by Mary Campisi
She clutched his other hand and gazed up at him. “Do you want me to get rid of it? Is that what you want me to do?”
He pictured someone else in that seat and knew she’d never consider that an option. “No, of course not.” He raked a hand through his hair and rubbed the knot at the back of his neck. “It’s just that, well it’s a damn shock.”
“I know.”
“How the hell did this happen?” He still wasn’t convinced anything had happened but there was a minute fracture in his previous degree of certainty, and that disturbed him.
She giggled. Janice never giggled. “I’d say it happened in the usual way.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Christ, no, please no. “You were on the pill. I used a condom.”
She settled back against the couch and crossed one long leg over the other. “There is such a thing as human error. We’re both human.” Her lips curved into a full smile, reminding him of sex and lots of it. “Apparently we both erred.”
He was going to be sick. “How do you know for sure?” He’d read that super skinny types like Janice didn’t always get their periods on time. Maybe that was it. She was just late. Dear God, please let that be it.
She swung her leg again, long and silky and tanned, strapped in a three inch red stiletto. “Women just know, silly. And I’m late.”
“How late?” He was sure he’d read underweight women could miss three or even four periods. Sometimes as much as a year. Where had he read that?
She slid him a shy smile. “A month. This will be a spring baby.”
The three bourbons he’d downed earlier burned a hole in his gut. He swallowed hard and pictured Janice’s concave middle protruding against those tight jersey dresses she loved to prance around in. The visual slipped through his mind, sharp, precise, and nauseating.
“Rourke? Are you okay?” She was beside him, stroking his back. “You look gray and you’re sweating. Here. Sit down.” She let out a soft laugh and settled herself next to him on the couch. “I don’t blame your reaction.” The stroking continued, along his shoulders, neck, down his arm. “But I guess we’ll both get used to the idea and just think what a beautiful baby it will be.”
“Did you take any of those home pregnancy tests?” There had to be a mistake. Somewhere.
“Of course I did. EPT. The little line showed up. That means it’s positive.”
He opened his mouth and gulped in air. Positive.
“Do you want to know the sex of the baby?”
“I don’t know.” He stared out the window at the sliver of moon floating over the blackness of night and wondered what she was doing right now.
“I absolutely think we need to find out as soon as possible. Then we can plan the room and the names and Nordstrom’s has the cutest little outfits.”
Did she believe me when I told her I wanted to marry her? Or did she think it was all a sham because of this? How can a man have every material possession in the world and lose the one thing he wants most? Again?
“Rourke? Did you not hear a thing I said?”
“What? I was listening.”
She snuggled closer and rested her head on his shoulder. “You smell so good. Good enough to devour. Let’s go to bed.”
“I’m not tired.” How could he touch her after Kate? How could he ever touch another woman after Kate?
“Good. Neither am I.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth. When he didn’t respond she pulled away with a pout. “I see you’ll need a little time to adjust to the idea of being a father. So where does this leave us?”
The tone in her voice put him on immediate alert. “What do you mean?”
She bounced off the couch and paced the room. “Just that. Where does this leave us? Are you going to be an involved father or just one who pays child support and maybe sees his son or daughter every other weekend and on the occasional holiday?”
“Of course I want to be involved.” He wasn’t about to let another of his offspring roam the planet without knowing who his or her real father was.
“And what about us?” She wheeled around and squared off like a gunfighter, hands on hips, chin thrust forward.
There is no us. There’s never been an us. “I haven’t thought about it.” What a lie.
“I’m not raising this child alone. If you aren’t interested in the whole package, I’m sure I can find someone who is.”
He flew off the couch and planted himself next to her. “I won’t have another man raising my child.” Not again.
She lifted a graceful shoulder and shrugged. “It’s your choice, but if you wait too long, it won’t be.”
Chapter 28
“I mean, here’s my mother, but when I’m reading that stuff, she’s not really my mother then.”—Julia Maden
He dreamed of Kate at night, her long dark hair skimming his chest as she knelt over him, her lips moist and warm against his. The sheerness of her white negligee exposed the curves and dips of her beautiful body, a body that smelled of hyacinth and passion. He needed to touch that body, stroke the silky skin, lift her onto his hardness. “Come to me,” he whispered. “Let me make you mine.” He closed his eyes and reached for her, anxious to feel her softness drape him. His hands grasped air where her hips should have been. His eyes flew open to nothingness. Kate had vanished. The dream returned three nights in a row, and each time she disappeared just as he was about to touch her.
“Dammit,” Rourke growled, jolting awake from another anguished dream. He threw back the covers and padded to his study where he poured a shot of bourbon and downed it in one swallow. He hadn’t slept much since Janice’s sucker-punch announcement and when he finally dozed off in the early morning hours, damn it all if he didn’t dream about Kate and her disappearing act. He’d tried to call her at least twenty times in the last three days—twenty-two to be exact—but she wouldn’t take his phone calls. He bet Angie, the Wicked Witch of the West, loved that.
How had he messed things up so badly? He was a responsible, articulate, educated man who managed his life and his business with precision. But put a woman in the mix, and it went to hell. He cursed and made his way to the kitchen where he fished around in the pantry for something to eat. Since Abbie had come to live with him he had his choice of high fat, high calorie goodies. He pulled out a bag of Lay’s and dove in. Hadn’t he seen a container of French onion dip in the fridge? Maybe having a kid around wasn’t so bad after all. He yanked open the fridge and stuck his head inside, peering around a carton of chocolate milk and a container of Cool Whip.
“Rourke?”
He jerked back and hit his head on the refrigerator shelf. “Damn!”
“Are you okay?”
Julia stood in the doorway wearing shorts and a Chicago Bulls T-shirt. Rourke rubbed the side of his head and said, “Yeah, I’m fine. What are you doing up at this hour?”
She shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Hungry?”
She worked up a small smile. “I’ll take a few chips and there’s dip on the second shelf. Want some?”
“Actually, that’s what I was hunting for when you snuck up on me.”
Julia pulled out the dip and lifted the lid. “Abbie and I ate some earlier but I think there’s still enough for you.”
He eyed the half-eaten dip. “I haven’t eaten this stuff in ten years.”
She dug out a handful of chips and plunged one in French onion dip. “You’ve been missing out.”
Rourke jabbed his chip in the dip, scooped out a hunk and plunked it in his mouth. “You’ve got that right.” They sat in silence, chomping on chips and dip. He began to relax and enjoy the companionable quietness of sharing a late night snack with his daughter. His daughter. He choked on a chip which sent Julia into panic mode.
“Rourke?” She whacked his back. “Rourke? Are you okay?” Whack, whack, whack.
He raised his hand, coughing and sputtering. “Stop! Are you trying to kill me?”
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br /> “Sorry.” She backed away and perched on a stool on the other side of the granite island.
“Maybe I shouldn’t eat these things after all.” He peeked in the bag and grabbed another handful. “Oh, what the hell. What are you doing sitting way over there? Julia? What’s the matter?”
She swiped her hands across her face in quick, agitated jerks. “N-n-nothing. I’m f-f-fine.”
He tossed the chips on the counter and rushed to her. “What’s wrong?”
She said nothing, just shook her head again and stared at her hands.
He would rather face a boardroom of disgruntled stockholders than one upset female. “Talk to me,” he said, gently stroking her hair.
She bit her lower lip and he could tell she was trying hard not to cry. And then she opened her mouth and blurted out, “Are you going to marry her?”
Had Kate told her? “I—”
Julia’s silver eyes turned accusing. “You can’t marry her. I won’t let you.”
She didn’t have to worry about stopping him. Her mother had thrown a two carat diamond at him and walked out. Why couldn’t he have fallen in love with a woman who possessed a more agreeable disposition? “I don’t know what’s going to happen. Maybe in time we can figure out a way to make it work. Maybe you’ll get used to the idea. What do you think?”
She scowled. “Not in ten thousand centuries.”
“Do you hate me that much?”
“I don’t hate you.” She swiped both hands across her cheeks. “I hate her.”
“You hate your own mother?”
She stared at him like he’d just asked her to spit out silver dollars. “No, of course not.”
“Then who are you talking about?”
Her gaze narrowed on him and she crossed her arms over her almost flat chest. “Who are you talking about?”
“Your mother.”
“My mother? My mother?” Her shoulders relaxed and she uncrossed her arms. “Really?”
“Who were you talking about?”
Her small nostrils flared. “Janice.”
“Janice?” Where did she get a crazy idea like that?
“I heard her talking to Greta. She told her the grout in the bathroom needed scrubbing and once she moved in, things would be different.”
He didn’t think he’d heard her right. “Once who moved in?”
“Janice.” Her dark brows pushed together. “Abbie and I call her Janice the Anus.”
No wonder Julia was upset. “Do you always call people names?”
“Only when it’s the truth.”
He couldn’t fault her for that. “I am not going to marry, Janice.” Even if she is pregnant with my child.
“Promise?” Her eyes shone bright and half-hopeful.
He clasped her hand and squeezed. “Promise.”
She sighed. “Abbie will be relieved. We were all worried but Maxine said not to but I said—”
“Maxine? Abbie? What were you all doing? Taking bets on my love life?”
A dull pink smeared her cheeks. “More like betting against it.”
“Gee, thanks. What’s Maxine got to do with it?” For a woman who still refused to call him by his first name, she certainly had gotten involved in his personal affairs.
“Maxine said it wasn’t going to happen. ‘Not in the next two lifetimes’ is how she put it. I wasn’t sure and Abbie said she thought Janice would do something to blackmail you into it, like get pregnant.”
The oxygen swooshed from his lungs. Had Janice said something? Worse yet, had Kate?
“I told her that was crazy because Janice loved her body too much to turn it into playdough for nine months.”
He took a small breath. And then another. Julia didn’t know. Yet.
She giggled. “Can you imagine her trying to walk around on those spikes she wears with a pot belly hanging out?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No, I’m having a hard time with that visual.” But he could picture Kate pregnant, all soft and round and glowing. The image grew so vivid it felt real.
Julia’s giggle morphed into a full-blown laugh. “And those tight dresses, that would be a real picture for People.” Her face turned serious and he thought she’d make a hell of a prosecutor one day. “Were you really talking about my mother?”
“I…” He picked up a chip and studied it.
“Rourke?”
He could give her a damn convincing lie but she deserved the truth. “Yes. I was talking about your mother.”
“You love her, don’t you?”
“I do.”
Her lower lip trembled and her eyes glistened with fresh tears. “I knew it.”
“Look, Julia, I know you loved your father,” he stopped, “I mean, Clay. No, that’s not right either.” Christ, he’d turned into a babbling idiot. “The man who raised you loved you like a father. I’m like the quarterback who comes in during the fourth quarter when the team’s up forty to nothing.” She stared at him and he knew the analogy was lost on her. He tried again. “I never had a chance to be your real father, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have wanted to be.”
“I loved my father.”
“He was a good man. I can’t replace him, and I don’t want to. I don’t know what’s going to happen between your mother and me, but that doesn’t change the way I feel about you or the fact that I want you in my life.”
“She won’t talk about you.”
“I didn’t think she would.”
“She won’t tell me what’s wrong either. If she doesn’t tell me, how can I try to make it right?”
“That’s not your job.”
She looked away. “Sometimes I wonder if I even know her.”
He touched her chin and coaxed her to look at him. “You mean since you found her journal?”
She nodded. “Everything just kind of exploded in my head. I mean, here’s my mother, but when I’m reading that stuff, she’s not really my mother then. She’s some other person who’s in love with somebody who’s not my father.” She blinked hard. “Well, not the father I thought was my father.”
“It’s a lot for me to understand, too.”
“All these years she’s kept it bottled up inside. If my dad hadn’t died, maybe I’d never have known about you or any of that stuff,” her voice drifted off, “almost like she had another life, separate from the one she had with us.”
What could he say? She was right.
“This is so screwed up.”
Right again.
His daughter heaved a big sigh and pinned him with eyes so like his own. “So, since you two obviously love each other, you’re going to have to figure out a way to get her to marry you.”
Chapter 29
“Life passes by those who refuse to get on the train.”—Rourke Flannigan
“Let me see if I understand this correctly, you want me to draw up a trust for the daughter of the man who was killed in the Syracuse accident, and you are willing one half of your estate to her?”
Rourke clasped his hands behind his head and nodded at Miles. “Correct.”
“Need I advise you this is absolutely ludicrous and considering my capacity as your legal counsel, I cannot in good faith or otherwise, permit you to do so without making you fully aware of the consequences of such actions?”
Rourke hid a smile. Miles could get so huffy when someone veered outside his interpretation of legal parameters. “You don’t need to remind me. I’m of sound mind and possess all of my faculties as I ask you to draw up this agreement.”
“You’re already paying the woman an exorbitant amount of money.”
“I’m talking about the child here.”
Miles cleared his throat. “I had no idea you held such an affinity for children. Had I known, I’d have asked you to sponsor a scholarship or two for the underprivileged.”
Rourke ignored Miles’s sarcasm. “Next year, tell Dexter to put it in the budget.”
“Why are you doing this?” Mile
s worked his temples with the tips of his fingers. “This makes absolutely no sense.”
“I’m sure you find it confusing.”
“Confusing?” Miles closed his eyes and continued to massage his temples. “I find it insane.”
“What if I told you the child in question was my daughter.”
Miles’s eyes shot open. “What?”
“If Julia Maden were my daughter, then it would make perfect sense to have these provisions for her, wouldn’t it?” For the first time in all the years Rourke had known Miles Gregory, the man with the golden tongue and thousand dollar words, was speechless. “A man does right by his child, doesn’t he, Miles, even if he never learns of the child’s existence until years later? Years after another man has been raising that child as his own? And if the discovery comes as a result of a horrible, unfortunate accident in which the real father is indirectly responsible for the death of the surrogate father, imagine the guilt and need for recompense that would generate?” Rourke kept his gaze fixed on Miles, who remained speechless. “Yes, well, that would make an interesting case, wouldn’t it?”
“Are you saying,” Miles reached for a handkerchief and blotted his forehead, “are you saying the child is yours?”
Rourke nodded. “So it would appear.”
