by Dani Wade
Now Willow looked up, pinning him with that green gaze. “Really?” she whispered.
Tate nodded, reaching out to finger several strands of her fiery hair. Not only did he want to touch her, but it felt weird to say this stuff without touching her. “Thank you for being here.”
Somehow Tate knew the look that they shared said way more than either of them was ready to voice. “I—” He swallowed, unsure how to put these exact feelings into words. “I—”
She cut him off. “Me, too.”
He knew she was getting his message, but he had to finish.
“You’re incredible. And I don’t really know what to do with this, but I don’t want it to end.” Not his most suave speech, but Tate wasn’t a very suave kind of guy. Written words were much more his forte than spoken. But at least he was honest.
As his reward, she leaned forward and pressed her lips tightly against his for a few seconds.
“Is that a yes?” he asked after she pulled back.
She grinned. “You bet.”
“See,” he said. “I knew we had something to celebrate.”
Suddenly Willow gasped. He barely had time to raise a brow before she was up and running back into the house.
He couldn’t help but call out, “Did you change your mind already?”
Fourteen
Willow rushed around the kitchen, anxious to get everything ready before Tate came inside to find out why she was acting so weird. After as little time as possible, she headed back to the deck with a small tray at a much slower pace.
Tate stood to one side of the table, staring at the sky. How long had it been since he’d watched the sun set over the ocean out here? From the tight set of his shoulders, he wasn’t necessarily enjoying it, and he kept back from the edge of the deck, but he was here. That was a step in the right direction. An important step in taking his life back from the shadows.
Willow hoped her surprise would be a positive step, too. “Happy Birthday, Tate.”
As he turned, she looked into his eyes, then watched as his gaze dropped to the miniature cake she was carrying.
He didn’t move for so long she started to panic inside. Was he angry that she’d acknowledged the birthday he hadn’t celebrated in years? Then suddenly he strode toward her, took the tray and set it aside.
Just when she thought he would recant everything he’d said earlier, he cupped her face and kissed her. Unlike earlier, this kiss was slow and very, very hot.
All too soon, Tate drew back and barely whispered, “I just might love you.”
Willow didn’t respond, couldn’t for the fear and excitement rushing through her, but she smiled before brushing her lips back across his. She wasn’t ready to say it out loud, but this was enough, for now.
“Time for cake,” she finally said.
To his chagrin, she made him go through the whole blowing-out-the-candle thing. No mention was made by either of them of a wish. Willow didn’t want to push Tate too far. She made a silent one for him instead, in hopes he could find the happiness he deserved.
He did seem to enjoy it as they cut through the checkerboard exterior to the cake layered with chocolate ganache below. Afterward they cleared the dishes from the deck together and left it in darkness.
Willow made quick work of loading the dishwasher, anticipation sparkling in her veins. Tate only exacerbated the situation. He touched her every time he passed close until her skin grew tight, her body wet with need.
Just as she finished, he picked up the stack of clean trays and stored them back under the island, knocking her purse off the counter in the process. He bent over to pick it up.
Willow didn’t realize anything was wrong until he stood and asked, “What the hell is this?”
He was holding the little white box from the pharmacy.
His voice turned hard, accusing. “You told me you took the pill.”
Willow’s heart pounded. Her stomach twisted so hard she thought she might be sick. “I did.” She could barely get her voice above a whisper. “I just—I haven’t felt right.”
Tate stared at the box with what Willow could only describe as horror. For a moment, she swore he swayed. She immediately reached for him, but at the last minute he backed away and straightened. Willow wasn’t sure if he was bracing himself or deliberately pulling out of her reach.
Based on his behavior since she’d met him, she assumed a bit of both. Tate had spent a lifetime alone. Isolation seemed to be his defense of choice. After the evening they’d just had, the fact that he would pull away hurt more than she wanted him to see.
But she couldn’t change him.
Willow found herself frozen, unsure of what to do. Then Tate blinked, visibly trying to get a hold of himself. “I don’t understand,” he murmured. “You said you took the pill.”
She could accept his saying it once, but repeating himself... “Are you accusing me of lying?” she demanded.
“No,” he said, drawing out the word. “I just don’t understand.”
She opened her mouth to tell him to get a clue, but then closed it again. “Is it that you don’t understand, or that you don’t want to understand?”
For the first time, he really looked at her. “What?”
Yep. Sometimes it was hard to face reality. “So I’m guessing I’m not the only one who glossed over the failure-rate information in the literature.”
“I guess not.”
He was too calm, speaking in a completely detached, logical tone. That was probably not a good sign, but Willow could see the first beads of sweat against his temples. He might just be human after all. Somehow it felt good to have someone else sweating over this issue, instead of just her.
“Let’s do it.”
Wait. What? She frowned at him as she said, “I don’t understand.”
Tate held up the box and shook it. “We need to take this.”
“Don’t you mean I need to take it?” she pointed out.
“Are we going to argue about semantics or pee on the dang stick?”
Oh, she could argue all night long if it meant not taking that test. “Do you really want to know?” she asked.
“The truth is there, whether we know it or not.” This time his gaze was much steadier, but she had to wonder if he was hiding more extreme emotions. She knew she was.
Fear. Anger. Sadness.
“Come on.” There was resolve in his voice. Clearly he wasn’t shying away from the action required.
He headed down the hall, and for a moment she couldn’t get her feet to follow. Part of her could have stood in the kitchen forever, rather than take the test. Finally she managed to reach the stairs just as he made it to the top. Then she trailed him into her room.
She was glad they were doing it there. For some reason, she needed the comfort of the familiar right now. And frankly his suite held too many memories for her to handle on top of this situation.
To her dismay, Tate walked straight through to the bathroom. Willow paused to take a deep breath. She needed to take control of this situation—ASAP. Otherwise Tate would think he had the only vote...and she’d find herself at his complete and total mercy.
She stopped short behind him as he stared at the box on the counter. “Out,” she said.
Tate glanced up, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “But—”
“Out.”
He obeyed, but stopped only a few inches outside the doorway. She had to close the door carefully but firmly. She briefly wished to use the lock, but figured it wouldn’t stop him if he really wanted back inside.
At least he didn’t have to break it down five minutes later when she didn’t respond to his knocks. She simply couldn’t make herself move, even after he let himself in. She faced the counter, hands braced, eyes squeezed shut. He closed in until his heat bathed her back. His chest
brushed her as he leaned over her shoulder to look at the test on the counter.
“Okay, then.”
Willow opened her eyes to see him walking away. Her stomach dropped. Glancing down, she felt her world tilt.
* * *
Can’t sleep. Hot. Grumpy.
There was so much on Willow’s mind—the baby, her family, the ledger, Tate. She’d only taken the test last night and already the chaos was overwhelming. In an effort to try to make some sense of any of it, she looked back through the book to make sure her dates and impressions were correct.
Unfortunately, the answers weren’t waiting there on the parchment page.
What was she going to do? There was no mistaking the dates, or that this entry was somehow tied to the McLemore family. Circumstantial evidence, but the court of public opinion didn’t care about those niceties. Only, if she were to reveal this, instead of just diverting blame to a family that might not care, she would be destroying the reputation of the family her child would be a part of.
Her child. She laid her hand over her stomach. It was still kind of hard to comprehend.
No longer able to lie still, Willow headed out of her room. She’d kill for some coffee. Knowing that it wouldn’t taste right put her in a very bad mood.
The light in Tate’s office was on. She paused but heard no sound. Had he truly been working or simply avoiding her? Should she rush inside and demand to know what he was thinking or give him his space to process, like she was doing?
It was just too hard to guess.
She wished she was like Jasmine or Ivy. They dealt with high-powered men every day. What would they have done? Willow was more suited to recalcitrant boys or know-it-all freshmen. She had logical conversations that dealt with schedules and term papers and historical facts. Not power plays or emotional issues.
Tate was a whole different animal that she’d shown very little skill in handling. So she continued on her way, figuring it best if she didn’t poke the lion in its cage.
There was no point going to the kitchen. And she didn’t need to start breakfast for Tate for several hours yet. Would he even come down to eat, or wait until she’d moved on to something else so he didn’t have to confront her?
Antsy and anxious, she continued to the lower level. Maybe she’d start some laundry. Instead, she found herself stopping before the door to the underground cave. In the same way she’d seen Tate standing there the other night, she pressed her hand to the door, soaking in the sound of the waves. They sounded a little choppy right now with the storm arriving today. By midafternoon they’d be crashing against the shore outside, the sound drowned out by the torrential rain they were supposed to receive.
Which only served to remind her how hot she was right now. Without too much thought, she opened the door and walked through. The incredible sight drew her in. What had probably been a natural cave when Tate’s ancestors first arrived had been reshaped to great effect by human ingenuity. The ceiling was low but long, with a man-made stone and copper-orange tile arch marking the front of the pool. Flicking a nearby light switch, she stepped down hand-hewn stone steps into the cool, damp room.
The few working bulbs were just enough light to let her explore safely. The light shimmered over the lapping water. With each receding wave, she could see wide long steps leading down into a roughly rectangular pool. The far end was an open frame, offering glimpses of the sky beyond, which was still dark gray before the dawn.
Fascinated, she sat on the edge, dangling her legs in the water. It felt like her entire body cooled down a degree or two. Her muscles started to relax. This had felt like the hottest summer, but especially the past few weeks. Her brain gave a mental pause before she laughed.
She wondered if being overheated had anything to do with those pregnancy hormones at work again. She guessed the next time she went to town, she needed to buy a book, huh?
The water felt so good. She’d grown up with the beach and was a strong swimmer. It felt weird to have been near a beach so long this summer and not swum at all.
Without thinking, she stood and stripped to her bra and panties. The cool water sent chills over her as she waded into it. It felt so good. She loved to swim. She missed it.
Cautiously she waded a little deeper. The cave was so large that the water was already chest high about three-quarters of the way out. There Willow started to swim from one side to the other.
Not knowing what to expect, she didn’t risk getting too close to the opening to the ocean. The cave’s structure slowed the water down just enough to keep the waves gentle. Willow felt her stress melt away with this simple, cool exercise. Here in the gently lapping water she didn’t think about old feuds or tragedies or what to call these feelings for Tate—just about breathing, moving and the feel of the liquid chill against her skin.
Until a loud bang broke her concentration. Willow jerked upright to see Tate in the open doorway, fury on his face. She barely registered how angry he was before a cramp running down her side took her under. Her immediate panic wasn’t for the water closing over her head or for the doubled-up position that kept her from standing.
It was for the vicious pain that stole her breath and her peace of mind.
Then a hard grip pulled her above the surface. She quickly found herself pressed against a fully clothed male. Tate seemed to be yelling as he dragged her back to the pool’s edge.
Willow wasn’t sure. She was too busy struggling to process what had just happened—oh, and suck in air.
Only when Tate plopped her butt-first on the edge did she finally start to listen. By then, the pain had disappeared. Thank goodness.
“Why would you do this? You know how I feel about this place. So you decide to come swim in here alone and would have drowned if I hadn’t happened to walk by at that moment?” His loud voice echoed off the cave walls. Willow started to shiver.
“Why would you do this, Willow? What possessed you? I told you this place was off-limits.”
In that moment, Willow decided she’d had enough. Those last two words made her want to scream. Instead she clenched her teeth and ground out, “I don’t know, Tate. I guess for a moment I thought I might be more than just a hired employee. You know—a woman capable of making her own decisions for a change.”
“How did that work for you?” he asked, his face tight with anger. “Your foolishness could have killed our child.”
Fifteen
“Don’t I have any say in this?”
Tate knew he looked like a prison guard as he stood over her, legs locked, arms crossed over his chest. But he couldn’t seem to soften his position. “Don’t you want to know if everything is okay?”
“Is that why he’s here?” Her green gaze seemed to hold an accusation that he wasn’t quite catching.
“Yes, he’s a doctor.”
“Well, the last time you brought home a medical surprise, my well-being wasn’t what you had in mind.”
Light dawned. Man, they had some serious communication issues. Tate knew it. He should have talked to her instead of rushing to the phone to call Dr. D’Ambrosio. But the shock had him more than a little off-kilter.
About everything. While Willow spent the night sleeping—in her own room—Tate had spent it pacing his office while his brain ran through all of the possibilities. Life could be such a mess sometimes.
As much as Tate argued with himself that he’d vowed never to have children, the fact was, Willow was pregnant. Obviously fate had a completely different plan from his. The question was, what did they do now?
For Tate, this was completely foreign territory. But the only emotion absent in the gamut he’d run during the long night was any desire to end this now.
What that meant, he wasn’t sure. But he and Willow would figure it out together...if they could figure out how to have an actual conversation about it.
&nbs
p; First and foremost, he had to know she was safe.
He took a deep breath and deliberately softened his tone of voice. “Please let him check you and the—” Tate was almost afraid to say it aloud. A baby. The emotions rolling through him left his throat tight. “Please.”
Dr. D’Ambrosio smiled as if to reassure her. Tate had always liked the doctor. Even more so as he had softened with old age. His shock of white hair contrasted with deeply tanned skin that said he enjoyed being outdoors. He’d helped bring Tate and his brother into the world and tended to their sicknesses—and his brother’s death—since then. They saw each other rarely, but Tate was certainly glad he could call on him right now.
“Why don’t you just have a seat here,” Dr. D said, indicating a chair at the breakfast nook table, “and tell me what happened.”
Casting Tate another suspicious glance, Willow eased into the chair. She explained the barest of essentials about the past few weeks. The doctor glanced his way, and Tate confirmed with a nod. Yes, he was responsible. Tate found that knowledge scarier than anything he could dream up for his horror novels. Whatever happened here, he was responsible.
“And the dates?” Dr. D asked.
Had it really been four, no, five weeks?
The push and pull in his mind over Willow seemed to have gone on forever. He had made the decision to see where this could go, but as usual fate was prepared to goad him as far as absolutely possible.
The doctor took a seat in front of Willow, leaving Tate to observe.
“How are you feeling?” Dr. D’Ambrosio asked in a voice set to soothe.
“I’m not nauseated,” she said with a frown. “Is that a problem?”
“No,” he assured her. “I realize that’s the most common symptom, but some women never have it. Anything else?”
“I’m really tired and everything tastes weird.”
“Any cramps?”
“No. Not until I was in the water.”
“Let’s take a look at you.” Using his stethoscope, the doctor listened to her heart and lungs and stomach before he asked, “So you went swimming?”