A glance at the clock told him he still had more than an hour before Stephanie was due home, and thus more than an hour before he had to even think about taking leave from his sexy little general.
His lips curved in the low lamplight as he stared at the ceiling, one arm settled comfortably around her shoulders, her face nestled against his chest. Her sweet-smelling hair mingled with his on the pillow, and her breath puffed lightly over the hair on his chest, ruffling it and heating his skin in a soft rhythm.
This was good. So good. He didn’t remember feeling this good—well, ever. There was something about this unbent former celebrity CEO, this metaphysically curious and brave and sensible woman that drew him.
And it didn’t really have anything to do with her perfect ass. Though that sure helped—that and the fascinating personality combination of sexy and sassy with organized and thoughtful: all of which made her the most interesting and satisfying partner he’d ever had.
It’s awful soon to be thinking in absolutes, Zyler.
I’ve never thought in absolutes before. Maybe there’s a reason why I am now.
Plus, she smelled so damn good. He could bury his face in her hair all day long and it would never get old.
She stirred next to him and sat up, propping on one bent arm. “Much better this time.”
His brows lifted. “I don’t know—you were yelling pretty loud both times.”
She shoved him lightly in the shoulder, laughing. “I meant waking up—instead of being yanked from bliss into teenaged chaos.” She slid from the bed with a bounce of breast and a flash of heart-shaped ass. “Are you hungry? I’m starving.”
“Oh, I could eat.” His eyes traveled over her slowly and he waited, unmoving, until she caught his meaning.
“Could you?” She grinned back just as slowly. “Well, come and get it, scout.” She ducked just out of his reach and bounded into the bathroom, where she quickly flipped on the shower.
He was right behind her, and moments later, they were plastered against each other, hot and wet and slick, sliding and stroking and moaning in the midst of steam from dual showerheads.
“I was hoping those two showerheads would make up for their extra cost someday,” she panted happily a few moments later, when they sagged into each other’s arms as the hot water pounded in tandem on both their backs.
“I think you’ve damn near killed me,” Declan said, gathering her close. “But what a way to die.”
She laughed and pulled reluctantly away from nibbling on his wet shoulder. “Now I really am hungry.”
She dug some food out of the fridge as he sat at the island and watched, feeling awfully homey and comfortable. Then his eyes fell on the calendar with yesterday’s date marked with a G and a heart, and he remembered all the questions he’d wanted to ask but hadn’t.
“So,” he said, trying to figure out how to broach the subject tactfully. “Yesterday was a hard day for you.”
Leslie glanced at him as she slid onto a chair at the big slab table. “Have a seat. It’s more comfortable here.”
She had put out cold pizza (from yesterday?), some lemon and blueberry scones from Orbra’s, cut-up apples, some white cheese, and a small bowl of cashews. It looked delicious to him.
“Of course you’d want to know about that.” Her eyes were serious. “It’s normal, given…well…” Her lips moved in a gentle smile and the corners of her eyes crinkled.
“I’m mostly curious about the father—for obvious reasons,” Declan said. “I mean, is he in the picture at all? Because—well, I’m getting pretty attached to you, Leslie, and I’m not the type of guy who plays around. Or who is played around on. You know?” He reached for her hand and covered it with his. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone long term, and I’m pretty sure I’m moving in that direction with you.” More quickly than he thought he should admit.
She squeezed his hand and then released him. “The father was Gideon Nath—you met his step-grandmother Iva, I think, at the tea shop this morning. The one with rosy red cheeks and snow-white hair? Not the obnoxious one with the cane.”
“Oh, good.” He picked up a piece of apple and examined it. “So, Gideon Nath. Is that what the G is for on the calendar hanging in your kitchen?”
“The G— Oh, no. No, no. The G is for Gwendolyn, the name I had picked out for the baby.”
“And so Gideon Nath is no longer in the picture…? Even though you…um…” He lifted his brows and waited.
“Even though he was the father of the baby, no, he’s not in the picture at all. He never really was. We were friends from college, dated a few times, but nothing serious. We stayed in touch afterward—his grandfather’s firm did estate planning for me—and Gideon and I… Well, we were each too busy to date. But we often needed an escort to business functions.” She shrugged. “So we were each other’s plus-one when we needed to be. It was all a very casual friends-with-benefits arrangement with no attachments…and then I ended up pregnant. Completely unplanned for both of us, and pretty much a devastating blow for him too.”
“A devastating blow? That he was going to be a father?” A few months ago, Declan might have felt the same way, but he’d come to look at things a lot more differently since Stephanie had come into his life. He sneered mentally at Gideon Nath’s idiocy. The man was probably a real tool.
“He was devastated not so much because he was going to become a father, but because it was with me. What I mean is,” Leslie said quickly, for she must have sensed Declan’s growing dislike of the knobhead H. Gideon Nath III, “he’d met someone. Someone he really fell for—and they belonged together. He wanted to be with her and not me.”
“And you were okay with that? You didn’t feel…” He wasn’t sure how to say it without making her sound weak—and his Leslie wasn’t weak. But he wanted to know if he was competing with the memory of a failed relationship. Or if Leslie held a torch for the guy who’d gotten her knocked up, or if she’d been hurt beyond the miscarriage, by the man who’d got her pregnant in the first place.
“No, I didn’t feel sad or betrayed or even hurt. I really didn’t. Gideon is a great guy—when he removes the stick from up his butt, which Fiona—that’s her name—does very well. And I’ll admit, I was lost and shocked and confused when I found out I was expecting a baby. It was in the middle of the prep leading up to the public offering, and my life was—well, it was insane. I could hardly keep my head above water; I was working seventy hours a week, and I was pregnant. Fortunately,” she said, looking at him with dark blue eyes limned with worry and grief, “at least I knew I would have the resources to raise the baby as a single parent. Maybe not as much time as I might have wanted, but the resources to make sure she was raised with everything she needed.”
“And so what happened when you told Gideon? Was he already married to Fiona?”
“No. They weren’t married or even engaged—but it was obvious the way things were headed. They were so perfect together—he would unbend and smile and even joke. And if you knew Gideon, you’d know what a big deal that was. Fiona was kind of goofy and all about New Age things—she and Iva get along really well.” Leslie’s eyes seemed far away, and Declan took the opportunity to snag a few cashews to build up his energy again.
Shagging a woman three times in one day—in, oh, less than six hours—took a lot out of a guy.
“So when I told Gideon,” Leslie said, reaching for a piece of apple, “he immediately insisted we get married. Even though we weren’t at all committed to each other, or in a relationship, he insisted the right thing to do was to get married.”
“Oh boy.” Declan paused as those words sank in and he realized… That could have been me.
So true. He would have insisted he and Cara get married—because what else did you do at eighteen with an unexpected pregnancy? Or, apparently, even at thirty-something.
He felt a little queasy thinking about it.
“Right. Even though he was in love w
ith Fiona. So he immediately dropped her and decided he should marry me. Just like the man I always knew: the almost priggish, always-do-the-correct-and-perfect-thing Gideon.”
“And you told him…?” Declan’s appetite was failing all of a sudden. It was like déjà vu for him…but not exactly.
“I told him no. At first. But then…well, he was insistent, and honestly—I was a hot mess. I held it together at work, I really did—no one knew, and I mean no one—but otherwise…hell, they probably would have put me on medication if I hadn’t been pregnant. No, not suicidal or clinically depressed or anything like that…just…confused, messed up, overtaxed, and being faced with two of the most important, life-altering things anyone could ever have happen to them—plus I was not only responsible for leading the entire company through the offering, and taking care of all of them, but I was also going to have a child. And so I said yes.”
Declan realized he was holding himself tensely, and that his belly was tight and starting to churn, so he forced himself to relax. Whatever had happened with Gideon and Leslie was over—and obviously, there was a happy ending for the Gideon and Fiona shippers. So why was he feeling all knotted up over this?
“So you got married.”
“We actually didn’t.” Leslie was playing with her napkin instead of looking at him…which made the warning bells begin to jangle deep in the back of his mind. “So this is where things get a little…murky.”
“Murky?”
Leslie was silent for a moment, making those jangling bells even louder inside his head. “I didn’t want to be the cause of breaking him and Fiona up—they belonged together. And I realized I didn’t want to marry a man I only really liked, but didn’t love. And I knew he’d be miserable. So I made a…let’s call it an executive decision.”
“An executive decision?” Declan was aware that he seemed to only be able to parrot her words, but there was nothing he could do about it.
“I told Gideon the baby wasn’t his. That way he was off the hook and could marry Fiona.”
“So…you lied to him?” Something red had begun to creep into the edge of his vision, but he managed to keep his voice calm and steady.
Leslie seemed to sense his unrest. “Not technically. I didn’t know for certain. I never did genetic testing before—before I miscarried. But the only other possible father was a—a one-night fling I had on a business trip.” To Declan’s surprise, she wasn’t avoiding his eyes. Nor, though she was subdued, did she seem ashamed or repentant for her decisions. Calm, deliberate, intense…but not apologetic.
“So you let Gideon off the hook, as you say, and planned to raise a child on your own that was his.”
“I didn’t really have a choice,” she said. “I didn’t want to marry him—”
“So don’t marry the guy. What’s he going to do, drag you to the church? If you said no, what was he going to do?” Declan was aware how tight and hard his voice had become, but he couldn’t help it.
This was…this was not what he’d wanted to hear. Not what he’d expected from Leslie. This sort of deceit. This high-handed chief executive officer ploy.
“Right. I know.” Her laugh was now—but too late—ashamed and abashed. “It wasn’t the best decision—”
“It definitely wasn’t.”
She looked at him quickly. The initial shock blazing there faded, and her eyes became remote and her expression turned reserved. “Well, I’ve apparently hit one of your hot buttons.”
“Uh…I’d say that’s probably a hot button for most men. Not being given the chance to raise or even know about their child? Being lied to so they can be manipulated into marrying someone else?” Declan was so angry, so upset, he was nearly blind with rage. He stood, his fingers curling into fists on top of the table. “I think it’s best if I leave now.”
“If that’s what you want.” Leslie stood, still the calm and cool executive. “I’m sorry to have upset you—”
“Yeah, well, so am I.” He let himself out without a backward glance, his body shaking with both sorrow and fury.
~ EIGHTEEN ~
* * *
Leslie didn’t sleep well that night, despite her earlier prediction that she would.
In fact, she and Rufus stayed up far too late, idly viewing some random Glee episodes, simply because Declan had mentioned he’d watched it with Stephanie and she’d never seen it before.
For some reason, the in-your-face high school show peppered with pop songs from the last four decades made Leslie feel like her life was slightly less messy. After all, she was no longer in high school and didn’t have to try and deal with figuring out who she was. She’d done that long ago, and let the chips fall where they may.
Apparently, Declan didn’t like the way the chips had fallen. That hurt Leslie far more than it had when she realized Gideon and she didn’t belong together; that even though he loved Fiona, he had to make a sacrifice and do the right thing—which was to marry Leslie and create a home for their child.
What a clusterfrak that would have been: the two strait-laced, driven, unbending and arrogant executives married to each other when neither of them wanted to be.
Too bad Declan couldn’t understand.
And too bad Gideon had been so bloody damned rigid and unbending that she’d had to make that executive decision.
Would she have made the same decision now?
Probably…not. Who knew?
What did it matter? It was done with—completely a non-issue.
Except where Declan was concerned. And the status of Leslie’s heart. Damn, she’d really started to fall for him—way early on, in fact, when he came practically barging into her house on a mission to protect his daughter from the child labor law violator.
Leslie laughed, but it hurt. Oh, her heart hurt.
Damn, I really screwed this up. And now she’d ruined everything—over something that happened more than a year ago, before Declan even came into her life.
It was late, and she was drowsing in front of the television on the sumptuous leather sectional, half watching, half sleeping.
Suddenly, her eyes bolted fully open.
The music. The ghost’s music.
It was here, in this room, for the first time ever. Much louder than ever before, encroaching on her private space, moving deeper into the house. What did this mean? Was Dorothy getting impatient? Had something happened?
Leslie was wide awake now, looking around the room wildly for the ghostly image. This was new. It had never come in here before. It was always—
She stopped and looked at the TV. And then she looked at Rufus, who hadn’t even stirred.
The music wasn’t filtering in from the front of the hall, or even from the ghost…it was coming from the TV, from the crew-cut character named Puck, who was playing a guitar and singing a ballad.
The hair on Leslie’s arms prickled, and her hands turned clammy. But it was the same music. She recognized it as the music that always filtered through the night whenever Dorothy’s ghost appeared.
But that music…it wasn’t from the 1920s.
No, this song was much more recent than that.
________
“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize the song right away. I mean, who doesn’t know ‘Waiting for a Girl Like You’?” Leslie said, uncaring that her voice carried.
She and Cherry were sitting at Trib’s for lunch. They were the only ones there, as he opened at eleven and they’d shown up minutes before.
“Seeing as I only have thirty-five minutes till my vinyasa class,” Cherry said when Trib opened the door to them at ten fifty-five, “I figured you wouldn’t mind letting us in a smidge early.”
“Whatever,” he said. Today his bow tie was carnation pink and he wore a charcoal-on-black striped shirt, charcoal suspenders, and excellently tailored black slacks. He looked like a million bucks—at least, as far as his attire went. His mood, however, seemed distracted instead of its normal cheery one. “Have a seat. Wherev
er you want. I assume you want your regular, Cherry?”
No sooner had he minced off to the kitchen in his Italian loafers with their order than Leslie launched into her news. “So that means,” she said at the end of the story, “the ghost can’t be Dorothy Duchene. I’ve been looking at it all wrong.”
She and Cherry glanced up as Trib brought them water (no ice for Cherry—“it’s better for the digestion”) and a plate containing three small puddles of…something.
“This is my blueberry pâté, my homemade pear marmalade, and cherry-mint preserves. I’m sampling them today,” he said, placing a tiny basket of rustic-looking crackers next to them. “Enjoy, ladies. I’ll be tied up for a few minutes in back with Aaron finalizing the catering numbers for the mega-reunion on Sunday—that’ll be the pâté’s official debut, in fact. I’m so excited. Incidentally, Luddy’s working on your order, and it should be out in plenty of time for you to get to your vinyasa class.” He gave them a slightly harried smile and rushed off to the back.
“I forgot he was doing the catering on Sunday,” Cherry said. “Maybe I will make an appearance at the reunion. At least the food’ll be good.”
“Who knows—maybe one of your old flames will show up and you’ll be able to forget about stalking the blacksmith in town.” Leslie managed to say the words lightly, but inside she felt the unpleasant lurch of her heart.
She didn’t really know what to do—if anything—to mend the rift with Declan. Maybe there wasn’t even enough there to try. After all, they really didn’t know each other that well. And she couldn’t change the past, as much as she might like to.
“The blacksmith is taken,” Cherry said, then looked at her sharply. “Isn’t he?”
Leslie frowned and, to her embarrassment, realized her eyes were burning as tears gathered there. “Not so much.”
“Oh dear.” Cherry reached across and patted her hand. “I’m sorry, Les. What happened? Want to talk about it? I promise not to make any jokes about too many irons in the fire or anything like that.”
The Gems of Vice and Greed (Contemporary Gothic Romance Book 3) Page 22