by Jeannie Watt
“Justin?”
“Yeah, Rachel. Justin.” He felt like saying something trite, such as “long time,” but this was too serious. He needed a name.
“How…how did you find me?” she whispered, even though he’d heard her ask the girl to let her have some privacy while she spoke to her “old friend.”
“That’s not important. I’m not going to bother you. I just want the name of the adoption agency.” He cleared his throat. “I want to send a letter to the family. That’s all.”
There was a choking sound on the other end of the phone, something like a low, keening sob.
“Don’t,” she said.
“Why? The family doesn’t have to respond.”
“He thinks Kyle is his father.”
What the… “Who is Kyle?”
“My husband.”
“Your…” The truth slammed into Justin so hard he almost dropped the phone. “You…he…” He shook his head, trying to rattle some sense into it. “There was no adoption?”
“I broke off ties with my parents before he was born. They made me choose.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” He would have been there for her. He would have welcomed the chance to be part of his child’s birth. Life.
“I’d met Kyle. We decided to raise the baby together.”
Justin realized that tears were streaming down his face, running into the corner of his mouth, the taste salty, yet bitter.
“All this time…” He choked out the words.
“Don’t ruin this, Justin.” Her voice was suddenly calm. Almost harsh.
“What’s his name?”
“Justin, please.”
“What’s. His. Name?”
“I know I handled this badly, but I couldn’t let him go. Not after I felt him move. Please, Justin. Please.”
“Rachel!”
“Brent. Brenton Kyle.” The last word was barely audible.
His son had her husband’s name. Cool. Very cool.
Justin blinked against the dampness in his eyes, then clapped a hand over them, wishing he could crawl into the darkness himself.
“He’s a happy kid, Justin. Really happy and normal and good at school. Don’t ruin this for him. Please, please, please don’t screw up his life.”
Justin opened his mouth to speak, found no words.
For a long moment neither of them spoke. Then Rachel said softly, “I have done the very, very best I could to give him a great life. Kyle adores him. Brent has two little sisters. Don’t destroy our family, Justin.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he finally said.
“Promise me.”
“You lied to me and now you want a promise from me?”
“Yes.” The word came so softly he barely heard it, but he could hear her swallowing back sobs again. “For him. Do it for him.”
“I want pictures.”
“Wh-what?”
“Pictures!”
“All right. Give me your address and I’ll send some, but you can’t contact us again, okay?”
She sounded so damned desperate that Justin almost felt sorry for her. He gave her his email address, then said, “If I find out he is anything but a normal happy kid—”
“I cut ties with my parents to make him a normal happy kid. I sacrificed, too.”
“Mo-om.” The voice came from the background. A little girl’s. Not his son’s.
“Justin?”
“I won’t screw up your family.” He grated out the words.
“I…I am so grateful. You don’t know how grateful. I…”
“I get it. Grateful. Goodbye, Rachel. Hug the kid for me.”
Then he punched the off button.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ONE THING ABOUT a pending lawsuit—it tended to take your mind off other matters. For a few minutes, anyway.
Truthfully, Layla could not stop thinking about Justin, couldn’t get his expression of shock and raw pain out of her brain.
She kept trying to tell herself that he would come around. That given time, he’d allow himself to accept help, take emotional risks. But ten years had passed and he’d chosen not to—hadn’t even told his sisters about the pregnancy. He’d been building this wall around himself brick by brick.
Maybe that was exactly how she needed to take it down.
One brick followed by another.
But still she didn’t act. The old Layla was taking over, guiding the new. First you put a plan into place. Then you analyze your data. Then you act.
Right now she was analyzing.
There was a time for jumping in and a time for caution.
And there was also a burning need to set things right, but how long was she willing to beat on a brick wall? If Justin had always had a thing for her, as Sam said, then he had every reason to take her up on her offer to be there for him. But he hadn’t.
Because he couldn’t let himself do that. He couldn’t let himself be happy. He faked happy better than anyone she knew, but inwardly, he was anything but. She wanted to see Justin. Shake him. Make him face his grief and deal with it.
All impossible, according to what she’d read.
She needed to forget taking down brick walls, and work on closure. Letting Justin go.
Even if she suspected that she loved him.
She was on her way to her appointment at the lawyer’s office when her phone rang. Her pulse skipped as she recognized the number. Tremont Catering.
“Have you heard from Justin?” Eden asked within seconds of saying hello.
“No,” Layla said, stunned at the question. “Not since…” She’d confronted him. “I don’t know…Friday night, I think.”
“Okay. It’s just that he said he was going away for the weekend and that he wanted to take a few days off this week, too. I thought that you two…well, never mind.”
That they were off together.
Well, they weren’t.
“Did he say where he was going?” Layla asked.
“Since he took all his camping gear out of my garage, I assumed he was going to the cabin. He’s been really quiet lately, and sometimes he heads up there when the pressure finally gets to him.”
“I didn’t know you guys had a cabin.”
“We don’t. His friend Donovan does. Very rustic. No electricity. No phone. Justin loves it and he’s probably there.”
“Shorthanded in the kitchen?”
“No. It honestly is a slow week. He couldn’t have picked a better time to take a break.”
“Sorry I can’t be more help.”
“I’m sure he’ll surface soon. Thanks, Layla.”
“No problem.” She hesitated one second, then before Eden ended the call, said, “Just one question, if you don’t mind telling me…where is the cabin?”
HE WASN’T READY to go back to town. Three days of solitude and most of two bottles of booze had done nothing for him, but he couldn’t handle being around people right now. Acting normal, or rather trying to act normal. His sisters knew him too well not to see through his front, and he’d lie to them. Again.
He walked to the edge of the porch, with its view of the postage stamp–size lake, one of many smaller glacial lakes around the larger Lake Tahoe. The cabin was old, had never been wired for electricity or indoor plumbing. Rustic to the max, it was exactly what Justin needed at that moment. Something rough and mean.
The sun sank behind the trees, casting a shadow over the porch, bringing an instant chill. He turned and went inside. It would soon be dark in the cabin, and he debated about whether to light the lanterns or sit and sip whiskey in the dark.
Whiskey had not been his friend the past few days. Apparently the pain was too damned deep to be affected by the booze.
But he took comfort in the fact that even though he’d been lied to, cheated in the worst possible way, he now knew about his son. Not whether he looked like Justin or acted like him, but that he was alive. And apparently happy. Rachel had sounded like a mother tige
r protecting her young when she’d spoken to him.
But could Justin trust her? The woman who’d lied to him from day one?
His gut told him that, as much as he hated her right now, yeah, she’d been telling the truth. His brain told him to hire another P.I. to make certain of it.
Once the sun went down, the cabin grew dark. Perfectly suited to his thoughts, but he lit the lantern anyway and then sat staring out the black windows, then started when lights suddenly cut across the twilight sky.
Headlights?
Donovan was supposed to be in Texas until next weekend, so the vehicle had to belong to someone who’d taken a wrong turn. Justin went out onto the porch, the boards squeaking under his feet. He abruptly stopped when he recognized the car.
Layla walked toward him through the twilight. And something kept him from opening his mouth, telling her to get back down the mountain. That his problems were not her problems.
She didn’t speak, either. She mounted the steps, came to stand in front of him, her mouth pressed firmly shut. He could just make out her features in the dim light, but couldn’t read her expression. Slowly, she extended her hand, gripping his tightly.
He wanted to ask her why the hell she was there. Why she was disturbing his solitude, ruining his self-imposed exile. He said nothing. She led him into the cabin, stopping for a moment to take in the small, one-room interior. The kerosene lantern burning on the table cast a golden light over the cooking area, where he’d set out his camping dishes, stored his coolers of food.
Along the opposite wall was the old army cot he used as a bed, proudly purchased from the army surplus store when he was twelve, barely wide enough for one. His sleeping bag was in exactly the same crunched up shape he’d left it in when he’d crawled out with a hangover that morning.
He halfway expected her to say something along the lines of “nice place.”
But still…nothing. The kerosene gave off a faintly oily scent as the burner hissed away, loud in the utter quiet that lay between them. Then she moved, let go of his hand and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him until his arms closed around her. Held her close.
She knew—and apparently she could accept him, secret and all.
He drew in a ragged breath and then shut his eyes, resting his head against the top of hers.
LAYLA WONDERED if Justin could feel how hard her heart was pounding. She leaned back and slid her hands up under his shirt. His ab muscles contracted as the cool air hit them. For a chef, he was in amazing shape. Probably because he never slowed down. And now she knew why.
His hands closed over hers, stopping her from lifting his shirt farther. That was when she met his eyes, ready to argue if she had to, but she could see he wouldn’t. His expression was so heartbreakingly grim, as if he was about to make a life-changing decision.
She wasn’t asking for a decision. She was asking for a moment out of time. A connection. Healing and closure for her. But she didn’t have to argue, after all, because instead of talking, Justin started unbuttoning her blouse, working one-handed, releasing each plain white button on her plain white oxford blouse with a simple twist of his fingers. She’d debated about borrowing more seduction wear from Sam, but decided against it. This wasn’t about seduction. This was about healing. An act of love with no strings attached, no commitment required.
She needed to give to Justin without asking for anything back.
He lifted her hand and undid the cuffs, first one and then the other. The shirt slipped off her shoulders and dropped to the rough plank floor, followed a few seconds later by the beige cotton bra that had offended Sam so deeply. This time Layla shuddered from the cool air. Justin pulled his T-shirt over his head and for one brief moment they stood toe to toe, bare to the waist. His eyes were on her breasts as he brought his hands up to caress them, weigh them in his palms, his thumbs moving over her peaked nipples. She shuddered. A very good shudder that started somewhere very deep inside her.
That was when Justin finally spoke. “Cold?” he asked softly.
Layla simply nodded.
He took her hand, led her to the narrow cot. Let go of her to unzip the sleeping bag, folding it open. By the time he was done, Layla had kicked off her shoes, slipped out of her jeans, removed everything except her panties. When he turned back to her, he stood for a moment, hovering on the brink. She could see he was starting to rethink things, but she wouldn’t allow that. Not now.
Not when she needed him as much as she sensed he needed her.
When he opened his mouth, she touched it gently with her fingertips and shook her head. Justin took the hint and started to unbutton his Levi’s. When he pushed them down over his hips, his erection sprang free, quelling any doubts she had about mutual need. She stepped out of her panties and eased into the sleeping bag, arranging herself on her side so there was room for him, too. He went to his wallet, which was lying on an overturned wooden box, and pulled out a condom before he climbed in beside her, and then they were flesh to flesh. The delicious sensation of being close to Justin’s hard body triggered a rush of heat.
He shut his eyes as he pulled her even closer, his hands smoothing her back down to the curve of her hips, then up to her breasts. She returned the favor, loving the feel of his hard flesh under her palms, reveling in his sharp intake of breath when she circled his erection with her fingers and stroked to the tip. Once, then twice.
He reached down to stop her, then tore open the condom with his teeth. Layla took it from him and slowly unrolled it over his erection.
His mouth found hers as he moved her underneath him, nudged her thighs apart. She wanted to tell him to take his time, understanding intuitively that this might be the only chance she got to make love to him. Who knew if he could ever break free of his self-imposed burden of guilt and punishment?
He supported himself on his elbows, and Layla sensed that he needed to be inside her. Now. He needed the release, and she’d give it to him. And as he pushed in, slowly, maddeningly slowly, she gasped against his shoulder.
She was making love to Justin, former scourge of her life, and she did not want it to end anytime soon.
Justin obliged. He moved in her so very slowly, pulling out, then easing back in, pushing himself to the hilt, hitting all the spots Layla needed hit, bringing her so close to the edge that she started to clench her hands. And then pulling back, taking away the pressure, only to start the slow build again.
He stroked her hair as he moved, kissed her deeply, and then seemed to disappear into himself as his movements came faster. Layla didn’t care. She was there to give, to make love to him, and then she, too, got caught up in the sensations of her own body, moving with Justin, meeting his thrusts with her own until a cry caught in her throat and she pressed her open mouth against his shoulder just as she felt him shudder, empty himself.
Layla still had nothing to say. This was enough. Just being. Here. With Justin.
LAYLA FELL ASLEEP not long after they made love, nestled half on top of him, since that was the only way they could both fit under the sleeping bag. Justin stroked the flat of his hand idly over the smooth skin of her back and arm, occasionally letting his palm slide down to the curve of her ass, then back up again, feeling his body start to respond.
She was so beautiful.
And he was so damned messed up.
He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but woke up when Layla tried to ease over him. He caught her by the waist and held her there. Her startled expression shifted as he began to grow hard again. Maybe they’d talk. In a while. Right now he just wanted to lose himself once again.
LAYLA GOT OUT OF BED and started collecting her clothes, shivering in the chill air as Justin worked to rekindle the fire in the barrel stove, which had gone out while they slept.
“Why are you dressing?” he asked.
“I’m leaving,” she said.
“No. It’s too late.”
She smiled tolerantly. “I’ll text when
I get back.”
He rose to his feet and crossed over to her. “So this was a hit-and-run?”
She gave him a long, steady look and continued to button her shirt. “I have to go.”
“Why?”
“Because I told myself I would do this only once. If I stay, I’ll do it again.”
“Would that be so bad?” he asked quietly.
