Red Hot Lovers: 18 Contemporary Romance Books of Love, Passion, and Sexy Heroes by Your Favorite Top-Selling Authors

by Milly Taiden

  But it was my father.

  “Don’t slam the door,” he said.

  I ignored him, shoving the heavy door in his face.

  My father’s hand flew forward to block it.

  Damn it. Keep it out of court, the lawyer said. How was I supposed to do that?

  Give an inch.

  I took a step back. “All right. What do you want?”

  He pushed the door open and walked past me into the living room. “Now this is something,” he said, gazing at all the paintings.

  “Make your point.”

  He turned around, tugging at his tie. “I know you’ve seen Cynthia through a lot.”

  “You mean your abandonment?”

  “I was laboring under the impression that she wasn’t mine.” He held out his hands, palms up. “I take my responsibilities seriously.”

  “Right. Which is why you left for thirteen years.”

  “Those thirteen years got me where I am. Put me in a position to help you.” He lowered his arms and straightened the cuffs to his suit jacket.

  “I didn’t need your help.”

  “Who do you think got you on at St. Anthony’s? After all that waffling on your resident specialty, Mayo wouldn’t touch you.”

  Well, hell.

  “And for the record, I did call Duffrey about your lady friend.”

  My head snapped up. “Really?”

  “Yes. There was an ungodly fifteen-million-dollar endowment attached to her. She didn’t need my help.”

  I sank onto a chair. “Really?”

  “Some artist set it up. I did convince Duffrey to send her back to school rather than make her a glorified secretary.”

  My throat felt thick. “She’s going to be a therapist.”

  “Good.” He sat down on the sofa, and his gaze fell on my life-size painting of Mom and Cynthia with the dog. His jaw ticked again.

  “You left her,” I said. “Pregnant.”

  He leaned forward and stared at his polished shoes. “What do we do about it now?”

  “You didn’t come to her funeral.”

  “I didn’t have it in me.”

  “Cynthia really could have used a dad. I was doing my residency. I had a terminally ill mother and a baby sister.”

  “You wouldn’t even talk to me, if you remember.”

  I gripped the armrest. “I hated you.”

  “That’s fair.” He tapped one of his shoes against the carpeted floor. “What do we do now?” he asked again.

  “You will not take Cynthia from me.”

  “You said yourself she needs a father.”

  “You’re a workaholic who puts his career before his family.”

  He met my gaze. “And you’re a workaholic trying to fill two staff positions at the same time.”

  “Except I’m on leave right now.”

  “I can fix that.”

  “I don’t want it fixed. Stop manipulating people, Dad. It’s not right.”

  “You call it manipulation. You’ll eventually learn it’s just business.”

  I stood up and walked the perimeter of the room. Looking at the paintings calmed me. Give an inch, the lawyer said.

  Only if I could also take a mile from my father.

  “She’s my daughter,” he said.

  “She’s your daughter,” I said. “Prove you’re worthy to be her father.”

  He stood next to me. “How do you want me to do that?”

  I knew the mile I wanted. “Resign from the state medical board. Devote your time to family.”

  He exploded. “Do you know how long it took me to get that position?”

  “I do!” I shouted back. “The thirteen years you deserted me and my mother.”

  The room echoed for a moment, my voice ringing off the walls.

  He stared back up at the image. “The two of you seemed happier without me.”

  “And Cynthia wouldn’t be?”

  This got him. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

  “Then resign from the board. Until then, you can visit her, but you WILL NOT tell her who you are.”

  “But if I resign, then we can tell her?”

  I snorted. “That’ll be the day.”

  He couldn’t tear his eyes from that portrait. “I’ll submit my resignation this afternoon.”

  I stood there, frozen with shock, as he strode through the living room and showed himself out.

  ***

  Chapter Forty Seven: Tina

  Today was a big day.

  I led Manuelito through the park by the hand. Corabelle had class, and Gavin had to work, and I’d offered to take him rather than send him to the drop-in day care.

  Cynthia was coming home from the hospital today, and I felt like having another child around would be fun for her. He was holding a purple sucker to give to her.

  The park was one block from the hospital. We were killing time, waiting for the text from Darion that she was coming down. Her second chemo had gone perfectly two weeks ago, and according to Darion, she was responding to treatment. I was beginning to pick up the lingo. No blasts. ANCs bouncing back. Good platelets.

  He was right. The more people in Cynthia’s corner, the better off we all would be.

  Darion’s father sat on the bench closest to the hospital entrance. This was also part of the plan. He looked completely different now that he wasn’t working, jeans and a sweater. He had a bouquet of flowers for Cynthia. And, I knew, something else. A locket that had belonged to his mother. Today he’d be telling her that he was her dad.

  Big day.

  My phone buzzed. I had snapped an image of Darion to use for reference in my first portrait of him, and it came up as his icon when he messaged me. It popped up now, his hair tousled. Imperfect. Better that way.

  Coming down, it said.

  I waved at Gerald for us to head that direction.

  Darion’s leave of absence had been shortened once everything was sorted out. Gerald recommended Duffrey for the open board position. We didn’t know if it was intended to be a political maneuver, but it had worked as one.

  Darion was reinstated, and despite his residency status in pediatrics, he had been given normal staff hours. No more crazy workweeks. The hours were still long, but at least there was time each day to spend with Cynthia, and me.

  I laughed to think I had intended a one-and-done with him. I was impossibly snared now.

  “Is Sintha coming?” Manuelito asked.

  “She is,” I said. Gerald walked alongside us. He looked nervous.

  “It’ll be fine,” I told him. “Cynthia is very loving, and she’s gotten used to you.”

  He clutched the flowers. “I know.”

  His manner with her still wasn’t easy. He didn’t tickle or play or act silly. But they found things to do together. Card tricks. Board games. Lately they had been learning to make balloon animals. Cynthia liked delivering them to other kids on the ward.

  “There they are,” I said, pointing to Darion walking with Cynthia. Several of the nurses had come down and were waving to her. She turned and blew them kisses.

  She was wearing a funny hat with kitty ears, a gift from Nurse Angela. Darion had parked close in case Cynthia got tired, but she was a bundle of energy, skipping down the sidewalk as though the open air alone was healing her.

  When she saw us, she ran ahead. “Are you Manuel?” she asked.

  He nodded, suddenly shy at this bigger, bolder girl. He held out the purple lollipop.

  “My favorite!” She took it and gave him a little hug. “Is there a playground here? I want to swing!” She stuck the sucker in her pocket.

  “I think there’s one a little farther up the path,” Gerald said.

  “Let’s go!”

  She and Manuel trotted ahead. Gerald followed behind. Darion took my hand, and we took the path more slowly.

  “When’s he going to do it?” he asked.

  “When they get to the swings,” I said.

  Hi
s breath came out in a whoosh. “All right.”

  “He’s done everything you asked. Exactly as you’ve said.”

  “He has.”

  I bumped into him with my hip. “It’s going to be all right. He changed. You asked him to change, and he did.”

  Like me and my goth phase, and my one-and-dones, I thought. And Albert and his clowns. Another new drug had come along, and like the last one, it was working for now.

  We madly painted unicorns in art therapy, when I wasn’t working on the portrait of Darion. Another woman had arrived on the ward and came with Albert, an older lady. If I wasn’t mistaken, a few sparks were flying between them.

  He was doing okay. We were all doing okay.

  We were almost at the swings. I hurried ahead to help Manuel, as they were too tall for him to reach. Cynthia grasped the chains. “Darion, come push me!”

  But as we’d agreed, Darion lagged behind.

  “I’ll do it,” Gerald said.

  But instead of going behind her to push, he kneeled in front of her.

  “Are the flowers for me?” Cynthia asked.

  “They are,” he said, and handed them to her.

  She touched her toes to the ground for balance and brought the flowers to her nose. “They smell pretty!”

  “I have something else for you,” he said. He pulled the locket and chain from his pocket. “It’s a very special necklace.” He showed it to her.

  “Ohhh,” she said. “It’s a grown-up necklace.”

  He slipped it over her head. She handed him the flowers back so she could hold the charm, a dove flying through a silver circle. “It’s pretty,” she said.

  “It belonged to my mother, your grandmother,” Gerald said.

  Cynthia looked up, confused. I glanced over at Darion. He had stopped by a tree several yards away. “My nanna died a long time ago, before I was born,” she said.

  “This is your other grandmother,” Gerald said. “My mother is your grandmother.”

  “But that would make you my dad.” She looked at Darion.

  “That’s right,” Gerald said. “I am your brother Darion’s dad, and your dad too.”

  She clutched the necklace. “Are you the love who left Mommy? In the song?”

  I stopped pushing. Darion stood ready to step forward and intervene.

  “I am.” Gerald looked at her steadily.

  Cynthia sat staring at the necklace, breathing in and out. “Why did you do that?”

  Gerald took his time answering. “I made a mistake. I thought it was important to go away for my job. But I was wrong. I should have stayed.”

  “But then she wouldn’t have written that song,” Cynthia said. “It was her favorite song.”

  “I think she might have written a different song then,” Gerald said, “and liked it best.”

  Cynthia shook her head. “No. Mommy always said that the things you sing about are important. You can’t change them. You just have to learn from them.” She settled back in the swing, lifting her feet. “Did you learn from it?”

  “I did,” Gerald said.

  Cynthia nodded thoughtfully. “Will you push me now?”

  He pinned the flowers beneath his elbow and moved behind her. “I’d be delighted to.”

  Darion caught my eye. Neither of us assumed it was over, that Cynthia would just accept this without question.

  But we’d crossed another hurdle.

  And life was nothing if not a whole lot of leaps of faith.

  ***

  Chapter Forty Eight: Tina

  The day was perfect. Cool and breezy, but not cold. Sunshine. Everyone had warned Corabelle that an outdoor wedding in November was just about the worst idea ever.

  But this was California. Good weather was almost guaranteed.

  I waited at the back of the smattering of chairs for the music to mark my entrance. Manuelito was making his way up the aisle slowly, carefully holding the white pillow with the rings tied to it.

  Darion and Cynthia and Gerald were seated somewhere in the middle. There were only a few dozen guests. Gavin waited at the front. The way he looked past me, expectant, dying to see Corabelle, made my heart squeeze. I knew what a miracle this day was for both of them. After the loss they endured, their seven-day-old baby dying when they were still in high school, finding each other again in college was the sort of story movies were made of.

  The song changed, and I took my first step forward. Darion watched my every move. Cynthia seemed in awe of everything — the bows on the chairs, the little flower arch on the shore. Behind the minister, the ocean waves pounded the sand.

  Mario clapped Gavin on the back. Behind him, Bud, Gavin’s boss, served as the second groomsman.

  I took my place opposite the boys and turned to watch Jenny come up the aisle. A whoop came from the bride’s side, and her director boyfriend, Frankie, stood up to video her. Tacky, yes. But also endearing. I was glad he had showed. We had all begun to wonder if she was running up credit cards and pretending he existed.

  Gavin sucked in a breath as Corabelle appeared to wait her turn, her arm through her father’s. The boy controlling the music switched to the last song, and everyone stood.

  She looked radiant, her black hair blowing around her face. Gavin was antsy, anxious for her to make it to the front, rocking back and forth on his heels.

  Manuel stood in front of me, bouncing up and down with excitement. Finally he couldn’t contain himself, and said, “It’s Corbell!”

  Everyone laughed. I laid a hand on his shoulder. He stood up straight again, holding the pillow out.

  Gavin’s family was not there. I knew Darion had talked to him about it, but Gavin would not relent. He didn’t even want them to know about it. Corabelle’s parents, who still lived opposite the alley from them, had been sworn to silence.

  I glanced at Darion again. Cynthia was standing up so she could see. When she saw me looking, she waved.

  Corabelle arrived at the front, and her father passed her hand to Gavin. He leaned in, and I could hear his whispered “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

  For a jaded goth girl, I was more choked up than I cared to admit as they spoke their vows. I found myself glancing back at Darion over and over again. When it was time for Manuel to bring the rings, I pushed him forward.

  The ocean kept beating against the shore. Not so long ago, Corabelle had walked into it, not intending to come out. Gavin had saved her. And now here they were.

  Albert’s assistant had saved him, even if the world still thought he was dead. And Darion had saved his sister.

  I had saved myself. I glanced down at my wrists, covered in white elbow gloves. I had purposely chosen a cold climate to live in after I escaped home, where I could wear long sleeves year-round. I had bared my secrets only in the dark.

  And now I was here, in sunny California, and soon it would be spring and I wouldn’t be able to hide my past. My scars would be out for everyone to see.

  The minister pronounced them man and wife. The small group cheered, and Gavin kissed Corabelle, bending her backwards. Manuelito covered his eyes, making everyone laugh. The photographer snapped the shot.

  I glanced up. Above us was a cliff, not the same one I was painting, but this was the same shore, the same landscape, the same world. Albert was right. I was finding my place in it, as an artist and as a healthy person, full of hope. I hadn’t found my style yet, my medium, my voice on canvas.

  But I was here. And there was so much to say, to paint, to experience.

  I was more than ready to get started.

  ***

  Epilogue: Tina

  We had arrived at the happiest place on earth on the happiest day of the year.

  Cynthia looked up at the massive Christmas tree just inside the gates of Disneyland with something akin to rapture.

  I glanced over at Darion. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  She had a fuzz of hair now, as blond as a corn husk. Her last treatment was
almost two months ago. Otherwise, looking at her, you’d never know that anything had ever been wrong.

  “It’s the most beautiful Christmas tree in the world!” Cynthia said. “Take my picture!”

  Darion snapped what was probably already the twentieth shot, and we were barely inside the gates. It had been his idea to come to Disneyland on Christmas Day.

  Cynthia ran back between us, taking both of our hands. I remembered all the pictures she had drawn of us like this when she was in the hospital, a little family with her at the center.

  Until I saw the painting Darion had made of his mother with her long red hair, I didn’t know that the woman in all those images was me. While he and I mucked around and did our best to screw things up, Cynthia had known all along.

  “Hold up!” Darion’s father caught up, holding a pair of Mickey Mouse ears. “No visit to Disney is complete without one of these.”

  Cynthia stood in front of him and let him place the hat on her. She still wasn’t quite certain what to make of this man who looked like her brother and said he was her father. But she was kind and accepting of him.

  The psychology book I was reading to prepare for my coursework said that children understood more than we gave them credit for. Though Gerald was eager to get close to her, Cynthia still knew he was responsible for so much sadness for her mother.

  And so, she did not take his hand easily, or show him the affection she had for Darion. But we had all established a truce of sorts, a working relationship. It made me wonder if I shouldn’t call my parents. I never went home for Christmas. Some years I didn’t even take their call.

  But maybe sometime today, I’d take a cue from this eight-year-old and talk to them. And actually listen. Not understanding someone was not the same as hating them. And having nothing in common did not mean we could not find some things to say.

  We strolled up Main Street, all decked with holly and lights. I had never been to a theme park, and it was magical. Even my jaded goth-girl soul was moved by the music piped through the speakers, the palpable joy of the kids dashing excitedly along the sidewalks, and the holiday spirit.