Maternity Bride

by Maureen Child

  "Mike, I know the difference between reality and fantasy, but you have to admit—"

  "No! I don't have to admit anything beyond the fact that you're driving me out of my mind. You seem determined to push me away no matter what I say or do. I've listened to your theories and your fears and tried to be patient." He sucked in a gulp of air and exhaled just as quickly. "God, Denise, don't you think all of this scares the hell out of me, too? I've faced down bullets and screaming, heavily armed enemies with more confidence…but I'm standing here telling you that I love you. I love our baby and now you have to choose."

  "How can I?"

  Mike looked down into those wide blue eyes and saw the fear and confusion written there. He didn't know how to reach her. How to get past the years of hurt she had experienced as a child.

  Maybe though, he wasn't supposed to. Maybe, he suddenly thought, it had to come from her. Denise had to be the one to put her past behind her and come to him on her own. If he pushed her into it, leaving her no way out, she would never really be with him.

  It would take every ounce of his strength to walk out of there. But he wasn't going to spend the rest of his life paying for the crimes of her father.

  Lifting his hands, he cupped her face, letting his thumbs stroke her cheekbones as his gaze drifted over her features slowly, lovingly. He was taking a huge chance here and he knew it. But sometimes in war, you had to let the other guy think you were out of the battle. Make your opponent come to you.

  "I'm not going to go along with your little plan, Denise."

  She blinked a sheen of moisture from her eyes and his gaze locked on a solitary tear tracking down her cheek. His heart felt as though a giant fist were squeezing it.

  "I won't be a visitor in my child's life and I won't be just the man who shares your bed."

  Her bottom lip quivered and he felt her trembling. Fiercely, he steeled himself against surrendering to the urge to hold her, comfort her.

  "I want it all. I want you and the baby and me, living in my grandparents' house at the beach." He paused to take a breath and smiled gently at her, despite the tears swimming in her eyes. "I want us to have the kind of life they had. I want to fall asleep every night with you in my arms and then wake up to your kiss." His fingers smoothed her hair back from her face and he felt, more than saw, her turn her head into his touch. "I love you," he said again and realized that it was getting easier to say all the time. In fact, he enjoyed saying it. Wanted to spend the rest of his life saying it to her.

  "But what happens to us is up to you now. You have to decide if you're going to keep running your life according to other people's mistakes."

  He bent down and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to her still trembling lips. Before he straightened up again, he added, "We deserve a life together, Denise. You, me and our child. You can give us that life."

  "Mike—"

  "Shh…" His thumb stroked across her mouth, effectively silencing her. "It all comes down to love, baby. Love and trust. I know you love me. But do you trust me?"

  "I—"

  "It's up to you, baby," he said, cutting her off because he couldn't risk hearing her decision now, before she had had her time to think. He sealed his last words with a kiss that left him aching for all the things she was denying him.

  Before his courage could desert him, Mike turned and left the condo. He closed the door behind him and took the pansy-lined walkway in several long strides. Climbing aboard the motorcycle he had brought her home on, he jammed the key in the ignition then pulled his helmet on.

  When the engine leapt into life, he twisted the accelerator on the handlebars, shattering the quiet on the street with an angry roar. Tossing a last glance at the condo, he told himself that this was all his fault. If he hadn't been trying to impress her, he never would have taken her to the Performing Arts Center and she never would have thought about Carousel.

  "Carousel, for God's sake," he muttered in disgust. "First time I've used that box in years and they're playing Carousel." He flicked the kickstand up into place and tried to ignore the memory of making love with Denise on that very bike only an hour or so ago. "Damn plays. Why couldn't it have been The King and I?"

  Four days later, Denise walked down the hall of the Torrance Accounting firm, trying desperately to think of anything else but Mike. It wasn't working. He hadn't called. He hadn't come by.

  And she missed him so much it hurt.

  "Mr. Ryan called," her secretary said as Denise walked past her desk.

  She stopped dead.

  Hope rushed into her heart.

  She had tried to keep busy. Working on the firm's upcoming cocktail party had given her enough details to worry about that her brain was constantly active. But in those occasional moments of peace, Mike's image instantly leapt into her mind. As it did every time she tried to sleep.

  Haunted by thoughts of what could be as much as by her memories, Denise hardly knew which way to turn anymore. The only certain thing in her life was that she had a baby coming. A baby it was up to her to protect and provide for.

  And soon, everyone would know it.

  The dizziness had passed but she was just beginning to experience the thrills of morning sickness. In another few months, the baby would be showing. Well before then, she had to make one of the most difficult decisions of her life.

  To risk being hurt by Mike—or to live with the pain of being without him.

  "Ms. Torrance?" the older woman asked. "Are you all right?"

  Denise forced a smile. "Yes, Velma, I'm fine thanks. You said Mike Ryan called?"

  Her secretary smiled knowingly and shook her head. "No, Patrick Ryan."

  "Oh." The rush of exhilaration slipped away as if it had never been. She should have known better. Mike had made himself perfectly clear on their last night together. He wouldn't be calling her again.

  He had thrown the ball into her court.

  "What did Patrick want?" she asked, though at the moment, she didn't really care what Mike's twin was up to.

  "It was very odd," the older woman said. "He's taking a three-week leave of absence. Asked me to have you inform your father."

  "A leave of absence?"

  "That's what he said."

  After almost a four-week vacation, he needed a leave of absence?

  "Did he leave a number?"

  "Nope," the secretary shook her head again. "Just said he would keep in touch."

  Denise scowled to herself. Maybe Patrick wasn't as different from his brother as she had thought. "Fine, but the next time he calls, get a number."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Continuing on down the hall, Denise muttered disgustedly about men in general and Ryan men in particular.

  The secretary's phone rang several minutes later. Velma smiled when she recognized the man on the other end. "Hi, Velma," Mike said. "How is she today?"

  "She seems fine. A little pale, maybe. Distracted. But busy." Pale. Mike frowned thoughtfully and sat back on his couch, putting his feet up on the low coffee table in front of him. He hated not being with Denise. Knowing firsthand how she was feeling. But until he made her see what they had together, the best he could get was daily updates from a secretary with romance in her soul.

  It wasn't enough, dammit. He had hoped to hear from Denise before this, but she was just stubborn enough to wait until after the baby was born to come to her senses. Maybe what she needed was one more push in the right direction.

  "Velma," he said thoughtfully, "tell me more about this cocktail party you mentioned yesterday."

  Chapter 12

  "I can't believe Patrick Ryan would be so unprofessional as this," Richard Torrance muttered blackly. "To simply take a leave of absence with no thought as to how it will affect this firm."

  Denise sat in the deep leather chair opposite her father's desk. "Obviously something he hadn't counted on came up."

  "Something more important than his responsibilities here? To us? To his clients?"

  She
had been listening to her father rant now for more than ten minutes. Her head hurt. Her stomach was upset. And if she had Patrick Ryan in front of her, she would kick him in the shins. Some friend he was, leaving her to break the news of his absence.

  Mike never would have done that.

  She blinked, surprised as that thought shot through her mind. It was true. Mike would have called Richard Torrance personally and told him straight out that he needed some personal time. And if her father had dared lecture him on his responsibilities, Mike would have quit on the spot.

  He wasn't the kind of man to sit back and let life happen. He rushed out to meet it, refusing to be put off by dangers or fears.

  It would have been interesting to see Mike and her father go head-to-head. Odd, but she had the feeling that once over the initial shock, Richard Torrance would probably like Mike. At the very least, he would respect him.

  She smiled to herself. One thing she couldn't fault Mike on was his courage. He had even had the nerve and will to admit that he loved her—despite all of the ridiculous arguments she kept throwing at him.

  Ridiculous?

  She frowned, then slowly nodded to herself.

  Yes. Denise sat up straighter in the chair. Absently, she noticed that her father was still talking, complaining about Patrick. But she didn't care. Something was happening here. Something monumental.

  Looking past her father, she stared out the tall windows at the ocean beyond. On the horizon, a low bank of thunderheads gathered. A hard, cold wind made the sea choppy, but still there were at least a dozen sailboats sprinkled across the deep blue waves.

  Others, unafraid to take a chance.

  She swallowed hard. Her heartbeat skittered, then began to beat in a quick double time. In the pit of her stomach, a curl of worry unwound, but she deliberately fought it down.

  It was time, she decided suddenly, that she stood up and took her chances like the rest of the world. Time to stop hiding behind old fears and older wounds.

  These last four days without Mike had finally taught her something. Strange that she hadn't even acknowledged it until . now. Four days of emptiness were quickly balanced against the time spent with Mike.

  The scales were easy to read. Even to a woman who had managed to keep blinders on for most of her life. Another smile crossed her face briefly. It didn't matter what her parents had done with their lives. It only mattered what she had found with Mike. What they could create together.

  If she hadn't waited too long.

  Denise jumped up from her chair.

  "Where are you going?" her father barked.

  "I have to leave early today," she said as she walked hurriedly to the door.

  "Just wait one minute, young woman. You can't leave yet. We haven't finished—"

  "Father," she said as she turned to face him. "I don't have time to explain. I'll tell you all about it another time, all right?"

  "Tell me now, blast it."

  The tone of voice was the same, sharp commanding tone she had always responded to. Until lately.

  "No."

  His mouth opened and closed rapidly, but he didn't say a word. Amazing. All she had ever really had to do was to speak up to him. Why had she always been so afraid of doing it? She had wanted him to love her. To care about her.

  But how could he have? He didn't even know who she was. She had spent most of her life trying to be whoever Richard Torrance wanted her to be. Too afraid to be the person she was for fear it wasn't good enough.

  Mike had been wrong about one thing. It wasn't about trust. It was about courage. The courage to ask for what you wanted and then to fight to keep it.

  She wondered now if things might have been different— if her life might have been different—if her mother had demanded Richard Torrance's love and respect.

  "Did you love my mother?" she asked abruptly.

  "What?" A rush of color filled his cheeks as he fell back into his chair. He stared at his daughter as if he didn't recognize her.

  He probably didn't.

  "It's an easy question, Father. Did you love mother?"

  He looked at her for a long, silent minute. Denise tensed, not sure what she would hear.

  "Yes," he said. "I did."

  Relief washed through her. "Why didn't you ever spend time with us?"

  He scowled and shifted his gaze from hers. Ducking his head, he picked up a sheaf of papers from his desk and busied his hands by straightening the pile.

  But she had finally managed to ask the question. Now she had to hear the answer. "Father, why? Was it because of me?"

  He dropped the papers and looked directly at her. Obviously horrified, he blurted, "Certainly not. You were a child, Denise. What was between your mother and I had nothing to do with you."

  Nothing to do with her? At twenty-nine years old, she had made most of the decisions in her life based on what she had seen growing up.

  She came back into the room, placed her palms on the edge of his desk and leaned towards him. "It had everything to do with me. Don't you think I ever wondered why you were never at home? Why Mother was always so unhappy?"

  His features twisted into a mask of pain and briefly, Denise regretted even opening the subject. But it was finally time to be honest. Long past time, really.

  He flattened his palms on the desktop and stared down at the backs of his hands as if fascinated. After a long, thoughtful moment, he said softly, "Your mother was a…delicate woman. She seemed to prefer being off by herself." He shook his head slowly, lost in memories. "Whenever I was at home, she was forever fluttering around the house…unable to sit still a minute. Always nervous. Always tense." He sighed heavily. Regret coloring his voice, he added, "My presence seemed to upset her so that I finally just stayed away more and more."

  "She loved you."

  His gaze lifted to his daughter's. "She never said so."

  A deep well of sadness opened inside her. Too late for them. Her parents had missed so much. Neither of them had been willing to talk to the other. To admit the truth of what they felt and to ask for what they needed.

  So instead, they had spent their lives together, yet alone.

  Denise pushed up from the desk and smiled at the man she had misunderstood for so long. There was no place here for blame. Not anymore. Besides, there had been enough unhappiness between the Torrances. "I love you, too, Father."

  She thought she saw a glimmer of moisture in his eyes, but it was so quickly gone, she could have been mistaken.

  "Then you'll tell me why you're leaving work in the middle of the day?" he asked, obviously hoping for a change of subject.

  She grinned at him. "Nope."

  "Denise…"

  "I'll talk to you later, Father," she said and left the office, sailing through the open door. She didn't have a moment to lose. She had already wasted four precious days.

  "Where is he?" Denise asked out loud as she drove slowly past Mike's house. Again.

  In the three days since finally clearing the air with her father, Denise had tried every way she knew to get in touch with Mike. She hadn't been able to find him.

  He was never home when she called. Never returned her messages. She dropped by the motorcycle shop only to be told that she had "just missed Mike." He had to be deliberately avoiding her.

  Now, here she was, the night of the firm's cocktail party and instead of being at the hotel welcoming their guests, she was cruising a beach neighborhood looking for Mike Ryan.

  Her father was going to be furious.

  Sighing, Denise turned her car around and headed for the downtown area. She might as well go and face the music. Once she had her father calmed down, she would leave the party and look for Mike again.

  If he thought she was going to give up easily, he was mistaken. It might have taken her forever to make up her mind what it was she wanted…but now that she had, she wasn't about to give it up.

  Music rushed out through the double glass doors and onto the circular drive o
utside the Sea Sprite Hotel. Denise stepped out of her car, took the parking slip from the valet and walked toward the entrance.

  Crystal chandeliers hung from the ornate ceiling, spilling hundreds of watts of light on the elegantly dressed men and women attending the party. The hotel lobby, sprinkled with tapestry love seats and overstuffed wing chairs had become a meeting place where local businessmen gathered in tight knots exchanging cards.

  Denise smiled, nodded to a few of her clients, and kept walking, heading for the stairs and the ballroom on the second floor. The skirt of her red silk dress swung around her knees as she climbed the marble steps, her mind still on the problem of locating Mike.

  Why was he doing this? Had he changed his mind? Was he sorry now that he had ever asked her to marry him in the first place?

  No. She wouldn't believe that. He loved her. He loved their baby.

  Then why was he making himself invisible?

  "Denise," Richard Torrance muttered as he hurried to meet his daughter at the head of the stairs. Taking her arm he led her to the edge of the ballroom where several couples were dancing already. "You're late."

  "I know." Denise looked past him at the milling crowd. She usually enjoyed these annual parties. But tonight, her heart just wasn't in it. "I had something I had to do."

  He waited a heartbeat for an apology that wasn't coming. Then he shook it off and said, "People have been asking for you. You'd better get in there and start mingling. Be sure to speak with Mrs. Rogers about her accounts, she…"

  "I'm not staying, Father," Denise interrupted.

  "What do you mean, you're not staying? Of course you're staying." He waved one hand at the revelers. "Even Patrick realized that he had a duty to be here."

  "Patrick's here?" she asked, looking from her father into the mass of people just beyond the threshold.