by LAURA GALE
Another photo had caught his eye: toward the back, but still visible, sat a formal shot of their wedding. Involuntarily he reached in to pick it up, then looked at Rachel with questions clouding his gray eyes.
Meeting that look, Rachel sensed which photo he held. She knew what he needed to know. “I’ve never hidden your identity from Michaela. I never wanted it to seem like you didn’t exist or that I was anything less than proud of her parentage. I wanted her to be proud of it, too. I wanted her to always know that she is the result of love, and that nothing changes that fact. I’ve kept pictures of you around. She’s started asking why you don’t live with us, but she never had to ask what you looked like or, worse yet, whether she had a father. She always knew. I hope it’s helped to keep her…secure.”
“So she knew who I was today, might have recognized me?”
“Probably. She certainly wasn’t surprised when I explained who you were.”
“I noticed that. I just thought maybe kids…took information like that more easily than adults. I’m not around kids much—at all, really—so I don’t have much to go on.”
Rachel smiled. “They probably do roll with things easier than adults. But Michaela knew she had a Papá, somewhere.”
Involuntarily Rachel stepped forward, gently lifting the treasured portrait from Lucas’s hand and returning it to its spot on the shelf. Immediately she wished she had resisted the impulse—her stomach fluttered, she was too close to Lucas. She had brushed his fingers, she could still feel the tingle on her skin. Lucas filled her senses, overwhelmed her senses. Lucas was everywhere, everything.
Glancing toward his face, she caught her breath. He was reaching toward her, tucking a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear. Except that he wasn’t really. His hand crept around to the back of her head, resting on the nape of her neck.
No, she realized suddenly, he’s taking out the barrette.
Which he did, dropping it on the desk behind her, his hand returning to her hair, freeing it to cascade through his fingers. Stroking her hair, caressing the chocolate silkiness, both his hands buried in its depths, turning her head toward his, tipping her mouth to meet his.
Claiming her mouth, gently in a short taste at first, returning immediately for something deeper, seeking something deeper still. Finding it. Rachel moved to fit against him, her mouth first, then the rest of her body, molding itself against him in an instinctive caress. Her hands found their way around his waist, pulling him to her, suggesting another kind of fit that their bodies instinctively remembered, too. His hands in her hair, his mouth finding the delicate spot at the base of her throat, an involuntary gasp coming from Rachel’s lips.
And another gasp, one filled with quiet despair, very nearly a sob. Her hands pushing against his chest, forcing some distance between them.
“Why did you do that?” she whispered, her eyes wide and shining topaz.
Blinking at her, Lucas took a few seconds to respond. “Why did I do that? What do you mean?”
“This—” she let her hand flicker between them “—why did you…kiss me?”
Lucas smiled, a smile that reached his eyes. “I’d think that was obvious. I did it because I wanted to. Didn’t even stop to think. I guess it just felt natural.” What was there to explain, he wondered.
His smile widened, his focus shifted. “I love your hair,” he murmured. “I always did. Oh, yes, Rachel, I did it because I wanted to. Definitely. I still do.”
He reached for her again, his fingers seeking the satiny strands.
Rachel shied away, knocking his hand away. “Please…don’t. Please don’t touch me…again.”
“Why not? This wasn’t just about me, Rachel. I initiated it, yes. But you responded. You wanted it, too. Until you started thinking about it. Then you wanted to stop. What would be so wrong with me touching you again?”
His voice was a slow caress, running across her senses.
Rachel didn’t answer right away, but she pulled away from him. She continued to meet his gaze.
Finally she said, “I can’t do it, that’s all. Please…just respect what I’m saying. Don’t touch me again.”
Frustration and confusion nipped at Lucas. “Rachel, I didn’t plan that. That’s been building between us all day, ever since you walked into my office today. Why not just enjoy it?”
She sighed, suddenly sad. Suddenly weary. “Look, Lucas. It just happened. Okay, I accept that. Our bodies remember the chemistry or something. Whatever. It can’t happen again. I’m not made that way. I’m just not.”
Lucas wasn’t sure exactly what had gone wrong, but he knew he was being dismissed. Again. Despite this final setback, he felt warm inside.
When he left, his step was lighter, his mood was lighter. A lot of good had happened today, after all. Even if this last bit with Rachel confused the hell out of him. He could overlook that and concentrate on the positive the day had brought.
He never saw the single tear that trickled down Rachel’s cheek—or that she angrily smudged it away with the back of her hand.
As soon as the door closed behind Lucas, Rachel turned back toward her sitting room. She picked up the remote control for her little TV. Sitting down on one of the couches, then curling her legs beneath her, she clicked on some show, just for the noise, and blinked until the tears backed down.
She’d told Lucas it was past her bedtime—and it was—but she hadn’t explained that there was little point in trying to sleep just yet. These days she rarely slept for more than three or four hours at a time, and always restlessly. That was when she was lucky enough to actually fall asleep.
Dios, she thought, when was the last time I really slept? She couldn’t remember. But it had been a while ago.
In a way, she hated sleeping—dreams came then. Dreams of things she preferred to forget. Dreams she preferred to avoid.
So it was better to focus on the TV program, without concentrating on it, until she was too tired to keep her eyes open. If she stayed here on the couch, rather than trying to lie down in her bed, it was possible that some sleep—however limited—might come.
Chapter 5
The next morning Lucas drove to the children’s hospital with confidence. He strode into the building, this time knowing exactly where he was going. He was proceeding nicely, quite satisfied with himself.
Until that damn needle had come in his direction.
“Relax, Mr. Neuman, this will just be a little stick,” the nurse was saying as she jabbed the needle into his arm and began juggling various tubes and vials.
Lucas turned to the logical part of his brain, the part of his brain that could remind him this was only a blood test. Perhaps the longest blood test ever administered to a human, but a blood test nevertheless. After all, he reasoned, he wasn’t exactly squeamish. He was reasonably brave.
But, God, this was taking forever. Surely they weren’t going to take all of his blood?
“There you go, Mr. Neuman, all finished,” the nurse chirped. “Just hold that cotton there for a minute. Would you like a glass of orange juice? We have some muffins also.”
“No, no.” Lucas waved away the offer, rolling his sleeve down and buttoning the cuff as soon as the adhesive bandage was in place. “I need to be going.” Standing quickly, Lucas found himself abruptly returning to the sitting position.
“Would you like to reconsider the offer?” The nurse smiled as she handed him a glass of orange juice. “Most people feel a little woozy after the more extended blood work. Donating blood, for example, has the same effect.”
Grateful for the offer, now that he saw the wisdom in it, Lucas took the glass and downed the juice. Just as gratefully he accepted the blueberry muffin the nurse extended his way. Unbelievably, he actually thought he could feel the nutrients—and sugar—hit his system. He’d wait a few more minutes before standing, though. Wait until he had his “land legs” under him again.
As he proceeded toward the elevator, he suddenly felt a rock-hard
hand descend upon his shoulder, halting his progress.
Turning toward that hand, seeing a familiar face, Lucas’s first impulse was to smile and shake the man’s hand. It was Rick, Rachel’s brother, a man Lucas had always considered his friend. They had always gotten along together, had good fun together. But Rick was clearly not intending to reminisce over their friendship now.
“I understand why you are here, Lucas. The entire family knows why,” he said gruffly, “and we appreciate that. Forgive us if we don’t appear to welcome you.” Lucas thought he detected sarcasm and a certain level of bitterness. Something he’d never heard from Rick before.
“But,” Rick continued, emphasizing the word, spitting it at Lucas, “Rachel has already suffered too much at your hands. You have hurt her more than any one person should have the power to do. Dios de mi vida, do not hurt her—or Michaela—again. Do you understand me?”
Rick’s body shook with suppressed rage, his hands, having let go of Lucas’s shoulder, clenching and unclenching by his sides. Lucas fully understood that had they not been in such a public place, he would have been on the receiving end of Rick’s fist by now. Still, his words sounded like a plea.
“I don’t know what happened to you, Lucas. Our family liked you. I don’t know if you changed or if you just tricked us.” Rick stepped away from him, silently instructing Lucas on the meaning of the words if looks could kill.
“Your father is a bastard, Lucas, a first-class snake. I thought better of you.”
Rick stepped back, as if intending to walk away, then thought better of it. “I never understood why you carried on like you did, Lucas. If you were wanting out of the marriage, a divorce would have been a lot fairer. It would have still been painful, but it would have been decent. What you did was…low.” He shook his head sadly. “You romanced Rachel, convinced her, convinced all of us, that you truly loved her. That you recognized what a special woman she is. Then you deserted her without actually letting her go, started strutting around like a pelado, with that woman—” he sneered it into an insult, his words still clipped by anger “—that woman on your arm, setting up your casa chica in Rachel’s home. Why did you do that? What kind of man would do that?”
Lucas opened his mouth, ready to explain that he hadn’t actually, truly done anything, that things had just worked out that way. Seeing Rick’s black eyes glittering with rage, he thought better of it. Rick wasn’t going to accept that explanation.
“You humiliated Rachel, Lucas, very publicly. People noticed what you were doing. Did you ever think of that? It wasn’t just that Rachel had to live with it—she also had to face that other people knew what you were doing. Did you ever consider what she was going through, how she felt, while you were off…carrying on? And then she went through hell trying to put her life back together. Has she told you that?”
Rick didn’t wait for an answer. “No, she wouldn’t have. She doesn’t talk to anybody about it. She holds it all inside.” He paused, weighing his words. “She came to me at first. She lived with me while she was putting the pieces back together. She stayed until her town house was ready. She rarely spoke about you or anything that had happened, but I knew she needed help and she’d come to me. I did what I could. She was a shell of her former self, Lucas. She’s never been the same. You did that to her.”
He glanced away from Lucas, apparently having said more than he’d intended. He shrugged his shoulders—it was too late to take it back—so he forged ahead. “It was another month or so before she even told me she was pregnant, but she had known for a while. I think she only told me when she was starting to show, when she knew she couldn’t hide it anymore. I was her coach when Michaela came, a proud moment for me. I am close to the niña.”
He stepped closer to Lucas, their noses only inches apart. “Rachel loved you, Lucas. Hell, I think she still does, but wouldn’t admit it for anything. It’s buried very deep, if it still exists. You will never know what it cost her to turn to you for help now. None of us will. Rachel never asks for help. And to need you, of all people. Dios mio, I can only imagine. She doesn’t trust you, Lucas. She can’t. You dismantled her faith in you, piece by piece. For a while, I think her faith in herself was destroyed, too. Something in her—” He stopped short, shaking his head, more sad than angry now. “It just died afterward, after she moved away from you. It’s closed off. She’s not the same woman. She tries to hide it, but those of us who love her…well, we know what we are seeing.”
Lucas had no response for this. Again, he acknowledged that Rachel seemed different to him, too. She did seem…detached, he decided. Although not exactly. Controlled, maybe. He’d assumed, to the extent he’d thought about it, that this was simply due to coping with Michaela’s illness.
So, yes, she’s changed. Haven’t we all?
But to swallow Rick’s accusations would mean he was responsible for the state Rachel was in. No. Lucas halted his train of thought. He was not responsible for Rachel. Rachel was a grown woman. She had left him. That was the simple fact. And he couldn’t undo the past, anyway. What’s done was done.
“She needed you for this. She had to turn to you.” Rick paused, inhaling a shaky breath. “Don’t hurt Rachel again. Don’t hurt Michaela. If you have it in you to behave as a decent man, do it now.”
Rick left then, going down the hall, to a destination that Lucas couldn’t identify. Once the elevator arrived, Lucas hurriedly stepped into the relative safety of its cubicle.
Glancing at his watch as he pulled into his parking space, Lucas was relieved to see it was not yet ten. He wouldn’t be late for his father’s weekly status meeting. He wasn’t ready to explain anything to anyone just yet, and an explanation would have been expected had he been late.
Stepping off the elevator, he went straight to the conference room without stopping at his office, taking his briefcase with him.
“Good morning, Jennifer,” he said, pausing briefly at his assistant’s desk. “Anything that needs attending before the ten-o’clock meeting?”
She smiled prettily and shook her bleached-blond hair. “Nothing that won’t keep.”
“Great,” he answered. “Oh, if I get a call from a Dr. Campbell, I want to take it.” He’d given the doctor his cell phone number and hoped he would use that instead of his office number. However, Lucas didn’t want any chance of missing the phone call when it came.
“Of course,” she responded, her curiosity obvious. Lucas had no intention of providing more information than that, however.
Once inside the conference room, Lucas set his briefcase on the table in front of his chair. He then made his way to the refreshment table, something he never did, bringing coffee and a cinnamon roll back to his place.
The room filled quickly after that. Much to his displeasure, Alana took a seat next to him. She turned to him, smiling and inquired, “Have a busy night, Lucas?”
At his blank expression, she leaned forward, her breasts brimming over the arm of her chair. “You’re needing so much sustenance this morning, Lucas. I was simply wondering why—wondering what you did to work up such an appetite this early.”
“Not the way you’re implying, Alana.” His voice was clipped, his manner curt. He noted dispassionately that this time the voluptuous presentation of her body was doing nothing for him. He was relieved. At least he was in control where Alana was concerned.
Or didn’t need to be, because he simply didn’t feel anything for her.
After yesterday’s kiss, Lucas knew it was Rachel his body was responding to. Best not to think of that, he reprimanded himself. You don’t need any embarrassing reactions during the meeting.
He waved off the cigar extended toward him, content with his coffee and cinnamon roll.
“Of course, I know it had to be some other way, Lucas,” Alana whispered, reaching forward to wipe a nonexistent crumb from the corner of his mouth. “You weren’t with me last night, so it couldn’t be a hangover from a night of…passion. Could it?”
“Good morning, everyone,” Arnold Neuman’s voiced boomed across the room as he eased his bulk into his chair, preventing any response Lucas might have made.
“Good morning,” they chorused.
“Okay, we’ll start by going over progress on existing developments, then proceed to the Mercado complex set for Chandler. Then,” Arnold paused for dramatic effect, “we’ll discuss this year’s company retreat.”
Cheers and raucous laughter met this announcement, just as Arnold had anticipated. His beady black eyes gleamed their satisfaction. Lucas, however, was finding it difficult to feel enthusiasm for the company retreat or for anything else on his father’s agenda.
His mind kept wandering to the expected phone call from the hospital, and to the stack of information burning a hole in his briefcase, the one from Dr. Campbell and Dr. Graham. He’d meant to start reading it last night, but had fallen asleep in front of the television. Music from a blaring commercial had awakened him just after midnight.
As he thought about it, Lucas admitted that he had simply received too much new information in one day, starting with the reality of a daughter. Or maybe it had started when he’d noticed Rachel’s name in his appointment book. He still couldn’t decide when his life had turned surreal. He wasn’t sure where the new information had ended, either. Or if it had ended yet. But sometime late last night, his brain had hit overload, and he had been unable to approach the packet.
Today, however, he was alert. He was ready to discover and digest more about what Michaela was facing. Michaela. He smiled to himself. Three days ago, I didn’t even know she existed. Today, I’m calling my daughter by name.
Vaguely Lucas noticed his father had wrapped up the segment on current projects and had launched into his spiel regarding the proposed Mercado project. Lucas knew he needed to follow the discussion, but found his thoughts returning to Michaela. And to Rachel.
