by Nalini Singh
She gave him an arch look and broke a couple of eggs into a bowl. "I hope you're joking."
Caleb knew how to cook. Forced by circumstance, he'd learned to do so as a young child, feeding both himself and his younger sister when his parents became too caught up in themselves. But from the first day of their marriage, Vicki had taken over the kitchen and he'd let her. It had always been one of his secret pleasures that his wife cared enough about him to ensure he ate properly. No one else had ever bothered.
Which was why it had hurt so much when she'd stopped.
Taking the coffee, along with the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon she passed over, he tried out a smile. "Aren't you joining me?" Breakfast was one of the few meals they'd managed to share regularly. He wondered what she'd do if she knew that he'd skipped breakfast while living at the hotel, unable to bear her absence. Not that he had any intention of telling her.
She made a face. "I think I'll wait an hour or so."
"You okay, sweetheart?"
Her lips curved into a smile that sucker punched him with its beauty. "Just a tiny bit of morning sickness that's actually hitting in the morning, for once."
"Doesn't it always?" He was fascinated by the life growing inside of her, hoped she wouldn't shut him out of the experience the way she'd shut him out of her bed.
She shook her head. "No. It comes and goes on its own schedule. But I'm lucky—I haven't really had it bad at all. Eat or you'll be late."
Obeying, he watched her move around the kitchen dressed in jeans and a sea-green cardigan that looked so touchable, he wondered if she'd worn it to torment him. His hands itched to mold themselves over her slender frame. Her three-month-old pregnancy wasn't yet visible and she looked much as she'd done when they'd married, but as he'd learned last night, things had changed.
"Toast." She plucked two pieces out of the toaster, buttered them and handed them over.
As he took them, his gaze fell on a pale pink envelope sitting on the far end of the counter next to the fruit bowl. "What's that?"
"A card from Mother."
He eyed her carefully. "What does it say?"
"Only that she might be visiting Auckland in a week or two to catch up with me. Eat." She waved a hand at him and walked over to put the envelope in the back pocket of her jeans.
Caleb wondered if she really felt as carefree as she was making out. Danica Wentworth's infrequent interruptions of Vicki's life tended to leave his wife distraught. He'd tried to broach the subject with her more than once, but she'd backed away with alacrity that spoke of such deep pain, he'd never pursued it. In truth, part of him worried that if he pushed her on this point, she might push back, and there were things about his childhood he wanted no one to know.
But that same childhood had also given him the tools to understand her wariness. What child would want to remember the woman who'd abandoned her to pursue a lover? Though that man had gone on to marry another, Danica remained in a relationship with him to this day—she'd never left him like she'd left her four-year-old daughter. Worse, she had entrusted Vicki to her ex-husband's mother, Ada, a woman about as maternal as a gutter snake.
Vicki shot him a curious look when he continued to stare at her. "What?"
"Nothing." Nothing that he could put into words.
He ached to walk over and wrap her in his arms, to show her what he felt. It seemed as though he'd spent eternity aching to hold his wife. But always he stopped, knowing that she wouldn't welcome such advances. That moment in his office yesterday had been an aberration. She'd been upset and vulnerable and he'd acted on instinct.
"Are you going to court today?" She eyed his black suit and to his surprise, came over to fix the collar of his shirt. The woman-scent of her went straight to his heart.
He nodded, trying not to look as stunned as he felt. Vicki never touched him unless he initiated contact. "The Dixon-McDonald case."
Her eyes met his and she dropped her hands, as if startled by her own actions. "Two companies fighting it out over a patent, right?" A soft blush shading her cheeks, she walked around the counter and picked up the carafe to refill his coffee. "Think you guys will win?"
He was further surprised by her knowledge of the case. "Callaghan & Associates always win." He grinned despite feeling strangely off balance. Vicki was … different.
Though she refused to meet his gaze, she laughed. "What's the firm doing involved in a patent case? I thought that was pretty specialized."
God, he'd missed her laugh. It made him realize how long it had been since he'd heard it—months before his move to the hotel. "When did you start keeping track of my files?" His tone was conversational but in his gut, guilt churned. Why hadn't he noticed the extent of her unhappiness before now? Even when she'd rocked their world by asking him for a divorce, he hadn't woken up to that fact. Why the hell not? Had he been so wrapped up in work he'd forgotten the woman he'd promised to love, honor and cherish?
Finally, she raised her head. "Since always."
"But you've never talked to me about any of them before." Never talked about the firm he'd built with blood, sweat and tears, though it had been an integral part of their life. "Even when you held dinner parties for my clients, you asked barely enough to ensure things ran smoothly."
"I…" She paused and then took a deep breath. "I guess I didn't want to sound stupid. It's not like I have legal or corporate training. And you never seemed to want to discuss your work when you came home. I thought maybe it had something to do with confidentiality."
His head spun at the uncertainty in her tone. "You couldn't sound stupid if you tried. Attorney-client privilege doesn't stop us discussing things in general terms like we just did. I never talked about work because I thought you weren't interested." And why exactly had he thought that?
The answer remained frustratingly out of reach, but he understood enough to fix this mistake. "The reason we got involved is that the client followed Marsha Henrikkson—" he named one of his newer associates "—when she switched to our firm. She's a qualified patent attorney."
Vicki beamed at him.
"What?" he asked, rocked by his own pleasure at having made his wife smile. Sunlight shimmered off the wooden counter and suddenly, bittersweet shards of memory cut into him. He remembered sanding this counter and looking up to find Vicki smiling at him from the other side. Back then he'd been full of hope for their future, still cocky enough to laughingly grab his wife and tumble her to the floor.
"Nothing." Continuing to smile, she asked, "Do you want more toast?"
Memory and reality converged in her happiness. "No, this will hold me." He took a last sip of coffee and stood, wishing he didn't have an early appointment. The two of them hadn't been this easy with each other for far too long. "I'll call if I'm going to be late."
"Fine."
He caught the edge in her tone. "What does that mean?" If blunt questions were what it would take for him to get to know this intriguing woman who'd shown him more fire and passion in one day than she had during the rest of their marriage, he'd ask a thousand of them.
Her jaw firmed. "You're always late, Caleb. I can't remember the last time we had dinner together when it wasn't a work function."
He'd never thought she cared one way or the other if he was around. After all, she could hardly bear it when he reached for her and if he was with her, he wanted to touch her. Her dislike of intimacy with him had half destroyed him, but she was still the only woman he wanted as his wife. "You want me home for dinner?"
"Of course I want you home for dinner!" Frown lines marred her forehead. "You're my husband."
The decision was easy. "I'll be home."
Another unexpected smile lit up her features, erasing the frown. "Really?"
"Promise." He wanted nothing more than to kiss her and taste the sunshine sparkling on her lips.
She stepped closer. "I'll wait for you."
He wished she'd touch him, hug him, anything. But Vicki had never taken that
sort of action and eventually, he'd learned to withhold his own inherently physical nature, learned not to ask for things she could never give him.
Even if it shredded his soul.
* * *
Vicki watched Caleb get into his dark sedan and drive away. No matter how well she thought she knew him, he could always surprise her. The way he'd agreed to come home early without any hesitation had been a shock, given his dedication to his work.
She hated coming second to the law firm that was his life, hated it with a vengeance that could have turned her bitter if she hadn't decided to do something about it. Caleb's easy acquiescence to her request gave her hope that the battle might not be as impossible as it had always seemed. Maybe he was listening to her at long last.
But, she thought suddenly, was she listening to him? There had been something in his eyes as he'd looked at her in the kitchen—as if he'd wanted to say something, do something, but was restraining himself. She got that impression a lot around Caleb. Restraint. Emotions held captive.
He hadn't started out that way. In the beginning, she'd almost drowned in the power of Caleb, a little frightened at the strength of his focus on her but delighting in it all the same. Then something had changed between them … been damaged.
If she'd walked over to fix his collar when they'd first married, no matter how angry they were with each other, he would have pulled her into his lap and kissed her until she begged for mercy. She'd touched him deliberately this morning as a test to see how much remained of that early passion. The answer had devastated her.
What had happened to the fire that had once raged between them? Had she destroyed it? She didn't know what to think, experience warring with childhood lessons about acceptable behavior and the need to control her emotions. All she knew was that she'd die if she was never again as important to Caleb as she'd been at the start.
But why then did she get the impression that Caleb was constantly fighting to rein in his nature? Why could she almost feel the dark intensity of the emotions he kept locked up? And why could she never ask him what it was that he wanted to say but didn't?
He was right. He hadn't been the only one who'd made mistakes in their marriage.
* * *
Three
« ^ »
Caleb arrived home that evening to find Vicki in the living room staring at the phone. Dressed in a sleeveless black dress that faithfully hugged every curve, she looked tempting enough to eat. His gut clenched at the thought that she'd donned a sexy dress for dinner. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
"Anything the matter?" Dropping his briefcase on the couch, he stripped off his overcoat and suit jacket. Autumn was turning into winter and the breeze coming off the bay was increasingly crisp. But it was warm inside the house, the sunlight trapped by both the windows and the skylights.
"Your secretary just called from her apartment. She said she forgot to tell you she'd managed to reschedule with Mr. Johnson. The meeting is now at eight tomorrow morning."
That was the appointment Caleb had cancelled in order to be home for dinner. "Thanks for taking the message. My mobile's dead—I forgot to charge it." Tugging off his tie, he dropped it on the sofa before undoing the top two buttons of his shirt and walking over to join her. "Why the look?" The urge to run his hands over the delicate softness of her bare arms was a physical ache.
"It wasn't Miranda," she blurted out, troubled eyes looking to him for explanation.
If there was one thing he didn't want to discuss, it was his former secretary. "No. She's been gone awhile." Giving in to temptation, he curved one hand over the creamy skin of her shoulder. She shivered but didn't move away. Then again, she never did. At least not until the end.
Victoria wanted to ask why Miranda had left but the courage that had pushed her this far deserted her in the face of the sickening thought that bloomed in her mind without warning. What if Miranda was no longer Caleb's secretary because she was something else? Such arrangements weren't unheard of in the circles in which she'd grown up—her own mother was a perfect example. And Caleb had been living away from her for two months. Maybe he'd gotten tired of waiting.
"Vicki?"
The reply she wanted to make kept slipping out of the turmoil in her mind. She stared at the floor in a desperate attempt to find her sense of balance but suddenly her world was spinning. "I need to sit…" And then it was too much effort to speak.
She heard him swear. Before she could collapse, he scooped her up in those powerful arms and she felt herself being carried to the sofa. He sat down with her held close. "Vicki? Talk to me. Come on, sweetheart."
She took several deep breaths, letting herself be comforted by the only man who'd ever given her this tenderness. "I'm okay. Just give me a moment."
"Are you sick? Is something wrong with the baby?" he demanded.
"No, no. I'm fine. We're both fine." Realizing that strands of hair were escaping her carefully constructed coil, she lifted her hand to re-anchor the pins. Caleb's eyes drifted up.
And she remembered.
Instead of fixing the elegant do, she pulled out the pins and let the soft mass fall around her shoulders. Caleb had always loved it when she wore her hair loose, though he'd never once said so out loud. Some things a wife simply knew.
"If you're both okay, why did you faint?"
Because I just realized that you might have a mistress. Held in fear's tight grip, she didn't speak the words. She may have become stronger in recent months, but she wasn't strong enough to hear his response to that statement. Not yet. As long as she didn't say it, Caleb couldn't lie to her, couldn't fracture the fragility of their new start.
"I think I overdid it making dinner," she said, with a small shrug. "I should've sat down a bit more during the day." A lie of omission hidden in truth.
"Are you sure that's all?" His hand drifted to her nape, a soft massage that was all the more seductive because of his overwhelming physicality. As usual, his touch made her want to behave in ways that were utterly unladylike and vaguely terrifying.
Did he do this for Miranda? Stop it! she told herself the second the thought entered her mind. She wouldn't let her own fears and suspicions sabotage the decision she'd made with her eyes wide open.
In their time apart, despite all her hurt and anger, she'd accepted that she loved Caleb in a way that was so deep, it was a once-in-a-lifetime gift. Though that realization had spurred her to fight for their marriage, it wouldn't stop her from walking away if they failed. And if she kept letting the past interfere, they would surely fail. For the sake of their child, she had to look beyond Caleb's relationship with Miranda.
"Vicki? Come back to me, honey. Is everything really okay?"
She started to nod but her mouth shaped the word "no." And she knew that although there was one wound she might never be ready to talk about, it was time to lay open another. "I spent a lot of time thinking about us today."
Those hazel eyes seemed to harden but he didn't stop his massage. "What's to think about? We're married and you're carrying our child."
"No, Caleb. Don't do this again. Listen to me."
"Talk."
"You were angry about the separate beds last night." But not angry enough to go elsewhere, she told herself, trying to soothe the agony in her heart.
"I want my wife in my bed. What's wrong with that?"
"But that bed wasn't the happiest of places for us, was it? I wasn't ever … woman enough for you. I could never satisfy you." It was like ripping out pieces of her soul and handing them over to him, but this had to be done.
"Jesus, Vicki."
"You know I'm right, Caleb." No matter how humiliating it was for her to admit … to accept, her failure in bed had helped drive him into another woman's arms. If Vicki wanted Caleb back, she had to face up to that.
Caleb didn't know what to do. He was used to taking charge but, at that moment, he was lost. Stroking her cheek, he shook his head. "Don't look so sad, sweetheart."
<
br /> Many times in the last few years of their marriage, he'd glimpsed that haunting sadness in her expression.
He'd felt helpless that he couldn't bring the light he'd caught tantalizing glimpses of before they'd married back into her eyes. He'd assumed that once she was out from under her grandmother's shadow, the light would flare bright, but it had faded until he'd been terrified he'd done something to kill it. "It's nothing that we can't fix."
"Do you really think so?"
"Yes, Vicki. Yes. But we can't do it if you won't let me into your bed." When she didn't respond, he tried another approach. "We're going in with a new mind-set—it changes everything."
"Yes, it has to, doesn't it?" Nodding in agreement, she wrapped her arms around his neck and lay her head against his shoulder. "Oh, Caleb. I missed having you beside me."
He'd loved her long enough to understand the message in the liquid softness of her body. Please, don't let me be deceiving myself. This was as close as Vicki ever came to making the first move. Sure that he was reading her right, he stood and, with her in his arms, headed for the bedroom. When she held on tighter, the knot in his chest eased.
Maybe it would be different now that they'd finally brought the secret pain of their marriage out into the open. Maybe Vicki would respond to him in the way he'd always wanted her to respond. Maybe.
She didn't say a word as he carried her into the master bedroom. When he set her on her feet, they just looked at each other for several long seconds, two starving people in front of a banquet. The same moment that he began to reach for her, Vicki's lashes fluttered shut and her body swayed toward his.
Cupping her face, he kissed her. She always responded to this, kissing him back with explosive passion. He cherished the kisses she gave him during lovemaking because they were the only signs that she wanted him.
So he kissed her. For a long, long time. Kissed … and hoped. When she whimpered and made a small restless movement, he slid his hands to the back of her dress and pulled down the zipper. Trailing his fingers up her spine, he became fascinated by the delicacy of her skin but resisted the urge to linger. Part of him was afraid this moment would be lost if he didn't hurry. Promising himself he could return to savor her, he raised his hands to the shoulders of the dress and slid them down her arms. She let go of him only for the instant it took to remove the dress from her upper body.
