As fulfillment claimed him, his body pulsing with release, he moaned deeply. Deanna waited still and unmoving, throbbing with need, knowing that Luke had no intention of satisfying her. This had been sex for him, not lovemaking. When he rose from the bed and walked into the bathroom, she turned over and grasped the edge of the quilted spread. Pulling it up around her, to cover her nakedness, she cried inside, tears of pain and shame. But the silent, internal tears were not only for herself, but for Luke. Was there nothing left of the kind, considerate lover he’d once been? Had she done this to him—turned him into an insensitive, uncaring brute?
She eased over to the edge of the bed, stood and walked across the room, dragging the spread behind her. She found her panties and slipped into them, then searched for her other clothes. She put on her bra and drew her slacks up her legs and over her hips. But she couldn’t find her blouse. It had to be here somewhere.
Luke emerged from the bathroom, freshly washed and totally naked. Completely unselfconscious, he gathered up his clothes and dressed, ignoring Deanna. After he pulled on his boots, he headed for the door, then paused momentarily.
“I’m going out for a bit,” he said. “You wait here. I’ll be back.”
“But I thought—It
“Don’t think. Just wait for me. I’m not through with you yet.”
With that said, he opened the door and left, leaving the door partially open behind him. Deanna scurried across the room and slammed the door shut. Damn him!
He wasn’t through with her yet? His words rang in her ears, a mocking litany that degraded her almost as much as what he’d done to her. She had thought she could take whatever Luke dished out, but she was having second thoughts. She’d had no idea he could be so cruel, so heartless. There hadn’t been a flicker of remorse in his eyes when he’d looked at her just before he left. And he expected her to wait around for more of the same?
She found her blouse at the edge of the dresser. Lifting it in her hand, she inspected it and found only one button remained attached. The others were scattered on the floor, and two of the buttonholes had been ripped through to the edge. Luke had been ruthless with her blouse and even more ruthless with her. But he hadn’t hurt her physically, only emotionally. And Deanna knew, better than most, the damage emotional cruelty could do.
She put on her blouse, drew it together under her breasts and tied the ends into a knot, then she picked up her purse and started to open the door. Luke didn’t want to help her. He’d never had any intention of working with her to unearth the truth. He had planned this all along—scaring her off with his cruelty. He’d known the old Deanna would turn tail and run. She wouldn’t stick around and see their evil bargain through to the end. No, the old Deanna had been soft and weak and fragile.
Her hand hovered over the doorknob. She grasped it, then released it quickly as if it were burning hot. If she left now, Luke’s plan would have worked and she would have lost everything. Her pride. Her hopes. Her chance to set things right at long last.
Deanna released the doorknob. She wasn’t the old Deanna. She was stronger, braver and determined to win this fight. There was little chance that Luke would ever love her again, but if she could redeem herself and clear his name, he might forgive her. His forgiveness would have to be enough. His love was more than she dared hope for—now or ever. He had just shown her the depth of his hatred for her. And yet...No, she didn’t dare think about the longing she thought she’d seen in his eyes, a look he had quickly concealed. But that longing had been so powerful that it equaled the longing in her own heart.
Deanna turned off the radio, then lay across the bed, cradling her head on a folded pillow. If only she could cry. If only she could rant and rave against heaven for allowing her life to become a wasteland of regrets. But all she could do was wait. Wait for Luke. And think about what it had once been like for the two of them. Even if Luke never could love her again, maybe he would learn to like her and respect her enough to allow their moments together to be lovemaking and not sex.
He’d said he expected her to be available whenever he wanted her. That could mean weeks, even months of being Luke’s lover. Surely, sooner or later, he would realize that she wasn’t the same girl who had betrayed him. If Luke gave her a second chance, she wouldn’t disappoint him.
There alone in the motel room, with the air-conditioning humming and the traffic rumbling by outside, Deanna swore that this time she would find the courage to stand by Luke—no matter what.
Luke tossed the cold six-pack in the front seat of his truck, slid behind the wheel and started the engine. He sat there for a few minutes, allowing the motor to idle. The neon sign that read Yancey’s Quick Stop flickered on and off and somewhere in the distance a dog howled. He hadn’t known why he’d run out on Deanna, he only knew he had to escape that room—fast. Once he’d pulled into Yancey’s he realized a drink was what he needed. Maybe a few cold beers would dull his senses and help him forget what he’d done to Deanna.
He had told her to wait at the motel for him, but he knew when he got back, she’d be gone. Even when he’d been taking her, with little consideration for her feelings and none for her needs, he had been torn between the intense pleasure of sex and self-hatred for taking all his anger and pain out on Deanna. For fifteen years, he had wished that he could wreak vengeance on her, make her know the agony, the humiliation, the pain he had suffered when she had betrayed him with her testimony and had sent him straight to Huntsville.
Despite the way he felt about her family, his hatred of them hadn’t equaled his hatred of her. He had focused all the anger on Deanna because she had been the one he’d loved, the one he’d trusted, the one who had promised to love him forever, “and then some.”
Luke exited the parking lot. No need to return to the motel, he decided. Deanna would be long gone and he’d probably never see her again. A nagging ache began in the pit of his belly and the thought that tonight might have been the last time he’d ever see her flashed through his mind.
Damn! What difference did it make? He didn’t want her in his life—now or ever. So what if his last memory of her was of her humiliation at his hands. Wasn’t that what he wanted, what he’d longed for all these years?
Luke drove past the motel, then slammed on his brakes. Deanna’s white Mustang was still parked in front of room 12. She hadn’t left! He pulled his truck off the side of the road, turned around and headed back to the motel. He parked his truck beside her car, then got out and walked over to the door. Balancing the six-pack in one hand, he fumbled in his jeans for the key. He unlocked the door and eased it open. The room was dark except for the light shining in from the bathroom. Fully dressed, Deanna lay sideways across the bed.
“Deanna?” he said her name softly as he entered the room.
She didn’t respond. He walked quietly across the room, stopping beside the bed. Leaning over, he realized she’d fallen asleep. As he studied her, he noticed that even though she was no longer a girl, she was still slender. But her body had ripened into a woman’s. Full-breasted, long-legged and with a waist tiny enough for him to span with both hands, she was as beautiful, if not more beautiful, than she’d been at seventeen. And she hadn’t cut that mane of honey-brown hair. It lay across her back and fell over on her shoulder. He had always loved her hair. Loved touching it. Loved running his fingers through it. Loved the way it had fallen on his chest when she’d sat astride him when they’d made love.
Luke reached out and lifted a strand of her hair. Leaning over her, he brought the silky tendril to his nose and smelled the sweet scent of Deanna.
What the hell was she still doing here? When he’d told her to wait, he hadn’t thought she’d actually stay. He’d been so sure that he’d run her off, that he’d scared her away. God in heaven, was it possible that she’d been telling him the truth? Did she really not remember what had happened the night her father died? Was she really having memory flashes? Did she truly want to find her father’s killer?
He had dozens of questions to ask her, but none half as important as the one unknown that had plagued him all these years. What had she done with his child? But even if she gave him an answer, could he believe her? Was he fool enough to ever trust this woman again?
Luke sat down on the side of the bed and placed his hand on her hip. She squirmed, nuzzling her body closer, her breasts brushing the side of his thigh. His sex twitched with awareness. He wanted her again. Now. But sex could wait. First he wanted the answer to his question.
He could wake her, but decided not to. Instead he eased her body around in the bed and crawled in beside her, pulling her up against him. Snuggling closer, she threw her arm across his chest and rested her head on his shoulder. Luke cursed under his breath.
He’d let her get a little rest before he roused her. When she woke, the first thing he’d do was ask her about his baby, and then, if she still wanted to go through with their bargain, he would help her. He’d do just about anything that might restore her memory so that she could clear his name. And in return, she would come to him, here at the motel, whenever he wanted her. And heaven help him, he knew that would be every damn night!
Chapter 5
Deanna awoke with a start, uncertain where she was. The room was semidark and the bed unfamiliar. Suddenly she realized that she wasn’t alone—there was a man beside her. Luke.
She was lying in his arms and he was sound asleep. When had he returned to the motel and why hadn’t he wakened her? All she remembered was resting on the bed. She’d had no intention of falling asleep.
Deanna eased out of Luke’s arms and scooted to the edge of the bed, then got up and went to the bathroom. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and cringed. Her hair was a mess, her makeup faded and her clothes terribly wrinkled. She used the bathroom, washed her hands and went back into the bedroom.
“What time is it?” Luke asked.
Deanna gasped, not realizing that he had awakened, then glanced over at the bed. His head still rested on the pillow, but his eyes were wide open.
She looked at the digital clock. “Four-ten,” she said. “It seems we’ve slept most of the night.”
“Yeah, it seems we have.” He sat up, turned sideways and rested on the side of the bed. “I sure could use a cup of coffee.” He glanced up at Deanna, who stood just outside the bathroom door. “We need to talk. Come on over and sit down.” He patted a spot on the bed at his side.
Deanna forced herself to move, to accept his invitation. She sat beside him, but put a good three feet between them. “All right. Let’s talk.” She folded her hands, placed them in her lap and gazed at the miniblinds covering the one large window in the room.
“I’ll do what I can to help you find out the truth about your fathers murder,” Luke said. “But after all these years, it won’t be easy to uncover any new information. If we’d done this years ago—”
“We couldn’t! Or rather, I couldn’t. But looking back isn’t going to help us now. We’ll have to deal with the situation as it is today. I truly believe that spending time with you, our working together, will help me remember the past.”
“And even after last night, you’re willing to continue meeting me here at the motel whenever I want you? That’s your part of our bargain.”
What did he want her to say, she wondered? Did he want her to acknowledge her humiliation at his hands? Did he want her to admit that despite the degrading way he had treated her, she understood why he’d done it and that she was willing to take more of the same?
But that was the problem—she wasn’t willing. Perhaps she had owed him that one act of revenge, but once was enough.
“I’m willing to have sex with you, Luke,” Deanna said, her gaze still riveted to the miniblinds. “But I won’t ever let you use me again the way you did last night.”
Luke shot up off the bed. Standing with his back to Deanna, he tensed, his broad shoulders rigid and his head thrust high. “If you’re expecting me to apologize for what I did—”
“I’m not.” She wanted an apology, wished with all her heart that he was capable of giving her one, but she didn’t expect one. Not now. Maybe never. “I’d prefer to forget that last night ever happened.”
He spun around, his eyes flashing with anger as he glared at her. “You always prefer to forget unpleasant things, don’t you, Deanna? Is that how you still deal with life—just forget the bad stuff ever happened?”
She jerked her head up and stared at him, anger rising within her. “No, that’s not how I deal with my problems.” She spoke slowly, enunciating every word carefully, as she tried to stern the desire to slap Luke’s face. “If it was, I wouldn’t have come back to Stone Creek. I wouldn’t have come to you begging for your help, if I didn’t want to remember. You chose to twist my words to suit your own meaning.”
“It’s not going to be easy spending time together,” he said, the glint in his eyes dimming as the anger subsided. “If you don’t think you can deal with the way I feel about you, then there’s no point in our proceeding. We can call it quits now.”
Deanna tilted her chin upward, took a deep breath and stood. “It seems I have no choice but to accept whatever you dish out, but know this, Luke McClendon, I give as good as I get. The question isn’t can I deal with your hatred, but can you deal with the truth about me...about us...about our past?”
“I already know the truth! I’ve lived with it for fifteen years.” He reached out and grabbed her, pulling her roughly up against him. “But I want to hear you say it. I want you to tell me what you did with my child!”
Deanna trembled, every muscle in her body shook, every nerve quivered. My child. Oh, God, didn’t he know what had happened? “You don’t know?” she asked.
“I know what your mother told my father.” Luke searched Deanna’s eyes for the truth. What he saw was a fine mist of tears—tears that she was obviously trying to control.
“What did she tell him?” Deanna’s voice quavered.
“She wouldn’t tell him anything at first,” Luke said. “Not until he threatened to hire a private investigator to find you and the child. My father knew how concerned I was about the baby.”
Not about me, Deanna thought. He hadn’t cared what happened to me, whether I lived or died. But he’d been concerned about our child. A lone tear escaped from her right eye and trickled down her cheek.
Luke stared at the teardrop as it descended her face and neck. Tightening his hold on her shoulders, he fought the urge to wipe away that tear.
“Your mother took great delight in telling my father that you had aborted my baby.”
Deanna gasped. Dear God, no! Surely her mother hadn’t been that cruel. But Deanna knew Phyllis’s penchant for annihilating her enemies. And she had seen Luke as the deadliest enemy of all.
Deanna tried to lift her hand, but Luke’s tight grip on her shoulders immobilized her arms. She saw the pain on his face and could imagine the agony in his heart—an agony that he had suffered all these years, not knowing the truth about their child.
When she didn’t speak, just stared at him, tears gathering in her eyes, he shook her soundly. “Dammit, tell me! Did you abort my baby? Or did you give him up for adoption? I need to know! I have to know...” His voice trailed off to a choked whisper.
“I didn’t have an abortion, but—but Mother threatened me with the possibility that she would have the doctor get rid of...she said that if I didn’t testify at the trial, if I didn’t—” With her lungs aching, Deanna gasped for air.
Luke grabbed Deanna’s face in both hands. She swayed against him. “Are you saying that Phyllis forced you to—”
“No! She only threatened. I would have done anything to protect our baby. And I never would have given him away. But I couldn’t save him. Oh, Luke, I wanted your baby more than anything on earth, but I lost him.”
“What do you mean you lost him?”
“I had a miscarriage a few weeks after your trial.” She looke
d pleadingly into his eyes, wanting and needing his understanding. “I don’t remember very much about it, but I checked the records and spoke to the doctor and nurses. I went into premature labor and miscarried when I wasn’t quite five months pregnant. The baby—our baby—was a boy.”
Tears racked Deanna’s body. They overflowed her eyes and covered her face. They clogged her throat and threatened her breathing. They ran over Luke’s big hands as he held her face.
Luke’s jaw clenched. A vein in his neck pulsed. His child had been a boy. His son. And he had died before he’d had a chance to live. Agony greater than any Luke had known gutted him, leaving him open and bleeding inside. And when he stared into Deanna’s misty blue eyes, he saw the same agony, the same internal anguish.
I wanted your baby more than anything on earth, but I lost him. All these years he had desperately needed to believe that Phyllis Atchley had lied to his father—that Deanna hadn’t aborted their child—but a part of him had believed the lie. And it had been a lie. He knew that, at least about this one thing, Deanna was telling him the truth. She had wanted his child and she still mourned their baby’s loss.
“Why did you want my child?” The words were a tortured plea, ripped from Luke’s soul.
Gulping for air, Deanna cried out. Luke jerked her into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around him and held on for dear life. His big hands rested tensely on her shoulders, as he struggled against the need to comfort her. Yet his pride forced him to remain unmoving while Deanna sobbed.
“You honestly don’t know?” She spoke so faintly, inaudibly. “I wanted your baby because I loved you.”
Her heartfelt confession hit Luke square in the gut, like the blow of a sledgehammer. Damn her for saying she had loved him! For fifteen years he’d been convinced that she’d lied to him about her feelings. Damn her now, for giving him hope that what they’d had was real!
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