Linger

by Maya Banks

  “I thought it was a done deal,” she said. “I thought that was the purpose of your trips to San Francisco and Atlanta on the night of our anniversary.”

  Both men winced.

  “He could tie it up in litigation forever, and he knows we can’t afford that,” Logan bit out. “We’d spend more time and money making him honor the agreement than we’d get out of the original deal. He has us by the balls, and he goddamn well knows it.”

  “So you have to go meet with him,” she said quietly.

  Logan sighed. “Yes, baby, we do. It’s important.”

  “Cat,” Rhys said in a strained voice.

  Reluctantly, she brought her gaze up to meet his. Regret burned brightly in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, and I know that’s a useless word right now. This won’t take long, I swear it. We want you to stay here and enjoy the last two days. Get a massage, pamper yourself. We’ll try to get back here so we can fly home together. If nothing else, we’ll send the jet for you and meet you in New York as soon as we can.”

  Massage. Pamper. God, was she supposed to forget that until now they’d given her all her massages, that they’d done all the pampering?

  Resentment billowed in her chest, rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard, holding it back, knowing they didn’t deserve her rage.

  “When do you leave?” she asked calmly.

  “I’ve already called the pilot,” Logan said in a low voice. “He’ll be here around midnight.”

  She nodded, proud of herself for not losing her composure.

  The waiter appeared, and she recited her order in a controlled voice. They only had a few hours and then she’d sleep alone. Something that she’d grown accustomed to not doing for the last week.

  “Baby, look at me,” Logan said when the waiter left. “Please.”

  She stared down for a long moment, trying to hold back the tears. He reached over and gently nudged at her chin, forcing her gaze upward.

  “Listen to me. We’ll meet with Kingston tomorrow morning, and I’ll call you just as soon as we finish. I promise. I know you have no reason to trust what I’m saying, but Rhys and I will make this up to you.”

  She nodded again, not trusting herself to speak. She knew she wasn’t being fair, but it was hard to put her trust in them after only a week. After so long of being brushed aside, of never coming first, it frightened her to think that after having a brief moment of bliss, it could all slide away again.

  They ate in uncomfortable silence. A couple of times, Rhys or Logan brought up business, and she could tell they were dying to discuss strategy, but each time, they glanced over at her and the conversation died.

  Her food didn’t set well, and an uncomfortable ache nagged at her side. She twisted in her seat, ready to go back to the room as the men were obviously impatient to return as well.

  Though they still had a few hours yet when they got back to the room, the mood was tense. She hated it. Hated the breach that had opened up with one simple phone call. And she had no idea what to do to fix it, or if she even could.

  She watched as they packed their clothes and toiletries. Unable to stand the silence any longer, she went to Rhys and wrapped her arms around his waist. She laid her cheek against his back and just held on.

  She felt him sigh, a deep sound of regret, and she knew he hated leaving as much as she did. He gathered her hands in his and pulled them upward until they rested over his heart. Then he let them go and slowly turned until she faced him.

  He drew her into his arms and hugged her tightly. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she whispered.

  When he finally relinquished his hold on her, she glanced over at Logan.

  “Come here, baby,” he said when she hesitated.

  She went into his arms, and he buried his face in her hair.

  “I know the timing on this sucks, and I know you’re upset.”

  “Thank you for this week,” she said, not wanting him to go without knowing how much it had meant to her.

  He stiffened, and she could feel anger build within him. Puzzled by his reaction, she pulled away and stared at him in confusion.

  He touched her face, cupping her cheek and rubbing his thumb over her skin. “It pisses me off that you feel you had to thank me for spending time with you. God. You’re my wife, and if anyone is entitled to my time, it’s you.”

  She tried to smile but gave up before she broke down and cried. How could she tell him that she hadn’t felt entitled to anything in a long time? Now that he said it, it pissed her off too, that she’d thanked her own husband for something she should be able to take for granted.

  With a shake of her head, she warded off her anger and resentment. She wouldn’t ruin their last moments together, nor would she send them off to San Francisco worried that she was going to divorce them. If this week had taught her anything, it was that she wasn’t prepared to walk away without a fight.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Catherine shifted uncomfortably in the lounger overlooking the beach and stared down at the silent cell phone. The sun had long since set, and the moon had risen over the water, but she had no desire to go back to the room alone.

  The ache intensified in her side, and she turned again, curling her knees to her chest. She was miserable. Felt miserable, and she wasn’t sure if she’d caught a bug, eaten bad food or was just down in the dumps because Logan and Rhys had gone.

  They’d been gone nearly twenty-four hours, and she was waiting for them to call. Logan had said he’d phone as soon as their meeting was over. At one point, she considered calling him, but she hated to pile on him if he was stressed and trying to salvage his contract.

  The phone rang in her hand, and she snatched it up, opening it without looking to see who was calling.

  “Logan?”

  “Hey, baby.”

  He sounded tired, but she felt a thrill that he’d called like he’d promised.

  “How are you? How did it go? Are you finished?” she asked in a rush.

  He chuckled. “One at a time. I’m good. Rhys is good. It went okay, and yes, we’re done.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Listen, baby. I called Paige and asked her to make flight arrangements for you if that’s okay. Rhys and I will take the jet back. It will save us some time if you don’t wait on it to return to Jamaica and we aren’t stuck trying to make reservations. She’ll be calling you shortly, but I asked her to get you on the first flight out in the morning. Rhys and I are going to crash here at a hotel and fly home in the morning as well. We’ll pick you up at the airport and ride home together. That sound good?”

  She smiled. “It sounds perfect.”

  “We want a do-over for our anniversary. Dinner, dancing and then we’re going to make love to you all night long.”

  A light shiver prickled her skin. “I can’t wait,” she said huskily.

  “Okay then, baby, let me go. You get some rest and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I love you. Tell Rhy I love him.”

  “Love you too,” he said.

  She hung up and hugged herself in satisfaction, ignoring the twinge in her side. She carefully got out of the lounger and trudged toward the hotel. Fatigue rippled through her body, but then she hadn’t slept worth a damn after Rhys and Logan had left the night before.

  What she really needed was some Tylenol and a good long sleep. She stopped by the gift shop in the lobby and purchased the tablets and a bottle of water then headed up to her room. As she was walking in, her phone rang.

  “Mrs. Cullen-Wellesley?”

  “Hi Paige,” Catherine said warmly. “And it’s Catherine for the hundredth time.”

  “I’ve made reservations for you to fly out at eight-twenty in the morning. You’ll have a brief layover in Miami and will arrive in New York at four-ten in the afternoon. Mr. Cullen and Mr. Wellesley will meet you at the airport.”

  “Thank you, Paige. I appreciate it.”
<
br />   “Is everything all right...Catherine? Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “I’m fine, and thank you for making the arrangements.”

  Catherine hung up and stared at her suitcase she hadn’t yet packed. She was slightly ashamed of the fact she hadn’t been convinced that Logan would call or that he would wrap up when he said he would. She’d been prepared to stay on for another few days.

  After stuffing her suitcase halfheartedly, she dragged herself into bed after calling the front desk for a wake-up call and also to have a car waiting to take her to the airport.

  It would be okay. Things were going to be okay this time.

  ***

  Things were not okay.

  Catherine dragged tiredly from the boarding ramp into the terminal, clutching her side. What had brewed for a day and a half as a dull ache had rapidly escalated into fiery pain.

  The flight had been long and miserable, and she’d spent the entire time sipping water and praying she wouldn’t lose the contents of her stomach all over the seat.

  She turned on her cell phone, hoping to find a message from Rhys or Logan. This wasn’t the way she’d wanted to tell them about her pregnancy, but she was scared something was wrong.

  Trying not to panic, she quickened her stride then slowed down when each step sent a new wave of pain through her abdomen. Okay, nice and slow. Rhys and Logan would be waiting for her in baggage claim or maybe even at the security checkpoint.

  She exited the checkpoint and stared around at the people milling about. Not wanting to stand for long, she picked up her phone and started the walk to baggage claim.

  She was punching speed dial for Logan’s number when the LCD flashed that she had an incoming call. Relief came swift.

  “Logan, where are you?” she asked as she brought the phone to her ear.

  “Ah, it’s me, Paige.”

  Catherine frowned. “Oh, sorry, Paige, I just assumed it would be Logan.”

  “About Mr. Wellesley,” Paige said after a brief hesitation.

  No. No, no, not again. Catherine stopped and leaned against the wall with her free hand.

  “He and Mr. Cullen were delayed in San Francisco. They won’t be able to meet you at the airport.”

  “Was their flight delayed? Are they catching another one?” Catherine asked.

  “No, not immediately and no, it wasn’t delayed. They stayed on another day to meet with Mr. Kingston again and are surveying the construction site. I’m not entirely sure when they’re going to fly in.”

  “I see,” Catherine said faintly.

  “I’m having a car meet you. If you’ll wait inside baggage claim, I’ll have the driver come in to collect you,” Paige hurried to say.

  Catherine closed her eyes and leaned heavily against the wall. “No, I’ll take a cab. I’d prefer not to wait.”

  “If you’re sure...”

  Paige didn’t sound convinced.

  “Tell me something, Paige. When did this change of plans take place?”

  There was a long silence, and Catherine shook her head.

  “When I called them back last night to tell them I’d made your flight arrangements, they told me that Kingston wanted to meet with them again.”

  Catherine pressed her lips together and her grip tightened around the phone. “Okay well, you can tell Mr. Cullen and Mr. Wellesley, should they call to get a report, that I made it in just fine, and that for the record, my flight was perfectly miserable, and I would have much preferred to remain in Jamaica since it’s clear they aren’t coming home anytime soon.”

  She slapped the phone shut and took in several gasps as the pain in her side became nearly unbearable. She bent over to try and steady herself, sucking in air through her nose.

  A chill worked up her spine, and she shivered. A bug. She must have caught a bug in Jamaica. She was tired and achy, and a chill had set in. She needed more Tylenol for the fever, and then she needed to call her obstetrician.

  After waiting impatiently for her baggage, she hauled it toward the taxi rank outside and waited her turn for a cab. After twenty minutes, she climbed into the backseat and wearily supplied her address.

  On the way home, she phoned her obstetrician and got his answering service. She left a message for him to call her as soon as possible then leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes.

  The next thing she knew, the cabbie had reached back to touch her shoulder.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  The doorman to their apartment building opened her door.

  “Mrs. Wellesley, welcome home. I’ll get your baggage.”

  She reached gratefully for his hand as he helped her out. She stumbled as she stepped onto the curb, and Stuart put a hand to her elbow.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Wellesley?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Long trip.”

  “Why don’t you go on up. I’ll bring your bags up in a moment.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  She walked as quickly as she could to the elevator and was grateful when it opened and someone got off just as she approached. She stepped inside, inserted her keycard then punched the button for the top floor.

  As the elevator soared upward, she wavered and reached out to brace herself. A searing bolt of pain speared through her side, and she doubled over in agony.

  She gasped as wave upon wave splintered through her body. She cried out in pain and then again in fear. Her baby. She couldn’t lose her baby.

  Her knees buckled, and she grabbed at the railing. Her vision dimmed, and she couldn’t breathe for the horrific, burning pain.

  She was vaguely aware of hitting the floor, and then mercifully, blackness enfolded her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Logan let the phone ring until the answering machine picked up then he hung up for the fortieth time. Then he dialed Catherine’s cell phone. Again. He swore when it went straight to voicemail.

  He and Rhys stood outside the door of passenger pickup waiting for their driver, and both men wore extremely grim expressions.

  Rhys, too, was on the phone, talking to Paige. When he slapped the phone shut, jaw clenched, Logan knew he hadn’t been any more successful gaining information about Catherine.

  “What did she say?” Logan asked.

  “The same as the last time,” Rhys said tersely. “She talked to Catherine right after she got off the plane. She took a cab home, and she was pissed.”

  Logan blew out his breath. Hard to do around the sick feeling in his stomach.

  “We blew it,” Rhys said. “All we had to goddamn do was come home when we said we were, and we fucking blew it. Goddamn Kingston.”

  Logan silently agreed. Even though he’d finally told Kingston to take his fucking deal and shove it up his ass, it had been too little too late. Kingston had dicked them around from the beginning, high on a power trip and goaded by his ego.

  He’d loved jacking him and Rhys around, having them at his beck and call. He’d dangled the hotel deal in front of their noses then watched with glee when they jumped when he said jump.

  Logan and Rhys had gone through the motions. One more hour. A few more hours. One more meeting until it added up to two fucking days, and they’d stood there knowing that once again, they’d shit on Catherine and for what? A few more million dollars?

  In a moment of complete and utter clarity, Logan realized that it would never be enough. And in the end, he’d be left standing with everything and nothing all at the same time.

  Telling Kingston to go fuck himself was freeing. Realizing that it was in all likelihood too late had thrust a knife into Logan’s gut that he still hadn’t been able to remove.

  When the car pulled around, he and Rhys threw their bags in and jumped in after them. All the way home, Logan relived those last moments in Jamaica with Catherine. The worry and sadness on her face as she contemplated being shoved aside once more.

  He’d assured her. He’d promised her. And once
again, he’d failed her.

  Would she be there? God, he hoped so. He couldn’t face being without her. They were going to need a lot of time to mend their relationship and to regain her trust.

  When they pulled up to the apartment, he and Rhys jumped out. Before they made it to the entrance, Stuart nearly ran them over.

  “Mr. Cullen, Mr. Wellesley, I’m so glad to see you. How is Mrs. Wellesley? Will she be released from the hospital soon?”

  The older man was clearly agitated, and he wrung his hands in rapid fashion. Rhys stared at Stuart with an open mouth, and fear lodged solidly in Logan’s throat. He tried to speak, to demand to know what Stuart was talking about, but all that came out was a garbled exclamation.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Rhys asked.

  Stuart paled and then stared down at their bags as if just realizing that they’d come back into town. “You don’t know.”

  “Know what?” Logan snarled, finally finding his voice.

  “Mrs. Wellesley arrived home two days ago. I met her at the door and sent her up to the apartment. She clearly wasn’t feeling well. I collected her bags, and when I went to bring them up, I found her in the elevator unconscious. I summoned an ambulance, and she was rushed to the hospital.”

  A buzz began in Logan’s ears, loud, incessant, swarming like a hoard of angry bees.

  “What hospital?” Rhys demanded.

  Logan barely waited for the answer before he bolted back to the car. Rhys piled in beside him as Logan told the driver to get them to the hospital.

  “What could be wrong?” Rhys asked in a shaky voice. “She seemed fine when we left her. She was quiet, not exactly herself, but I chalked that up to her disappointment over our leaving.”

  Logan closed his eyes. Disappointment. Yeah, that was one way to put it.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t fucking know. But we should have been here. Goddamn it, if we’d met her plane, we would have been here when she needed us.”

  Rhys closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. He was fighting for control, and Logan could certainly sympathize. He was ready to explode in a hundred different directions. Only the thought that Catherine was in a hospital, that she needed him and Rhys, kept him from losing his cool.