by Mary Campisi
“Friends, foes, strangers, intimates—they’re all the same for a person like me. For a person like you, too, Mr. Remington. I assessed you the moment I walked through the door. The haircut, the expensive suit, the handkerchief folded just so in your pocket speak of confidence, self-reliance, and the desire to control...situations and people.” His gaze darted to Rhyder’s wing-tipped shoes. “Look at the shine on those.” A smile and a nod. “There’s a confidence in your voice when you speak, and the manner in which you hold yourself. Still, ready, and waiting as though an attack is imminent. Of course, there are always attacks on our person, whether they be physical, mental, or emotional. I welcome the cerebral challenge and I wouldn’t back down from a physical one should the need present itself. But an emotional encounter?” He shook his head, let out a quiet laugh. “No, not my area of expertise. I wonder at times if I’m even capable of one that centers on the purity of an emotional exchange without an ulterior motive. My calculated guess is you’re no different from me, which makes me curious about my daughter. The fact that she’s chosen you tells me she’s learned to control those silly emotions she once deemed so essential to a relationship. It tells me she’s grown up and is ready to move past the immaturity and senselessness of her ‘Roxie’ period.”
Rhyder balled his hands into fists, drew a sharp breath. He’d never been one to resort to violence, but this man deserved a punch in the face and if he didn’t tone down his comments about Roxie, he’d get one. The man thought he knew Roxie? He didn’t know anything about her. It wasn’t difficult to see how a young girl could be equally mesmerized and repulsed by the behavior of the man she called father. “I understand you haven’t seen your daughter in quite some time. You might be surprised at how she’s changed. She’s not the timid, uncertain girl striving for her father’s approval.” Rhyder moved to his desk, picked up a paperweight, studied it before he shifted his gaze to the man who’d left so many scars on Roxie’s tender psyche.
“Indeed? And what exactly is Roberta accomplishing these days? Has she written another book? Come up with another theory? Published in one or two journals? At the very least garnered another Ph.D. or is she languishing with those damnable scissors and sporting outfits she calls clothing?”
“Roberta? I’m talking about Roxie.”
The man stared at him. “Roxie?” He let out a huff. “What a ridiculous name! My daughter is Roberta Revito, a prodigy, the genius who should be at the top of her field. Instead, she’s chosen a bohemian lifestyle with no direction and less purpose.”
“She’s chosen the life she wants, not one you selected for her based on what will bring you the most accolades. You don’t know your daughter: she’s kind and generous, fun-loving and intelligent. Yes, she’s a genius, but she’s so much more than that and it’s a pity you can’t recognize or respect her for that.”
“I see.” A shake of his head, a disgusted sigh. “I thought you had common sense. The investigator said you were cool and calculating, a man who valued business over relationships. Is that because of your mother?” Rhyder grew still, his jaw clenched. Roxie’s father didn’t miss that response. “Ah, hit a sore spot, have we? Maybe you two do belong together. Two damaged souls destined to flounder throughout the universe. I came to offer you a significant investment in your business if you’ll convince my daughter to return home and embrace her full potential.”
The man thought he could bribe Rhyder to entice Roxie back to a life she hated? One that would destroy her? “I don’t know where your investigator got his information, but it’s incorrect. I don’t sell out people I care about.”
“Apparently so; my mistake. I didn’t realize you’d fallen in love with her.” Tsk tsk. “Love is a foolish endeavor that never ends well. At least not for those who choose to expose their vulnerability. It won’t end well for you, young man, or for my daughter. You’ll see, and when you both suffer the demise of what you might call love, remember my offer. Convince her to be the person she was destined to be: Roberta Revito, astrophysicist, inventor, genius. Do that and I’ll make you a very wealthy man.”
“Get out.”
Vincent Revito shrugged into his coat, smiled. A cold, cruel smile without a hint of emotion. He reached into his pocket and placed a business card on the edge of the desk. “I look forward to hearing from you.” And with that he turned and left, leaving Rhyder with too many questions and no answers.
Chapter 12
Roxie was supposed to get her period in three days. If she didn’t, then she could be pregnant. Rhyder sucked in a breath, gulped more air. And then what? Then the hell what? He’d told her he planned to be a part of their child’s life, and he’d said it in his reserved style as though he were analyzing a spreadsheet. But who was he kidding? The feelings were tucked away deep inside, as close to panic as he’d felt the first time he spotted a man coming out of his mother’s bedroom. He’d been six at the time and thought maybe the man with the long curly hair was his father. When the man brought out his guitar and played a song, Rhyder had been almost certain the man was his father.
He should have kept his mouth shut. Of course, he couldn’t. No, not when they shared the same dark curly hair, the same smile, and definitely not when the man slept in the same bed as his mother. Excitement and hope pushed him to ask the foolish question that he regretted the second the words slipped out. The shock on the man’s face, followed by laughter, made words of denial unnecessary. The man never returned and Rhyder’s mother didn’t speak to him for two days. It was then he learned not to ask questions or show his true feelings.
But Roxie made him feel and he couldn’t pretend otherwise. He didn’t want just the child. Damn it, he wanted the relationship that went with it. And not just any relationship but the off-kilter, soul-deep, mind-blowing one he’d found with Roxie. He rubbed his temples and fought the migraine that would present itself soon enough as it always did when he had issues regarding Roxie Revito. Truth: he wanted her, but for a man who’d spent his whole life hiding from emotions and fearing rejection, the knowledge scared the hell out of him.
Maybe the big question should be, could he make her want him, too?
Once she got pregnant he could probably convince her to continue with the sex because she seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. And if he added some BS like sex gets the endorphins going, makes you happier, more mellow and content, she might accept that. Of course, she’d know the truth but if she liked the idea, then it gave her a way to agree without actually admitting it. Sure, that sounded about right. Roxie wasn’t going to confess to anything because she’d been burned probably worse than he had.
So, now what?
He wanted her in a soul-deep way that was about so much more than sex or sharing DNA. Rhyder closed his eyes, pulled her closer, and listened to her soft breathing as she slept. Peace. Contentment. Joy. That’s what he felt when she was near and that’s what he couldn’t give up.
The next morning Rhyder decided he might have to add the need for patience to the list. “Roxie?” He stepped into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, hair slicked back, his jawline dotted in red. “Did you use my razor?”
“I did. I forgot mine and...” She stared at the red dots. “What happened?”
He dabbed at his jaw with a tissue. “I think you dulled the blade.”
“I did that?” She hopped off the bed, rushed toward him wearing one of his T-shirts, and studied the dots. “Geez, that looks painful.”
He shrugged. “You didn’t know. Next time, just let me know you used it so I can change the blade.” Look at him, actually not caring that she’d used his razor or that his face had gotten hacked up. After what she’d done to him this morning, he’d let her use his razor every morning—and suffer the cuts and abrasions that went with it.
She took the tissue from him, leaned on tiptoe, and proceeded to dab his jaw. “I’m sorry.” Another dab, followed by a kiss on his neck. “Let me make it up to you.”
Rhyder ci
rcled his hands around her waist, smiled down at her. “I like the sound of that. What did you have in mind?” If he got to choose, the invitation would include the bed with Roxie in it minus his T-shirt. But he’d already enjoyed that pleasure this morning and he didn’t want to be greedy or—
She pulled away, grabbed his hand, and led him to the bed. “If you don’t mind being a little late to work—” her small hands eased the towel from his waist, tossed it on the floor “—I think I know a way to show you how sorry I am.”
Visions of a naked Roxie working his body made him suck in a breath, blow it out nice and slow. Composure was key or it would be over too soon, but a man could only maintain control for so long. He wanted her, wanted to touch every inch of her, bury himself deep inside until she moaned and clawed his back, begging for release. “Roxie.”
“Oh, Rhyder.” She stared at his erection, her voice soft, trembling. “I want you,” she murmured, those beautiful eyes inching to his.
“I want you, too.” Rhyder eased the T-shirt over her head, took in the curves of the body he knew so well. The scar from her appendix...the tan line from her bikini...the tiny moles dotting her upper thigh that reminded him of a trapezoid. Oh, yes, he wanted her...all of her, not just her body. He wanted her heart, and soon, he’d tell her.
Roxie missed her period.
They waited, tried not to dwell on it as the hours slogged by, one day rolling into the next.
Roxie pulled out a rosary and worry beads, used both. Slept with them under her pillow.
Seven days after her missed period, they decided it was time to take a pregnancy test. Rhyder held her hand, told her no matter what happened, they’d get through it. She nodded, teary-eyed, and closed the bathroom door while he waited outside. The request for privacy wasn’t about modesty; it was about Roxie needing a few seconds alone to deal with a potential negative result.
So, he waited...hoped...prayed. Let her be pregnant. Please, let her be pregnant.
Several minutes later, the door eased open and Roxie stood before him, cheeks wet, eyes bright, lips trembling. Were those good tears? Or bad tears?
And then she smiled and flung her arms around him. “We’re having a baby!”
Relief and excitement burst threw him as he held her tight, closed his eyes and murmured, “We’re having a baby.”
When she first came to him with her crazy proposal, he’d discounted it as a typical Roxie Revito scheme and had wanted nothing to do with the proposal or her. But now? He wanted the woman and he wanted the baby and not in some textbook, clinical, shared-parenting scenario, but with the all-in, marry-me-and-let’s-be-a-family version. Who would have believed that the king of noncommitment, the guy who didn’t believe in emotions and wouldn’t subscribe to one if it sat in his lap, would change his mind about love and marriage? He hadn’t believed in either, insisted the first was an excuse for control and the second was destined to fail. But life with Roxie had made him believe in both, and a baby was, in Roxie lingo, the cherry chips on his ice cream...even though he didn’t eat ice cream.
It had only been seven minutes since he learned he was going to be a father, but everything had changed. Rhyder darted a glance at the woman who’d claimed his heart, contemplated what to say. Broaching the subject of feelings with Roxie was a delicate issue, one that required care and a certain take-charge attitude while not appearing to take charge. He eased onto the couch next to her, grabbed a piece of dark chocolate, and bit into it. “Your aunt sure knows her chocolate.” He offered her a piece, worked up a smile. “I know you’re not a fan, but this isn’t your usual dark chocolate. This one’s enough to win a guy’s heart.”
Roxie laughed, snatched the hunk of dark chocolate, and popped it in her mouth. She closed her eyes and made those tiny little noises that reminded him of the ones she made in the bedroom. “Delicious.”
He cleared his throat, swallowed twice, focused on his plan. “Speaking of winning a person’s heart, you must have taken after your aunt.”
The chewing stopped, her eyes flashed open, grew wide. She turned her small body toward his and stared. Not a short stare either, but a long, hard, X-ray vision one. “Excuse me?”
Damn, this was not going to be easy, but it was necessary. “I said you took after your aunt...” Rhyder shrugged, picked up another piece of dark chocolate, and tried to act cool, like he hadn’t just slid in implications of love and every other bit of emotion he’d sworn off… Another throat clearing, followed by the truth. “I love you, Roxie.” Rhyder dragged a hand through his hair, a habit he’d never employed before Roxie came into his life. “I don’t know how it happened; I don’t even know why it happened, but it did.” There, he’d said it. He sucked in a breath, his lungs depleted as though he’d just finished a five-mile run.
“You don’t know how or why? You have no idea? Is that because it’s so impossible to imagine a man could care about me?”
“What?” He frowned, stumbled, “No, not at all. It’s about me.” Damn, he was making a mess of it. “I love you, Roxie, you, not Roberta the astrophysicist whose brain I chased… I’ve never known anyone like you. Yes, you’re a genius but you’re also funny and kind and beautiful and passionate.” Rhyder smiled, his voice dipped. “Definitely passionate.” He’d never met anyone like her and if she gave them a chance, he knew she’d see they were meant to be together. Meant to be a family...a husband and wife...with a child...maybe two children... “Roxie? What’s wrong?” Her usually pale face had turned to paste. “Are you going to be ill?”
She shook her head, reached for her sneakers, and shoved her feet into them. “I’m going to leave now. I’ll talk to you later.” Roxie darted him a quick look, stood, and grabbed her handbag.
Was she really going to pretend he hadn’t just opened the heart she’d once accused him of not having and confessed to an emotion he’d not believed existed before her? Did she not realize how monumental this was for him? How vulnerable it made him? He rubbed both temples, tried to focus. She couldn’t just ignore him and his profession of love.
Could she?
No, damn it, she might not feel the same way about him or she might be too afraid to admit she did. Well, he wasn’t having it because for once in a very long time, Roxie was going to have to own up to her feelings, and if she didn’t know what they were, then she’d better use that genius brain of hers to figure it out—fast. “You can’t just walk out now. We have to talk.” He eyed her, waited for her to sit down again, and start talking. And it would help if she looked at him while she did so. When had this woman ever been shy about a head-to-head stare? No doubt she was scared, so he’d help her get the words out and then they’d start a meaningful dialogue that included her saying I love you, too, and Yes, I want a life with you. It wasn’t that difficult. If he could do it—and he doubted anyone had buried and denied more emotions than he had—then she could do it, too. And then—
“I need to think. I’m leaving.”
“What?” He’d just spilled real emotion, the sticky, gooey kind that made a person say foolish things and exposed them and all of their vulnerabilities, and she was going to walk out?
“I need to think,” she repeated in a voice he would later recognize as anger. “I can’t do that with you staring at me like you’re trying to see inside my brain, so I’m going home.”
“You’re running away.” He stood, moved toward her.
“No, I’m not running away.” Those green eyes narrowed on him. “I need time to think about this, because this—” she pointed at him and then herself “—was not part of our agreement.”
“This?” He kept his voice even, his expression calm as disbelief shot through him. “You mean what normal people call a relationship? The kind that, under the right circumstances, progresses to intense emotions some might identify as love?” The anger slipped through his next words. “I thought I could be your human test tube, but guess what? I can’t and I don’t want to be.”
She fisted h
er small hands against her hips, eyes bright like she might cry. When she spoke, her voice wobbled and cracked. “Damn you, Rhyder.”
Then she was gone.
He didn’t try to stop her; what was the point when she’d gone into shutdown mode? Why had he been in such a rush to spout his feelings? He should have realized that with a person like Roxie, you had to go slow, keep it steady, not slam her with I love you and your life is about to change so just admit you feel the same way and we’ll move forward. Yes, that was a classic fail. Now what? It wasn’t like he could pull back his professions of love and pretend he hadn’t made them. Nope, he’d let it all spill and she’d been...
What had she been? Stunned? Repulsed? Semi-interested? All of the aforementioned? Or none of them?
This uncertainty was foreign to him. In the days when he didn’t believe in love or relationships, he’d been able to dissect the action from the motive, place them side by side and formulate an opinion and a plan. Usually, the plan included an extrication from the person claiming he’d committed an offense against her, by errors of omission—no follow-up dates, phone calls, flowers, or apologies for lack thereof... Or errors of commission like the truth—I’m not interested in love, dating, marriage, and certainly not forever.
And then along came Roxie Revito in pink and pleather, his personal torment who somehow became his oxygen.
When he tried to call her the next morning, she didn’t answer. Not the first or the sixth time. How many messages was a person expected to leave before the situation turned critical? Rhyder decided seven was enough. He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door to the one person who might help him make sense of this whole mess.
