His Real Father (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Salonen, Debra

  Joe took the seat Jeremy had used when he’d come in earlier. “Tell me to leave and I will. Honest. I know as well as you do what a mistake this probably is, but…I want to be with you, Lisa. I have since the first moment I saw you at the airport.” He chuckled. “Hell, since the first day of seventh grade.”

  Lisa felt a bit woozy. Like she’d walked into a time warp or something. She’d made the wrong decision once before and it had come back to haunt her. Would this time be any different?

  “Just because we have a small window of opportunity doesn’t mean we should take it.” Although she wanted to. So badly she could almost taste it.

  “I agree,” he said solemnly. “This isn’t about getting lucky, although being with you—even just sitting here talking to you—makes me feel like the most fortunate of men. It’s about coming full circle.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do. You just don’t want to admit it.”

  “Admit what?”

  “That you’re my soul mate and I’ve spent the last seventeen years trying to outrun my destiny.”

  Lisa laughed. She had no choice. Because if he was serious then she might be tempted to believe him. And she didn’t dare do that. “Quit messing with my head, Joe, or you’ll be sleeping alone.”

  He didn’t smile. If anything, the gravity of the look in his eyes intensified. Then a moment later, his mouth pulled to one side and his dimple appeared. Lisa’s heart turned over.

  “Did you just ask me to spend the night with you?” he asked in a low, sexy whisper.

  Her cheeks grew so warm she almost picked up an ice cube to cool them down. “Um…yes.”

  He rose up on his forearms and leaned across the bar to pull her into a kiss. “Is it closing time yet?”

  Lisa shook her head. Now, this Joe she remembered all too well. Serious one minute, joking the next. Was she just a trifle disappointed that he didn’t push harder to find out how Lisa truly felt about him? Maybe. But another part of her was already planning ahead.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JOE ENTERED LISA’S ROOM SLOWLY, trying to see everything at once. He felt like a monk being allowed entrance to a holy shrine, although his body’s response to Lisa was anything but monk-like.

  “Nice,” he said smiling at the whimsical mix of color. Two walls were sunshine yellow, the other two salmon. The fluffy comforter was a swirling mix of the two shades against a white background. He fingered a sheer turquoise scarf draped over a lampshade with a beaded fringe. “I like the gypsy overtones.”

  She laughed. “My mother calls it a waste of glamour since I never entertain here.”

  As if regretting that revelation, she hurried to a bedside table and bent over to withdraw a small box of matches from its drawer. She used several to light half a dozen votive candles scattered around the room.

  When Joe moved to give her access to a chest-high dresser, he noticed the framed photograph resting atop it. The one Brandon had mentioned that first night after Joe had returned home, the same shot that was hanging in the bar.

  He picked it up. Three friends, mugging for the camera, on a perfect summer day. They’d spent the entire day at the lake, swimming and pigging out on junk food. Lisa sat between the two brothers.

  Joe studied his brother’s face. So familiar and, yet, a stranger. A fact that still hurt.

  Not now, he told himself. This is about Lisa and me, not Patrick.

  Lisa blew out the match she held and dropped it in a trash can, then took the photo from him and turned it face down. “No ghosts allowed,” she said, echoing his unspoken sentiment.

  Her hazel eyes seemed all-knowing. Could she read his mind? “These candles are special,” she said. “Good for exorcism.” Her tone told him she was joking.

  Joe shook his head and chuckled. “And I thought all the kooks were in southern California.”

  He pulled her into his arms. She threaded her fingers through his hair, studying it. “I like your hair long.”

  “Jen-Jen made me promise I’d come in and get it styled before the wedding.”

  She cocked her head and said in a low, sexy voice, “Then, I’d better make the most of tonight. I always fantasized about making love with a tortured artist.”

  Joe’s heart did a midair flip. He wanted her so badly he was half-afraid he might embarrass himself before he even opened the condoms they’d picked up at an all-night pharmacy. As if sensing his dilemma, Lisa slowed things down by stepping away. She turned off the overhead light then walked to a bookcase that held a small stereo and a compact television. She selected a CD and pushed a button.

  Joe recognized the singer. Norah Jones. He’d seen her perform at a cast party in L.A. a few years ago.

  Lisa turned to face him, then she reached up to remove the clip from her hair. “I probably smell like Joe’s Place,” she said, ruffling the locks with her fingers. “Do you want to shower fir—”

  He cut her off by closing the distance between them and kissing her. “You’re perfect,” he said. “Just the way I remember.”

  Her smile seemed tremulous. “The only time we were together was at night, Joe. And we’d been drinking.”

  “No,” he said firmly, lifting a lock of hair to his lips. “Patrick was drinking. I was completely sober, which made it all that much harder to live with my conscience.”

  When her lips turned down in a frown, he added, “But the only regret I have now is that I never told you how much that night meant to me. How much I loved you. And how beautiful you were.”

  She brought her hands up between them. “We can’t change the past, Joe. So, let’s leave it out of this room tonight. Okay?”

  Her request surprised him. He’d been about to suggest the idea himself, but hearing Lisa set parameters was something new. In high school, she’d been more of a follower than a leader. He liked this new Lisa. A lot.

  He bowed his head and kissed her temple, inhaling the scent of her skin. A subtle mix of soap and lotion blended with the smells of Joe’s Place. The combination was surprisingly powerful and made him want to lap her up.

  “I desire you more than you could possibly know,” he murmured running his hand down her back. He loved the supple flow and sweet curve of her hip.

  Her shape had changed since the last time they’d been together. But so had his. A tad more girth around his middle, but at least he’d sharpened a few muscles after his near-miss in December.

  “I like what you’ve done with your body, Joe,” Lisa said, running her hands up under his shirt.

  Joe felt a lightness rush through his body. An energy that quickened his breath and gave him the strength to bend down and gather her up in his arms. She tensed in surprise then laughed. “What are you doing?”

  “Something I’ve wanted to do ever since you dragged me to that revival of Gone With the Wind.”

  In three steps, he reached the bed where he gently placed her. She cooperated fully with just a hint of shyness as he removed her clothing. The candlelight gave the room a mellow, golden hue. Lisa’s body was womanly perfect, but there was something new. Something he’d not seen before.

  He ran the tip of his finger across the thin silver scar just below her bikini line. “Cesarean?”

  She nodded.

  “Why didn’t I know that?”

  Her shoulders rose and fell. “You didn’t ask?”

  Guilt stabbed him and he must have winced visibly because she let out a low “Oh…” and put her hands on either side of his face. “I love this scar, Joe. It reminds me of Brandon, who is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  He pressed his lips to the scar, spreading slow, purposeful kisses along the entire length. “Thank you,” he said, looking up through misty eyes. “Thank you for giving us Brandon.”

  He watched the tears form in her eyes but she dashed them away and smiled. “No one ever said that to me.”

  “I’m notoriously late, remember?” he said, drawing her hand to his li
ps.

  “You sent flowers.”

  He didn’t remember that. In fact, all he remembered from the nine months following his brother’s death was burying himself in his work.

  She turned on her side. Drawing him closer, she brushed back his hair and kissed his forehead. “You were the only one. Maureen brought a big basket of baby clothes and my mother bought a car seat. Your dad gave him a football,” she said with a smile. “I was just so relieved because everyone seemed so happy to welcome my son into the world, but you’re the only one who sent something to me.”

  Joe gathered her into his arms. “Oh, sweetheart, I hate to admit this, but we’re being honest, right?”

  She pulled back slightly, her eyes wide.

  “The flowers weren’t from me. Maybe mom sent them and put my name on them. I don’t know.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I was a self-centered jerk at the time. But I’ve improved over the years. Can you forgive me?”

  She took a deep breath. “Your brother never would have admitted that.” When she looked at him, Joe knew that the slate had been wiped clean.

  He covered her hand with his and said, “Do you know what the doctor said when he looked at the ultrasound of my chest?”

  She shook her head.

  “He said, ‘This isn’t Joe’s heart, it belongs to Lisa.’”

  He watched her lips quiver as she tried to hold in her laughter. When he winked, she couldn’t control herself any longer. “That is the sappiest thing I’ve heard. How can you make jokes at a time like this?”

  When her giggles died down, he moved closer and took her face in his hands. “You know me, Leese. You know that’s what I do when things get too serious. I hide behind humor.

  “But, in complete and utter honesty, I want more than anything to make love with you tonight. Can we do that?”

  She hesitated for a fraction of a second then said, “Do you see all these candles, Joe? I’ve had them around for ages. If you look closely, you’ll see that each one says ‘Save for Joe.’ So, I guess that means…”

  Joe let out a whoop and flattened her body beneath him. “Jokes. How can you make jokes at a time like this?” He kissed her until the laughter turned to passion. Until the humor that had always been a part of their relationship gave way to the desire they’d only allowed to surface once before.

  LISA STARED AT THE CEILING and listened to the sound of Joe sleeping. He didn’t snore, but his breathing was deeper than hers. It invaded her space. And she loved it. She loved him.

  She had no regrets about last night. They’d played and laughed and burned up in each other’s heat. He was a kind and thoughtful lover. And he was still here.

  After the second time they’d made love, Lisa had expected him to get dressed and walk home, but he’d snuggled next to her and let out a long, relaxed sigh. “You don’t mind if I stay, do you?” he’d asked.

  She’d been too overcome with emotion to speak. He’d apparently taken her silence as an okay. As he’d drifted off, she’d wept. Not because she was sad, but because she needed to. The men she loved left. Her father. Patrick. Even Joe, although she couldn’t blame him since she’d never asked him to stay.

  Would he stick around if she asked now? His business, his home, his life was in Los Angeles. And hers was here for the next five years, at least. What would that mean to their relationship? And what exactly was their relationship going to be? Good friends who had sex? The separated parents of a college student who communicated regularly but didn’t live together?

  She didn’t know because they hadn’t spoken of the future.

  She turned on her side and studied Joe’s face. He liked to sleep on his stomach, apparently. No pillow. His left arm was thrown overhead, his right still touched Lisa’s upper thigh.

  Did I ever stop loving him? The answer was no. Although there had been many times when she wanted to hate him. Like when she was struggling to pay the bills and his mother would relate some story of Joe’s high-profile lifestyle. She’d stomp around and kick innocent pieces of furniture until she stopped feeling sorry for herself.

  Joe made a snuffling sound and flopped to his back, his arm covering his eyes to keep out the thin, silvery light of dawn. Through the open windows, Lisa could hear the pesky bird that had built a nest in the ornamental pear tree. “Who-wee,” it said, over and over.

  She wondered what “who-wee” meant in bird.

  With the sheet bunched between them, Lisa had an opportunity to study his torso. Her fingers hovered over a small, raised scar the shape of a half moon just above his heart. She couldn’t imagine what had caused it, but as she tentatively touched the mark, it occurred to her that they’d both fought their battles alone.

  But what about the future? She wished she were the kind of person who could leave the worry about tomorrow to someone else, but that wasn’t her nature.

  “You’re frowning,” Joe said, peeking out from under his arm. “I wish you wouldn’t do that when my penis is in view.”

  She chuckled and reached down to touch said body part. “Would it make you feel better if I told you your body is significantly more endowed than your brother’s?”

  His left brow rose. “Yes, but I don’t believe you. I probably saw Patrick naked as often as you did. We even had pissing contests. He always beat me.”

  Lisa squeezed him in a way that made his body jerk in response. “I’d forgotten how competitive you two were. Unless Patrick needed your help to clean up some fix he’d gotten in.”

  “Maybe. A couple of times.”

  “Oh, pooh,” she said, running her hand up his belly. “Patrick had a big mouth. He was always on somebody’s bad side.”

  Joe rose up on one elbow and fluffed his pillow so he could sit up against the headboard. “We’re talking Patrick. Does that mean the rule against bringing in the past is lifted?”

  Lisa flopped back and focused on the ceiling. They’d have to talk about this stuff some time, right? She looked around for her T-shirt, but stopped. Why cover up now?

  “Last night was amazing. Truly. But, it’s not something we can repeat.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you live four hundred-plus miles away. Because my son thinks you’re his uncle, and the idea of his mother and his uncle fooling around would probably freak him out.”

  “But what if we tell him I’m his father?”

  Lisa swallowed. “I’ve been thinking about that Joe and I’m not sure we should.”

  “What?”

  “Well, I mean, how can we know for sure if you are or you aren’t? You and Patrick were twins. You share the same DNA, right? And we’re assuming that Patrick was sterile, but you haven’t had any other children, either. Have you?”

  He punched his pillow as if it had wronged him, but when he looked at Lisa he appeared composed, “No.”

  Drawing a breath for courage, she said, “Well, why put Brandon through the emotional trauma—especially considering his proclivity for drinking and his whole teenage angst thing—if you’re just going to go back to L.A. and resume your normal life? Do you see what I mean?”

  “I get your point,” Joe said, his voice icy. “But I don’t agree with it.”

  Lisa tried to keep her disappointment from showing, but he touched her cheek and said, “I’m tired of lying about my life, Leese. I’m thirty-five years old. In my twenties, I was on the fast track to fame and fortune, but that track ran out. I’m back to doing what I started, making little movies about issues that grab me. I don’t have to live in L.A. to do that.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair in a manner she found totally endearing. “I’m thinking about moving home, Lisa. Permanently.”

  She was too shocked to speak. “But you had a reviewer call you the next Orson Welles.”

  His chuckle sounded bitter. “The trouble with listening to what people say about you is you start to believe it. When it became clear that I wasn’t the genius Orson Welles was, I tried to make up for it b
y strengthening my connections. Which is where Paulette came in.”

  Lisa lifted her head to look at him. “That sounds too cold and calculated to be you.”

  “Things like that happen all the time in Hollywood. Ours was a mutually beneficial alliance, at first. I still had enough name recognition to make the red-carpet interviews. But then my fifth movie got canned.”

  “Panned? Like by reviewers?”

  “Nope. Never made it that far. It’s still sitting on a shelf in some Hollywood vault.”

  “Why?”

  He let out a sigh. “It was a black comedy about a group of bumbling terrorists who accidentally set off World War III. Unfortunately, its scheduled release date fell two weeks after 9/11.”

  “Oh. Oh!”

  Joe shook his head and quickly added, “I’m not complaining. Really. I lost a friend that day. My first roommate in college was on the plane that hit the Pentagon. He’d been in Washington the week before testifying about inner-city business opportunities for minorities. He was the kind of guy who made a difference in the world. Gone. Just like that.”

  Lisa slid her leg across his and squeezed closer. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. I couldn’t argue about the movie, but I’d been counting on the profits to fund two other projects I had in the works. Then my dad died, and I sort of quit returning calls.”

  “Sounds like depression.”

  He nodded. “Probably was. Only I’m a Kelly. We don’t do depression or addictions or anything that requires some kind of inner reflection or, God forbid, therapy.”

  His tone held irony…and raw pain. Lisa nuzzled her nose against the skimpy triangle of chest hair between his pecs. “I’m not a licensed therapist, but I do have a minor in psychology.”

  “And carpentry,” he said, tweaking her ear.

  “There you go. First, I rip down your defenses then build healthy, healing structures in place of them.”

  He chuckled and covered her hand with his. “You’re good. I feel better already. Perky, even.”