by Day Leclaire
He leaned a shoulder against the oak door and it crashed closed again. “I’m not leaving. Not without this.” Before she could react, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Even knowing Kyle was slipping ever closer to the stairway behind them, even knowing that at any moment disaster would strike and her worse nightmare would be realized, she couldn’t help but respond. Her hands crept up his chest, circling his shoulders, and she clung to him, opened to him, returned his kiss with a passion she couldn’t deny. When he finally released her, every thought in her head had vanished. She could only stare up at him, her eyes huge and wonder-struck.
Thunk.
Her brow wrinkled, reality slowly returning. She knew that sound. Kyle made it when he slid, step by step, down the stairs. Kyle! She didn’t waste another moment. With a gasp, she ripped free of Damien’s arms and attacked the door again. Finally, finally it opened. “We’ll talk in the morning.” She thrust Damien’s coat into his hands and shoved at his chest with all her might.
Thunk.
To her astonished relief, he took a step backward over the threshold. She didn’t think twice. She slammed the door in his face. Turning, she saw how close she’d been to total calamity. Kyle slid into view, his face wreathed in an ear-to-ear grin.
“Mommy!” he shouted.
She hastened to the steps, scooping him up into her arms. “I missed you,” she whispered, hugging him close. Thank heavens. Oh, thank heavens she’d been in time.
Or so she thought.
The door squeaked open behind her.
“I assume this is Kyle,” Damien stated in a dry voice.
Chapter 8
Damien leaned against the front door, his cool, watchful gaze sweeping over Sable, before settling on Kyle. “It would seem we have more to discuss than just that envelope. No wonder you were in such a hurry to get rid of me.”
Sable’s grip tightened around her son. “How did you know?” she whispered. “How did you know to come back in?”
Damien reached into the pocket of his suit coat and he tugged out Kyle’s shoe. The sneaker rested on his palm, looking absurdly small compared with his hand. “I believe this matches the one you shoved under the couch cushion.”
So he’d seen, had known all along. She closed her eyes, her distress increasing by the minute. “I have to put Kyle to bed.”
He couldn’t seem to stop staring at the boy. Not that Kyle minded. He returned the scrutiny with equal intensity. “He’s your son.” It wasn’t a question.
She didn’t bother denying it. The truth was self-evident. “Yes, he’s my son,” she confirmed.
Her agitation grew to an unbearable level and she stood, lifting Kyle into her arms. He’d gotten too old and heavy to carry like this, but she dreaded what Damien might do or say. She was terrified he would ask that all-important question. And she didn’t want her son—their son—present when it happened.
Kyle wrapped his arms around her neck and his legs about her waist, content to watch and listen. He showed no fear, no shyness. She knew he weighed the situation and the man. As soon as he’d formed an opinion, he wouldn’t hesitate to express it, for good or bad. Just like his father.
“He looks like you,” Damien finally broke the prolonged silence. He glanced at the sneaker, seeming surprised to discover he still held it. Crossing to the hall table, he set it gently beside her purse. “As soon as I found the shoe, I realized Kyle had to be a child. But I couldn’t be certain he was yours. You’d told me he was a relative. That covers a lot of ground.”
“So, now you know.”
“Yes. Now I know.” He rose to his feet, tense and wary. He’d wandered into uncharted territory and wouldn’t begin his attack until he’d completed his analysis of the situation.
She didn’t dare afford him the time for that analysis. “I need to go upstairs now,” she informed him, not caring if she sounded abrupt. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Wait.” He held out a hand, as though to detain her physically. Then he pulled back, thrusting his fist into his trouser pocket, his eyes darkening with some turbulent emotion. “Wait for just a minute, if you would.”
For a crazy instant she thought his expression showed a momentary regret, a flash of longing. But she knew she must be mistaken. Damien experiencing regret? Damien needing something or someone? Not a chance. He didn’t need anyone. Not her. And not her son. “What do you want?” she asked. “It’s late and I’m tired. I’d rather we continue this another time.”
“I’m sure you would. But I wouldn’t. Tell me, Sable, why the big secret?” he demanded. “Why go to such extreme lengths to keep me from finding out?”
His momentary hesitation had vanished, replaced by unmistakable strength and authority. This was the Damien she knew so well. He watched her keenly and she felt the overwhelming urge to flee. Now. Before it was too late, before he’d made up his mind whether or not to give chase. “This isn’t the appropriate time for questions, Damien. I have to put Kyle to bed.”
“May I join you?”
That he’d ask permission instead of demand the right revealed just how moved he was by Kyle. Even so, she couldn’t allow compassion to influence her judgment. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she began.
Kyle turned his head, his mouth close to her ear, and whispered, “He can come. Day-man can come.”
She caught her lip between her teeth, his mispronunciation of Damien’s name as deeply affecting as his request. She wished she could refuse, wished she could race up the stairs and escape the coming discussion. “It would seem that I’ve been overruled,” she said, darting a swift, reluctant look at Damien. “Kyle would like it if you’d tuck him in for the night.”
Man and boy exchanged a long look, a look that excluded her, a look of complete understanding. Damien inclined his head. “Thank you. I’d like that.” He glanced at her. “He’s too heavy for you to carry. Let me take him.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Kyle held out his arms and, with no other choice, she relinquished her son. Their son, she reminded herself yet again. It was time she faced facts. Damien and Kyle belonged together. She’d always known it, always resisted that knowledge because she was afraid. Afraid Damien would want her son, but wouldn’t want her. They ascended the stairs together, almost like a family. It was a treacherous thought, an unrealistic thought.
“Which way?” he asked at the top of the steps.
“The first room.” She gestured to the right and moved ahead of them, pushing open the door to Kyle’s bedroom. “In here.”
Damien looked around. “Nice,” he approved. “Why the bunk beds?”
“For friends,” Kyle answered the question for her. “And ’cuz I like it. The top is my fort.” He pointed at the ceiling. “See the stars?”
Damien tilted back his head. A whole galaxy of glittering stars and planets, applied with glow-in-the-dark paint, spread across the ceiling. “Clever.”
“And the bottom is my cave.” He wiggled free of Damien’s arms and clambered on to the lower bunk. “See? I put blankets all around so it’s dark. And Mommy lets me draw on the wall like a real caveman.”
“She does, does she?” He shot her an amused look.
“It’s only the one wall,” she murmured. “And it saved the rest of the walls in the house from any further artistic endeavors.” She turned her attention to her son. “It’s time for bed, sweetheart. Where are you sleeping tonight? You need to choose.”
Kyle settled cross-legged on the mattress, his brows drawn together in thought. Sable caught her breath. He looked so much like his father, it was frightening. She glanced nervously at Damien. Did he suspect the truth? Did he see himself mirrored in those miniature features? If so, he gave no sign.
“Here. In the cave,” Kyle decided, and burrowed beneath the sheet. “But I wants Day-man to tuck me in.”
Damien didn’t wait for a second invitation. He dropped to one knee beside the bed. With a giggle, Kyle k
icked off the sheet and for the next few minutes a wrestling match ensued. Damien made a big production of pulling up the covers and tucking them beneath the squirming little boy. The instant he finished, Kyle churned his arms and legs until the bedcovers were strewn half on and half off the bed. With a growl of mock-fury, Damien would then start the process all over again. Inevitably, Kyle tired and finally gave in to Damien’s persistence, allowing the sheet and blanket to stay put.
Damien ruffled the boy’s dark curls, the gesture tender beyond belief. “How old are you, Kyle?” he questioned unexpectedly.
Alarm streaked through Sable and she stepped forward. “Please, don’t—” she began.
“Six,” came the sleepy retort, though with his lisp it sounded more like “thix.”
“Six?” Damien repeated, lifting an eyebrow.
Velvety eyes opened, the ebony depths twinkling with laughter. His smile widened into a grin. “I’m gonna be six. I’m gonna be six tomorrow. Right, Mommy?”
Sable smiled, relaxing ever so slightly. “If you want to be.”
His freckled nose wrinkled. “Maybe I’ll be ten. Or a lion.” He bared his tiny teeth and curled his fingers into claws. “I can growl real good.”
“I’m sure you can,” Damien agreed with a husky laugh. “Goodnight.”
“You gonna come tomorrow?” Kyle asked. “You can if you wants to.”
“Thanks. I’d like that. But if I don’t see you tomorrow, I’ll see you again soon. Okay?” It was the perfect response. Kyle readily agreed, and, with a huge yawn, curled into a tight ball, his lids drifting closed.
Without a sound, Damien and Sable crept from the room. Neither spoke as they returned to the living room. She glanced at him, considering what she’d say, how she’d explain the truth so he’d understand, so he wouldn’t hate her. He wasn’t going to take this well, and she couldn’t blame him. They should have had this little talk years ago.
He took up his stance by the fireplace again, his profile turned to her, and he stared down at the slate hearth, one hand planted on the mantel. She knew he was gathering his thoughts for the coming discussion, and she stared at him, drinking in the strong sweep of his brow, the taut, angled curve of his cheekbones, the firm, determined chin and passionate mouth.
She caught her breath in dismay. She loved him, she realized then, the knowledge as stunning as it was undeniable. She’d never stopped loving him. Even when he’d hurt her, when he’d withdrawn his support, her feelings had never truly died, only been buried. All these years. All these long, lonely years she’d kept her emotions on ice, refusing to allow anyone close—except Kyle.
And now she knew why. Because throughout that time she’d held on to the secret hope she and Damien would have another opportunity, that there would come a time when they’d find each other again. She closed her eyes. And now that they finally had, any chance of them working out their problems was doomed to fail. He wouldn’t forgive her for keeping Kyle a secret, any more than he’d forgiven her for betraying him. The knowledge came as a devastating blow.
She glanced at him, exhaustion slipping over her, and she struggled to conceal her regret and yearning. “Is it really necessary to go into this tonight?” she asked. Or was it more of a plea? She could predict his answer, but hoped that he might relent and let her off the hook.
He turned his head, an unexpected smile touching his mouth. “You’ve been ducking this conversation since I bought into Caldwell’s,” he told her drily. His amusement died, his eyes darkening with emotion. “He’s a beautiful child, Sable. But he’s not six. How old is he?”
She sank to the couch, burying her hands in the filmy layers of her skirt. So now it began. “Four,” she told him, without delay or evasion.
“Four?” He stilled, a sudden, savage light growing in his eyes. “Four . . . or four and a few months?”
She knew the point of the question. If Kyle was just four, he would be Leonard’s son. If he was more than that . . . “Four and a few months,” she whispered.
He didn’t react, didn’t show any emotion. But a vein throbbed in his temple and the muscles in his jaw clenched, warning he wasn’t as calm as he appeared. “Kyle’s the reason you married, isn’t he?”
She nodded, her heart pounding. “Yes,” she admitted, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to draw the ultimate conclusion.
“You were already pregnant when you married Caldwell, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” she repeated.
Fury erupted, sweeping across his face like a dark tide. She could see him fight it, struggling to keep his temper in check. He didn’t succeed. “Six weeks after leaving me you were pregnant and married to that son of a bitch? Six weeks!”
She stared in bewilderment, confused by what he’d said. He couldn’t believe . . . He didn’t think that Kyle was Leonard’s, did he? “Damien, wait a minute. You have it all wrong. I can explain—”
“Explain! Explain what?” He straightened, stepping away from the mantel, and she stiffened, the unadulterated rage in his expression causing her to shrink back against the cushions. “I won’t bother asking if there’s any chance Kyle’s mine.”
“What?”
“Oh, don’t look so insulted.” He thrust a hand through his hair, the movement filled with barely suppressed violence. “Hell, it must have been a close thing, a matter of weeks between the time you left my bed and crawled into Caldwell’s. There had to have been a momentary doubt over who fathered your child. I’m surprised it didn’t occur to Lenny. Considering his lack of principles, I’m amazed he was willing to marry you at all. He had to have been damned certain the kid was his. How did you convince him? Or didn’t he know about us?”
He couldn’t have shocked her more if he’d slapped her. “You bastard!” she whispered.
“That’s why you were so anxious to keep Kyle a secret, wasn’t it? Once I knew about him, you had to realize I’d suspect the rest. That you were in cahoots with Caldwell from the start, sleeping with him, supplying him with bid information.”
“No!”
He came closer. “No, you weren’t conspiring with Lenny, supplying him with bid information?” he ripped into her. “Or no, you weren’t sleeping with him?”
She leapt to her feet, determined not to cower on the couch, refusing to show any weakness or vulnerability that he could twist to his advantage. “I never told Leonard anything about your contracts or your clients. I let certain facts slip to Patricia, I’ve never denied that. But I never, ever discussed Hawke Enterprises with Leonard. Nor was I sleeping with him.”
“Well, if you weren’t sleeping with Lenny before the leaks, you sure as hell had to be sleeping with him right afterward. Your son’s proof enough of that.” His sarcasm cut her to the quick.
“You’ve got it all wrong!” she protested.
“Then why did you keep Kyle’s existence a secret these past two weeks?”
“Why in the world would I want to tell you about him?” she shot back. “Why would I tell you when it would give you one more weapon to use against me in this little vendetta of yours?”
“You think I’d use a child? That I’d ever do anything to harm your son?” His affront would have been laughable if matters weren’t so heartbreaking.
“That’s precisely what I think. You’d do anything and everything in your power to hurt me. That’s the whole reason you bought into Caldwell’s. Why would I think you’d make an exception for Kyle?” she demanded. “What have you done that could possibly lead me to believe that?”
“Don’t you dare dump this on me,” he hit back. “What the hell was I supposed to believe? You’ve lied to me from the beginning. About the bids. About Caldwell. About your own son.”
“I haven’t! I’ve been trying to tell you—”
He snatched her into his arms then, his body taut and hard, his anger a tangible force. “Have you any idea what it does to me, knowing you allowed that piece of slime to touch you? Knowing he fathered a child
with you?”
Tears clogged her throat, making it a struggle to speak, but she had to explain, had to make him understand what she’d gone through, how she’d felt. “He was good to me at a time I had nowhere to turn. You had deserted me. I was unemployed and alone. If it hadn’t been for Leonard . . .” Her voice broke, distress heavy in her voice.
“All I know is that you betrayed me. Of all the things you could have done, you chose the one I could never forgive.” His hands slid across her bared shoulders, slipping upward to cup her face. “Kyle could have been our son. Has that ever occurred to you?”
The truth trembled on her lips, and almost—almost—she confessed everything. “Damien, I have to tell you—”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to say another word.” His expression might have been carved from granite. “The facts speak for themselves. If you hadn’t been so greedy, so treacherous, Kyle could have been mine.”
Tears threatened to overwhelm her. Was that what he really thought of her? “And what if he had been?” she asked. “What then?”
His passion, his fury, broke free. “Then I could have watched you ripen with my child. I could have been there when you gave birth to him, seen him suckle at your breast, been a father to him. Instead you took all that from me and gave the privilege to another man.”
She inhaled sharply. “You hate the idea that he could be Leonard’s, don’t you? You hate Kyle because of who his father might be.”
“I want to hate you both.” Ferocity ripped through his words. He closed his eyes, fighting some inner demon, the anger slowly draining away. “But I can’t. Not after seeing Kyle, touching him, hearing his laugh. Dear God, Sable.” The pain in his voice was nearly her undoing. “He could have been ours.”
“No, he couldn’t have been,” she told him raggedly. “Because you don’t want a real son, let alone a real wife. You want someone without failings, someone perfect, without flaw or human foibles. Well, we can never be like that. For Kyle to be your son would mean letting down your guard and trusting, risking your heart. And for me to be your wife would mean believing in me despite all evidence to the contrary. And you’ve never been willing or able to do that, have you?”
