by Mary Campisi
“Abigail!”
Abbie ignored her. “She’s some kind of model or something,” she paused and her lips curved into a sly smile, “I think she’s his girlfriend.”
Girlfriend?
“Abigail!”
Abbie merely waved a hand at Maxine and continued, “She’s got some great clothes though. All designer stuff.”
Kate smoothed the wrinkles out of her khaki skirt. Girlfriend?
“He doesn’t even act like he likes her. Does he, Maxine?”
“I’m sure I have no idea how Mr. Flannigan acts or does not act toward Ms. Prentiss.”
Abbie’s brows inched together as she took in Maxine’s white cotton blouse. “I’m sure you don’t.”
“I think he’s kind of cute.”
They all turned to Julia, who merely shrugged and smiled. “For an older guy.”
“I guess.” Abbie scratched her chin and opened a menu. “But he’s still a pain.”
The conversation shifted to Sophie’s burgers and fries. Kate tried to think of different ways to inch the subject back to Rourke and his girlfriend, but aside from asking outright, which would make her as transparent as cellophane, she could think of no other way.
No man with a girlfriend should have been doing what she and Rourke were a few hours ago. Kate pushed down a rush of nausea as she recalled exactly what they’d been doing. He ignited a burn in her that Clay had never been able to accomplish no matter the skill or technique and for that she despised Rourke, almost as much as she despised herself.
“…wants to marry him, don’t you think, Maxine? He won’t though, not unless he’s into self-torture.” Abbie leaned in, lowered her voice, “You should see the stuff women send him. Flowers, sweaters, ties,” she giggled, “underwear.”
“Abigail, that is absolutely enough.”
“What’s he do with it?” Julia’s voice quivered in anticipation.
Abbie shrugged. “Gives it to the cleaning lady for her kids and her husband. Not sure about the underwear though. They were those silky boxer kind.”
“Abigail—”
Julia giggled, before Maxine could finish. “I thought they were women’s underwear.”
“No, but I told you he has a drawer of those in his bedroom, remember? I think they’re Janice’s.”
“Abigail, if you do not cease this conversation this instant, I will call your uncle and insist he return you to the Manor.” Maxine’s thin nostrils flared in unison, her pale complexion flushed crimson as she added, “And see how you’ll explain that to him.”
Abbie rolled her eyes and made a face. “Fine. I’m done.”
When the food arrived, Kate picked at her fries and forced three bites of burger. There was no getting around it. She’d have to convince Rourke that Julia wasn’t his child and then she’d have to confront him about the other matter. What had happened between them this afternoon was a mistake that could not be repeated. And then there was the matter of protection. They hadn’t used any. But neither had she and Clay and other than one pregnancy that ended in a miscarriage, she’d never even missed a period. She nibbled on a fry. What were the chances she’d be pregnant with Rourke’s child again? Even God would not be that cruel. But what if she’d contracted an STD? Rourke had probably slept with dozens of women. The half-chewed fry threatened to explode in her stomach. Damn, she’d have to ask him about his sexual history.
“Hey!” Abbie stifled a squeal. “Look who just walked in! It’s them!”
Kate turned just as Rourke spotted her. Even in the dim glow of the diner’s lighting, she could see the dull red splashed across his cheeks. Her gaze flickered from his face to the woman clinging to his arm, a willowy brunette in three-inch heels and diamonds. Janice. The girlfriend.
Kate turned around and picked up a french fry. That was the woman he slept with on a regular basis. In a bed. She was the one who had Victoria’s Secret underwear stashed in Rourke’s bottom drawer. She sent him flowers and bought him ties, even if he did give them away.
“Here they come,” Julia whispered as though she were an announcer for E!
“Watch the way she flips her hair over her shoulder when she talks,” Abbie said. “Just watch.”
Rourke’s voice covered Kate as he spoke to the hostess. Seconds later he was facing her with Janice still clutching his arm, her waist glued to his. Rourke had a girlfriend and this afternoon had been nothing more than a diversion.
“Well, I see you’re all enjoying Montpelier’s finest cuisine.” He smiled at them but his tone sounded forced. “Janice, this is Kate Maden and her daughter, Julia. Kate, Julia, this is Janice Prentiss.”
Abbie had definitely made a major error in her description. Janice Prentiss was Hollywood beautiful with jet black hair, hazel eyes, and long, long legs. Whether she had the help of silicone or Botox, she was still beautiful. But then she would be, because this was the kind of woman a man like Rourke Flannigan would align himself with in life, not a woman in jeans and cotton with paint creased into her fingertips and stretch marks on her belly. Janice extended a hand and smiled. Perfect teeth, too.
“How wonderful to meet you, Kate.” She turned to Julia. The brilliant smile faltered a half second and then she recovered, clasping Julia’s hand. “And you, too, Julia.”
Maxine darted a glance at Kate, cleared her throat twice, and sipped her iced tea.
“Well, we won’t interrupt your dinner any longer,” Rourke said, his voice more forced than before. “Enjoy.”
“Yes, enjoy,” Janice echoed, her hazel eyes sweeping over Julia one last time before she smiled up at Rourke and they moved on toward their table in a dark corner of the diner.
“Told you,” Abbie whispered. “She is such a pain.”
“I thought she was beautiful,” Julia commented. “Like a movie star.”
“She is, sort of, isn’t she Maxine?”
Rourke’s secretary pierced a green bean and said, “I believe she’s involved in the entertainment industry in some capacity.”
Abbie nodded in a knowing manner. “That means yes.”
“Do you think he’ll marry her?” Julia whispered.
“Julia!” Kate lashed out, “That’s none of your business.”
“I was just wondering.”
Abbie pointed a french fry toward the booth in the corner where Janice sat cozied up to Rourke. “She’s trying. She’s even got a Bride magazine stuffed in her Louis Vuitton bag. Rourke would flip if he knew that.”
“Doesn’t he want to get married?” Julia snaked a quick glance in his direction. “He’s really pretty hot for an older guy. How old is he anyway?”
Three months shy of thirty-three.
Abbie shrugged. “At least thirty-eight. As for not wanting to get married, I haven’t been around long enough to investigate, but give me another month and I’ll be able to tell you.”
“Mr. Flannigan would not like being the subject of dinner conversation between two thirteen year olds.” Maxine dabbed at the corner of her thin lips with a paper napkin. “You would be best served to change the subject.”
“Oh, Maxie, loosen up. Rourke’s not going to fire you. Heck, you’re the only woman he trusts.”
Why doesn’t Rourke trust women?
“Your uncle trusts those who deserve to be trusted.”
“Right.” Abbie snatched a fry and pointed it at Janice. “And that woman is definitely not to be trusted.”
***
Edmund Dupree III sat on the same couch that Rourke had occupied less than twenty-four hours ago. As the third partner of Angston, Jefferson, & Dupree, he was a small, wiry man with sharp blue eyes, a silver crew cut and a presence that belied his diminutive stature. When Mr. Dupree spoke, his voice resonated with perfect pitch and diction as though he were on stage. He’d just informed Kate that her advisor had underestimated Angston, Jefferson, & Dupree and had neglected to factor in the most important issue—reasonable doubt.
“Your source has not considere
d all available options, Mrs. Maden. Perhaps he is not well-informed in the areas of law?”
Kate poured Mr. Dupree coffee from a porcelain pot that had belonged to Clay’s great grandmother. “I only turned to this gentleman as another opinion. Certainly, I don’t consider him an expert.”
Edmund Dupree studied her over the rim of his coffee cup and murmured, “Exactly.”
“I would never take money that didn’t belong to me, no matter how badly I needed it.”
He nodded. “A very noble gesture.”
She clasped her hands together to keep from fidgeting. There’d been so many lawyers calling after her mother’s accident, twisting and contriving Kate’s words until they hadn’t even sounded like her own. “I don’t want to sit in a courtroom and listen to a judge tell me Clay was negligent.”
“I understand, Mrs. Maden. I’m not about to put you in a position such as that.”
“You’re sure?”
His blue eyes pierced her with cool calculation. “This case will never go to court.” A small smile crept over Edmund Dupree’s thin face. “We’ll threaten a media blitz; photos of you and your husband, your daughter, maybe even talk shows and newspaper articles citing the devastation your husband’s loss has wrought on you and your daughter. The economic loss, the physical loss, the emotional loss.” His words sparked with certainty. “Reese Construction won’t want the publicity. They’ll be glad to pay you to keep quiet.”
“So basically, I’d be bribing them?”
Edmund Dupree’s expression remained placid. “Think of it as forcing them to do right. If it takes polite, friendly, persuasion, so be it.”
Kate relaxed her hands. She was doing this for Clay, and for Julia. Maybe Rourke was wrong. Maybe Reese Construction was ultimately responsible, accident or not.
“Now, I’d like to talk numbers.” Edmund Dupree flipped a page on his legal pad and began writing. “I know we’ve bandied a few figures about, but let’s try to find something concrete. What do you think of four million?”
“Four million?” They’d talked about a number that large but still, to actually ask for four million dollars?
“This is only a holding company, Mrs. Maden. We go for the parent company and we’ve hit the mother lode.”
She owed it to Clay and Julia. “Okay.”
“I would advise you against sharing any further information with your friend. One can never be too careful, especially where millions of dollars are concerned.”
She wanted to tell him that Rourke Flannigan was a fourteen-year aberration who landed in Montpelier last week and would be gone before the case was settled. The thought of him leaving started a sharp twinge in her stomach which she blamed on too many cups of coffee. But later that night, when the twinge became a dull ache throbbing through her, she knew Rourke was behind the pain. Just like he’d always been.
Chapter 14
“It doesn’t thrill me to admit it any more than it thrills you to hear it.”—Rourke Flannigan
Rourke found Kate at Sophie’s Diner the next morning, attacking a plate of waffles mounded with strawberries and swirls of whipped cream. “I guess you plan on rolling out of here, huh?” She stopped chewing and looked up. A flush of pink smeared her face and a syrupy sheen coated her lips. Right now he’d sign over controlling interest of the company for one taste. He slid into the booth opposite her and gestured toward her plate. “Don’t stop on my account.”
She set down her fork and pushed the plate away. “I’m full.”
Rourke snatched up the fork and slid the plate closer. “Good, because I’m starved.” He pierced a hunk of waffle and strawberry and plunked it in his mouth. Her lips had touched this fork. He speared another chunk of waffle. Her tongue had slid over the tines.
“Rourke? What are you doing?”
“Hmm?”
“Take a breath. Nobody’s going to steal your food.”
He glanced down at the near empty plate which seconds ago had been smothered with waffles and strawberries. He threw her a haphazard grin. “I guess I was hungry.” Hungry with thoughts of your mouth and your tongue.
She looked away. “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you. There’s something I need to tell you.”
Christ, he had hurt her yesterday. He set down the fork and steadied his voice. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s about Julia…and what you thought.”
“You mean that I might be her father?”
She shot him a mortified look. “Quiet. If you speak any louder you’ll be reading about it in next week’s Gazette.”
He lowered his voice. “Is that what you’re referring to?”
She nodded.
“Go on.” Here it comes. Julia’s your daughter. The thought had him gasping for air. He had a child. With Kate. No wonder he’d never been able to let her go. They belonged together…
“Julia’s not your child.”
The words clogged his brain. “Julia’s not my child.” Was that disappointment in his voice? Or disbelief? Right now, he couldn’t say.
“No, she’s not. I know I told you this yesterday, but you deserved more of an explanation.” She licked her lips. “Apparently, my biological father had black hair and gray eyes.”
He merely stared at her, trying to discern the truth.
“As you know, my mother was not always very forthcoming with information.”
“I seem to recall she had a penchant for that sort of thing.” He did not even want to think about Georgeanne Redmond and her vodka-soaked brain.
“After the accident, she finally told me his identity.” Kate’s eyes misted. “His name was Carter. She met him the summer she waitressed at Lake Chautauqua. His family owned a cottage there.” Her voice wobbled. “She said they wanted to get married but his parents had other plans. When summer ended he went back to law school and she came home. Eight months later I was born.”
“Let me guess, she never heard from him again.”
“Pretty much. The first time she saw you she said you reminded her of someone. It had to be him.”
If this were a business deal, he’d have his attorneys confirm the facts and check the timeline. But this was Kate and she was so much more than a business deal. When the first tear fell, he forgot about doubting her story. When the second followed, he could think of nothing but making the tears stop. He reached across the table and clutched her hand. She didn’t pull away when he turned her palm upward and stroked her soft flesh. Instead, she shivered.
“Where’s your girlfriend?”
Ahhh. Was that a speck of jealousy? “She’s not my girlfriend and she’s on her way back to Chicago.” Of course she’d tried to coo and fawn her way into an invitation to stay, but the attempts had been futile.
“I see.”
“What does that mean?” Code talk for I’ve already analyzed the situation.
“I saw the way she looked at you. Who is she, Rourke?”
“She’s just a friend.”
Her blue eyes pierced him. “I see, a friend with benefits.”
“Oh, for Chrissake.” At least the tears were gone. Where was the sweet, young Kate who had once watched him with reverent awe? She shook her dark head and despite his annoyance, he wanted to bury his hands in the swirl of silky hair.
“Just the truth, Rourke. Can you give me that?”
He met her gaze and everything else fell away. She was so damn beautiful and she didn’t even know it. Maybe that’s what added to her beauty, the unaffectedness with which she moved and spoke and lived her life. Hollywood could take lessons from Kate, but they’d never match her. “I’ll tell you the truth.” He’d spent years trying to forget her, only to realize he never would. He had to speak before the words disappeared from consciousness.
“Janice is a beautiful woman, but she’s not you.” Her eyes glittered and he thought the tears would start again.
“Please, don’t say that.”
“Why, because it’s the truth? Isn’t that w
hat you asked for? Well, there it is, uncoated and I’m sure unwanted. It doesn’t thrill me to admit it any more than it thrills you to hear it.”
“You’ve been with dozens of women. Surely, one of them—”
“Mere distractions.”
“Beautiful distractions.”
“But none with that breathy laugh and eyes the color of a Montpelier sky. None of them you, Kate.”
She gave him a helpless, confused look. “What do you want?”
“You,” he said simply. “Spread out on my bed, naked, under me…on top of me.” He stroked the fleshy part of her palm. “All over me.”
She eased her hand from his. “It’s not that simple. We can’t let yesterday happen again.”
“If yesterday happens again, I’m contacting a doctor.” He cleared his throat. “I went from zero to blastoff in two seconds and that’s never happened before.”
Pink stained her cheeks. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?” He liked the way she fidgeted when he talked sex with her, as though she didn’t want to remember but couldn’t forget.
“Just that we can’t,” she faltered, started again, “we can’t do that. Again.” Her gaze flitted across the table and landed on the napkin holder. “It would only end badly.”
Rourke leaned forward and pressed his hands flat on the table. “You can’t believe that. We’re not kids this time, Kate. It can only end the way we want it to.”
The blush deepened and she dragged her gaze to his. “I don’t think straight when I’m around you. We didn’t use any protection. How ridiculously stupid is that?”
“Very. I’m sorry.” And then, “Is there a reason to be concerned?”
Her blue eyes turned dark. “Damn right there’s a reason to worry. I don’t want to end up with an STD or HIV.”
