at her and Roland standing together, holding hands. She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat, but his gaze held her breathless, her pulse travelling at light speed as she desperately sought her voice. "I do like you both. Very much."
Electricity surged through veins and down limbs, her skin sparking and cracking for his touch, her mouth charged and ready. His eyes were now cobalt, perhaps even navy, and she succumbed to the fog in her brain as he took two steps in their direction.
"See, Daddy?" Roland continued as he bounced on the balls of his bare feet. "See?"
"Yes," Robin answered, his voice the texture of warm leather. "I see."
She knew she should say something, that they couldn't stand here like this forever, but she was mute and mindless at the moment, her legs glued to the floor, her brain evidently checked out for the night. And he was in the same predicament, staring at her, looking into her, showing her his need in the tilt of his head and the creases of his eyes. The room kept getting hotter, but her toes were like ice, and she inhaled as deeply as she could under the circumstances, nearly choking on pure air as Roland pointed a finger at his father and grinned.
"I told you she'd like it if you kissed her," the boy mused with a giggle and a flash of his brows. "You see? You should listen to me more often, Dad."