The Good Daughter

by Jean Brashear

“Chloe, I’m no hothouse flower. My mother was a whore who had no idea which man fathered me. It’s old news. It has no bearing on who I am.”

  “But how can I know who I am when one family didn’t care enough to keep me and the other spent my whole life making me into a china doll?”

  He cracked a smile at that. “You’re tougher than china, babe, trust me.”

  In her eyes swirled hurt and hope. “I am?”

  “China dolls are creampuffs compared with you. They sure don’t refinish their own floors.”

  A faint smile curved that lush, wide mouth. “I bet they’re not much at darts, either.”

  “There you go.”

  She paused. “How is it you make me believe that this news isn’t the end of the world?”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “It’s not, is it?”

  “I don’t know. I feel so lost.” She stared off in the distance. “But at the same time, I feel almost…relieved. Free, as if I don’t have to keep trying to be perfect.”

  “You’re too hardheaded to be considered perfect. I could have told you that the first time I met you.”

  Her eyes held gratitude. “You’re determined to make me laugh about this, aren’t you?”

  He tapped her nose with one finger. “Did crying fix it?”

  “No,” she said. “But crying in your arms—” She glanced away. “I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

  “I don’t suppose getting naked is an option.” When her gaze flew to his, he grinned. Beyond the panic, he saw again the temptation that had burned so hot a few moments ago.

  Then her forehead wrinkled. “Vince, I don’t…” She hesitated.

  Years had passed since he’d last felt humiliated. “Never mind. Of course you don’t.” Keeping his tone neutral, he started to move away. “I’ll take you home.”

  Chloe grasped his arm and stopped him. “It’s not what you think. I—” She drew a deep breath as if for courage. “I never really wanted to before. My parents aren’t—they don’t—” She looked puzzled. “I thought that it was in my blood, that I simply lacked the ability to feel passion, but—”

  Vince swiveled to face her. “What are you saying?”

  “Just that I—” She scrubbed both hands up and down her thighs, averting her eyes. “I’ve never—”

  Understanding hit him like a ton of bricks. “Chloe, you’re not telling me you’ve never—”

  Brown eyes lifted defiantly to his. “Yes.”

  Holy— He was both terrified and unbearably aroused. “Why?” he croaked. “How could the men you’ve dated not—”

  Frost crackled in her tone. “It was my decision, not theirs. Sex should be a matter of mutual consent between mature, thinking adults, not—”

  Vince laughed and advanced on her. “Making love,” he warned, “should be hot and sweaty and rip your heart right out of your throat.”

  If her eyes widened any farther, her eyeballs would pop out like a cartoon character’s. She swallowed visibly. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Christ, Doc, are you trying to drive me crazy or are you just that damn innocent?”

  “I’m not innocent,” she said. “I understand all about the physical and psychological aspects of intercourse—”

  Vince seized her then, barely keeping the beast inside him at bay, easing her against him with so much care he thought he just might die, and brushed his lips against hers, teasing hers open with his tongue.

  But then this egghead society girl who understood the cerebral aspect of sex—

  Moaned. And let him inside, her unpracticed moves so unabashedly carnal that Vince was sliding fast past the point of no return.

  If his pager hadn’t gone off at that moment, Chloe might not have remained a virgin past the next five minutes.

  Fighting his way out of a need so huge that he was going under for the third time, Vince groaned from somewhere in his gut while he cursed whoever the hell considered anything important enough to interrupt this.

  As Chloe stiffened in his arms, Vince reached to stop the damn pager and struggled to get one good breath. One solid thought not swimming in lust. He kept his eyes closed and rested his forehead against hers, muttering dark imprecations against whoever—

  “Don’t you need to check who it is?” she asked. The quiver in her voice puffed his ego as much as it savaged his control.

  “Am I supposed to care after that kiss?” He opened his eyes. Drank in the color in her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. “Damn, Chloe, don’t look at me like that.”

  “Don’t you look at me like that.”

  “How?” He couldn’t resist teasing her.

  A blush rose up her throat. “As if you want me.”

  “I’ve never wanted anyone more in my life.” He didn’t grin. It was too much the truth. Too foolish for a lot of reasons he refused to think about yet. “But your first time should be special,” he said. “It should matter.”

  “This doesn’t?” she asked in a small voice.

  It mattered too much. “Chloe—”

  His pager went off again.

  Vince swore and checked the number. Then swore again. “Tino,” he muttered.

  “Who’s Tino?”

  And at least half of those reasons came rushing back. Moreno. Tino. The danger she’d be in if any of them realized that she was rapidly becoming too important to him.

  With superhuman effort, Vince resurrected the hard cop he’d been until this morning. Until he’d held this woman in his arms and felt her tears wet his shirt.

  He had to protect her. Had to break away. “An informant on an important case. He’s called twice, so I can’t ignore it.”

  Her arms hugged her waist. “I understand.”

  No, you don’t. You have no idea what I have to do to keep you safe. The prospect of hurting her again, after what she’d been through last night, tore out his guts.

  Even though she’d thank him for it later.

  Right now, the best he could summon was something close to neutrality. “I’d better call him.” Before he could weaken, he forced himself to walk to the phone.

  Cursing himself every step of the way for opening Pandora’s box when he should have known better.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHLOE WATCHED the river as they crossed the bridge heading north a few minutes later, feeling the unaccustomed freedom of letting wind whip her hair without worrying how she looked. She caught herself wishing she could rewind the clock and erase the page he’d received. For a few moments there, she’d had a glimpse of a world she wanted to enter—so much it surprised her.

  She’d thought passion was not her lot. Vince Coronado had shown her that she merely hadn’t met the right man. Now, like a child standing outside a candy store whose sign had just been turned to Closed, she wanted inside. Was eager to learn what else about herself she hadn’t known.

  “I’m going to look for my sisters,” she said.

  “I think you should. I have a former partner who’s a private investigator now. I could give you his number.”

  She regarded him. “You really think it’s a good idea?”

  He frowned. “Don’t you?”

  Chloe stared ahead. “It will cause problems. I don’t know what my parents will think.”

  “Is their reaction important?”

  She worried at her lower lip. “Yes.” After a moment, she continued. “Maybe it shouldn’t be—” She shook her head. “No, that’s wrong. I don’t understand why they did it, and I’m scared of what I might learn about my birth family, but whatever my parents’ reasons, they care about me. You can’t fake that.”

  Vince snorted. “People fake things all the time. Affection is one of the easiest.”

  In that instant, she was reminded of the chasm of difference in their experiences. The therapist in her wanted to pursue the discussion; the woman whose body still hummed from his touch had no interest in what she might discover about his motives. Besides, he was obviously distracted
by the call he’d made. “Is this case important?” she asked.

  His head whipped around, but quickly, all expression was shuttered. He shrugged. “Just another case.”

  “Why did you become a cop, Vince?”

  He hesitated. She saw the muscle in his jaw leap. Suddenly, they were back to earlier days, when she’d only been able to see his mile-high walls. Disappointment stepped hard on the heels of a loneliness more acute for its brief absence.

  But some remnant of what he called her stubbornness refused to yield. “I’m not asking in my professional capacity. I simply want to know you better.”

  The muscle jumped again. Resolutely, he stared ahead. “The less you know about me, Doc, the better off you’ll be.”

  Swift and sharp, the refusal sliced deep. Chloe gripped her hands as she grasped for the protective shell he’d breached with so little effort.

  Vince cursed. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  Chloe shook her head. “Forget it.” It shouldn’t matter. After her parents’ bombshell, she had no business getting involved with anyone.

  Vince reached for her hand and just as quickly retreated. “It’s not you.” But every word was uttered with reluctance. He drove his fingers through his hair. “Chloe, I—”

  “You don’t have to explain,” she said stiffly.

  “Goddamn it, don’t you understand anything? I’m a cop and the bastard son of a junkie whore. You’re silk and satin and money. We’re all wrong for each other.”

  “Please,” she said. “Just take me home. You don’t have to say anything else.”

  He slammed one hand against the steering wheel, but he didn’t say another word until they reached her driveway.

  Chloe bolted out her side and raced, head down, toward her front door.

  Vince caught her on the first step. Even standing below her, he was still overpowering. Still compelling.

  “This isn’t about you,” he insisted. “The problem is with me. The timing is all wrong.”

  She hid her face before the tears burning her eyes could escape. She fumbled her key in the lock.

  “Chloe—” His voice was both plea and warning. “You deserve better.”

  She dropped her key on the porch.

  Vince picked it up. Slipping beside her, he slid the key into the lock but hesitated before turning it. “I’m not sorry you cried on me,” he said in a low voice. Then he unlocked the door and left.

  Chloe stood there, head bowed over the door handle, and listened to the sound of Vince departing.

  Knowing somehow that he wouldn’t be back.

  VINCE WRENCHED his thoughts from the woman he’d left behind. Tino had phoned from jail, the idiot, and wanted Vince to spring him. The worst thing Vince could do was show up at Central Booking and call in favors. He didn’t need the visibility, not now when Newcombe hadn’t backed off yet. With a deep sigh, he punched in Mike’s number on his cell phone.

  “Yo, what’s up, Vince?” Mike said, obviously having glanced at the caller ID.

  “I need a favor, buddy.”

  “Shoot.”

  “That snitch I told you about?”

  “The one with the girlfriend and the kid?”

  “Yeah. He got himself popped.”

  “Dumbass,” Mike said. “What for?”

  “Possession. Pot.”

  Mike chuckled. “Never overestimate the intelligence of the average snitch.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “So, you want me to spring him?”

  Vince sighed. “I wish I could do it, but—”

  “Wouldn’t be your smoothest move right now. Don’t sweat it. Tino Garza, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Any messages for him?”

  “Only that I’m going to clean his clock if he does something that stupid again.”

  Mike snickered. “It may be an hour or so before I can wrap up, but I’ll get down there as quick as I can.”

  “Let him stew,” Vince said. “Maybe he’s forgotten too much already about what the joint was like.” Vince paused. “I’d say I owe you, but there’s still that war-wound remark…”

  Mike laughed. “Okay, so we’re even on this one.”

  But Vince knew they weren’t. Nothing grated on him more than owing. He hated to be dependent on anyone for any reason. Even Mike. “Thanks, buddy.”

  “You think Doc’s going to clear you anytime soon?”

  Vince tried to keep everything that had happened between them out of his voice. “She says she already wrote the report.”

  “So now you have to deal with Newcombe and the grand jury.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We need you back, Vince. The mean streets haven’t gotten any sweeter while you’ve been out.”

  “Hot weather does that. Tempers rise with the thermometer.”

  Mike grunted in agreement. “Listen, buddy, I gotta run. I’ll let this guy suffer awhile, but I’ll have him out later today.”

  “Thanks again.”

  “Check you later, man.” Then Mike was gone.

  Vince stared out his windshield and wondered what to do with himself now. He had twenty-four rolls of wallpaper that needed hanging, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to see his place just yet, not while memories of Chloe there were still so vivid.

  He wasn’t back on duty, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do some checking. He could prowl the bars where his Eastsiders hung out and see what they’d been doing.

  Or he could travel into Los Carnales territory and make his presence known to serve notice on Moreno that he hadn’t been forgotten. The move would be a little reckless, but ever since leaving Chloe, Vince had been on edge. What he really wanted to do was turn around and head back to her place.

  If he hadn’t found out that she was a virgin, maybe he could have done it. Just the thought of being the one to initiate her into the delights of lovemaking had the power to render him rock-hard in seconds. Somehow she’d burrowed under his skin when he wasn’t looking, but that didn’t change the facts.

  Whether she was born a blueblood or merely reared as one wasn’t important. No matter how much satisfaction Vince might draw from knowing that Roger Barnes hadn’t been able to tempt Chloe and he had, the fact remained that someone like Barnes was who she’d been raised to marry. There might be a little mischief inside Dr. Cool and Elegant—a damn sight more of it than he would have expected—but in the end, though she might want to experiment with a mutt like him, she would return to her pristine world when she’d had her fill.

  Vince had been aware from a very early age that there was safety in solitude, no matter how lonely it might be at first. His disastrous marriage had reinforced the lesson the one time he’d forgotten.

  The pleasures of the good doctor’s flesh would have to be foresworn, no matter how his fingers itched to touch it, to taste it…to make her body weep with need.

  Better for Chloe to think him a bastard now than to convince her of it when everything went south.

  As it inevitably would.

  CHLOE STRUGGLED up from the grip of a restless sleep, her body still desperate for rest but her mind traveling an endless maze of conflicting images. Staring at the gauzy canopy over her bed, she clasped a pillow to her chest as she attempted to sort them out.

  Her parents’ shocking revelation had opened a new vista for her, but there were no clear reference points, no signposts to lead her. They said she’d been barely four years old, but shouldn’t something have remained, some image, some memory, of the life she’d once led? As she’d tried to do last night, she searched for her earliest recollection.

  Prowling through remembrance, Chloe pondered what she’d learned about the science of memory and how it worked. As she sorted out stories she’d been told so often from actual memories of her own, she realized that her oldest one was of a dog, small and black and dirty. She’d found him in the park. She’d wanted to take him home with her, but her nanny had said no. Do
lores St. Claire would not allow a pet to soil her priceless carpets or spotless upholstery. Chloe had wanted that dog so badly. She’d hugged him and let him lick her face until her nanny had pulled her away and taken her from the park.

  Chloe had looked for the dog every time after that. In her heart she’d given him the same name she gave every stuffed dog she ever had: Charlie. A mutt’s name, her father said, but Chloe didn’t care.

  Had there been a real Charlie somewhere in her forgotten past? And how old had she been at the time of that visit to the park? She wasn’t yet in school, Chloe was almost certain. Once she’d started first grade, she’d had a different nanny from the kind older woman who’d let her hug Charlie for a long time.

  Wow. She hadn’t thought about Charlie in years.

  Restless, Chloe swung her legs over the edge of the bed. No more napping—time for action. She had sisters to find.

  At the thought, the most compelling image of her uneasy nap strode to center stage.

  Vince. He’d offered to help her with the name of an investigator. But that was before he’d shoved her away.

  Why had he pushed her away? When the air between them crackled every time they met, when his touch made it obvious that he wanted her as badly as she wanted him? Chloe stared out her bedroom window without seeing anything, lost in the sensation of being cradled in his lap and comforted in a way she’d have given anything to experience as a child. Of his hard body against hers and the staggering power of his kiss. Of the instinct she had that, once released, his intense sexuality would take her to places she’d never even imagined.

  Then she recalled his shock at learning that she’d never had sex before.

  Chloe smiled. Vince Coronado had probably thought he couldn’t be shocked. There was a certain power in the knowledge that she’d managed to do what no one else had.

  Her smile faded. She should never have told him. He might be rugged and unpolished, but within him was a core of decency and honor that would stop him cold, now that he knew. In this day and age, virginity meant little to most people, but to a man whose mother had been a prostitute…it might mean too much.

  Suddenly, his reaction made sense. He’d been all too ready to put his hands on her, to tease her, to see where things might lead. His interest in her help in wallpapering had been a blatant ploy to spend time together; the idea to play darts had also been his. She’d had a feeling that they were on the first steps down a long road that could lead to more—until she’d opened her mouth about her inexperience.