by Trish Morey
The doctor looked confused. “I thought you said you got married.”
Laurel shifted in her seat in front of the desk. “Yes, in Vegas. But it’s already over. I served my husband with separation papers this morning.” Ignoring the other woman’s startled expression, Laurel thought about her mother betrayed and left loveless. About her father murdered in the prime of his life. “But we don’t always get quite what we thought we wanted in life, do we?”
At least her father had left her the beach house. She still had that. Suddenly Laurel had an overwhelming need to be surrounded by the solace of the huge house.
As always, Captain’s Watch, the great old house on the beach, stood unchanged.
Built in the late eighteen hundreds when the great families of the area had discovered the beach, it had stood for more than a century watching the ebb and flow of the tides.
Opening the heavy weathered wooden shutters to let in the May sun, Laurel felt a surge of renewed pleasure as she looked out onto the strip of beach where she had spent so many hours first as a child, and later as a teen with her dates and friends. Her hand rested on her stomach.
“You’ll have that too, my sweetie, I promise.”
The great house and the acreage around it were hers. Her father had known how much she loved it here. Leaving the window, she made for the large hand-hewn timber table where the family had eaten countless meals and played board games on rainy days. In the center of the bleached wood lay the List—and the letter from her father.
Laurel knew she no longer needed the Get a Life list. She had a life. A life with a job, a family, and soon a baby, too. But she couldn’t bring herself to throw the List away. Laurel poured the last bit of sparkling mineral water into her glass, and took a sip. The List had changed her life—or rather, it had caused her to re-evaluate what she wanted from life. She had grown, undertaken experiences—the word adventures reminded her too painfully of Rakin—and found a deeper understanding of who she was. She would never regret that.
Her gaze fell onto the empty water bottle.
Then she picked up the List. She read through it one last time. Only item No. 10, Find My father’s murderer, remained incomplete.
And No. 4. But the idea of eating ice cream in bed seemed suddenly childish.
For now.
Maybe Nikki Thomas would have better luck than she in getting leads that would result in Jack Sinclair’s arrest. She folded the card on which she’d scrawled the List in half, then in half again. Her left hand reached for the water bottle and closed around the smooth, cool glass. Laurel pressed the folded card into the narrow mouth of the bottle. It dropped into the belly with a plop. She let out a sigh.
The List had done its job.
Drawing out the letter that had been opened, read and refolded so many times that it had the soft texture of crumpled tissue paper, she unfolded it and took in the words that her father had written.
My dearest Laurel,
If you are reading this, I am no longer with you.
But Captain’s Watch is forever yours. For days your excitement before we arrived each summer at Captain’s Watch would vibrate around the family, infecting everyone. You once told your mother that was because, even though the beach house never changed, no day was ever the same, that time spent at Captain’s Watch was a summer-long adventure.
In the beach house there is a photo of you celebrating one such adventure. You are kneeling beside a sandcastle decorated with shells. I remember you persevering all day long after the other children had given up and moved on to other games. You stayed out there until, as the day was drawing to a close, I came to find you.
The sandcastle was finished and you were gazing at it with a look of such contentment on your face that I knew the time had been well spent. The following morning, you rushed out as soon as you awoke only to find that the tide had washed it away. You never cried. Instead you started building again, but this time you moved above the tide line.
I leave you Captain’s Watch in the hope that it will bring you many more adventures through the course of your life. I know that your kind heart will open the doors to all the family who may want to join you at the beach each summer.
Happy family vacations always.
With my love,
Dad
Through the blur of tears, Laurel traced the flourish of her father’s signature across the page with her fingertip.
The discovery that he had another family, other children, had been devastating to all of them—particularly to her mother.
But Rakin wasn’t like her father in that way. He didn’t already have another woman… or another child. To the contrary he’d told her he’d never wanted any children—or a wife.
Nothing changed the fact that he didn’t love her.
But he needed to know that they’d created a child together. For the first time Laurel felt an inkling of empathy with Angela Sinclair. Angela had done the right thing. Laurel knew Jack’s mother had tried to contact Reginald once, many years ago, to tell him she was pregnant—and failed in her quest.
The tears that had blurred Laurel’s vision spilled over and tickled her cheeks as they trailed down. Holding the letter in her hand, she cupped her still-flat belly. Unlike Reginald, Rakin would have every chance to be part of her baby’s early life.
Laurel could not even begin to think of how painful it must’ve been for her father to discover a decade later that Angela had borne him a son. A son who had grown into a bitter, brooding man, hating their father enough to one day kill him.
If only Jack could’ve known that his father had loved him enough to leave him forty-five percent in The Kincaid Group, Reginald’s life work.
Perhaps if Jack had known that, it might have been enough to turn his hatred to hope.
But they would never know….
With gentle fingers Laurel folded the letter from her father and then placed it back into her purse. When she was finished, she reached for her cell phone.
After marshaling her thoughts, preparing what she was going to say to Rakin when he answered, she was almost disappointed when it diverted to his voice mail message. After a moment’s hesitation, she killed the line.
She couldn’t leave a message. This was something she needed to tell him herself.
In an hour she would call again—and if she couldn’t reach him, then she’d just have to book a flight and go back to Diyafa.
Rakin needed to know they were going to have a baby.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE sea sucked at her toes.
Laurel watched as the swirl of water disappeared when the tide sucked out again. The bottle with the Get a Life List bobbed on the surface about twenty yards out.
She knew she was procrastinating. Ever since putting the phone down earlier, butterflies had fluttered in her stomach. She’d been finding excuses not to call Rakin again. Coward!
This time she would leave a message for him to call her back. And if he didn’t call back, she wouldn’t leave it there, she would call again.
And again.
Until he knew.
Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t see the next wavelet until it washed over her feet. She yelped. The high tide was about to turn—and she didn’t want to get the jeans she wore wet. Another wave came rushing in.
She backed up in a hurry—right into a hard body.
An apology ready on her lips, Laurel spun around.
Then froze when she saw who stood there.
Rakin.
“I called you just over an hour ago,” she said, disbelief filling her. Had she conjured him up like a genie?
“I saw I’d missed a call from you—it must’ve come through not long after I landed. But I figured I’d show up instead of calling back.”
“What are you doing here?”
His face darkened. “You can ask me that? After you arranged a legal separation?”
He must have flown from Diyafa the instant the papers were served. He
r heart soared—that could only be good. Then crashed. Rakin didn’t love her. There was nothing to hope for. He probably wanted to sign the paperwork off as quickly as possible. “There doesn’t seem to be any point—”
“How can you renege on our marriage?”
The set of his face was frighteningly remote. A chill swept her. He looked more distant than he’d ever been. What would it take to reach him? Certainly not the news of her pregnancy.
“Rakin—”
“Nothing has changed. You knew the ground rules.”
“It was temporary… that has not changed.” But hope flared within her.
A dark eyebrow shot up. “Did I ever agree to end our marriage? Did you bother to ask before you took off while I was sleeping?”
Rakin was annoyed because she hadn’t asked? The flicker of hope went out.
She loved him, and she couldn’t carry on pretending that this was nothing more than a convenient arrangement.
She wanted more.
Much more.
“You don’t need me anymore,” she said. “You’ve gotten what you married me for—your inheritance. You even got it early.”
Rakin gazed down into the pale face of the woman before him.
A shaft of afternoon sun fell across her skin, suffusing the fine creamy texture with a golden glow. Yet her eyes were dark and wary. A gust of breeze from the sea fingered strands of her dark red hair, spreading them across her cheek. Rakin reached forward to stroke the recalcitrant strands off her face, but she ducked away from his touch.
He dropped his hand to his side.
“You ran away.” He had not expected the numbing emptiness that followed Laurel’s departure. Suddenly the threats of disenfranchisement that his grandfather had been holding over his head for years hadn’t seemed so important.
“I didn’t run. I walked. One step at a time.”
“You told my grandmother that you had a family emergency.”
“A lie—I didn’t want to tell her the truth: that I could no longer stay. Nor did I want to cost you your future by telling her the truth.”
A cold fist gripped his heart. He wasn’t reaching her. He was going to lose her.?…
Where was his warm, loving, sexy wife? Terror filled him. Was this how his mother had felt about his father? Was it this fear of life without him that had driven her to stay with a spouse who didn’t love her?
Unrequited love was Rakin’s idea of hell. He’d sworn never to repeat his mother’s mistakes.
But living without Laurel would be infinitely worse.?…
He tried a business bribe. “You’re going to have to come back to Diyafa. Ben Al-Sahr has a brother with another proposition for you.”
Laurel shook her head. “No, I’m not. Matt can handle it. I’m going to stay here.”
The terror doubled. She’d never refused an opportunity to benefit The Kincaid Group. She wasn’t coming back to Diyafa. Ever.
The hollowness of the future faced him.
Unbidden, the legend of the laurel came back to him. Daphne had fled from Apollo, and when the sun god had caught up with her, embraced her, she’d turned into an inanimate laurel tree rather than stay with him.
It gave Rakin a terrible sense of déjà vu.
He had no taste for the hollow victory that lay in a laurel wreath. The time had come to throw everything into it… re-negotiate with whatever it took to get her back.
Drawing a deep breath, he played his ace. “We can try for a baby if that’s what you want.”
The shock in her eyes was unfeigned. “A baby? Of all the things in the world, why suggest that now?”
Her further withdrawal caused him confusion—panic even. He’d been so certain she wanted a child. Shaking his head to clear it, he said, “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Laurel didn’t respond.
His panic and confusion grew. The reason she’d left was because he’d told her he’d never planned to have children, wasn’t it? He’d been deeply shaken to find her gone. Devastated. But he would never tell her that. Exposing his heart in such a way was a risk he would never take.
Nevertheless he murmured huskily, “I’d like to father your child.”
Instead of opening her arms to him, Laurel wrapped them across her chest and stared at him with accusing eyes. “This is a temporary marriage—based on sex and business. That’s what you said. Remember?”
“I said many foolish things.” He reached forward and stroked her arm, the satin skin soft beneath his touch. How he longed to touch the other, even softer places he’d discovered. “Men do that when they are afraid.”
“What were you afraid of?”
Rakin dropped his hand.
Dear Allah… what did she want? Blood? His blood?
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.” She glanced away. Sunlight slanted off the sea, and Rakin caught the reflection of silvery tears in her eyes.
“Please don’t cry.” Reaching clumsily for her, he hesitated, then stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead.
“I’m not crying.” But tears spilled onto her cheeks as she turned back to face him, refuting her words. “At least, not really. Not sad tears. If you know what I mean.”
No, she’d lost him. Rakin wondered whether he’d ever understand her. “Then why are you crying?”
She blinked, her eyelashes fluttering. “I’m relieved—thankful. I thought you didn’t want children.”
He’d never had much to do with children, and it was true he’d never wanted any of his own.
“Aren’t you going to ask why I called you?”
Rakin wanted to hold her close, not worry about questions to which he didn’t know the answers. But she was holding her breath, waiting for his reply. He sensed his response was important to her. “What were you calling to tell me?”
“That I’m pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” Rakin felt the blood drain from his face.
She nodded, her eyes wide and expectant. What did she expect him to say? That he was thrilled?
Of course she did. Hadn’t he just told her he’d like to give her a child? Hadn’t she just told him of her fear that he didn’t want children? Rakin closed his eyes, and tipped his head back. Trapped. In a noose of his own making. He swallowed and found his throat was thick. Now came the moment of truth.
“Rakin, are you all right?”
“I’m sorry.” He opened his eyes. “It’s a shock.”
Her expression changed, became drawn. “You’re not pleased. You didn’t mean that about having a baby, did you? Not really.”
She turned away from him, her shoulders slumping as she walked away with the tired gait of an old woman.
The pain of it made him call out, “Laurel, wait.”
She froze, her shoulders drawn tight.
Coming up fast behind her, Rakin slid his arms around her, linking his hands below her breasts, over her belly where his child lay. Gently, ever so gently, he tugged her around to face him.
“Laurel…” The words dried up.
He stared at her. Frustrated. Hurting. Exposed.
Her shoulders sagged.
How could he say what she wanted to hear when the sentiments were nothing but lies? He wasn’t pleased about the baby. Not now. Not before they’d sorted their own relationship out. He didn’t want her choosing to stay married to him because of the baby.
He wanted her to stay because—
Because he loved her.
This was like a terrible echo from the past. His mother had adored his father, but all his father had wanted had been an heir. History was repeating itself. Except this time, in a reversal of roles, he was the one who loved—and Laurel was the party who wanted a child. He loved her. It was unwelcome. It hurt like hell. He didn’t need this.
All he could think was that, like his mother, he was not loved.
Pain tightened his chest.
He tore his gaze from her face. Rakin didn’t even notice the
wave that splashed around his feet, soaking his expensive sneakers as he stared blindly out to sea. The sunlight danced across the water glittering like diamonds. This must be how the sun god had felt pursuing Daphne after Cupid had wreaked his havoc. Unrequited love. His worst nightmare had come true.
Of course, in one of life’s great ironies, his grandparents were going to be delighted.
Laurel was pregnant. He would have an heir. A successor for the business empire he was amassing would be assured.
Yet there was no joy. No stunning delight. Only endless dread.
He would be married to a woman who did not love him. Tied forever to Laurel with the strong, silken bonds of a child. Inescapable. He might has well have been imprisoned in the shape of a tree.
He couldn’t let her go either.
Yet he knew he would never have the happiness he’d glimpsed too briefly in Dahab, the days and nights of pure joy. There would be duty and unfulfilled desire… and that would have to be enough.
He was trapped.
In’shallah. This was to be his fate.
Laurel didn’t know what was wrong.
She only knew that Rakin had retreated. He’d been brooding ever since they’d come in from the beach half an hour ago. He’d given the interior of the beach house a cursory glance before heading for the comfortable leather chair her father had always occupied in front of the glass doors that looked over the beach.
At first she’d given him time to adjust to the revelation of her pregnancy. From her vantage point on the couch, where she was pretending to page through magazines, she kept sending him little sideways glances, but his mood had not relented.
He was thinking too much. It could not be good.
She’d known he would not be pleased about the baby given the sentiments he’d expressed back in Diyafa. But after he’d offered to give her a baby, she’d felt a lift of hope.
But his reaction had confounded her.
Was he hurting?
Laurel had had enough. She was hurting, too.
“Do you intend never to talk to me again?”
“What?” He gave her a blank look.
“Do you realize that’s the first thing you’ve said to me since we came inside the house?”