Secrets Of The Heart (Book 1, The Heart Series)

by Laurie LeClair

  A stabbing pain speared Bree’s chest; she knew he spoke the truth. She chuckled. It came out raw and strangled. “You can say that again. We’ve used others as a buffer, haven’t we?”

  “Yeah. Too much, it seems. Do you realize that for everything we’ve gone through in the last five and a half years we barely know each other?”

  “I think I did that on purpose.” She bit her bottom lip, afraid she’d revealed too much.

  He turned to her. She felt the heat of his stare on her profile. Silently, she sensed he questioned her. Refusing to meet his gaze, she waited for him to speak.

  “I did, too,” his deep voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “I’ve read all the manuals, taken all the required courses while on the force, but when it comes to reality it’s a different ball game all together.”

  She smiled, warmed by his insight, his willingness to form a healthy, happy marriage. Hope blossomed. “We’ve got Sydney’s welfare in common, that should help some. It’s a beginning.”

  “We have more than that in common. We both grew up as only children and lost our parents before we were twenty. Mine to a car accident, yours to illness.”

  “You were lucky to have Nana.” She couldn’t stop the wistfulness in her voice.

  “Yeah. She was a character, though.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head. “All these years I’d always thought I took care of her, but, after losing her, I’ve discovered she was the one keeping me together.”

  Something sharp pierced Bree. Empathy. Without thinking, she shifted, her knee pressing against his thigh.

  Reaching out, she placed her hand on his lower arm. Heat warmed her and the soft hairs on his arm tickled her palm. A current buzzed between them, making her highly aware of the intimate situation. “You helped each other in more ways than you realize, Nick.”

  Silvery light bathed his unreadable face. Somehow, in the ensuing silence, Bree understood the wealth of emotions that shafted through him, the well of grief and the healing power of love. She sensed an intangible bond forged them together.

  “Thank you.” His soft, vibrant voice slipped into her heart, into her soul. He lifted her hand from his arm, and then gently fitted it between his two palms, intertwining fingers.

  The innocent clasp, and his stroking thumb, caused a sharp ache, a deep longing behind her rib cage. One half of her wished to yank her hand away from his fiery brand. But, the other half, the half that hungered for so much more, stilled her, accepting this tiny bit of heaven.

  “There’s more that links us than separates us,” Bree said, trying to hold onto that ethereal cord. He squeezed her hand, in agreement, she hoped. The warmth seeped into the tiny cracked crevices of her center. “I never could find a way to thank you for all you did for me when I carried Sydney. You had this uncanny knack for calling me late at night right when I needed someone to talk to, to ward off the fears.”

  “Do you think I’d let you go through that alone?”

  “Oh, I know you said you felt you should since Vinnie worked the graveyard shift, but, for whatever reason, you did it, I was grateful. And for all the times you and Nana just happened to be in the neighborhood and drop in on the evenings when Vinnie had a class, I can’t tell you how much that meant to me.” She stopped, embarrassed at her candor, at what she’d revealed.

  A strained silence followed until he broke it. “I was ashamed of my son for not living up to his duties. I thought I taught him better.” She knew how much that admission had cost him.

  “Oh, Nick, don’t blame yourself for that. In some ways, he was like you, but not in the ways that counted, at least to me. He grew scared. Instead of being at my side he dealt with it the only way he knew how, by distancing himself.”

  “Like Dorthea,” Nick said, with a hint of stunned wonder as if he’d only just realized that fact.

  “Not everyone lines up their priorities like you do. You put family first, you always have and you always will. That’s one of the things I admire most about you. That’s something we both share. I know, as much as it hurt me, that’s why you wanted custody of Sydney; she’s all the family you have left.”

  Nick stiffened his back. His guilt antenna went on alert. She gave him more credit than he deserved, more than he would ever accept. Not when I betrayed my own flesh and blood by kissing her.

  “You’re wrong, you know.” He felt her drawing away at his harsh tone, but held fast to her soft, tiny hand. He wanted license to touch more than her delicate hand. But he knew this wasn’t the time or place to take such liberties. There was a still a wall between them. “I’m not that noble, so don’t make me out to be or you’ll be very disappointed.”

  She sighed, the rush of warm air caressing his face. “It’s all that good old-fashioned Catholic guilt eating away at you. Don’t be so tough on yourself.”

  He snorted. “It’s not just habit. It’s what I’ve earned.”

  “Your penitence? Is everything beyond forgiveness, according to your rigid rules and regulations?” Disgust colored her voice.

  “It’s what I believe.”

  “It’s what you’ve been force-fed for years,” she countered, irritating him. “I’m surprised at you, Nick, I’d heard you lost faith when Vinnie died. If you really had you wouldn’t be living by the church’s code of ethics any longer.”

  “Damn it, Bree!” He sucked in a ragged breath. Dropping her hand, he broke their fragile connection. He clenched his hands into fists, warring against the truth of her words. “Maybe it’s my code of honor. Did you ever think of that?”

  “And there’s no room for misdeeds, are there?” She sounded close to tears.

  “Not in my book,” he bit out, knowing how unreasonable it sounded, yet sticking to his creed.

  “You’re thinking everyone has to be this ultra-perfect, super person. We’re not robots, Nick. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone deserves absolution.” She faced forward again, hugging her legs.

  A wave of regret assaulted him at the total loss of contact and at the usual nasty end to their conversations. “You wouldn’t say that if you had to deal with some of the criminals I’ve met.”

  He ached to feel the same as Bree. He admired her bottomless reservoir of forgiveness, her unshakable belief in people, in God. He failed to find the same sterling qualities in himself anymore, ones he once held dear. That hurt, nagging his conscience. He’d lost everything when he’d lost Vinnie, including himself.

  “There are reasons why people do what they do. They may not be rational or even understandable justifications even to me, but I allow room for that difference of opinion.”

  “Excuses, you mean.” He paused, heaving a sigh, trying to dislodge the ever present weight on his soul. He despised the hard, cynical edge he’d adopted when his son died. “Lord, I hate liars.” His faith in people had been sorely tested over the years. Doubts shadowed Nick, making him question the goodness, the honesty of others.

  “Liars?” Her voice sounded empty.

  He frowned. “You know, people who hide the truth.”

  “Maybe you can get them to add lying to the seven deadly sins, bringing the number to eight.”

  Her sarcasm cut deep. “It’s got nothing to do with religion. I can’t count the times I’ve had someone lie to my face. Lying is the one thing I will never tolerate.” Hadn’t he lived with a barrel full of lies with Dorthea?

  “Even if it’s for a good cause?”

  “No motive holds water against honesty.”

  She turned to him abruptly, taking him by surprise. In the dim light he watched her shadowed eyes shift back and forth, clearly trying to find a crack in his armor. Something in the way she searched signaled his suspicions. His gut churned, bile rising to his throat. He nearly choked on the bitterness.

  “I’m warning you now. Don’t ever lie to me, Bree.”

  She stilled, letting the pulsing silence blanket him. “Who made you judge and jury? Tell me? Is being a cop so damn important t
hat you see things only as right and wrong? What about compassion for others, for yourself?”

  “I don’t deserve it.”

  “God, Nick, haven’t you ever done something you’ve regretted, something you couldn’t take back, but wish to hell you could? And in order to be able to look in the mirror every morning you’ve had to forgive yourself just so you could go on living?”

  Something inside Nick fragmented into a thousand little pieces like shards of splintered glass. How could she know the demons he fought? “I can never grant myself mercy for what I did.”

  “What could you have done that’s so bad? What could be so awful?” Her puzzled tone tore at him, jabbing at his loyalty, his honor.

  He gave her one from a list of many, the one that would end this painful interrogation. “Kissing my son’s wife.”

  Her shocked gasp rent the air. She moaned as if in pain. The sound tore him in two. “If you haven’t been able to pardon yourself, then I have no chance, do I?”

  Nick dragged a hand through his hair. “Not likely,” he said in resignation, hating himself in the process and wondering when he’d become so heartless, so damned hurtful to Bree.

  “I thought that by marrying me…you could at least put it behind you.” Her voice throbbed with agony, ripping him apart even more. “I guess I was wrong.”

  Nick’s thoughts whirled, crashing together. He had to find a way to salvage what little potential remained in repairing what he’d nearly destroyed. “We may never mend the past.”

  “We won’t as long as you hold onto those uncompromising ideals you refuse to examine.”

  Her barb stung. Drawing strength from his desire to have a family once again, Nick continued, “If we can find a way to bury our ancient history, then maybe we can go on to have a pretty good future together.”

  “Just because you bury something doesn’t mean it dies, Nick. You and I both know that; haven’t we tried to do that with our forbidden kiss? It just festers and becomes infected. If we had talked it out when it happened maybe we wouldn’t be in the position we’re in now.”

  “Married?”

  “Guilt ridden.”

  “Well, we can’t change the past, can we?” He took a slow, deep breath, and then released it. Nick dismissed her attempts to hash out their terrible mistake. It was over and done with, the threatening repercussions gone along with Vinnie. “I’ll be the first one to admit we’ve made this huge leap from antagonists to husband and wife. It’s a little daunting to expect to switch gears so fast. Maybe we should look at this time at the cabin as an adjustment period.”

  “A sort of transition?”

  “Consider it a start to lay down a foundation of friendship.”

  “Friendship…” She’d ended the word on a questioning lilt. “But you’re the one that forced the issue of a real marriage with the prenuptial agreement. Are you taking it back now?”

  He gritted his teeth, trying to stem the raw edge of his desire for her. He’d waited years to make love to her. What would a few more days matter? What he said next screamed against his body’s needs. “We should get to know each other better first. I’m asking for a delay, that’s all.”

  “A delay.”

  “You sound like a damn parrot. Don’t you have anything worthwhile to say?”

  “Well, excuse me for not being so damned articulate!” She rose swiftly. Towering over him, she bit out, “If you didn’t want to make love to me, Nick, then all you had to do is come right out and say so, not beat around the bush.” She marched into the cabin. The loud click of the door shut him out once again.

  He groaned. If she only knew just how much he wanted her, he thought, it would scare her just as much as it did him.

  ***

  Bree stirred awake. Peeking under her lashes, she found herself alone in the king-size bed. Weak beams of predawn gray light penetrated the cracks in the twin shuttered windows, illuminating the shadows in the large, masculine master bedroom.

  The curved indentation in the snowy-white pillowcase beside her told her Nick had finally sought rest sometime last night, without waking her, without consummating their marriage.

  A flash of sadness shafted through her chest. And an ache grew, deep and strong. Bree sucked in a shaky breath. The sharp painful catch caused a knife-like stab to puncture her throat.

  Moisture gathered in her eyes, making her vision swim in disjointed, blurred shapes.

  Will I ever have a husband who wants me on my wedding night?

  Chapter 8

  Sighing, Bree grabbed Nick’s pillow to her, burying her face in the plush spongy softness and inhaling his special scent.

  Anguish, low and deep, tugged at her, painfully reminding her how badly she wanted a real husband, one who loved her. In spite of her allegation, Bree sensed he wanted her. She may have little experience with men; she’d only been intimate with one, but she did detect desire in Nick.

  The gentleness of his kiss yesterday still surprised her. Gentle wasn’t a word she’d ever associated with Nick, not in conjunction with her at least. He’d sampled her lips, and then gauged her response before he carried on.

  There was tenderness in him, and compassion, only he refused to acknowledge that aspect of himself. Why would he hide that? Why would he deny that vital part of himself? Did he see it as a weakness?

  He suffered unduly, heaping mountains of accusations on his doorstep when in fact nothing of the sort rang true.

  She’d thought the closeness they’d shared last night would pave the way for a frank discussion on his son, therefore releasing Nick from his prison of guilt. But, he’d obstinately held onto his strong, unwavering stance on the entire matter, creating a wider rift between him and her.

  And Bree realized now, the more she revealed about her life, the greater jeopardy she placed Sydney in.

  Something I won’t fall prey to any time in the near future, she vowed, filling with steely conviction.

  Her past tainted her first marriage. She wouldn’t allow it to destroy her second. Hadn’t Nick made it perfectly clear he hated liars? She’d keep her secret barricaded behind a very high, unbreachable stone wall with Nick on the other side.

  But, she refused to disregard how Nick stirred a need in her, one that hinted at affection, caring, passion and so much more.

  She marveled at that untapped side of herself, the emotional neediness. No other man had approached that level of fulfillment, not even hinting at the wondrous delights a mere hug could evoke. No other man could give her the refuge she sought.

  Bree planned to seek haven in Nick’s arms. Hopefully, by doing so, he’d also find solace, and then grant himself some clemency for the whole host of crimes he swore he’d committed.

  With a growing sense of rightness, determination sprouted. She’d give Nick her body, quenching this deep-seated craving to be cherished by him, releasing him from his self-imposed torment, but she’d never relinquish her precious, fragile secret.

  That she’d guard with her life. And Sydney’s.

  ***

  Bree must have dozed off; the next thing she knew brilliant sunshine, like greedy fingers, clawed through the slats. The mouthwatering aroma of frying bacon, percolating coffee, and something else drifted to her. “Blueberries,” she identified the third distinct scent. She groaned in appreciation.

  Tossing off the covers, Bree rose hurriedly. Barefoot, and only wearing Nick’s UCONN sweatshirt, she padded across the highly polished wood floor, down the narrow hallway, and then the stairway. She ran her fingers through her hair, straightening it as she went.

  Rubbing the last of sleep out of her eyes, she rounded the corner to the large living room. Part of her wished to prolong her next meeting with Nick, wondering at the reception she’d get, and the other part stood in admiration. She loved this room.

  The comfortable red sofa and chairs invited guests to sit and relax. The many artifacts surrounding the large stone fireplace on matching floor-to-ceiling, built-in natural w
ood shelves spoke of Nick’s love of the Native American culture.

  His house in Connecticut held Nana’s touch. But here, in his log cabin, Nick’s personality, his passion, beamed bright and strong.

  She let her gaze sweep over the space, capturing the essence of the man she’d married. Tradition, heritage, family, loyalty, all screamed in unison. When she focused on the delicate sculpture of a mother cradling her infant, tenderness forged a path to Bree’s center.

  That elusive quality in Nick presented itself on rare occasions. Or maybe he purposely kept his compassion under wraps, she guessed. But it was there, an integral, endearing component to the man. One he claimed he didn’t possess.

  He lied.

  His deep voice intruded on her reverie, jolting her heart rate. He sang a familiar tune.

  Bree walked softly to the kitchen, and then leaned a shoulder against the arched entryway. Sydney, dressed in a pink T-shirt and denim overalls, stood on a chair and lent her voice to the song. Her little girl assisted Nick in cooking breakfast. Bree’s heart swelled at the touching scene.

  He wore faded jeans that hugged his bottom and a form-fitting black T-shirt. She halted the impulse to walk to him, wrap her arms around his middle, and then press her face against his solid back.

  When the last note drifted away, Bree clapped, gaining their attention. “You guys are great together. Just as good as Dino, in fact. Maybe you should go on the road with your act.”

  Sydney giggled. “And I can dance and put on a great big show. You can come, too, Mommy.” She jumped down and ran to Bree, hugging her, and then scooted to the table to pull a chair out for her mother.

  Nick’s long, lingering perusal caused heat to enter her cheeks. Unmistakable male appreciation produced a zing tingling through her blood.

  “The Singing Carlettis. How does that sound?” Nick asked, trying, with difficulty, to drag his thoughts back to the conversation. He could barely form the two sentences after seeing Bree standing there in nothing but his sweatshirt.