He scurried into the kitchen and struggled to pull out the heavy kitchen chair. She helped him climb up onto it. He slapped his hands playfully, using the tabletop as a drum.
"Paint!"
"Okay." Robin chuckled.
She got out the little jars of finger paint and a large sheet of heavy paper. The first time she'd painted with him she'd used the thin paper that had come with the kit, and Tony had globbed so much paint onto the paper that it hadn't held up. Paint had ended up on the table, the chair, the floor and his clothes. She'd quickly learned that poster board was worth its weight in gold when it came to finger painting.
After rolling up Tony's sleeves and tying the strings of a smock around his middle, she let him create a painting. He squeezed the thick paint through his fingers, obviously delighted by the slick wetness. The fun was impossible to resist, and soon she joined him, painting an image of her own.
She was outlining the top of a large tree, using her fingertips to daub on dozens of bright green leaves, when Jonas walked into the kitchen.
Immediately the air in the room seemed to cool several degrees. He didn't speak to her or Tony, rather he went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of juice. Crossing the kitchen, he opened a cabinet and took out a glass.
"Unka!" shouted Tony, obviously affronted that Jonas hadn't acknowledged him when he first came into the room.
Robin saw the tension on the toddler's face. Tony had sensed the change in his new "family." He'd barely had time to get used to his aunt and uncle, and now the uneasiness that always came when they were all together left him once again insecure and apprehensive. It broke Robin's heart to see the anxiety in her nephew's eyes. She wished she could do something to relieve it. But she couldn't. The things that had been said between her and Jonas couldn't be taken back.
"That's a beautiful picture, Tony," Jonas said. He leaned over the table examined the colorful mess Tony had made on the poster board.
She leaned against the chair back to put more space between them. The scent of his cologne wafted toward her. She dipped her chin and averted her gaze from him, but it wasn't as if she could stop breathing. The single tantalizing whiff had her heart pummeling her rib cage. Damn! Why did she experience such a visceral reaction to this man?
During the three days since they had had their argument concerning his article, they had barely spoken to each other. But every time he came near her, her body replied. Her pulse rate accelerated, her breathing quickened, her whole body would become flushed, no matter how hard she struggled to contain the physical responses.
Just ignore him, she told herself. Just as he's ignoring you.
She fully intended to listen to that silent voice inside her head, but then Tony turned his anxious gaze on her.
"Bob-in?"
He reached out his paint-coated fingers to her, and she knew he needed some reassurance.
"It's okay," she said, taking his slippery fingers in hers. The yellow paint on his fingertips mingled with the green on her own.
Then she forced herself to look up at Jonas. This is for Tony, she shot the silent message at him like a laser beam. She plastered a pleasant expression on her face. "Jonas, are you finished working for the day?" she asked.
"Nope. Just taking a break." He barely glanced at her as he answered her question. He took a swallow of his orange juice and waltzed out of the kitchen.
A cold chill ran up Robin's spine, forcing her shoulders to square. Her eyes narrowed, but when she felt Tony's questioning gaze on her again, she pulled her lips into what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
~ ~ ~
Jonas entered the office, a dense, dark cloud following close over his head. He wanted to close the door completely. Shut himself off from Robin and all the chaos she conjured in him. But shutting the door would only separate him from Robin, not the turmoil.
Besides, closed doors hid from Tony the people he depended on, blocked him from those he loved and needed. Jonas knew his nephew's security was still egg-shell fragile and he didn't want to do anything that might further threaten the child's sense of safety.
Rather than sitting down at the desk, he moved to the far side of the room. He shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets, the scene on the other side of the glass barely registering in his mind. The sounds of Robin's light banter and the little man's giggling both lured and repelled him, and the resulting confusion rattled him like nothing else he'd ever experienced.
He had no idea what to do about the situation. The woman could make him so angry. The way she had insisted on refusing to see his side regarding the article he'd written for his book. She'd contended that he'd meant to hurt her. Personally.
Of course, that was entirely untrue. However, Robin had refused to even try to understand his point of view. It was her lack of any sense of humor that was the problem, not his knack of witty satire. The woman simply couldn't laugh at herself, or the situation they found themselves in. If a person couldn't find some reason to laugh in the face of tragedy and sadness, hell, you might as well go curl up in a corner somewhere.
As he gazed out over the side yard, he couldn't keep his mind from drifting to the nights he'd spent with Robin; those hot, passion-filled nights.
Robin had satisfied him in a way he'd never been satisfied by a woman. He'd guessed that it had been because of the way she'd so desperately needed him. The first night they had made love, he'd silently questioned whether or not they were doing the right thing, but only for an instant before the pleading in her voice had been his undoing.
She'd made him feel strong. Virile. As though he were the only man alive who could give her what she needed. As though he could conquer the whole freakin' world. Damn, just thinking about it caused a dull, needful ache to throb deep in his loins.
When he'd found out he'd been her first he'd been more than a little upset. He'd also been stunned. And surprised. It had been his experience that vestal-type women, in this age of equality, were pretty rare, and when he had come across one while dating, she was often skittish, or cold, and fearful of men. But Robin hadn't been any of those things. He still marveled at the way she'd celebrated their coming together. She'd been adamant about what she wanted. The fervor with which she'd come to him, night after night, had awed him. He loved her excitement. Her enthusiastic passion for the physical act of sexual expression.
The sight of her pale flesh lit by soft moonlight, the flowery scent of her, the satiny feel of her skin sliding against his, the honey-sweet taste of her lips and those other dark, mysterious places of her supple body he'd kissed and teased and pleasured, her uninhibited moans of satisfaction... the fact that he was the only man who had touched her made him only want her more. He was going to go crazy if…
No, he told himself. The next move was Robin's. He'd simply have to wait patiently until she decided what it was she wanted to do. She could get over herself, or choose not to.
He whispered a harsh curse under his breath, wondering if he should go jump into a cold shower. Where the hell was his patience when he needed it?
~ ~ ~
The ceiling of her room was stark white in the bright light of early afternoon. She'd stared at it until her eye sockets felt dry and irritated. She was so confused by all the feelings that warred inside her. With Tony asleep and Jonas on duty once he woke up, she should have hours of peace to mull over her emotions. She should be finishing up the article her editor was still waiting for. She had a great start on the piece. The food she'd sampled in Hawaii had been fantastic. The state was a true melting pot of cultures with influences from native Hawaiian, Chinese, Filipino, Japanese, Korean, Portuguese, Samoan, Puerto Rican, Vietnamese, Thai, as well as others. There had been fresh, grilled ahi, luscious laulau with its tender, succulent pork, the delectable chicken adobo, not to mention the corn chowder, char siu, fried rice, lobster rolls. And the desserts! Haupia, macadamia pie, guava cake. She would need a six page spread if she were to mention even half of the dishes. But wh
o could concentrate on writing and doing justice to those beautiful tropical islands when her thoughts were in such a jumble?
She was furious at herself for falling in love with a man who cared only for himself and his career. He'd used her as a baby-sitter just to…
A voice inside her ordered her to stop. She couldn't be angry at Jonas for using her. Not when she'd done the same to him. And she'd used him in more ways than one. She'd used him as support as she learned to care for Tony, and she continued to do so. She'd also used him to get through a night that could have been filled with horrible grief. Instead, Jonas had turned it into a night of passion, a night of...
"Okay," she whispered aloud. "Okay, already. So I know the man is good in bed. And I shouldn't be angry at him for using me."
She'd gone over this a hundred times in her head. And even though she knew it wasn't fair of her to be upset with him, she continued to clutch that anger. It was the only way she didn't have to focus on the hurt.
These past three days her heart had ached with such pain that she thought surely it would crumble in her chest. Why? she wondered. Why did he have to make fun of her? Why did he have to laugh and jeer when she'd only been trying to do her best? Why did she have to find out about the things Sara had said?
When her sister-in-law came to mind, she purposefully shut the lid on those thoughts. Robin found it too torturous to deal with them. Jonas should be the focus of her attention; her feelings where he was concerned needed to be untangled.
She had attempted to reread his article several times over the past few days, but each time the humiliation she felt made it impossible for her to get past the first couple of paragraphs. In each instance, she'd had to force herself not to crumple the paper into a ball and fling it across the room.
But she sat up on the edge of the mattress now and concentrated on the words. She was going to make herself read his work again. She needed to know if there was even a glimmer of truth to his words when he'd said her experiences were universal to all women in the new mom predicament, and he was only seeking to help.
So, setting all emotion aside, she read.
After she finished, she slowly lowered her hand and placed the neatly typed paper on her nightstand. She sighed. As much as she hated to admit it, she could see how a woman, new to motherhood, might find comfort in knowing that she wasn't alone in the catastrophes she experienced in her day-to-day life with her new baby.
She planted her elbow on her knee and rested her chin on her fist. Jonas had insisted that, if she tried, she would see his true intent, and now she thought that... maybe she did.
Did that mean he was right about the other things he'd said to her? Did that mean she shouldn't have gotten angry that he'd used her foibles as fodder? Has she taken the article too seriously? The question broadened further. Did she take all of his ribbing too personally?
Maybe from his perspective she had, but then he didn't have a clue how she was looking at it; from the eyes of someone who had fallen in love and then had been immediately smacked in the face with disillusionment. She hated the thought of him seeing her as anything other than intelligent and capable, hated that he saw her as inept and uncertain. But then, all new mothers had to feel that way at times, didn't they?
She heaved another sigh. Okay, so Jonas had a point about the possibility of some good resulting from the aspersions he'd cast. She understood his point of view. He didn't have to see things from her side; in fact, she preferred that he didn't, because if he did he might discover how she felt about him.
Little Tony's face flashed through her mind. She and Jonas had to do something about the icy atmosphere between them. The baby sensed it and was affected by it. She and Jonas had to talk.
Robin rose from the bed and moved toward the door, but as she grasped the doorknob, another thought struck; if Jonas had been right about her lack of a sense of humor and her touchy nature, had he and Sara also been right about her ability to care for Tony?
Jonas hadn't wanted to tell her that Sara thought she wasn't capable of raising the baby, Robin knew that. The way the two of them had flung the angry words around, it was a wonder other things hadn't been revealed. Damn, but she was glad, relieved really, that she hadn't divulged her feelings for him. But as soon as he'd blurted out Sara's thoughts, he'd quickly stressed that his sister had confided in him before ever really knowing Robin.
Robin realized that Sara had never gotten to know her. She also understood that it wasn't Sara's fault. Robin was the one to blame. She'd been too focused on running toward independence and freedom. Or what she thought those things required, anyway. She'd been too focused on being her own person.
So it was her own fault that Sara didn't know she could be fully capable of caring for little Tony. And Robin realized that, although she felt hurt by Sara's opinion, she'd had it in her power to change how Sara felt, but she hadn't because…well, she hadn't known any better. And now it was too late.
Too late. Those had to be the two most desolate-sounding words in the English language.
Smoothing her fingertips over the cool, silver-toned metal of the doorknob, she felt the emptiness inside her yawn wide. It saddened her to think that there was nothing she could do to make amends with Sara and Jeff. There was no way for her to go back in time and live her life all over again. She'd simply have to learn to live with her mistakes.
She raised her head, tipping her chin upward, and inhaled a deep, cleansing breath. Right now, she realized, she needed to deal with her current reality. Her differences with Jonas wouldn't be ironed out unless she took the initiative to do it. The tension between them was too much for Tony.
Turning the doorknob, she pulled open the door and went in search of Jonas.
He was just closing the front door as she descended the staircase. Robin couldn't read the look in his eyes as he gazed at her.
"This was just delivered for you with the mail," he said.
The envelope was oversize and stuffed full. She knew it would never have fit into the mailbox, which meant the carrier must had come to the door. Her problems had so engrossed her that she hadn't even heard the bell.
"Thanks," she murmured.
"Looks like it's from your magazine."
She nodded, clasping the envelope to her chest. "When I called to tell them I couldn't travel anymore, my editor offered me this." She gave a quick glance downward. "They want me to read these articles. They've been submitted by freelancers. If I think the work has merit, I'm to pass it on to them. Otherwise, I mail out a thanks-but-no-thanks."
Jonas bobbed his head slowly. "You'll be happy without the travel? You could stay at home?"
Absolutely, she wanted to shout. If she could, she would take things back to the way they were before she and Jonas had argued. She'd continue to play house, continue to play the role of wife and mother. And she'd work on changing her role from playacting to the real thing.
The real thing? Her whole body froze. Where in the world had that idea come from? Nothing like that would ever happen. There were many things that could be done without the cooperation of a partner, but love wasn't one of them. It was pretty clear that Jonas was counting the days before he'd be rid of her.
Yes, her time with him was slowly but surely ticking away, and turning their relationship into something more than it was right now was improbable as well as impossible. She harbored no illusions. All she could hope to do was thaw out the chilly atmosphere that continued to surround them, maybe get back on friendly terms.
She realized his gaze had narrowed.
"What?" she asked.
He chuckled, and Robin's heart lurched in her chest. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed the sound of his laugh.
"Well, you must have gotten lost in your thoughts," he said. "Because I asked you if you'd be happy staying at home."
"Oh, right," she said, flushing when she remembered his question. "I think so," was all she said.
He hesitated for the length of two hea
rtbeats. "It was good of your editors to find you some work that you can do from here."
"It was." She nodded.
"I got some good news today, too."
She remained quiet, waiting for him to elaborate.
"I was able to sublet my apartment for the next six months. My place is on the other side of town. I didn't think I should give it up completely until…" The rest of his thought trailed. "What about you? Have you worked out…" He cocked his head, frowning. "I don't even know where you lived… before…"
"Oh, I rent a room," she told him.
"A room?" Surprise put an up-tilt in his tone.
She nodded. "In Brooklyn." She shifted the package in her arms. "I share the kitchen, living areas, laundry, and outdoor space with Lynn, the owner of the house. It's a three-story brownstone. Five large bedrooms. Huge place. Other boarders come and go, but I've lived there since landing the job at Fancy Food. It's cheap. And a perfect arrangement for me since I'm traveling so much for the magazine. Besides, Lynn's become a good friend."
"So," he said, "you're just going to hold onto it? Your room?"
Again she nodded. "For the time being. Until we decide what we're… you know, doing."
Awkwardness pulsed between them as if it were a living being, and Robin hated it with a passion.
"Well, then," he said quietly, "congratulations on getting your editors to send you some work." Again, he gave a vague smile and then took the rest of the mail with him down the hallway. Robin followed close on his heels.
"Can we talk, Jonas?" she asked.
When he didn't stop or acknowledge her in any way, she followed him right straight through the kitchen, where she tossed her fat envelope onto the table. She trailed him into the family room and through the doorway of his office. It was funny how her brother's work space had so easily become Jonas's office in her mind.
He didn't speak to her until he'd rounded his desk and sat down in his chair.
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