by Connie Cox
Knowing how to change the topic smoothly, Isabella said, “I just love that peachy color on you, Madelaine. It makes your skin glow.”
Madelaine accepted the compliment as her due. “And you look lovely as well. Very retro. Yves Saint Laurent?”
“Oleg Cassini.” Cassini, Chanel and Givenchy had filled the cedar-lined armoires of the Allante plantation home before hurricane winds had torn half the rotting shingles from the roof last spring.
It had been the last straw. Isabella had had to swallow her pride and accept David’s generous offer of one half of his Garden District duplex.
She had to admit that having Adrian’s back-up carer right next door had made the whole ordeal of condemning the old mansion a blessing in disguise. Though it still made her heart sink to see the blue plastic tarps tacked over the leaking roof. Her childhood home, once one of the grand dames of the Garden District, was in such bad shape it wouldn’t bring much at the sheriff’s auction at the end of the month.
“Vintage is so charming.” Madelaine drew attention to her own décolletage by touching the intricate opal creation around her neck. “If you don’t mind me saying, Isabella, I’ll bet your mother always wore pearls with that suit. A double strand would be the perfect accessory for your outfit.”
Isabella chose to think of the huge donation Madelaine’s family could make instead of the society queen’s veiled insult about her vintage clothing and lack of jewelry. She refused to mourn for the magnificent strands of pearls she’d had to sell off, little by little, to pay for her father’s medical bills and nursing-home care, just like she refused to mourn for her childhood home.
“I can always count on you for giving top-notch fashion advice, can’t I, Madelaine?”
Now, while Madelaine’s pride of self puffed out her chest, Isabella should ask for the donation.
A tingle trickled down her spine. A trickle that alerted her that Cole was nearby.
Madelaine spotted him, too. “There’s Dr. Lassiter talking with a big guy by the bar. Dad, isn’t that Benny Luge, quarterback for our favorite team? Benny’s brother, Steve, was in our class in high school. Remember, Isabella? I dated Steve for a while.”
“Yes, I remember.” She also remembered that Steve, Madelaine and their little clique had treated Cole like a second-class citizen.
“Isabella, did you know Benny flew up to New York so Dr. Lassiter could fix his throwing hand last season?”
“No, I don’t keep up with sports, except the special games.”
“Cole’s a good man,” Dr. Lockhart said. “Very generous.”
“I doubt the rates he charges professional athletes could be called charity. I guess he’s making up for all those years of living off free lunches and scholarships,” Madelaine said.
Isabella winced at the snarkiness of Madelaine’s tone. Her first inclination was to defend Cole, as she always had when they’d been in their teens. Although she had been pathetically shy, mean-spiritedness toward Cole had been the one thing that could make her stand up to a crowd. But Cole didn’t need her defense, did he?
So why did Cole still bring out the fire in her when she wanted him to have no effect on her at all?
Dr. Lockhart looked over his glasses at them both. “You probably haven’t heard, since Dr. Lassiter keeps his contributions quietly anonymous, but for every celebrity he and his teams treat, they make a point of treating at least two underprivileged patients.”
Wong nodded, adding, “He’s been consulting with me on a charity case, a young fireman who has a hand injury. In fact, he scrubbed in on surgery this morning. We had been hoping to avoid amputation and prosthetics and Dr. Lassiter steered us in a more positive direction. The man is absolutely brilliant.”
That Cole was an admired doctor didn’t surprise Isabella at all. She had always known Cole would excel at whatever he put his mind to. If only he’d had as much passion for nurturing a family as he did for nurturing his medical prowess, she would have never known the pain of a broken heart.
“Isabella, one of Dr. Lassiter’s team has a young son who is showing signs of autism. I’m hoping you’ll talk to him about applied behavior analysis.” Dr. Lockhart gave her a hopeful smile as he beckoned Cole over.
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Cole head in their direction.
Before she could figure out how to move on gracefully, Dr. Lockhart was introducing them. “Cole, do you remember Isabella Allante? She’s the therapist I was telling you about. My daughter has reminded me that all of you went to school together.”
“Yes, I remember Bella.” Cole gave her a reserved, wary nod. “We renewed our acquaintance when we bumped into each other at the games a few days ago.”
What did he expect her to do? Publicly force him to acknowledge his son, then demand fourteen years of paternity payments? She had more class than that.
Madelaine widened her eyes at them as if she’d just caught them kissing under the bleachers. “That’s right. You two were an item for a while during your last year of high school.”
A close-up photo of Adrian flashed on the screen.
“Isn’t that your son, Isabella?” Madelaine pointed to the photo. “How old is he now?”
Isabella made a quick study of her son. He looked so much like Cole at fourteen.
Madelaine narrowed her eyes as she started to put the pieces of Isabella’s timeline together. With her nose for gossip, she would have the puzzle worked out by the end of the evening.
Only the immediate Beautemps family knew Adrian wasn’t one of their own, and only David and his mother knew about Cole. After all these years of letting everyone make the assumption that Adrian was David’s son, was her secret about to be revealed? Her mind boggled at the ripple effect that would have.
She worded her answer carefully. “He’s in his last year of middle school.” No need to mention that he’d been held back a few years to try to match his classmates’ maturity levels.
Without glancing his way, she felt Cole study her, evaluate her, take a step closer to her so she could feel his body radiate with heat. Or was that the force of his personality that made her own body hot?
Damn. Why did Cole have to come back? She could have lived the rest of her life in peace without ever seeing him again. She had been totally satisfied with her life until he’d shown up. Okay, maybe not totally satisfied. But she had plenty going on in her life without needing a man in it, especially this man who made her feel a restlessness she hadn’t felt in over fifteen years.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need a drink.” She turned on her heel to head to the open bar and Cole followed. Snagging two glasses of sparkling white wine, he handed her one.
She almost refused, but that would mean she cared.
She didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to react to the overpowering maleness of him. Didn’t want to think of the string of lonely nights behind her or the infinite ones that stretched before her.
No other man had ever made her feel this yearning, this need to be filled.
As she coached her patients, she would perform the outward motions with the intention of changing inner emotions.
As if Cole were a random stranger, Isabella accepted the crystal flute from him. When his warm fingers brushed hers, she almost dropped her glass. Just a remembered physiological reaction, she scolded herself. Nothing significant there. Certainly nothing to be acted on either positively or negatively. Still, she took a step away.
“Bella, someone called my cellphone this afternoon. No message. Just a hang-up. Since I gave Adrian my cellphone number, I thought it might be him.” He rattled off the number.
“That’s our home phone. He’s never done that before. He doesn’t generally reach out to make contact like that.” Absently, Isabella took a deep drink of her champagne, not caring that she should sip instead of gulp. If it had truly been Adrian, the phone call was a huge breakthrough.
Overcome with too many opposing emotions, she fought to find words to fill th
e silence. Any inane utterance would do.
But she was as mute as her son.
“Are you all right?” Cole’s voice was deeper now than it had been. And clipped around the edges, as if he was too busy to allow his natural Southern drawl to play out.
“Fine. Just fine.” What do you care if I’m not? she wanted to challenge him.
She wanted to break the connection between them even more. No muss, no fuss. Simply walk away from a situation that could get complicated fast.
Was that what Cole had been thinking when he’d deserted her while she’d slept all those years ago?
She couldn’t make herself leave him.
“I don’t know why Adrian would call you.” Except, in his imagination, you’re his hero.
“There’s no emergency?”
Did he sound disgruntled? Too busy to take a phone call from his own son?
“No. Nothing like that. I’ll tell him not to bother you again.” Which would be a major setback for Adrian. “You shouldn’t have given him your number if you didn’t want him to use it.”
“I didn’t mean that at all. He can call me anytime, although I can’t always answer it. If you could explain that to him...”
“You can explain it to him yourself. Although Adrian doesn’t like to talk much, his hearing is just fine.”
“Then I’ll need to work on my one-sided conversations.”
Would he really put forth the effort? Or would he realize how frustrating it could be to try to communicate with Adrian, and then drop out of their lives as quickly as he’d dropped in?
Isabella ran her thumb across her hangnail as the decisions of motherhood tore at her. Having a father in his life would mean the world to Adrian. But consistency was key to Adrian’s peace of mind. How could she protect her son?
“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.” She found herself standing so close to Cole his body heat warmed her.
Craning her neck to look up into Cole’s eyes, she refused to take that first step back, just as he also refused to give ground. Invading each others’ personal space felt so provoking, so intimate that every nerve ending cried out to close the gap between them.
“I always keep my promises.”
“Then you’ve changed.” She rubbed at her throbbing temple before she pinned him with a stare. “Cole Lassiter, if you disappoint my son, you’ll rue the day you ever returned to New Orleans.”
He was silent as a muscle worked in his jaw. Finally, he said, “You’re a good mother, Bella.” He leaned in so close, his breath tickled her ear. “Do you know how your eyes spark when you’re passionate? You’ve become quite a woman, Isabella Allante.”
The drawl was back and so were all the conflicting emotions for Cole she’d attempted to forget. His voice caressed her as if he’d reached out and stroked his hand down her spine.
Isabella would have taken a sip of her drink to fill the silence but didn’t trust herself to be steady enough to keep from spilling it.
She couldn’t stop herself from looking him over, taking in the man he had become. Every inch of him, from his dark shadowed face to his broad shoulders and long-fingered hands oozed testosterone. The very scent of him made her ache for his touch.
What would his hands feel like, cupping her breasts, as they had once done?
She moved, shifting in her heels, because she had to. To stand still with all that need coursing through her would be to come apart.
He gave her a sideways half smile, half smirk as if he knew how he affected her. “Would you like to sit?”
No, I would like to take you to my bed. Her libido was stronger now than it had ever been as a teenager. No question that Cole was the cause. No one else had ever come close to affecting her this way.
“No. I would not like to sit.” Having to form a coherent answer kick-started her logic and control. What was she doing, letting her baser emotions run away like that? She didn’t have the luxury of letting go. She had responsibilities, duties and a few drops of pride left.
Like she’d done so many times in her life, Isabella concentrated on getting through the moment, leaving the future to untangle itself.
Cole would be gone soon. She would help Adrian grow past his disappointment that his fictional image of Daddy didn’t live up to reality. And they would get on with their lives with nothing but another memory of Cole to bury in her boneyard of hopes gone awry.
CHAPTER FOUR
COLE watched myriad emotions cross Bella’s eyes—worry, determination, anger, passion...then stone-cold nothing. Apparently she could turn her emotions on and off much more easily than he could. Although those vestiges of passion intrigued him.
More than intrigued him. Enticed him.
But that passion had been replaced with total dispassion in the blink of an eye. History repeating itself.
He should walk away, resigned that Bella would forever be a part of his past that could not be resolved.
Instead, he found himself gazing into her eyes, past the world-weariness, past the guardedness, past the crystal shards sharp enough to cut into a man’s soul, searching into the past for a sign of the love they had promised to hold sacred—until she’d married another man.
Searching for something, anything, to keep her by his side, he said, “I enjoyed your speech last Thursday.” He took a sip of champagne even though he detested the sparkling taste. “You’re not as shy as you used to be.”
She had been shy in public, but in private, in his little one-room efficiency apartment on the wrong side of town, she had been anything but shy in bed. Not only had she been generous in her lovemaking, she’d been open with her words of love as well.
Seeing Isabella now was stirring up all kinds of forgotten memories.
“I’m not a lot of things I used to be.” She toasted him and took a deep sip, obviously enjoying the bubbles sliding down her throat. “You missed the whole message and only heard the closing remarks.”
“You noticed when I came and went?”
Telling her absentminded father the age-old ploy that she was spending the weekend with female friends, she had stayed with him instead. That whole senior year they had talked of their future together. The weekend before he’d left for NYU for pre-med she had promised to be his wife as soon as he could support a family. As she’d lain asleep, worn out from a night of lovemaking, he had kissed her on the cheek and promised to do everything he could so they could be together as soon as possible.
“You weren’t very subtle about it.”
“Even after all these years, subtlety isn’t one of my specialties.”
Less than two weeks later he’d received her engagement announcement. She hadn’t even had the decency to send it herself, but had had her future mother-in-law drop the newspaper clipping into the mail for her.
“You never saw the need for nuance, did you, Cole? I’ll bet you fit in real well in New York.”
“Plain-speaking leaves less room for misunderstandings.”
David’s mother, the matriarch of the Beautemps family, had added her own sentiment, written in her precise handwriting on monogrammed heavyweight stationery: “I understand the upcoming nuptials may come as a surprise to you, but this wedding has been planned for quite a while. I am sure you wish for a secure and stable life for Isabella. Please respect that she has found that and more in David. Our family can give her what you cannot. Please accept the enclosed check as a token of the Beautemps’ wishes for a secure and stable future for you as well.”
No subtlety wasted there.
She took a deep drink from her glass. “I was surprised to see you in my lecture.”
“I was actually trying to attend the lecture before yours, but got the times wrong.”
At her frown, he realized that hadn’t sounded very flattering. He hadn’t meant to be rude.
She used to bring out the best in him. Did she bring out the worst now?
He flagged down a passing waiter to put his glass on the empty
tray. “I grabbed a copy of your notes for my office manager. Her daughter may have development issues.”
“So you don’t plan to read them yourself?”
“I saw your credentials listed in your bio. Impressive.”
The check had been the first of many communications he had torn to shreds. He’d taken out his anger, his hurt and his humiliation on anything postmarked with the New Orleans mail stamp.
“Tell your office manager there’s a website URL to evaluation services for each area of the country on the last page of the notes.”
“Where is your office?”
“You need my services?”
“I might want to make a referral or two.”
First he’d ripped her letters to pieces and scattered them to the winds, watching the waters of the Hudson River carry them away. As he’d stood on the bank, watching, he’d felt as if pieces of his heart were sinking below the murky surface with each melting piece of paper.
He thought she wasn’t going to tell him until she reached into her purse and gave him a card. “In the Garden District.”
“In your childhood neighborhood, then.”
“Yes, in a historic home converted into small offices.”
“I went by your old house.”
“It’s for sale. You saw the sign?”
“I know that must hurt.”
Then, as the weather had turned cold, he would burn them in his tiny balcony grill and warm his hands over the ashes.
Bella shrugged away his concern. “Sometimes things just don’t work out as you expect them to.”
He had erased all her phone messages without listening to them. He didn’t know if he could have survived her sweet voice trying to justify, trying to explain how a boy with his background could never measure up to the Beautemps.
“The experts would tell us to cherish the good memories and let go of the bad.” He had thought he’d had his past under control—until he’d set foot on Louisiana soil. Now he kept meeting it on every street corner.
When he’d finally torn up that last letter, unread, he’d written a letter of his own, telling her in the kindest way he could to get on with life. She’d stopped trying to contact him. And he had mourned.
