by Carol Caiton
Beside her Dalton sat, knees apart, elbows braced on his thighs as he watched her. For a minute he didn't say anything. Then, still watching her, he said, "I take it there's no chance of anything happening there now?"
Jill turned her head and met his eyes. "No. No chance at all."
* * *
Jill's car sat parked in one of the two slots where Nathan usually parked. He spotted it as soon as he rounded the corner and steered toward his apartment.
It was dusk. Apparently, while he'd spent the last hour sitting in his truck outside her parents' house waiting for her to come home, she'd been here waiting for him. Figured. So now she'd think he'd been at RUSH, spending time with Melissa, when he for damn sure hadn't been.
Pulling up beside her, he cut the engine. But he hesitated before getting out, resting his wrists on the steering wheel. Every time he opened his mouth these days, he said the shittiest thing possible to her. It was as though somewhere in his subconscious he'd become intent on destroying what little was left of the relationship they had and at a time when he wanted much more.
He swept a hand over his face. He and Jill had rubbed one another the wrong way often enough, but it had never been like this. Instead of building something newer, something deeper, he sent her running whenever they were together in the same room. Now, when so much was at stake, when he'd begun to see his future in her, he kept pushing her further and further away.
Her car door opened and she got out, her long blonde curls swaying against her butt as she walked around to the front of his SUV and waited for him to join her.
He wanted her. Every time he saw her now he wanted her. But the closer he tried to get, the more distant she became, fluttering those diaphanous wings and shying away from him like the butterfly he'd always likened her to. And now, the first and only time he'd put to use his membership at RUSH, Inc., she'd been there to see it.
Sighing, he reached down and opened the door. He wasn't looking forward to this conversation. Not at all.
They walked up the short pavement to his front door in silence. He didn't touch her. Not even a guiding hand. He didn't know what was on her mind, but he was damned certain she wouldn't want his hands on her after coming from another woman.
Unlocking the door, he reached inside for the light switch. She followed him in, closing the door behind her, but she didn't make herself at home. She just stood there gripping the strap of her shoulder bag as though reluctant to let go of it.
He tossed his keys onto the coffee table. "Have a seat," he invited, though he'd never before felt the need to make her feel comfortable. She was just as at home here as she ever was in her own home. Hell, every time she'd cooked for him she'd rearranged his kitchen cabinets a little more until they finally suited her. But their relationship, whatever that relationship was right now, was tense and strained. And this time he needed to do some explaining.
"I joined RUSH when Rachel signed on to work with that instructor —your friend Dalton Cooper."
He looked over to see how she took that, but her expression gave nothing away. She lowered herself onto the armchair, still holding onto her purse, clearly telling him she wasn't planning to stick around.
He steeled himself to be patient. Walking around the coffee table, he sat down across from her on the sofa. "All of law enforcement has been trying to get a handle on that place since it opened, but nobody talks about it," he said. "Under threat of a lawsuit, there's a stipulation in the membership contract that prohibits discussing RUSH with nonmembers. It's a dual purpose clause. One," he held up a finger, "it protects the women who join. And two, it's good PR to maintain the mystery and allure." He braced both elbows on his knees and leaned forward. "I wasn't going to let her go in there without some kind of protection, Jill."
She nodded. "I understand. You've always kept an eye out for us."
Okay, he thought, now the awkward part. "When you saw me there today, it was the first time I went for . . . personal reasons."
She lowered her eyes to the carpet. Her purse strap slid down her arm and she slid it back up. Raising her eyes back to his, she said, "Melissa seemed . . . very nice."
He stared. How could she— "That's not the response I was looking for." Why, for God's sake were they never on the same fucking page?
She stopped fidgeting and eyed him warily. "I don't know what you want me to say, Nathan. She seemed nice. I can't offer more than that because I hardly spoke to her."
"Damn it, Jill." He shot to his feet. "I told you I wanted to marry you and all you can say when you find me with another woman is she seemed nice?"
Jill rose slowly, almost carefully from the chair. "What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to say you were jealous, goddamn it. I want you to say it hurt like hell!"
Her bottom lip trembled and whatever pain he thought she hadn't felt was visible in her eyes now. "It hurt like hell, Nathan. Okay? It hurt because it showed me, again, how little I mean to you."
"How little—" Christ, this couldn't get any more screwed up. "Jill, RUSH is exactly what it advertises itself to be. It's a place for safe, anonymous sex. That's it. Nothing more." He struggled for control. "Release. That's all it was today. Release. Can you understand that?"
"Nathan, it's none of my business—"
"It is your business. I want it to be your business."
"Why?" she cried out. "Why do you always want to hurt me?" Then she really was crying.
He went very still. Hurt her? "Is that what you think? That I want to hurt you?"
She wiped her tears with her fingers. "I came here to tell you, in person, that I'm going away for a while."
He clamped his mouth shut. Everything else fell by the wayside. "What do you mean, going away? Where are you going?"
"I've taken a job in Key West." She sniffed. "I'll be leaving on Saturday."
He couldn't move. His insides had turned to stone. Key West. Four hundred miles away.
He stared at her, at the hurt shining in her eyes. At the little girl in her who was afraid of the dark. At the teenager who didn't like it when her world changed. At the beautiful woman who drove him crazy because . . . because he wanted to marry her and have children with her. Because she'd become important to him in a way he'd never before considered.
"Honey, don't do this," he whispered, his throat thick and taut.
She readjusted the strap of her handbag again and started for the door. She was leaving. Christ, she was leaving and he didn't know what to say that would make her stay.
"Jill."
Hand on the doorknob, she turned to face him.
For the briefest of seconds the words caught in his chest. Then, as the depth of what he felt rose up inside, he said, "I love you, Jill."
She held his gaze. But the sadness in her eyes reflected the decline of all their years of friendship, of caring, and of anything more that might have been.
"I love you, too, Nathan," she said. Then she opened the door, walked out, and closed it behind her.
It was the second time they'd told one another they loved each other before she walked away and left him. Only this time, there was a world of difference in what he felt for her. It had been coming on since the night he'd taken her to bed for the first time and began to see the woman she'd become.
He was falling in love with her. With Jill.
CHAPTER 30
Michael preferred the waiting room. No. Scratch that. He didn't want to be here at all. Sitting in a room with a bunch of pregnant women was pretty far down on his list of desirables. But something was wrong with Rachel and he was getting worried. He couldn't put his finger on it. It wasn't like she was sick or anything. But she was worried too. He'd seen it in that faraway look he kept trying to figure out. And he'd caught her crying a couple of times now. But when he asked, she just said her hormones were making her weepy.
Well, to hell with that. It was something else. Something that had been going on for a while now. Every time he looked at her
picture hanging on the wall in his office, he was reminded of that.
She'd asked if he wanted to go into the examining room with her, but he'd told her no. He didn't tell her he didn't want to get any closer to the baby, but she probably knew that by now. He just wanted to know about Rachel. Just Rachel. He wanted to be there when she finished up with the doctor so he could see her face. And if her pretty little nose was pink from crying, he was gonna want some answers right then and there, whether she gave them, or he had to go get them from her doctor.
But he was running out of time. He was supposed to meet with a client—he glanced at his watch—in half an hour. Shit. He and Rachel had driven here in two cars because of that. It was a good thing, too. Frigging doctors wanted you to be on time for your appointment, but how often did they show the same courtesy? And now he was going to have to leave in a few minutes, which defeated the whole purpose of sitting here in the first place.
Staring at the walls, he waited until the last minute, then he couldn't wait any longer. Frustrated, he pulled out his cell phone and sent Rachel a text. She'd know why he wasn't here when she came out, but he felt better for the brief contact. He'd have to talk to her when they got home.
When he pulled into the garage two hours later, though, the Spider wasn't there. He stared at the empty space next to her Bugatti, then got out from behind the wheel and went in the house.
It was silent. Empty. Not the comfortable kind of emptiness it used to be, either. In fact, Rachel had added several pieces of furniture—a kitchen table and chairs, the air hockey table in the game room, a couple of armchairs in the living room . . . . It was still a long way from being crowded. He could even hear the echo he liked, faint though it was now. But her presence was missing. He always knew when she wasn't here. It didn't matter if she was back in her office while he was at the other end of the house. He always felt her presence. Just like he always knew it when she left.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator, he headed for his own office to distract himself. His new client, a lawyer, had given him a name and a few basics that would keep him busy for a while. About thirty percent of his work came from law firms. The rest came from corporations, the government, and about ten percent was generated by individuals. He settled into his chair, turned on a computer that couldn't be traced back to him, and typed in his password.
An hour later he sat back and looked at the time. Rachel wasn't home yet.
Pushing away from his desk, he stood up, walked over to the windows, and looked out. Now that summer was approaching it didn't get dark so early. But that didn't mean shit. Things could happen no matter what time of day it was.
He could always phone her, but he did that a lot—phoning her or texting. He didn't want her to think he was checking up on her. So he forced himself to go back and sit down. He stared at the information on the monitor.
Two minutes after that, the front door opened. She was home. And just like always, the tension in his muscles started to ease up.
He didn't have to get up and go look for her. She came and found him instead, poking her head around the doorjamb.
"Hey, baby," he greeted. He held out an arm, studying her face as she approached. A little tension in her eyes, but no pink nose. Then again, if she'd been crying it would have been a while ago. Or she would have waited until the evidence was gone before coming inside.
He pushed away from his desk, reached for her wrist, and guided her down onto his lap. Her weight gain wasn't noticeable, though she had a definite little bump in her belly.
She settled onto his lap and sighed, letting her purse slip to the floor. Oh, yeah. She was glad to be home.
"Everything go okay?" he asked, still watching her eyes. He'd never actually told her he didn't want to know about the baby, but she knew. And she didn't push. She never flooded him with a bunch of maternity information to try and get him involved.
But he wasn't stupid either. If that strain in her eyes was there because of his lack of interest, maybe it was time to put the issue out on the table. He was pretty sure she'd understand how he felt about things.
"Yes," she told him, "everything went fine."
She tried to reassure him with a smile, but he wasn't buying it. Her nose might not be pink, but her smile was weak, like she had to work at it.
She rested her head against his shoulder and he closed his lids for a minute, holding her, just feeling her safe in his arms. He smoothed his thumb in small circles on her back.
"Where you been, baby? I was getting worried."
Fuck. He hadn't meant to say that.
She kissed his chest though his cotton shirt and said, "I stopped by my father's practice on the way home."
"For three hours?" He couldn't help it. The question just popped out.
"Mmm," she said, slipping her arm across his waist.
What kind of answer was that? Mmm didn't tell him a damn thing. What the hell could she have been doing there for three hours? He wanted information, but she wasn't volunteering any.
"Do you help out when you go there?" he asked, hoping she'd take the hint and talk to him.
"No, not anymore," she said.
He waited again, trying to be patient. Then he couldn't take it any longer. Easing her away from his chest so he could see her face, he looked into her eyes and asked, "What were you doing there for three hours?"
She met his eyes, but she didn't answer.
"Rachel?"
More silence. And her eyes grew cautious, like she didn't want to tell him she'd been doing something she shouldn't have been doing.
"Baby, what were you doing at your father's practice for three hours?"
"I was watching the other mothers with their babies," she blurted out. Then she watched him, her eyes anxious and wary.
Yeah, this definitely needed to be brought to the table. But before he could open his mouth and say anything, she burst into tears and covered her face with her hands.
"What if I can't hold her, Michael? What if I can't hold her?"
He went perfectly still.
Chills—a coldness like he'd never felt before whipped around him as though he'd been tossed out into the middle of an ice storm. His hair stood on end. He could feel the damn goose bumps on his scalp.
He tried to get a grip on himself, but one word kept boomeranging around in his head.
Her.
A girl baby.
Rachel cried and trembled in his arms and he sat there holding her, frigging stunned and frozen to the chair. He should be trying to figure out something comforting to say. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that. But everything was all skewed up. Disoriented. His brain wouldn't work right—like it was flipped inside out or something. And then he wasn't sure if it was her shaking or himself. All he could do was stare down at her pretty pink top.
A girl baby. He was gonna be the father of a little girl. How long had she known? And how the hell long had she been scared like this? It never occurred to him that she wouldn't be able to hold the baby.
"Shhh, Rachel. Think about it. You're already holding the baby, right?"
Guilt settled it's bitter blanket across his shoulders. Was that what she thought about when she got all quiet? Was that the reason for the strain in her eyes? Hell, had she been keeping all this shit inside because she knew he didn't want to hear about it?
Fuck.
He didn't know jack about babies. About kids. He liked Mason's son Joshua, but Joshua was a neat kid. A lot of them weren't. And Joshua could talk.
"Shhh," he said again, trying to comfort her.
But he wasn't having an easy time of it either. He'd been blocking this out for a long time. The baby she carried had been a sort of abstract presence. But learning the sex . . . . Finding out that he had a daughter growing inside Rachel's belly slammed the reality of her existence into his heart with the blow of a sledgehammer.
He tried to catch a steady breath. Space. He needed some space. Just a little time al
one to protect himself.
Sliding one arm under Rachel's knees, he held her as he stood up. Then he carried her out to the living room and put her down on the sofa.
"I'm gonna go get you some tissues," he choked out. "I'll only be a minute."
He headed for the main bath because it was the closest. But he strode down the hall and kept going. He passed the bathroom, passed the bedroom where Rachel had set up her study space, then turned into the next room. It was a room that was supposed to be empty. Only it wasn't.
Shit! Goddamn it!
It hit him like another body blow, like being whammed by a two-by-four across the gut.
A white crib. A matching dresser. Another dresser off to his left with a thick pad on top. White curtains with teddy bears on them. A child's quilt draped over the end of the crib. A girly mobile with pink fish and minty-green birds and white lace . . . .
Heart pumping, he turned in a circle while reality crashed on him for a second time. As if the first time hadn't been enough.
"Rachel!" he yelled.
When the hell had she done this? How could he not have known?
"Rachel!" he shouted again.
"Michael?"
She stood in the doorway, his princess, his world, with her waterfall of spiraling curls, wiping the tears on her cheeks. She was beautiful. She was everything. And she was scared.
But here he was having a meltdown because it had taken him five frigging months to find out he could no more hide from his own child than he could her mother.
He took a deep, harsh breath. Then he looked down at her belly. Really looked. He'd felt the baby move before—in bed while Rachel slept in his arms. But whenever it happened, he turned over onto his back, separating himself physically and mentally. Part of him still wanted to. 'Cause he was scared now too.
"Rachel." He took another hard breath and looked into her eyes. "You'll be able to hold her. Do it while she's still in your stomach. Cradle her so you get used to her. And if you ever feel like you need help . . . you tell me and I'll hold her until you're ready again. We'll work it out, baby."
