Honest Illusions

by Nora Roberts

  boosted morale—her own included. And she wanted to give Nate a chance to know him as a man before the boy had to accept him as a father.

  Rational or not, any decision she made on allowing Luke back into her life would be focused on her son. Their son.

  They worked together. As one week passed into two the act they’d created between them grew slick and flashy. They crafted their job at the auction as meticulously. Roxanne had to admit Luke had entwined all the details as craftily as the Chinese Linking Rings. She was suitably impressed with the first of the forged pieces that arrived from the source he’d commissioned in Bogotá.

  “Nice work,” she’d told him, deliberately downplaying the craftsmanship in the tiered diamond and ruby necklace. She’d stood at the mirror in his bedroom, draping it around her own neck. “A bit ornate for my taste, of course, but quite good. What did it cost us?”

  She was naked, as was he. Luke had tucked his arms behind his head as he’d stretched on the bed and watched her in the glow of the lowering sun. “Five thousand.”

  “Five.” Her brows rose as her practical nature absorbed that shock. “That’s very steep.”

  “The man’s an artist.” He grinned as she frowned and toyed with the faux stones. “The real one’s worth upwards of a hundred and fifty, Rox. We’ll cover our overhead nicely.”

  “I suppose.” She had to admit, to herself anyway, that without testing equipment she would have been fooled. Not only did the stones look genuine but the setting was deceptively antique. “When can we expect the rest?”

  “In time.”

  In time, she thought now as she carried two bags of groceries into the kitchen. It was beginning to irk her that Luke continued to be vague. He was testing her, she decided and dumped the bags on the counter. She didn’t care for it.

  “You got eggs in those bags?” LeClerc demanded, glowering.

  She winced, grateful her back was to him, then shrugged. “So, make an omelette.”

  “Make an omelette, make an omelette. Always the smart talk. Get—out of my kitchen.” He waved her off. “I got supper to make for an army.”

  Which meant only one thing. “Luke’s here?”

  “You surprised?” He snorted and began to take groceries out of the bag. “Everybody’s always here. You call this a ripe melon?” Accusation in every cell, LeClerc held out a cantaloupe.

  “How the hell am I supposed to know if it’s ripe?” Marketing never put her in a sunny mood. “They all look the same.”

  “How many times I tell you, smell, listen.” He tapped the melon, holding it close to his ear. “Still green.”

  Roxanne planted her hands on her hips. “Why do you always send me out for fruits and vegetables then complain about what I bring home?”

  “You got to learn, don’t you?”

  Roxanne thought about that a moment. “No.” Turning on her heel, she marched out, muttering. The man was never satisfied. Here she’d gone straight from rehearsal to the market, and he didn’t even say thanks.

  And she hated cantaloupe.

  She would have stalked straight upstairs if she hadn’t heard the voices from the parlor. Luke’s voice. Nate’s belly giggles. Moving quietly, she walked to the door and looked in.

  They were on the floor together, dark heads bent close, knees brushing. Toys were scattered on the rug, a testament to what her men had been doing while she slaved over melons. Now, Luke was patiently explaining some little pocket trick he’d brought along. The Vanishing Pen, if Roxanne wasn’t mistaken. Amused, she leaned against the doorway and watched father attempting to teach son.

  “Right under the nose, Nate.” To illustrate, Luke tweaked Nate’s and made him giggle again. “Right before your eyes. Now, here, let’s try it. Can you print your name?”

  “Sure I can. N-A-T-E.” He took the pen and paper Luke offered, his face screwed in intense concentration. “I’m learning to write Nathaniel, too. Then Nouvelle, ’cause that’s my last name.”

  “Yeah.” A shadow passed over Luke’s eyes as he watched Nate struggle with the A. “I guess it is.” He waited until Nate had completed a very slanted E. “Okay. Now watch carefully.” Keeping his movements slow, Luke rolled the pen inside the paper and twisted both ends. “Now, pick a magic word.”

  “Umm—”

  “Nope, umm’s not good enough,” Luke said and sent Nate off in a fit of fresh giggles.

  “Boogers!” Nate decided, delighted to use a word he’d picked up from a sophisticated pal at preschool.

  “Disgusting, but it may work.” Luke tore the paper in two and had the pleasure of seeing Nate’s eyes widen.

  “It disappeared! The pen’s been disappeared.”

  “Absolutely.” Unable to resist the flourish, Luke held up his hands, turning them, back to front and back again. His son’s bug-eyed belief made him feel like a king. “Want to learn how to do it?”

  “Can I?”

  “You have to take the magician’s oath.”

  “I did that already,” Nate said, jaded. “When Mama showed me how to make the quarter go through the table.”

  “Does she teach you stuff about magic?” He was greedy for anything he could learn about his son’s thoughts, feelings, desires.

  “Sure. But you have to promise not to tell anybody, even your best friends, ’cause it’s secret.”

  “That’s right. Are you going to be a magician one day?”

  “Yeah.” Unable to keep still for long, Nate bounced his rump on the rug. “I’m going to be a magician, and a race-car driver and a policeman.”

  A cop, Luke thought, amused. Well, well, where did they go wrong? “All that, huh? Let’s see if you can learn this trick before you go win the Indianapolis 500 and chase bad guys.”

  He was pleased that Nate was interested rather than disappointed when he saw the workings of the trick. It seemed to Luke that he could all but hear the child’s mind working it through, exploring the possibilities.

  He had good hands, Luke thought as he posed them with his own. A quick mind. And a smile that broke his father’s heart.

  “This is neat.”

  “Amazing,” Luke said, solemn-eyed, and turned Nate’s smile into a grin.

  “Amazing neat.”

  He couldn’t help it. Luke leaned down to kiss the grin. “Try it again, slick. Let’s see if you can do this with distractions. Sometimes there are hecklers in the audience.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh, people who yell things or talk too loud. Or . . . tickle you.”

  Nate gave a squeal of delight when Luke snatched him. After a short, furious battle, Luke let himself be pinned. He grunted with exaggerated bursts as Nate bounced on his stomach.

  “You’re too tough for me, kid. Uncle.”

  “Uncle who?”

  “Just uncle.” Chuckling, Luke ruffled Nate’s dark hair. “It means I give up.”

  “Can you show me another trick?”

  “Maybe. What’s it worth to you?”

  Nate bartered what always worked with his mother and scooted down to give Luke a smacking kiss on the mouth. Dazed by the easy affection, moved unbearably, Luke lifted an unsteady hand to Nate’s hair.

  “Do you want a hug to go with it?”

  “Sure.” Luke opened his arms and experienced the unspeakable pleasure of cradling his son. With his eyes closed, he rubbed his cheek to Nate’s. “You weigh a ton.”

  “I’m a walking appetite.” Nate leaned back to grin down at Luke. “Mama says so. I eat everything ’less it’s nailed down.”

  “Except lima beans,” Luke murmured, remembering.

  “Yuck. I wish I could make all the lima beans in the whole world disappear.”

  “We’ll work on it.”

  “I gotta pee,” Nate stated, with the carefree childhood habit of announcing bodily functions.

  “Don’t do it here, okay?”

  Nate giggled and held himself uninhibitedly to prolong the inevitable another moment.
He liked being with Luke, liked the smell of him that was different from anyone else in his family. Though he’d never had to do without male influence or companionship, there was something different about this man. Maybe it was magic.

  “Do you have a penis?”

  Luke strangled back a laugh because the child was eyeing him owlishly. “I certainly do.”

  “Me too. Girls don’t. Mama neither.”

  Cautious, Luke tucked his tongue in his cheek. “I believe you’re right about that.”

  “I like having one, ’cause you can stand up to pee.”

  “It does have its advantages.”

  “I gotta go.” Nate scrambled up, dancing a bit. “You want to go ask LeClerc for some cookies?”

  From penises to cookies, Luke thought. Childhood was fascinating. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up with you.”

  Nate turned and spotted his mother, but his bladder was straining. “Hi. I gotta pee.”

  “Hi yourself. Go be my guest.”

  Nate trotted off, one hand on his crotch.

  “An interesting conversation,” Roxanne managed after she heard the powder room door slam.

  “Man talk.” Luke sat up, grinning. “He’s so—” He broke off when Roxanne pressed a hand to her mouth. “What is it?” Alarmed, he rose, trampling a plastic truck as he started toward her.

  “Nothing.” She wouldn’t be able to hold it off this time. Simply wouldn’t. “It’s nothing.” Turning, she bolted up the stairs.

  She would have locked herself in her room, but Luke was at the door before she could shove it to. Furious with herself, she whirled away and tossed open the French doors to her terrace.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he demanded.

  “There’s nothing wrong with me.” The ache was so fierce, so complete she could only combat it with sharp words. “Go away, will you? I’m tired. I want to be alone.”

  “One of your tantrums, Rox?” His own feelings were brittle as he turned her to face him. Music drifted up from the Quarter, hot driving jazz. It seemed to fit the moment. “Seeing me with Nate get your back up?”

  “No. Yes.” She jerked away to drag her hands through her hair. Oh God, oh God, she was losing.

  The closer she came to the edge, the calmer Luke became.

  “I’m going to see him, Roxanne. I’m going to be a part of his life. I have to, and by Christ, I have a right to.”

  “Don’t talk to me about rights,” she threw back, humiliated by the catch in her voice.

  “He’s mine, too. However much you’d like to block that out, it’s a fact. I’m trying to understand why you won’t tell him I’m his father, I’m trying not to resent that, but I won’t stay away because you want to keep him to yourself.”

  “That’s not it. Damn it, that’s not it.” She rapped a fist against his chest. “Do you know how it makes me feel to see you together? To see the way you look at him?” Tears spilled over, but she fought back the sobs.

  “I’m sorry it hurts you,” Luke said stiffly. “And maybe I can’t blame you too much for wanting to punish me by not letting me be his father.”

  “I’m not trying to punish you.” Desperate to get it all out, she pressed her lips together. “Maybe I am, I’m not sure, and that’s the hardest part. Trying to know what to do, what’s right, what’s best, and then seeing you with him, knowing all that time that was lost. Yes, it hurts me to see you with him, but not the way you mean. It hurts the way it hurts to watch a sunrise, or to hear music. He holds his head the way you do.” She dashed furiously at tears. “He always did, and it broke my heart. He has your smile, and your eyes, and your hands. So much smaller, but yours. I used to look at them while he was sleeping, count his fingers and look at his hands. And I’d ache for you.”

  “Rox.” He’d thought, he’d hoped they had passed through the worst of this the night he’d told her everything. “I’m sorry.” He reached out, but she pivoted away.

  “I never cried over you. Not once in five years did I allow myself a tear for you. That was pride.” Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, she rocked. “It helped me get through the worst of it. I didn’t cry when you came back. And when you told me what had happened, I hurt for you, and I tried to understand what you must have felt. But damn you. Damn you, you were wrong.” She spun back, clasping an arm around her middle to hold back the worst of the pressure. “You should have come home. You should have come to me and told me then. I would have gone with you. I’d have gone anywhere with you.”

  “I know.” He couldn’t touch her now, no matter how much he needed to. She seemed suddenly so fragile that to touch might be to break. He could only stand back and let the storm rage over both of them. “I knew it then, and I nearly did come back. I could have taken you away, away from your family, away from your father. It didn’t have to matter that he was ill, that I owed him, all of you, whatever good things I had. I might have risked the fact that Wyatt could have set the cops on me at any time so that they’d hunt me down as a murderer. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

  “I needed you.” Tears blinded her until she covered her face with her hands and let them come freely. “I needed you.”

  It hurt, oh, it hurt to let go almost as much as it had to hold back. Crying wracked the body, burned the throat, battered the heart. She lost herself in the violence of grief, going limp when his arms came around her, sobbing shamelessly when he lifted her to carry her to bed and cradle her.

  He could only hold her as five years of suppressed mourning flooded out. There were no words to comfort. He had known her nearly twenty years and could count on one hand the number of times she’d wept in front of him.

  And never like this, he thought, rocking her. Never like this.

  She couldn’t stop, was afraid she never would. She didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t feel Luke turn his head, shake it in silent denial as Lily looked in.

  Gradually, the wracking sobs turned to dry gasps, and the violent shudders softened to quivers. The hands fisted at his back relaxed.

  “I need to be alone,” she whispered through a throat dry as dust.

  “No. Not again. Never again, Roxanne.”

  She was too weak to argue. After one shaky sigh, she let her head rest against his shoulder. “I hate this.”

  “I know you do.” He pressed a kiss to her hot, aching temple. “Do you remember that time after you found out Sam had used you. You cried then, and I didn’t know quite how to handle it.”

  “You held me.” She sniffled. “Then you broke his nose.”

  “Yeah. I’ll do more this time.” Over her head his gaze sharpened like a blade. “That’s a promise.”

  She couldn’t think about that now. She felt drained and, oddly, free. “It was easier to give you my body than to give you this.” She let her swollen eyes close, soothed by the stroke of his hand over her hair. “I could tell myself it was lust, and if there was still love tangled up with it, I could still be in control. But I was afraid to let you be my friend again.” Steadier, she let out a long breath. “Let me get up, wash my face. Leave me alone for a while.”

  “Rox—”

  “No, please.” She eased back. It was a point of trust, deeper than any other she’d offered that she let him see the ravage the tears had caused. “There’s something I need to do. Take a walk, Callahan. Give me a half an hour.”

  She kissed him, softly, before he could think of an argument.

  “I’ll be back.”

  This time she smiled. “I’m counting on it.”

  He brought her flowers. He’d realized, a bit guiltily, that he hadn’t given Roxanne what Lily would consider a proper wooing either time around. The first time he’d been overwhelmed by her, the second he’d been too tense.

  It might have been a little late in the day for the hearts-and-flowers routine seeing as they were lovers, partners and shared a child, but as Max might have said, better late than too soon.

  He even went to the front door
rather than wandering in through the kitchen. Like a suitor coming to call, he finger-combed his hair and rang the bell.