by Diana Palmer
"That man in bed," she said softly, lifting her eyes to meet his, "is your real father, my darling."
"That's why he looks like me?" he asked, accepting the information without any visible reaction.
"Yes."
He grinned. "I'm glad. Because I like him a lot. Can we live with him?"
Oh, boy, Meredith thought. Here it comes. She took a deep breath. "Blake"
"Time for bed, my boy. Where are you?" Mr. Smith called.
Saved, she thought, and could have whooped with relief. She handed him over to Mr. Smith.
"What's the icy glare about?" he asked when Blake was perched on his shoulder.
"He already knew Henry was his stepfather."
Mr. Smith shrugged. "You never told me not to say so. I don't lie. Not ever."
She groaned. "I know that. But it's complicated everything. He wants to know why we don't live with his daddy."
Mr. Smith grinned at her. "Good question. Why don't you?"
And before she could think up a suitably acid reply, he bounded off toward the staircase with Blake.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
» ^ «
Meredith had phone calls to answer, so she stayed up much later than normal. When she'd finished, she sat behind the desk in the study and brooded for a long time. She'd let her life become so entangled with Cy's that she didn't really know how she was going to extricate it. And now Blake knew about his father. That was one big complication.
She started up to bed long after everyone else was asleep. Everyone except Cy. He called to her as she passed his room. His door was ajar, so she hadn't been able to sneak past.
"Still hiding from me?" he asked with a mocking smile.
"I'm not hiding."
"Pull the other one."
She went closer to the bed, tired and sad and a little pale from the late hours she'd been keeping. The slacks and gray knit blouse she was wearing were no more gray than her face.
"God, you look worn," he said, studying her. "Why don't you sleep?"
"I haven't been able to, since your wreck," she said. "It's like being on a merry-go-round, I guess."
"Want to sleep with me, little one?" he asked softly.
Her heart slammed against her rib cage. Just the thought of it brought color into her face, warmed her cold spirit. But she hesitated. He was doing it againgetting to her.
"No strings, Meredith," he added. "No pressure."
"But there doesn't have to be, does there?" she said. "All you ever had to do was touch me."
He reached out and caught her hand, pulling her onto the bed with him. "Now, listen," he said, and he didn't smile. "Hasn't it ever occurred to you that I'm just as helpless as you are? Just as vulnerable?"
Her eyes fell to his chest, where his dark silk pajama top was open over thick, curling hair and hard muscle. "No," she confessed. "I don't suppose I considered your side of it. I always knew you wanted me, even though you hated the wanting."
"Look at me."
She forced her eyes back up to his, fascinated by the expression in them. It was, as his mother had said, very new.
"There isn't going to be any more sex," he said quietly. "Not for a while. Besides the obvious fact that I can't, until my back heals properly, there's another consideration. I want a relationship with you. A real one, based on common interests and pleasure in each other's company. I want to get to know you and my son, Meredith."
Her eyes widened. "Honestly?" she asked, her voice unwillingly soft.
"Yes." He smoothed over her long fingers. "I've had a lot of time to think while I've been recovering. I suppose over the years I've become cynical about women, because of what I thought you'd done to me. Since I've learned the truth, the world has shifted several degrees." He searched her eyes. "Can you forgive me?"
Tears ran helplessly down her eyes, down her face. "Isn't thatthe wrong way around?" she whispered. "I came back here with nothing in mind except revenge. I destroyed your relationship with your mother, I threatened your company, I denied you your own child !"
He drew her to him and pressed her cheek to his chest. Under the thick hair that tickled her skin, she could hear the heavy beat of his heart, like a bass drum.
"Oh, sweetheart," he said, his arms contracting around her. His own eyes closed as he gave in to the anguish of the past six years. "I'd give anything to go back, to make it right for you. If I'd known about the baby, I'd never have let you go. Never!"
A broken sob tore from her throat. The emotion in his deep voice struck right at her heart.
"You didn't believe me," she said.
"I know." There was bitterness in the words. "I wouldn't allow myself to think it was anything more than desire. Then, when I discovered just how young you really were, the guilt ate me up." He smoothed her disheveled hair. "It didn't take two days for me to realize what I'd thrown away, to know that your age didn't make a damned bit of difference. But I couldn't find you."
The words were poignanteven more so because of the way he said them.
She drew her hand tenderly over his chest. "When I wrote you, and never heard anything else, I gave up. I was only just beginning to come back to life when Henry died. After that, business became everything. That, and revenge."
"No men?" he asked with quiet humor.
"No men," she replied. "Or don't you know that you're a hard act to follow? Even as much as Henry loved me, it wasalways you."
His hands clenched in her hair. "Meredith," he whispered. His teeth ground together. "It was always you, too."
She managed a ragged laugh. "Really? How many women did it take you to find that out?"
His thumb pressed hard against her trembling mouth. "Don't," he said quietly. "You can't know how ashamed I am of those womenand there were very few, despite what you think. I blame myself for those lost years. I could have trusted you, couldn't I? But I didn't know just how deeply you loved me. I was afraid to take a chance, because of your age."
"Maybe you were right," she said with a heavy sigh. "So much has happened since then."
"Yes. You grew up and became a tycoon. Or should that be a tycooness?" he mused.
She laughed softly. "Whatever." Her lips brushed his chest and she felt him stiffen. Her hand slid gently over a hard male nipple, her palm covering it. "Is it like this with other women?" she whispered.
"You know it isn't," he said huskily. His hand covered hers, brushing over it with his fingertips. "Meredith, I haven'tbeen with a woman for two years. Not until that day after we went to the battlefield. Sex wasn't even particularly satisfying anymore. I lost interest in it. Until you came back to me"
The way he put it made her heart leap. She lifted her head and looked down at him. "That's why" she began.
He nodded. "Why I was so hungry for you. Not that I was ever anything else," he said. "I can remember so many times that I treated you like a Saturday night pickup, without tenderness or respect. That's ended, too." He lifted a rough hand to her face and brushed back a lock of her hair. "I meant what I told you before. The next time you and I make love, I'm going to be so exquisitely tender with you that you'll cry. It won't be quick, and it won't be rough."
She managed a shaky smile. "Careful, tiger. You'll make me think you care, talking like that."
He didn't return the smile. There was a dark, soft glow in his eyes. "Why shouldn't you think it? It's true. I do care. Very, very much."
It was like flying, she thought dizzily. He'd never said anything like that before. Of course, it could be the medication he was still taking, or misplaced desire, or
He tugged at her hair and brought her mouth down over his. So softly, so tenderly, his lips teased and brushed and cherished hers. But long before he nuzzled her lips apart» she had yielded. He cupped her face in his big hands and built the kiss until tiny explosions rippled through her body.
He lay back, sighing gently. "We've never done it like that, have we?" he asked in the silence. "More and more, it's like two souls to
uching."
"Yes," she whispered.
He brought her palm to his mouth and kissed it. "You'd better go to bed," he said. "I don't want to spoil what we're building together"
"How could you do that?" she asked, dazed.
"I want you rather badly," he murmured, his eyes serious. "And this isn't the time."
"I want you, too," she said, smiling at him. "But Iwant what you promised me. We've never been able to be tender with each other."
He traced her chin with gentle fingers. "You mean, I've never been able to be tender with you. But I think I can be, now. You see, your pleasure is more important to me than my own. Isn't that the beginning of love, little one?"
She bit back tears. It was love. But she'd never expected him to offer it to her. She'd never expected anything more than the helpless desire she kindled in him.
"Kiss me and go to bed," he said.
She bent, obeying him, her mouth trembling as it burrowed softly into his, feeling the warm, hard response with wonder. "I love you so," she said, her voice breaking on the words.
"I know." He pulled her head down and kissed her closed eyelids with incredible tenderness. "You won't get away this time," he said unsteadily. "If you go, I'll be one step behind you. To the ends of the earth, if it comes to it."
"Are you sure this isn't the pain medicine speaking?" she asked unsteadily.
He smiled up at her. "Wait until I get back on my feet, and I'll let you answer that question for yourself."
"All right." She sat up, sighing with pure pleasure. "CyI told Blake."
"Told him what?" he asked without really comprehending what she was saying.
"That you're his real father."
He stared at her blankly, and then he scowled. "Was that wise?" he asked. "You said that he thought of Tennison as his father."
"Mr. Smith told him long ago that Henry was his stepfather. I didn't know." She touched the button on his pajama jacket. "I thought he had the right to know the truth. Henry always said we'd have to tell him one day. It seemed the right time."
"What did he say?" he asked, and looked as if he were hanging on her answer.
She smiled. "That he was glad, because you looked like him."
He pressed her hand hard against him. "I do, don't I?" he said. "Same hair, same eyes."
"Same stubborn temper," she murmured dryly.
He chuckled. "Runs in the family. My mother has it, too." He sobered. "Damn my mother!"
"Your mother has suffered along with you," she said firmly. "She's not the ogre I used to think her. You might consider her own feelings. She hasn't had an easy life."
He scowled. "What do you know that I don't?"
"Do you know anything about her childhood, or the career soldier she was in love with?"
His eyebrows arched. "No."
"You really need to have a long talk with her," she replied. "For her sake and your own. You don't really know your mother at all, and it's a pity. She's much nicer than she appears."
"My father did that to her, you know," he said.
"Not entirely." She hated to blow Myrna's cover, but it was really becoming a habit. "She was desperately in love with, another man. She gave him up and married your father because she was afraid of more poverty."
"She was poor?" he asked, shocked. "My mother?"
"Poor and unloved. You mustn't tell her that you know," she said gently. "She has to tell you. She said that she'd kept so many secrets from you, but this one would make you feel contempt for her." She smiled, her eyes loving. "Let me tell you about your mother, Cy. I think when you know it all, you may change your bad opinion of her."
So she told him, everything Myrna had said to her, about her childhood, about the man she'd lovedabout her betrayal and his death and her grief. She talked, and Cy listened in stoic silence. When she was through he was pale, but there was something new in his eyes.
"I was never able to love my father," he said numbly. "I blamed him for Mother's unhappiness. I don't think I even cried when he was buried. I thought it odd at the time. There were periods when I thought I might even be adopted, but I knew he had to be my real father because I favored him so much, just as Blake favors me." He glanced at her. "My darkness is because of the French in my ancestry. But Blake's could be from your side of the family. Your Crow blood."
"Not really. Uncle Raven-Walking was my great-uncle, but not any real blood kin to me. Everybody assumed that I had Indian blood. Actually it's Dutch and Irish."
He smiled up at her. "Which gives Blake Dutch, Irish, English, and French blood. He's some mixture, our son."
"The best of us both," she said with feeling.
He nodded. His dark eyes searched hers. "Will you give me another child, when I'm able to help you conceive? Perhaps a daughter this time, with your blond hair and gray eyes."
Her heart raced. "II'd like that," she whispered. "But things are so complicated right now, Cy."
"Only until I'm back on my feet," he assured her. "Then I'll relieve you of those proxies and we'll get married."
She raised both eyebrows. "I haven't been asked."
"You won't be," he said. "We'll put it in the form of a bet. If I regain control of my company, you marry me. If you manage to oust me, you can name your own stakes."
She smiled. He made it sound like a challenge. "So I'm going to have to fight you and Don, too, hmm?"
"What do you mean, Don, too?"
"You didn't know that my esteemed brother-in-law is out to kick me out of Henry's company?" she murmured with an angry light in her eyes. "He'll have his work cut out, too. I hate being stabbed in the back by people who pretend to care about me. Especially so-called relatives."
"I knew Don was going to make a move," he said. "I didn't know that you did."
"Would you have told me?"
He linked her fingers with his. "Oh, I might have gotten around to it eventually. I was having some sweet fantasies about seeing you give up the world of business and come home to have my babies."
The anger faded and her face brightened. "And give up high finance and making money?"
That statement disturbed him, but he refused to let himself think about how wealthy she was. "You've got enough money, but only one child." He pursed his lips and his dark eyes sparkled with mischief. "Blake shouldn't be the only one."
"Well, you'll have to wait until your back heals first," she reminded him. "And I'm not going down without a fight. I won't give you back your proxies. You'll have to take them. So will Don," she added.
He chuckled. "I don't mind. A man needs a few challenges to keep him on his toes." He fingered a smooth strand of her long hair. "Want to sleep in my arms tonight?"
"More than anything in the world," she replied. "But it's too soon."
"All right. We'll take it slow and easy," he said sensuously.
"That will be a change."
"Won't it, though?" His dark eyes slid down her body. "Do you know, of all the women I've been withand in my younger days, there were a fewyou're the only one who could accommodate me completely?"
She blushed and averted her eyes.
"Embarrassed?" he asked with a soft laugh. "Why? I always thought it meant something, that we were so compatible in bed. I didn't know the half of it. We made a beautiful little boy together."
She glanced at him shyly. "We did, didn't we?" she murmured.
"I'll talk to my mother," he said abruptly. "Don't mention anything you've told me to her, will you? I'll let her tell me."
She smiled down into his eyes. "You're a good man," she said. "I always knew you had it in you. Of course," she added wickedly, "it took me to bring it out."
"Did it, now?" His hand fingered the sheet that covered his hips, and his eyes flashed merrily. "Want to see what else you bring out?"
"I can imagine. Get some rest."
"No chance of that, unless you want to slide in here with me."
"If I did, you wouldn't rest."
"Amen."
He lay back with a long sigh. "You're still as beautiful as you were six years ago. Pretty as a picture. When we're married, you can fire Smith."
The sudden change of subject gave her mental whiplash. "What do you mean, fire Mr. Smith? Baloney!"
"I won't live with him," he told her. "And my son is going to have a father, not a burly substitute with scars."
"You'll have scars if you try to oust Mr. Smith," she said firmly.
"Is he your lover?" he demanded.
"You should be able to answer that all by yourself," she said in a quiet undertone. "Or don't you remember how hard it was, that day after we went to the battlefield?"
His jaw clenched. He remembered all right. He'd had to hurt her, and it had been too quick, too heated. "It won't be like that the next time," he promised her, his voice husky. "I'll never hurt you like that again."
"Oh, Cy, I know you didn't mean to." She moved closer to the bed. "It wasn't like that!"
"You were a particularly vicious fever in my blood," he murmured, watching her. "Two years of abstinence, memories of how it had been in the past, all of it just overwhelmed me. But I had no right to take you that way. I didn't even ask if you wanted it. I took."
"You knew I wanted it," she replied gently. "I didn't mind."
He turned his face away. "I did."
She bent and kissed him tenderly. "I love you," she whispered. "Anything you do to me is all right."
His jaw clenched. "Love doesn't include that kind of insensitivity. It means giving pleasure as well as taking it." He touched her face with exquisite tenderness. "I want to love you. Do you understand? I don't mean raw sex or feverish passion. I want to love you with my body."
She trembled. What he said, the way he looked, was so profound and new that her body burned with it. "Cy!" she whispered.
He returned that steady, hungry stare until he trembled. He chuckled angrily at his own helplessness as he managed to drag his eyes away. "Damn my back," he muttered. "Will you go away? Parts of me are in agony."
"I'm sorry about that. If you were in better shape, I could do something about it."
"You would, too, wouldn't you?"
She nodded, her eyes loving.
