Little Secrets--His Unexpected Heir

by Maureen Child

  His room was big, with a black-and-white-tiled gas hearth on one wall, bookcases and a television on the other walls. There were chairs, tables and a bed that was so big it felt even emptier than it actually was.

  “My choice,” he reminded himself and gritted his teeth against the roiling heat and tension coiled inside him.

  It would be so easy to go down the hall, walk into her room and relive a few memories. Make some new ones. No guarantee she’d let him in, but then he remembered how she’d held his hand at the reception. As if she’d known, somehow sensed, that he’d needed that touch to ground himself in the moment.

  She was good like that, he thought. Always had been. They’d connected so deeply in one week that it had been almost like they could read each other’s minds. He hoped to hell she couldn’t pick up on his thoughts now, but back then, it was different.

  He was there the next morning to pick her up at seven, as agreed. She was in the lobby, waiting for him, clearly as eager as he was for them to be together again. Just seeing her in her jeans and dark green sweater had made his mouth water.

  When she smiled at him, he went hard as stone and damn near killed himself just trying to walk across the floor toward her. Then she reached out for him, took his hand and he was lost in need, heat, a fire that built with every breath.

  They had breakfast on the beach, coffee and bagels shared over laughter and a breathless sense of expectation. Looking into her whiskey-brown eyes was mesmerizing. Intoxicating. On that deserted winter beach, they were alone in the world but for one or two hardy surfers out challenging the waves.

  Hands linked, they walked along the beach for what felt like miles, then they hiked back to the car and drove down the coast. Music pumping, wind roaring through the open windows and the two of them, still holding hands, as if unable to bear not touching.

  Two hours later they were in San Diego and stopping for lunch at a tiny inn outside La Jolla. The once-dignified old Victorian mansion clung to the cliffside and waves pounded against the rocks in a steady, rhythmic heartbeat.

  “It’s beautiful here,” Rita said, letting her gaze slide across the water, the cliffs and the meticulously tended gardens.

  “Yeah, it is,” he replied, his gaze locked on her. With the wind in her hair and the winter sun shining in her eyes, Jack thought he’d never seen anything more lovely. And he knew if he didn’t kiss her soon, it would kill him.

  “You’re not even looking at the view,” she chided with a half smile.

  “Depends on what you consider a great view.” He snaked one hand across the small round table and covered hers. He felt her pulse pounding in time with the relentless sea and knew that beat matched his own, too.

  She licked her lips and he fought to breathe. She curled her hand beneath his and the heat that blossomed between them should have set the grounds on fire.

  Her gaze locked with his. “What’s happening here?” she asked, her voice nearly lost in the wind and the roar of the waves.

  “Whatever it is, I’m all for it,” he admitted and stroked his thumb across her palm. Her eyes glazed over and her breath quickened.

  “Oh, I am, too.”

  “You’re making me crazy, Rita. Couldn’t sleep last night. I kept thinking about you. About today. About...”

  She pulled in a shaky breath. “I’ve been thinking about...too.”

  Oh, yeah. If he didn’t have her soon, he was a walking dead man. He’d never make that two-or three-hour drive home with his body and mind so entangled with nothing but thoughts of her. All he could think of was touching her, stroking her skin, sliding his body into hers and being surrounded by her heat.

  “You know, maybe we should book a room here at the inn. Neither one of us slept much last night. We could get some sleep before that long drive back up to Orange County.”

  Her tongue slipped out again to slide across her bottom lip and his gaze tracked that motion as if his life depended on it. Fire, he thought. It felt like he was burning up from the inside and if his body got any harder, he’d have to crawl from the table because walking would be impossible.

  Nodding, she said, “That’s probably a good idea. A nap, I mean. Tired drivers can be dangerous.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Safety first.”

  Her smile was fleeting, but brilliant, taking his breath away. “I’ll see if they’ve got a room where we can...rest. Just wait here.”

  When he stood up, Rita took his hand and squeezed. “Okay, I’ll wait. But hurry. I’m really tired.”

  That was all the encouragement Jack needed.

  In ten minutes, they were entering their room on the second floor. Jack swept her up close to him, kicked the door closed and gave the dead bolt a fast turn. She laughed up into his face and he felt something inside him turn over. She was more than he’d ever had. More than he’d ever thought to find. And for now, she was all his.

  “Oh,” she said, tearing her gaze from his to give the room a quick look. “Isn’t it lovely?”

  He hadn’t noticed. Now he did. White lace curtains at the windows, a brass bed with a detailed flower quilt across the mattress. There were two chairs before a tiny hearth outlined in sea-blue tiles and a table held a carafe of water and two glasses. There was a door that led to a private bath and photographs of old San Diego dotted the pale gold walls.

  He supposed it was very nice, though it could have been a cave for all he cared. “Yeah,” he said tightly, not caring about the room.

  When she looked up at him again, she gave him a knowing smile. “Ready to nap?”

  “More than you know.”

  “Then let’s get to sleep,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck, holding on as she lifted her face for his kiss.

  When their mouths met, merged, it was like the whole damn world lit up. Or maybe it was just the fire inside, blazing brighter than ever. Seconds ticked into minutes and still they stood, locked together, bodies pressed tightly to each other, heartbeats hammering in time.

  Finally, he tore his mouth free, fought for enough breath to admit, “I have to touch you.”

  “Please, yes,” she said softly, hungrily, “Now. Touch me.”

  In seconds, they were naked and falling onto the bed together. Afternoon light poured through the windows and winter sun painted a soft, golden slash across the polished wood floor to lie on the bed and shine in Rita’s eyes.

  His gaze raked over her lush curves, and everything in him stirred to a fever pitch. Jack felt as though he’d been waiting for this one moment his whole life. He bent his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth. Tasting, nibbling, working his teeth and tongue across her sensitive skin. Every whispered moan and sigh that slipped from her fed his hunger until it was like a closed fist around his throat, making breathing almost impossible. Her fingers slid through his military-short hair, nails scraping along his scalp as she arched up and into him, silently asking for more. And he had plans for a lot more.

  Lifting his head, he stared down into her eyes. “This could be the longest nap on record.”

  “Oh, good,” she said on a long sigh, “because I’m really tired.”

  He grinned. “And I’m really glad to hear that.”

  She pulled his head down to hers and this time she claimed his mouth in a kiss that seared him right to his bones. He let her lead, let her devour and gave back all that she was giving him and still, it wasn’t enough.

  Jack moved over her, running his hands up and down her body, discovering every curve, exploring her soft silky skin until they were both trembling with an explosive need. Her small hands moved over his chest, his shoulders and every stroke of her fingers felt like licks of flame.

  They rolled across the bed, tasting, touching. Her heavy brown curls spread out beneath her head like a wild, tangled dark halo. He was lost
in her, her scent, her touch, the hunger raging inside him. Body raging, mind fogging over, Jack stood poised on the brink of a cliff.

  “Now,” she whispered, lifting her hips, rocking into his hand as he cupped her center. “Jack, now. I can’t take this anymore.”

  “Hold on. Just hold on.” Before he lost control completely, he reached down for his jeans, dug into the pocket and pulled out the condoms he’d tucked in there only that morning.

  “Boy,” she said, “I really love a man who’s prepared to take a nap.”

  He grinned at her as he sheathed himself. “Babe, ever since the moment we met, I’ve been prepared to nap.”

  “So glad to hear it.” She opened her arms to him, lifted her hips again and welcomed him inside her.

  That first slick, hot slide into her body stole his breath and would have finished him completely if he hadn’t fought for control and held on to it. She moved into him, and the slippery threads of control fell away.

  Together they climbed, staring into each other’s eyes as they rode the crest of what they created. Mouths mating, breath mingling, they moved in an ancient dance as if they were born to be one. Together, they raced toward completion and together, they fell from the precipice, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  What could have been minutes or hours later, when breathing was easier, Rita cupped his face in her palm and whispered, “I hope you’re still as sleepy as I am. Because I think I need another nap.”

  He turned his face into her palm, kissed it, then grinned down at her. “It’s important to get enough sleep.”

  Jack groaned tightly as the memory faded and he was alone again in a room that suddenly felt too small, too quiet. Too empty.

  He could still feel her small hand on his face, see her smile, taste her kiss. His body was tight, hard, eager. His mind raced with possibilities, before he shut them all down and accepted the cold reality.

  Jack had a penance to pay and being this close to Rita without touching her was only the latest toll to be taken.

  Jumping out of bed, he stalked through the open doors to the terrace and there he stood, letting the icy wind off the sea blow away the lingering heat still haunting him.

  * * *

  The next few days weren’t easy.

  Rita had to acknowledge that finding her way to the real Jack was going to be far more difficult than she’d anticipated. She was gone before he woke in the morning, heading down to the bakery where she worked to stay busy enough to keep thoughts of Jack at bay. Then in the evening, Jack did his best to avoid her completely. It was as if she was an unwanted guest he was trying to convince to leave.

  Okay, yes, she’d agreed to a temporary marriage, but only because she’d caught those glimpses of her Jack. And now, he seemed determined to not let that happen again. He was pushing her away and expected her to simply give up and go when their time together was up.

  “Well,” she muttered to herself, “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Rita closed her eyes, groaned quietly at being overheard—and by Jack’s sister no less—then turned to face Cass. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” the other woman said, walking farther into the kitchen. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you were talking out loud so it was hard to miss.”

  “Sometimes,” Rita admitted sheepishly, “I have to talk to myself because I’m the only one who really understands me.”

  Cass laughed. “Boy, I know that feeling. Between my practice, my husband and my kids, sometimes I talk to myself just to make sure I’m still there.”

  Rita relaxed her defenses a little. She’d liked Cass immediately when they’d met at the wedding. And listening to her now, Rita realized that with time, the two of them could be good friends. The question was, would she have that time?

  “Look, I hope it’s okay that I’m back here. The redhead out front said I could come in.”

  Casey again. “Of course it’s okay. Have a seat. I’m just getting these loaves of bread ready for the ovens.”

  “God, it smells wonderful in here.” Cass took a deep breath and sighed as she pulled a stool up to the marble work surface. Glancing around the room at the trays, the racks of cooling biscotti, bread and cannoli shells, she sighed. “Bread, cookies... I could live here.”

  Rita laughed and ran the blade of her knife along the elongated loaves of bread, making a few slices to give the dough room to grow while baking. “I love being in the kitchen.”

  “Well, clearly you have the talent for it,” Cass said on a heavy sigh. “My husband has banned me from ours. He says what I call cooking, modern science calls poison.”

  “Oh, ouch.”

  Cass shrugged. “Yeah, it would be painful if it weren’t true. So we have a cook and everyone’s happy.”

  She looked at a tray of thumbprint cookies with their glossy chocolate centers and sighed again. “Can I have one?”

  “Sure.”

  She bit in. “Wow. Just wow.”

  Rita laughed and said, “Thank you.”

  “Oh, my pleasure.” Cass watched her as she readied the bread loaves and the silence spun out for several seconds before she finally blurted out the reason for her visit. “I’m really happy you married Jack.”

  Oh, Rita hated guilt. She’d grown up Italian Catholic and nobody did guilt better than they did. Her mother was a master at making her kids feel guilty and so Rita recognized the sensation when it slapped her. She’d lied to her family. To Jack’s family.

  Maybe even to herself, it was too soon to tell. “Cass...”

  The other woman waved one hand and shook her head. “No, you don’t have to say anything. I just mean, I wanted to let you know that we’re all glad he has someone. Jack’s been...sort of shut down since he came home from his last tour.”

  Rita watched her, unsure what to say, or even what she could say.

  “We’ve all tried to get through, but it’s like trying to catch fog. Every time you think you’re making progress, or maybe you see a flash of the old Jack, boom. It’s gone.” She shook her head and unconsciously reached for another cookie. Taking a bite, she sighed a little and continued. “If our mom was still alive, she’d have pushed past whatever boundaries he’s got set up inside him. She wouldn’t have accepted anything less.”

  Rita heard the wistful tone and responded. “She was tough?”

  “When it came to her family? Oh, yeah.” Cass grinned. “No one could stand in her way. But she’s been gone five years and it’s like the rest of us can’t figure out how to reach Jack.” She crumbled the rest of the cookie in her fingers. “That’s why we’re so glad he’s got you. And the baby.”

  Oh, that guilt was really starting to get heavy, Rita thought. What would Cass and the rest of their family think of Rita when this three-month marriage ended? Would they blame her for walking out on Jack, never knowing the real reason behind it?

  “The worst part for me is I hate seeing my dad look so...helpless over this,” Cass said. “He tries to talk to Jack but just can’t and he’s scared. Heck, we all are.”

  So was Rita. In the time since Jack had walked back into her life, she’d seen him withdraw not only from her but from the family who clearly loved him. Their marriage hadn’t helped. If anything, he was working even harder at avoiding her.

  “I don’t like feeling helpless,” Cass muttered. “I’m not good at it.”

  Rita smiled. Here, she really could bond with Cass. “Neither am I.”

  “Good.” Cass gave her a conspiratorial smile. “I’m glad to hear it. That means you’ll push him as maybe the rest of us can’t.”

  But no pressure, Rita thought.

  Six

  Rita had a sister of her own and two older brothers, so she knew what it was to worry about a siblin
g. To want to help and not be allowed to. She could understand what Cass was feeling; Rita just didn’t know if she was going to be able to do what the Buchanan family hoped she could. Bring Jack back to them.

  “I don’t know if Jack told you, but I’m a doctor.”

  She came up out of her thoughts with a jerk. “He did mention that. Family practice, right?”

  “Right. Well, speaking as a doctor, not a sister,” Cass said, “I can tell you that Jack’s being affected by PTSD, which you’ve probably already guessed.”

  Rita nodded.

  “There are so many different levels of this syndrome,” Cass said with a sigh. “I’ve done a lot of reading and studying on it since Jack got home. And I know that the men and women affected by it are all different, so what they go through is different, as well. Naturally, treating it is a bitch. No one can find a standard type of treatment because each case is so wildly dissimilar.”

  Rita had come to that conclusion on her own. And it made perfect sense, really. Obviously, something horrible had happened to Jack on his last tour. When he left her six months ago, it was with a promise of a future that had been unsaid, but felt by both of them. And he’d come home for good just two months later, a completely changed man.

  “I actually don’t like the PTSD label—the word disorder bothers me. Post-traumatic stress I can get behind. But disorder? No.” Cass shook her head firmly and scowled at what was left of her cookie. “That makes these men and women seem...sick, somehow. When what they are is hurt.” She glanced up at Rita and winced. “Sorry. I didn’t even realize I was climbing onto my soapbox.”

  Rita studied her for a minute or two. Not only was she a doctor, but she was the very concerned sister of a man suffering silently. “No apology necessary. I agree with you.”

  “Good. Thanks.” Cass ate what was left of the cookie. “I knew at the wedding that I’d like you. And if you can help Jack through this, I’ll love you forever.”