Summer Heat: A Steamy Romance Boxed Set

by Carly Phillips

  A creeping cold filled his limbs, freezing his organs and gut. He stared at Tamara, and everything about her seemed strangely acute: her green eyes, the fall of dark hair, her sober, serious mouth.

  It never had really made sense that she didn’t speak of Cody’s father. There had been, from the beginning, something off kilter about the whole business.

  “Why are you telling me this?” he asked. His voice was flat.

  Tamara swallowed. “Lance, Cody is your son.”

  He closed his eyes. Even though he’d expected the words, the actual spoken sound of them was shattering. Before she said them aloud, his life was as it always had been. After they marked the air, everything was irrevocably changed. His whole life shifted.

  Everything.

  He couldn’t look at her. “Why didn’t you tell me before this?”

  “I—” she began. The pause lasted so long, he finally had to look at her, hard, to make her tell him. She met his gaze without flinching. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “So why did you pick this morning to tell me?”

  Her lids fluttered down over her eyes, hiding her expression. “Because it wasn’t fair not to tell you.”

  “But why now, Tamara?” Anger, pure and hot and unfocused, welled in him. “Why this morning, when you know it’s going to change everything that happened last night? Why now?” He stood up so quickly, the chair tumbled backward. He caught it before it fell to the ground.

  “I don’t know!” she cried. “I honestly don’t. I haven’t ever thought clearly about any of it. I took Cody because I loved him, and I thought you were so terrible for such a long time, but now—”

  There was such misery in her voice that he felt his anger seep away as quickly as it had come. “But now?”

  She took a breath and blew it out, and met his gaze. “Now I know you. And it isn’t fair that you’ve been deprived all these years.”

  No, it wasn’t. But he didn’t feel anything. Why was that? He couldn’t feel anything except a howling sort of pain that had no roots or direction. Why did it hurt? And what hurt, exactly? That she hadn’t trusted him? That she had saved it for this morning, then used it like a wedge to keep distance between them, when all he wanted was to get close again?

  All of it.

  “Damn her to hell and back,” Lance said, finding a focus for his anger as Valerie came to mind. “Why didn’t she let me know? She knew where I worked in Houston. She knew my folks. Was she just going to hide it forever?”

  Tamara shook her head sadly. “On that level, you should be thankful. She got…well…pretty bad toward the end. Pregnancy seemed to make her worse. And after Cody was born, she just wasn’t in her right mind ever again.”

  “Meaning she blamed me, that she planned to extract revenge,” he guessed. “Am I right?”

  “Yes,” Tamara said quietly. “She really hated you. And I…I guess I blamed you, too. For a long time.”

  “Do you blame me now?”

  She raised her face. “No.”

  Numbly he walked toward the back door and watched Cody romp in the snow, a blue bundle of stuffing. Your son. Lance remembered the night when he’d thought of Tyler, and how much Cody resembled him. And the night at the carnival, when everyone had made such a big deal about how much Curtis and Cody looked alike.

  No wonder.

  But he didn’t feel a big swell of fatherhood come over him. He didn’t feel immediate, fulsome love for the boy. He’d been fond of Cody since he’d met him—he was bright and sweet and adorable.

  He turned to Tamara. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel right now.”

  Her smile was kind. “There aren’t any rules, Lance. And I didn’t tell you so you’d have make some big decision right now.” She sounded stronger now, clearer. “It’s very important to me that you don’t feel obligated to do anything. I just wanted you to know.”

  He made an impatient noise. “How can you expect that I wouldn’t feel obligated? Especially when I’ve hated how you had to struggle. It really doesn’t seem fair that you’ve carried this load all this time, and he’s not even your child.”

  “Oh, but he is my child,” she said. “I was there the day he was born, and I haven’t been away from him for a day since. I’m the only mother he’s ever known.” She swallowed. “Don’t take him away from me.”

  And at last the fog cleared—or a little of it, anyway. Enough that it finally penetrated how frightened she was, how much it had cost her to tell him all this. He crossed the room in an instant and knelt before her.

  He took her small, work-worn hands in his own and kissed each one gently. A wave of emotion—something hot and jumbled and powerful—filled his throat, and he couldn’t speak. He thought of her giving up all her dreams to come home to Red Creek and take care of his son. He thought of her poring over the hated accounting texts and working in the bar to make ends meet—because she loved Cody. “You’re such a good mother, Tamara. I would never take him.”

  He bent his head and put his brow against her hands. “You sacrificed so much, I can’t stand to think of it.”

  She freed one hand and put it on his head, in his hair. He sighed, feeling relief course through him. Maybe she wasn’t using the whole thing to put a wedge between them, he thought. And then he was frightened because he wanted so much to come back tonight, and the next night, and the next.

  He really tried not to want things. Anything. It was a lesson he’d learned at his father’s knee. Olan had showed up when he felt like it. He didn’t remember promises to take his child fishing, or out on a hike, or for a drive to see the aspens. Lance had learned after too many bitter disappointments to accept whatever came.

  Lance had finally learned not to make plans, not to worry about the future—not expect anything. That way, he was never disappointed. When his father would appear with an open Saturday morning to take Lance fishing, Lance had been free to go with him, and enjoy it.

  Sitting now in Tamara’s kitchen, smelling the lingering scent of golden waffles, he didn’t want to think about coming back. He didn’t want his heart all caught up in her dreams and wishes. He didn’t want to disappoint her. And he didn’t want to want her—

  He straightened. “I’ll talk to my accountants and work something out, so you don’t have to live like this.”

  “No, Lance, that’s not necessary. I’ve done—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Tamara. I’ve got money enough for ten people, and I don’t want Cody to have to go without. Or his mother.” He raised a warning hand as she opened her mouth. “I know you’ve done the best you could, and I’m amazed you’ve built the kind of life you have on the shoestring I know you’re living on.”

  She was blushing, deeply. “It’s not that bad,” she said, and he heard the humiliation in her voice. “I didn’t tell you so you could throw money at us.”

  “I know that.” He sighed in impatience. “One thing you need to get over is feeling like you have to scale the walls of the world all by yourself. It’s okay to have a little help. It would make me happy to do that much anyway.”

  She nodded, reluctantly.

  Silence fell and grew. Tamara broke it by taking his hand. “There’s one more thing, Lance.”

  His gut clenched. Here it came.

  “What we had last night was precious and rare.” She paused. “But it can’t happen again. I like you too much to let myself fall in love with you.”

  If she had said anything else, anything, he would have argued or cajoled, or even run away. But put like that, there was so much respect and honesty that he had no recourse. She was right to make this call—she saw him as he was, and he liked her for that.

  Still, something in him ached. He reached out and touched her cheek. “You’re right,” he said. “I like you, too. Too much to do you wrong—and I would, eventually.” A small bitterness twisted his mouth. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, after all.”

  He thought he glimpsed the faint
est trace of tears shining against the brilliance of her irises, then it was gone. She simply nodded.

  Lance stood. “It’s been quite a morning,” he said. “I think I need a long walk to sort through everything. I’ll call you when I’ve talked to the accountant.” He cleared his throat and looked out to the churned snow in the backyard, where a roly-poly figure rolled. “I’d like to start getting to know him as soon as I can. I hope you won’t mind working something out so I can be a part of his life.” He looked at her. “My own father wasn’t there for me, and I always vowed I’d be there for my own children. Not—” he grinned ruefully “—that I really thought I’d have any.”

  She smiled. “That’s fine. It will be wonderful for Cody. I think for your mother, too.”

  “Yeah.”

  As if sensing his need to flee, Tamara stood up and carefully pushed in her chair. “Well, I’m glad we can be civilized about it. If you like, I’ll let you decide when you tell him.”

  Civilized?

  For a moment, Lance could only look at her. At the sleek line of her hair and her lovely shoulders, and the sweet line of breasts. He was seized with a vision of her last night, lying like a sleek cat in the pool of yellow lamplight, her face awash with a rosy flush of passion.

  His body responded with a furious, instantaneous reaction, and he found himself clenching his fists. She turned back and caught him staring. An answering flare lit her eyes for an instant, and was gone. She crossed her arms. “Lance, I mean it.”

  He licked his lips. “I know,” he said. “Nobody said it was going to be easy.” He moved closer, and trapped her with his body against the side of the refrigerator. He pressed close, feeling her soft breasts nudge his chest, her thighs so long and lean against his, her quick, excited breath against his neck. “Just one kiss goodbye.”

  “Lance,” she whispered, dropping her head away from him. “It only makes it more difficult.”

  “Maybe.” He brushed a lock of hair from her temple, and touched the thin skin there with his fingers, absorbed in the beauty of the place, amazed at the tiny blue shading of veins. “But maybe it will just be a very, very sweet goodbye.”

  He kissed her temple and heard her breath catch, even as she moved a little, almost unconsciously, against him. He caught her face in his hands and she did not resist when he lift her chin toward him, didn’t move away when he put his mouth on hers.

  She parted her lips and invited him in, and with a small groan, Lance pressed it all into memory. The slide of her tongue, the smell of her shampoo, the soft cotton sweater she wore and the way her arms felt below it. He memorized the soft, tiny sound she made, both protest and yearning, and it was, at last, the reason he let her go.

  Because he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting her. And if he let her go now, he never would. With a halfhearted smile, he touched her cheek. “I wish I were another kind of man, Tamara. You’re a hell of a woman.”

  And then, before he could change his mind, he left her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lance walked home through the snow, his mind whirling. But once there, he couldn’t light, couldn’t think. He needed someone to talk to.

  And without really knowing why he picked him, Lance went looking for his brother Jake. Lord knew Jake had a lot of problems of his own at the moment, but all Lance needed was a sounding board, someone to listen to him talk it all through. Of anyone, Jake was also most likely to understand.

  There was too much snow to even consider getting out his car, but the condo Jake rented wasn’t far, so Lance set out on foot again, walking through the silent, pristine streets, taking pleasure in the snow still drifting from a dark sky.

  Home. Man, he’d missed it.

  Jake’s place was located in an upscale development with good access to the ski roads. Most of them were time shares, or vacation homes of the wealthy, and there were more gorgeous, well-tended women in the five-acre square than anyplace outside Hollywood. Lance rang the bell to his brother’s apartment, admiring the very fine assets of a girl in tight pants as she cleaned off her car.

  But that was all he did—admire. Another Lance, another time, might have leaned over the railing and whistled at her. More likely he’d have called out and started a flirtation that would end up in an exchange of phone numbers.

  Today, it didn’t seem that interesting. A nice rear end wasn’t much to go on, after all. And this one wasn’t nearly as nice as Tamara’s, even if she didn’t show it off like this.

  He heard his thoughts with a sense of annoyance, and pushed the bell again, more impatiently. You’d think he’d never slept with a woman before the way he kept going over last night in his head.

  Jake flung open the door, bleary-eyed and unshaved. “Lance!” He shoved his thick black hair off his forehead. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Nice welcome. A brother can’t drop by?”

  Jake crossed his arms over his bare chest, shivering in a pair of sweats. “Well, he could, but this one never does. Come on in.”

  The apartment, for all its built-in luxury, was even worse than Lance’s. Lance’s was at least neat. Jake’s furniture was covered with discarded clothes, and an empty wine bottle with two glasses littered the coffee table.

  Seeing the evidence, Lance said, “You have a woman here? Maybe I should come back another time.”

  Jake moved into the kitchen and began to measure coffee into the basket. “There’s always a woman here. No big deal.”

  Something about the comment brought Tamara to mind. How hurt she would be if Lance said that about her. “I guess it hasn’t occurred to you that maybe those women have feelings, huh?”

  “Look who’s talking. I’m not the one who got a black eye from a jilted lover the first day back in town.”

  Lance didn’t particularly want to think about that. “One time. Big deal.”

  Jake snorted. “C’mon, Lance. This is a case of the pot calling the kettle black, and you know it.” He shook his hair out of his face. “It’s not like I’m going around with the girl next door. I’m just another notch on their belts.”

  The girl next door.

  Lance rubbed his stomach restlessly. That was the problem, wasn’t it? There were rules, and Lance had broken all of them by going after Tamara. It made him feel vaguely ill.

  “Just be careful,” he said.

  Jake leaned a hip on the kitchen counter. His eyes were almost a neon blue, all the more startling against the darkness of his hair. The hollows that had made him look gaunt at the Wild Moose a few weeks earlier seemed even worse. “Did you come here to give me a lecture on sex?”

  “No.” He narrowed his eyes. “You look like hell, though. Are you still not sleeping?”

  For a single moment, Jake closed his eyes. It made him look unbearably weary. “It’s not so much the sleep, but the dreams.”

  “Why don’t you get some help, man?”

  Jake shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  Yeah. In a pig’s eye. Jake had suffered more at the hands of their father than either of his brothers had—and then he’d taken his demons to war. The combination was killing him now.

  As if he knew how he looked, Jake straightened suddenly and tossed his hair out of his eyes. “What’s up? You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”

  Lance remembered why he had come. “I have something to tell you.”

  “Shoot.” He stretched across the counter and snagged a ruby-colored terry cloth robe.

  “Well, there’s no easy way to it, so I’ll just say it. I found out that Valerie had a baby—my baby—before she died. Her cousin has been raising him all this time.”

  “Is that the bartender at the Wild Moose, the one you were so hot for?”

  Annoyance rose in Lance’s chest. “I wasn’t hot for her, but that’s the one.”

  “And she laid this story on you and you just believed her? That her kid is really her cousin’s, and you’re the father?” He took a mug from the mess on
the counter and rinsed it out. “Haven’t you learned anything?”

  Lance tried to remind himself that his brother was burned-out and near the end of his rope, but it didn’t help. “Tamara wouldn’t lie.”

  “Is that right?” Jake lifted a dark, arched brow. “All women lie, little brother.”

  “You don’t know her.”

  “I don’t have to. I know her kind.”

  Lance narrowed his eyes. “Not all women are like your wife, you know. And not all women are like Valerie.”

  “Uh-huh. What makes this one so different?”

  “She has no reason to lie.” Which wasn’t quite true. She was poor as the proverbial church mouse, and stood to gain a lot financially if Lance took her on. But stubbornly, he said, “She has integrity, Jake. She’s so good with him, too. You should see her with that boy—and he’s not even her blood child. She’s given up everything to take care of him, and that makes me feel like hell.”

  Jake looked at him. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Poor bastard.” Jake shook his head. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “It’s not like that,” Jake said. “I have a lot of respect for her. She’s not like Valerie, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I didn’t say she was. You had it bad for Valerie, but that wasn’t your heart talking, if you get my drift.” He sipped his coffee lazily, his neon eyes glowing with that eerie, near madness. “At least get a blood test. Make sure the boy is really yours.”

  It was a reasonable expectation, especially considering Valerie had never exactly been known for her faithfulness. But Lance saw Tamara’s green eyes, so guileless and wary, and he didn’t want to see the expression that would be there when he made that request. “No.”