“You shouldn’t have messed with me. You should have followed my instructions.”
Fury flared inside Dex. “Go to hell, Smythe. It’s over. We have the baby.”
“I know. Nanny’s very upset she lost my son.”
Dex gritted his teeth. The thought that Smythe had passed Patrick off as his own grated on his nerves like a boot heel on gravel. As, no doubt, Smythe knew it would. “It’s all over, Smythe. We know all about the way you and Maggie used John Cohen to smuggle your blood out of prison. The way Maggie paid Connie Rasula to stage the attempted rape.”
“So you’ve been digging, so what? You aren’t going to be able to convince my sister to testify against me. What else do you have?”
“The deaths of Connie Rasula and Jennifer Scott.”
“The way I heard it, the police like you for those murders. At least that’s what was all over the evening news.”
Dex gritted his teeth. So Jancy Brock had gone ahead with her story. Dex’s career as district attorney really was over.
Alyson entered the kitchen. Face pale, she clutched Patrick tight, as if afraid Smythe could reach him over the phone lines.
Dex gave her his best imitation of a smile. Somehow just looking at her holding their son made sacrificing his career lose its sting.
“Can’t think of anything else, huh?” Smythe’s smug voice snaked into his thoughts. “You forgot that detective. What’s his name? Mylinski? Though I understand he hasn’t died—yet.”
And he wasn’t going to. Mylinski was growing stronger every day. Not that Smythe needed to know that. “We’ll add attempted murder to your charges. Arson, too.”
“But where’s the evidence?”
“The police have plenty of evidence against you for kidnapping.”
“Oh? How can I kidnap my own baby?”
“You might have been able to fool your elderly nanny, but you won’t fool anyone else.”
“Who’s to say he’s not mine? There’s no father listed on the birth certificate. Did you know that? Short of a DNA test, you can’t prove the kid is yours, any more than I can, Harrington.”
“Or we could just make it easy and ask the mother.”
“If she’s alive to tell the tale.”
Rage screamed in Dex’s ears. Anger pounded with each beat of his heart. He was sick to death of Andrew Clarke Smythe. And now that they’d found Patrick, he didn’t have to play his twisted games anymore. “It’s just a matter of time before the police find you, Smythe. The next time I see you, I’ll be in the witness box testifying about the things you’ve done.”
His laugh grated over the phone line like a string of profanity. “I wouldn’t count on them finding me. Not yet. I’m not done with you. And I’m certainly not done with the redhead. You’re still in my reach.”
“Go to hell, Smythe.”
“Been there. But I’d love to give you a tour. Pleasant dreams.” The phone line went dead.
Damn. Dex punched off the phone and pounded his fist on the countertop the way he wanted to pound Smythe’s smug face.
“What did he say?” Alyson searched his face, her skin as white and fragile-looking as tissue.
“The usual. How he’s not done with us. How we are still in his reach.”
“Are we?”
“I don’t see how. The police have this place surrounded.”
“And they’ll keep it up until he’s caught?”
“He’s getting desperate. Sloppy. They’ll catch him soon.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then we’ll get you and Patrick out of town. Somewhere Smythe can’t find you.” As the words left his lips, emptiness ached in his chest.
“I don’t want to leave, Dex. I want to stay here. With you.”
He knew how she felt. Knew it far too well. And he didn’t want to stay with her for a night or a week or a month. He wanted to believe he could live in the fantasy for the rest of his days.
If only his past and Andrew Clarke Smythe would let him.
ALYSON STOPPED at the entrance to the living room. The room was dark, but she knew Dex was inside. Pausing a moment to let her eyes adjust, she spotted him. He stood at the front window. Holding a section of the sheers aside with one hand, he stared into the darkness outside. Tension hardened his shoulders, visible even under the crumpled dress shirt.
She wanted to slip behind him and massage the hard muscles. She wanted to feel the warmth of his skin under the crisp cotton, the knotted muscles slowly succumbing to her fingers. She wanted to lose herself in the masculine scent of him, so close, so real.
While Patrick was in Smythe’s hands, she hadn’t been able to think of anything but finding him, of holding him close again, of ensuring his safety. But now that he was safe in his bed, thoughts and feelings swirled within her like dangerous currents.
She wasn’t worried about Smythe and his threats. Not really. Dex had reassured her that he would never be able to get past the police outside. No, she was more worried about herself. And her feelings for Dex.
Since Dex had written her off fifteen long months ago, she’d focused on putting herself back together and protecting herself from ever being hurt again. But in the past few days, she’d forgotten what she was protecting herself from.
Taking a breath of courage, she stepped into the room and crossed the plush carpet. Although Dex didn’t glance back from his vigil, he knew she was there. She could hear it in the speeding of his breathing pattern and feel it in the charged air.
“Did you get the baby to bed?”
It was such an innocent question, a natural question, yet the low rumble of his voice caused a warm stirring in the pit of her stomach. “He was tired. He went to sleep before he finished nursing.”
He nodded, the light from the hallway glinting in the gold of his hair.
Alyson stepped toward him as if pulled by a force she couldn’t control. Stopping behind him, she slipped her hands on either side of his neck and began to knead the hard muscle with her fingers.
He held up a hand. “Alyson, don’t.”
She stopped kneading, but left her hands in place, soaking up the heat through his wrinkled shirt. “You look so tense.”
Slowly he turned to face her. A crease formed between his penetrating blue eyes and tiny lines rimmed his lips. The hall light reflected off his glasses, hiding his eyes.
But she didn’t need to see his eyes to know what he was feeling. It was the same thing she was feeling. The yearning, the heat she’d seen rekindle in his eyes over the past few days. The passion she’d felt in his kiss after they’d escaped the fire. She dropped her hands to her sides.
“You’re right. I am tense.”
“Why?”
He looked away from her. “I don’t know. Smythe’s call I guess.”
“You said that even if he was obsessed enough to try something, he wouldn’t get past the police outside.”
“He won’t.”
“Then we’re safe, aren’t we? And Patrick is safe, too.”
He looked back into her eyes. “Yes. We’re safe from Smythe.”
She said nothing. She didn’t know what else to say. They both knew where the danger lay. And it wasn’t somewhere outside her house. It was here. In this room. And it stretched between them like a minefield.
“You’re really good with Patrick, you know. A natural mother.”
“Thank you. It wasn’t always easy.” As soon as the words left her lips, she wanted to take them back. He’d take them the wrong way. He’d blame himself. “But it was always worth it. I’m just glad I can finally share him with you.”
His lips curled in a solemn smile. “It’s amazing.”
“What is?”
“That the two of us created him. It’s a miracle.”
She nodded, unsure her voice would function. In the long months she carried Patrick inside her, she’d often dreamed of Dex saying something like this to her. That their baby was a miracle, that he was the culmin
ation of their love. And in her imagination he’d always followed that pronouncement by asking her to come back to him, to marry him so the three of them could be a real family. “I miss you, Dex.”
A muscle flexed along his jaw. “Don’t go there, Alyson. Please.”
She shook her head. As much as she wanted to do as he asked, to stay safe and avoid her feelings, to bury them in the ground until they turned to dust, she couldn’t. “I know you can’t forgive me. I know you can’t promise me anything. But I see the look in your eyes, Dex. And you want the same things I do. The things we always used to want.”
He took a step away from her, as if he was going to pace across the room. But he didn’t take the next step. “Hell, Alyson, there’s nothing to forgive. But as much as I want to, I can’t go back.”
“I don’t want to go back, either. I want to go forward, if we can. I want to give us a chance. A chance we never really had before.”
“Never really had?”
She bit her bottom lip. How could she explain her feelings to him? The uneasiness of never being certain where she stood? The fear that one day he’d write her off for something she’d never foreseen? “Even when we were happy, I was never sure where I stood with you. I always felt that I had to watch every step I took or you’d write me off.”
“Like I wrote you off when you sided with your father.”
“Exactly. Being with you was like walking a tightrope. And I never knew my feet had slipped from the rope until I was on my way to the floor of the big top and you’d stopped loving me.”
“Alyson, I never stopped loving you.”
A chill shook her from the inside out.
“I just couldn’t let myself show it. I couldn’t let myself take you back.”
“Like your mother took your father back?”
He shook his head. “Like I took my father back. It wasn’t just my mother who forgave him. I wanted him to be the man he should have been. I never gave up wanting that. I never gave up believing in him. And I know damn well that was the main reason my mother stayed with him. She didn’t want to disappoint me.”
A chill climbed up Alyson’s spine. She reached for Dex’s hand. “You were a kid, Dex. You can’t take that kind of responsibility on yourself.”
“It’s the truth. I may not have caused my mother’s death, but I did contribute to it. My dreams and fantasies of having a father contributed to it. And as a result, I lost both her and my father for good.”
The pain in his eyes stole her breath. She swallowed into a raw throat.
His fingers closed around hers and squeezed. “It’s not that I can’t trust you. I can’t trust that what I’m feeling is real and not just the way I want things to be. And I can’t risk hurting you if I’m wrong.”
“What I feel is real, Dex. I love you.”
Reaching a hand to her face, he traced her jaw with a feather touch, stopping when he reached her lips. “I’m sure what you feel is real. But then you’ve always been much more sure of yourself. You’ve always known what you want out of life.”
“I wanted you, Dex. All of you. Forever. Without reservations. And it’s what I want now.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know if I can give you that.”
She looked into his eyes, so tortured, so sad. Maybe he was right. Maybe he couldn’t give her what she wanted, what she needed. Maybe she would never be sure of his love, never be sure he would stay with her, that she would never be alone again. Maybe he would leave her heartbroken and battered.
But none of it mattered.
“I love you, Dex. And I want you. If that means we can only be together for a night or a week or an hour, so be it. I’ll take it and feel I’m the luckiest woman on earth.”
Chapter Fifteen
Dex watched Alyson’s lips purse together, her eyes searching his face as if looking for answers. She’d sounded so sure of herself, so sure of her offer to him. But he could tell inside she was as unsure as he was.
“Dex?” Her voice was tremulous, no more than a whisper, and it hung in the air between them.
He ran his fingertips along her cheek. She was so soft. So vulnerable. And at the same time, strong as iron.
God, he wanted her.
The fantasy couldn’t last. He knew it. Not for Alyson and not for him. But maybe for this one night, that didn’t matter. Maybe for this one night they could live in the fantasy and let all the rest fall away. Maybe for this one night they could be happy. “I want to make love to you, Alyson. I’ve wanted to for so long.”
A smile spread over her lips. Lips he wanted to touch, to kiss, to claim.
Fire curled inside him. He’d tried not to think of their past together, back when they were happy. He’d tried not to let himself remember. He’d been struggling since the night she’d shown up on his doorstep and told him they had a son. But now with her standing in front of him, her eyes darkened to jade with passion, he didn’t need to relive memories. The dream was right here. Right now. A dream he wanted to lose himself in.
He cradled her face in his palms, burying his fingers in her hair. Her skin was like satin, her hair silkier and more lush than in his memories. His fantasies.
She closed her eyes, her lashes brushing pale cheeks. Her lips parted, soft and ready for his kiss.
Lowering his head, he angled his mouth to fit over hers. The first touch of her lips stole his breath, the second seared his soul.
Her arms circled his shoulders, pulling him closer, tighter. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, joining with hers, his kiss hard and demanding, like the need pounding inside him. And she answered with the same ferocity. As if she couldn’t get enough.
He remembered thinking how fragile she looked. Yet the woman kissing him now was far from fragile. She wanted this as much as he did. Needed it. And knowing that fired his blood past reason.
He skimmed his hand through her hair and over her shoulders. His fingers found the buttons of her blouse. One by one, he slipped them free, loosening the silken fabric to expose the silkier skin underneath. Without releasing her lips, he glided the blouse off her shoulders and arms and let it fall to the floor.
She shivered, goose bumps rising on her skin.
He ran his hands over her arms. “Cold?” The question slipped out between kisses.
“No. I just want you close. Need you close. I want your skin on mine.” She clawed at the buttons of his shirt.
Grasping the collar of his shirt, he ripped, popping the buttons free. Then he pulled her tight to his bare chest. Circling his hands around her back, he found the clasp of her bra. Fingers suddenly clumsy as a teenage boy’s, he worked the hooks loose and slipped the bra off between their bodies.
Her breasts spilled free, their weight pressing against his chest, the warmth of her skin burning into him.
He released her lips. “I want to look at you. I want to remember everything about you, about this night.” He stepped back from her.
The dim light from the front hall caressed her pale skin. Her breasts were so beautiful, fuller and riper than before, swelled with nurturing their son. The son they had conceived together. “You’re so beautiful. Like a dream.” He gathered her close, slipping his hands over her soft mounds, cupping their abundance. Her nipples were larger, as well. They stood out as if begging him to take them into his mouth.
And he couldn’t resist. He cupped a heavy breast in his hand, lowered his mouth to her and gently kissed the nipple.
She moaned and arched her back.
He found her other breast with his hand, holding, caressing. He closed his lips around her nipple, teasing it with his tongue as he sucked.
Sweetness filled his mouth, the taste of her, the essence. He sucked one breast, then the other, the flavor of her milk washing through him, rinsing him clean.
Her fingers combed through his hair. She bent and pressed her lips to his forehead in a gentle kiss. A kiss that took his breath away.
She peeled his shirt from him. Cool
air rushed over his skin, making her heat all the more delicious, all the more compelling. Her fingers smoothed over his back, his stomach, stoking his desire. Desire so long denied.
He raised his head and captured her lips. She opened her mouth for him, and he thrust his tongue inside, taking, claiming. She matched his hunger, his need. Deepening the kiss, she pulled him down onto the couch, his body over hers.
He wanted to be closer, to touch her, to claim her. He found the hem of her skirt and pushed it up her thighs until it bunched around her waist.
Then she was helping him, pushing down her panty hose and opening her thighs.
He slipped his hands between her legs. She was warm and wet for him, as eager for him as he was for her. He caressed her, gently at first, then building in intensity until she arched her back and pressed against him. A moan slid from her lips.
Her hand found the waistband of his slacks. She unfastened his belt and lowered the zipper. Pushing beneath the elastic of his briefs, she slipped her hand around him and cradled him with gentle fingers.
He was plenty hard before she touched him. But with the embrace of her fingers, he thought he’d explode. He wanted to bury himself inside her. To lose himself in her warmth. In her love. In the dream.
She moved her fingers over him, stoking the fire until he couldn’t stand it another moment. He grasped her hand, stilling her movement and hurriedly divested her of her panty hose and himself of his pants.
She pressed a hand on his chest, pushing him back against the couch. In one movement she straddled him. Her hand found him, holding him, positioning him. And then she lowered herself to him.
He thrust upward, meeting her, sinking into her. Their gasps mingled. She clung to his shoulders, her breasts surging into his face. He held her against him, his lips skimming over her breasts, devouring her nipples.
She arched her back. Pressing her lips to his forehead, she raked her fingers through his hair. “Dex.” His name sounded primitive on her lips, so full of need, of desire.
And his desire answered, so long repressed.
Claiming His Family Page 14