She peered through her lashes and saw exactly what she’d feared: Vince Coronado’s electric-blue gaze. But it wasn’t laughing at her; instead, his look held a tenderness that would, if she wasn’t careful, undo her again. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to figure out how to disappear.
A chuckle shook his chest. “Come on, Chloe. I won’t bite. And my leg’s fallen asleep.”
Mortified, she scrambled from his lap and would have wound up on the floor if he hadn’t caught her. “What are you doing here?” Her voice sounded as if she’d swallowed sandpaper.
“Hey, easy…” Vince steadied her.
She couldn’t stand the pity in his eyes. Then everything came crashing back in.
She couldn’t think about it just yet. If she didn’t get a drink of water, she’d die. Turning too fast toward the kitchen, she tripped on the hem of her robe.
“Whoa,” Vince said, grasping her by the elbow. “Wait a minute until you get your balance.”
Chloe ducked her head, but he put one finger beneath her chin and forced it upward.
“I’m not the enemy, Chloe,” he said softly. Then something oddly shy filled his eyes. “I never thought I’d say this to a woman, but I’m glad to be the one who held you while you cried.”
And she, who thought she’d been drained of every last tear, felt a new rush of them stinging. “I—” Again her throat refused to work.
“Why don’t I get you a glass of water.” His voice was so gentle. “Sit down, and I’ll bring it in here.”
Nature made its needs known, though she’d have sworn not an ounce of fluid remained inside her whole body. “I have to—” She fell silent.
Vince smiled. “Want me to walk you down the hall?”
Chloe stifled a yelp. Shaking her head, she escaped, knocking one knee against a table and careening off the adjacent wall as she stumbled her way out of the room.
She expected to hear him laugh, but instead, his voice came to her, comforting and low. “Don’t assume you’re going to hide in the bathroom. I’m not leaving until we talk.”
She closed the door and sank against it, eyes darting wildly as she tried to figure out some way to sneak out of the tiny window in her oldest robe.
Then she remembered all that had happened in the space of one night and knew embarrassment was the least of her problems.
Chloe braced her hands on the edge of the pedestal sink and stared at her face in the mirror. No wonder she’d never been able to find a resemblance to her parents.
Parents. The mother and father she’d always believed were hers. Now she didn’t know what to believe. They’d given her so much. Demanded so much. Been there for every important event of her life, always in the front row, always…there. Maybe not demonstrative, maybe not the mother who baked cookies or the dad who gave piggyback rides, but…
There. Steady and dependable. She recalled the anguish on their faces before she’d run out of the house she’d taken for granted as home. How could they have been so deceitful?
Her bitterness wavered. How could she have been so cruel?
They’d lied, yes, but she hadn’t heard a word of whatever explanations they’d offered. All she could think, all she could see, was that she was a fraud. An illusion.
Who am I? she wondered as she studied a face she’d glimpsed at thousands of times but never really seen.
Do I resemble my mother or father? My sisters?
What were their names? How could there be two people walking the earth who were part of her, shared her blood and bone, and she didn’t even know their names?
Once again, anger rose, swift and fierce. Her parents had no right—Dolores and John, that was. She didn’t know what to call them now, no matter that, deep within, she understood it was wrong to give short shrift to the years they’d spent caring for her, protecting her, guarding her from…what?
Her own nature? Who was she? Everything came back to that, a clawing, aching need to know. Like waking up with the sun shining and birds singing and stepping out of bed—
And falling into a huge black hole.
She had another life. Another family. A past, however brief, that was who she really was. Yes, barely four was very young, but how could she not remember any of it?
And the prospect of finding out who that Chloe was scared her to death, every bit as much as it lured her the way an oasis lures the weary traveler.
But sometimes an oasis turned out to be a mirage.
I have to know. I have to find them.
She stared at the blond hair and brown eyes and wondered if there were, somewhere on the planet, two women who shared them. She traced her cheekbones and eyebrows. Pressed long fingers against her mouth…
Uncertain if she was brave enough to find out.
“Chloe?” Vince’s voice came through the door. “You okay?”
Chloe looked at her reflection and wondered if she’d ever be able to answer that question honestly again.
The doorknob rattled, and she knew she had to answer him with something. Quickly, she ran the water in the sink and grabbed her toothbrush. “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”
The face in the mirror that had suddenly become a stranger’s stared back at Chloe, watching her every move.
FOR A MAN ACCUSTOMED to action, seldom at a loss to decide where he was going next, Vince found himself hesitating in the hallway of Chloe’s jewel box of a house, having no idea if he should stay or go. Everything about this situation was foreign to him. He didn’t do tears. Didn’t do relationships. Didn’t get involved with personal stuff.
Yet he was about to do all three, if he didn’t find some excuse to get the hell out of here—now. Somehow, though, the litany of reasons that he should be anywhere but with this woman didn’t seem to be penetrating his admittedly thick skull. She got to him, this daughter of privilege, this blueblood who would never consent to getting tangled up with him.
He was not, by the remotest stretch of the imagination, a long-term kind of guy, anyway. Maybe he should see a shrink. He had to be crazy to be here at all.
The bathroom door opened, and Chloe, head downcast, walked out, seeming as though a puff of wind would blow her over.
And Vince forgot everything but the need to make her back into the society girl who’d never take a second glance at him.
“Hey,” he said, and was about to start asking questions, when she looked up, and he saw how close to the edge she was. Didn’t matter that he had no idea what the edge was called or who had pushed her to it. Vince, whose instincts had saved him more than once, let his gut tell him the next move.
Give it a rest. Give her time to recover.
So Vince grinned past his worry. “I make a pretty mean omelette, if I do say so myself. Want one?”
He could see the refusal forming on her lips. The urge to coddle her all but overwhelmed him, but somehow he knew it was the worst thing he could do. He steered her toward her bedroom. “You go dress, and I’ll get started. Coffee’s brewing.”
She hesitated. “Vince, I can’t—”
“Reneging on me, Doc?” Though he wanted to tuck her into bed and stand guard over her, he thought that being idle might be the worst thing for her right now. “We had a date to wallpaper, and I’m holding you to it.”
When her shoulders sagged, he was on the verge of giving in, never mind his instincts.
But just then, the shadow of Dr. Cool and Elegant made an appearance. Her head rose, and her body straightened. “If you could—” She turned her head halfway, and the anguish he saw in that pure profile was hard to bear.
“Never mind—”
“I’d like a shower,” she interrupted. “But I won’t—” Her voice faltered, and he watched as she grasped at the strands of her former composure. “I won’t be long.”
“Take all the time you need, Doc,” he said, clenching his hands against the need to touch her. Hold her. Keep her safe.
“Thank you,” she whispered, lifting a gaze so
vulnerable it was painful to see. “And thank you for—” she cleared a throat gone husky “—everything.”
He held on to his resolve by a thread, reminding himself that he was in no position to be her knight in shining armor, even if he’d been the type. And forced himself to think of the thousand and one reasons getting any closer to her was a huge mistake—for both of them.
Drawing upon every ounce of acting skills he’d ever learned, Vince kept his hands to himself and shrugged. “I was just here at the right time.” He made himself walk away before he fell headfirst and fathoms deep into those soulful brown eyes. “Breakfast will be ready when you are.”
After a moment, he heard her footsteps moving down the hall.
In the kitchen, he stared unseeing out the window for a very long time.
CHAPTER NINE
CHLOE GLANCED AROUND at Vince’s neighborhood, an eclectic mix of houses older than those where she lived. Shotgun cottages stood cheek by jowl with big, rambling two-story Victorians. Travis Heights had gone to seed, but nowadays, young couples were remodeling and restoring the neighborhood to a new vitality. She hadn’t been here in a long time; South Austin and North Austin might as well straddle the Mason-Dixon Line, separate worlds divided by the river that flowed between them.
She would have pegged Vince Coronado as the type to live in some singles-only apartment complex, never a neighborhood as cozy as this. His house was one of the smaller ones on a street still half in, half out of decay, but she knew living here was a smart investment on his part. This northernmost neighborhood of South Austin had values skyrocketing simply because of its proximity to downtown. As Austin’s traffic had worsened, formerly modest neighborhoods like this one and her own had become coveted real estate regardless of the condition of the housing.
She wasn’t surprised that he’d made a smart investment; he was a very bright man, she’d come to realize. Maybe he’d come from a deprived background, but the intelligence that crackled in the air around him could not be denied.
But that his house would feel so much like a home did surprise her. She could see the new roof, the trees he’d trimmed, the flower gardens weeded. New paint in a subtle but striking mix of cream and bronze and sable made this house stand out from its neighbors to either side and lifted the entire block a notch.
“I like it,” she said. Just then, something brushed against her leg, and she jolted before spying the cat. “Is it yours?” Chloe sank to her knees and stroked the fur.
Vince recoiled. “No way.” But the cat abandoned Chloe to wind around his ankles.
“Does he know that?”
“Not my fault he’s hard-of-hearing. I’ve told him to scram.”
Chloe grinned as the cat’s purring increased. “I see how he’s terrified of you.”
Vince squirmed under her appraisal. “It’s only a temporary arrangement. I don’t have time for pets.” But he’d already crouched beside her, absently stroking the animal.
She smothered a laugh. “It might be too late.” She glanced at the cat, who’d rolled over onto his back in bliss. She couldn’t take her eyes off Vince’s strong, lean fingers.
He saw her laughter and jerked his hand back as if burned, then quickly stood. “Want something cold to drink?”
“Sure.” She followed him inside and stopped in the living room in amazement. This room was finished, oak floors gleaming with what had to be hand-rubbed waxing. His furnishings were simple and clean of line—a long leather sofa saved from starkness by two overstuffed chairs, with ottomans, that looked like the perfect place to curl up and read. Bookcases lined the walls, crammed full; she itched to peruse the titles. His coffee table was burled wood, low and massive, and bore its own stacks of books. She saw no television, though there was a state-of-the-art sound system in place.
He’d turned back when she halted and noticed her absorption. “Sorry for the mess. I need more bookshelves,” he said. “Or maybe I need to quit buying books.”
“I love to read, too. My idea of a great vacation would be an all-expenses-paid four-star hotel with room service and an endless gift certificate at the bookstore next door.”
“I never read much as a kid, never was in school that often. Carlos taught me that even a poor kid could travel the world in the pages of a book. He took me to get my first library card.”
Sorrow cast a shadow across him. She marveled at how he’d triumphed over his background and knew she’d been right to think that Carlos Quintanilla’s death still affected him. “I’m so sorry I never knew him,” she said. “He must have been a wonderful man.”
Vince’s face shuttered. “He was.”
A strained silence ensued, and she sought to relieve it. “This room is beautiful, Vince.”
His smile was grateful. “Thanks. It’s one of two rooms that are complete. Well, three if you count the master bath I made out of a bedroom.”
Chloe’s eyes widened. “A whole bedroom?”
“Want to see?” His blue eyes held both challenge and temptation.
Did she want to see his bedroom? She’d never wanted to see a man’s bedroom before, but…
“Yes.”
Vince grinned. “Let me get you that drink, and then we’ll take the nickel tour.”
And they did, Chloe exclaiming over the whirlpool tub and separate shower, trying not to focus too hard on the enormous bed that dominated the bedroom, all the while intensely aware of a subtle hum of attraction that made her both breathless and wary. As they moved through the house, Vince’s hand would rest on the small of her back or their bodies would brush in passing, and the voltage would increase until Chloe’s nerves danced with a mingle of anticipation and fear.
In the doorway to his room, he paused to let her by but crowded her slightly, his gaze never leaving hers, tangible and dangerous. She tried to ease past him without touching.
But oh, how she wanted—
She could hear him breathing, registered the warmth of him on her skin. Inhaled the scent that was new and tantalizing and…all man. Chloe stared at his chest only inches away and wondered what he’d do if she closed the distance and pressed her lips to the cotton stretched over that expanse of hard muscle—
“Chloe.” Her name on his lips was both entreaty and command.
Slowly, she dragged her gaze upward, preternaturally aware of the moisture gathering between her breasts, the softening of her body under the spell of power crackling around a man who’d stormed into her predictable life, sweeping away everything she thought she’d understood about herself.
It was too much. Chloe gasped and slipped past him, knowing herself for a thorough coward after all.
Yes, he tempted her unbearably, but she had only the slimmest grasp upon the reins of her life at this moment. Her head dropped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, bracing herself for an explosion of fury he would be justified in feeling.
But she heard only silence.
Finally, she dared a glance at him.
Vince still stood in the opening to his bedroom, arms braced against the frame as he stared down.
“I—I can call a cab,” she ventured.
His head rose swiftly. “No.” He closed his eyes and frowned. “No.” He walked toward her with that slow masculine stride, and halted in front of her a careful distance away. “Talk to me, Chloe.” Though raspy, his voice held no trace of anger. “Something happened last night, and I think I’ve earned the right to an explanation.”
He was such a complex mix of cowboy and warrior and gentleman, all in the guise of an unredeemed rake. When he held out his hand, she slipped hers into his warm and reassuring grasp. Her whole world had shifted on its axis, and she had no idea how to regain her equilibrium.
Vince took one look at the pale, tender skin revealed in the part of her hair, the defeat in her body, and knew he would stand here forever if necessary. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She was silent so long that he was about to give up, but then she spoke, her voice hu
shed, her eyes fixed on something past his shoulder. “I found out last night…” She paused and cleared her throat. “That I’m adopted.”
Prepared for anything from violence to terminal illness, Vince realized his first impulse was to say, That’s all? But something in the way she held herself so stiffly made it clear that she didn’t consider herself lucky to have been adopted into such privilege, that she hurt badly. “You didn’t suspect?”
Her head shook slowly. “It explains a lot now, but—” She lifted her gaze to his. “They lied to me, Vince. My whole life is a fraud.”
A hundred questions popped into his mind, but he was no counselor. He was out of his depth to deal with something like this. Then he remembered one of Chloe’s favorite questions in her sessions. “How do you feel about it?”
“I— A million things. I don’t know what to think.” Hugging her arms to herself, she began to pace. “At first I was stunned. I couldn’t believe I was really hearing it. I wanted to deny it, but the truth was there in their faces, the guilt and the pain and—” She swallowed hard. “Then I got outraged. I’ve never been that angry in my life. I felt so betrayed, and then I knew…”
“What?”
She paused. “Why they always pushed me so hard to be perfect.”
“Which was?”
“Because there was something wrong, something shameful, in my past, and they were trying to discipline it out of me. They had to be on guard so I wouldn’t turn out to be—”
“Be what?”
Fury sparked. “Who I really am. My father abandoned us before my mother died. What kind of father—” Her voice dropped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Forget it. Who your parents are—or aren’t—doesn’t matter. All that’s important is who you’ve made yourself.”
She looked stricken. “But that’s it, don’t you see? I didn’t make anything. I’m the product of parents who were too ashamed to admit that I wasn’t this lily-pure blueblood, that I was a castoff whose parents didn’t— Oh, God, Vince, I’m sorry— You know I don’t mean—”
The Good Daughter Page 12
