by Beverly Long
“Did you ask him?”
“No. For several reasons, I wasn’t ready to talk to him. I left the apartment before he came home and I left the questionnaire on the dining room table, knowing that he would see it.”
“What happened?”
“He came to see me. Two days later. Told me that he’d lied to me and begged my forgiveness. Said that he’d done it because he was confident that I’d be happy with Bryson. Said that he couldn’t bear it if I didn’t forgive him.”
“Did you? Did you forgive him?” Royce could not believe this. Joel Cambridge had screwed with their lives.
“I told him that I loved him but I wasn’t sure if I could forgive him. We haven’t talked for months.”
Her eyes were steady on his face. “I gave up so much. We gave up so much.” She reached for the wall switch and shut off the light. The room was lit only by the moonlight coming in the skylight.
He, who had with an abundance of caution but very little real fear faced roadside bombs and indiscriminate snipers, felt a shiver of unease run up his spine. “And now?” he asked, his voice breaking.
She relaxed one shoulder and the strap of her nightgown slipped down. Then the other shoulder. Same result. She’d said earlier that she’d planned to seduce him. This wasn’t a seduction. It was more of an attack.
“And now, I’m taking,” she said. She pulled down her nightgown and let it fall in a puddle around her feet. She stood before him, wearing only the skimpiest of silk panties. Her breasts, so pretty, so perfect. The nipples, dark, round, delicious. The sweet triangle of hair, barely hidden.
“Jules,” he said.
“Please don’t tell me no,” she said. “Not tonight.”
Damn his needy self for wanting her so. “I...”
“I want you. That’s all I need you to say,” she said, advancing toward him.
That was easy. He’d always wanted her. Probably always would. “I want you,” he whispered.
She pressed the palm of her hand flat on his chest and pushed. He let himself fall backward onto the bed. “Lie back,” she said.
He would do anything she asked. His head hit the cushion and he could smell her scent, the perfume that had been driving him crazy all damn day.
She straddled him, her strong legs on either side of his hips. He was about to burst out of his pants he was so damn hard. And when she settled herself on him, it didn’t matter that layers of fabric separated them. He reared his hips up, desperate to be closer.
“Not yet,” she murmured.
And then she bent down to kiss him. She gripped his jaw with her hand and held him secure. Not that he ever wanted to tear himself away. Her mouth was warm and sweet and when she leaned down to kiss him, her pretty breasts were there for the taking.
He raised his hand to touch her. She lifted her lips and shook her head. “I’ll tell you when you can do that.”
Oh, God. “Uncle Sam taught me how to follow orders,” he said.
“Never like this,” she responded, sounding amused, before her lips settled upon him again.
She kissed him for a good long time. And then worked her way down his body. When her hands fumbled with his shirt buttons, he wanted to rip the thing off, but instead he grabbed the sheets with his fingers.
And held on tight.
Finally, the buttons were undone. And then her hot hands were under his T-shirt, her nails were raking over his nipples, and an electric current charged through him and he desperately wanted to grind against her.
But it was her show.
“Good job,” she murmured, leaning over him, her breast dangerously close to his mouth. He didn’t say a word. Couldn’t. Her hands were now on his belt buckle.
And on it went. Until he was fully naked. “Jules,” he said. He was willing to beg.
“Shush,” she said, and moved so that she could take him in her mouth. He closed his eyes and saw stars.
It felt so damn good. But too soon, there came a point when he didn’t think he could hold on to it anymore. “I’m going to come,” he said. He could almost feel her smiling against him.
“Not yet,” she said, lifting her mouth.
Then she was straddling him again, this time her panties gone. She sank down on him and the damn stars exploded, a virtual light storm. Up and down she rode him, and he let her take him until finally, with a hitch of her breath, she came hard.
And he had had enough.
He let go of the damn sheet and grabbed her hips. Pumped into her. Once, twice, and came with such force the third time that he thought the top of his head was blowing off.
And he somehow floated back to earth in one piece.
He was still inside her. She was lying on him, her breasts pressed flat against his chest. It was perfect.
“I can’t sleep on top of you,” she mumbled.
He had no intention of sleeping. He flipped her over onto her back. “Your turn, sweetheart.”
* * *
JC woke up in the daylight. It was streaming in through the skylight. She was on her side and Royce was spooned around her, one hand on her hip, the other cupping her breast.
She turned her head. He was awake. By the looks of it, had been for some time. His eyes were focused, his gaze intent. “Hi,” she whispered.
“Doing okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “What time is it?”
“I imagine it’s about eight.”
“We have to get up. Get to Everpark.” She rolled to her back. Sat up. Winced.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, ever vigilant.
“Nothing that a hot shower won’t fix,” she said. There had been no end to the inventive positions that Royce had thought of once he’d gotten the upper hand. It had been exhausting and absolutely wonderful. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
He had nice soap in the shower and expensive shampoo. His towels were thick and soft. She had packed her own toothpaste and toothbrush.
Seventeen minutes later, she was getting dressed. She remembered that Royce had said that they would visit Everpark in costume but she could not bring herself to put on the red sequined dress this early in the morning. Instead, she pulled on gray wool pants and a pink sweater with a gray-and-pink-checked scarf around her neck. She added the blond wig and her sensible shoes.
She walked into the kitchen. He was not there yet. Feeling a little cocky, like she might perhaps lord it over him that she’d been ready first, she crossed the living room and entered the master bedroom. The bathroom door was closed and she could hear the shower running.
While she had her chance, she took a look in his closet. It was filled with dress slacks, long-sleeved dress shirts, leather shoes and cashmere sweaters. On the top shelf, there was a stack of CDs. She took a peek. Learning Conversational French. She looked at the next one. Same thing but this time Spanish. Next one was for Italian.
The door of the bathroom opened, startling her. In a fog of steam, Royce emerged, a towel wrapped low around his hips. She felt the rapid rush of lust gather between her legs.
“What’s going on, blondie?” he said easily.
“Are you planning a big trip?” she asked.
He shook his head.
She pointed to the CDs. “French. Spanish. Italian.” She walked over and sat at the end of the king-size bed. “Your clothes. This house and everything in it.” She was trying so hard to get her head around what was troubling her. “You’re so different. And I wonder, is the old you gone?”
There was a long pause. Rivulets of water ran down his torso, getting absorbed by his towel. He looked around the room, as if the answer was somewhere in the corners.
Finally, he made eye contact with her. “I did it for you,” he said.
&
nbsp; “What?”
He sat next to her on the bed. “I was born in Texas. My mother was a waitress at the local diner and my dad packed boxes at the freight company on the edge of town. They probably drank too much on Friday nights and didn’t think about saving for retirement. But they had a good time. I think I knew we were poor but most of my friends were living exactly the same way.”
“Eight years ago, you told me your parents were dead.”
“And they are. I was guarding a military base in Afghanistan when I got word that they’d tried to beat a train on the tracks just two blocks from our house. Their luck ran out.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“I was okay with my life. Served my country with a lot of guys who weren’t that different than me. Came home and met you.” He paused. “And everything changed for me. I knew you were different. So much better. That you deserved better.”
Her empty stomach felt sick. “That’s why you didn’t fight for me.”
He didn’t answer.
She turned to look at him. “And you changed everything about yourself?”
“I...I knew I’d lost you,” he said. “But I wanted to be the kind of man that you’d have been proud of. I have worked very hard these last eight years, trying to make every day count, trying to be better every day.”
The enormity of his words hit her. Settled on her, like a heavy weight, making it feel as if her lungs could not expand.
“I feel awful,” she admitted. “Awful that I somehow made you feel that you weren’t good enough.”
He reached for her hand. “You didn’t. Ever. But I knew. Everyone knew. They’d have been blind not to see it. Your father knew.”
Her father. She looked at him sharply. “What about my father?”
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s not important.”
“It is to me,” she said. “He said something to you that last night, didn’t he?” She’d asked her father about it afterward but he’d denied it. But since he’d lied about something even more important, why was she surprised?
“Water under the bridge, Jules.”
Not to her. It was part of a rushing river that was picking up steam and about to sweep her away. “I want to know what he said.”
“He said that you were too good for me, that I’d be an albatross around your neck and that I needed to hit the road.”
Her father had lied to her. If her mother was right, he’d lied about a great many things. This was the man she believed had devoted his life to raising her following his wife’s death. Was that a lie, too?
“I need to tell you something,” she said. “Something important.”
“Okay.”
She shook her head “Not here. Not with you in a towel. Get dressed. I’ll make us some toast. Because I’ve got a hell of a story for you.”
Chapter 20
Royce dressed fast. He was still tucking in his shirt and zipping his pants when he entered the kitchen. He saw Jules and stopped short, feeling heat flood his face.
It was crazy given the things they’d done to each other’s body the night before to be embarrassed by being caught zipping his pants. But it was the familiarity of walking into his kitchen, of having her sitting in a chair, of just being there with him, that made him smolder.
She’d poured two cups of coffee and made two pieces of toast for each of them. She was sitting so he sat, too.
She looked nervous or agitated, he wasn’t sure which. Wasn’t sure it mattered. Whatever she was about to say was going to be important.
“My mother died when I was fourteen.”
He nodded. He’d known that. She knew that. But he wasn’t hurrying her.
“It was a devastating blow. My father became my rock.”
She paused. Royce waited.
“As you know, my father has his condo on Fifth Avenue. When he decided to run for the Senate, it was suggested that he might want to change his residence. Buy something a little less showy.”
She drummed her index finger on the kitchen table. Neither of them had yet to take a bite of their toast.
“He asked me if I would remove my things from the condo. Most of it was in boxes that he’d packed up while I was in college.”
He took a sip of coffee. It was too weak for him but when he’d set it up the night before, it had been the most natural thing in the world to make it the way she liked it.
“I put it off for at least a month but finally, one Saturday morning I went there. He was out, at a meeting somewhere. Instead of just loading the boxes in my trunk, I started going through them. It was kind of fun, especially when I found some of my old diaries that I’d had when I was eleven or twelve.”
He smiled. He bet she’d been a cute kid.
“Then I opened one and...realized that it wasn’t my handwriting. It was one of my diaries, I’m almost sure of it. But I had several extra—you know. My mom knew I liked to write and she would pick one up for me if she happened to see one that she liked. So I ended up with a few extra.”
Made sense but that wasn’t the important question. “Who wrote in your diary?” he asked.
“It was my mother’s handwriting. She’d dated the pages. It was written just a month before the accident.”
He was getting a bad feeling. It wasn’t anything that Jules had specifically said. It was just the overwhelming sense of grief that she emanated.
“She was angry when she wrote it,” Jules said. “Angry with my father.”
That wasn’t so hard to believe. After what he’d learned last night, Royce was more confident than ever that the man was an ass.
“She’d discovered that my father had had a relationship with a woman and that they’d had a child together. That woman was Linette White.”
“Charity,” he whispered.
“Is my half sister.”
And he’d thought things were complicated before. “I thought that Linette White was your mother’s friend.” The minute he said it, he knew it was stupid. Friendship was rarely an impediment in these situations.
She nodded. “They were. It was all true. Linette White came to our house to wash windows. She and my mom hit it off. Ultimately, my mom asked my dad to help Linette out by giving her a job at his bank. He did. Linette worked at the bank for several years, all the while staying friends with my mom.”
“I think I’m starting to get your mom’s anger.”
“According to the diary, Linette had told my mom that her baby’s father was a one-night stand. When Charity was two, Linette left New York and didn’t respond to my mom’s efforts to reach out to her.”
“I need to do the math,” he said. “Charity is roughly ten years younger than you. That means that you were twelve or so when she moved. Your mom wrote this diary entry approximately two years later.”
She nodded.
“How did she find out the truth?”
“I don’t know. I read the diary three times and there is absolutely nothing in there that gives any clue.”
“Do you think she said something to your dad about her suspicions?”
“I don’t know. All I can be confident of is that my dad never took the time to read the diary. If he had, I’d have never seen it.”
All this time, this damning evidence had been sitting in a box in his condo. “Is that when you started looking at the other paperwork in the condo and found the medical questionnaire?”
“Yes.”
Amazing. Everything had unraveled. “So then you decided to contact Charity.”
“First, I hired a private investigator to do some research on her. That’s when I discovered that Linette White had died recently. I wasn’t sure what to do and stewed over the information for at least six weeks. And then I realized that my coming to
this conference and Charity living in Vegas—that those two things could only mean that I was meant to connect with her. That’s when I called her and arranged for us to meet. You know the rest.”
“What do you think? Is she your half sister? Was your mom right?”
“She has my father’s eyes.”
He hadn’t really looked at her eyes, didn’t like looking at the ring in her eyebrow. Plus, he’d only met Jules’s father once. “Is it possible, Jules,” he said gently, “that you’re seeing something that isn’t there just because you want to see it?”
She didn’t seem to take offense. “I don’t know what I want. I am an only child so the idea of having a sibling is exciting, I guess. But under these circumstances? It’s really horrible. My mother had to be so hurt and it pains me to know that this is how she spent the last month of her life. And I don’t even know what to think of my father if it’s true. How could he have done that to my mother? And if he knows about Charity, how could he ignore his child, never publicly acknowledge her?”
Royce let out a breath. “Is it possible that Charity knows the truth?”
Jules shrugged. “I’ve recently had those same thoughts. I don’t think so but I’m beginning to realize that I don’t know her and she’s probably capable of things that I haven’t even contemplated.”
Royce got up and poured himself a hot cup of coffee. He held the pot in Jules’s direction but she shook her head. He sipped, needing time to think. “Maybe you should ask your dad?”
“I don’t want to, not yet.”
“What are you hoping for here, Jules? What’s the best outcome of all of this?”
“Well, I suppose the best option is that it’s all a terrible mistake. Charity’s dad really was a one-night stand and not my father. That makes it simple. I guess the next best option is that Charity is my half sister but that my father didn’t realize it. That would mean that he was duped, too.”
He’d disliked Joel Cambridge but he certainly hadn’t considered him to be stupid or easily duped.
“Is it possible that your mom just got it wrong?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said. “But my mom...well, you know, when you lose someone, you have a tendency to put them on a pedestal. But I’m trying not to do that here. My mom was smart, always positive, said nice things about other people. She just wasn’t the type to come to some crazy misguided conclusion about her husband.”