Interspersed with the wild sex were walks along the beach, off-road drives in the jeep, restaurants, home cooking…and on May 19, there was Lane’s birthday.
The week before had been busy. Lane had spent three days at a conference in New Zealand and Adam had been away for one night to check on an interstate job, so they’d only managed one night together. It was the first week they hadn’t filled the contract quota, and Lane was amazed how empty she felt.
When Adam called her at the office on the morning of the 19th, she knew he would have made plans for the two of them and she felt immensely frustrated at having to turn him down.
“Star gazing,” he said before she’d even finished saying hello. “Seven o’clock.”
“Not tonight, Adam. I can’t.”
Pause. “I’ve only seen you once this week.”
“I know, but it’s been a busy one.”
“We’ve got a contract. Two dates minimum.”
“That clause is for my benefit, and you know it.”
“Covers both of us, sweetheart.”
“I’ve got…plans.”
Pause. “As long as it’s nothing to do with David.”
Pause—hers this time. “Oh. You…know. But how?”
“Erica, that night.”
Lane felt her heartbeat kick up as she licked her lips. “There’s nothing happening with him during our contract period.”
“Does he know about me?”
“Of course not.”
“No, of course not! I’m the dirty secret. He’s out in the open for everyone to see.”
“He doesn’t know anything, Adam. I mean, he doesn’t know…that I want to…”
“I get it Lane. He doesn’t know he’s in your sights.”
Lane blew out a frustrated breath. “Why are we even discussing this? Why is it an issue?”
Pause. “It’s not an issue.”
“Good, because…because…” she inhaled deeply, “I want you to see him. Tell me if you think…if you think…
“Yeah, all right, I get it, Lane.” Another pause, then Adam sighed. “Just keep in mind that we have a fidelity clause—in the interests of continued good health, remember?”
“I’m not sleeping with anyone else, Adam.” She paused, licked her lips again. “Are…are you?”
“No. The fidelity clause?”
“Oh. Yes. Of course. But you’ve probably got someone waiting in the wings, too…right?” Lane’s fingers had tightened on the phone. She realized she was holding her breath and let it out with a quick huff.
“What do you care, Lane?”
“I—I just… Nothing. Just checking we’re on the same page. And tonight—it’s just a family dinner. Family—and Erica. And Sarah, too. I’d invite you but…you’d be bored.”
She waited breathlessly for Adam to say he wouldn’t be bored.
“Okay then, give me a call when you know what nights you’re free next week,” he said.
Lane’s heart squeezed tight. It took a moment for her to find her voice, and when she did, all she could manage was a brief “Sure” before hanging up.
She sat completely still, taking in one deep breath after another. Adam knew about David. Why did that frighten her?
David. She said his name in her head. Then out loud. When was the last time she’d even thought about him?
And Adam had known—and hadn’t said anything. Because he doesn’t care Lane. He. Does. Not. Care.
Seven weeks together, five weeks to go, and Adam Quinn didn’t care that she wanted another man.
She’d started to think—because of the way he looked at her sometimes, the way he breathed her in when he took her in his arms—that maybe…
She scrubbed her hands over her face. Deluding herself, that’s what she was doing. She’d deluded herself that DeWayne would still be interested in her after they’d had sex, and look what had happened. She’d survived DeWayne, but Adam was…different. Who knew what would happen if she let herself think he really cared, only to have him wave goodbye and move on after their last lesson?
Because he would wave goodbye and move on. So she might as well prepare now, face it, and get on with the rest of her life.
The rest of her depressing life that would kick off with a likely miserable birthday dinner, with her mother and Erica sure to be sniping at each other, Sarah’s presence reminding her of the whole “unrelenting tart who couldn’t stay faithful” thing and no sex to look forward to at the end of it.
* * *
Lane’s birthday dinner got off to a rollicking start with Brad hitting her up for money the minute he walked into her house.
“It’s not gambling again, is it Brad?” she asked tiredly.
“It’s for a course.”
“What kind of course?”
“A silkscreen printing course. I’ve met a really creative guy who makes T-shirts and we might do something together.”
Erica snorted.
Brad glared at her then turned back to Lane. “Just lend it to me. I’ll pay you back.”
Lane was almost too over things to bother arguing, but for form’s sake she said, “Brad, I can’t keep paying for courses you don’t finish.”
Her mother entered the fray, on cue. “He’s not asking for the clothes off your back, Lane. It seems a small enough sum. And it’s not like he’s asking you to give it to him. It’s just a loan.”
Misery congealed in Lane’s chest.
Her mother came to stand beside Brad. “I’m sure if Brad could raise the money any other way, he would.”
Erica snorted again, and this time it was Lane’s mother glaring at her.
Lane rubbed at her temple where an ache was starting to develop. “It’s all right. Is a check okay? I’ll write it out now, before we eat.”
Her mother smiled and patted her hand. “Thank you, Lane. And I have two letters here I’m not sure what to do about. Would you take a look?”
Erica’s eyes took on a combative gleam and Lane shook her head, silently pleading.
Lane wrote the check then read the letters her mother had passed on to her. It would be simpler for her to deal with them on her mother’s behalf. She looked over at her mother to say so, but her mother was deep in conversation with Brad and was oblivious. Lane felt the pain in her temple throb.
When the doorbell rang and Erica left the living room to answer it, Lane couldn’t summon any interest—until she heard Erica’s loud gust of laughter.
Lane looked up as Sarah, bursting with energy and carrying a box, walked into the room. “Happy birthday, Laney,” she said and came over to kiss Lane on the cheek. “I brought you a cake.”
“Thank you, Sarah, so much” Lane said, shuffling the papers on her lap quickly.
She realized Sarah wasn’t alone, and her gaze went to the other person standing just inside the living room.
At first, all Lane could see were the balloons. And then, below the balloons—a pair of long, denim-clad legs. Her jaw dropped. The balloons shifted to one side—and Adam’s face appeared.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he said, smiling.
“Thank you,” she said, and her eyes started to tear over. Which was so stupid. But she couldn’t seem to help it.
Adam zeroed in on her hands, which had gone rigid amidst the papers in her lap. “I hope you’re not working on your birthday.” He shifted so he was looking at her mother and brother. “That would suck.”
Lane hastily folded away the letters and checkbook and got up to introduce Adam to her bristling mother. She almost winced when Adam turned to Brad and told him, with marked insincerity, how nice it was to see him again.
Then Adam smiled at her, and everything felt just a little more bearable. “Are you going to take your balloons?” he asked.
Lane reached for them, thrilled. “Thank you, Adam—I…I—” She stopped, heart thumping, as he held out his hand, palm up. He was offering her a slender box.
“Let the balloons go,” Erica sugge
sted. “We can scoop them off the ceiling later. Or we can leave them there until they drop. Whatever. I love balloons.”
Wide-eyed, Lane released the balloons and took the box. Then she just looked at it.
“Open it,” Adam said.
“Oh, my,” Lane breathed, as she removed a fine layer of tissue and saw the glittering silver charm bracelet. “Oh, Adam.”
“I chose each charm myself, Lane, so make sure you look at every one.”
Lane touched them, one by one. An L, an A. Champagne bottle. Telephone. Jeep. Strawberry. The $ symbol. A crown—that had to be for the royal flush! A shoe, for the shopping trip. A foot, for goodness’ sake, with tiny crystal toenalis. A playing card for strip poker. Even a salmon—she was never going to live those canapés down! Each marked a moment in their time together.
Adam took the bracelet from her and fastened it around her wrist and she kissed him on the cheek.
“I love it,” she said, her eyes shining. “I just—I love it.”
“Of course you’re staying for dinner,” Erica said to Adam.
Adam smiled. “I’d be delighted.”
* * *
Dinner was awkward, bordering on painful, for Adam.
He watched, biting his tongue, as Lane toyed first with her mushroom soup, then with her stir-fried chicken, and darted apprehensive looks at him with every oh-so-sweet putdown of her mother’s, every artless criticism of her brother’s, every parrying dig of Erica’s. (And damn if he didn’t like Erica after all!)
At those moments, Lane was at her most vulnerable. She must have hated him to see her like this. But he didn’t regret barging in. Not one bit. Because he was like the salvage operation—when dinner was over, he would be cleaning up the mess, making up for everything else she’d put up with tonight.
After dinner, when pieces of Lane’s birthday cake were handed around, Erica turned to Lane’s brother and said, “So Brad, now that your sister has coughed up for another course, let’s hear about it.”
Lane actually cringed, and Adam’s ears pricked up.
Brad, oblivious to any undercurrent, ran enthusiastically through a course outline that sounded heavy on the flimflam to Adam.
Adam smiled at him at the end. “Are you looking for work, Brad?” Was that too pointed?
“Brad work?” Erica asked in mock horror.
“It’s not as though Brad has had the same advantages as Lane.” Lane’s mother offered the comment in her best sugar-coated steel voice.
Erica’s eyes blazed. “Oh, you mean the advantages that come with hard work and saving? Those advantages? The work that enables Lane to spend her birthday writing checks for people who don’t work?”
Lane’s face was white. “Please, Erica.”
Erica made a low growling sound in the back of her throat. But she let the subject drop. “I’ll serve coffee in the living room. Go on through, everyone.”
Adam sat on the couch beside Lane, breathing in the scent of her, looking for a distraction that would stop him from dragging her into his arms and kissing her senseless, and spied a parcel on the sideboard. “Birthday booty!” he exclaimed like a demented Santa. “Let’s have a look, Lane.”
“You’ll like it,” she told him.She retrieved the parcel and came back to sit beside him, carefully unwrapping a gossamer-thin scarf of palest pink. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“Beautiful,” Adam said softly, fingering the silk but looking straight at her.
He smiled at her tight-lipped mother—at least she’d picked a nice gift—then carefully refolded the scarf and reached for the wrapping paper. A small gift card fluttered to the floor, and he bent to retrieve it. There were so few words, and they were formed so clearly, he really couldn’t help but read them: Love, always, my darling Laney. Erica.
He felt his neck hairs tingle, the sound of rushing blood in his ears. He forced himself to tuck the scarf back into its wrapping and slip the gift tag in with it. He waited for Lane to produce her other gifts. From her mother. Her brother.
But apparently there were no others.
Within moments of finishing their coffee, Lane’s mother and brother made their farewells and left.
“Erica and I are off, too, Laney,” Sarah said. “Jeremy is at a bar in the city with a scrumptious friend, and since I’m between men…well, you get the idea.”
Erica came over to Lane; hugged her, kissed her. Then she turned to Adam, swooped on him, and kissed him soundly on the cheek. “You really do have excellent taste, Adam,” she said. “And in jewelry, too!”
“Try not to corrupt my sister tonight,” Adam said.
Erica did another one of her snorts. “Well if that doesn’t prove that men do not know their sisters! She’s the corrupter,” she said and swept a laughing Sarah out of the room.
“Okay,” Adam said when they were alone, “I like Erica.”
“All men like Erica.”
Adam pulled her down onto the couch beside him. “Not that kind of like, Lane. I’m reserving that kind for you.”
“For five more weeks, anyway,” Lane said, with a smile.
Adam answered by kissing her. “Then let’s get you your money’s worth.”
He saw a shadow pass over her face.
“What is it, Lane?”
“It’s nothing. Just talking about money. It reminds me that you don’t really need mine.”
“Everyone needs money, Lane.” He smoothed his hand down her cheek. “Unless they want to go through life sponging off their family,”
Lane bit her lip. “I know my relationship with my family must seem strange, but you don’t understand. They’ve…been through a lot.”
He drew her back against his shoulder. “Suppose you tell me what.”
“My mother adored my father. When he died, she was heartbroken. So heartbroken, I was scared she’d die, too.” She took in one of those slow breaths that he now knew meant she was trying to stay calm. “I was only eleven—I didn’t know then that people don’t die of a broken heart.”
“You’re right, I don’t understand. Remember, I don’t believe in happy marriages.”
Lane took his hand, kissed it. “Oh, Adam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you—”
She was so lovely, kissing his hand like that. Kissing his cheek, so moved, when he’d given her that trumpery little gift. It made his heart feel like it was breaking. “Shh,” Adam said and tucked her more firmly under his arm. “This isn’t about me. Well, except for how furious it makes me for you to be treated so badly.”
A minute passed. Adam could sense the struggle taking place inside her. She closed her eyes. “My mother loves me, I know she does.” Her eyes opened. “But she loves Brad more. Because I’m the image of my father, and I remind her of him, and it makes her sad to look at me.”
“Then she could camouflage it better.”
“She can’t help it, Adam. The fact is my father would still be alive if not for me. How is she supposed to feel about that?”
Chapter Eleven
It took a moment for the words to sink in. And when they did, Adam didn’t like—or believe—the inference. “You did not kill your father, Lane.”
“No, but I caused his death, nevertheless.” Lane stood, and started plucking on the ribbons of the dangling balloons, dragging them off the ceiling one at a time. “I was a bit wild when I was a kid—I know that’s hard to believe, but it’s true. I’d been given a scooter for my eleventh birthday and wanted to ride it in the park a few blocks from our house, because there was a special kids’ track there. But two days passed, and I was tired of waiting for my parents to find the time to take me. So I went on my own, without asking, without telling anyone.”
“Your obsessive independence isn’t anything new,” he said, trying to coax a smile, but she seemed not to hear him.
“My father came looking for me. I guess he saw me as he drove past the park, but I was powering around the track and didn’t see him. I heard the screech, though, and the
thud. Seems he parked, jumped out of the car, and—” She stopped, took a deep breath and started again. “I guess he was so relieved to see me, he didn’t look, and he ran straight into the path of a truck.”
Adam wanted to go to her, take her in his arms. But he knew she wouldn’t want that—not until she was back to cool, calm, and collected. So he forced himself to stay where he was, and confined himself to an inadequate “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know,” she agreed in a deadened voice. “At least, logically, I know that. But sometimes—” She broke off, shrugged. “Sometimes it’s hard to be logical. And my mother…well, logic was never her strong suit. She’s never come out and blamed me—that’s something. But I know every time she looks at me, she can’t help thinking…”
She didn’t bother finishing. She plucked another balloon off the ceiling. Another. One more. Again. Until she held them all. “It knocked the wildness out of me, anyway,” she said. “Silver lining.”
The picture of her then made Adam remember how Sarah had described her, back at the beginning. Valiant. Here she was, her arms full of gaudily colored balloons, lips trembling, but refusing to cry. For him, with his ancient divorce stories, she had cried. But she wouldn’t cry for herself.
She looked down at her wrist and flexed it, making the charms tinkle. She smiled, and Adam felt the tightness in his chest ease slightly. “Thank you so much for the present, Adam. And for coming tonight. Lesson Four: all the best sexual relationships have an element of surprise. Well, this surprise was lovely.”
The Contract Page 12
