by Connie Cox
Was that a flicker of remembrance for the passion that had once bound them together?
“Why, Cole?” Bella asked all his unspoken questions.
Before he could sort out answers he didn’t have, Dr. Wong came up to them. “Dance with me, Isabella?”
“This dance is already taken.” Using the same fierceness Cole had used to back down the street gangs of his youth, he glared at the man who would likely be his business partner in the near future.
Rebelliousness set Bella’s jaw, but Wong had already bowed out and turned away before she could protest. “Maybe I wanted to dance with Dr. Wong.”
Most women would protest against Cole’s high-handedness and rightfully so. But tonight the caveman inside him wouldn’t allow Dr. Wong to put his hands on Bella.
He blamed his Neanderthal behavior on still trying to find his balance. Seeing her that afternoon had been such a shock. She had a career. She had a son. She had a life.
“Dance with me instead.” Without waiting for her acquiescence, he put his hand on her back to lead her onto the dance floor. Cole counted on her reluctance to make a scene to keep her from protesting.
He read her right. She glanced around, saw no easy way out, and chose to avoid a scene. Why else would she dance with him? No, she hadn’t changed that much. The old Bella had always done what society had expected of her. Like marrying David Beautemps.
A wave of jealously flooded through him for the gift the Beautemps had been given. David had had a wonderful, intelligent and beautiful woman and a son any man would be proud to call his own. They had seemed to be the perfect couple. What had gone wrong with their marriage? And why should it matter to him?
He just knew he had to touch her or he would never be healed of the deep wound she’d left in his heart.
As he wrapped his arms around her, Cole felt as if fragments of himself fitted into place. There was a fullness, a wholeness about Bella pressed against his body. Automatically, their bodies fell into rhythm to the strains of a slow Louis Armstrong number.
He knew why he was dancing with her. Illogical though it was, he couldn’t stand the sight of another man holding her—and he didn’t feel like dredging up the strength of will to push away his baser tendencies. Not tonight, not after all the turmoil his homecoming had stirred in him, when all he’d wanted to do was bring comfort and cures to those who needed it the most. After all the pain he’d had to work through, he was due a bit of self-indulgence, wasn’t he?
But why did she clutch him equally strongly?
* * *
Was it so wrong of her to pretend, just for a few minutes, that life had turned out differently? She was so exhausted, emotionally and mentally as well as physically. Would it hurt to steal a moment’s respite?
Bella clung to Cole, following his lead like she’d done all those years ago.
In her high heels, she was the perfect height to nestle her head on his shoulder. Her feet automatically fell into step as he guided them around the dance floor.
She closed her eyes, letting Cole’s masculine closeness seep into her. His arms provided a sanctuary in the crowd.
For just a few minutes she would allow herself to have no responsibilities, no decisions to make, nothing but Cole in her world—the world she had always fantasized about. She didn’t even have to worry about where to take her next step, with Cole leading the way.
With a little imagination she could almost hear his heart beat beneath her ear.
His touch was so familiar yet so foreign. His hands cupped hers the way they had in the past, but his palms felt bigger, more encompassing, and his fingers felt more sensitive against hers.
The tingle was the same, but more so. Not only did electricity race along the surface of her body but a bigger energy that was uniquely Cole dove beneath the surface to enmesh with her own flagging energy.
Her soul fed from his.
Soul mates—in another lifetime, perhaps. Now two old acquaintances with the spectre of an unacknowledged son between them.
She found the strength to lift her head, breaking the connection.
“You fit me exactly like you used to.” Cole maneuvered them around a less graceful couple. “You always felt so fragile, so delicate. After all these years you’re still a wisp of a woman.”
“I assume you’re trying to flatter me but you’re taking the wrong tack. You don’t know me anymore, Cole.”
She pushed herself away enough to look him in the eye. Thinking of the way he had superciliously led her onto the dance floor, she decided to test her own influence over him.
“I’m not who I used to be.” Deliberately, she licked her lips and watched his pupils darken with desire. “I’m better.”
Knowing that she could still rouse Cole’s desire, even after all these years, did much to soothe her bruised ego. But she really didn’t have time for his games.
As if she drew the strength from him to push him away, Bella put her hands between them. “I’ve got work to do.”
Not breaking rhythm, Cole whispered in her ear, “What work? This is a party.”
“It’s a fundraiser. I’ve got funds to raise.”
“How much do you need?”
“You can’t just write a check.”
“Oh, but I can. Tell me how much this dance will cost me.”
Not as much as getting away from me cost some faceless scholarship committee, she wanted to retort. But she didn’t make scenes in public.
The Allantes may have taken a big tumble down the high-society ladder, but that didn’t mean she’d lost her dignity as well as her social position.
“Giving to the games is about an emotional commitment as well as a monetary one.” She looked up at the hard planes of his face and gave him a twisted smile. “And you can’t give what you don’t have.”
Turning away after delivering her coup de grâce, Isabella was brought up short by a waiter with a note in his white-gloved hand. “Excuse the interruption, Ms. Allante, but the caller said it was urgent.”
Isabella read the note: “Adrian cut his hand. Meet me at Tulane’s Emergency Room.”
Cole took the note from her and glanced over it. “I’ll drive you.”
Arguing would only waste time.
* * *
Isabella sat tensely, her hands clasped in her lap, as Cole maneuvered through traffic. Cole could have tried to ease Bella’s worries with platitudes but she had reached over and switched off his radio the minute he’d cranked up his rented BMW, a strong indication she didn’t want distractions. He took the hint.
Now she sat, shoulders tense, her hands clasped in her lap, her focus on the scenery outside the passenger window, clearly not receptive to communication. She’d been like that the day she’d waited to learn her mother’s fate.
In the hospital’s reflection garden, she’d sat on the edge of the wooden bench, clasping and unclasping her hands until he’d laced his fingers through hers. Then she’d held on tight, tighter than he could have imagined such a small girl could grip, staring out into the azalea-filled garden. And he’d sat with her in case she needed him. Three hours in the hot, humid mosquito-laden afternoon, until a chaplain had brought the message that Bella’s mother was dead.
Without speaking, she’d moved over, closing the gap that separated them until their shoulders had touched as tears had tracked down her face.
When he’d dared to wrap his arm around her, she had leaned into him, giving in to one full sob, then apologized if she’d made him uncomfortable. Politely and mechanically, she had thanked him for waiting before excusing herself to find her father so she could ask what she needed to do next.
That was how everything had been handled in the Allante household, gracious and controlled.
That was why he had never fit in, not with his hot temper and propensity to say what was on his mind. But he’d learned. It had been a lesson hard-won, but he had learned to be just as cool and unemotional as Bella.
And he had to ad
mit that shutting out his emotions kept him from hurting so much in public. How he felt in his private darkness was another matter entirely.
Cole barely had his car parked and out of gear before Isabella was climbing out. Even in her high heels she took quick strides at just under a run toward the emergency entrance.
At the reception desk she visibly restrained herself, taking a deep breath and swallowing before asking in her cultured tones, “I’m here for my son, Adrian Allante.”
Allante? Not Beautemps? But Cole didn’t spend time dwelling on Adrian’s surname as he followed Bella to the examination room where Adrian was.
Before going in, Bella took another deep breath, then, as if just remembering Cole was there, warned him, “Adrian doesn’t respond well to excess emotion.”
But her unfocused eyes made Cole momentarily wonder if she were telling him or reminding herself.
Adrian sat on an examination table, rocking back and forth. He fingered his scarf with a bloody hand and held tight to a doctor doll in the other.
The lights were dim and the room quiet. If David Beautemps hadn’t moved in the corner chair, Cole would have overlooked him.
David gave her a wan smile and said in a whisper Cole barely heard, “Bella, I’m so sorry. Adrian dropped a picture frame. The glass shattered in large pieces. He cut himself trying to put it back together. I found all the shards, so I don’t think there’s any in the cut.”
“Accidents happen. I’m glad he was with you.” She slashed Cole a sharp glance as she said, “David, you always do the right thing.”
“The cut isn’t that deep but it’s rather long. The staff need parental permission before they can stitch it up.”
Why couldn’t David give parental permission? Because he wasn’t Adrian’s father?
Was that what had happened to their marriage? Cole couldn’t reconcile the Isabella Allante he’d known with a woman who would step outside marriage and have an affair.
But, then, he hadn’t known Bella as well as he’d thought he had.
The boy looked nothing like David—or Bella either—yet something about him looked very familiar. Maybe the way he carried himself, or was it in his eyes?
No, Bella wasn’t the kind of woman to have one man’s child while married to another man. And it was obvious to anyone that David still cared greatly—for both mother and son.
A nurse burst into the room and flipped on the lights.
“How are you today, young man?” she asked in a cheerful bedside voice. “And why are we sitting here in the dark?”
Adrian sped up his rocking as he started to thump the doctor doll on the table. His face clouded while his eyes blanked, like his inner conscious was separating from his body.
Behind him, Bella flipped off the light and walked over to stand in front of Adrian, looking past him instead of into his eyes and taking long, slow breaths.
Quietly, David clued the young nurse in. “Adrian has autism and feels better when the room isn’t so bright. We understand you’ll need light to work in. Is it possible to examine him with just a strong light beam on his hand?”
Cole got the strong impression Bella and David had worked as a team many times. Jealousy stabbed him, even though the emotion defied logic. Bella hadn’t been his to have and to hold for a decade and a half now. Rationally, he was glad, for both Bella’s and Adrian’s sakes that they had David to rely on.
The nurse blinked, then rallied. “Sure. We’ll give it a try. But I’m afraid it will be a while. We’ve just had a major trauma, a bus accident, and everyone needs to be triaged so we won’t have a doctor available for a bit.”
Meanwhile, Adrian began echoing his mother’s breaths even as he slowed the beat of the doctor doll against the table. Cole was all too aware of the surreptitious attention Adrian gave him and made sure his own attitude reflected nothing but calm.
“I’ve recently been granted hospital privileges here. I can take care of Adrian’s cut.”
The young nurse took a moment to peer at Cole in the dimness of the room. “Yes, Dr. Lassiter, I recognize you. I’m sure you don’t recognize me as I was behind a mask at the time, but I assisted in your case.”
“I’m surprised you recognize me, for the same reason.”
“Everyone knows you, Doctor. The work you did for that fireman was phenomenal.”
Cole shifted his shoulders. He’d never been comfortable with compliments. Deep down, he would always be the dirt-poor shrimper’s son, raised to know his place.
“Dr. Lassiter, I’m not needed for the triage. I can assist if you need me to.”
“Thank you, Nurse. I can use your help.”
She moved in close and spoke so only he could hear. “Anything you need, Doctor.”
Cole heard the unspoken message in her tone of voice. He wasn’t new to being propositioned. But he was new to not even being the slightest bit intrigued.
Instead, he focused on his patient.
“Adrian, I need to look at your cut and assess how deep it is. I know all these procedures may be uncomfortable for you but I know you can bear it, too.”
Adrian looked to the right and down in acknowledgment.
The little niggle in the back of Cole’s mind took on a full-blown hammer strike as he now recognized the obvious.
Now Cole knew where he’d seen the boy’s eyes before—in his own mirror. Certainty filled him. When Isabella had married David, she had been pregnant with his child.
Adrian was his son.
Why had Bella kept the truth from him? He had missed so much.
His hot temper flared. He’d thought he’d left that depth of passion behind along with his broken heart all those years ago. But he had his son to think of first.
Cole deliberately tamped down his reactions while inwardly he ran through the questions he would pin Isabella with the moment he could get her alone.
With great self-discipline he mentally forced minute details of the case at hand into the spotlight and made everything else in the room fade away.
“Adrian, I need light to see your hand better. I’m going to turn on this lamp. Close your eyes if it helps.”
Obediently, Adrian squeezed his eyes tight while Cole flipped on the bright examination lamp.
“Now, I need you to open your hand and lay it on this tray.” He covered a metal tray with sterile paper and positioned it between Adrian and himself.
When Adrian didn’t move, Cole sent a quick glance toward Bella while avoiding looking directly at her. He needed to keep her out of his thoughts to keep his composure.
They would talk after he cared for Adrian.
“Adrian, your mother is going to guide your hand to the tray and open your fingers so I can see your injury.” He gave Bella a firm nod.
Isabella saw the cut was just as David had described, shallow but long.
Putting the scarf between her and Adrian, she cupped his hand and peeled back his fingers. Tense situations made Adrian more sensitive to skin-to-skin touch than he usually was.
“Antiseptic and a bead of skin glue will be sufficient,” he directed to the nurse who got him the requested supplies.
With Cole administering to him, Adrian didn’t even flinch.
For her son’s sake, Bella was glad Cole was there.
When Cole moved in close and bent to apply the glue, his hand brushed hers. His touch was like electricity, raising tingles along her arm that shivered all the way through her. She had to fight herself to keep her stoicism.
Cole didn’t even seem to notice her, much less her reaction as he focused on Adrian.
“I’m going to wrap your hand to keep you from moving it too much, so the edges of the cut can seal better,” he said to Adrian. “Don’t get it wet. You can take the wrap off tomorrow morning.”
To tamp down her emotional side, Isabella focused on her rational side, appreciating the way Cole spoke directly to her son. Because Adrian didn’t respond verbally, many people didn’t talk to him. Instead,
they spoke to her as if she needed to relay the message. It was a natural instinct but not an accurate one.
Procedure complete, Cole stretched his neck from side to side and grimaced. The behavior therapist in Isabella wanted to offer ergonomic observations but she kept her medical opinions to herself. Knowing when and how to dispense advice and how to keep her personal distance was a big part of her therapy training and an area she usually excelled in.
But Cole, standing this close to her, made keeping her emotional distance difficult.
“Thank you, Nurse. We’re done here.” Cole dismissed the nurse who obviously wanted to take their relationship beyond the hospital walls. Isabella applauded his professionalism while she ignored the possessiveness that kept trying to surface.
“Let’s all three of us step into the hallway,” Cole said it more as an order than a suggestion.
While she would usually take umbrage at his brusqueness, this time she understood. That was how doctors were: authoritative and totally sure of themselves. They needed to be confident to make the split-second decisions they had to make.
But the sharpness of his tone alarmed her.
She led the way, with a nervous glance back at her son. “Is there a problem with Adrian? I thought he only had a small cut.”
“Adrian will be fine. This isn’t about his hand.” Then Cole overstepped his physician’s role, “David, if you would take Adrian home now, I’ll drive Bella back to the hotel.”
“Who are you to make arrangements for my son or for me?” Isabella challenged, setting free all her pent-up anxiety in the form of righteous anger.
“Our son.” Cole pinned her with a glare. His eyes, only moments ago so impassively focused on his patient, now glowed with the darkness of hell. “Bella, we need to talk.”
CHAPTER FIVE
ISABELLA felt her world shift under her. Ambulance sirens sounded like they came from within her instead of from the entrance to the emergency room.
Cole looked shocked. His whole attitude shouted that he hadn’t known. How could that be?
“Why now? Where were you fifteen years ago?” she forced through her tight throat. Her words sounded rasping and raw even to her own ears.
