by Mary Campisi
One shoulder lifted, her lips pulled into a frown. “Maybe I was just a little unhappy about the possibility.”
Rhyder hid a smile. Well, well. “Because?” The key here was keeping his voice calm, his demeanor reserved.
Big sigh, big huff. “Because I don’t want to get an STD, okay?”
He laughed. “You do know who you’re talking to, right? The man who sanitizes everything?”
That pulled a tiny smile from her lips. “True. So…”
“So… Could there be any other reason?” This woman really did challenge him and would keep him guessing for months, years even. No doubt about that. His reference to Roxie in terms of years startled him. What was he doing? She wasn’t interested in long-term… She’d been very clear about that and when had he ever considered anything—object or person—without an expiration date?
“Maybe I didn’t like the idea of you being with anyone else right now. Can we just agree to that?”
The way she was looking at him with those sorrowful eyes, her voice almost a plea, made him want to agree to anything—as long as it was with her. “Sure, I can do that.” Something was going on in his brain and in his heart and he didn’t think he could stop it. “Why don’t we sit in the living room and have a conversation about expectations without the shouting and accusations?”
She nodded and followed him into the living room. He usually chose the recliner and since they’d begun sharing a bed, she’d snuggled in it with him, but that was definitely not happening now. Roxie sat on the far end of the couch—more than touching distance away. “Okay, I’ll go first. I agreed to the modification to our arrangement but I didn’t think I had to tell you sleeping with other women during said arrangement was not okay.” Her lips trembled, and her voice shook with something he could only call misery. “That is so not cool, Rhyder, and if that’s how you see this playing out, then we’re going to void this arrangement.”
“You really don’t think very much of me, do you?” It was his turn to toss out accusations and while he tried to remain calm, he couldn’t. “I am not the snake you think I am, Roxie. But if that’s what you really believe, why would you want me to father a child with you? Would you not be concerned that the amoral aspects darkening my soul might sneak into the child like some uncontrollable force?” He held her gaze, said in a quiet voice, “Do you really think I would sleep with another woman?”
“Women,” she corrected. “Those items belong to three different women.” She thrust her chin up, glared. “All much larger than I am.”
She was truly trying his nerves. “Answer me, Roxie. Do you believe me capable of sleeping with someone else when I’m sharing a bed with you?” He paused, his voice dipping. “And sharing a shower, a couch, a kitchen table?” They’d made love in every room, on most of the furniture, even on his beloved Oriental rug. Rhyder wanted her to think about that when she accused him of engaging in sexual escapades with other women. To that point, when would he have done so? In between after-dinner sex with Roxie? Or late-night sex with her? Maybe she thought he’d been sneaking out of bed and hopping back in the early morning, just in time to have good-morning-wake-up sex with her. “Roxie?” He eyed her. “I’m waiting for an answer, a real one, not some sarcasm you think is cute.”
“How do I know? Ian used to say women chased you, tracked you down and you didn’t have to do a thing but stand there.”
He could not resist. “Those were the days...”
She let out a long sigh. “Exactly. Once a hound...”
“Listen to me. I’m not sleeping with anyone but you.” She sniffed, sniffed again as though the tears were about to spill. “Oh, Roxie.” He eased out of the recliner, sank onto the couch beside her, and then because his damn mouth wouldn’t stay quiet, he said, “Do you really think I could be interested in anyone else when you’re the only one I want?”
“What?”
Damn it, he recognized his mistake too late. He’d already said too much; what was a little more truth? “I don’t know whose bra that is or whose nightie or whatever… I have no idea, nor do I know how long it’s been there. My guess is the cleaning lady found them somewhere and stuffed them away. Do you want me to check? I’ll do that if it’s necessary, but no woman aside from you and the cleaning lady has been in this place for at least seven weeks.”
Her eyes grew wide, curious. “Why?” And then the frown appeared. “Or have you adopted one of those hands-off policies about bringing a woman to your place, preferring other venues instead? Her place, a hotel, maybe the backseat of a car?”
Was she serious? “Do I look like a backseat-of-a-car kind of guy?” he bit out.
She shook her head. “Not really.”
“I guess that tiny vote of confidence is something. Not much, but something.”
She bit her bottom lip, fixed her gaze on his chin. “I guess.”
“Since we’re talking about the particulars of our agreement, if I’m going to keep women out of my bed, then I expect the same from you and I’m not just talking about the sex part. No more flirting with the Anson Wellivers of the world. No more dancing unless it’s with me. No more smiles unless they’re for me.”
“You don’t want me smiling at anyone but you?” A huff followed by a snort. “Well, that should be interesting. Am I allowed to smile at Sophia or is she off-limits, too?”
He sounded like a fool. A jealous fool at that. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Apparently I don’t. Why don’t you spell it out for me so I know exactly what kind of smile I’m allowed to give and to whom? Same goes for the dancing. What if it’s a senior citizen in a nursing home I happen to visit? Am I allowed to waltz with him? And how about touching? What do you think about that?”
The woman drove him mad and not in a good way. “There are smiles that entice, encourage, and attract. Those for the foreseeable future will be reserved for me. Same with the dances that involve close proximity and body to body. A senior citizen understands the boundaries and would never breach them unless he’s lost his faculties. As for other forms of touching… You may kiss Sophia. And your aunt…” His gaze traveled to her lips. “Any other kissing is reserved for me.”
“And what kind of kiss might that be?” Her voice turned soft and breathy as though she were remembering the kisses they shared this morning.
Rhyder leaned toward her, framed her face with his hands, and lowered his head to capture her mouth. She moaned as the kiss deepened, tongue to tongue, filled with white-hot fire and passion. So damn much passion. Roxie flung her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, her tiny body pressed against his. The kiss turned deeper, burned him, touched his soul. Touched his heart—he broke the kiss, eased her arms from around his neck, his breathing rapid, uneven. “That’s the kind of kiss you won’t be sharing with anyone else.” She opened her mouth to speak, but for once, nothing came out, which he guessed was a true first. “There’s only one woman I want in my bed, Roxie, and she’s right here.”
Chapter 11
When the first month passed with no pregnancy, Rhyder handed her a box of tissues, held her as she dug into chocolate-cherry-chip ice cream, and insisted he could duplicate the moves in Dirty Dancing. He did know how to make her smile even if his words were stuffed in wishful thinking and so-not-happening.
But when month number two passed and there still wasn’t a pregnancy, Roxie tried not to cry, but the tears came anyway. She wanted a baby so much, believed it would happen, and yet it hadn’t. C.C. would tell her that two months was nothing in the scope of baby-making, but to Roxie, who pinned her world on a child, it was an eternity.
But it wasn’t only that… She’d counted on Rhyder and his DNA to impregnate her as soon as possible so she could extricate herself from his bed and his touch. The more she was around him—in and out of bed—the more comfortable she became, the more she looked forward to his ridiculously unfunny jokes, the way his dark eyes glittered behind his glasses when he st
udied her, the shift of his voice when he spoke to her. Small, seemingly inconsequential actions that when pieced together meant something…at least to her. She liked the way he smiled when she told him something outrageous and totally unbelievable. And those hands? Competent, thorough, so skilled. If she didn’t give up all of this soon, she might not want to and then what? Right, then what? She might or might not get pregnant and they might or might not share a baby. However, she’d started to worry about wanting the man in her life and not just because of his DNA.
That was dangerous. So far past dangerous, and impossible. Idiotic. Rhyder Remington could not own a piece of her life and certainly not a piece of her heart. He already occupied too much of her brain. She never knew quite what he was going to say, absolutely couldn’t pinpoint what he thought, and how he felt? That’s what C.C. called a crapshoot. Should she release him from his commitment? They could try one more month, but after that, she should break it off. Shouldn’t she? Roxie grabbed a blanket and curled up on his bed, tried to make herself believe she could let him go, but deep inside her soul she knew she didn’t want to, knew the pain of loss would be tragic, all-consuming.
Rhyder found her two hours later, buried under the covers, tears streaking her face, body shivering. “Roxie?” He eased onto the edge of the bed, placed a warm hand on her shoulder, and leaned close. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”
The old Rhyder would have pulled out a surgical mask, gloves, and a bottle of disinfectant. The old Rhyder would not want to get anywhere near a possible illness. And an emotion that involved tears? He would have avoided that one even more. But he didn’t seem afraid or repulsed at finding her in his bed with something that might be the flu, a cold, or heartache. It was the last that brought fresh tears, made her tremble.
He smoothed her bangs from her forehead, placed a soft kiss on her temple, and said in a gentle voice, “Talk to me.”
Roxie sniffed, swiped a hand across her cheeks, and turned to him. “I got my period today.”
His dark eyes filled with concern. “I’m sorry. There’s always next month.”
“No, no, there isn’t.” She dragged her hands across her face, whimpered, “We have to stop.”
She felt him stiffen and when he spoke, the emotion had drained from his voice. “Are you giving up? Or is there another reason you don’t want to continue?”
She darted a glance in his direction, settled on the strong jaw. Had he guessed her decision was about more than the baby? “What other reason could there be?” She was not going to admit she’d grown used to having him near, had started to think about him being in her life and didn’t want to give that up. She could not admit that; it would give him too much power over her.
And then what? Ugh. He might try to control her, tell her what she could and couldn’t do, what did and didn’t matter, just like her father had done.
“Roxie? Are you giving up?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But what if I… What if I…”
Rhyder pulled her close, kissed the top of her head. “Shh. Don’t even think that. You’re going to get pregnant. It’s going to happen.” He stroked her back, murmured, “Our child is not going to be a quitter so let’s not send any of those bad vibes his or her way, okay?”
“Uh-huh.” When had Rhyder, a man of logic and numbers, started believing in bad vibes? She must be rubbing off on him and maybe not in a good way. “I never considered I might not be able to have a baby. Once I set my mind to something, I achieve it, no matter how difficult or impossible it seems.” Hadn’t she obtained her Ph.D. by age twenty-one? Hadn’t she dumped Roberta and reinvented herself as Roxie? Hadn’t she convinced Rhyder to share his DNA?
But what if she’d been wrong and she couldn’t conceive? What if this had all been for nothing? No, not for nothing, a tiny voice whispered. Would you really give up this time, the time you shared with Rhyder, in and out of bed? Could you do that?
“Two months is nothing in the world of conception.”
She eased away, stared at him. “What have you been reading?” There’d been no mention of charts or analysis or baby books, or anything…
A faint blush crept from his neck to his cheeks. “I’ve been reading at work. Creating my own charts and graphs and making comparisons based on certain factors like…”
Roxie narrowed her gaze, said in a quiet voice, “Like my age? Like the fact that I haven’t had a child before? Have you been charting my periods?” Really? The man had turned clinical on her? That sounded a lot like the old Rhyder, but his next words told her that while the old one might still exist, the new one stood right alongside him.
“Thinking too much and worrying even subconsciously can affect the ability to conceive; at least that’s what some of my reading has indicated. I didn’t want to give you anything to worry about. Stress affects everything, and I didn’t want this to turn clinical.” He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers.
She bit her bottom lip, sniffed. “What does your reading say? Now that I’m not pregnant and month two is here, what do your findings indicate? Do we need to see a specialist? Do I start taking my temperature?” Pause. “Are we having too much sex?”
He coughed, his dark eyes glittering. “I don’t think there can ever be too much sex, do you?”
No, she certainly did not…not with this man. He made her feel like a queen…like she was the only person in the world for him… The only one he wanted. “I agreed to toss out my spreadsheet, but I also thought I’d be pregnant in the first month, certainly by the second. And now that it hasn’t happened—” a tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another “—I’m starting to worry that I won’t be able to get pregnant at all.”
“Let’s wait another month or two and see if you conceive without bringing the clinical aspects into the bedroom.” His voice dipped, his tone gentle. “Can you do that?”
Roxie nodded and buried her head against his chest. “Oh, Rhyder, I want this so much.” What she didn’t tell him was that she wanted all of it, including him, and that scared her.
“Okay then, we’ve got a plan.”
She sniffed, asked the question that had smothered her brain since she got her period. “But at some point… We’ll have to… What if we see a doctor and he wants us to get tested? How can I ask you to do that? It wasn’t part of our deal.” Fresh tears slipped out, carrying heartbreak with them.
“None of this was part of our deal, but look where we are.”
“I know.” She could no longer imagine a life without him and not just as the baby’s father, but as her partner…
He continued to stroke her back, murmured, “Surprises come when we least expect them and miracles happen long after we’ve stopped believing in them.”
Roxie tightened her arms around his waist, snuggled closer against his chest. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
Rhyder kissed the top of her head and said in a voice so soft she almost didn’t hear him, “I’m here for you… Always.”
Rhyder had just finished a conference call with a West Coast client when his assistant told him he had a visitor. In the pre-Roxie days, he’d have shut down the attempt to see him without an appointment. My time is valuable and I have no interest in speaking with those who can’t respect that. Yes, that would have been his commentary, verbatim. But since Roxie entered his life, he tried to consider what she might do. Not always, because that would be a rollercoaster ride, but sometimes. Like now.
The visitor was an older man: navy suit, gray silk tie, pocket handkerchief. All designer, all high end. There was something familiar about him. Had Rhyder met him at a conference or industry meeting? He took in the trimmed beard, the horn-rimmed glasses, the shape of the eyes, the cheekbones. Where had he seen this man before? The answer was nowhere, but he did know someone who shared similar traits.
“Vincent Revito. I understand you’ve been spending time with my daughter.” The man did not extend a hand but
assessed Rhyder as though he were an insect and not one he particularly liked. “Is that correct?”
Rhyder nodded. “That would be an accurate assessment.” This man was Roxie’s father? No wonder she had relationship issues. Vincent Revito was about as welcoming as a rock and not one of those pet rocks that had been a thing years ago, but a boulder of granite. Now Rhyder understood why he and Roxie got along so well; they’d both been raised by parents who didn’t know what the title meant. He and Roxie really were a lot alike. If you set aside the obvious: he was a man, she was a woman, he loved fashion while her idea of fashion included pleather and animal prints. But they both hid their feelings behind feigned indifference, sarcasm, wit, and the refusal to acknowledge that anyone mattered. Who could blame them with role models like his mother and the man standing five feet away who didn’t have the good grace to shake his hand?
“I want my daughter back.” The sigh spoke of frustration, and was that loneliness buried deep in that comment? “Many of my friends and colleagues have left the field or moved away; retirement communities seem to be the thing these days. Then there are grandchildren who so many insist is a person’s true legacy. I don’t agree with that thought process but perhaps that’s why I’m not in a retirement community or bouncing a grandchild on my knee…not that I would ever resort to such an activity.” He eyed Rhyder, nodded. “You don’t look the sort to do much bouncing or familial engagement either. Actually, you remind me quite a bit of myself.”
Was he serious? Rhyder held the man’s gaze, forced his tone to remain even. “You met me less than five minutes ago and you’ve already determined my personality? Doubtful you’ve been able to do that. I don’t share often or easily, especially with strangers.” He pasted a smile on his face, narrowed his gaze on Roxie’s father. “And you, Mr. Revito, are a stranger.”
