She leaned into him, whispering against his mouth as she stroked down between them, molding her palm to the shape of him. “You may have missed the memo...” She caressed up and down, again and again. “But you don’t have to propose to get me to sleep with you.”
He angled away, staring straight in her eyes, her eyelashes spiky wet. “I’m not joking, so I would appreciate it if you took my proposal seriously.”
“Really? Now?” She stepped back, the water showering between them. “You mean this. For Eli, of course.”
“Of course Eli factors into the equation.” He studied her carefully blank expression. “But it’s also because you and I fit as a couple on so many levels. We’ve been friends forever, and our chemistry... Well, that speaks for itself. We just have to figure out how not to fight afterward and we’ll have forever locked and loaded.”
The more he talked, the more it felt right.
“Forever?” Her knees folded, and she sat on the stone seat in the corner, her hair dripping water. “Do you think that’s even possible for people like you and me?”
“Why shouldn’t it be?” He knelt in front of her.
“Because of our pasts.” She stroked over his wet hair, cupping his neck, her eyes so bittersweet they tore him to bits. “Our parents. Our own histories. I refuse to spend the rest of my life wondering when the next Gianna is going to walk through the door.”
Gianna? He hadn’t even thought of her other than when Lucy Ann mentioned her. But looking back, he realized how bad his engagement would have looked to her, how that must have played a role in her keeping quiet about the pregnancy.
This was likely where the groveling came in. “I’m sorry.”
“For which part? The engagement? Or the fact you didn’t contact me— Hell, forget I said that.” She leaned forward to kiss him.
If they kissed, the discussion would be over, opportunity missed. He scooped her up in his arms and pivoted, settling her into his lap as he sat on the stone seat in the corner.
She squawked in protest but he pressed on. “You expected me to follow you? Even after you said—and I quote—‘I don’t ever want to lay eyes on your irresponsible ass ever again’?”
“And you’ve never said anything in the heat of the moment that you regretted later?”
Groveling was all well and good, but he wasn’t taking the full blame for what shook down these past months. “If you regretted those words, it sure would have been helpful if you’d let me know.”
“This is my whole point. We’re both so proud, neither one of us could take the steps needed to repair the damage we did. Yes, I am admitting that we both were hurt. Even though you seemed to recover fast with Gianna―” she gave him that tight smile again “―I acknowledge that losing our friendship hurt you, as well. But friendship isn’t enough to build a marriage on. So can we please go back to the friends-with-benefits arrangement?”
“Damn it, Lucy Ann—”
She traced his face with her fingers. “Do you know what I think?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I think you don’t believe in fairy tales after all. The dates, the romance... It has actually been a game for you after all. A challenge, a competition. Something to win. Not Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty.”
“I suspect I’ve been led into a trap.” He’d thought he’d been following all the right signs and taking the steps to fix this, but he’d only seemed to dig a bigger hole for himself.
“Well, you followed my bread crumbs.” Her joke fell flat between them, her eyes so much sadder than he’d ever dreamed he could make them.
“So you’re sure you don’t want to marry me?”
She hesitated, her pulse leaping in her neck. “I’m sure I don’t want you to propose to me.”
Her rejection stunned him. Somehow he’d expected her to say yes. He’d thought... Hell, he’d taken her for granted all over again and he didn’t know how to fix this. Not now. He needed time to regroup. “If I agree to stop pressing for marriage, can we keep having incredible sex with each other?”
“’Til the end of the month.”
“Sex for a few weeks? You’re okay with sleeping together with an exit strategy already in place?”
“That’s my offer.” She slid from his lap, stepping back. Away. Putting distance between them on more than just one level. “Take it or leave it.”
“Lucy Ann, I’m happy as hell to take you again and again until we’re both too exhausted to argue.” Although right now, he couldn’t deny it. He wanted more from her. “But eventually we’re going to have to talk.”
Eleven
Lucy sprawled on top of Elliot in bed, satiated, groggy and almost dry from their shower, but not ready for their evening together to end. Elliot seemed content to let the proposal discussion go—for tonight. So this could well be the last uncomplicated chance she had to be with him.
The ceiling fan click, click, clicked away their precious remaining seconds together, the lights of Monaco glittering through the open French doors, the Cote d’Azur providing a breathtaking vista. Who wouldn’t want to share this life with him? Why couldn’t she just accept his proposal? She hated how his offer of marriage made her clench her gut in fear. She should be happy. Celebrating. This would be the easy answer to bringing up Eli together. They were best friends. Incredible lovers. Why not go with the flow? They could take a day to see Cannes with the baby, and she could snap pictures...savor the things she’d been too busy to notice in the early years of traveling with Elliot.
Yet something held her back. She couldn’t push the word yes free. Every time she tried, her throat closed up. She trusted him...yet the thought of reliving the past eleven months again, of living without him...
Her fingers glided along his closely shorn hair. “You could have been killed that day your hair got singed.”
“You’re not going to get rid of me that easily,” he said with a low chuckle and a stroke down her spine.
Ice chilled the blood in her veins at his words. “That wasn’t funny.”
“I’m just trying to lighten the mood.” He angled back to kiss the tip of her nose, then look into her eyes. “I’m okay, Lucy Ann. Not a scratch on me that day.”
She’d been in South Carolina when it had happened, her belly swelling with his child and her heart heavy with the decision of when to tell him about the baby. “That doesn’t make it any less terrifying.”
He grinned smugly. “You do care.”
“Of course I care what happens to you. I always have. There’s no denying our history, our friendship, how well we know each other.” How could he doubt that, no matter what else they’d been through? “But I know something else. You’re only interested in me now because I’m telling you no. You don’t like being the one left behind.”
Breathlessly, she finished her rant, stunned at herself. Her mouth had been ahead of her brain. She hadn’t even realized she felt that way until the words came rolling out.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” he said tightly.
“But is it true?” She cupped his face.
He pulled her hands down gently and kissed both palms. “I already offered to stop racing. I meant it. I’m a father now and I understand that comes with responsibilities.”
Responsibilities? Is that what they were to him? But then, in a way, that’s what she’d always been since he got out of reform school, since he’d offered her a job as his assistant even though at the time she hadn’t been qualified for the job. He’d given it to her out of friendship—and, yes, the sense of obligation they felt to look out for each other.
That had been enough for a long time, more than either of them had gotten from anyone else in their lives. But right now with her heart in her throat, obligation didn’t feel like nearly enough to build a life on.
She slid off him, the cooling b
reeze from the fan chilling her bared flesh. “Do whatever you want.”
“What did I say wrong? You want me to quit and I offer and now you’re angry?”
“I didn’t say I want you to quit.” She opted for the simpler answer. “I understand how important your career is to you. You have a competitive nature and that’s not a bad thing. It’s made you an incredibly successful man.”
“You mentioned my competitiveness earlier. Lucy Ann, that’s not why I—”
She rolled to her side and pressed her fingers to his mouth before he could get back to the proposal subject again. “You’ve channeled your edginess and your drive to win. That’s not a bad thing.” She tapped his bottom lip. “Enough talk. You should rest up now so you’re focused for the race.”
And so she could escape to her room, away from the building temptation to take what he offered and worry about the consequences later. Except with Elliot’s muscled arm draped over her waist, she couldn’t quite bring herself to move out of his embrace. His hand moved along her back soothingly. Slowly, her body began to relax, melting into the fantastic mattress.
“Lucy Ann? You’re right, you know.” Elliot’s words were so low she almost didn’t hear him.
“Right about what?” she asked, groggy, almost asleep.
“I like to win— Wait. Scratch that. I need to win.”
Opening her eyes, she didn’t move, just stared at his chest and listened. There was no escaping this conversation. Wherever it led them.
“There are two kinds of people in the world. Ones who have known physical pain and those who never will. Being beaten...” He swallowed hard, his heart hammering so loudly she could feel her pulse sync up with his, racing, knowing just what that word beating meant to him growing up. “That does something to your soul. Changes you. You can heal. You can move on. But you’re forever changed by that moment you finally break, crying for it to stop.”
His voice stayed emotionless, but what he said sliced through her all the more because of the steely control he forced on himself.
Her hand fluttered to rest on his heart as she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Oh, God, Elliot—”
“Don’t speak. Not yet.” He linked his fingers with hers. “The thing is, we all like to think we’re strong enough to hold out when that person brings on the belt, the shoe, the branch, or hell, even a hand used as a weapon. And there’s a rush in holding out at first, deluding yourself into believing you can actually win.”
She willed herself to stay completely still, barely breathing, while he poured out the truth she’d always known. She’d even seen the marks he’d refused to acknowledge. Hearing him talk about it, though, shredded her heart, every revelation making her ache for what he’d suffered growing up. She also knew he wouldn’t accept her sympathy now any more than he had then. So she gave him the only thing she could―total silence while he spoke.
“The person with the weapon is after one thing,” he shared, referring to his father in such a vague sense as if that gave him distance, protection. “It isn’t actually about the pain. It’s about submission.”
She couldn’t hold back the flinch or a whimper of sympathy.
Elliot tipped her chin until she looked at him. “But you see, it’s okay now. When I’m out there racing, it’s my chance to win. No one, not one damn soul, will ever beat me again.”
She held her breath, wrestling with what to do next, how they could go forward. This wasn’t the time to pledge futures, but it also wasn’t the time to walk away. Growing up, she’d always known how to be there for him. At this moment, she didn’t have a clue.
The squawk of their son over the nursery monitor jolted them both. And she wasn’t sure who was more relieved.
Her or Elliot.
* * *
Elliot barely tasted the gourmet brunch catered privately at a crowded café near the race day venue. With two hundred thousand people pouring into the small principality for the circuit’s most famous event, there were fans and media everywhere. At least his friends and mentor seemed to be enjoying themselves. He wanted to chalk up his lack of enthusiasm to sleep deprivation.
Race day in Monaco had always been one of Elliot’s favorites, from the way the sun glinted just right off the streets to the energy of the crowds. The circuit was considered one of the most challenging Formula One routes—narrow roads, tight turns and changing elevations made it all the more exciting, edgy, demanding.
And just that fast, Lucy Ann’s words haunted him, how she’d accused him of searching out challenges. How she’d accused him of seeing her as a challenge. Damn it all, he just wanted them to build a future together.
What would she be thinking, sitting in the stands today with his school friends and their wives?
He glanced at her across the table, strain showing in the creases along her forehead and the dark smudges under her eyes. He wanted to take Eli from her arms so she could rest, but wasn’t sure if she would object. He didn’t want to cause a scene or upset her more.
With a mumbled excuse, he scraped back his chair and left the table. He needed air. Space.
He angled his way out of the room—damn, he had too many curious friends these days—and into the deserted patio garden in the back. All the patrons had flocked out front to the street side to watch the crowds already claiming their places to watch the race. But back here, olive trees and rosebushes packed the small space so densely he almost didn’t see his old high school headmaster—now an Interpol handler—sitting on a bench sending text messages.
Colonel Salvatore sat beside his preteen son, who was every bit as fixated on his Game Boy as his father was on his phone. A couple of empty plates rested between them.
How had he missed them leaving the table? Damn, his mind wasn’t where it was supposed to be.
Colonel Salvatore stood, mumbled something to his son, then walked toward Elliot without once looking up from his phone. The guy always had been the master of multitasking. Very little slipped by him. Ever.
The older man finally tucked away his cell phone and nodded. “We couldn’t sit still,” he said diplomatically, “so we’re out here playing ‘Angry Monkeys’ or something like that.”
“I’m sure you both enjoyed the food more here where it’s quieter,” he said diplomatically. “I could sure use parenting advice if you’ve got some to offer up.”
Salvatore straightened his standard red tie. He wore the same color gray suit as always, like a retirement uniform. “Why don’t you ask the guys inside?”
“They only have babies. They’re new parents.” Like him. Treading water as fast as he could and still choking. “You have an older boy.”
“A son I rarely see due to my work schedule.” He winced. “So again I say, I’m not the one to help.”
“Then your first piece of advice would be for me to spend time with him.”
“I guess it would.” He glanced over at his son, whose thumbs were flying over the buttons. “Gifts don’t make up for absence. Although don’t underestimate the power of a well-chosen video game.”
“Thank God we have the inside scoop with Troy’s latest inventions.” Maybe that’s who he needed to be talking to. Maybe Troy could invent a baby app. Elliot shoved a hand over his hair, realizing how ridiculous the thought sounded. He must be sleep-deprived. “I’m a little short on role models in the father department—other than you.”
Salvatore’s eyebrows went up at the unexpected compliment. “Um, uh, thank you,” he stuttered uncharacteristically.
“Advice then?”
“Don’t screw up.”
“That’s it?” Elliot barked. “Don’t screw up?”
“Fine, I’ll spell it out for you.” Salvatore smiled as if he’d been toying with him all along. Then the grin faded. “You’ve had to steal everything you’ve ever wanted i
n life. From food to cars to friends—to your freedom.”
“I’m past that.”
“Are you?” The savvy Interpol handler leaned against the centuries-old brick wall, an ivy trellis beside him. “It’s difficult for me to see beyond the boy you were when you arrived at my school as a teenager hell-bent on self-destructing.”
“Self-destructing?” he said defensively. “I’m not sure I follow.” He was all about winning.
“You stole that car on purpose to escape your father, and you feel guilty as hell for leaving Lucy Ann behind,” Salvatore said so damn perceptively he might as well have been listening in on Elliot’s recent conversations. “You expected to go to jail as punishment and since that didn’t happen, you’ve been trying to prove to the world just how bad you are. You pushed Lucy Ann away by getting engaged to Gianna.”
“When did you find time to get your psychology degree between being a headmaster and an Interpol handler?”
“There you go again, trying to prove what a smart-ass you are.”
Damn it. Didn’t it suck to realize how well he played to type? He took a steadying breath and focused.
“I’m trying to do the right thing by Lucy Ann now. I want to live up to my obligations.”
“The right thing.” The colonel scratched a hand over gray hair buzzed as short of Elliot’s. “What is that?”
“Provide for our son... Marry her... Damn it, colonel, clearly you think I’m tanking here. Is it fun watching me flounder?”
“If I tell you what to do, you won’t learn a thing. A mentor guides, steers. Think of it as a race,” he said with a nod—which Elliot knew from years in the man’s office meant this conversation was over. Colonel Salvatore fished out his phone and headed back to sit silently beside his son.
Elliot pinched the bridge of his nose and pivoted toward the iron gate that led to the back street. He needed to get his head on straight before the race. Hell, he needed to get his head back on straight, period. Because right now, he could have sworn he must be hallucinating.
Beyond the iron gate, he saw a curly-haired brunette who looked startlingly like his former fiancée. He narrowed his eyes, looking closer, shock knocking him back a step as Gianna crossed the street on the arm of a Brazilian Formula One champion.
For the Sake of Their Son Page 14