Can't Forget Him

by West, Cara

  "At the time you blamed my father." Nate's mask was cracking. Megan heard a note of accusation. "You made me believe the divorce was his fault. Do you blame him for how you feel about men?"

  "Oh, Nate, it's not like that. I'm not anti-male. Neither is Betty. That misconception is part of the negative stereotype."

  Nate glanced Betty's way. "Betty certainly has a reason to distrust men. And you can't tell me you didn't resent my father's philandering."

  "I realize now the part I played. I wasn't fair to him—during the marriage or afterward."

  "How could you not realize... ?"

  Sandra gestured helplessly. "It's hard to explain. Especially for someone who grew up when I did. I had feelings I tried to ignore. Forbidden, disturbing feelings. I—I've spent most of my life hiding from myself. I've cut myself off from most of my emotions."

  "You cut yourself off from me," he said harshly. "Was it because I'm a man?"

  "Oh, no, Nate. I tell you, it's not like that at all. I have many male friends and colleagues."

  "Then why weren't we closer when I was growing up?" Nate asked.

  Megan suspected this was a question he'd waited a lifetime to ask.

  Sandra sighed. Her expression was sorrowful. "I regret that so much, Nate. I really do. It was because I felt inadequate as a woman and a mother. I didn't know how to relate to you the way Molly did. But I've always loved you. Just as I loved Warren in my own way."

  Nate looked her straight in the eye. "But not the same way you love Betty."

  "No. Not the same way." Sandra's gaze fell.

  "Do you want me to tell the rest?" Betty's voice was surprisingly strong, considering how distraught she'd been moments earlier.

  Shaking her head, Sandra smiled. "No, I can do it. Nate needs to hear it from me."

  Sandra faced her son, a new strength in her bearing. "When Betty came to live with me, we had no idea of the nature of our feelings. At the time I was only giving her a temporary place to stay. I felt protective of her, but I thought that was normal, considering what a bastard she was married to."

  "Sandra ..." Betty protested.

  "Well, he is," Sandra said. "After tonight, there's no point in denying it."

  Betty's expression was sad. "He wasn't always."

  "Maybe not with others, but certainly with you," Sandra turned back to Nate and Megan. "Betty's the classic battered wife, only Ken used emotional abuse until just before she left him. I called the Battered Women's Center when she first moved in. They gave me material to read so I'd understand what was happening. I wanted to be as much help to her as I could."

  Sandra paused and her expression grew pensive. "Then something seemed to happen between us. A bond began growing that neither of us understood. It was as frightening for Betty as it was for me. For months we denied what we felt for each other."

  Nate looked at Betty. "Don't you think you might have been influenced by your husband's cruelty?"

  "Actually—" Betty's face reflected her sadness "—I always felt deep down inside he had a right to feel cheated. Because I'd never been able to give him all he needed. And he sensed it from the beginning of our marriage. So you see," she said, "the dynamics between Ken and me are more complex than they appear on the surface."

  "He still bullied you," Sandra said. "And he continues to hurt you."

  "That's because I've let him scare me. I've been hiding from my children, but I can't do that anymore. Once I talk to them, he can't hurt me. Or you, either."

  Betty reached out for Sandra's hand and smiled tremulously. "I'm as protective of Sandra as she is of me. Sandra doesn't realize how vulnerable she is."

  Sandra laughed grimly. "I'd managed to develop a hide an inch thick. Fortunately or unfortunately I seem to have shed that hide along with the lies I've been living."

  She faced Nate again. "I apologize for all the ways I've hurt you in the past, I hope you can forgive me. I also hope you will accept the present. I love Betty and care for her, and I'm proud of that fact. As crazy as it may sound, for the first time in my life I feel I'm in an honest reciprocal relationship."

  "I can see you've changed," Nate admitted.

  "For the good, I hope."

  He didn't respond directly to her implied question. "I'm in no position to judge you, Mother. God knows, my life couldn't bear scrutiny. But I have to think this through. I'm sorry, but you've stunned me. There's no way else to say it. I'm stunned and confused."

  "I understand," Sandra said. "I was stunned, too, when I realized who I was underneath the layers of camouflage. Betty and I have had a while to come to grips with our relationship. You'll need time to do the same."

  Despite her measured words, Megan heard Sandra's longing.

  "I hope we can eventually establish a new rapport with each other," Sandra went on. "A rapport based on honesty and truth. But I'll understand if you can't see your way to do that."

  "I'll try. Mother. I honestly will. Right now, that's all I can promise."

  "That's all I can ask," Sandra responded quietly.

  "One thing..." His expression hardened.

  "What?"

  "I want to talk to my father. I realize it's your secret—"

  "Betty and I aren't keeping secrets any longer."

  Nate plowed on as if she hadn't spoken. "— and I respect that. But I feel I owe him something of an apology. All those years I hated him for his behavior, not knowing the reasons behind it. I've been so contemptuous of him... He deserves an explanation."

  Sandra's look didn't waver. "I owe him an apology, as well. When you speak to him, tell him how sorry I am for what happened. And how glad I've been to hear of his current happiness."

  Nate's expression softened. "I'll do that." He stood without his usual casual grace.

  Sandra looked exhausted and, for a moment, didn't rise. But Betty did and strode toward Nate with a martial air.

  "You listen to me," she said. "You'd better find a way to forgive your mother for the past. Because if you can't, you'll be the loser."

  Sandra gasped while Megan and Nate stared speechlessly at Betty.

  "And you might as well learn to accept the present," Betty added. "Because Megan's my manager, and together we're going places. And if you plan to hang around Megan, you'll see a lot of me. I don't intend to put up with any nonsense over Sandra. She's a very special woman. She's given me a new life. Not many people can say that about another person."

  "No, they can't," Nate said, still looking astounded at Betty's unexpected fire.

  "So you go home and talk to Megan. She'll help you think through this."

  "Yes, I'll do that. Mother—" Nate crossed to Sandra and offered his hand to help her up "—don't let Willard in this house again. He's dangerous."

  Sandra nodded vigorously. "After tonight I agree with you."

  Betty sighed. "Ken does seem to be losing control. Maybe after the divorce is final, he'll realize it's over and done with and give us some peace."

  "You can't count on that," Nate said. "You need protection. Promise me," he said sternly, "you'll call the police if he continues to harass you."

  Megan joined in. "Yes. Please do. Otherwise I'll worry."

  "The next time he follows either one of us, we'll go to the police," Sandra promised.

  Megan took her client's hand. "Betty, please let me know how it goes with your children. Don't try to do it alone. Take Sandra with you."

  "But they don't know Sandra," Betty said, immediately resistant.

  "It doesn't matter," Megan said. "You need her with you."

  Betty shook her head in protest. "I can't put Sandra through that."

  "Don't worry, Megan." Sandra returned to her role of protective tigress. "I won't let her go alone."

  "And, Mother..." Nate had one more thing to say.

  "Yes?"

  "Call me if Willard bothers you again. I want to stay informed."

  A look akin to relief washed over Sandra's face. "I'll do that."


  He leaned down to kiss her cheek lightly. "We'll be in touch."

  THEY DROVE OFF, and it took Megan a while to realize Nate was heading toward his residence in Westlake Hills. Good. She wanted to be with him when tonight's revelations began to sink in.

  When they pulled up in his driveway, the outside lighting revealed the grim smile he wore.

  "I keep bringing you here under less than auspicious circumstances," he said. "Last time was after the birthday-party debacle." He turned to fully face her. "I didn't ask if you'd mind coming home with me tonight."

  "I'd have slugged you if you had," she returned smartly. "I was already working on a way to convince you that you couldn't do without me."

  "I don't need to be convinced of that." He sounded somewhat rueful. Still, she saw his mouth relax into a real smile.

  This time when he led her into the house, he kept going until they arrived in his bedroom.

  "I need a swim," he announced, grabbing a towel and robe.

  "It's November," Megan said, nonplussed by his abruptness. She followed him out to the patio.

  "The water's heated.'' He began to strip.

  "I think I'll pass," she said, pulling her coat around her.

  "Suit yourself." By now he was naked.

  Without another word, he dived into the shimmering water and began to swim like a man possessed, doing laps over and over.

  Perched on a chair, Megan felt a wave of discouragement. As usual, Nate was facing a crisis alone, captured within the armor he'd fashioned over the course of thirty-nine years. She might as well be back at the gallery, they were so separated emotionally.

  Then she reminded herself that he could've taken her home and he'd chosen not to. He hadn't shut her out intentionally. Patience was what this situation called for. And patience she would have.

  She studied his movements as he stroked through the water. Underwater lights glanced off his skin, highlighting the play of his muscles. She'd never seen a man swim nude before. Especially a man as comfortable in the water as Nate.

  There was a primordial feel to the scene before her, even though it took place in the midst of twentieth century luxury. She was mesmerized by the beauty of his body in motion and the output of energy efficiently channeled.

  After a moment she realized she'd better use the night to cool down. Her thoughts were becoming distractingly sensual.

  Turning away from him deliberately, she settled back in the chair, willing to wait for him to exhaust his agitation. The air was chill, rather than cold, as it caressed her flushed face. Underneath the coat, she was dressed warmly in slacks and a turtleneck sweater. She decided she could stand the elements as long as he.

  The air had begun to penetrate her clothing when Nate finally hefted himself out of the pool. Faint swirls of steam drifted off his skin into the night. He quickly toweled himself dry and shrugged on his terry robe. Then, hauling her up from her perch, he led her indoors.

  "Feel any better now?'' she asked.

  "Well, I don't feel like punching something out if that's what you're asking. I don't know about you, but I could use a hot drink."

  She nodded and went to sit at the bar that divided the kitchen from the breakfast nook.

  While she watched, he prepared them two hot toddies with his customary economy of movement. She decided he'd have that ageless grace when he reached eighty-five. It was one of the reasons he would always seem youthful.

  He handed her a mug. She sampled it cautiously. The steaming liquid was heady as it slid down her throat.

  "Do you want to talk?" she asked.

  From the other side of the bar, he shook his head slightly. "I'm not sure what to say."

  "Start by telling me how you feel about what happened."

  "I've believed for a long time that sexual preference is as integral to a person as hair and eye color. But still..." He looked lost.

  "It's a shock,'' she prompted gently.

  "When it's a member of your own family." He stared at Megan bleakly. "I'm not feeling judgmental, or I don't think I am. I meant it when I said Mother's life was her own business." He paused as though searching for the words to say.

  "But I am angry," he admitted. Finally his face showed his emotion. His mask was gone. "I can't help myself, Megan." He shoved his fingers through his tangle of hair.

  "Why are you angry?''

  "Because of the lies." He hit the top of the bar hard. "It's the lies she used all those years to shield herself. I understand why now, but it tears me apart."

  Megan reached a hand across the bar to cover his fist. "You must know she feels terrible about what her deception's done to you."

  "Her feeling terrible doesn't change things. Don't you see? I've lived my life under a certain set of assumptions. I've assigned blame and responsibility."

  "I don't think laying blame does any good," she said.

  "Maybe so. But that's what happened when I fit the different parts of my life together. The design I created wasn't perfect, but I could make sense of it. Now the design has come apart, and I have all these pieces. I have to figure out where they fit all over again."

  "Maybe that'll be good for you. Obviously the old design lacked a few pieces."

  "Megan, it's not just the blame and it's not just the pieces. I have to rethink things about myself."

  "Such as?"

  He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. "I'm questioning my sexuality."

  That was the last thing she expected to hear. She couldn't help it. She started to giggle.

  At first, he looked insulted, and then he grinned. "Oh, I don't mean my sexual preferences. Maybe 'sexuality' is the wrong word. No wonder you laughed." He tweaked her nose playfully. "I know my preferences in bed, and you fit them exactly."

  Abruptly he went back to his earlier musing. "But I have to wonder... You see, I always thought I took after my father. He seemed incapable of being faithful to one woman, and so it made sense that I inherited the trait. Now I find out he had a real reason for his unfaithfulness."

  "So now you realize you weren't born to flit from woman to woman." She paused. "Maybe you were looking for something..."

  "... but I never could find it."

  "Haven't you found some of what you were looking for?" she asked tentatively.

  In an instant his face cleared of doubt. "Yes, of course, I've found it—in you."

  He came around the bar and she walked into his arms. For a long moment they held each other as if they never meant to let go.

  "Because of you," he said, "I'm discovering what love is all about."

  "Sandra's discovering love, too. Don't begrudge her a chance at happiness."

  "Right at this moment I wouldn't begrudge anyone anything. God, you feel good." He took a shaky breath. "You smell good." He nibbled her lips. "You taste good, too."

  "That's the toddy," she whispered.

  He nibbled again. "No, it's more than that. You have a unique flavor. I'd know it anywhere. Mmm... with a touch of chlorine."

  "That's you." She laughed, a little shaky herself.

  His attempt at lightheartedness vanished. "Megan, Megan. Thank God, you were with me."

  As if to assure himself of her physical presence, his hands began to roam her body. Then, holding her face between his hands he kissed her deeply. So deeply, so sweetly and with such heartfelt fervor, she wanted to cry out with an exquisite joy.

  Still kissing her, he pushed her coat off her shoulders and arms, letting it fall to the floor. He made his way down her back and around her waist, finding the bare skin beneath the hem of her sweater.

  He lingered for a moment, but the shock of skin to skin stirred both their bodies to urgency. He cupped her buttocks with his palms, and she melted against him.

  "Oh, Megan, I want you so much." He began to brush kisses across the planes of her face. He measured her chin with his lips, then the hollow of her throat, grumbling when he was hampered by the collar of her turtleneck.

  At t
he beginning of the evening, she'd told herself she wouldn't initiate passion. But now that he had, she couldn't keep her hands from stealing inside his robe. She ran her palms up his torso, reacquainting herself with the muscles she'd admired by the pool. His flesh still held the slightest chill from his swim, but it seemed to heat beneath her appreciative fingers.

  "Oh, yes," he encouraged her in a hoarse whisper, tugging loose the tie that held the robe together. "Megan, will you come to bed with me?"

  "I was afraid you'd never ask."

  With the most uninhibited laugh she'd heard from him in days, he swung her up into his arms and headed for his bedroom, not stopping until he'd deposited her in the middle of the mattress.

  Efficiently he dispatched her sweater, slacks and underwear, then cast aside his robe.

  Just for a moment, he was sculpted by the muted lamplight, his body as lithe and well proportioned as Michelangelo's David.

  Except the statue didn't come with a magnificent erection.

  "What are you grinning about?" He asked Megan.

  "Oh, dear," she murmured. **I guess I've been discovered. I was admiring your assets."

  "Mind if I do the same?"

  "I'd be hurt if you didn't," she countered lightly.

  His gaze swept over her, lingering on her breasts and the silky hair at the juncture of her thighs. He leaned over her, his hands flattened on either side of her head. They still weren't touching, although only inches separated their bodies.

  "Have I told you," he asked, "how perfectly you fit in my arms?"

  "You mentioned something about that earlier. I was just wondering what was holding you up."

  "Is that a pun?" He glanced downward.

  She followed his eyes. His erection was rigid. If she lifted her hips, it would nudge her pelvis.

  "I know what's holding you up," she decided. "I just want to know what you're waiting for."