Bombshell For The Black Sheep (Southern Secrets Book 3)

by Janice Maynard

  “Okay...” Her mind raced ahead, trying to guess the outcome. But nothing clicked into place.

  Hartley’s body language was agitated. “According to Hans, my mother committed suicide when they were in Switzerland. Apparently, she had been planning it for some time. There was a note. Hans still had it in the Bible. In her mind, it was better to do the deed where no one in Charleston would know. Maybe she thought my father would invent an accident. Hell, I don’t know. She was a very sick woman.”

  “But I don’t understand. Who is living in Vermont?”

  He stopped his pacing and faced her. “My aunt. My mother’s twin sister.”

  “Good Lord...” Her mind reeled.

  “According to Hans, after my mother died, my aunt volunteered to marry my father, return to the States with him and step in as our mother.”

  “But surely someone would have noticed.”

  “I told you my father kept the family hidden away. Now all the security and the secrecy make a lot more sense. Maybe he was afraid. He knew keeping the business afloat was all up to him. Maybe he thought being a father was more than he could handle. Or maybe he was so distraught with grief, he wasn’t rational.”

  “It’s hard to believe...”

  “Hans had pictures of the two women side by side. The sisters were identical. Any household staff here in South Carolina were vetted carefully. And maybe we kids were too young to know the difference.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Pardon me for being flip, but being a foster kid doesn’t sound so bad now, does it?”

  She knew his angry sarcasm wasn’t directed at her. “So you’re telling me your father lost not one but two wives to mental illness?”

  “Yes. And it also makes more sense, I suppose, that he sent the second Mrs. Tarleton so far away when she began to show signs that she might hurt herself or one of us. She wasn’t the woman he loved. That tragedy—losing the love of his life—had happened long ago.”

  “The poor man.”

  “It’s a lot to comprehend. Things were different back then. My father was much older than my mother. I don’t think he would have ever considered raising us on his own. He would have been in shock when the suicide happened. Why did my aunt volunteer to take on a ready-made family? Perhaps her life in Switzerland was unhappy. We’ll never know, because none of us can get through to her.”

  Fiona sank onto the sofa, her mind whirling with Hartley’s story. Definitely a case of truth being stranger than fiction. “How long were you there after your uncle died?”

  “About eight weeks. I sold the house and the farm and settled all the outstanding accounts. I had already shipped several boxes of memorabilia back to the States. I assumed Mazie would be interested one day, even if Jonathan wasn’t. All I could think about was coming home, talking to my father, asking him a million questions. And then I got Lisette’s phone call. Dad was gone. Now all his secrets are buried with him.”

  “You have to tell Mazie and Jonathan. You have to, Hartley.”

  He turned and stared at her, his face carefully blank. “I don’t know that I do, Fee. I think the kinder thing is to leave well enough alone.”

  Five

  Hartley felt empty...wrung out. Tonight—with Fiona—was the first chance he’d had to work through all of this. Hearing himself say the words aloud settled something in his gut.

  He sat down beside her, his body limp with resignation and grief. Without overthinking it, he took her hand in his. Her nails were neatly trimmed but unpolished. Her fingers had calluses in certain spots. She might be small in stature, but she was tough in mind and body. Soft and sensual in bed. A force to be reckoned with when the sun came up.

  “Think about it,” he said, rubbing her palm with his thumb. “My siblings and I already knew our DNA carried the possibility of mental illness. But two sisters in the same family? Twins? That ups our chances of passing on whatever genetic anomaly took our mother from us. The medical community has made huge advances in treatment, but there are no guarantees.”

  “Isn’t that all the more reason to warn them?”

  He shook his head. “Mazie and J.B. have been battling infertility already. They may end up adopting. Lisette had a tragic miscarriage only weeks after their wedding and another one two months later. I assume they’re trying again, but who knows? I can’t be the one who makes those decisions for them. I won’t play God. If I tell them what I know, it could change the entire course of their relationships.”

  “And what about you?” Fiona was milk pale. His story had upset her more than he had anticipated.

  “I won’t have children,” he said bluntly. “All the secrets. All the lies? Families are supposed to love and support each other. I’ve paid the price for my father’s failings. I won’t put an innocent child through that.”

  Her eyes glistened with tears. “Don’t you think your brother and sister and their spouses deserve that same clarity?”

  He cursed beneath his breath, feeling put upon from all sides. If he’d been able to talk this over with his father, maybe he could have made the right decision. Now all he had were doubts and uncertainties.

  “Don’t push, Fee. I’ve been to hell and back. What do you want from me, damn it?”

  She stood up slowly, her expression impossible to decipher. “So have I, Hartley. But life goes on. You’ve had a terrible day...a terrible year. Come to bed with me.”

  He jerked back, caught between exultation and the absolute certainty that it would be a mistake to sleep with her right now. “I don’t need your pity,” he muttered. “I’ll go.”

  “Forget the past,” she whispered. “Forget the wedding weekend when we met and the night we had after the reception. Forget the moments you spent in this house three months ago. Forget the funeral and the fact that your family is shutting you out. None of that matters right now. I want you, and I think you need me. Let’s take tonight for ourselves.”

  Something about her urgent speech bothered him. Below the surface there was faulty reasoning in the words. But he was finally where he wanted to be, and she was offering him the chance for redemption.

  He wasn’t a saint—far from it. It was an invitation no mortal man could resist. Fiona. After all these lonely, terrible weeks.

  “I came here for dinner, Fee. Nothing more. I swear.”

  Her smile was wistful. “I think we’re both good at kidding ourselves. I can’t explain this thing between us other than to call it elemental attraction. You said you wanted to have sex with me again. Maybe what we need is a chance to say goodbye and to have closure.”

  “Closure?” He mouthed the word with distaste, vaguely alarmed that she was giving him the brush-off in the midst of seducing him.

  “I have two huge projects ahead of me,” she said. “You have a lot of decisions to make about your life and your relationship with your family. If you’re honest, being with me has been an escape for you, nothing more. Your life is one big train wreck right now. I forgive you. I’m not playing games.”

  He had a choice. He could stand here and argue with her about the future, or he could take what she was offering. In the end, emotional exhaustion won out. He needed her. He wanted her.

  She was so beautiful it made his chest ache. Her pale, creamy skin was dotted with the occasional freckle. Those wide-set eyes were a combination of smoke and the sea. The wildness of her fire-kissed hair struck a marked contrast to the serenity she projected.

  No woman had ever affected him so immediately, so deeply. Something about her made him want to make love to her and bask in her peaceful spirit at the same time.

  He felt cold inside. Fiona promised him warmth.

  “Fine,” he said. “Call it whatever you want. I won’t say no to you. Not tonight.”

  She took his hand. He let her pull him to his feet. He was charmed and p
leased that she was taking the initiative. In their earlier encounters he’d been the aggressor, the coaxer. Now, his sweet Fiona was staking a claim.

  In her bedroom, they faced each other with odd hesitance. They had been virtual strangers before. Things were more real now.

  “Should we check the doors?” he asked. “Set the alarm?”

  She cocked her head. “The doors are locked. I don’t have an alarm.”

  He frowned. “I don’t like that. I’ll buy you a new system. You need one.”

  “Hartley...”

  “Hmm?”

  “Shut up and kiss me. Before I change my mind.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Three months. It had been three long months since he tasted her. The memories paled. She melted into his arms, stealing the breath from his lungs. Every part of him hard and taut with wanting. “I’ve missed you,” he said huskily, nipping her lower lip with his teeth, sliding his tongue over hers. “So damn much. I used to lie in bed at night and calculate the distance between Switzerland and South Carolina.”

  Fiona wrapped her arms around his neck. “At least you knew where I was. All I had were a million questions. Actually, until you showed up on my doorstep three months ago, I didn’t know if you were alive or dead. That sucked, Hartley. A lot.”

  “I’m sorry.” His fingers fumbled with the zipper at the back of her bodice. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “See that you do.”

  Her teasing smile lit a fire in his gut. He sucked in a sharp breath when he realized that all she wore underneath the sundress was a pair of simple cotton undies. White. Unadorned.

  No silk and lace confection could have been more titillating. He let the dress pool at her feet. “Damn, you’re gorgeous.”

  “My boobs aren’t very big.”

  The hint of uncertainty in her gaze brought tenderness into the mix. He kissed her nose. “They’re perfect,” he said. Carefully, he cupped her curves in his hands, teasing the pert tips with his thumbs.

  Fiona’s eyelids fluttered shut. She made a sound that was halfway between a purr and a moan. His erection flexed a centimeter more. “Look at me, darlin’. I want you to watch.”

  His big, tanned hands were dark against her white body. She sucked in a breath, but she obeyed. “I’ll watch,” she vowed. “It’s my turn now.” She unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it from his pants. “Get rid of this, big guy.”

  Sexual urgency told him to take and take until they were both satisfied. But tonight, he wanted to play another tune. Tonight, he wanted to convince her that he wasn’t a bad guy. That there was more to him than the lover who ducked out in the night. Hartley Tarleton wanted to make a good impression.

  Unfortunately, his patience for having her undress him was eroding rapidly. “I’ll do the rest,” he said, kicking off his shoes and bouncing on one foot and then the other as he removed his socks.

  Fiona—naked but for panties and a smile—watched as he unfastened his belt and pants and shucked them to his ankles. When he lost his balance and nearly fell on his ass, she had the audacity to giggle.

  “The man I remember was smoother than you,” she said.

  “Maybe I’m nervous,” he deadpanned. She didn’t have to know it wasn’t a joke.

  “Hurry up, Hartley. I’m getting cold.”

  It was still eighty degrees outside, even at this hour. And the AC system in Fiona’s little house wasn’t all that efficient. Perhaps she was nervous, too. She flipped back the simple yellow-and-blue quilt and climbed under the sheets. When she reclined on one elbow and crooked her finger, he was toast.

  He was completely naked now. Unable to hide his need even if he had wanted to. Fee stared at his bobbing sex and licked her lips. The reaction didn’t seem to be intentional. Her eyes had glazed over, and her chest was flushed.

  When he made it under the covers and twined his body with hers in a skin-to-skin hug that fried his synapses, Fiona buried her face in his neck. “You are an impossible man, but Lord knows, you’re magnificent. I love touching you.” She ran her hands over his back and buttocks as if to make a point.

  He found it hard to breathe. “Knock yourself out, Fee.” She was warm and supple in his embrace. Her enthusiasm for his body made him glad he was a man. He would die happy if all he had to do was let her experiment with his various appendages.

  She pulled back so she could kiss his collarbone. “I’m not even going to ask how many women you slept with while you were abroad.”

  “Not a one,” he wheezed, trying not to come like an untested teenager.

  When she zeroed in on the spot that was most eager for her attention, his vision went fuzzy. The sensation of her slender, warm fingers wrapped around his sex was indescribable.

  She stroked him up and down, slowly enough to make his forehead damp and his muscles rigid. “I find that difficult to believe.”

  Was she torturing him on purpose? “I may have walked out on you, Fee, but I’ve never lied to you. After we met at the wedding, I’ve been too busy to look at other women.”

  * * *

  Fiona wanted so badly to believe him, but she’d been a naive fool twice. Was he playing on her sympathies? Did it really matter tonight? He was here...in her bed. Very much alive. His masculinity was raw and erotic in the midst of her ultra feminine bed. The artist in her wanted to sketch him as he sprawled on his back and watched her.

  The woman simply wanted. Period.

  She reclined beside him and ran her hand from his throat to his hip. Warm golden skin was lightly dusted with just the right amount of hair. He was like a beautiful god, at the height of his physical perfection.

  At the moment, her stomach was cooperating, thank heavens. Her earlier fears seemed ludicrous. Of course she wasn’t pregnant. A woman would know something like that, right? She couldn’t possibly be thirteen weeks along and have survived in blissful ignorance all this time.

  Still, the possibility filled her with both anxiety and amazement. A child? A baby with Hartley’s big brown eyes? An infant who would possess the best and worst of both of them?

  Tremors came to life deep inside her body and spread outward. She struggled with waves of fear and exultation and sexual arousal. How could she want this man so damn much when he had hurt her twice and had said recently—with perfect clarity—that he was never going to have children?

  “Do you have a condom?” she asked, feeling her face heat. Hopefully, he would attribute her red-faced mortification to maidenly sexual frenzy. Until she knew for sure about the baby, she wouldn’t take chances.

  His gaze narrowed. A feral masculine smile accompanied his terse nod. “One second, darlin’.” He leaned over the edge of the bed, giving her a stunning view of his tight butt. “Got it,” he said triumphantly, brandishing his wallet.

  While he was busy tossing the packet on the bedside table, Fiona raked his ass with her fingernails. The soft fuzz was golden, lighter than the hair on his head, as if he might have sunbathed in the nude while he was in Europe.

  Thinking of Hartley naked on a beach somewhere made her dizzy. “I’m glad you came back,” she whispered. “I missed you, Hartley.”

  At her words, his expression softened. “And I missed you, sweet Fiona.” He moved between her legs and readied himself. “I don’t even care if this is pity sex. I’ve been dreaming about you in my bed for weeks.”

  When he pushed steadily, filling her, driving himself home until she winced, it was as if everything in her world righted itself for a moment. And then she understood why. This was their pattern, their sexual MO. One frantic, unable-to-wait-a-second-longer coupling followed by a series of languid, self-indulgent second acts.

  Hartley was a big man. Everywhere. Her body accepted his eagerly, straining to make the connection last. His urgency was flattering, his attention to detail admirable. Even as he took his own
pleasure, he remembered every erogenous zone he had discovered during their earlier encounters.

  A nip at her earlobe. A gentle grinding of his pelvis against hers, putting pressure where she needed it to climb even higher. Her breath caught in her throat. A wave of emotion staggered her, making her weak and weepy. He was so dear. So perfect for her. But he wasn’t hers, and now he never would be. She had to remember that. Had to keep her heart out of this. Sex only.

  She’d always heard people say that pregnant women were insatiable when it came to sex. Was that why she was already thinking about round two? Or was this wild urgency all for Hartley and no other reason?

  He went still, his body rigid and trembling. “Fee? Are you with me?”

  Her mental distraction hadn’t gone unnoticed. “I’m here,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”

  He took her at her word. Reaching between their linked bodies, he caressed the aching center of her need and sent her over the edge. The orgasm was off the charts. Incredible. Mildly astonishing.

  The ripples went on and on.

  Hartley chuckled hoarsely, wheezing as he attempted to speak while balanced on a sexual precipice. “You make a man feel damn good, Fiona. I’d like to spend the whole night reclaiming lost time. We’ve wasted months.”

  She smiled lazily, in an expansive, forgiving mood now that he had satiated her considerable needs for the moment. “We? Don’t blame this one on me, Mr. Tarleton. I’ve been right here all along. You’re the one who went missing.”

  His smile sent her buzzing again. “You can punish me later.”

  He withdrew almost completely and then went faster. Groaning, he thrust rapidly until he hit the peak, shuddering and panting in her embrace until he slumped on top of her, his body warm and damp.

  She wrapped her arms around him, feeling his heart pound against her breast. As wrung out as he was, she could almost believe he’d been celibate since the last time they were together.