His lips thinned into a straight line again. “If I have to I’ll take early retirement from the force.”
Bree clasped her hands. “And I’ll go to hell and back to fight for Sydney.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt there’d be a fight, but I have more resources than you do.”
The constant nugget of dread that resided in her center for the past five and a half years now seemed to expand to boulder-size terror. With her daughter’s well-being paramount, Bree lashed out at him. “Judges in your pocket, Nick? I thought you were more of a man than that. I’d be the last one to think you, Sergeant ‘By The Book’ Carletti, would stoop so low, be so damned underhanded.”
That struck a chord, she noted, as red flags slashed across his cheeks. A hint of satisfaction slid into her, barely warming her chilled, numb body.
A muscle jumped along his clenched jaw. “Rest assured I don’t operate on your level.”
A fistful of hurt slammed into her belly, stealing her breath away. The hot sting of tears smarted the backs of her eyes. She blinked several times, holding them at bay. How could she ever convince him he’d been wrong about her from the very beginning? How could she ever gain his respect?
No matter how many times she pled her case Nick would never trust her, Bree realized hollowly now as she stared at his uncompromising stance. The rigid set of his shoulders and balled up hands spoke volumes.
There was only one way to set the record straight. She balked at the solution; she’d put Sydney in danger. No matter what, she’d protect her daughter, at any cost, even her soul. Her secret would die with her, the terrible truth buried in the casket inside her heart.
In order to ensure the lid stayed firmly on the facts, she couldn’t risk the exposure of a custody battle.
Taking a shaky breath, she said, “I’ve tried to work out a suitable arrangement for you to see Sydney.”
“It’s been nowhere near to suitable. Four, maybe five, hours in tiny increments a week, if that. You have some nerve suggesting you’ve been generous. Hell, even the babysitter sees Sydney more than I do.”
“I’ve been—”
“Reasonable, is that what you were going to say?” He listed the many times he’d call to talk to Sydney or try to arrange more visits with her only to be turned away or shut out.
As he made an impassioned point, Bree noted his large, long-fingered square hands hacking the air. Every slight movement, every change of expression, every shift of his dark eyes only endeared him to her more, stabbing at her treacherous heart. He loves her just as much as I do.
He finally ended. She rallied her defenses, saying, “You will not take my daughter away from me.” The vow ignited her purpose, fueling her undying love for her precious little girl.
He arched an eyebrow, baiting her. “You think?”
A mixture of fury, frustration, and fear nibbled at her conscience. It broke her staunch conviction she could change his mind just by talking, jarring her usually unshakable confidence. “That’s what you’ve been after for a long time, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice throbbing with pain. “For Sydney’s sake, I beg you not to go through with this.”
Granite-like features answered her. Nick’s stony expression gave nothing away, probably from years of honing it to perfection in his line of work.
But was that something entirely different she read in his dark eyes? Was it a certain grimness that spoke of hating what he was doing? Whatever she thought she witnessed vanished an instant later.
Worry gnawed at her middle, tying her in knots. Bree dug in her pocket for her keys. Metal jangled against metal. “I guess there’s no way around my having to hire a lawyer. I don’t know why Gil assumed we could work this out by ourselves.”
“He doesn’t agree with the custody suit.”
Shocked and confused by Nick’s confession, Bree dropped her keys. They hit the carpet with a dull jingle. On trembling legs, she moved toward him, stopping when she stood a foot away. His body heat washed over her. A hazy fog of longing tickled her senses. “I don’t understand. Isn’t he representing you?” Her question came out on a whispery note.
“He highly recommends another avenue altogether,” Nick said softly, stepping closer, causing her temperature to rise drastically. “One, he assures me, will be best for everyone involved.” His warm breath fanned her face, sending tingles down her spine.
She’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be this close, this intimate with him. Part of her loved the exhilarating way her body sprang to life. Part of her hated her traitorous being.
Frowning, she said, “I don’t follow.”
“Marriage.”
That answer, short and direct, drained the color from her face. The room began to sway around her. She closed her eyes for a moment, praying for strength, for composure.
Large, strong hands circled her waist, steadying her, scorching her. She brought her hands up to shove at his shoulders. Instead, she found herself clinging to his broad chest, hanging on to the alluring stability he offered. She curled her fingers, grasping his shirt. His heartbeat increased, matching hers.
Speechless and dizzy, she leaned her forehead on his rock solid shoulder, seeking a safe haven. The warmth of his body and his sandalwood after-shave mingled together to overwhelm her fragile senses. Memories flooded in her mind, memories of when she’d first met this man.
That long ago spring afternoon rushed back. Fresh cut grass had sweetened the already crisp, clean air. A slight breeze had ruffled her then shoulder-length hair as she stood on his doorstep. He’d answered on her first knock as if he’d been anxiously awaiting her arrival.
As she faced him, a tiny current of electricity zinged through her blood. His bold stare, filled with male appreciation, seemed to strip her of her simple lavender wedding dress.
Her weak smile tugged at one corner of her mouth, betraying her nervousness. Without so much as a word, he ushered her in. His disapproval smacked her then. Was it because she was already with child or because she was clipping Vinnie’s wings?
Vinnie rescued her quickly, introduced them, and then rushed her to the lovely sun room where they planned to conduct the short ceremony.
Sweet, dear Nana ordered Nick to gather a bouquet of flowers in the garden for Bree. In less than five minutes, he returned with a fistful of lilacs, her favorite flower. He held the hastily plucked arrangement out to her.
Grateful at his thoughtfulness, she accepted with tears in her eyes. His warm hand brushed hers and they both jerked at the charged touch. Gasping for breath, she stared at him in dazed wonder. His sandalwood after-shave mixed with the delicate lilac fragrance, entwining the two scents forever in her mind.
Everything had seemed to blur for Bree after that until, one striking moment when, the justice of the peace asked Vinnie and her to face each other.
Bree had glanced fleetingly over Vinnie’s right shoulder, briefly encountering Nick’s probing, questioning gaze. She had looked again, this time longer and more intently. Her heart had whispered a single word that echoed through her mind: Forbidden.
Now, she dragged her guilt ridden thoughts back to the moment. Nick pressed his cheek to her hair, his hot, ragged breathing stirring little wisps. His chest rose and fell quickly, enticing her as the motion brought the hard muscles in contact with her aching breasts.
Nick’s fingers bit into her back, his thumbs digging into her waist just under her rib cage. But the pressure hadn’t cut off her air supply. His reply had.
Marriage, he’d said. How tempting, how tantalizing, Bree thought, wishing it had come ages ago without prompting, without the need to rectify their undeclared war on each other. Did she dare?
She opened her eyes and tilted her head back to look up at him once again. Awestruck, she stared at him.
He frowned down at her. Tiny lines fanned out from between his dark eyebrows, making her long to smooth them away, to soothe his troubled soul. His stare narrowed, probing hers.
Bree saw
astonishment reflected in the dark depths and something more, something intangible shifted, and then expanded.
Closing her eyes for several long seconds, she opened them again, this time catching sight of his firm, masculine mouth. A part of her urged her on. If she stood on tip-toe…
Berating herself silently, she forced her gaze back to his. Banked desire singed her blood, kindling her own passion until she could no longer run from the lie that haunted her.
A tiny pocket of her heart opened, allowing her to look inside and release the damning kernel of information she’d tucked away so long ago: She’d always been far more attracted to the father than the son.
Chapter 3
“Of course I told Gil he was crazy.”
Nick’s scornful tone penetrated Bree’s foggy mind, forcing her to tune into her rational side. Common sense took over. “Of course,” she bit out, jerking away from his hold. “You wouldn’t dream of putting Sydney’s happiness and peace of mind first in all of this, now would you?”
“That’s exactly what I am doing.” The censor radiating from him cut her to the quick.
Dragging in a deep, cleansing breath, Bree concentrated on the disastrous outcome if he won. He could not discover the damning truth about her.
Pushing aside the fresh wave of fear, she rallied her wits. “You may very well dislike me, but she doesn’t. As much as it annoys you, she loves me. And she loves you. We’re all she has left. Please don’t tear her world apart any more than it already has been.”
With that she turned, scooped up her ring of keys, and then walked on unsteady legs to the door. She grasped the shiny brass knob as if it were a lifeline.
Before she twisted it, Nick halted her actions by planting a hand against the wide wooden door, a hairbreadth from her. She jumped, wondering how such a big man could move so fast, so silently.
Tension surrounded him as if it were a living, breathing being. He stepped closer, holding his body scant inches away. Immobilized, she waited for him to move, to speak, to do anything.
He didn’t make her wait long. His hot breath made her shiver. But his voice, angry and dangerously low, sliced her to her core, shredding all hope of a compromise. “Is that how you operate? Is that how you tethered my son to you? By using your daughter?”
***
With her keys digging into her palm, Bree trudged up the concrete stairway to her tiny, second floor apartment. Each step was more leaden than the last. The pungent scent of flowers floating on the warm summer night breeze did little to refresh her from the hellish day she’d endured.
All afternoon and evening she went through the motions of styling hair. People’s faces, many of them longtime friends and customers, blurred now as she recalled the numerous haircuts, blow drys, dye jobs, and permanents she’d accomplished. Usually, she loved her demanding creative work, but today proved different.
“All because of Nick,” she whispered, still disturbed after the passage of ten hours. “Marriage? To Nick?”
She halted on the top step, momentarily paralyzed. Weariness seeped in and she turned around, plopping down on the hard cement as she reviewed their meeting.
The debacle played havoc with her mind, body, and soul. Every fiber of her being pulsed in memory. Her thoughts shunned the possibility of losing Sydney and drummed up the close contact with Nick.
Her body flared with remembered desire. But her soul suffered the most, twisting in agony. Dagger-like spears of guilt stabbed at her conscience, torturing her for her silence, her secret. It’s the price I have to pay.
Bree blinked rapidly as if she could will the painful confrontation into nonexistence. Nothing would sweep away the bitter taste it left in her core.
Leaning her forehead against the cool iron railing, Bree released the tidal wave of regret, for the horrific present and for the loss of the past. What had gone so very wrong?
Vinnie, so young, so scared, either wouldn’t or couldn’t cope well with her problem pregnancy. With countless doctors’ appointments and numerous tests always looming, he had either volunteered to work more hours or planned his class schedule accordingly, leaving Bree to fend for herself. Or, she’d thought.
Nick came to her rescue more than once, creating an undeniable bond between them, an unmistakable connection. One she longed to reestablish for her sake, if truth be told.
More often than not, he taxied her back and forth, making certain any bad news be filtered through him first. On many occasions it was his strong shoulder she cried on when the risk, the pressure, became too great.
And eight months into it, when Vinnie left her alone while he went to the cabin for a breather, it was Nick she called in the middle of the night.
The contractions gripped her in frighteningly painful squeezes. He, with Nana in the backseat, rushed her to the hospital in his police cruiser with the siren blaring, clasping her hand, lending her his strength.
And it was Nick who coached her through the arduous labor and delivery, even being the first one to hold Sydney after the nurse brought her to him.
For all intents and purposes, Nicholas Carletti was more of a father to Sydney than Vinnie had ever been. So how could she fault Nick for seeking custody when they both knew he deserved more time with her daughter?
Nick’s ingrained sense of right and wrong, his loyalty, his integrity, always impressed her. She welcomed, even cherished, his positive influence on Sydney. Bree admired him and had come to depend on his solid, steady presence in her life.
Now she felt bereft, lonely, without his ready brand of security, his assistance. A big gaping void nearly swallowed her whole.
She missed him, missed the man he had been before Vinnie died eighteen months ago, before all their lives had been shaken upside down like a snow dome, upsetting the norm.
Even with all their bickering, all their differences, all his unspoken accusations, Nick had always come through for her, time and time again.
Nick Carletti had been her Rock of Gibraltar, her Sir Galahad, and her Knight in Shining Armor. “And your substitute husband,” she murmured. The stark reality penetrated her thoughts, confounding her at this shiny new nugget of startling information.
Bree discovered more solace, more comfort in Nick’s arms than in Vinnie’s. And, with that one, all-too-brief kiss, more passion, she admitted ruefully.
Shame stung her cheeks.
Mentally shaking herself, she tried to brush aside the clinging cobwebs of despair, the darkness dogging her heels.
With more energy than she felt, Bree stood, dusted off her bottom, and then approached her humble dwelling. She fit her house key in the lock and opened her door.
“I’m home, Tilly,” she called softly, not wishing to awaken Sydney. The muted sounds of the television reached her in the cheery yellow kitchen. She placed her purse along with her keys on the nearby scarred secondhand pine tabletop.
“It’s me, Ms. Hansen,” Tilly’s teenaged granddaughter answered. “Gram has another one of her migraines, so I offered to take care of Sydney."
Bree moved to the living room archway, and then leaned against the frame. The only light in the dark, spartan room came from the flashing images on the boob tube.
Sprawled on her stomach on the square of beige carpeted floor, the tall, willowy fifteen-year-old gazed intently at the small screen, absently flipping her long, reddish blonde hair over her shoulder. She obviously favored the hard floor over the Bentwood rocker and worn armchair.
“Thanks, Ali.”
“Mmmm,” she murmured, glued to the popular Thursday night comedy.
Bree chuckled at the single-minded absorption. “Ah, if life were that easy,” she muttered, feeling ancient all of a sudden. Today thirty seemed so much older than normal.
“Huh? Did you say something?”
“Just talking to myself. I’ll go check on Sydney.”
Tip-toeing down the short hallway, Bree wished for a real home with a great big yard for the puppy Sydney longed for. S
elling the house Bree shared with Vinnie, along with most of its contents, to pay off their debts and finance her beauty shop provided continued security, a future for Sydney.
Guilt ridden from taking so much from her daughter, Bree poured the little bit of extra money into a special place for Sydney. The pink and white bedroom was a little girl’s dream, one Bree happily supplied for her daughter.
She pushed open the door. The glow of the night light yawned across Sydney’s tiny, pink pajama-clad form as if standing guard over her daughter, protecting her.
Entering, Bree almost stumbled as a well of love, so deep and so pure, rocked her. How did I get so lucky?
She halted at the side of the twin bed, a ghost of a smile tugging at her mouth. Gazing down at the angelic sleeping child brought tears to her eyes. A tight band of steel constricted around her chest, squeezing off her air supply.
She yearned to spend more time with Sydney. The constant ache of missing her daughter, the loss of witnessing all the wondrous things happening to her, became so unbearable.
More often than not lately, Bree toyed with the idea of asking her two best friends and employees to buy into her business. The plan would solve the time issue since she’d cut back on her long hours. But, she reasoned, the assuredly lower income would only add to her struggle to make ends meet.
Gently, she sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly. She tucked the white sheet around her daughter’s shoulders. Undisturbed, Sydney slept on in blissful wonderland with her thumb stuck in her mouth.
Bree’s heart hitched; she knew Sydney only sucked her thumb now when she was emotionally troubled. Nana’s death certainly caused this new bout of upheaval. Bree suspected the thick, oppressive tension between Nick and her contributed to the situation.
Reaching out, she tenderly brushed back the white blonde bangs and chin length hair, grazing the full, soft cheek and exposing the dusting of freckles dotting the tiny nose.
Bree longed to see the cobalt blue eyes staring up in joy at her, but denied herself that reward, putting Sydney first as she always did.
Secrets Of The Heart (Book 1, The Heart Series) Page 2
