by Lori Foster
“Brax starts his day at five A.M.”
“You’re kidding.”
Cameo put her arm around her and started her toward the entrance. “Sometimes he has very important business that can’t wait, and when that happens, I’m here.”
“What kind of business needs to be done at this ungodly hour?”
“I have no idea. It’s not my business. I just ensure he’s ready to go by six thirty A.M.”
At the door, Mercy balked. “Is he still here?”
“He’s working out in his gym. Even when business intrudes, and sometimes especially then, he works out first to get his day going. He claims a good sweat kick-starts his brain.”
Mercy thought about retreating. It was obvious her brother was very busy today and didn’t need a weeping sister intruding on his day.
Cameo shook her head. “No way, Mercy. He’d string me up if I let you leave now.” She patted her shoulder. “You can have a few minutes, maybe a cup of coffee to help you feel better, and then I have to let him know you’re here.”
Desolation closed in on her again. “I don’t think coffee is going to help much.”
“Ah, honey.” Cameo reached for her, but Mercy backed away and held up her hands.
“Sympathy only encourages me to excesses of emotion, believe me.” She drew in a deep steadying breath. “I’ll be okay.” Maybe if she said it often enough, it’d be true.
“Of course you will be.” Again, Cameo got her moving inside. “Brax Jardine didn’t raise any wimps. And you know what else?”
As soon as Mercy stepped inside, she smelled the coffee. Cameo had it in the den, but she didn’t head that way. Instead, she tugged Mercy along to the massive stainless steel kitchen. “What?”
“No matter what has you so upset, I personally think you’ll work things out with Wyatt. That man has got a bad case for you. Take my word for it. Sure, he’s got his hang-ups like all men, but he truly loves you, so it’s going to be okay.”
“I don’t know …”
The front doorbell rang, followed quickly by a hard knock.
Mercy’s eyes widened.
Cameo smiled. “Well, speak of the devil.”
In a ridiculous whisper, Mercy said, “You think that’s Wyatt?”
“Who else would it be? Brax was planning to leave, so I’m sure he didn’t invite anyone. And as you know, people are not comfortable just dropping in on your brother.”
“Ohmygod.” Mercy looked down at her badly wrinkled cotton dress. She put her hands in her hair and felt numerous tangles. She’d sniffled so much that her nose was surely red, her eyes, too.
Panicked, she locked eyes with Cameo. “He can’t see me like this!”
Full of take-charge confidence and admirable calm, Cameo started toward the door. “Quick, go downstairs with your brother. I’ll buy you some time.”
With her brother? “But—no!”
“Brax has an extravagant bathroom down there with everything you’ll need to do some repairs.”
But she’d have to face Brax first. “No, I don’t want to … Cameo, wait!” Never slowing, Cameo waved a hand over her shoulder. “Damn it,” Mercy grumbled.
Left with no choice but to do as Cameo said, Mercy practically leaped for the door that led to her brother’s private sanctum.
She’d been downstairs only a few times. His house was big enough that he didn’t need use of the area for entertaining.
Bright lights kept the ornate metal staircase well lit, but still Mercy held tight to the handrail. She imagined if anyone fell down those hard stairs, they’d suffer quite an injury. Perhaps that was why Brax never invited anyone down.
Or maybe the stairs were meant to keep people from venturing there on their own.
The entire house was wired for an intercom system, so when Cameo needed Brax, she could call down without trespassing. He’d only had Mercy down there to show her the security measures and instruct her on how to use them “in case of an emergency.”
What emergency she’d ever have at his house, she couldn’t imagine, but Brax insisted she learn to use everything. He also insisted that if the need ever arose and she needed sanctuary, she should come to him.
As Mercy reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw the numerous security screens, all of them on and showing various areas of the grounds, the house, and beyond, all the way to the street.
Loud music played, but even over that Mercy heard the thump, thump, thump of leather on leather. She bypassed the state-of-the-art theater room for the fully equipped gym.
Before she reached the door, Brax stepped out, already frowning. He wore only black boxing shorts, and most of his body gleamed with sweat. To Mercy, he looked somehow larger than she remembered, definitely menacing.
“Mercy?” He took one look at her and his scowl smoothed out. He lifted a white towel off a stand, dried his face and chest, then tossed it around his neck. “I take it Romeo let you down?”
Restraining her tears made her hiccup. “I don’t know,” she said in a broken whisper. If she cried in front of Brax, she’d go back and find Wyatt and smack him a good one.
Brax urged her to sit on a low wooden bench outside the gym door. “I’d hug you, but I’m sweaty and I know how you hate sympathy anyway.” He crouched down in front of her. “Now tell me, what does ‘I don’t know’ mean?”
Feeling like an utter fool, Mercy again reached for composure. “I told him I was pregnant and he was … furious.”
“About the baby?”
She lifted one shoulder. “Maybe, but he was definitely enraged that you knew before he did.”
“Ah.” Brax gave her an I told you so look. “You might have kept that part from him.”
“Somehow he already knew, and lying didn’t seem like a good idea.” Using both hands, she shoved her hair away from her face. “I wanted to be totally honest with him, like you said.”
“So he was angry—justifiably, I might add—and then what?”
She dropped her hands. “He went off by himself. All the way outside in the backyard.”
“That far, huh?” Brax shook his head. “And what did you do?”
To keep them from shaking, Mercy clutched her hands in her lap. But there wasn’t anything she could do about the awful quaver in her voice. “It broke my heart to see him turn away from me like that.”
“Honey, a man going off to think is not a rejection.”
“It certainly felt like one.”
Brax sighed. “You can’t expect men and women to react the same way to things. But we can go over that later.” He straightened to stand before her, hands on his hips, bare feet braced apart. “There are some things you need to know about Wyatt. Important things.” He shook his head. “Awful things.”
A little afraid of what she might learn, Mercy blinked up at him. “What?”
“Things happened to him long ago that are likely coloring his reactions today.” Brax rubbed the bridge of his nose and his voice lowered. “I knew it, I saw it whenever I looked at him, but even I was shocked by what I learned.”
Mercy was wondering what Brax was talking about when from behind them, Wyatt said, “I’d like a moment to talk to Mercy, please. Alone.”
Mercy jumped and leaned to see around Brax.
Wyatt stood there in jeans and an open shirt, beard stubble on his face, his blond hair spiky as if he’d run his hands through it too many times, his green eyes burning as he stared at her.
God, he looked haggard, worse than her maybe.
Brax stepped in front of Mercy. “You made her cry.”
Mercy heard the lack of patience in Wyatt’s tone when he said, “Not on purpose.”
Brax crossed his arms over his chest. “If I thought it had been deliberate, you’d be on the floor right now.”
Wyatt made a sound like a snarl, and then repeated, albeit in a growl, “I’d like to speak to Mercy. Alone.”
The last thing Mercy wanted was for Wyatt to be coerced in any way. S
he stood and put a hand to her brother’s shoulder. “Brax, please.”
He turned his back on Wyatt and bent to her. “Remember what I said, Mercy. The man is due a break, okay?” He touched her chin. “He needs you.”
Surprised by the encouragement, when she’d expected just the opposite, Mercy nodded. “Okay.”
“You can always trust in love.” Brax turned and sauntered toward Wyatt. “No one,” he said in an authoritative tone, “is supposed to be down here. Wrap this up quick and get the hell out of my basement. Understood?”
Wyatt had eyes only for Mercy. He took a step forward. “Whatever.”
Brax rolled his eyes, must have decided that was good enough, and headed for the stairs, bellowing, “Cameo!”
Wyatt stopped in front of Mercy and then … he just stood there, watching her face, looking hard and fierce and somehow afraid.
Her nerves jangled and she said, “Sounds like Cameo might be in trouble for letting us down—”
Wyatt leaned down and kissed her. Though he didn’t touch her anywhere else, it was not a sweet kiss. It was one of possession and exploding need. When he pulled back, he put his forehead to hers. He swallowed once, twice, then said, “God, Mercy, I looked everywhere for you. At your place, back at mine, up and down the streets, before I finally realized you’d come here.”
“I didn’t at first. I wasn’t sure where to go or what to do so I just … drove around. I only got here a few minutes before you.”
He let out a breath, then said, “So I’m going to be a father?”
He didn’t quite look at her, and Mercy’s heart started breaking again, but this time, for different reasons. “And I’ll be a mother.” She put a hand to his jaw. “Wouldn’t it be best if we did that together?”
She felt him breathing, felt his tension growing. His arms came around her and he hugged her in tight. For the longest time, that’s all he did. She was starting to worry again when he suddenly picked her up and went to sit on the floor, his back to the wall, with her cradled in his lap.
“My father killed my mother. He tried to kill me. He thought he had killed me. Then he shot himself.”
Mercy’s throat closed, her heart raced. Forget warding off tears; they poured down her face. She couldn’t get a single word out and could barely breathe.
Wyatt squeezed her closer. “I was twelve. For years Dad had blamed me for a lot of things, mostly for ruining his marriage. He said that before me, my mom loved him. But after me, she just stopped caring about anything.”
His hand tangled in Mercy’s hair, curled around her skull and kept her face tucked in close to his throat. She felt each swallow, each difficult breath.
“He told me Mom didn’t love me either, and I believed it.” His laugh was a sad sound of acceptance. He kissed the top of her head. “She blamed me for a lot, too, for my dad drinking and gambling. Before me, she was able to go with him everywhere, but she was stuck home with me, and that’s why he wandered.”
Mercy knotted both hands in Wyatt’s shirt and held on tight. Devastated by what he’d said, what she felt in his explanation, she wished for a way, any way, to comfort him.
“One day Mom gave up on the fighting and filed for a divorce. Dad went nuts. I was in bed when I heard the first shot, and then I smelled the smoke.”
His heart pounded against Mercy’s cheek. She slipped a hand into the shirt, over his skin.
“The second shot sounded before I managed to get moving. I tried to open my door, but it was jammed.”
Dear God. She tucked in closer, and he let her, cradling her as if he wished to protect her from his awful truths.
“I don’t know if he couldn’t bring himself to shoot me, or if … if he thought the fire would be worse. But he tried to burn me to death.” He slumped back against the wall and his touch became gentler, as if automatic as he recalled devastating memories. “I broke a window and went outside. Neighbors who’d heard the shots were already showing up, and right after that, the police.”
She couldn’t stand it. Mercy turned, straddling his lap and rising to her knees. “Thank God you escaped.” She kissed his brow, his temple, his mouth. “Thank God.”
His hands dropped to his sides. “I spent a shitload of time in therapy, Mercy. Psychologists told me all about mental abuse—and how it can be hereditary.”
“No.” She shook her head hard. “You are the finest, most wonderful man I know.”
One corner of his mouth lifted, but his eyes remained sad. “Brax might not like hearing that.”
“I love you, Wyatt. I need you. More than anyone.”
“No. You don’t need me, honey.”
She gripped his shoulders. “I do. Tonight, without you, oh God, I kept trying to picture my life and it was miserable.”
Wyatt curved a hand over her belly. “You’d have made it a happy life. For our baby. I know you would have.”
Sensing he needed something from her, Mercy settled back, sitting on his thighs, and nodded. “I would protect our child no matter what, Wyatt. But then, so would you.”
He lifted a finger and traced her jawline. “Children of violent or abusive parents are always at higher risk of being violent or abusive. Even though I lost my parents young, the association is still strong.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “Compared to kids with average parents, I’m four to seven times as likely to be abusive.”
Mercy got mad. “Why would a psychologist tell you such a horrible thing?”
“To help me understand that a lot of abuse is genetic. It wasn’t me as a kid, it was them as parents. They had the problem, not me.” He brought his other hand up, so that he held her face. “I never wanted to do to a kid what was done to me. You can’t know what it feels like, your parents hating you like that, hating you enough that they’d rather be dead.”
“They … they were sick.”
“Exactly. But I made a vow early on to never fall in love, to never put anyone at risk, and to never, ever have a child.”
Her hopes started to sink—and then Wyatt said, “But now I am, and … I can’t help it. I’m fucking overjoyed.” He closed his eyes, as if disgusted with himself, and dragged her in close again. “God help me, Mercy, I don’t know that I deserve you or a baby, but I want you both so much, I can’t even think straight.”
Mercy squeezed him so tight that it hurt her.
“It scares me shitless, but losing you or my child scares me even more.”
She nodded, choked back her tears, and hugged him some more. Finally, after several minutes, she was able to speak. “I am so sorry for what you went through, but Wyatt, please trust me on this. You are not an abusive man, not in any way.”
He set her away from him. “If you believe that, then will you marry me?”
Joy blunted some of the hurt she felt for him. “Yes.”
His mouth twitched into a smile. “You didn’t think about that very long.”
“I’ve thought of nothing else since I found out I was pregnant.” She drew in a breath. “But Wyatt, I swear to you, it’s not just about the baby. I’d have wanted to spend my life with you, with or without a child.”
Again, he touched her belly. “I’m glad it’s with.”
Mercy covered her mouth with a hand, and nodded. “Oh, Wyatt. Me, too.” She threw herself against him again.
They sat there a long time, holding each other, whispering about weddings and a nursery and names.
Brax, fully dressed and looking more lethal than ever, came to loom over them. “Now that we’ve worked out the kinks, can you two find somewhere else to cuddle? I have business to attend.”
Wyatt stood with her still straddling him, and let her feet slowly drop to the floor.
Mercy, determined to protect Wyatt from any other hurt, turned to her brother. “We’re getting married.”
“I figured as much. I’d like the honor of throwing the wedding, but—” He glanced at his wristwatch. “We’ll have to discuss it later. Dinner toni
ght? I think Wyatt owes me one.”
Mercy shook her head and hugged closer to Wyatt. “No, I want a quiet night at home. We have a lot to talk about. Next week?”
Brax nodded. “Set it up and give Cam the details.” He turned to Wyatt, looked at him down the bridge of his nose, scrutinized him, and then seemed to give up.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask too many questions, or act too freaked out, if you just tried to go on faith here, but …” He glanced at Mercy, then back at Wyatt. “You’re going to be one hell of a dad.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s not a compliment, Wyatt. It’s a fact. I wouldn’t let any of this happen if I didn’t know it for sure already.”
Wyatt cocked a brow. “So you’re a psychic as well as a financial genius?”
“I’m neither. I just have hidden talents that are … very hidden.” He slapped Wyatt on the arm. “Now you two go figure out your lives, but I’d appreciate it if you keep me posted.”
WYATT rested with an arm around Mercy, his hand curved low on her belly, where his baby grew. His mind buzzed too much to let him sleep. The wonder of it all kept bringing a ridiculous smile to his mouth. Twice, his eyes had burned, but no way would he cry about it.
When Mercy turned to him, displacing his hand to her bottom, he realized that she didn’t sleep either.
“Hey.”
He smiled. “Hey yourself. Not tired?”
“I’m too in love to be tired.” She kept doing that, kept reassuring him as if he were that needy adolescent kid again.
And damn it, he liked the reassurances. They fed his soul, made it all so real, so believable.
So possible.
She kissed his chin, then scooted until her head rested on his shoulder. “You might have doubted yourself, Wyatt, but I swear to you, I never did. I feel like the luckiest woman alive, just because I have you.”
An invisible fist squeezed his throat. Her love was more than he’d ever dared hope for, but Mercy had given beyond that.
She’d given him back life. Trust. Hope.
For the first time in fifteen years, contentment and peace settled over him, sank into him bone deep, and chased away the darkest shadows, obliterating the most wretched memories.
