Getting It Right!

by Rhonda Nelson

  “My dad asked me to bring you by,” he told her. “The address is on the table if you want to see your father.”

  Then, though every instinct told him to wrap his arms around her to prevent her from shattering, Ben turned to leave. He knew his touch wouldn’t be accepted.

  Like her mother, he, too, was no longer welcome in her life. He walked outside and retched beside his car.

  APRIL WAITED for the door to close behind Ben, then the sob that had been trying to scramble up her throat for the past five minutes broke loose and she cried as though her heart was breaking.

  And it was.

  How could he have kept something like that from her? she thought, wounded far more than she would have thought possible. She snorted, shook her head. God, sometimes she was such a fool. Even Frankie had figured it out.

  And that certainly explained Rule Number Two, she thought with a bitter laugh. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to talk about their parents. Their fathers were lovers. Had always been lovers.

  It boggled the mind.

  April could always remember her father and Davy being good friends, but she’d never noted anything out of the ordinary between them. She knew that her parents’ marriage wasn’t the best—hell, no one could live with her mother. Naturally on the rare occasions she’d been able to visit a friend’s house, she’d noted the difference between other parents and her mother and dad. Other parents were generally affectionate and spoke to each other. Hers didn’t. Nevertheless, it had been her perception of normal and she’d never really considered anything beyond getting out of the house herself.

  She could see why her mother had stayed with her father—as she’d pointed out earlier, her mother was happiest in her misery. But what possible reason could he have had for staying with Morgana? It didn’t make any sense.

  April replayed the scene in her kitchen, and though she was angry and hurt at Ben for not telling her about Davy and her dad, she couldn’t help but feel her heart prick every time she thought about her mother telling him all those horrible things about his dad. Parasite? Whore? God, the woman was twisted. Bent. That was why he’d stopped seeing her, April realized. Not because of any statutory rape threat, but because her mother had made him ashamed. Her eyes watered. And he’d adored his father.

  Her heart broke for him.

  As an adult, surely to God he knew better, April thought. Her father had loved Davy, had wanted him close, had wanted to take care of him. There was nothing sinister in that. They’d merely wanted to be together and had worked out the best possible way.

  It still didn’t explain why her father wouldn’t confide in her, though. That hurt. When had she ever given him the impression that his happiness wasn’t important to her? That she wouldn’t love him unless he was heterosexual? She loved him no matter what. Hell, as long as he was with someone who treated him well, she didn’t care who he lived with. Quite frankly, she was thrilled that it was Davy. She’d always thought the world of Ben’s dad. She couldn’t have picked a better person for her father to love.

  April’s gaze drifted to the table where Ben’s note still lay. My dad asked me to bring you by sometime. The address is on the table if you want to see your father.

  She frowned. But she’d asked him if he was ever going to tell her and he’d said no. Why then would he take her—

  Oh.

  He could show her without telling her. That’s what he’d meant. April wanted to see the nobility in keeping her father’s secret—she truly did because that would give her a reason to forgive Ben—but knowing he’d kept it from her, she couldn’t get past the hurt that he’d been able to share her body and her bed, yet not tell her something like this.

  No matter how you sliced and diced it, it was wrong. Just plain wrong. Noble…but wrong.

  And she was tired of secrets, dammit. She picked up the address and committed it to memory. It was time she and her father had a talk.

  13

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER, after a quick shower and a pep talk, April was on her father’s doorstep. Strangely, she could have walked. He and Davy had made their home less than three blocks from her own.

  Looking a little grayer and more heavily wrinkled than when she’d last seen him, Davy answered the door. His surprise quickly morphed into delight and his eyes, ones she recognized all too well—they were remarkably like Ben’s—twinkled down at her. “You came,” he said approvingly, then looked over her shoulder, evidently looking for Ben.

  “Er…he’s not with me, I’m afraid.”

  Davy stilled and those shrewd eyes considered her. “Is something wrong?”

  “My mother paid me a visit this morning.”

  He inclined his head knowingly. “Oh.” Evidently that was explanation enough. “Oh, Lord. Look at me leaving you standing on the front porch! Come on in. I’ll let your dad know you’re here.”

  April nodded. “Thanks, Davy.”

  He paused. “For what it’s worth, child, I’ve tried to get him to tell you. I don’t know what he’s afraid of.”

  April swallowed as a lump of emotion formed in her throat. “Me either, Davy. I just want him to be happy, and I’m glad that he’s found that with you.”

  He smiled, seemed to wilt a little. “I’d hoped so.” He turned toward the back of the house and hollered down the hall. “Marcus, you’ve got a visitor in the parlor.”

  She heard footsteps. “A visitor?”

  The sound of her father’s voice made tears burn the backs of her lids and her stomach twisted into a Celtic knot. Three seconds later, her father appeared in the doorway. He saw her, stopped and blinked as though not quite sure she was real. “April.”

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Davy said with a warm smile and he quietly left the room.

  Her father darted her a questioning glance. “How did you—Who told you—”

  “Mother came to see me this morning. She thought Ben had spilled the beans.”

  Her father passed a hand over his face and sank onto the nearest chair. “He hadn’t, had he?”

  “No.”

  “Good,” her father said succinctly. “It wasn’t his place.”

  “No,” April said, struggling to suppress her irritation. “That would have been yours.”

  He had the grace to look sheepish. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “Why, Dad?” April asked, struggling to blink back tears. “Why did you think you couldn’t tell me? Did you believe I’d think less of you? That I wouldn’t love you? What? What possible reason could you have had not to tell me, especially after I saw you last summer?”

  Her father hung his head, scrubbed a weary hand over his face. “Honestly? I was afraid you’d take it the same way Ben did when he found out about Davy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s had nothing to do with him,” her father said. “Until this past week, he wouldn’t even talk to him unless he had to. Birthdays, holidays. It broke my heart watching Davy try over and over, never giving up.” He smiled sadly. “You see, everyone thinks he’s the weak one and yet I’m the one who lacks courage. I couldn’t stand the idea of you doing that to me, of rejecting me over and over. It—It’s just too hard.”

  April walked over, sat down next to her father and took his hand. “Daddy, I would never do that to you.” Furthermore, she knew why Ben had taken Davy’s secret hard, but evidently neither her father or Davy did. “And I think I can explain why Ben’s acted the way he has.”

  Her father arched a brow. “You can?”

  April related everything her mother had spewed out this morning, the whole sordid tale, not sugarcoating any of it. “She made him ashamed, Dad. He’s just now learning that there was nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “That vindictive bitch,” Davy said from the doorway, his usually smiling face ashen.

  April nodded. “I know.”

  Marcus and Davy shared a look. “Well, that certainly explains a lot,” her father sai
d.

  “Yes, it does,” Davy remarked thoughtfully. “I’ve lost ten years with my son because that manipulative harpy couldn’t accept that you were gay.”

  “Why did you stay with her?” April asked. “What reason could you have possibly had?”

  Marcus and Davy shared another look, then a sad smile shaped her father’s lips. “You, sweetheart. I stayed with her for you.”

  He couldn’t have shocked her more if he’d slapped her. “What?” April breathed.

  “I thought it would be best.”

  “Well, it wasn’t,” she said flatly, unwilling to spare his feelings.

  Her father released a regretful sigh. “Hindsight, sweetheart. I’m very sorry.”

  “No lasting harm done,” she said. Her mother might have made her wretched for the first eighteen years of her life, but April still had the remaining seventy-plus, she hoped.

  Her father gratefully accepted her grace and then frowned thoughtfully. “How did you find me?”

  “I gave Ben our address,” Davy said. He cast April an intrigued glance. “But I thought you weren’t due to arrive until six.”

  April blinked. “That’s right, but—Wait,” she said. “How did you know?”

  “I got a message from Ben this morning. He said the two of you would be coming by at six.”

  Her father’s eyes widened. “So that’s why you cancelled our dancing lessons, then? Your gout’s not acting up?”

  Davy grinned. “No. But my son needed me—for a change—and your daughter needs you. I really thought this nonsense had gone on long enough. See, Marcus,” Davy said, “I told you that you’d underestimated April.”

  Her dad smiled. “And we’ve both evidently underestimated my ex-wife’s ability to wound. I’m glad that things are improving with you and Ben.”

  Davy smiled and cast her a significant look. “Now it seems there’s only one relationship that needs to be repaired.” He quirked a brow. “You’ll be taking care of that, won’t you?”

  April hesitated, still hurt that Ben hadn’t shared this with her. She understood, but still couldn’t altogether forgive him.

  Davy frowned. “You know he was bringing you over here. Surely you can’t still be angry with him for not telling you. It wasn’t his place.”

  So she’d heard, April thought, struggling to make it all square up in her mind.

  “Let me ask you something,” Davy said instead. “If it had been the other way around, would you have told Ben about me?”

  April’s first inclination would have been to say yes, but within seconds of really considering the question, she knew that she wouldn’t have. As Ben had tried to do, she would have attempted to force Davy’s hand. No, he hadn’t told her, because he’d felt it was wrong. But he had planned to show her, to fix things, and that she decided was good enough.

  April exhaled a breath, felt her heart thaw out once more. “No, I wouldn’t have told him.”

  “Then fix it,” Davy told her. “Trust me, the longer you wait, the worse it is.”

  She nodded, then stood and gave both of them a hug in turn. “I love you, Daddy. Stop avoiding me,” she admonished.

  “I love you, too, angel,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He kissed her cheek. “And I promise to keep in touch.”

  “You should. We’re practically neighbors.”

  “I know. I, uh, wanted to be close to you.”

  “I fix breakfast every morning,” she said. “You have a standing invitation.”

  “Will my son be joining us?” Davy asked shrewdly.

  April considered him for a moment. “Actually,” she said slowly as a plan began to form, “I won’t be home tomorrow morning, but every morning beyond that should be good.”

  They both nodded, seemingly pleased.

  April left with a considerably lighter heart than what she’d arrived with. Thanks to Ben, she had her orgasm and her father back.

  He’d made her dreams come true. Now it was time to return the favor.

  14

  WELL, THANKS TO STUPID Rule Number Two, April had been ignoring his repeated attempts to get her to respond to Rule Number One. He’d hoped that after she’d had a chance to calm down, she’d at least want to meet him at six at his father’s house. But Ben had driven by a couple of times around the prescribed time and, when he hadn’t seen her car, he decided not to stop.

  A crappy thing to do to the father he’d just made amends with, but in all honesty, he hardly considered himself any kind of company. He’d been in a foul mood all day—a fact that Claudette had only been too happy to share with him.

  “I won’t tolerate this sort of abuse,” she said, when he hadn’t properly thanked her for fetching a batch of negatives—ironically, the very ones that had contained those candids of April he’d shot earlier in the week.

  Abuse? Ben had thought. He’d forgotten to thank her—discourteous, yes. But abuse? Hell, it’s not like he’d backhanded her.

  He scowled. That temptation had been reserved for April’s mother. Ben’s fists involuntarily clenched, remembering the hurt that woman had single-handedly inflicted over the years…. He didn’t think he’d ever hated anyone more.

  To be fair, he’d like to blame her for this most recent disaster, but this time, he had to take the blame himself. He should have just told April, dammit. In light of what he’d lost, trumping Marcus would have been worth it.

  Anything would have been worth it.

  “I’m leaving now,” Claudette announced from the doorway.

  She used to ask if he needed anything first, he thought sourly. Evidently that nicety had vanished with the “new” her. “Have a good weekend,” Ben said all the same.

  “You, too.” She paused, shot him a concerned look. “Can I get anything for you before I go?” she asked.

  Ben felt a tired smile catch the corner of his mouth. Ah, he thought, a glimpse of the old Claudette. Evidently she was learning to blend the two. “No, but thanks for offering.”

  “You’re welcome. Well,” she said briskly. “I’m off to a meeting.” She turned and started for the door.

  Remembering April’s rebuke regarding his secretary, Ben looked up. “Wait, Claudette.”

  She paused, glanced over her shoulder.

  “When’s your birthday?”

  She smiled softly. “January twenty-first.”

  Ben nodded, jotted it down. “Just asking,” he told her. “Er…what sort of meeting are you going to?”

  Her smile widened. “I would have thought April would have told you.”

  He blinked. “April?”

  “I joined Chicks In Charge last week,” Claudette told him. “That’s one helluva girl you’ve got there, Ben. Don’t screw it up.”

  And with that grave advice ringing in his ears, his secretary turned and walked away. Shocked, Ben sat there and laughed. He had seen her wink at April, dammit. And when he’d complained about something “getting into” his help, she’d known exactly what that something was. Her girl-power group. Evidently he hadn’t been the only one keeping secrets, though admittedly, his was the greater sin.

  Oh, screw it, Ben thought after a few hopelessly unproductive moments. He wasn’t going to get any more work done tonight. He could just as easily be morose and miserable at home. He tidied his desk, gathered the negatives of April and headed home.

  He needed to get a dog, he decided as he let himself into his empty house. It would be nice to have the companionship, the unfailing love and devotion, someone who’d be happy to see him when he walked through the door.

  Anything was better than the silence, the sound of his own thoughts.

  He poured a scotch, sank into a chair and channel surfed until he found a ball game. He wasn’t much of a sports enthusiast, but he’d heard that this was what men did when they had absolutely nothing else to do.

  He didn’t know how long he sat there before he dozed off, but the sound of a knock at his back door jolted him awake. He blinked gro
ggily, attempting to pull his thoughts together. The knock sounded again.

  Ben passed a hand over his face and tiredly made his way to the back of the house. He opened the door…

  And got the shock of his life.

  April stood at the threshold. Like his dream come to life, clad in a sheer white gown—with nothing on underneath—she smiled tentatively, took his hand and started leading him through the house.

  “What—”

  She turned and pressed a finger against his lips, silencing him. She said nothing, just tugged him onward, a vision in moon glow. His dream seductress. She unerringly led him upstairs to his bedroom, whirled him around and backed him toward the four-poster until his knees hit the bed, forcing him to sit down.

  She bent and tugged off his shoes, then his pants—in light of Rule Number Three, underwear wasn’t a problem—followed by his shirt and tie. She took her time while she undressed him, smoothing her hands over each inch of flesh she exposed, growling her appreciation low in her throat, nonsensical sounds of approval that instantly pushed his dick to attention.

  Oh, sweet hell, Ben thought, watching her. It was one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen.

  Her seducing him.

  She pushed him farther up on the bed, backing him up so that she could scale his body. She left the gown on—a gift in a pretty package—and the fabric was smooth and cool against his skin. His breath stuttered out of his lungs as the first touch of her lips branded his belly. She licked her way up, listening to his own telling sounds. A quick inhalation, a throaty growl. She nipped lightly at his nipple, played at the other with the tip of her nail and unexpected pleasure bolted through him.

  She smiled against him, the she-devil, thoroughly enjoying making his fantasy come to life. Every move was calculated and sexy and meant to bring him joy. Now that was a novel experience, to say the least. Women had always been more interested in what he could do for them, than the other way around.