“The key words in that sentence being feed him, not give it to him,” Kiera said, handing him the towel.
Theo mopped up the blobs of applesauce splattered on the table. “He can grab things. I thought he could use a spoon.”
“Maybe. Maybe he still needs help. Do not allow your father’s expectations of your ability with a spoon to make you feel in any way inferior,” she told Peter, taking what remained of the applesauce and, with a spoon, managing to get some of it into his mouth. He talked happily, applesauce bubbling from his lips while he shoved a piece of pasta into his mouth. “You march to the beat of your own personal drummer, and never mind what anyone else is doing.”
“Swami Betelbaum?” Theo asked, amused despite the grave misgivings he had of her. He supposed he owed her a meal, after what she’d gone through cleaning up Peter. Once that was done, though, he’d explain that he couldn’t have her there after all, and would give her payment for a few days in compensation. Maybe a week’s worth.
His gaze dropped to her breasts at the memory of her act of heroism in cleaning Peter, and found to his sadness that her chest was once again almost indistinguishable in yet another baggy T-shirt.
“Swami Betelbaum is full of much excellent advice. He helped me a lot getting a handle on panic attacks.” She squinted at the variety of beverages that sat on the table. “I wonder if he can take other liquids than the formula. Do you suppose he’s lactose intolerant?”
He paused, a forkful of steak almost to his mouth. “Swami Betelbaum? You’d have a better idea of that than me.”
“Smart-ass.” She made a face at him before nodding toward Peter.
He grinned, delighted by the fact that she had evidently relaxed despite her hypervigilance, although he was all too aware of the irony that he cared about her mental state when he was planning on sending her on her way immediately after dinner. “I don’t know. Does he look it to you?”
“I don’t know that there is a look, but I’m not going to risk it.” She poured a little apple juice into a plastic cup and held it up for Peter. He pushed it away, and made grabby pincer hands at Theo, babbling earnestly. “I guess that answers that. I think he wants your steak.”
“Well, he can’t have it,” Theo said, moving his plate a little. “No,” he told Peter. “This is adult food. Not good for babies.”
“No no no no!” Peter said, continuing to reach for it.
“I am very hungry,” he continued, giving his son a stern look that he hoped exuded fatherly firmness. “I have worked hard today, and took one to the gut when I found out about you. I’d like to eat my dinner in peace. You will note that we have provided you with your own food. Please eat it. No, that is throwing it on Kiera. Do you see the look on her face? That says she did not enjoy a piece of pasta thrown onto her arm.”
“Half-chewed, slobbery, applesaucy pasta,” Kiera corrected him, removing the obnoxious item and wiping her arm, before mashing a couple of slices of cooked carrot with a fork and offering Peter a spoon of it. “I’m glad you’re talking to him like he’s intelligent, Theo. Swami Betelbaum said it’s important to not underestimate people’s abilities. And there, see? He likes the carrots.”
Peter reached for him. Or rather, his dinner.
“Should I?” he asked Kiera, hesitant to deny his newfound son anything he wanted. For a moment, he had visions of ponies and dirt bikes and, later, a very fast sports car in his son’s future. It was a nice vision, he decided, one that featured an older version of himself—slightly older, with perhaps one or two strands of silver at his temples in a distinguished, yet still attractive, appearance—beside his grown son. Oddly, his vision included Kiera, standing on the other side of Peter, her face full of pride.
“I don’t see why not, although you’ll have to mash it down. Maybe chop it up and mix it with some potato?”
“Hmm?” It took an effort, but he stopped imagining a delightful moment in which he told Iakovos how his son had graduated Oxford with top honors. Once again, Kiera intruded on that scene, standing next to him, her arm through his, while she told Harry about the many world-changing scientific discoveries that Peter had made before graduating.
“Is something wrong?” Kiera asked him, almost eating a bite of the lasagna she had requested for dinner, but putting it down untasted when Peter started banging the spoon she’d given him to play with on the tray, causing bits of applesauce, orange, and pasta to bounce onto the floor. “Yogurt, Peter? Do you like yogurt?”
What right did she have intruding on his private fantasies of the fabulous successes Peter would have in the future? It wasn’t right that she, a thief, should demand that she be present at all of Peter’s moments of triumph simply because she fed him and bathed him and put up with him throwing food on her without once complaining.
He felt disgruntled and aroused at the same time. Damn his libido. If this kept up, he’d have to find a woman to slake that particular thirst.
Except he didn’t want a woman. Not one who didn’t have a freckled, heart-shaped face, and eyes like the Aegean. He wondered what she tasted like. Was she salty, like the sea?
He cleared his throat, one eye on Peter, who now was smearing yogurt all over the high chair tray, happily babbling to himself. “So, what brings a paralegal from California to New Zealand?” he asked in what he thought was a very conversational tone of voice, not at all one that sounded like he was desperately trying to distract himself from thoughts of tasting her lips. And breasts. And belly. And hidden parts that he suspected would be as hot as the noonday sun.
She was silent for a moment, her fork of food still not having reached her mouth. Her gaze skittered over to Peter. It took her almost half a minute, but at last she said, “A man.”
“Ah. Boyfriend?”
“Now former, yes.” She stared at her plate, setting down her fork.
“New Zealand is a long way to come just to be with a man,” he said, alternating between a desire to ask her outright about the warrant and to toss her onto the nearest bed to lick every square inch of her.
“Mistake number one,” she said, tearing a roll apart and plucking out some of the soft inside to give to Peter. He mashed it into the yogurt/pasta mess on his tray before smearing it onto the top of his head. Her gaze met Theo’s, anger and resentment making her eyes glitter with little blue and green sparks. “He was big, like you. And handsome, like you. And he had—” She gestured toward his groin. “Like you.”
Theo wanted to be offended, but knew he had to treat her gently. She had survived something he couldn’t even imagine, and he wanted to explain that he had not meant to upset her. “If you’re referring to the episode in the bathroom, I apologize. I wouldn’t have been so cavalier about removing my clothes in front of you if I’d known it bothered you. Although I will also point out that I may be big like this ex of yours, but I’m not him,” he said, intentionally echoing her comment about him not being his father.
Her gaze dropped. “So you say.”
“I’m going to let that insult pass, because I am an understanding man, and not a monster who uses his size and face and cock to intimidate women. Again, I’m sorry about what happened earlier in the bathroom, but I had no way of knowing that it would make you so uncomfortable. As for the rest, I can’t help how I look any more than you can. Less, because it’s a bit more obvious if I wear cosmetics.”
Peter grabbed the bowl of mashed carrot that Kiera had left too close to him. He banged it on his tray, singing a song to himself, dipping his fingers into it and pointing at her.
“No one likes to admit they’re a monster,” she said, swallowing hard, her gaze still on the table. “What you think may make you the most understanding man on earth may not appear that way to someone else.”
Peter snatched a handful of mashed potatoes from Theo’s plate and, with a deep chuckle, stuck his fingers first in his mouth, then on his head.
“I didn’t say I was the most understanding man. I simply meant that I ca
n see now why you were upset earlier. Also, I assume you are referring to the fact that I mentioned my problem with alcohol.” He was suddenly irritated. He didn’t know how she knew about the less-than-savory things he had done when he was drunk, but it was clear she did, and it annoyed him. “Because I’ve apologized for groping Harry.”
Peter upended the bowl of carrots, and put that on his head, too.
Kiera’s gaze shot to Theo’s, her eyes wary. “You groped your sister-in-law?”
“Yes.” He shook a piece of meat at her that he had been in the process of chopping up for Peter. “But you needn’t look like I’m the scum of the earth. Not only did I not know what I was doing because I was blitzed, but Jake beat the shit out of me for that, and as I just said, I apologized to Harry the next day.”
“Jake?” she asked, looking confused.
“Iakovos,” he said with an abrupt gesture. “It’s Greek for Jacob. I call him Jake sometimes.”
“Oh.” She glanced toward Peter, her eyes widening, an odd little chirrup of laughter slipping out of her delightful lips. He looked to see what was so funny, staring in dismay at the sight. Peter was covered from the top of his head down to his once-clean shirt in carrot, mashed potato, and yogurt. A blob of carrot fell from the bowl he’d inverted over his head, and plopped down onto the tray, which was almost unrecognizable. “I think he’s going to need another bath.”
He looked with regret at his partially eaten steak, putting his fork down. “This fatherhood thing is a lot more involved than I thought it would be. No, don’t bother getting up. I’ll give him a bath now that I know how.”
“Hang on. So long as he’s filthy, let me try to get a bit more food in him.”
Ten minutes later, Theo took the still babbling baby to his bathroom, stripped them both, and had his second bath of the day. Another wave of panic hit him while Peter played in the water. What the hell did he know about raising a child, let alone taking care of a baby? How was he supposed to do this on his own? Even if he had a nanny, he’d still be responsible for Peter’s welfare and happiness, and a million other things that he couldn’t face.
He felt totally and completely out of his depth, but he knew he had to keep it together for Peter’s sake. He just hoped he’d be able to do that without losing control completely.
Peter splashed and babbled and kicked his little feet for a bit, but when he started slumping against Theo’s leg, gnawing slowly on his kneecap, Theo decided bath time was over. “Sleepy? Good. I don’t think you should see Kiera leave. I wouldn’t want to traumatize you when you’re this young.”
It took a good five minutes to dry Peter, and then he had to look at all the things in the diaper bag that were evidently supposed to be spread on him, to decide which were applicable. “You don’t have a rash, so we’ll put that one aside. Doesn’t powder cause women to get UTIs when used down there?” He eyed the baby powder, then looked down at Peter, who had fistfuls of Theo’s chest hair and was using it to get to his feet. He was pleased to see that Peter hadn’t been circumcised. “But just in case it’s the same for baby boys as women, we’ll give it a pass.” In the end he got Peter diapered and clad in a one-piece garment that looked appropriate for sleeping.
“No no,” Peter said, putting his fingers in his mouth and gnawing.
“I’ll get your chew toy,” he promised, and opened the bathroom door.
Kiera stood at the low dresser across from the door, half turned away, his wallet in her hand, and a look of startled horror on her face.
Rage filled him, rage at himself for being so stupid, so blind to the truth about her, and rage that she could return his kindness with such duplicity.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he roared, setting Peter on the floor, stalking over to where she stood frozen, her gazelle eyes huge. He snatched his wallet from her hand, frustration with the whole horrible day turning what would have been a simple gesture into a grand wave of his hand.
Kiera gasped and dropped to her knees, her hands protectively clasped over her head.
He stood looking down at her, stunned by her automatic response, looking first at his hand, which was raised to the level of his head, then down to where she gasped words in between terrible little heart-wrenching sobs.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t take anything, I swear. I just wanted to make sure you were the Theo who you said you were—”
Her voice held a level of terror that he had never, in his entire life, heard uttered by another human being. Carefully, she dropped her arms, but she scuttled backward until she was pressed into the wall, her whole body clearly trying to make itself smaller and less of a target.
He lowered his hand slowly, feeling as if he’d been kicked in the gut by a mule. She watched him with eyes now dark with fear and, when he made no move toward her, hesitantly got to her feet and backed out of the room, still murmuring an explanation and apology. She took two steps back, then whirled and ran to her room, slamming the door behind her. He fancied he could even hear her turning the lock.
Everything he knew changed at that moment. The world ceased to be a place in which he was comfortable, where he knew who he was, and what it owed him. Instead of that familiar life, a new reality resolved itself, one where a lovely, vulnerable woman had been so mistreated that she had groveled before him at the slightest gesture of his hand.
He had a child who needed his love and care, and now ... he looked at the closed door, imagining he could feel the waves of fear rolling out of her room. And now he had Kiera.
For the first time in Theo’s life, he moved his own happiness, welfare, and desires out of their places of primary importance, and replaced them with those of a delicate, frightened woman and a baby who deserved a father.
He picked up Peter, suddenly needing to hold him, to feel the baby’s warmth against his chest. He needed to feel like he wasn’t the monster he’d seen reflected in Kiera’s eyes. “What the hell did her ex do to her?” he asked Peter in a whisper. “What the ever-living hell did he do to her?”
The baby gurgled sleepily into his neck.
“And what am I going to do with you? How am I going to be as good a father as you deserve? I’m not Iakovos—I’m not sure I can do this.”
Peter hiccuped, and the feeling of the baby dozing against him with such trust filled Theo with a sharp stab of love, followed immediately by the bone-deep determination to do whatever it took to give Peter a happy life. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’m going to be the father you need. I’ll get another assistant if I need to, although Lord knows Annemarie is almost superhuman in her ability to cope with things. So that’s that, right? We’ll do this together. Just take it easy on me for a bit until I get the hang of things, all right, old man?”
He thought then of Kiera in her room, clearly terrified of him, and a second resolve formed, this one deep in his belly, accompanied by a burn that made him feel suddenly invincible. He laid Peter down in the crib he’d had the hotel bring up, covering the baby with a blanket as he promised, “We’re going to make it right, Peter. Somehow, we have to show her that she can trust us, and then we’re going to make things right with her. Because she needs us, and I’m starting to think we may need her, as well.”
Theo sighed to himself as he called down to the front desk to ask if they had a printer he could use. Had it been only that morning when his life was uncomplicated and easy? He felt like that time was a million years past.
And yet, for the first time, he felt oddly satisfied with life. He had a goal—two goals—and by God, he was going to see them through. This time, he wouldn’t mess up his life. There was too much riding on his success.
FIVE
“Pizza,” I said, sitting on the bathroom floor, my back against the wall while I clutched my knees to my chest, trying desperately to keep from hyperventilating. “Coins. Some melons. CD-ROMs. Fists.”
My stomach twisted at the last word. I tried desperately to calm the wild beatin
g of my heart, the false item bothering me. I owed it to Swami Betelbaum to banish that, at least. “Not fists,” I said, trying to erase from my mind the image of Theo’s angry face. That beautiful face, made terrible by his anger.
And why shouldn’t he be angry? It made perfect sense to me to verify that he was the man for which he’d given me references, but I knew to the very depths of my soul that he wouldn’t see it that way. Men like him didn’t like to be challenged. Or questioned.
My breath caught in my throat again, threatening to strangle me. “Globes. Yo-yos. Records. Potpies.”
How could I be so stupid? I’d allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security with Theo just because he seemed so nice. So needy. And so grateful for my help with Peter.
“This is what you get for that level of idiocy,” I said aloud, and with an effort got to my feet. I stared at myself in the mirror for a moment, not liking what I saw. “Swami Betelbaum would be disappointed,” I told my reflection, then cracked open the bathroom door to peer out into my room.
I hated that I was such a coward that I couldn’t just walk out into the room like a normal person, but that was well beyond my abilities at the moment.
The room was as I’d left it. Theo wasn’t in it, storming and raging at me, nor was he pounding on the door, demanding I leave immediately, both of which I half expected. I sat on the bed for thirty minutes, just sitting and thinking, trying to make a plan, trying to come up with a way to explain to Theo what I’d been doing, but my mind refused to cooperate.
Too many nights spent without sleep. Too many days spent looking over my shoulder.
The best my scattered mind could come up with was to wait until I was sure Theo was asleep, and then slip out of the suite.
But where would I go?
“Hurn?” A noise caused my head to snap up, the startled exclamation a half snore. I must have been on the verge of dozing off despite sitting bolt upright on the end of the bed. My gaze moved to the door, staring with surprise at a white thing that fluttered and squirmed under the bottom of it.
Papaioannou 01 - Ever Fallen in Love Page 5