Her Secret, His Child: A Little Secret

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  The money. She just had to remember that last hateful wad of bills. They'd changed her life forever.

  mmm

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  TARA TAYLOR QUINN

  as hell at himself. "I was grading papers and lost track of the time."

  "Good papers?"

  Kyle shrugged. "Thought-provoking," he said, remembering that last one. It had had him so engrossed he'd never even heard the alarm on his watch go off to tell him it was time to get showered. "Not that I agree with all of them."

  "And do your students lose points for daring to have alternative opinions?"

  "Nope." Kyle grinned at her. "Alternative opinions are always graciously accepted."

  "Always?"

  "As long as they have a valid argument to back them up."

  "Nice car," she said, admiring his metallic-blue Ford Thunderbird.

  "Thanks." Odd, as forcefully as she affected him, there were so many things she didn't know. Like the fact that he had a passion for Thunderbirds. Owned three of them. From three different decades. He'd brought the brand-new one tonight. For her. Had wanted her to travel in luxury as well as style.

  "Where's your daughter?"

  She shot him a startled glance, almost as though she'd forgotten he knew about the child, and then seemed to relax a bit.

  "Actually, she's spending the night next door," she said, climbing into the T-Bird.

  Kyle looked at the two-story next to Jamie's smaller house. ' 'Friends of yours?''

  She waited until he'd rounded the car and gotten

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  in. "Good friends," she said then. "They have a daughter Ashley's age."

  "Ashley," he said, trying out the name. Liked it. "That's your daughter's name?"

  A little jolt again, barely perceptible except that Kyle was in tune to every breath she took. "Yes," she said. "Ashley Mariah."

  "It's a nice name."

  He wanted to ask about the child's father. To know if he was the reason Jamie had erected such walls around herself.

  And he would. When he was more certain she'd answer him.

  "So what's your aversion to compliments?" He'd chosen the restaurant carefully. One of his favorite places, Gulliver's not only served superb steak but offered warmth and intimacy. Each table was set off in its own alcove, and every alcove gave the appearance of being its own private den—complete with bookshelves built into the walls.

  "I don't have an aversion to compliments." She was smiling, but the smile didn't reach her eyes, and her eyes didn't quite meet his.

  "Sure you do." Kyle grinned at her across their table for two.

  He expected her to brush him off, as was her wont, and was surprised when she suddenly met his gaze head-on.

  "I guess I'd just rather people appreciate me, inside," she said. "The person they can't see."

  "He really did a number on you, didn't he?"

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  "Who?" She withdrew from him again.

  "Ashley's father."

  "No!" She looked around the room, at the other tables, a waiter passing by. "What do you know about him?''

  "Absolutely nothing," he admitted. "But I can't help wondering if maybe he isn't at least part of the reason I'm having to scale mountains to find the woman I spent such an incredible night with five years ago."

  She fiddled with the straw in the diet soda she'd ordered. "He has nothing to do with it."

  The waiter approached, pad in hand, ready to take their dinner order, Kyle asked him to come back later. "So you do at least admit I'm having to scale mountains."

  Jamie frowned at him, not at all pleased that she'd fallen into his trap, but her shrug acknowledged that she had indeed fallen. For one brief second, as their eyes met, Kyle felt a spark of the nonverbal connection he'd shared with her across the crowded, noisy room the night of his mother's death.

  "If it's not him, what is it?" he asked softly.

  Her eyes revealed nothing. "You really want to know?"

  More than anything. He inclined his head.

  "The money." She held his gaze for a second longer, then glanced down, drawing shapes on the white linen tablecloth with her finger.

  The money? What? He didn't make enough of it? She'd just done his taxes. She knew exactly what he was worth…

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  A lot.

  "The money," he finally repeated, more confused than ever.

  "Sure, it might have been expected, but the way you just left it there, without a word…" Her voice trailed off and Kyle just stared at her.

  Her face was flushed, a muscle twitching at one corner of her mouth. She was really upset.

  And he was completely lost.

  "I'm sorry, Jamie." She glanced up then, as if the apology meant much more to her than he'd intended. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "You're telling me you aren't the one who put the wad of bills on my dress?" she asked sarcastically. "I know—housekeeping came in before dawn and left me a tip to clean the room myself, right?"

  "The dress!" When he'd gotten up that next morning, after an embarrassing amount of time staring at the woman asleep in his bed, reliving the incredible hours he'd spent with her there, he'd noticed the dress he'd ruined the night before when he'd spilled champagne on it.

  "I see you remember." Her tone was dry, but at least she was looking at him.

  "Of course I remember." What he didn't get was why such a small thing was such a big problem. "Like an idiot, I'd ruined what appeared to be an expensive piece of designer clothing. Paying for it was the least I could do."

  Brows raised, she froze, staring at him. "That money was supposed to pay for the dress?"

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  Kyle could feel the heat rising up his face. "It wasn't enough, was it?" he muttered. "I knew I should have left more."

  "No!" she said loudly. And then, with a glance at their fellow diners, she continued more quietly. "It was plenty to pay for the dress."

  So what was the problem— Oh. God. Kyle felt sick to his stomach. "You thought…"

  She looked away, her auburn hair hiding her face.

  "You thought I'd left that money to pay for something else, didn't you?" The thought filled him with horror.

  Her silence kept the horror flowing.

  "You did." He couldn't believe it.

  With only her hair visible to him, he couldn't read the thoughts in her eyes. Couldn't connect with her.

  How could she have thought that poorly of him? And yet, considering the night from her point of view, given the fact that she'd woken up all alone in a hotel room with a wad of bills lying on top of the dress she'd taken off at his instigation…could he blame her for jumping to conclusions?

  "Jamie?" She didn't move, didn't appear to have heard him.

  "Please look at me."

  Still no response.

  The waiter was approaching again. Wordlessly Kyle sent him away a second time. Then he reached across the table, taking Jamie's chin gently between his fingers and turning her toward him.

  "I wouldn't have hurt you for the world, Jamie," he said, willing her to hear the truth in his heart.

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  "Don't you know," he continued as she remained silent, "I've never talked to another woman—another person—the way I talked to you that night. Never shared those things with anyone."

  His mother had died the day he'd met Jamie. The mother he'd hated. She'd paraded more men than he could count through Kyle's life; she'd been a whore and he'd detested her. Not that he'd told Jamie the details—only that he'd hated the woman.

  And that on her deathbed his mother had said she loved him. Even then, he hadn't been able to muster up enough compassion, enough affection, to let her die in peace. Even then, he'd gone on hating her.

  That night, drowning his grief in the cacophony of Tom Webber's party, Kyle had begun to hate himself.


  "You saved me from hell that night, Jamie," he said. "Your eyes met mine and something happened." He paused, took her hand in both of his, held on. "It was like you were speaking to me, telling me everything was going to be okay…"

  She almost smiled. He could see that she was remembering, too.

  "I never intended anything to happen, never for one second thought about wanting to, um, score."

  She opened her mouth, but he cut her off before she could speak. "It's the truth," he said. "Yeah, I noticed you were gorgeous," he admitted. "I'd have had to be dead below the neck not to, but that wasn't what compelled me to get up and walk across that room."

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  She pulled her hand from his, saying, "I might have believed that." Her voice was thick. "Once."

  He had a hell of a lot of damage to undo. "You might as well believe it—'' he reached for her hand again "—because it's true. If I hadn't humiliated myself by spilling that champagne down the front of your dress like some kind of bumbling idiot, I would never have rented a room that night. I just wanted you to have a chance to rinse off, a chance for the dress to dry."

  He saw the sudden warmth in her eyes, her need to believe him. And he saw the doubts. At the moment, her doubts were stronger than her ability to believe. He'd hurt her. Before he'd left the money, he'd hurt her by making love to her at all. It had been too soon, the night too emotionally charged. He'd done the inexcusable—taken advantage of a sweet, innocent woman.

  "You know, Jamie, you weren't the only beautiful woman in the room that night," he said. "If I'd just wanted to get laid, I'd have chosen someone forgettable, not a woman who's haunted my dreams ever since."

  The night was harder than Jamie could ever have imagined. Somehow she got through dinner, though she didn't eat more than a spoonful or two of her potato-and-broccoli soup. Kyle was a perfect companion, charming, funny. And after those few intense minutes, he steered clear of loaded topics.

  They discussed literature, recent movies they'd seen, who they'd voted for. They talked about ev-

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  erything from the economy to their shared passion for plain old-fashioned Hershey bars. She'd never enjoyed the company of an adult more—except maybe his, the first night she'd met him.

  And on the way home, she felt again the frightening sensations she'd felt that first night. Something she'd never experienced before—or since. The stirrings of desire.

  "So, you're going to be stranded on a desert island and you can take one video, one CD and one book with you. What would they be?" Kyle asked as they cruised through the streets of Denver on their way back to Larkspur Grove.

  Books. CDs. Videos. Anything but him. "The book would have to be the Bible," she said, thinking carefully. She'd never been more thankful for a diversion in her life. "CD would be the soundtrack from Phantom of the Opera and the video would be Annie.''

  Kyle nodded, glanced briefly over and smiled. "Okay, why?"

  "The Bible because it's one-stop shopping—mystery, suspense, action, romance, history and self-help."

  He nodded again, and Jamie felt inordinately pleased with his approval. "Why Phantom?"

  "It's incredible singing, there's lots of variety, a story to follow, and it's filled with passion."

  "Passion's good."

  There was that feeling again, sliding insidiously through her belly, making her far too aware of his thigh resting so close to her own.

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  "So why Annie?"

  "It's about hope. Endurance."

  "How so?"

  "'The sun'll come out tomorrow,'" she quoted from the song the orphan sings with such gusto. "I figure if a little girl can endure, I can, too."

  "I wouldn't have chosen the Bible, but after hearing your justification, I can't think of any other book that beats it," Kyle said, entering into his own game. She'd been afraid to ask, afraid to get that close.

  "I'd choose one of those greatest hits CDs they offer on late-night TV for $19.95," he said, frowning as he considered. "Most variety."

  "And a video?" she prompted. She had no business getting to know this man.

  "One of the Raiders of the Lost Ark series."

  Jamie smiled. "Why?"

  "Because they make you laugh, for one."

  "Superficial." She heard herself digging at him playfully.

  ' 'Nah, filled with all kinds of inventive ways to do things. I figure if I'm stranded I'll need all the ideas I can get."

  Jamie was almost comfortable as silence fell around them.

  After a few minutes he broke the silence. "What I'm not taking are planners of any kind." His tone was boyishly defensive.

  Bursting into laughter, Jamie asked, "Whyever not?"

  ' 'They intimidate me, and if I have to be stranded, I'm not going to be intimidated, too."

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  "But what if there are lions or bears on the island? Wouldn't they intimidate you?"

  "Nope." He shrugged. "I've got Raiders to help me beat those."

  "What about typhoons, spiders, poisonous plants?"

  "I'm a man—I'll handle them."

  "So it's just planners you find intimidating?" she asked, grinning.

  He glanced over at her, suddenly serious. "And you."

  She got that frightening feeling all over again.

  Lying on her living-room floor, Jamie gazed into the flames flickering in front of her. She'd given up on sleep. It just wasn't going to come. Not with so many memories pounding in her head. Kyle had left her at her door, without even so much as an attempted kiss good-night, hours ago. But he hadn't left without reminding her of their deal—if they spent an entire evening together without connecting, he'd go away forever. And then he'd looked her straight in the eye. Even in the dim moonlight, she'd seen the man who'd once touched her so deeply. The man who lived all alone inside and wanted to write a classic someday. And she knew he'd seen a small piece of her—the piece that was lonely, too. She was just going to have to find a way to convince him he hadn't. Because there was too much at stake. Ashley's entire future rested on the death of her past. She couldn't resurrect it—not for anything.

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  And there was something else to consider, as well. Something new.

  A log splintered, spraying ashes as it fell from the grate to the fireplace floor. Jamie watched the orange-red glow of the ashes, mesmerized.

  There was no point in resurrecting her past, even if doing so wouldn't destroy Ashley's safe, secure world. There was no point because Kyle was infatuated with a woman who didn't exist. When she'd talked to him tonight about the money he'd left, she thought they'd both known why he'd left it. And why she'd been hurt but not surprised.

  He'd never suspected. Not even when it became obvious that she'd believed the money was in payment for services rendered. Even then, he'd never suspected why she'd jumped so quickly to that conclusion. He had no idea why she'd been at that party, dressed like a whore. Had no idea that was exactly what she'd been.

  Looking back, she should have known. She'd been certain, after his desertion, that Kyle had chosen her on purpose. That he'd merely been using her to lay his ghosts to rest. But when she'd spent those hours talking with him, when she'd made love for the first time in her life, she'd known he was different. That they were different.

  And if he ever found out that he'd actually been with a woman who regularly sold what favors she'd given him that night, anything special they'd shared would be gone as if it had never existed. He'd never believe that with him it had been different…

  As the fire dwindled before her eyes and the room

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  cooled, Jamie slipped back to those cold, lonely years…

  Desperate, frightened, alone, the young Jamie had soaked up Tom Webber's kindness, studying hard to make him proud of her. The months passed and she began to gain some confidence, but she'd felt worse and worse about being his ch
arity case. She'd insisted over and over again that she wanted to be able to do something for him, something to earn her keep.

  And he'd insisted that all he wanted from her was her time. He lived alone. He'd be thrilled to have a companion for dinner. Someone to see now and then—take to the symphony, the theater—without messy entanglements. Good, intelligent conversation that wasn't accompanied by the need to watch for hidden agendas and innuendos.

  And a year later, when she was a legal adult and things started to slip naturally into something more, Jamie was happy to follow his lead. He'd saved her life. And if she wasn't in love with him, she did love him. He made her feel safe.

  Until the next year, when an unknown but perfectly manicured woman came knocking at her door. Tom's wife had called her horrible things, her view of Jamie so completely opposite to the modest, moral way Jamie had seen herself. She'd thought Tom was only waiting until she was a little older before he married her. She'd thought he'd been waiting to propose for her sake, so his business associates wouldn't say he was robbing the cradle.

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  She'd thought that was why he'd kept her a secret from all his acquaintances.

  But that day, she'd had a horrifying look at the person she'd become without even knowing it. She saw herself through the eyes of a woman who'd had every reason to hate her. This revelation was so much worse than anything she'd ever suffered at John's hands. Because Tom had destroyed her trust, but worse, her self-respect. Just nineteen years old, she was an old man's whore.

  Tom came to her that evening, full of contriteness, but Jamie didn't even get the satisfaction of telling him he could never touch her again. He didn't want her forgiveness. He was there to end their association. Not only wasn't he trying to get in her pants, he wasn't going to be financing her education any longer. If he did, his wife was going to sue him for divorce.

  For Jamie, the worst part was that Tom was only contrite for breaking off their relationship. He apparently felt no compunction about deceiving her in the first place, for making her the "other woman" without even giving her the opportunity to decide on that role for herself. And he wasn't the least bit sorry for choosing his wife over Jamie. Seemed to think that was a foregone conclusion. Jamie wasn't worth a messy divorce. Wasn't worth the public humiliation and censure divorce might have brought. When all was said and done, she wasn't worth anything at all.