by Lori Foster
There were so many decisions to be made. If she was pregnant, what would she do? Could she marry him with the very real possibility that he could never learn to trust her completely, never allow himself to love her as she wanted? Maybe she had been misreading him all along. Maybe this was as much as he had to give. He seemed to care for her, to actually love her, but if the words were never spoken, if he couldn't give voice to them, were they real? Would his love ever be the tangible, solid emotion she wanted?
She laid her cheek against her wet knees, drawn up in the tub. She supposed the bigger question, the only real issue, was could she give up on him? Could she let him go? And that answer was a resounding, emphatic no.
She wasn't a quitter. And Brent was far from a hopeless case.
With those thoughts in mind, she went about making herself as attractive as she knew how. She hadn't won Brent over by being herself, spontaneous and lighthearted. Fun. She would now try the calculated measures many women employed. She dabbed on perfume, brushed her hair until it shone, then slipped on the tiniest, sheerest teddy she owned.
It was a shimmering shade of creamy beige, nearly the same as her skin, giving her the appearance of nudity, but with decoration. The neckline scooped low, edged in a narrow rim of lace. Shadow surveyed herself in the mirror. She supposed she looked as attractive as possible. That Brent would appreciate the look, she didn't doubt. She slipped on a robe, then padded barefoot out of the bathroom.
* * *
Brent paced around the kitchen pondering how things got so confused. Life used to be straightforward, easy to understand and easy to bend to his preferences. Until he'd met Shadow.
Damn, but she made him crazy. He'd already given her more of himself than any other woman he'd known. He'd asked her to marry him. But was that enough for her? No, she wanted more. She wanted things he wasn't certain he had to give.
He should just tell her he loved her. He'd told women that before; it was something expected during sex, and when he'd been younger, he'd also been more obliging. The words meant nothing.
But Shadow thought they did. And he believed her, believed that she felt that elusive swell of emotion that enabled her to commit herself completely to him. She felt and saw things other people never experienced, Brent included, which he supposed was one of the qualities he enjoyed most about her.
She was right about the control, too. He'd learned early in life that you had to command your own small portion of the world. Otherwise, people used you. It was human nature.
A dull ache started behind his eyes. He didn't know how to make things right with Shadow. He'd gladly give her anything, but he didn't know how to give her what she wanted. He couldn't lie to her and claim a feeling he wasn't certain of. She deserved better than that.
He leaned on the counter, staring out the kitchen window into the frozen darkness, and then he sensed her. His awareness of her was uncanny—one more thing he couldn't accept. Slowly he turned and there she stood, looking so beautiful she made him hard and hungry and needy.
He couldn't think of a single thing to say, so he merely took in the sight of her, his soul somehow comforted by her presence even though his body went into spasms with her scent, her nearness. And that was another weakness, the way he felt more complete with her, which would indicate he was incomplete without her. No.
Her fingers toyed with the ends of the belt to her terry robe. Shoving away from the counter, Brent went to her, his hands hanging at his sides, his eyes watching her intently.
He wanted her. More than that, he craved her. Always. Very softly, he asked, "Ready for bed?"
She nodded.
Brent felt that damn lump stick in his throat again. He reached out to touch an impossibly soft curl above her left ear, twining it around his finger. "Did your bath make you feel better?"
Shadow took another step nearer him and he breathed in her scent, which was strangely different, like flowers, rather than herself. It was enticing and at the same time a bit unexpected. He liked her own scent. He wasn't used to her wearing perfume.
"I'm sorry, honey, for upsetting you. It was never my intent," he murmured. She lowered her head and her hair fell forward, hiding her face. He smoothed it back. She was so soft, so sweet. He raised his other hand, framing her face, his thumbs stroking over her temples. "I can't bear to see you cry, Shadow. I—"
"That was unforgivable," she said quickly, "and so unlike me. I hate tears. But I hate even more showing them to you. I'll try not to let that happen again."
Brent closed his eyes, pulling her close and pressing her cheek to his chest. Damn, she could rip him apart so easily. "Don't, sweetheart. Don't apologize to me and don't ever hide yourself, especially your upset, from me. I only meant I was sorry I caused you to cry, not that you shouldn't cry if you felt like it. Hell, everyone feels like it sometimes. Besides, you were entitled. I've been a jerk. You were right about getting a good night's sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."
Brent was so relieved to be able to sidestep Shadow's earlier accusations about love and commitment, he didn't at first notice her chagrined expression. When he did finally see that she was watching him with a touch of embarrassment and determination, he assumed it was caused by the awkwardness of their first real argument. Not wanting to, but seeing no way around it, he said, "Why don't you go on in to bed now. I'll be there in a bit."
She caught at his hand. "You can tuck me in and give me a good-night kiss, okay?"
Brent felt his heart kick into double time. He looked at Shadow's slender form as she led him toward the bedroom. Her bare toes peeked from beneath the edge of her robe. With each step, her hips swayed. The woman could incite his lust with nothing but a smile, and now her toes were turning him on.
Shadow stopped beside the bed and pulled back the spread. His stomach tightened, his thighs grew tense. Sometimes the wanting was so bad, so all encompassing, he thought he'd never get close enough to her, be with her enough, hold her enough.
Those times almost made him panic, which made him even more determined to retain control.
He was semihard by the time she finished preparing the bed. But as she turned, unknotting her belt and shrugging out of the robe, he gained full arousal, getting so hard he ached. Whatever she had planned, he was all for it.
"Damn," he whispered, spellbound by the sight of her in the revealing teddy. His gaze ran hungrily over her body, from the tips of her small pink toes to the vulnerable pulse in her exposed throat. He said again, very softly, "Damn."
Shadow reached out to unbutton his shirt. In a husky, enticing tone, she said, "If you won't give me your love, Brent, I'll have to take everything else that you've got."
Her fingertips touched his chest, tangled in his hair and then found his nipples. He shifted, but that didn't deter her. Her fingers drifted slowly down his abdomen, and lower still. "Sweetheart," he groaned, "whatever I have is yours."
She reached his belt and deftly unbuckled it. "I like your attitude, indeed I do. Just remember that sentiment," she warned softly, "because I fully intend to have it all."
It wasn't a threat that alarmed him. Not at all. In fact, at the moment … it thrilled the hell out of him.
* * *
Chapter 10
« ^
Brent woke early the next morning, still slightly confused by the night's events. Shadow had been magnificent, giving and loving and quietly content. It was the quietly content part that alarmed him, because Shadow was not a quiet person. She was always bursting with energy and enthusiasm. Even in her sleep, she was so alive, so vibrant. But last night she'd been content. Damn.
He couldn't say exactly how she was different, only that he'd noticed the difference and didn't like it
Was he the cause?
She'd taken their lovemaking too seriously. Shadow always found a dozen different reasons to laugh and tease and smile whenever they made love, but last night had been almost grave. And her gravity, having replaced her unique form of fun, ha
d Brent scowling, even though Shadow was cuddled against him, her body soft and warm.
He lay silently in the dark, holding her close, trying to decipher in his mind what had gone wrong and how he could fix it. Shadow was trying to change on him and that thought was enough to give him cramps. Damn it, he wanted her just the way she was.
She wanted his love—she'd said as much in her bold, blatant way—but did she think changing herself was a means to an end? He wouldn't have it.
Driven by his tumultuous thoughts, Brent glanced at the clock. It was only six o'clock. He slipped into the bathroom to shower. Half an hour later, he was dressed and sipping coffee in the kitchen. He wanted to relax, but couldn't. He was a coward, which was an entirely new concept for him. He couldn't recall ever fearing anybody or anything. But Shadow scared the hell out of him, just as he'd once told her. However, this time his fear was motivated more from the very real possibility of losing her than from her lack of caution.
If he didn't give her the love she wanted, would she leave him? That asinine thought made him laugh with self-mockery. Who was he kidding? Not himself, surely, because he knew that without her, he'd be miserable. Though he'd fought it hard, if he was honest, if he looked inside himself, he'd admit that she had his love. Hell, she'd owned it almost from the first moment he'd seen her and summarily fallen on his ass.
Brent finished his coffee with a gulp. Being a decisive man by nature, he made up his mind in a heartbeat. He'd never quailed from the truth before and damned if he'd start now. He wanted to pull her from her bed, to wake her with kisses and touches and the words she'd almost demanded to hear.
He wanted her laughing again, teasing him even as she drove him over the edge.
But he wasn't a selfish man. He'd kept her up most of the night and she needed her sleep.
Brent decided to leave her a note, to tell her to plan on going out for dinner, someplace nice. Maybe she would wear black for him again. The thought made him chuckle.
He went to the small telephone table to hunt up a pencil and paper. And it was then, rummaging through the drawer, that he found her calendar with the appointment for the gynecologist written in on Monday.
* * *
Shadow woke with a start when the bedroom door opened. Brent stood in the doorway.
He flipped on the light, temporarily blinding her, and when she managed to open her left eye a crack, she saw he was angry.
"What's the matter?"
"Why didn't you tell me? And don't try to claim this is your regular checkup. You think you're pregnant, don't you?"
Shadow blinked, rubbing her face tiredly. Through her fingers she saw that Brent had her calendar in his right hand. Then she peeked up at his face. Oh boy.
"I suppose," she said around a yawn, "it's a possibility, since I didn't start my period on time. I thought I'd have it confirmed before I said anything."
Brent sat on the side of the bed. "You would have told me, one way or the other? You're certain?"
She couldn't lie to Brent, but sometimes innate honesty was a real pain in the butt. "Probably."
He exploded. "What the hell does that mean? Probably? Would you have told me or not if you'd found out you were pregnant?"
Shadow closed her eyes a moment. "I most likely would have told you right away. I'm not really dishonest, and I know you would want to be a part of your baby's life. But I kept thinking… Brent, do you realize how hard it would be on me? Seeing you constantly, having you nearby, if we weren't still intimate, if we weren't a couple?" She looked away, suffused with guilt. "I just don't know if I could bear that."
Brent went very still. His eyes narrowed and a nerve ticked in his jaw. "Were you planning on calling it quits?" he asked in a deadly calm voice. "Is that what this is all about?"
"No." She shook her head adamantly. "I decided last night I couldn't give up on you. But I don't know if I can be what you want, Brent, if I can be someone you can love."
His angry expression crumpled, and his eyes filled with pain. Shadow rushed on. "Love is necessary, Brent. Especially if we're going to raise a baby together. I could maybe get by without ever having you love me. I'm tough, you know," she said, trying for a spot of humor. "But a baby, well, that's different."
He stood and she grabbed his hand. "Please, Brent. Try to understand—"
"Oh, I understand. Perfectly." He walked to the window and stood there looking out. Shadow couldn't see anything of interest beyond a very fat moon hovering low in the darkened sky. Finally he said, "I think it's past time we talked. Seriously."
Scooting up in the bed, Shadow wrapped her arms tight around her bent knees and bit down hard on her bottom lip, refusing to cry again.
Brent turned to her, giving her a small strained smile. "I was going to suggest we go out for dinner tonight. With the weather so disagreeable, we haven't been out much lately. What do you think?"
Shadow stared at the blanket covering her feet. Dinner? He wanted to go for dinner? She looked up at him, drowning in confusion. "But I thought—"
"Shh. We'll talk tonight." He came to her, leaning over the bed and trapping her between his outstretched arms, his hands braced on the headboard. "I think we both need a little time to think, don't you?"
Not really, but she nodded anyway. Brent gave her another small, tight smile, then touched his mouth to hers, so very gently her eyes filled with tears despite her resolve.
"Have fun shopping and remember to—"
"Be careful," she finished for him. "I will." She waited, but he didn't say anything else. He left the room silently and a moment later she heard the front door close.
With a deep sigh, Shadow forced herself from the bed. She was an optimist, she reminded herself. Everything would work out for the best.
But as she dressed and prepared to leave to meet with Annie, her mind drifted back to Brent. He'd been awfully quiet, introspective. She wished she could read his thoughts, know what, exactly, he felt. He had been angry, she wasn't wrong about that. But he'd also looked sad. Right before he left, he'd seemed very determined. She shook her head in wonder.
It was a good thing she'd planned on shopping because she definitely needed a distraction. Her last thought as she walked out the door was that even another disturbance from her so-called admirer would almost be welcome. Anything to keep her mind off Brent and the fiasco she'd made of their relationship.
* * *
There's a wise saying that claims you should be careful what you wish for, or you just might get it. Shadow would later wonder if she should have that sentiment embroidered and hung on her wall.
She was already in her car when she realized she'd forgotten her shopping list Feeling like a dunce, she walked back to the house. But the moment she reached the front door, she felt someone looking at her.
She turned, and came face-to-face with Chad Moreland. He stood uncertainly on the bottom step of the porch.
She stared, a little stunned, a little confused and plenty alarmed.
Red swollen eyes glared at her and he said in a voice hoarse and deep, "I saw you leave," then immediately broke into a fit of coughing. His body was racked with it, the sound pitiful and strained.
Shadow blinked at him, watching as he grabbed the handrail for support. As if in pain, he bent low while more coughs shook his body.
She saw quite a bit in that moment. The handsome man who'd entered her contest no longer existed. This young man looked ravaged. He was dirty, badly in need of a shower, his clothes wrinkled and worn. A scraggly smattering of beard stubble covered his gaunt cheeks and his face was pale, sallow. He was sick, very sick, she realized, and wondered what to do.
When his coughing subsided, he held his chest and stared at her.
"I … I came back for my list." Shadow watched him closely, scared, but even more concerned. "Chad, what's wrong with you? What are you doing here?"
He laughed, the sound raw and ugly. He started up the steps toward her, but stumbled drunkenly. He stopped and held
the railing again, scowling at her. "He doesn't deserve you! You're wasting yourself on him and you've made me so angry, Shadow. Very angry."
She suffered a stunned silence.
Chad hitched a dirty finger over his shoulder. "Let's go in the house where it's warm. I want to talk to you."
She shook her head. "I don't think so."
"Don't be afraid," he cajoled, his voice now low and wheezing. "I'd never hurt you. We just need to figure out how to get rid of him."
Her heart shot into her throat and she said without thinking, "You stay away from Brent!"
He scowled darkly, stepped toward her. "You can't want him," he rasped. "You can't—" The words splintered, interrupted by another round of hacking, breath-stealing coughs. He crumpled to his knees, a fist squeezed to his chest.
Shadow made an instinctive move toward him, but halted. What to do? She'd never seen a man so pitifully weak and ill, but he was still dangerous, unpredictable.
He broke into her thoughts, his words now slurred with fatigue. "I put something on your cookies … something to make you pass out so you wouldn't sleep with him. You were so nice to me…"
Sudden anger overshadowed her fear. "You poisoned my cookies?"
He smirked. "I was going to come over and take care of you. But he stayed." He maneuvered another step closer. "Why him, Shadow? Why do you want him?"
Chad was a pharmacist, she remembered with dawning horror. He'd used his knowledge of drugs against her. "How did you get to my cookies?" The thought that he might have been in her house made her ill all over again.
"You left the bag in your car. You always park so far out, it was easy to sprinkle something on them. Everyone knows you never lock your car."
He drew himself up, weaving on his feet, and gained yet another step. He was closer now, too close, and she pressed herself backward even as she heard him say, "I didn't want you with him, but he stayed, even though I knew you were sleeping. He stayed and you let him!"
She backed up, explaining stupidly, while stalling for time, "It's this seven-year-itch thing, I think. It's just my time—"
