He blinked. “If you’d keep an organized shopping list, you wouldn’t forget to buy toothpaste.”
In typical Harry fashion, he didn’t get it. “I’ll never keep an organized shopping list or stop losing keys or get much better at any of those other things that drive you wild.”
“I know that. I also know there are a thousand men who’d line up for the chance to buy you toothpaste and let you run a shopping cart into their car.”
Maybe he did get it.
Isabel had told her to think with her brain instead of her heart, but that was hard to do when it came to Harry Briggs. “I did know you’d be a great father, and that might have been part of the reason I fell in love with you. But I’d have kept on loving you even if you hadn’t been able to make a single baby. I found all my missing parts with you. I don’t keep wanting to have more babies because you’re not enough for me. I keep wanting them because my love for you gets so big it needs more places to go.”
Hope flickered in his eyes, but he still looked sad. She realized that his insecurities ran even deeper than her own. She’d always regarded him as the most intelligent person she knew, so it was difficult to adjust to the idea that she might be the smarter partner. “It’s true, Harry. Every word.”
“A little hard to believe.” He seemed to be drinking in her face, even though he knew every pore. “Just look at us. I’m the kind of guy you could pass on the street a dozen times and never notice. But you . . . Men walk into mailboxes when they see you.”
“I never knew a man so hung up on appearance.” She forgot all about thinking with her head and smacked his jaw to get his attention. “I love the way you look. I could stare at you for hours. I used to be married to the most gorgeous man in the galaxy, and we made each other miserable. And you’re right—I could have had any man in the room at that party, but I wasn’t attracted to a single one of them. And when I dumped that drink in your lap, I definitely wasn’t thinking of you as anybody’s father.”
She sensed his spirits begin to lighten, but she wasn’t nearly done. “Someday I’m going to be old, and if you’d seen my grandmother, you’d know there’s a good chance I’ll be ugly as sin by the time I’m eighty. Are you going to stop loving me then? Is appearance all it comes down to with you? Because if it is, we’re in just as much trouble as I thought.”
“Of course it isn’t. I didn’t . . . I never . . .”
“Talk about throwing up smoke screens. I’ve always believed that you were so clear-thinking, but even on a bad day I’m thinking more clearly than you. God, Harry, next to me you’re an emotional basket case.”
That made him smile, and he looked so goofy that she realized she was finally getting through. She wanted to kiss away his fears, but she still had too many fears of her own to deal with, and their troubles were too big to be kissed away. She didn’t want to have to spend the rest of their marriage reassuring him. She also didn’t like how important her looks were to him. The face he loved so much was already showing signs of wear and tear. How was he going to feel when it went south with the rest of her body?
“After all these years of marriage, you’d think we’d understand each other better,” he said.
“I can’t keep living like this. We need to get whatever is broken between us permanently fixed.”
“I don’t know how we’re going to do that.”
“With a good marriage counselor, that’s how. And the sooner we get one, the better.” She stood on tiptoe, kissed him hard, and turned to the farmhouse. “Isabel! Could you come out here?”
18
Isabel and Ren lay naked together outside on the thick comforter, where they kept each other warm in the chilly night air. She gazed up at the sputtering candles in the chandelier that hung from the magnolia tree. He brushed her hair with his lips. “Too heavy for you?”
“Mmm . . . In a minute.” Funny, but lying beneath him didn’t bother her at all. Odd to feel so safe with such a dangerous man.
“Just for the record—that one sexual hang-up you used to have? I think we can safely say it’s a thing of the past.”
She smiled into his hair. “I was just trying to be polite.”
“Do unto others?”
“A philosophy I try to live by.”
He chuckled.
She trailed her fingers along his spine. He turned his lips into the pulse at her wrist, then nudged her bangle. “You always wear this.”
“It’s a reminder.” She yawned and traced the outline of his ear with her index finger. “ ‘Breathe’ is engraved inside.”
“A reminder to stay centered, I remember. I still think it sounds boring.”
“Our lives are so hectic that it’s easy to lose our serenity. Touching the bangle keeps me calm.”
“It would have taken a lot more than a bracelet to keep me calm tonight. And I’m not just talking about the last hour on this blanket.”
She smiled. “The porcini weren’t completely ruined.”
“Just about.”
He eased off her. She propped herself on an elbow and trailed her fingers across the hard landscape of his chest. “Your spaghetti al porcino was the best thing I ever tasted.”
“It would have been even better an hour earlier. They’ve been fighting for months. I don’t know why they decided they had to go into marriage counseling tonight.”
“They needed some emergency triage. I’m not really a marriage counselor.”
“You’re sure not. You made them swear on their children’s lives not to have sex.”
“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Pretty hard to go deaf when you’re in the next room and everybody keeps telling you not to leave.”
“We were hungry, and we were afraid you’d take our dinner with you. Physical communication is easy for them. It’s the verbal that’s causing them trouble, and they need to concentrate on that right now. They looked happy during dinner, didn’t they?”
“As happy as two people can look who know they aren’t going to get any for a while. And aren’t you afraid those lists you told them to make will only stir things up again?”
“We’ll see. One thing I didn’t have a chance to mention to you—and I think you’ll be happy about this . . .” She nibbled on his shoulder, not just to be manipulative, although that was part of it, but because it was right there in front of her and looked particularly tasty. “We’re going to live together for a while.”
He lifted his head far enough to regard her suspiciously. “Before I start dancing the tango, let me hear the rest of it.”
The chandelier above their heads swayed in the night breeze. She used the tip of her finger to trace a ripple of shadow that meandered across his chest. “I’m moving into the villa tomorrow morning. Just for a few days.”
“I’ve got a better idea. I’ll move down here.”
“Actually . . .”
“You didn’t!” He sat up so fast he nearly knocked her over. “Tell me you didn’t invite those two neurotics to stay in this farmhouse.”
“Only for a few days. They need privacy.”
“I need privacy. We need privacy.” He fell back onto the comforter. “I’m going to kill you. Really. This time I’m going to do it. Do you have any idea how many ways I know to take a human life?”
“Quite a few, I’m sure.” She slid her hand down over his stomach. “But I’m hoping you’ll find something more productive to do.”
“I’m cheap, but I’m not that easy.” His breath caught.
“You sound easy.” She let her fingers move lower, until they located a particularly sensitive region.
He groaned. “Okay, I’m cheap and easy. But let’s try it on a bed this time?” He caught her head as she pressed her lips to his stomach. “We definitely need a bed.” He moaned.
She nuzzled his navel. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“You’re killing me, Doc. You know that, don’t you?”
“And I haven’t even shown yo
u my vicious streak.”
Ren spent the next day trying to talk Harry and Tracy out of staying at the farmhouse, but he had no luck. His only satisfaction lay in the last-minute lecture he inadvertently witnessed Isabel giving them.
“Remember,” she said, just as he walked into the room at the villa that was supposed to be his office, “no sex. The two of you have a lot of work to do first. That’s why I’m offering you the farmhouse. So you have time alone every evening to talk without any interruptions.”
Ren backed into the hallway, but not before he saw Tracy give Harry a longing glance. “I guess,” he heard her say. “But you have no idea how hard this is. Don’t you think—”
“No, I don’t.” Isabel’s voice trailed after him. “Sex has allowed the two of you to mask your problems. It’s easier to get it on than talk it out.”
He winced. “Get it on.” Why did she have to put it that way? Less than two weeks ago she’d talked about sex being sacred, but she’d loosened up a lot since then. Not that he was complaining. He loved her responsiveness. He loved the way she enjoyed him, enjoyed them. At the same time, though, something about her attitude was beginning to stick in his craw.
He was being unreasonable, and he knew it. Maybe he had a guilty conscience. Not telling her about the change in the Night Kill script bothered him, and the fact that he felt guilty about it bothered him even more. Isabel had nothing to do with his career, nothing to do with him beyond the next few weeks. She was the one who’d spelled out the terms, and she’d been right, as usual. This was only about sex.
When it came right down to it, they were using each other. He was using her for companionship, for entertainment. He was using her to help him deal with Tracy and to work through his guilt over Karli. And, God knew, he was using her for sex, but that didn’t qualify as a sin in the Book of Isabel.
Damn it, he didn’t want to hurt her, not when he already had more sins on his soul than she could imagine—the drugs, the women he’d treated so callously, all the debris of his early years that still left a slimy trail behind him wherever he went. Sometimes when she gazed at him with those innocent eyes, he wanted to remind her that he didn’t know how to play the good guy, but he never said a word, because he was a selfish son of a bitch and he didn’t want her to walk away. Not yet. Not until he’d gotten what he needed and was ready to let her go.
One thing was certain: As soon as she found out about the new script and Kaspar Street’s twisted desire for little girls, she’d be on her way out the door, and right before she got there, Ren had a feeling all four of those Cornerstones were going to be dropped on his head.
After dinner Tracy told the kids that she and Harry would be back in time for breakfast and that Marta would take care of them if they needed anything during the night. Ren spent the rest of the evening feeling resentful. He wanted Isabel in a bedroom that didn’t have half a dozen people lurking outside the door. Instead, she’d excused herself and gone off to make notes on her book.
He headed for his office and tried to work on a character study of Street, but he couldn’t concentrate. He lifted some weights and played with Jeremy’s GameBoy for a while. Then he took a walk that didn’t do a damn thing to work off his sexual frustration. Finally he gave up and went to bed, only to end up punching his pillow and cursing the senior Briggses, who were curled up in the farmhouse bedroom where he and Isabel should be.
Eventually he drifted off, but he hadn’t been asleep for long before something warm cuddled next to him. It was about time. He loved to touch Isabel’s bare skin while she slept. He smiled and drew her close— But something was very wrong. His eyes flew open, and he sat upright with a yelp.
Brittany’s face puckered. “You yelled. Why’d you yell?” She lay curled on top of the covers, naked as a jaybird.
“You cannot sleep here!” he croaked.
“I heard a noise. I’m scared.”
Not half as terrified as he was. He started to jump out of bed, then remembered she wasn’t the only one naked. He grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around his waist.
“You’re too wiggly,” she protested. “I’m sleepy.”
“Where’s your nightgown? Never mind.” He tucked the sheet around her so tightly she looked like a mummy, then picked her up.
“You’re squishing me! Where we goin’?”
“To see the good fairy.” He tripped over his blanket and almost dropped her. “Shit.”
“You said—”
“I know what I said. And if you repeat it, your tongue’ll fall out.” Somehow he managed to maneuver her through the door, down the hall, and into Tracy’s former bedroom without losing his blanket, but he made so much noise Isabel woke up.
“What . . . ?”
“She’s scared, she’s naked, and she’s all yours.” He dropped Brittany next to her.
“Who’s that?” Steffie popped up from Isabel’s other side. “Brit’ny?”
“I want Daddy!” Brittany wailed.
“It’s all right, sweetheart.” Isabel looked warm and tousle-haired. He’d never known a woman like her, one who was so unconscious of her sexual allure, although most men didn’t seem to be as aware of it as he was. Vittorio’s brother, the oily Dr. Andrea, saw it, though. He hadn’t fooled Ren one bit today when he’d shown up with that phony excuse about telling Isabel that they’d rounded up the metal detectors. Punk.
Her nightgown dropped low on one shoulder, revealing the rounded top of a breast that should, at that exact moment, have been in his hand. She nodded toward his blanket. “Nice skirt.”
He mustered his dignity. “We’ll discuss this in the morning.”
As he headed back to his room, he reminded himself that he’d come to Italy to get away from everything. Instead, he was throwing a frigging house party and adding another black mark to his soul.
Right before dawn it got worse. He pried open his eyelids and saw a foot stuck in his mouth. Not his.
A tiny toenail dug into his bottom lip. He winced and tried to move, only to have the other foot punch him in the chin. Then he felt the damp spot by his hip. And how could life get any better than this?
Diaper Boy cuddled closer. So much for Marta’s taking over during the night. Ren weighed his options. Waking the kid meant a hassle, something Ren had no intention of dealing with at—he checked the clock—four in the morning. Resigned, he moved to dryer territory and willed himself back to sleep.
A few hours later he got a poke in the chest. “Want my daddy!”
The light filtering through his eyelids told him it was morning, but just barely. Where the hell was Marta? “Go back to sleep,” he mumbled.
“Want my mommy now!”
Ren gave in to the inevitable, opened his eyes, and finally understood the reason parents went through this. Diaper Boy looked cute as hell. His dark curls stuck up all over the place, and his cheeks were rosy from sleep. A quick check of the mattress showed no new wet spots. Which meant . . .
Ren jumped out of bed, whipped on a pair of shorts, and grabbed him. Connor gave a startled yowl. Ren hauled him like a potato sack to the bathroom.
“Want Jer’my!”
“No more BS, kid.” He gingerly pulled off the diaper, stared at it for a moment, then threw open the shutters and tossed it out the window. “Belly-up-to-the-bar time.” He pointed down at the toilet. “That’s the bar.”
Connor thrust his lower lip and scowled, looking exactly like his mother during most of her marriage to Ren. “Potty bad.”
“Tell somebody who cares.”
Connor screwed up his face. “I want my mommy!”
He flipped up the toilet seat. “Do your business, and then we’ll talk.”
Connor stared at him.
Ren offered his most heartless sneer.
Connor walked backward to the tub and climbed in.
Ren crossed his arms and leaned against the door.
Connor poked the faucet.
Ren scratched his chest.
Ren inspected his fingernails. “You might as well cut out the BS, tough guy, because I’ve got all day.”
Connor gazed at the soap for a moment, then set it down and started to pee in the tub.
“No way.” Ren grabbed him under the arms and stood him in front of the toilet. “Right here. Right now.”
Connor craned his neck to look up at him.
“You heard me. Are you a man or a girl?”
Connor took his time thinking it over. He stuffed his finger up his nose, inspected his belly button. Then he peed in the toilet.
Ren grinned. “Way to go, dude.”
Connor grinned back, then started to run for the door, only to stop in his tracks. “Poopy!”
“Aww, man . . . you sure?”
“Poopy!”
“I could do without this, you know.” Ren picked him up, flipped the seat back down, and plunked him on top.
“Poopy!”
Sure enough . . .
When the kid was done, Ren held him under the tub faucet for a while, then headed for the bedroom, where he located a big safety pin and his smallest pair of stretch bikini briefs—a pair he seemed to remember Isabel admiring. He fastened them on the kid as best he could, then gave him the hairy eyeball. “These are mine, and if you get ’em wet, you’re going to regret it. Understand?”
Connor stuck his thumb in his mouth, bent his head to inspect, then gave a deep, satisfied chortle.
The briefs stayed dry.
The next few days fell into a routine. Harry and Tracy appeared around breakfast time to attend to the children. Ren and Isabel spent part of the morning at the farmhouse, where they helped the others begin the laborious task of sweeping the area with metal detectors. Afterward Isabel headed off with her notebook, and Ren went to meet Massimo in the vineyard.
Massimo had been growing grapes all his life, and he didn’t need any supervision, but Ren found something satisfying about strolling through the shady rows and feeling the hard clay soil of his ancestors beneath the soles of his shoes. Besides, he needed to get away from Isabel. He liked being with her too much for his own good.
Breathing Room Page 25
