by Unknown
“Welcome back.”
Rafael turned to see the waitress who had tried to come onto him. “Hello.” He looked toward Clarice. After last night he didn’t think Nathalyia would mistrust him again, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
“Are you meeting our little Nat for lunch?”
Rafael’s gaze jerked back to Theresa. He couldn’t decide whether the words had been sneering or gleeful. “Yes, she reserved a table.”
“I’ll show you to your table and get you a drink. Iced tea. Right?”
“Yes.” Rafael followed her to a booth in the back. She picked up the RESERVED sign and held it under breasts that sagged. He didn’t think it was an accident. He slid in.
“Me and Nat go way back. Just like sisters. I’ll get that tea.”
“Wait,” he called.
She swung back toward him. “Anything else?”
He ignored the suggestive overtone. “Then you knew her before she lost her parents?”
Her lips curled. “You’d be surprised what I know,” she said and moved away.
Rafael let her go. Theresa didn’t appear to be the type of woman Nathalyia would associate with. The waitress was too out there.
Clarice came over. “Hi. Sorry. You ready to order?”
“Theresa took it already.”
“That—” Breathe. Breathe. Clarice blew out a breath. “Sorry.”
“No problem,” Rafael said, nodding toward Theresa at the bar. “Is she new?”
“Three days and it seems like three years. She and Nathalyia went to high school together. Customer waiting.” Clarice took off.
Theresa sashayed back with his tea. “Here you go.”
“You and Nathalyia went to high school together?” he asked, ignoring the tea.
Her eyes narrowed. “Who—Clarice likes to talk. Let me know if you need anything.”
Rafael picked up his tea. She had gone from tempting to cool. There had to be a reason. He thought of the odd way Nathalyia had been acting. It started three days ago.
He scooted out of the booth and went to Nathalyia’s office. If Theresa was giving her problems, he wanted to know. He lifted his hand to knock and heard voices.
“Lover boy is here. He thinks your parents are dead.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I didn’t tell him anything. Sisters help each other.”
Sisters. Rafael turned and went back to his table. Nathalyia had a sister. He’d known she was lying about her family, but why would she deny her sister and then hire her?
Theresa reentered the bar area, grinning for all she was worth. Nathalyia was a few steps behind her. The smile on her face kept slipping. The wariness in her eyes, the distress, tore at his heart. He met her halfway and took her back to her office, wanting and needing to comfort her. The door had barely closed before his mouth was on hers, his arms locked around her.
She clung to him, opening for him, pressing closer. He felt the trembling of her body and wasn’t sure that it was all due to passion. Lifting his head, he palmed her face. He’d respect her privacy. Obviously there was something major going on between the two women. “You’re a strong, incredible woman.”
“Sometimes I don’t feel like it.”
He kissed her lips. “No one can be strong all the time. If you ever want to lean on me, I’m here.”
She placed her head on his chest and sighed. “I’m not used to leaning on anyone.”
His arms tightened, then he held her away. Nathalyia didn’t need interrogation or accusations. “Let’s go have lunch. Later I’m coming back for our stroll in the moonlight, then tonight we’re going to have a late supper and I’m going to do wicked things to your body.”
She finally smiled up at him. “And I get to return the favor.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” His arm curved around her waist. He headed for the door.
TWELVE
Three weeks later Nathalyia woke up with a smile on her face. She’d been doing that a lot lately. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she was truly happy and content . . . until Rafael came into her life. Not even Theresa unexpectedly showing up could dampen Nathalyia’s spirits. It probably helped that there had been no more incidents of theft, and she and Clarice appeared to be working well together.
Nathalyia had loved Martin, but she could never quite get over the feeling that she was taking more than she was contributing to the marriage. She’d told him how she felt and, in typical fashion, he had tried to ease her concerns, hugging her, kissing her on the cheek.
That had been one of the reasons she’d felt she hadn’t held up her end of the relationship. There had been no intimacy in the marriage.
Martin had told her up front that because of his heart problems there would be no sex. The smile on Nathalyia’s face slowly ebbed.
To her shame, at first she had been glad. Then as she came to care for Martin and understand him, she had actually suggested they sleep together. It had been a bit awkward until they learned to relax in the intimate setting. Talking about the restaurant helped. With the medication and his heart condition, anything more was impossible. She had gone to sleep in his arms numerous times.
Then there were those times he’d wistfully mused that he wished there were children so she wouldn’t be alone. During those occasions it had been her turn to comfort and reassure him. She firmly believed that he’d asked Jake to watch over her.
Throwing back the covers, Nathalyia got out of bed and crossed to the bathroom. Before she met Rafael, she was sure sex was overrated.
Nathalyia giggled. She’d definitely been wrong. Rafael hadn’t been able to come over last night because of work, but they’d made plans for tonight. Her body shivered and tingled with delicious anticipation.
In her bathroom, she turned on the faucet over the deep tub and reached for her bottle of bath salts, only to remember she had used the last the day before.
Shutting off the water, she crossed to the built-in cabinets on the other side of the room and opened the door. Inside were the extra toiletries.
Moving aside the various bottles, she searched for the crystal bottle and saw the box of tampons with the date of the fourth in bold letters. Her hand paused. Her heart thumped. It was the nineteenth. Her cycle was annoyingly regular. Her entire body began to shake. She was two weeks late.
She couldn’t be pregnant. Perhaps she was late because life had been so hectic lately, with dating Rafael and taking care of the restaurant. He’d always used protection.
Yet no matter how much she tried to explain away her late cycle, her fear continued to grow. Reentering her bedroom, she quickly dressed and rushed to the garage.
In a matter of minutes, she was at the nearby shopping center and pulling up in front of the twenty-four-hour pharmacy. Inside, she read the overhead listings until she found the one she needed. Unsure of which pregnancy test to purchase, she grabbed two different brands and went to the counter. The young man at the counter didn’t sneer as she feared; he simply rang up the merchandise.
The plastic bag clutched in her hand, she hurried out of the door and prayed all the way home. In her bathroom, she read the instructions, then opened the packages.
In less than a minute she was looking at a positive sign on one and “pregnant” on the other. Eyes closed, Nathalyia plopped down on the commode seat and put her head in her hands, tears flowing from her eyes.
She was pregnant.
How could she have let this happen? She’d never wanted to be like her mother and sisters, being pregnant and unmarried.
Regret hit her. She came from a line of weak, selfish, and, to her horror, fertile women. What was she going to do? The thought of trapping Rafael into marriage was abhorrent to her. That was her family’s tactic, and it always failed.
Besides, he hadn’t said anything about love. Neither had she. They were just enjoying each other. Apparently not doing it carefully enough.
What was she going to do?
Rafael dialed Nathalyia’s private number in her office and once again listened to her recording. It was past twelve. She might be busy, but she always called him back within the hour. He’d been calling since nine.
Worried, he called the main number at Fontaine. A pleasant voice answered on the third ring. “Fontaine, seafood at its finest, how may I help you?”
“Nathalyia Fontaine, please.”
“Ms. Fontaine isn’t in today. Can anyone else help you?”
“Is she sick?” he asked, concern rushing though him.
“I’m not at liberty to say, sir,” she answered.
“Thank you.” Hanging up, he dialed Nathalyia’s home number, paced in the narrow corridor of the police station as the phone rang, then barely bit back a curse as he heard the answering machine click on.
“Nathalyia, are you all right? Nat, pick up the phone. Nat!” Frustrated, he disconnected the call, then called Fontaine again. He cut the woman off. “Clarice, please. Officer Dunlap calling.” He didn’t like using his title, but he needed to find out if Nathalyia was all right. He’d had a nagging feeling since that morning that something was wrong.
“Just a moment, please.”
He paced again.
“Hey, Rafael. What’s up?”
“Why isn’t Nathalyia at work? Is she all right? I can’t get her on the phone,” he asked, aware he wasn’t giving Clarice a chance to answer any of his rapid-fire questions.
Still, there was a pause. “She didn’t call you? You two have a fight?”
He might have been annoyed by her questions at another time, but he needed her. “No. Is she all right?”
“She called in this morning with a headache,” she told him. “She spoke to Jake. I got the impression that she would be unreachable.”
He relaxed marginally. It must have been a severe headache for her to stay at home. She lived and breathed Fontaine. “That explains why she didn’t answer the phone. I probably woke her up.”
“You’re concerned about her. Knowing that will make her feel better,” she said.
He hoped. He didn’t recall ever dating anyone who’d been ill. “If she calls, let her know I called and will drop by tonight.”
“I will. Bye.”
“Bye.” Rafael disconnected the phone, already thinking of ways to take care of Nathalyia. It disturbed him to think of her being ill and by herself. He had a large, extended family. She had no one. He went to his commanding officer.
“Problems, Dunlap?” asked the commander from behind his desk.
“I don’t suppose I could leave early?” His shift wasn’t over until eight that night.
The commander came around the desk. “You seldom asked to get off early before.”
“Nathalyia is sick.”
“It’s that bad?” he asked, concern in his voice.
“A headache.” When his commander’s brows lifted he quickly added, “She didn’t go in to work today and that’s not like her.”
Commander Coats, a married man, nodded. “I feel helpless when Maria is sick. She always took such good care of me and the children when they were at home. You can take off at six if things remain quiet.”
“Thanks, Captain.”
“I hope you don’t plan to arrive empty-handed.”
“Nope, I have things figured out,” he said. “She’s going to be surprised.”
Rafael pulled up in front of Nathalyia’s house and popped the trunk of his car. Shoving the keys into his pants pocket, he went to the back and lifted the cooler. Inside were shrimp and crayfish and a huge garden salad with lots of croutons, just the way Nathalyia liked it.
With his other hand, he picked up the single rose, the white bud tightly closed. Placing the cooler on the ground, he slammed the trunk, then he picked the cooler up and started up the sidewalk.
Not wanting to wake Nathalyia, he hadn’t called her again. He had called Clarice to ask if they had heard from her a couple of hours after they’d spoken. They hadn’t, which worried him until he recalled their last night together. It had been as near perfect as he could want.
He chuckled as he continued up the sidewalk. He’d never thought of being with a woman as perfect. He hadn’t thought of a lot of things until Nathalyia. She was fun to be with because she enjoyed each new experience. Not just the intimate ones; she had just as much fun eating a corn dog, sharing a drink at the movie, learning a new sport or game.
Stepping onto the wide porch, he rang the doorbell, for the first time glad that the glass allowed him a clear view of the foyer. He was anxious for his first glimpse of Nathalyia, and at the same time hoping he wasn’t waking her. He was debating whether he should ring the bell again when he saw her coming down the stairs. She wore a white silk robe, her hair was in disarray.
He had awakened her. Darn! He’d apologize, see that she ate, then be on his way.
She started toward him, her steps slow. He’d never seen her move that methodically, as if each movement was an effort. Perhaps he should insist she see a doctor.
Halfway there, she stopped, looked straight at him, then went still. Rafael almost looked behind him to see what had startled her. Her hand went to her disheveled hair. He relaxed. Just like a woman to worry about her appearance when she was sick.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, smiling, hoping to get her moving. He wasn’t sure she could hear his words, but she could see him smiling. His smile faded when she kept staring at him.
“Nathalyia, honey.” He set the cooler down, his concern deepening, his hand going to the iron frame of the door. “What’s the matter?”
Her hands clenched, she glanced away, then she began to move toward him. His gut tightened on seeing her red, puffy eyes. She’d been crying. Had she been in that much pain? She was definitely going to the emergency room.
He listened to the methodical clicks of the locks disengaging. When the third one disengaged, he was though the door immediately, reaching for her. Holding up her hands, she stepped back.
“Don’t.”
The thin thread of sound, the distress in her voice, stopped him. “Honey, what’s the matter? If your head hurt—”
“It’s over,” she said, her lower lip trembling.
“What? What are you talking about?” he asked, reaching for her again.
“Us. This.”
Abruptly, he halted, staring at her. He heard what she said, but was unable to process it or understand the sudden vise around his chest.
“I’ve been spending too much time with you instead of taking care of the restaurant,” she said, her voice quavering.
“Honey, we can fix that,” he said.
“I don’t want to fix it.” Stepping around him, she opened the front door. “Goodbye, Rafael. It’s been fun, but it’s over.”
He stared at her. The stricken look in her eyes didn’t match the words she was saying. “Nathalyia, what is it? Talk to me. This is more than just our dating.”
“Don’t kid yourself. Leave. Or do I have to call the police?”
He lifted the flower toward her. “This was for you.”
Her glance bounced to the flower, then away. Dropping the flower, Rafael walked out the door. Keep going, he told himself, but midway down the sidewalk he looked over his shoulder, then he was running back up the walk, opening the door, and rushing inside to lift a sobbing Nathalyia from the floor, holding her, kissing her, rocking her.
“Honey, I’m here. Whatever it is, I’m here.”
Her hands clutched him to her, then they were pushing him away. “Please just go. Please.”
He’d never felt so helpless. Lifting her in his arms, he placed her on the sofa. Despite her height, she looked small, alone. “If you don’t want me here, is there someone else I can call?”
She shook her head, her face buried in her hands, her body trembling.
“You can call the police if you want, but I’m not leaving you on the sofa crying.”
Her head lifted. Misery sta
red back at him, twisting his heart.
“I’m going to put you to bed and if you still want me to leave, I will.” Not giving her a chance to argue, he picked her up. He felt the shivers that racked her body, but her skin was cool. She didn’t have a fever.
While he climbed the stairs, she was placid in his arms. He didn’t doubt the headache, since she’d been crying. The reason for it, however, eluded him. Was it the restaurant or something more personal? Had she been thinking of her dead husband?
Entering the bedroom, he felt her stiffen. She pushed against his chest. He stopped immediately, placing her on her feet. She quickly backed away from him. Fear stared back at him.
“I only meant to put you to bed, nothing else.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks, made her voice thick and rough. “I want you to leave.”
“Let me help you,” he pleaded. “Please, just talk to me.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist, turned from him. “You’re not wanted here. Why can’t you understand and accept that?”
“Perhaps because the other night, in this very bed, I held you in my arms, laughed with you, made love to you, heard your cries of pleasure, found my own satisfaction locked deep in your body,” he said.
“Please, just go.”
“I’ll go, but this isn’t over. We aren’t over.” He left the room. This time he didn’t look back. In the foyer, he saw the rose and kept walking.
She’d see it when she came downstairs, remember him, remember the pleasure and good times they’d shared. He could only hope that the memories would be enough to help her deal with whatever was bothering her. Maybe she’d at least let him help her.
At the front door, he paused, then locked the door on his way out. The estates had a good security team, but that didn’t mean they were invincible. He’d spend the night if he had to.
Placing the cooler in the back of the car, he got in and pulled up until the large trees near the edge of her lawn obscured his car. If she happened to look out her window or come back downstairs, he didn’t want to upset her. Since security was aware he’d spent the night before, they wouldn’t think it unusual for him not to leave.