by Nan Comargue
For a moment it looked like the defensemen would resist, his belligerent stance stiffening rather than relaxing, then he gave a shake of his head and turned away, skating off ice and lumbering toward the dressing rooms. His exit occurred in silence.
The assistant coach’s orders rang out again. “All right, Parker, you’re with me. Let’s see some speed. Ivanov, you team up with Efflin. Look alive, boys.”
Cahal skated back to his net, his color restored. He didn’t look toward Lila but she knew he had to be aware of her presence, otherwise he wouldn’t have backed away from Jack’s challenge.
Cathy Monahan appeared at her elbow. “What was that all about?”
“Beats me.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Look,” Lila said carefully, “I don’t want to discuss it, all right?”
The other woman was silent, no doubt debating the merits of probing any further but she must have sensed Lila’s willingness to walk away, for she kept quiet on the subject of the aborted fight, reverting back to the topic of the party.
Not paying any attention, Lila was wondering if she ought to keep her date with Jack or wait for her husband. After the incident on the ice, it would be a choice of which of the two men was less angry and embarrassed.
Cahal took the decision away from her by skating up to the two women at the first break in his exercises. He greeted the blonde woman with an impersonal smile after which he directed all of his comments to his wife.
“Don’t go anywhere with Jarrett tonight.”
It was pointless to ask why.
“What were the two of you saying out there?” Lila posed the question, aware that Cahal could have chosen any of those tense minutes to inform Jack of their newly reformed marital arrangement and destroy all her chances for the future.
“Nothing that you should be saying,” was his surprising answer. “I didn’t tell him about us, Lila. I know you wanted to do that.”
“I did,” she stammered, lifting disbelieving eyes to his set face. “I do!”
He flicked her cheek with an icy glove tip. “I’ve heard that before,” he said before skating back to the net.
Cathy Monahan looked dazzled. “Wow, is that your husband? I’ve never see him up close. He’s gorgeous!”
“He’s okay,” Lila said.
“Okay?” The other woman slid her a sidelong glance. “What is going on between the two of you?”
On the verge of giving a sharp reply, Lila belatedly remembered the role she was supposed to be playing. Lowering her eyelids, she murmured, “It’s complicated.”
Cathy frowned suddenly. “What about Jack and Victoria?”
This time Lila didn’t have to pretend confusion. “It’s difficult when other people’s feelings are involved.”
“I should say! Victoria deserves to know what Cahal’s intentions are,” the other woman claimed. “After all he did drag her here from Chicago. She thinks they’re going to get married.”
“She should think harder,” Lila said. “I mean, our divorce isn’t final as of yet.”
Cathy planted her hands against the top of the encircling boards, the back of her hands nearly white from the pressure. “Yet you became involved with Jack Jarrett.”
Biting back an angry reply, Lila stared out over the ice at the blurred figures. Her stomach was churning and her conscience wasn’t faring any better.
Cahal’s silly ruse was having unexpected results, none of them welcome.
Chapter Six
The practice ended early on a depressed note. Cahal drove them home after first walking her conspicuously to his car, the fortuitous parking spot finding another use. By the end of the day, the entire team and their extended families would know that something was happening between the divorcing couple. But would Jack?
Back at the penthouse, she retreated to her bedroom to try Jack’s cell phone number several times, all unsuccessful. Wherever he was, he didn’t want to be reached.
Just before ten, Cahal poked his head in the door. “Dinner.”
Lila looked up from her perch atop a thickly padded trunk, one of the pieces of furniture Cahal had salvaged from their house.
“I’m not hungry.”
Pushing the door wider, he stepped into the room. “You must be, you haven’t eaten.”
Turning her face away, she insisted, “I’m not hungry and it’s too late anyway. Go ahead without me.”
“Too late?” Cahal’s deep voice lost some of its wary patience. “We always ate dinner at this time.”
“We did,” she agreed, “because this was the time you came home from evening practice and I had to be accommodating. To me, it always felt as though we were eating in the middle of the night. We used to go to bed right after.”
He moved forward on strong limbs, coming to crouch beside her makeshift window seat. “To bed,” he reminded her, “but not to sleep.”
His proximity forced her to turn her head; it was difficult to ignore him at a distance and impossible at close range. Smoke-gray eyes regarded her yet the look in them was far from calculating. That look transfixed her.
“Lila.” His raspy voice lowered to a mere abrasion of sound, caressing, inviting.
With a smothered groan, he pushed his fingers through the dark curtain of her hair, his hand cupping the curve of her skull to bring her closer. She didn’t resist the inexorable pressure nor did she comply, simply letting it gather her in its tide.
Slowly his mouth lowered to hers, exerting the same inescapable force, undemanding yet irresistible.
The kiss was as tentative as a teenager’s, as sweet as their very first. She was trembling. This was Cahal, her first, her only. Still her only.
Until she tasted the tang of salt on her lips she wasn’t aware of crying. Tasting her tears, Cahal drew back, his expression altering.
“Baby — ”
She pushed against his arm, not hard but enough to move him, and he went without protest, his mouth hard.
“Not now, Cahal.”
His tone matched the set of his mouth. “When?”
Lila forced her limbs to untangle and move away from the trunk, away from him. “I don’t know. Perhaps never. This … situation is not exactly conducive to romance.”
He stood up. “I’m not talking about romance. I’m talking about a relationship. Our relationship.”
Meeting his eyes unblinkingly, she told him, “Our relationship is over. This charade merely put it on life support.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a little professional intervention. I suggested it at the time.”
It took her a minute to figure out what he meant and then the reminder was irritating.
“We went over this a dozen times,” she said, pushing past him. It was unnerving to have this conversation in her bedroom; it already felt stamped with his presence. “No amount of marriage counseling could have explained away your cheating.”
He followed her across the living area. “I never cheated on you.”
The anger below the surface of his claim was just barely contained.
“And I will never believe you,” Lila said, sitting down to the dinner he had laid out.
“Because of Chris?”
Her dark head jerked up from her contemplation of the cooling food. “What do you mean?”
During their worst arguments, she never disclosed the source of her information and she was still somewhat surprised that he had never guessed. Chris Wallace was the one who had given her the proof of Cahal’s affair, passing along the photographic evidence he’d received from another player. Of course, Chris must already have suspected something was up. He had had ample opportunity to observe his cousin on the road, for the two played together on a series of junior teams, both local and international. Although in constant competition during their adult years, the two men also held a healthy respect for one another. She felt that she could trust Chris better than his cousin, particularly when his cousin had a good reason to lie — to sa
ve his marriage. Chris had never married.
Though he held his knife and fork ready, Cahal made no attempt to begin eating. “Have you considered that counseling might have helped me deal with your affair?”
Lila frowned. “I thought the team forced divorcing players to see a therapist.”
“Alone, yes. But they couldn’t force you to participate.”
The cool tone reassured her. He couldn’t know that Chris had been the one to tell her about her husband’s infidelities. Enough tension existed within the extended Wallace family to add this additional stress.
“What did you do?” The question nearly choked her. For nearly a year, she had tried to forget Cahal Wallace and every situation that might have reminded her of him. Now that she could assuage her curiosity, she was realizing that the answers would be refined torture. “How did you deal with our break-up?”
A pained smile curved his mouth as he set down his utensils. “Surprisingly, it was my aunt and uncle who came to my rescue. They were appalled by their son’s behavior — they came down so hard on Chris that I felt guilty about adding my own blame — that they tried to make up for it themselves. They called every Sunday, flew over whenever they could make it, invited me over for holidays.”
“What did Chris do for the holidays?”
Her question was automatic; the image of his cousin spending lonely winter days by himself, without even the challenge of his job to distract him, saddened her.
Cahal got up and walked over to the liquor cabinet, filling a glass with clear liquid and downing half of its contents before he sat down again.
“Chris was never interested in family,” he said. “He was never interested in anything except playing hockey … and you.”
“Me?”
He lifted the glass in a mocking gesture. “It’s to your credit that you never realized it and his that he never pushed it to your attention. But he was always patient.”
Eyeing the now-empty glass skeptically, Lila couldn’t quite take in what he was saying. If Chris was behind an elaborate scheme to break up his cousin’s marriage, he didn’t ultimately benefit from it. She was dating Jack, not Chris Wallace.
“I don’t think Chris would — ”
Cahal broke in. “I don’t care to hear what my cousin is or isn’t capable of doing.”
His savage expression silenced her for several minutes as they both attempted to eat the congealed food on their plates. After a short time, Lila gave up but her husband demolished the cold chicken and vegetables, his metabolism too quick to allow him to skip a meal. Even so, Lila saw that the features she had once loved were leaner than ever, the planes of cheek and jaw pronounced.
Trying to put the conversation on neutral ground, she inquired after his parents.
“Dad’s doing great,” Cahal replied with a real smile this time. “My little brothers and sister are growing up quickly.” The smile faded. “My mother is in the middle of another stint in rehab.”
This last piece of news was momentous. In more than a dozen years of begging, threatening and cajoling, Dina Wallace had only agreed to attend rehab once before, just prior to her son’s wedding. She fell off the wagon the following year.
“Wish her luck for me.”
“I’d prefer not to mention your name to her,” he told her. “The news of the separation hit my mother hard. She always believed in our perfect fairy tale marriage.”
“Fairy tale,” Lila repeated. “I suppose that makes you the prince and me … Cinderella?”
“Don’t start down this road again.” His tone was sharp and hard. “We’re from the same place, you and me.”
Lila’s upper lip curled. “Lower middle class urban fringe dwellers.”
Cahal pushed his empty plate aside. “I thought Chris was the only one with that particular chip on his shoulder.”
“And I thought we weren’t talking about your cousin.”
He clamped his mouth shut. “Fine. Let’s talk about something else.”
Picking up her plate, Lila decided, “I’m finished talking. I’m going to bed.”
He joined her at the sink with his dishes. As always, he picked up a sponge and lent a hand instead of letting her do the chores alone. It was a habit left over from the days when their time alone was precious and too short and every minute together was spent together.
After a minute, he spoke. “I don’t want to fight.”
She looked up from drying her hands. “Why? Are you going on the road tomorrow?”
“Yes.” His answer was terse.
“Surprise, surprise.” It was always his way to leave the house with a smile and a kiss, never with a grievance simmering between them. Well, she wasn’t his wife anymore, not in any real sense, and she had no intention of towing the line any further than she was contractually obligated.
“Goodnight, Cahal.”
• • •
An hour later, she was still wide awake. It was more than the strange bedroom, which, although filled with her familiar things, was too big and chilly. At that altitude, the wind blew stronger, whistling against the windows from across the lake.
Old habits were difficult to break and the rule against going to bed angry was more than a habit, it made good common sense.
Wrapping a fluffy robe around her skimpy nightgown, Lila braved the cold floor down the hall to Cahal’s bedroom. A tap on the door failed to rouse him so she knocked louder and louder, unable to believe he was asleep so early.
“Looking for me?”
The raspy voice at her back made her jump and she swiveled around with her hand at her heart.
“You scared me!”
“Sorry.” The apology was perfunctory. Reaching around her, he opened the door to his bedroom. “Did you want something?”
He hadn’t bothered with a robe and the flannel pajama bottoms he wore against the winter night left his chest bare. Once smooth and tanned, the broad muscles were now covered by crisp golden hair.
He stared down at her. “What is it, Lila? I have to be on a plane first thing tomorrow.”
The razor sharp edge of impatience in his voice shackled her tongue.
Swallowing, she recovered her voice. “Don’t be angry,” she pleaded. “We can’t go to bed angry.”
His gray eyes were shining for just a moment before he hardened them into stone pebbles. “It was my parents’ rule to never go to sleep angry. See how well it worked for them.”
With an inarticulate murmur, she touched his arm, instinctively seeking to comfort. The toned skin, covered by gold hair, was like living steel beneath her fingers, warm and exciting.
“Divorce must be a disease,” he muttered. “Everyone in this family catches it.”
Lila protested. “What about your aunt and uncle? They’re happy together.”
“They’re going through a trial separation,” Cahal informed her. “Happy times all right.”
The news hit her hard. “A separation? Joe and Sheila?” Her thoughts went to their son. “Poor Chris.”
It was the equivalent of pouring lighter fluid onto a dying fire. Cahal’s entire body tensed.
“You’ve always had a soft spot for him,” her husband accused, the words as soft as a whisper. “What is it about him that attracts women?”
As hurtful as it was to be lumped into an impersonal category along with Chris’ numerous girlfriends, Lila tried to answer.
“He possesses the advantages you have, Cahal. He’s attractive and successful. He’s generous and considerate. He’s fun to be around.”
“He’s good in bed,” Cahal put in sotto voce.
How awful to admit she didn’t remember. “I don’t want to discuss that,” she told him.
“And I don’t want to be compared to your lover,” he countered, “but here we are in the middle of the night doing just that.”
“Cahal … ”
A movement dislodged her hand from his arm and he brushed by with a grin and a waft of soap. “You’ve apologi
zed and I’ve forgiven you.”
She sputtered, “You’ve forgiven me?”
He turned to lean on the doorframe, the grin still very much in evidence. “Big of me, isn’t it?”
“Bastard.”
His expression became abruptly solemn. “Such language. I thought you liked my parents.”
“What’s that got to — ” Lila trailed off as a big arm hooked her waist and lifted her into the bedroom. Quick as the motion was, she was left breathless but unbruised. Cahal’s controlled strength always amazed her.
The spacious room she had been hauled into was large, dominated by the custom-made bed they had shared in Chicago, but nonetheless smaller than her room down the hall. Decorated in neutral tones complemented by natural wood, it was effortlessly elegant and expensive; a masculine room that didn’t exclude feminine tastes.
“This is your bedroom,” she protested, sounding like an affronted virgin.
“Yes.” He nodded gravely. “It’s where I sleep and also where I finish arguments.”
No woman would be capable of arguing beneath that splendid golden body.
A stab of jealousy made her sharp. “We’re not arguing,” she insisted. “We’re making up. I want to go to sleep.”
The arm still locked around her hips tightened. “Me too, baby. In this big bed, but not alone.”
Lila struggled against the restraining grip. “Well, don’t expect me to join you.”
His mouth touched the top of her head. “Why not? This is the usual place for making up.”
By bracing her hands against his chest she was able to put a few inches of space between them. Conscious of the warm bare skin beneath her palms, Lila felt her blood pound through her body.
“When we were married, yes,” she conceded. “Not now.”
He narrowed his gray eyes to silver slits. “We’re still married.”
Her mouth curved. “And we’re both obligated to follow out the terms of the contract. This is not part of it.”
Cahal’s hands slid down to the small of her back, pressing them together from chest to hip. The feel of his hard body was refined punishment. Unconsciously her fingers spread invitingly over his chest muscles and she felt them contract beneath her hands.