“I don’t believe you.” She crossed her arms. “Describe.”
“Peach satin, scalloped edge, tiny white bow in the center.”
Her arms uncrossed. “You’re unbelievable. You should’ve been worrying about prison, and you were checking out my bra.”
“I was checking out your tits. Your bra was in the way.”
She laughed because, damn it, he was funny. Funny and so, so hot with the devil’s own grin on his lips, and his eyes, so blue and so into her, crushing her willpower to dust.
He traced a finger down her throat, hooked it in her neckline, and peeked in. “Ah, virginal white today.” His lips quirked, and his fingertip dipped under the edge, slipping the strap off her shoulder a centimeter at a time.
“Maddie.” His voice, exotic and bedroomy, trailed over her skin like his fingers. “I can’t keep my hands off you.”
“Then don’t.” Sex she understood. Sex she could handle. All the other emotional crap was just temporary insanity.
“I won’t have you think I’m using you. That this is a trick, or a lie, or anything but desire. I want you. I want all of you.”
“So shut up and take me.” She grabbed a fistful of shirt and dragged him closer.
He covered her hand with his. “Do you believe that I care about you? That you’re not like other women to me?”
“Yeah, sure.” She wrestled him closer, but the console was a problem.
“Let’s go home.”
“Home, shmome.” They’d work around the damn console.
She released his shirt, reached for his zipper, but he stilled her fingers. “Darling. It’s important to me.”
“Why? We don’t need a bed. We can get it done right here.”
“Not that. It’s important that you understand.”
“What’s important is that I get laid in the next five minutes.”
Exasperation made him short. “For Christ’s sake, why must you make it so hard?”
Her instinct was to make the obvious joke, but the look in his eyes, the bubbling stew of frustration and lust and affection and more, shut her up.
It frightened her too. Because for once, for the first time ever, seeing hunger and desire stir in a man’s eyes made her feel . . .
. . . the opposite of heartbreak.
For a long, strange moment, she stared into those eyes. Then—oh shit!—it hit her. She was into him . . . emotionally!
She lost it, went off the deep end, freaked the fuck out.
Rearing back against the door, she threw her hands up, palms out. “Don’t touch me. Don’t.”
“Maddie—”
“Drive. Drive the fucking car now or I’ll walk on bloody stumps.”
ADAM DROVE, EYES on the road, hands on the wheel, but with his mind ten miles behind him, back in the dining room, rewriting their lunch conversation.
In the revised version, he enjoyed her high spirits and the gleam in her eye, and kept his nosy questions to himself.
He was too fucking impatient, that was the problem. He couldn’t wait for Maddie to open up on her own, so he’d pried and bullied, and now everything was fucked up beyond all recognition—FUBAR, as his SEAL trainer would say.
The miles rolled on in silence. Endless minutes ticked by.
He stole a glance at Maddie, saw she’d unwound enough to unglue her shoulder from the door and sit back against her seat. She stared blankly out the window, no welcome in her expression, not a scintilla of warmth. But at least she no longer looked homicidal, or terrified, or like she might leap out of the speeding car just to get away from him.
Against all odds, he took heart. Maybe, just maybe, things weren’t FUBAR after all.
The kernel of a plan formed in his mind.
Examining it from all sides, he heard Henry’s voice in his head. Don’t do it, Adam. Remember who she is. Remember what she tried to do to you.
Henry was right. It was foolhardy, risky, a long leap of faith. But Adam was a gambler with one card left to play. Win or lose, he’d take his chances. Because the truth was, after five long years and five short days, he was quite sure he was falling in love with Maddie.
His forty-acre compound was fenced, the access road gated. He waited in silence while Gerard ran an expert eye over the Ferrari, then opened the gate and waved them through.
Bypassing his own villa, Adam continued around a sweeping curve, past a dense swath of trees, to another locked gate. Heart in his throat, he keyed in the code and drove through, braking at the door of a smaller, but no less luxurious, villa.
“Lucy told me about this place.” Those were Maddie’s first words in an hour, uttered listlessly, like she was too tired to care.
She’d perk up when she got inside, for better or worse.
He came around to open her door. She got out reluctantly. “I’m supposed to be on my way to the airport.”
“Bear with me.” His palm on her back urged her up the steps. “I’m about to share my deepest secret.”
A petite maid opened the door. “Mr. LeCroix, how nice to see you.” Her British accent sounded stiff, but her smile was friendly.
“Hello, Giselle. Would you please tell Maribelle I’m here?”
“If you’ll wait in the living room,” she said, and disappeared up the stairs as Adam led Maddie across the wide foyer and into a room as large as her apartment.
She looked interested now. Seeing her take a good long look around, he did the same for the first time in years, taking in the intricately tiled floor, the spare but comfortable furnishings in the latest Norwegian design. The fireplace was fronted with marble from his quarry. And the windows overlooking the spacious terrace had a Mediterranean view that rivaled his own.
Henry was right about one thing. Maribelle knew how to spend his money. But then, silence cost a great deal. More every year. Yet for all that she hated him and would gladly bankrupt him if she could, she guarded his secret well.
In a patented power play, she left them cooling their heels for twenty minutes while Maddie waited more patiently than he expected. When Maribelle finally appeared, slinking through the door like a Siamese cat, Maddie narrowed her eyes and assessed her.
Knowing as he did her vertical sensitivity, Adam could only imagine what she thought of Maribelle. All of six feet and slender as a snake, she owned any room she entered. He remembered the first time he saw her. He’d almost swallowed his tongue.
That was ten years ago. She was still as blond, as slim, as sensually beautiful as she’d been at that Hollywood party. But now she was a constant reminder that beauty was only skin deep.
She crossed the room at a measured pace, held up each cheek for his perfunctory kiss. Glancing dismissively at Maddie, she said, “I told you, Adam, Giselle’s working out fine. I don’t need another maid.”
Nothing thrilled Maribelle like drawing blood. Like a vampire, once she broke the skin, she kept sucking.
He bit back a retort. “Maribelle, this is a friend of mine. Madeline St. Clair.”
Maribelle hadn’t lost her acting chops. She did Oscar-worthy wide-eyed surprise. “So sorry, Ms. St. Clair,” she said, stooping just a bit as she extended her hand, as if shaking with a child.
“No problem.” Maddie said, giving Maribelle’s knuckles a solid squeeze. “And call me . . .” She seemed to reconsider. “You know what? Ms. St. Clair is good.”
She showed her teeth in a smile.
God help him, he was in love with the Pitbull.
His feelings must have shown on his face, because Maribelle’s plastic smile hardened to ice. Moving to the slider that opened onto the terrace, she took a half step outside.
“Dominick,” she called with sick delight, “your father’s here.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Vicky: My heart is an open book.
I won’t keep secrets from you.
Maddie: Except about that drunken
weekend in Barbados. That’s in the vault.
WITH ADAM’S GLOSSY black hair and st
artling blue eyes, Dominick was the spitting image of his father. Streaking across the terrace, face alight with excitement, he pulled up sharply inside the door, and stared.
Maddie hinged her jaw, schooled her lips into a friendly smile. But it wasn’t she who’d brought him up short.
She cut a look at Adam’s grim face. Clearly, he wouldn’t be swinging his son up onto his shoulder or wrestling him into a bear hug. The joy died out of the boy’s eyes.
“Dominick,” Adam intoned, “come and pay your respects to Ms. St. Clair.”
The boy inched forward and extended one small hand, gravely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. St.Clair.” His accent was Italian, but his English was perfect.
With equal gravity, Maddie shook his hand. “Likewise, Dominick. You can call me Maddie.”
He flicked a glance at his father, who nodded once.
“Are you the new maid?” the boy asked politely.
Maribelle snorted a laugh.
“I’m a lawyer,” Maddie said with a kind smile. “I’ve been doing some work for your dad.”
“You’re American,” he said, blinking lavishly lashed eyes.
“That’s right. From New York City. Have you been there?”
He shook his head. “There are bad men there. It’s better if I stay here where it’s safe.”
That stumped her. She looked a question at Adam.
He ignored it, turning to Maribelle. “Is there anything I should know?”
She rolled a shoulder in a silky shrug. “Roland’s upstairs.”
“Dom’s tutor,” Adam said tersely to Maddie. “Excuse me a moment.” He left Maddie with the boy and his mother.
Gee, thanks.
Maribelle didn’t offer her a seat or a drink. Instead, she poured herself a glass of wine from the wet bar, sipped it as she looked Maddie up and down.
Dom’s manners were better. “Would you like to sit down, Maddie?” Careful to keep his shoes off the white upholstery, he plopped on the sofa and patted the seat beside him.
She couldn’t resist. He was charming and sweet and the spitting image of his father. Slipping off her sandals, she spread her skirt so she could curl her feet under her butt without flashing him.
“So, Dom, what grade are you in?”
“I don’t have a grade. I have Mr. Roland.”
“Okay. How about friends? Who’s your best friend?”
“Henry,” he said promptly.
“Adam’s Henry?”
“Yes. He taught me to swim.”
“You have a pool?”
“I can use Papa’s when he’s away.”
“Only when he’s away?”
Maribelle made a sound of disgust. “Quit interrogating him, Counselor.” She sauntered into Maddie’s view, folded her skyscraper legs, and draped herself across a chair, like a silk scarf floating down to the cushion from six feet in the air. “If you want to know what a shining example of fatherhood Adam is, ask him. Ask him when he last spent an hour with his son.”
Maddie shifted her gaze back to Dominick. He blinked at her, his expression solemn.
She had been interrogating him. The truth was, she was taken aback. She’d half expected that Adam was bringing her here to show her the Lady in Red. To rub her nose in it.
Instead, he’d shown her the son the world had no idea he’d fathered. Dom was the best-kept secret in the Western Hemisphere. How had Adam managed it? And why?
Curiosity was an itch demanding to be scratched, but Maribelle was right. The person to grill was Adam.
She smiled at Dom. “Have you met John Doe yet?”
He shook his head. “Does he work for Papa too?”
“The other way around. Your Papa waits on John hand and foot.”
Dom giggled like she was being silly, the first childlike sound to issue from the boy. “Papa doesn’t work for anybody. Right, Mama? Papa’s the boss of everyone.”
He was repeating her words, no doubt. But she didn’t look embarrassed.
“Right you are, sweetie. And you can bet your bottom dollar he’s upstairs reminding Roland of that right now, giving him the dickens for letting you run around outside on this pretty day instead of holding your nose to the grindstone.”
Dom looked down at the knobby knees sticking out of his shorts. A fresh scrape leaked a dot of blood. He flattened it with his fingertip.
“I didn’t mean to get Mr. Roland in trouble.” Dom’s voice was small.
“Don’t worry,” said his mother, “I’ll smooth his feathers after your father leaves.”
Her eyes shifted to Maddie. “So. Who’s John Doe?” Her smirk said she figured the name for an alias, like Adam could be harboring a spy. Or a hit man.
“John’s a dog,” Maddie said. “Adam rescued him after he was left for dead.”
Maribelle sipped her wine, unimpressed. But Dom was all ears.
“Papa has a dog? Is he okay? Is he here?”
“Yes, he’s okay,” Maddie said, smiling at the boy, “and yes, he’s here. Want to meet him?”
He jumped up. “Is he outside in the car? Can we go get him?”
“He’s at your father’s house.”
“Oh.” The boy sat down again. “I’m not allowed over there when Papa’s home.”
Maddie flicked a glance at Maribelle, whose shrug said, I told you so.
Maddie kept a straight face, but she thought, What the fuck? The boy was a treasure, yet Adam apparently lavished more love on a stray dog than his own son.
She ruffled Dom’s hair. “I’ll bring John over in a little while, okay?”
He brightened again. “Does he fetch?”
“He tries, but he hasn’t gotten the hang of it. Maybe you can teach him.”
He popped up again. “I have tennis balls. I’ll go find them.” He started for the door, then put on the brakes. “Is he big? His mouth, I mean.”
“Big enough to catch a tennis ball.”
He grinned, then ran out.
Maddie met Maribelle’s eyes. The other woman looked bored, but Maddie wasn’t buying it.
“Sorry,” Maddie said. “I should’ve asked about bringing John over. Is it okay? He’s had his shots. And he doesn’t have fleas.”
Maribelle shrugged. “Just keep him off the furniture.” She faked a yawn. “Where did Adam find him?”
“In Brooklyn.”
“So Adam’s slumming now?”
Maddie’s teeth set. “John was outside my apartment.”
The perfectly shaped brows arched fractionally. “But you told Dom you live in New York City.”
“Which Brooklyn is part of.”
“Hmm. Well. What kind of lawyer are you?” The tiny crease between her bluebell eyes gave the lie to her phony nonchalance.
Maddie put it together. “Not family law, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Her relief was palpable, but curiosity kept the crease in her brow. “Then why are you here?”
Feeling a reluctant kinship with the woman, Maddie said, “I’m here because Adam’s the boss of everyone.”
Maribelle’s eyes widened, her surprise genuine this time. But before she could reply, they heard his footsteps. Both of them turned. He stopped just inside the door.
“Maddie.” He said it like she was supposed to dash to his side.
She stretched her arm along the back of the sofa.
He looked annoyed, but came further into the room. “Where’s Dominick?”
Maribelle swirled her wine. “Looking for tennis balls to throw to your dog.”
He cut a sharp glance at Maddie.
She smiled sweetly. “I’m bringing John over to play.” She stated it as fact. She wasn’t asking his permission.
He focused on Maribelle, who was giving Maddie another long study. “Roland said you gave Dom the day off.”
“That’s right.” She tore her gaze away from Maddie. “It’s too nice outside for him to have his nose in a book.” She tipped her head toward the door. “
He’s building a fort.”
“For what purpose?”
“For fun, Adam. Remember fun?” Maribelle’s feet hit the floor. “Isn’t it enough that he’s stuck here on Gilligan’s Island without any friends to play with? Can’t he at least amuse himself?”
Adam’s jaw ticked. This was obviously an ongoing battle.
Maddie couldn’t help butting into it.
“Is his schoolwork suffering?” she asked.
Maribelle answered her, but glared at Adam. “Dom’s a genius. Certifiable. He’s college level in reading, math, and science. He doesn’t need more studying. He needs more fun. And more time with—”
“Enough.” Adam cut her off with one word. “Maddie, we’re leaving.” He headed for the door.
She decided not to argue. “I’ll be back soon with John,” she said to Maribelle, who lifted a careless hand.
Outside, Adam was holding the car door. “I’m not John,” she snapped, brushing past him. “I don’t come when you whistle.”
“No,” he bit out, “you come when I fuck you.”
She stopped with her butt halfway to the seat, hanging in midair. “You did not just say that.”
He nudged her shoulder, just enough so she landed in the seat. Then he shut the door.
She glared as he circled the hood.
He got in and started the car. But he didn’t drive. Instead, he put his hands on the wheel and stared out the windshield, jaw rigid, shoulders knotted.
She gave him ten seconds, then “What the fuck, Adam?” She meant it any number of ways. There were half a dozen to choose from.
He turned his head, blasted her with blue flame. Then just as quickly, the fire died out of his eyes. He let his shoulders go slack. “Forgive me. It’s just that you looked . . . chummy with Maribelle. It upset me. You don’t know her like I do.”
“Obviously. I don’t have a child with her.” Maddie’s emotional chaos took a backseat to Dom. “Jesus, Adam. You’ve got a kid. What the fuck?”
He dropped his eyes. “It’s a long story.”
“At least nine years and nine months. And whatever it is, I don’t care. The bottom line is you’re keeping him and Maribelle prisoner.”
He looked up, his expression incredulous. “You’re joking.”
“A gilded cage is still a cage.” And abuse was abuse. Her heart beat like a hammer. “He’s a hostage. You’re using him to control his mother.”
The Wedding Vow Page 21