“You didn’t try hard enough.” He found her guilty and delivered a cutting indictment. His eyes were filled with accusation. He swiveled on his heel and stalked over to the door. He stared out the window at the backyard, his shoulders rigid and his neck muscles taut. “Dios, Rebekah, how could you not tell me?”
The beseeching sound of his voice tore at her conscience. There was nothing she could say to make what she had done acceptable. She had tried to contact him, but he was right. She hadn’t tried hard enough. They were separated and on their way to divorce when she’d found out about her pregnancy.
She had been back in Atlanta at her parents’ house, and he had already moved to California with Marty Luger. Marty had managed Rafael’s career from the time he discovered him at a local fight club in Las Vegas. They had moved there after she graduated from high school, and they got married in a small chapel off the strip.
At first, it seemed the best decision was to remain quiet. His life on the road had concerned her, and his career was taking off. With her youthful dreams crushed under reality’s ruthless boot, she had felt like an extra appendage. She was certain the last thing he wanted was to be saddled with a child, and she certainly hadn’t wanted him to think she was using their son to make claims on his impending fortune.
“I was protecting him.”
“From his own father?” Rafael grated.
“Yes! I didn’t want him exposed to your lifestyle—the drugs, the women, the drinking, and the brutality of that thing you call a sport.”
“It doesn’t excuse what you did.” His eyes lowered to her belly. “You robbed me of the chance of watching your body swell with my child and robbed me of the first years of his life.”
His bitter words were like lashes across her conscience. “I was nineteen. I didn’t know what to do at the time. It was the wrong decision, I know, but I did what I thought was best.”
“Is that all you can come up with?”
“It’s the truth, Rafe.”
His gaze swept her face. “What about later? What about when you turned twenty-one? Or twenty-two? Or even now, at twenty-eight? When exactly did you decide it was the wrong decision? When I walked through the door just now and saw him standing there, looking so much like me it’s a wonder he didn’t figure it out himself?”
“Fine!” She pushed away from the counter to face him squarely, trying to quell the trembling in her stomach. “What I did was wrong. But let’s get one thing straight, if you had been the husband you were supposed to be—if you hadn’t done what you did—I wouldn’t have hesitated to tell you about Ricardo, and you would have been by my side the entire time, instead of out in California”—she waved her hand in a sweeping gesture—“sleeping with every woman who tossed a smile your way.”
Sickening thoughts of him with other women raced through her mind. How many had warmed his bed over the years? Had they willingly done the things she wouldn’t?
His face hardened and angry color tinged the light caramel of his cheeks. “It didn’t take you long to bring that up. You couldn’t wait to throw it in my face, could you?”
Rebekah knew her comment was a low blow, but she couldn’t stop herself. Before the flash of anger, she saw the hurt in his eyes. She pushed aside the pang of guilt. She was right to feel angry, and she wouldn’t feel guilty about it.
“You know what you did.” The painful burning in her throat indicated the hurt from his betrayal hadn’t disappeared. It had only lain dormant, and seeing him again brought it back to life—almost as fresh and new as the day he’d broken her heart and rendered their marriage vows void and useless.
“Yes, I know what I did,” he agreed tersely, “and now I know what you did.”
The air was thick with the animosity that flared between them. Rebekah took a deep, shaky breath. “Throwing accusations around isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
“No, it isn’t,” Rafael conceded. He eyed her with a frown. “We need to decide what we’re going to do about Ricardo.”
Her ears perked up. “What do you mean ‘what we’re going to do about Ricardo?’”
“What do you think I mean? He’s mine.”
“He isn’t a possession, Rafe, like one of your fancy cars or your championship belt. He’s a person.”
His dark eyes flashed angrily down at her. “You think I don’t know that? But he is my son, and I intend to be a part of his life from now on. First, we need to tell him right away that I’m his father. Then, I want him to come spend time with me in California. I have no idea what he believes, but you’ll make sure he understands I did not desert him all these years.”
His dictatorial tone rubbed Rebekah the wrong way, but she bit back her angry retort. Under the circumstances, it would be an overreaction, but she wasn’t far from giving him a piece of her mind.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll have a talk with him later.”
A muscle in his jaw tightened. “You’ll have a talk with him now, while I’m here. You’re no longer a single parent. We’ll do this together.”
“Do you have to talk to me like that?” she snapped.
“Only if you fight me on this. Is that what you intend to do?”
“No. Of course not. I’m worried about how this will affect him. We’re about to dump a lot on a kid who, for eight years, has never had a father. Now, all of a sudden, here you are, bigger than life. I don’t even know how he knows who you are. You retired almost two years ago, and I certainly never allowed him to watch wrestling.”
It was possible Ricardo had seen the replayed matches on television without her permission. It could even be from the occasional commercials Rafael shot. Since retiring from wrestling, he endorsed a variety of products. In addition, he’d licensed his name on a chain of gyms on the west coast.
“He’s a boy,” Rafael said. “When I was his age, I was curious about fighting. He could have found out about me—my persona—from one of his friends at school. It’s natural for boys to be into that kind of thing.”
Rebekah knew he was right, but she had no interest in fighting and tried to limit her young son’s exposure to violence. The idea of co-parenting with Rafael was daunting, and she had no idea what kind of parent he would be. He deserved the opportunity to play that role, but she’d had Ricardo to herself for eight years. She would have to relinquish any hard feelings she harbored toward Rafael and allow him to participate in all aspects of his son’s life. Her only fear was that their parenting styles would be so different he would undo everything she’d taught their son.
“About California,” she began, “what did you have in mind?”
“He could come spend the summer with me in L.A.”
“I don’t know, Rafe. The entire summer is a bit much. Let’s take it one step at a time, okay? We’ll see how he handles finding out you’re his father, and then we’ll go from there.”
“Rebekah, I’m asking for one summer.” The underlying accusation being she had robbed him of eight years.
A tug of war for Ricardo’s time had already begun. He didn’t even consider they may already have plans. “I understand, but I was thinking about taking him to St. Kitts to see relatives this summer. I think it would be better if we put off this conversation until later.”
St. Kitts was a small island nation in the Caribbean where her mother was from. As children, she, Samirah, and their older brother, Adam, spent their summers there. As the years passed, they visited less frequently, but she wanted her son to be aware of his Caribbean roots. The last time he visited was at the age of five, and he hardly remembered his time there.
“All right,” Rafael agreed. Rebekah eyed him suspiciously. That was almost too easy. “Are you ready?”
Nodding, Rebekah resigned herself to what was to take place. There was no point in a delay. That didn’t keep the bundle of knots in her stomach from reappearing, and she wondered how she would make it through the difficult explanation without looking like a villain.
As t
hey neared the staircase, she turned to Rafael. “Wasn’t there something you said you needed to tell me?” she asked.
Rafael looked intently at her, as if trying to gauge how to say what he was holding. “As a matter of fact, there is.”
“Well, what is it?”
“I came here to tell you when we signed the divorce papers nine years ago, there was a problem at the courthouse. Our papers were never filed. Legally, you’re still my wife.”
Chapter Three
Rafael could relate to the stunned look on Rebekah’s face. Her expressive, cocoa-colored eyes held a look of such bewilderment, he was certain she would collapse at any moment. No doubt he’d had a similar expression when his attorney had informed him of the error.
She reached wildly for the wooden handrail of the staircase for support. He grasped onto her instead, holding her steady just above her elbow. The softness of her skin sent shock waves through him.
“Take a seat,” he said firmly, escorting her to the carpeted stairs where she collapsed with a thump.
He needed a seat, too. The simple act of touching her arm had caused his heart rate to accelerate way too fast. His body recognized hers right away. When he released her, his fingertips still burned with the memory.
She had gained weight over the years, but it had settled in all the right places. Her hips were rounder and more pronounced. Her waist, though not as small as before, was still spannable with his two hands.
Her breasts were definitely fuller. He struggled not to stare at them in the little pink tank top. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her large nipples protruded against the thin material. She hated the size of her nipples, but he’d always loved them, and how sensitive they were. The sound of her moans as he sucked them and stroked them with the tip of his tongue had been music to his ears. He would kill to pull one into his mouth right now.
“Tell me this is some kind of sick joke,” she whispered, looking up at him as if she really expected him to take back what he’d said.
She wasn’t wearing any makeup, allowing her natural beauty to shine through. Rafael swallowed. He could tell she had been working in the yard. The muskiness of her feminine scent wafted up into his nostrils. He turned his back on her, trying hard to maintain his composure and erase the underlying smell of a familiar tropical fragrance that lingered to tantalize his senses.
“I wish I could,” he said. When he felt strong enough, he faced her once more. “My attorney explained it to me. Nine years ago, the clerk responsible for our case accidentally clipped it to the back of another case, so it was never signed by the judge. The misfiling was discovered a couple of years later during an audit, but they were never able to find either of us. Since we never responded to the notices, our case was dismissed.”
She stared up at him, eyes still opened wide in shock. Both her upper and lower lashes were long and curled, forming a frame around almond-shaped eyes whose beauty had snared him from the first day they met.
The jolt of seeing his son had somewhat worn off. Now all his senses were concentrated on the woman before him—the woman neither his mind nor his body had been able to forget. The woman who, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop imagining beneath him, writhing and moaning with pleasure.
“What if one of us had gotten remarried?” Rebekah asked.
The possibility she might have remarried had crossed his mind when he had looked for her. The fact that she mentioned such a scenario had him wondering if there was a promising prospect.
“That would have been a problem, of course.” His voice sounded fittingly casual. “Dating will be out of the question until we can get this straightened out.”
If it were anyone else, he knew they wouldn’t care—not when nine years had already passed. But he knew Rebekah’s staunch moral code, and he couldn’t resist dropping that little nugget into the conversation. If she was dating anyone seriously, there was no way she would continue the relationship now that she knew they were still married.
A shadow crept into her eyes, darkening the vivid pools of dark brown to almost black. Without saying a word, she let him know there was someone, and the thought dealt a devastating blow to his midsection, more powerful than any fist he’d encountered inside or outside of the ring.
“I suppose you’re right,” she murmured, averting her eyes. Her shoulders drooped almost imperceptibly. The enormity of his visit, his discovery of his son, and their still intact marriage seemed to weigh her down.
“It was a shock to me, too. I’ve spoken to my attorney about how to proceed. Of course, that was before I knew about Ricardo.”
Her eyes flew to his face. By her expression, she already knew what he was about to say. The pulse at the base of her throat started to beat rapidly. “Custody.” Her words were laden with dread.
He nodded.
There was no point in beating around the bush. He had a son, and he intended to be an integral part of his life from now on. He also needed to provide for his care. He glanced around the small foyer. The modest house with its simple furnishings was adequate, but he could provide a lot more, and he intended to. He wanted his son to have all the things he hadn’t as a boy growing up poor in Mexico City.
“What do you intend to do?” Her expression was guarded, and she eyed him as if he were a predator trying to breach her defenses.
“I’m not trying to take him away from you, but I want my fair share of time. I’ve lost a lot of time already. Joint custody with us alternating holidays, maybe him spending summers with me out in California. I’m not asking for everything, but you have to give me something.”
Rebekah flew to her feet. She looked him right in the eye. “How long do you intend to play Daddy?”
He was taken aback by the question. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“How long, Rafe?” she asked again. “I won’t let you get his hopes up, hurt him, like…”
“Like what, Rebekah?” he demanded harshly, already knowing the answer, bracing himself for her verbal blow.
“Like you did to me!” She averted her eyes, swallowed, and then raised her gaze to his again. He could see the remnant of pain in the depths of her dark brown eyes. Knowing his actions caused it made him clench his jaw so tightly his teeth ached.
“You got tired of playing husband,” she continued in a quieter voice.
“So that’s the real reason you kept him from me,” Rafael said, as if he had just solved a riddle. She frowned in confusion. “To punish me for what I did, you kept Ricardo a secret all these years.”
Rebekah’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You can’t really think—”
“Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t make any sense! If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve made sure you knew about your son and I would have made sure you had as little access to him as possible.”
“No, this way, it’s better. You were quietly biding your time until the day you would tell me and I couldn’t do anything but accept the fact I had lost all those years.”
“This is ridiculous,” Rebekah said in exasperation. “I’m not that conniving. You’ve obviously been jaded by the lack of character in the sluts who fawn all over you in Hollywood.”
He stepped angrily toward her, but this time, she didn’t retreat. She stood her ground, almost eye to eye with him on the bottom stair. The only indication she was even the least bit disturbed was in the almost unnoticeable tightening of her hand on the balustrade.
“You always could make my blood boil,” he ground out. In more ways than one.
He lowered his gaze to take in the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the pink top. The provocative protrusion of her nipples against the material tortured him mercilessly. The shallow inhalation of her soft breaths teased his senses and stoked the flame of arousal in his loins.
He could clearly see in her face that she was not any more immune to him than he was to her. Without thinking, he reached up to stroke her face, and was rewarded when her hand
swatted his away.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” she whispered fiercely, her eyes darkening in anger. Had he imagined the desire he saw smoldering there? “Don’t think for one minute that because of an unfortunate twist of fate that kept us married you have any right to touch me. You gave up that right years ago.”
“I suppose you’ve had plenty of opportunity for exploration since then.” He shouldn’t have mentioned it, but he couldn’t help himself. His stomach muscles tensed as if in preparation for a punch.
“I suppose it’s none of your business,” Rebekah replied with a defiant tilt to her chin.
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him. Over the years, he’d used other women to help him get over losing her, yet here he was, torn apart by jealousy at the thought that any other man had touched what was his.
Rebekah took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with.” She marched up the stairs.
Rafael followed more slowly. He took in the view from a few feet behind her, the curve of her bottom and the shapely brown thighs in a pair of cut-off denim shorts. Thighs he wished he could now slide between and ease this voracious craving for her.
Emblazoned in his mind was the image of her beneath him in their bed, his fingers entwined in the tangled disarray of her long hair as she moaned her encouragement. He could still hear the sweet words. Mmm…yes, I like that…please…don’t stop…ahh…Rafe…Yes! Yes!
He had been her first. Every chauvinistic bone in his body rebelled against the thought that others had been in her bed and now knew the truth beneath her reserved exterior—that she was a passionate, giving lover. That even though he had prided himself on being her teacher, the exuberance of her responses and sweetness of her touch had wielded substantial power over him. More than she even realized.
* * * *
They sat on either side of Ricardo on his bed and explained Rafael was his father. The conversation went better than expected.
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