“Apparently you spent a lot of time practicing.” Pouring out his pain, his loss, his frustration onto the keyboard? What a heart-wrenching image.
“More than average.” He brought the goblet of milk to her mouth for a sip. “One especially hot July day, my brothers surprised me by showing up with wheelchairs they’d lifted from the island clinic. They nailed a basketball goal right in the middle of one of our father’s murals and gave ‘ballroom’ a whole new meaning.”
She tried to laugh with him, but her mind hitched on one telling word. “Wheelchairs? You were in a wheelchair?”
With careful deliberation, he swept his foot under the electronic sensor again and shut off the water. “For a while, the doctors weren’t sure whether or not I would walk again.”
“How long is awhile?” she pressed gently.
“Three years before I was on my feet again. Seven more years of surgeries after that.” He reached for his milk abruptly and drained the glass.
“Carlos…” she gasped, at a loss, overwhelmed by what he must have gone through. “I had no idea.” She tried to turn, to face him, to comfort him, but he locked her in place with one arm around her.
He set aside his snifter and slid his hand over her stomach. “Let’s talk about something else instead. You’re learning a lot of my crummy past. How about you share up some things about yourself?”
“Strip for Secrets doesn’t work when we’re already naked.”
“I have plenty of other enticements to offer.” His hand dipped below the water, between her legs for a languorous caress.
His obvious attempt to change the subject didn’t escape her notice—even though it was growing difficult to think of anything but the talented tease of his fingers.
She angled back to kiss his jaw. “What do you want to know?”
Laughing softly, he moved his hand to her stomach again. “Are you hoping for a boy or girl?”
And, wow, he’d chosen his distracting topic well, because finally they were talking about their child in a way she’d barely dared dream.
“I haven’t thought about that one way or the other.” She held his hand over her stomach just as she’d done earlier around the goblet of milk. “The baby already is what he or she is.”
His fingers circled lightly along her skin. “Are you planning to find out during the ultrasound?”
“It doesn’t matter to me either way.” She forced herself to relax, to grow comfortable with his hand curving over her stomach as if it belonged there. “Are you hoping for a boy?”
Just yesterday he’d said he wanted the baby to be his. Was he finally settling into the reality of being a father after all? She could see how he would have grown leery of hope after such traumatic teenage years. At the hospital, she’d witnessed more than one patient become cynical to the point of losing reasonable perspective.
If only she’d known more about Carlos’s past from the start.
His deep inhale pressed against her back before he finally answered, “I don’t have any preferences other than that the child be healthy.”
“We’re in agreement on that.” She swirled her fingers through the water, swirling red petals before her hand fell to rest on top of his again. “Well then, do you have name preferences?”
“The Medinas typically pull from the family tree.”
Everything she’d learned since coming to the island had shed such light, helping her understand this enigmatic man. Did she dare push further? Yet, how could she not when this could be her only window of time? “Your mother’s name was Beatriz, right?”
“She didn’t care much for her name. She said it sounded too old-fashioned.”
“And what about boy names?”
“My family tree is filled with relatives. We have plenty to choose from.”
We? Her heart raced against her ribs. “We’ll have to make a list.”
“What about your family?” He skimmed a kiss across her temple, brushing aside a stray curl that had fallen from the loose bundle on her head. “Any names you wish to use?”
The water went chilly again. “Not really.” She toed the drain to release some water and activated the brass faucet again, grateful for what had to be the world’s largest hot water tank. “We aren’t estranged or anything. My brothers and I keep in touch, but we’re not what I would call close. We exchange emails, speak a couple of times a year. I try to make it for special occasions in my nieces’ and nephews’ lives. But we’re not all taking family vacations together by any stretch.”
“You’ve done an admirable job in setting up what works best for everyone,” he said, his tone nonjudgmental, another characteristic she liked about him. “Have you told your family about the baby yet?”
“My parents are away on their fifteenth honeymoon.”
“Fifteenth anniversary? I didn’t realize you had a stepparent.”
“No, you heard correctly.” She really didn’t want to think about this now, but she’d demanded so much from him tonight. She owed him the same consideration. “They’re both my biological parents, and it’s their fifteenth honeymoon, not fifteenth anniversary. You’ve heard of couples rekindling the romance with a second honeymoon? Well, my parents are on their fifteenth reconciliation.”
“Sounds like they’ve had a rocky go of it,” he offered up another diplomatic answer.
“That’s putting things mildly.” She sat upright, hugging her knees, all of a sudden weary of dancing around the truth. “My father cheats. My mother forgives him. They go on an elaborately romantic getaway that puts stars back in my mother’s eyes until the next time he strays and the cycle starts all over again.”
His strong arms went around her, muscles twitching with restraint as he held her gently. “They’ve hurt you.”
“In the past? Yes. Now I’m mostly…numb, I guess you could say.” She rested her cheek against his forearm. “When it comes to the two of them, nothing surprises me anymore.”
“That’s why you were so upset when you bumped into Nancy outside my office.”
“And don’t forget the airport.”
He turned off the water and pulled her to her feet in a fluid movement. Facing her dripping wet and naked, water pooling around their toes on the warmed tiles, he stared directly into her eyes. “I may have gone out with her but I never slept with her. You kept getting in the way.”
“What do you mean?” She needed to hear him say it, to spell out every single thought as salve for her wounded ego and hope for her wary heart.
Carlos gripped her shoulders in his broad palms. “She’s a perfectly nice and attractive woman, but she bored the hell out of me because she wasn’t you.”
“You’re just saying that to get into my good graces.” Although right now she wasn’t sure why he would work so hard for that. They were already sleeping together again. And, sure, she hadn’t agreed to his proposals, but they had time now.
“I’m sorry your father has made it difficult for you to trust what I say.” He’d touched too close to the truth, like poking his surgeon finger right into an open wound.
She snatched up a towel from the warming drawer and tucked it tight under her arms. “Don’t put this off on him, and don’t blame it on some hang-up I may have.” She thrust another towel at him, reminded too vividly of when she’d confronted him in the hospital shower. “You are the one who refused to speak to me after the Christmas party.”
“I did what I thought was best for you.” He knotted the towel over one hip.
“Easier for you, you mean.” How had this conversation gone so wrong so fast? Was she sabotaging herself? Scared to take the happiness just an arm’s reach away?
“Then let’s make this right.” He clasped her shoulders again to keep her from racing away from him. “Forget taking any paternity tests. I accept the baby is mine and I want us to be married. Tomorrow. No more waiting. We can have the ceremony performed in my father’s hospital room.”
No paternity test?
&nb
sp; He believed her.
Finally, she heard the words she’d been hoping for from the beginning. Almost everything. He hadn’t said he loved her. But then her father threw the word love around like pennies in a fountain. Cheap and easy to come by. Carlos was offering her something far more precious and tangible. He was offering her the truth.
Drawing in a bracing breath, she took the biggest gamble of her life and placed her hand in his. “Call the preacher.” As the words fells from her lips, she tried like hell not to think of the morning after they’d made love for the first time nearly three months ago.
Lilah reached for Carlos, called his name softly as she woke…but her hand found nothing but cool cotton sheets and emptiness on his side of the bed. She might have thought the whole crazy night with him after the fundraiser had been a dream. But her body carried reminders of their impetuous lovemaking, from the tender muscles of her legs after their near acrobatics on his office desk to the scent of chlorine in her hair from his hot tub on the deck of his mountainside home.
How appropriate he should live on a cliff, how in keeping with the edginess of the man himself.
She stretched her arms overhead, her eyes adjusting to the dim room lit only with a few pale streaks of morning sun. Not that she could afford to lounge around. In a Tacoma winter it could be nearly eight in the morning already.
Her toes protesting the chilly hardwood floors, she searched for something more appropriate to wear than a sheet or her evening gown currently crumpled in a corner. She’d kicked the designer dress off and away in her frenzy to be with Carlos again, in his bed, then in the hot tub, before returning to his room, certain she was too exhausted for more. Only to have him prove her wrong.
A smile on her lips, she plucked his tuxedo shirt off the bedside lamp. Apparently she’d thrown his clothes around too. The crisp fabric still carried his scent, stirring her all over again with languid memories of making love until the blend of them together made a sensual perfume.
She found him in his kitchen, another simple room with the bare essentials—stainless steel appliances with black-and-white tiles.
And one hot chef wearing only a low-slung pair of scrubs that showcased his taut butt as perfectly as any tailored tux.
The scent of frying bacon hung in the air as he tended the stove, a second pan in place with batter in a measuring cup.
He pivoted toward her. And with one look at his emotionless eyes, the stark set of his jaw, all the warmth seeped from her. He took in her standing there in his shirt and…nothing. He didn’t smile. He didn’t reach for her.
Carlos simply turned away. “Do you want breakfast?”
She wanted to tell him to go to hell. Instead she said, “I think it’s best if I just go.”
Still, like a fool, she hesitated, giving him a chance to say something softer, nicer. Instead, he just opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk.
Apparently last night had been a dream after all, and it was time for her to wake up….
Unable to sleep, Lilah inched from Carlos’s bed, the one in his father’s mansion. Although the past and present felt strangely merged at the moment with memories of that wretched morning after hammering in her head.
Careful not to disturb Carlos, she reached into her purse on the bedside table and fished free her cell phone. The scent of roses from their bath filled the room, a much sweeter scent than those chlorine-tinted recollections.
Things were different now, damn it. All the same, she resisted the temptation to crawl under the covers and spoon against his back. She needed to take care of a niggling detail.
Before she surrendered her guard fully to her future husband, she needed to call her parents.
Tiptoeing, she left the room, closing the door softly, before curling up in the window seat to place her call, nerves pattering. She knew they would be happy, but she’d put off the conversation because she had a tough time reconciling herself to a lifetime with a man who had held back from her in so many ways, a man who would never have chosen this life for himself if she hadn’t gotten pregnant. She thumbed “seven” on her speed dial and waited through so many rings she almost gave up. Then—
“Hello?” Her mother’s voice cut through the static of the distant connection of her parents’ “anniversary” cruise. She hadn’t been exactly truthful when she’d told Carlos she couldn’t call them. It had been one thing to hold the baby news close for a while, another matter to keep an established pregnancy and an impending wedding from her mother.
“Mom, it’s me.” She hugged her knees, her nightgown draping her legs.
“Lilah, honey, it’s so great to hear your voice,” her mother said enthusiastically, not even mentioning the hour or how the call must have woken her. “Let me get your father on the phone too.”
“Mom, no, really.” Her head fell to rest against the warm windowpane. “You don’t need to disturb him.”
“Don’t be silly.” Her voice faded as she must have pulled the receiver from her face. “Darren? Darren, wake up. It’s Lilah.”
Her father’s voice rumbled along with the rustle of sheets in their cruise ship cabin. How her parents managed to stay together she couldn’t imagine and didn’t want to dwell on overlong with her own hastily conceived wedding on the horizon.
“Okay,” her mother said, back on the line. “I’m switching you to speakerphone.”
“Mornin’, pumpkin,” her father said groggily.
There wasn’t a breath deep enough to prepare her to say the words she never thought she would say to her parents. “Mom, Dad, I’m getting married….”
His wedding day was overcast, but he was a man of science, not superstition.
Carlos stood by his father’s hospital bed in the island clinic, Lilah beside him. His brothers, his sister and their significant others gathered in a corner. Limited visitation rules were out the window for the duration of what promised to be the shortest service on record. A priest waited at the foot of the bed, looking a bit confused as to whether he’d been called for last rites rather than a marriage.
Enrique struggled to sit up straighter. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Startled, Carlos looked at his father, then realized the old man was speaking to Antonio. The youngest Medina son was the donor match—he would give a lobe of his liver—he would save their father’s life. Something Carlos couldn’t do in spite of all his medical degrees.
“Absolutely certain,” Antonio answered from beside his wife.
Enrique slid the pocket watch from his bedside table. “You used to play with this when you were a boy. I want you to have it. It is a small thing to give you in exchange for a piece of your liver—”
“Thank you. I’ll keep it until you’re well enough to need it again.” Antonio took the watch, swallowing hard before giving his father a brisk but heartfelt hug. “Besides, you pretty much gave me my liver in the first place.”
“You are a strange boy.” Enrique shook his head, then wheezed for air. His face pale, he continued haltingly, “And Carlos, I have something of yours, mi hijo.”
Enrique extended a gnarled hand, a black velvet box in his grip. Carlos didn’t even have to open it to know what rested inside…his mother’s wedding rings, a platinum diamond set, meant to be worn by a queen. Meant to be worn by Lilah. He was still stunned she’d actually agreed.
The wary hope in her eyes when she’d said yes made him feel like a first-class ass. He wasn’t the romantic hero she dreamed of. He wasn’t wired that way, a flaw in himself he’d known from the start. But it was too late to protect her from that any longer. They were tied to each other through the fragile life inside her, and he would do his best to make sure she never realized the bad deal she’d made. Taking the box from his father, Carlos turned to Lilah with a king’s ransom worth of gems in his hand.
Twelve
Lilah twisted the platinum diamond ring set around and around on her finger, hardly able to process all that had happened in
the past thirty-six hours since she and Carlos had exchanged “I Dos” at the island clinic. Now, she and most of the Medinas paced in a private waiting area at the Jacksonville hospital where Enrique had been transferred for his transplant.
While she wasn’t a big fan of preferential treatment, she understood how much mayhem their presence would have caused had they been placed in the public waiting area. The Medina fame should not intrude on someone else’s crisis.
And she had to admit the quiet for their own emergency was helpful. Her nerves were fried. In her job as a hospital administrator, she’d witnessed so many families facing similar ordeals, but she’d never been on this side of the surgery.
Tests, doctors, plans had filled the past day and a half to the point of exhaustion. For the two nights prior, she and Carlos had made intense love before falling asleep. Any honeymoon plans, even any talking would have to wait. Right now their world was tightly focused into these four walls, with antiseptic air and bad coffee.
The door opened and Antonio’s wife, Shannon, walked into the waiting room. She’d been sitting with her husband as he awaited surgery. “Enrique would like to see you.”
Carlos, Duarte and Eloisa stood in sync from the steel and pleather sofa.
“No…” Shannon shook her head. “He wants to see Lilah.”
Surprise held her still as a Red Cross volunteer pushed a cart full of books and magazines past the open door.
“Me?” Lilah asked. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” Shannon said, tucking a limp strand of blond hair back into her hair clamp.
Carlos, her husband—how strange that word still felt—shot her a quizzical look before squeezing her hand with encouragement. Standing, she smoothed her dress. While she’d met Enrique just before the surreal wedding ceremony in his room at the island clinic, there hadn’t been much time for “get to know you” chats.
A lump lodged in her chest as she realized this could be her only opportunity to speak to him.
She scrounged for composure as she walked closer to the ICU room in front of the nurse’s station. Tapping on the door, she waited, the low murmur of staff mingling with the beep, beep, beep of medical equipment.
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