by Carol Caiton
She wiped the back of her hand across the stream of tears that ran down her face. "And when I turned down those Ivy League scholarships to attend a college close to home, you couldn't believe I'd made such an asinine decision—your words. And when I got a job doing something I'm trained for, something I'm good at, you told Brian I work at a ditzy new-age health spa." She drew a breath. "Then you laughed and told him it was a good fit."
How the frigging hell did she know that?
"I heard you."
Ah, Christ.
Her voice broke, but she kept going. "If I wear something that shows a little cleavage, you narrow your eyes and ask me if I'm looking for trouble. And when I wanted to move in with Luke, you had him checked out as though I didn't have sense enough to fall for a good and decent man."
Her tears were falling in earnest now. "Should I keep going?"
He stared at her, his throat thick and tight. Everything she'd said was true. And yes, he knew damned well she could keep going. For a long time if she wanted to. But the way she'd put it all together in her mind left out the deep-rooted caring. The worry. The anger he felt when she landed in danger or was hurt. Instead, she'd narrowed it down to the criticisms. And God knew there were plenty of them. Because yes, she might be phenomenally intelligent, but she breezed through life like it was a three-day shopping spree and the situations she sometimes landed in scared the shit out of him.
He had no idea what to say. He'd never meant to hurt her. Not like that. But he had. Over and over again. In his fear for her safety, he'd blamed her, hoping his words would make her stop and think the next time, never stopping to consider the cruelty of them. Because Jill was flighty and headstrong, not shy and fragile like Rachel. Maybe a harsh reprimand would get through to her. Christ! He'd scorned her efforts when she made good decisions in bad situations, and that thoughtless, mocking comment he'd made to Brian was unforgiveable. That she'd heard it was something he'd regret for the rest of his life.
Yes, she needed to pay closer attention to her surroundings. And yes, she might be a twenty-three-year-old prodigy genius, but she was innocent and idealistic and naïve. She trusted too easily . . . and she took too much pleasure from life.
That's why Luke Ingersol had anchored her. All that intelligence and carefree energy inside her had found a focus. A purpose. And last night, when she'd agreed to marry him, he had become the center of all that focus—he and the child they thought she carried. She would have devoted herself to him and to whatever children they had together for the rest of her life.
But instead of walking over there and wrapping her in his arms, instead of offering comfort when she was clearly as devastated as he was, he'd bullied and blamed her all over again. If he'd exercised the common sense he'd accused her of lacking, there was a chance his future would be looking very different than it did right now. Instead, he'd lost her, just when he'd begun to realize what he had.
"Jill . . . ." He had a tough time just getting her name past his lips. "You know I love you." He couldn't think of words any more heartfelt that would tell her how sorry he was, how deeply entrenched she was in his life.
She acknowledged his words with a stiff nod. Shoulders still tight and straight, chin still high, she said, "I love you too, Nathan. But right now I don't like you very much."
And with those words it struck him how far he'd fallen in her eyes. In all the years he'd known her, reprimanded her and yes, bullied her, she'd never called him on the carpet like she had a minute ago. She'd never made him look at himself the way he was seeing himself right now. And the demons that attacked him were multiplying by the minute, were so numerous, he had no idea what it would take to make things right between them again. He couldn't even guess where to start.
She wiped her face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Then she went into the bathroom, blew her nose, and came out again. "I'm going to call Mom to come pick me up and take me home." She started past him toward the living room.
"I told you I'd take you home, and to get your car."
She stopped and turned. "Thank you—and I mean that. But I don't want to spend any more time with you than I have to right now. Mom can come get me, and she can drive me to pick up my car."
It took only a second to reach down and grab his pants off the floor. Digging into the front pocket, he pulled out his keys.
"Take my truck," he called after her, following her into the living room. He didn't want Eileen driving over to pick her up. This wasn't one of their typical run-ins, as Jill's mother liked to call them. This was deep and serious and painful and he didn't want to make friendly small talk and search for a reason to explain why he couldn't drive Jill home himself.
He caught her as she lifted her cell phone out of her purse and held out his keys. "I'll get Brian to drive me over for it later on," he said.
Again. Shit.
But he'd rather listen to his partner's taunting remarks than face Eileen's questioning brow.
Jill hesitated, then nodded. "All right."
Clamping down on the urge to say more, he handed her his keys. But he didn't want to leave things like this. He'd made so many mistakes with her and there was too much between them to let her walk away believing he thought she was an airhead.
"Jill," he said when she closed her purse again.
She looked up, wary. Then her expression smoothed over and became cool. Distant.
He knew right away she wouldn't be receptive to what he was about to say. But he tossed his instincts aside and took the risk.
"A lot of things went through my mind when it occurred to me you might be pregnant. Shock, worry, concern for your family and mine. But I wanted it—the baby. And I discovered that I wanted you too." He took a breath and went on. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but I still want you. I still want to marry you."
She stared at him. Hurt replaced the distant look in her eyes and they watered with more tears.
"You're right, Nathan. It doesn't seem like it. Not in the ways that matter." She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "And I'd be the fool you already think I am if I married someone who thought so little of me."
CHAPTER 28
Michael was pissed.
He was doing his best to hide it. In fact, he thought he was doing a pretty good job of it. But it wasn't easy. And the only reason he bothered was because this was a family gathering. But watching that cop—who'd had his eyes on Rachel all afternoon—was making it harder by the minute. Family gathering or not, the day might end with a couple of black eyes. Maybe more than that. 'Cause obviously, the guy was stupid enough to be asking for it.
Glass in hand, swirling the dregs of his soda, he made his way across the room. At times like this, he was glad he didn't drink alcohol. It would be a good fight, most things being equal. The cop might have some training that Michael didn't have, but Michael had grown up on the streets. They were about the same height . . . not much difference in weight . . . . He took up a position beside the other man.
"That's my wife you've had your eyes on all day," he said, looking over at Rachel talking with her mother.
The cop gave him a sidelong glance and went back to studying Rachel. "I know who I'm looking at."
Michael nodded. "Yeah, well, if you wanna be able to see out of those eyes tomorrow, you might think about looking at somebody else. Know what I mean?"
The cop grinned, still looking over at Rachel. "Are you threatening a law enforcement officer, Vassek?"
Michael grinned as well. "Nope. Got nothin' to do with a law enforcement officer. What I'm doing is warning a man who needs to take his eyes off my wife."
Nathan raised his glass to his mouth and took a swallow. "She looks happy."
"She is happy."
"Twins are closer than most siblings, you know."
"Your point being?"
"My point being," the cop turned to face him, "you and I had better learn to get along because I plan to marry her sister."
Well hell, that was
n't what he'd expected to hear. He gave the cop an assessing stare. "Then how come you're eyeballing Rachel?"
The cop narrowed his eyes and grinned, and Michael decided there might be a couple of black eyes in the mix after all. Cocky sonofabitch.
"Jill and I recently had an interesting conversation," the guy said. "I learned some things about Rachel I never realized before."
"Yeah? Like what?"
"Like how self-assured she is, for one thing. And how her quiet nature doesn't necessarily mean she's timid and uncertain. That's why I've been watching her. I've been connecting the puzzle pieces to see how they fit."
Michael scowled. "I thought you had a thing for Rachel."
The other man hesitated. "No. What I wanted to do was take care of her. I didn't want her to be alone."
"I take care of Rachel just fine." Fucking bastard.
Irritation lit the other guys eyes. "If you'd drop that attitude of yours, you'd figure out I'm agreeing with you. Rachel looks happy. I told you that. Happier than I've ever seen her. Either you're responsible for it, or there's some truth to the adage that pregnant women glow. Hmmph. One way or the other I guess you're responsible anyway."
Michael stared at the guy. He'd been working up to this confrontation for a while so it took some effort to back down. But he reevaluated and forced his hand to relax.
"So when are you gonna marry Jill?"
The cop—okay, Nathan—switched his gaze to the other side of the room where Rachel's sister laughed over something with Ali—who just happened to be the cop's sister. Michael wondered how Nathan felt about Mason's interest there. Then he mentally shrugged. It didn't matter how the cop felt about it. If Mason wanted Ali, there wasn't much on this earth that was gonna keep her from him.
"When am I going to marry Jill?" the guy repeated. He gave a self-mocking sort of smile. "As soon as I can convince her."
Michael looked over at Jill. "Luke Ingersol hasn't been dead that long," he said.
Nathan finished off his drink. "I know. That complicates things. But I can be patient." Then, after a few seconds he added, "You could help."
Michael laughed. "Oh yeah? How's that?"
"Get Rachel to invite Jill over some evening. For dinner or something. Then after Jill accepts, tell Rachel to invite me too."
Again Michael laughed. "That's pretty obvious, don'tcha think?"
The cop shrugged. "Jill's avoiding me. I'll take whatever help I can get right now."
Michael looked at the other guy and considered that. As tactfully as he could, he said, "Maybe she's not interested that way, ya know? Aren't you supposed to be like a brother figure to them or something?"
Nathan stared right into his eyes and said, "Jill doesn't look at me as a brother."
Michael's brow shot up. Ooookay. The guy was sleeping with her. Or maybe it was past tense and he'd been sleeping with her before Luke entered the picture. Michael let that thought settle in. He pushed it around a little. "I'll think about it," he said. "Might be interesting to have an officer of the law in my debt."
Nathan smirked at him and snorted. "Doesn't work that way, Vassek."
Michael just smiled.
Two weeks later he stood in the doorway of the kitchen and said, "Hey, Rachel, what do you say we ask your cop friend over too. Maybe we can team up for some air hockey later on."
She was standing at the sink washing potatoes and looking so damn pretty, he wished he had his camera. In place of the aerial photo of RUSH that used to hang in his office, half the wall was now filled with photographs of his wife. He'd had all of them framed, and he'd enlarged one of them—the one of her standing at the living room window staring outside. At the time, she hadn't known he was there. She hadn't even known it when he snapped the picture 'cause she'd been so lost in thought. He'd had it enlarged because there was something about her expression that had unsettled him, made him wonder what she was thinking about. He'd seen her like that a few times now, but when he asked, she always turned, smiled that pretty smile of hers, and said she was just daydreaming.
But he often looked up from his computer to stare at that photograph. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, so he spent a lot of time staring at it, as if the picture might eventually tell him what it was.
This time, she turned, eyes widening with surprise. "You mean Nathan?"
Obviously his animosity hadn't gone unnoticed. "Yeah, Nathan," he said offhandedly. He walked up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist.
"You want to invite Nathan here for dinner?" she asked. She tipped her head back and to the side, staring up at him.
"Sure," he answered. "We were starting to get to know each other at your father's birthday party." He lowered his face to her neck and ran a trail of kisses to the collar of her blouse. "Whaddaya think?"
"Well, I—"
"Do we have enough to go around?"
"Well yes. But it's awfully late notice. He might have other plans."
"Mmm." He slid his hands up to cup her breasts. They were fuller now than they used to be.
She dropped the potato she was holding when he rubbed his thumbs across her nipples.
"Michael . . . ."
He liked it when her voice got all wispy-like. He liked it that his touch stirred her up so fast because she turned him on just about every time he looked at her."
He smoothed his hands back down to her waist. "You got his number in your phone?"
"Um, yes. It's—the phone's over there on the counter."
He bit gently on her ear and felt her shiver. Oh, yeah. Some of her hair clung to his bottom lip and he grinned while he lifted it free. Then he walked over to where her phone sat next to the coffeemaker. "I'll give him a call."
"Oh," she said, and he knew it took her a second to get her mind back on track. "Okay."
He grinned. Marriage agreed with her. Just like it agreed with him.
Snatching up her phone, he left the kitchen and headed for his office. If this wasn't a good time, at least the guy couldn't say he hadn't tried.
He scrolled through her contacts as he walked. He didn't have far to go since the cop's last name started with B. The phone rang three times before it was answered.
"Hello there, sweetheart," the asshole greeted his wife, "this is a surprise."
Michael stopped walking. A world of affection was in that male voice and it sure as hell didn't make him like the guy any better. "You call my wife sweetheart again and I might have to forget about inviting you to dinner."
Silence.
Then laughter.
"Vassek, I've been calling your wife sweetheart since she was eight years old."
"Yeah, well, she's not eight years old anymore. Betcha don't call your sister sweetheart."
"Then you'd lose," Nathan said, surprising him. "Ali likes to think she's all grown up and independent, but all three of them have been coddled from the cradle."
Michael grunted.
"So what's this about a dinner invitation?"
He scowled. "Jill's coming over."
"When?"
Looking over at the clock, he grinned. "In about an hour and a half."
"An hour— Thanks for the advance notice."
Michael enjoyed every second of gaining the upper hand. "Well hell, if you can't make it—"
"I'll be there."
"Yeah, I thought so."
"Give me directions."
* * *
"I didn't know you invited Nathan."
Rachel opened the refrigerator, passed a head of lettuce to Jill, then reached for the other salad ingredients. "Actually," she said, "I wasn't the one who invited him. Michael did."
Looking over her shoulder, she glanced at Jill to see if her sister was as surprised by that as she'd been when Michael suggested it.
She was.
"Michael invited Nathan here for dinner?"
Rachel nodded. "Mmm. About two hours ago."
"Did you see the two of them at Dad's part
y? Michael looked like he wanted to cut out Nathan's heart with a hot poker."
Rachel laughed. "You poke with a poker, not cut."
"You know what I mean." She started washing the lettuce. "So, what do you think they're up to?"
Deep male laughter sounded from the living room. Rachel smiled. "I don't think they know one another well enough yet to be up to anything."
Jill didn't answer.
Rachel carried a variety of salad dressings over to the table. "Why?" she asked. "Do you think they're up to something?"
"Maybe."
"Like what?"
"I'm not sure. It's just peculiar, that's all. Like you said, Michael and Nathan scarcely know one another."
"I'm just as baffled as you are."
Jill turned off the water and faced Rachel. "Nathan and I haven't been on good terms lately. I've been avoiding him. And now suddenly he's here."
"I didn't know."
"I know you didn't. He wouldn't have said anything and I . . . ."
Rachel thought of the relationship her sister had with Nathan. He was protective toward everyone he cared for, maybe because he was a police officer or maybe it was just his nature. But in Jill's case . . . .
It frustrated Nathan when the people in his life didn't follow the sort of orderly guidelines he considered sensible and safe. And that was understandable to a point. He saw the ugly side of humanity every day when he left his apartment and went to work. Even as a beat cop, he'd been there the day she was forced off behind a hedge of bushes, stabbed, and raped. She remembered the way he grabbed and literally threw aside the body of the man he'd killed. And she remembered the way he tore off his shirt, covered her, and gathered her against his chest, sheltering her in all that protectiveness. Maybe that day had even influenced his need to know that she and Jill and Ali were exactly where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be there. It hadn't been easy on him while they all began to grow up. And of them all, Jill was the least predictable.
