by Ann Major
Darling. Though he had no right to call her that, even mockingly, the mere word was an intimate caress that made something inside her melt. Soft words came so easily to a womanizer like Nick. Romance was his way—gentleness toward women, and insincere kindness. Those things meant so much to a plain, lonely woman not used to them, but they meant nothing to him.
She rose stiffly as he made his way across the room. The floor seemed to rock unsteadily beneath her feet.
“How is he?” Nick demanded.
She turned away from him, trying to ignore his bold masculine presence, but she was aware of him in every fiber of her body.
His hand closed around her arm like a vise and he whirled her to face him.
“Damn it. Don’t shut me out. Is he dead or alive?”
He towered over her. His blue eyes blazed with an anguish and fear as terrible as hers. His volatile emotions were always so close to the surface, so overpowering.
“Alive,” she whispered brokenly. “I haven’t seen him for nearly three hours, and he was unconscious then.”
“Have you checked with the nurses’ station lately?”
She twisted her hands helplessly. “I’ve just been sitting here.”
“You mean you haven’t even—” He started to say something, then checked himself as he examined her face and saw the haunted guilt creep into her eyes. “You look exhausted,” he said, his voice kinder. “I’ve never seen you like this before. Why aren’t Lorrie or your father here?”
“Dad isn’t up to the strain,” Amy murmured.
“And Lorrie?”
Amy bit her bottom lip and stared at him sullenly without answering. It bothered her that Lorrie hadn’t come. Perversely, it bothered her even more that Nick should miss her, too.
“I—I don’t know.”
His handsome face hardened. She could feel his eyes ruthlessly assessing the damage anxiety and two sleepless nights had wrought on her. She had never been the beautiful, glamorous type a man with Nick’s lusty appetites and gaudy tastes naturally preferred, but usually she was at least school-teacher prim and impeccably neat.
“You don’t look so hot yourself,” she murmured defensively. That was a lie, of course. Nick couldn’t look anything but dashingly attractive.
Ignoring her insult, he reached up and gently brushed a lock of black hair out of her eyes, securing the wayward tendril behind her ear. “Always the girl who has to prove she can tough it out alone, aren’t you?” he said. His hand lingered caressingly against her cheek. “I know all about toughing it out alone. It’s exhausting.”
Touching a woman came easily to a man like Nick, she thought. Still the warmth of his fingers stirred old, unwanted memories. Once she had believed in him. Once she had loved his touching her like that. Once she’d loved him.
“He’s going to make it,” Nick whispered softly.
She stared at him wordlessly until he let his hand fall away.
“Sorry,” he said, chagrined by her look. “I forgot.”
He looked tired, too, she thought. He was far from his flashy, suave self. His coat was drenched. His parrot-bright clothes were as untidy as hers. His hair was wet and lay matted against his dark brow.
Vaguely Amy remembered the storm outside.
“I know I probably look a mess,” he said, shrugging out of his raincoat and tossing it across the back of a vinyl chair over her jacket. “I just got in from Holland. I’ve got a bad headache and a case of jet lag that won’t quit. When Sebastian called, I was with Hans at the lab going over the tank test results for our latest yacht design for the next America’s Cup campaign. I dropped everything and took a cab to the airport. My clothes are still in Amsterdam. The flight was hellishly bumpy.”
“You always were a big sissy when it came to planes.”
“Big sissy, hell,” he growled. “It was a miracle we got down at all.”
“You needn’t have put yourself through all that. There wasn’t any reason for you to come,” she said woodenly.
For a long moment his fathomless eyes bored holes in her. She almost regretted what she’d said.
“I’m here for the duration, whether you want me or not. Is it so wrong for a father to be worried sick when he finds out his son is in the hospital? You didn’t even bother to call me.”
Because seeing him right before Christmas when he’d told her how much she and Triple meant to him had awakened feelings and needs she didn’t want. He lied so easily. Just as she believed in him too easily.
“I’m your husband, despite the way you try to forget it.” His low tone was harsh with mockery.
He raised his hand to curve it possessively along her slender throat, exerting mastery as he turned her face toward his. “Amy...” His furious gaze held her eyes for an endless moment.
What he’d meant to do or say neither of them would ever know, because suddenly his touch changed everything. There had always been an inexplicable physical bond between them, and even now, when she hated him, she felt its pull. The shock of her own longing made her shudder.
Dimly she realized she should be fighting him. Instead his unexpected gentleness mesmerized her and, when she made no effort to resist him, the anger in his gaze died. All she was conscious of was the feather-light tracing of his fingers on the soft, sensitive skin of her throat, of the deep loneliness that made her desire for him to care. She seemed to stop breathing as his eyes explored every inch of her face.
They were both drawn, she against her will.
He had claimed that he was still her husband. Had she been rational, she would have argued that in their marriage that was the last thing from a real marriage. But the words wouldn’t come as she felt her body being arched toward his by powerful muscular arms.
His shoulders seemed to enclose her. She felt herself being molded against the hard contours of his male length.
His fingers twined into her long black hair, and he pulled her head back. His brilliantly blue eyes burned into hers for what seemed like forever, and she felt a ripple of the old, unwanted excitement.
He’d begged her for a second chance before he’d left for Australia. How many nights had she gone to bed with the echo of his heartfelt words in her mind?
I never had anyone growing up. I would cherish you and our son…if only you’d let me. Why are you so set against me? What do I have to do to prove myself?
Her throat went as dry as dust. In spite of everything, as he held her, she wanted to believe what he’d told her.
She closed her eyes helplessly.
For a split second Nick’s warm mouth hovered over hers, so close she could almost taste him. In another moment she would have been lost.
A rush of cold air swept into the room as the waiting room door swung open. Dr. Alsop hurried toward them, his thick fingers sifting the pages of a fat chart.
Breathing erratically, Amy sprang free from Nick’s arms, stumbling backward. She felt ashamed of her reaction to him…of her gullibility. Immediately she turned this emotion into fury toward Nick. Why did he have to be so good at seducing her?
As for Nick, he stood statue still and regarded her with equal coldness. It never occurred to her that he might be feeling just as wary.
Amy flushed under the doctor’s frankly speculative gaze. It was humiliating to have been caught in Nick’s arms, especially after their earlier conversation. “It’s all right, Dr. Alsop. This is Nick Browning, my...er...” She met the hot, scathing brilliance of Nick’s eyes, and her voice failed her.
“Her husband,” Nick drawled politely, offering one hand to the older man and encircling Amy’s waist with his arm, as if boldly defying her to challenge his right to do so. “I was in Holland. I wanted to get here as quickly as I could, so I had to spend most of the night on a plane.”
Amy’s blush deepened as Nick drew her tremulous body closely against his own. Although she was still shaking, it maddened her that his grip was rock hard, that he seemed totally unaffected by what had nearly happen
ed between them.
Dr. Alsop’s eyes gleamed with interest. After a second or two he took Nick’s hand and heartily pumped it. “I’m glad you’re here. She hasn’t eaten or slept since we admitted Triple. You’ve got two patients to worry about, young man.”
“How is Triple, doctor?” Amy pleaded, desperate to change the subject.
The doctor’s face masked all emotion. “We have the results of his spinal tap. He’s no better, but he’s no worse, either. I wish I had happier news, but I’m afraid we still have a very sick little boy on our hands. At this point, it could go either way. His condition may improve or it may deteriorate. There could be permanent brain damage, but sometimes children will recover fully within two to four weeks. If he can just hold on, he still has a chance.”
“A chance...” At the thought of Triple dying, something inside Amy broke. “That’s all you can promise me? A miserable chance?” She remembered the night her mother had died, and she began to sob quietly. “Doctor, if that child dies, I’ll die, too.”
“Mrs. Browning, we’re doing everything we possibly can to save him.”
But the doctors had done everything before, she thought.
“Will it be enough?” Her normally controlled voice was rising.
“Darling,” Nick said gently, understanding her pain because it was his own. “Dr. Alsop wants to save Triple just as much as you do. You have to believe that.” His arm tightened supportively around her, his other hand reaching up to brush her hair out of her eyes.
Nick was the last person she wanted to comfort her, especially after what had just happened between them. “Let go of me,” she cried, stiffening as he pulled her even closer.
“Shhh. You’re hysterical,” came his low, hatefully soothing voice.
“If I’m hysterical, whose fault is that?”
His grip merely tightened. “No,” she protested.
“Honey. I’m here to take care of you.”
“I don’t need you.”
“Yes, you do. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”
As she struggled to free herself, she caught glimpses of his anxious face. The skin was pale beneath his tan, but he’d set his jaw in hard, determined lines. It was in his nature to take over, to command, to subdue.
Amy twisted and bent every way against the iron grip of his arms until her frantic heart felt near to bursting. She didn’t need anyone. She hadn’t needed anyone in years. Not since the boating accident when she’d been a child and her mother had been drowned and her father crippled.
No, it was the other way around—everyone else needed her.
“Amy, don’t fight me.”
Nick’s arms were a vise choking off her breath, and no matter what she did, they stayed around her. Her legs brushed against his hard thighs; his body was as tough and unyielding as steel.
It was no use. No use fighting Nick. He was too big, too powerful, too determined. At last she let herself collapse against him, panting, breathless. Her head nestled against his shirt and her scalding, bitter tears fell against his chest, spotting the white silk fabric. She could feel the warmth of him seeping into her. His hand gently stroked her mussed hair.
“Amy, he’s my son, too. I’ve barely had any time with him.”
She felt his great body tense with his desperate pain, and her hatred dissolved. Feeling guilty for having kept him from Triple in the past, she swallowed. Tenderly she reached up and brushed his rough cheek. If he hadn’t been faithful to her, he truly loved Triple. Maybe it was time she appreciated his good qualities.
She relaxed in his arms, realizing how nice it was to be held, to be comforted. How drawn she was to Nick’s masculine strength, how much she needed it.
Amy was aware of his palm molding itself to the curve of her throat, his long fingers sliding into the tumbled length of her hair at the back of her neck. His other hand now cupped the side of her tear-dampened face, lifting her chin with his thumb until her eyes met his.
“It’s going to be all right, darling, I promise you.”
A tremor of vulnerability shivered down her spine. How did he know? How could he possibly know? Yet even though believing him defied all logic, his words made those inner screaming voices of insidious doubt grow fainter. No matter what he’d done, at least he was here for her now.
Weakly Amy’s hand fumbled for Nick’s waist, and she held on to him.
Dr. Alsop said softly, “I could prescribe a sedative.”
“Maybe later. Right now I want to make sure she gets something to eat.” While he spoke, Nick kept stroking the length of her hair, and his velvet voice and gentle touch were infinitely soothing.
“Doctor, I want to see Triple,” Nick demanded.
The doctor nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Dr. Alsop made the necessary arrangements for them to slip into the intensive care unit before visiting hours. Beneath the disapproving glare of the head nurse, whose surly expression was that of a marine drill sergeant who’d been crossed, they stared quietly at their unconscious child. Father and mother clung to one another, bound together by the terrible bond of mutual anguish. When the nurse ordered them to leave, Nick led a reluctant Amy quietly back to the waiting room, where they sat silently for a long time, holding on to each other.
As they sat together, Amy found it impossible to summon the hatred she’d felt toward Nick for years, or even her fear of him. Maybe it was only because she was so numb with terror over Triple, but she felt stronger because Nick was there.
Almost before Amy realized what was happening, Nick had taken command of her and of her life, precisely as he had in the past. The cynical side of her nature would have said it was just his way. He had the ruthless instincts of a predator. He always waited for the right moment—when she was most vulnerable—and then he moved in for the kill.
That was exactly the method he’d used to force her to marry him.
But at that moment she was too vulnerable and grateful for his presence to make such a cynical assessment of his character.
*
Revitalized, Amy felt a surge of resentment as she watched Nick wolf down two bags of chips and a ham sandwich oozing with mayonnaise.
She was reminded that he had other lusty, uncurbed appetites.
“It’s positively indecent the way you enjoy your food when Triple...”
Nick looked up, surprised at the bitterness in her voice. “How would starving myself help Triple?” he demanded with infuriating male logic.
Her lips pursed, Amy wadded up an empty potato-chip wrapper and tossed it onto her tray.
He glanced at the half-eaten, cold, cheese-on-rye sandwich in front of her. “And you’d better finish that,” he ordered, “if you know what’s good for you.”
She felt a pang of guilt. Although Triple was no better, she herself felt much stronger. She hated Nick, but he had always made her feel vitally alive when he was around. It was as if battling him recharged some essential part of her.
Nick had taken charge—cajoled her into combing her hair, washing her face, putting on lipstick, resting and eating. He’d had Dr. Alsop call in a renowned pediatric neurologist, and new experimental medicines were being administered to their son.
Nick was staring at her from across the table, in that determined way of his. A flash of her usual stubbornness flared. She shoved the sandwich away.
He pushed it back. His fingertips grazed hers, and she flinched at the flash of heat contact with his skin brought to her body.
“Eat, darling,” he insisted.
She jerked her hand away from his and stared hard at him. “Stop calling me that.”
“Maybe I will—if you eat,” he whispered.
She was aware of his coiled impatience, of her own fierce tension, and finally her gaze fell before the compelling force of his. She lifted her sandwich and took a tiny bite. The bread was stale and the cheese was cold and tasteless.
“I want to get back upstairs,” Nick said, “but we’
re not going until you finish that sandwich. We’ve only got a little while until visiting hours start. I wouldn’t want to miss seeing Triple because of your stubbornness.”
“My stubbornness?” she demanded.
“Yes, of course, yours. I’m determined now because I have to be when I’m around you, that’s all,” he said.
“Excuse me if I don’t see the difference.”
“Eat, Amy.” He glanced at his watch again. “If you want to see Triple, you’ve got five minutes.”
Normally she would never have allowed him to dominate her so thoroughly, but she ate all of her sandwich—in a sullen silence that was so thick he made no attempt to interrupt it until they were back in the waiting room.
It was one minute until visiting hours.
“Triple seemed fine when I saw him at Christmas,” Nick said. “You haven’t told me how all this started.”
“He just got sick suddenly during the night. I heard him cry out in his sleep. I went to his room, and he was burning up with fever. I rushed him to the emergency room.” Her tremulous voice lowered. “I’ve been here ever since.”
“Darling, I know it’s been awful for you,” he murmured.
There was that word again. It made her feel so vulnerable. Every muscle in her body stiffened.
“You said you wouldn’t call me that.”
His hand folded over hers, and her pulse jumped beneath his fingers. He turned her hand over in his palm and studied it thoughtfully. “I said maybe.”
Through his densely curling lashes, he studied her. Amy didn’t dare lift her eyes to his.
He was impossible. He always had been and always would be. But despite her fierce determination to despise him, she was reluctant to let go of the strong hand holding hers.
Why did Nick have to be the only person with whom she could share her maternal anguish?
Because he was the father of her son.
For years she had tried to dismiss the importance of that simple biological fact. For years she had tried to convince herself that the biology of parenthood was not nearly as important as the actual parenting. For years she had tried to tell herself that Nick didn’t belong in their lives, that she was capable of raising Triple alone. She hadn’t even called him to inform him Triple was sick. Sebastian must have called him. She bit her lips, glad that he had done so and that Nick had come.
