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The Secret Baby: The Sinful Secrets Series (Book #3)

Page 14

by Day Leclaire


  He didn’t deny it. “And Caldwell was?” he asked instead.

  “Yes,” she retorted without hesitation. “For all his faults, Leonard loved Kyle unconditionally, without a moment’s reservation. And he defended me, believed in me when no one else would. And I’ll always be grateful to him for that.”

  “Grateful?” He instantly homed in on the word. “Is that what you felt for Leonard? What about love? Or wasn’t that important to you?”

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I love Kyle. That’s more than enough.”

  “Is it?” His voice dropped, grew husky and seductive, and his hands slipped deep into her hair. “Are you sure?”

  She licked her lips, her gaze slipping from his. “Positive.”

  “Let’s see if I can’t change your mind about that.”

  His thumb drifted across her mouth, teasing her lips apart. And then he took them with his, delving within, tasting with a deftness and delicacy that stole her heart yet again. She couldn’t help capitulating, offering up her mouth in sweet surrender. He held her with a tenderness that made resistance impossible, exploring with barely restrained passion, his gentle seduction doing far more to sweep aside any lingering doubts than a more determined assault.

  “Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his mouth drifting to the sensitive juncture between her neck and shoulder. “Tell me you want me here and now. There’s no point in waiting any longer. You know Caldwell never made you feel like this, that you never came close to sharing with him what we once had. Let me prove it to you.”

  She stiffened, pulling back, sanity slowly returning. “Is that the point of all this? To prove you’re a better lover than Leonard?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t need to prove it. You already know what we shared was unique. It’s not something we’ll find again. You just don’t want to admit it because of Kyle, because it might hurt him to know that Caldwell didn’t measure up. So you’ve made your husband into a saint, someone Kyle can be proud of. But he wasn’t. There’s a lot you don’t know about the man.”

  Anger stirred. “And you intend to tell me, is that it?”

  “No. It won’t change anything for you to know.” He released her. “You’re not in the mood to continue this, so I’ll leave. But I want you to think about something.”

  “What’s that?” she whispered.

  “Is Caldwell the man you want your son to emulate? Is he who you intend to hold up to Kyle as a role model?”

  Long after he’d left, she stood in the middle of the room, unmoving, his words ringing in her ears. He was right. Leonard wasn’t the proper role model for Kyle. Only one man could properly handle that responsibility.

  And that was Damien.

  At the crack of dawn the next morning, Kyle crept into Sable’s bedroom. Climbing onto her bed, he bounced on the mattress until, with a groan, she rolled over and fixed him with a fierce glare. “What do you think you’re doing, young man?” she demanded.

  “Bouncin’.”

  She sighed. Clearly, her son was no easier to intimidate than his father. She fumbled for the clock. “Kyle! Why are you bouncing on my bed at six in the morning?”

  “Time to get up. Where’s Day-man? I wants to play with him.”

  She collapsed back against the pillows. Uh-oh. “Stop bouncing. You’re making me dizzy.”

  He grinned, bouncing harder. “Day-man! Day-man! Day-man!”

  “He’s not here.” But she wished he were, wished it with every fiber of her being. She released a soft groan, ruthlessly clamping down on the stray thought. She couldn’t keep yearning for the impossible. She’d been down that road before and knew it led straight to disaster.

  “When’s he comin’ back?”

  “I’m not sure.” Hoping to end the inquisition, she grabbed him about the waist and tickled his ribs until he collapsed laughing. “Come on, munchkin. Let’s get breakfast.”

  “Day-man comin’?” he asked, gazing expectantly up at her.

  She sighed. “No, Kyle. He’s not coming for breakfast.”

  To her disgust, the questions about Damien set the pattern for all of Saturday. Since business demands had taken up so much of her time these past two weeks and it was Millie’s day off, Sable decided that a trip to the zoo would be a welcome treat.

  “Can Day-man come?” Kyle instantly questioned.

  “Not this time.” He didn’t protest, but she could tell by the frown creasing his brow that her answer didn’t please him. “We’ll invite him next time,” she offered, hoping it would suffice. To her relief, he accepted her suggestion without further complaint.

  It was a perfect day, the weather warm and sunny, a light breeze alleviating the heat. She snapped a thousand pictures of Kyle imitating the various animals. And the whole time she thought about the situation with Damien. She’d been wrong not to tell him the truth last night. He wanted Kyle to be his son, she realized with a guilty pang. She’d seen the truth in his eyes, heard it in his voice. And, no matter what she’d said, he’d be a good father.

  As for her accusation that he’d be unable to let down his guard enough or risk his heart? Kyle would take care of that. Before Damien even knew what hit him, his son would slip in and take hold. It saddened her to think of all the years the two had already lost. She couldn’t allow them to lose any more, not when it was within her power to prevent it. She couldn’t be that selfish, couldn’t allow her fears to stop her from doing what she knew to be right.

  “Mommy,” Kyle shouted. “I see Day-man!”

  Before she could stop him, he took off, racing toward a man standing by the lion pit. His height and streaky brown hair resembled Damien’s, but Sable realized instantly Kyle had made a mistake. By the time she’d reached her son, he’d realized it, too, and darted back to her side.

  “I’m sorry,” she panted, breathless from her run. “He thought you were someone else.”

  “Hey, no harm done,” the man replied, offering an engaging grin.

  Kyle clung to her legs, glaring at the stranger, furious he wasn’t Damien. “Where’s Day-man?” he demanded. “I wants him here.”

  She gathered him close, giving him a consoling hug and kiss. He returned her embrace with childish enthusiasm. How much longer would that last? Soon he’d be too big and embarrassed for such open affection. “Damien promised he’d see you soon. And he will. You’ll have to be patient.”

  Kyle set his chin. “T’morrow,” he insisted.

  “We’ll see. No promises, though.”

  She handed him the camera on her cellphone and showed him how to snap a picture. The distraction worked, at least this time. But, knowing her son, it wouldn’t last. He wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than Damien’s presence. She closed her eyes, facing the inescapable facts. Kyle should have a strong male role model. Someone to share those special father-son activities. Someone to look up to and imitate. The time had come to surrender to the inevitable.

  The time had come to tell Damien the truth about Kyle.

  Chapter 9

  With her mind made up, Sable didn’t dare wait until Monday to confront Damien with the truth. Instead she decided to track him down Sunday evening after dinner, her best chance of catching him at home. By delaying until then, she’d also have another day to spend with Kyle, and wouldn’t have to leave him with Millie until after he’d been put down for the night.

  She took full advantage of the few hours allotted her, the brief time she had with her son both precious and fleeting. And with every passing moment she realized how many special occasions Damien had missed, and how much he would resent her for that loss. Immediately after she’d tucked Kyle into bed, she left for Damien’s. It had been years since she’d been this way, crossing the Golden Gate Bridge and driving into the hills above Sausalito.

  It was like coming home.

  She pulled into the driveway, parking at the side of the house as she’d done countless times before. A string of low-wattage outdoor light
s marked the pathway to the house, and she climbed the steps along the terraced bank to the front door, dreading the moment she’d see Damien, as well as the conversation to come.

  Lute answered her knock, greeting her with a smile of satisfaction. “Ah. Miss Sable. I’ve been expecting you.”

  She hesitated, gazing up in bewilderment. “You have?”

  “Most definitely.” He stepped back. “Please come in. Damien is out right now, but you may wait for him, if you wish.”

  “Thank you, I would.” She followed him into a huge common room that overlooked the water. “How did you know I’d drop by?”

  A slight smile touched his face. “Your conscience would force you to. You would want to correct Mr. Damien’s assumption that your son was fathered by Leonard Caldwell.”

  She stared at him, stunned. “You know? How?”

  “It was not an unreasonable conclusion, once I heard of young Kyle’s existence.” He turned to face her. “There were many mistakes made five years ago. Neglecting to tell Mr. Damien you were pregnant was but one, am I right?”

  “Yes,” she conceded. “Though somehow I doubt Damien will be as tolerant as you over this particular mistake.”

  He stroked his beard, his pale blue eyes filled with sympathy. “Time is often needed to rectify these errors. And time is often essential to bring the situation full circle and allow for healing and understanding. I think that is true in this case.”

  He was right, of course. How he was able to see it so clearly escaped her, but he’d focused on the most critical elements. Five years ago Damien hadn’t been ready to trust, hadn’t been ready to hear the truth, let alone accept it. An apprehensive frown creased her brow. “I just hope I haven’t waited too long,” she murmured.

  “Perhaps you have. Perhaps not.” He gave a small shrug. “We shall see. I will bring you something to drink, and then I must leave you. Damien will return soon. Until he does, please make yourself comfortable.”

  She stood by the window and waited, darkness stealing into the room like a soft, protective blanket. She stared down at the lights of the town and harbor, and out across the wide, majestic sweep of the bay, with a calm she hadn’t experienced in ages. A quarter moon slipped into the sky, its benevolent radiance a balm to her soul.

  For the first time since Damien’s return, she felt at peace. No matter what happened now, she’d finally confront a fear that had haunted her for five long years, face it and deal with it. She’d also correct a cruel wrong. Kyle would have a father and Damien would have a son. Nothing could be more important than that.

  Damien’s key finally scraped in the lock at the front door and she turned, waiting for him. Her heart pounded in her breast and her mouth grew dry. She gripped her hands together, praying for the strength to get through the coming discussion. He strode into the room, not bothering to switch on the lights, the moonlight apparently providing him with all the illumination he needed.

  He unbuttoned his shirt and crossed to the small wet bar at the opposite end of the room from her. She heard the chink of glass indicating he’d poured himself a finger of whiskey, and heard his almost inaudible sigh following his first sip. Moving toward her, he placed his glass on a side table and stripped off his shirt. He tossed it carelessly over the back of a chair and picked up his drink again, running a hand through the mat of hairs covering his chest.

  He still hadn’t seen her. She swallowed against the thickness in her throat. She should say something. But she didn’t want to. She wanted to watch him—watch the animal grace of his movements, watch the ripple of muscles when he lifted the glass to his mouth, watch the playful moonlight dance light and shadow across his bronzed chest and arms.

  She knew the instant he sensed her presence. His entire body tensed and he pivoted with a swiftness that took her by surprise. “Sable?” He spoke softly, his voice deep and husky, laced with irresistible demand.

  “I should have said something when you first came in,” she hastened to tell him. “I’m sorry, I—”

  His glass hit the table beside him with a crash and words deserted her. She stared as he approached, her eyes huge and dark and filled with a helpless vulnerability. He stopped inches from her. Silently, he reached for her, sliding his hand along the curve of her hip, drawing her close. She inhaled sharply, every sense keenly attuned to the bare expanse of his chest, the sultry warmth of his body, the unique, musky scent of him.

  “I was just thinking about you. About us,” he corrected in a quiet undertone. “You wanted to choose the time and place we made love.” He cupped her chin, tilting her head until the moonlight splashed across her face, revealing every fleeting nuance. “Has the time come? Is this where and when, Sable? Is that why you’re here?”

  She shook her head. “No. This has nothing to do with our agreement.”

  His smile glimmered in the darkness. “Good. Then it can be for the two of us. No conditions, no bargains, no deals. Just you and me. Together. The way it should be.”

  “I haven’t come to make love,” she started to tell him.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” His hold tightened, and he tucked her into the cradle of his thighs, his eyes darkening at her small cry of distress. He surged against her, his erection heavy and immediate. “Are you positive?”

  She fought the desire streaking through her, fought for sanity, fought for words and the breath to speak them. And all the while her hands crept up the ridged expanse of his abdomen, slipping into the thatch of crisp brown hair covering his chest. “I came to talk.”

  “No!” he objected with astonishing vehemence. “No more talk. I’m sick of the arguments, of the suspicion. I want you, Sable. I want you without conditions, without questions, without doubts. Just you and me, a man and a woman, together the way nature meant us to be.”

  “You make it sound so poetic,” she whispered sadly. “But it’s just lust or sex, not love.”

  He brushed her mouth with his thumb, the touch so gentle and tender it made her want to weep. “It was never just sex between us and it never will be.” But she noticed he didn’t call it love either.

  He didn’t give her time to think, let alone argue. Without waiting for a response, he bent slightly and lifted her into his arms. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, pressing her lips to the warm juncture there, aware her very silence committed her. She’d steal these few cherished moments for herself, give herself one last night to look back on, when all else had been irretrievably lost. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair, but it was as essential as the very air she breathed.

  Once in the bedroom, he removed his arm from beneath her knees, allowing her to slip down the length of him. Her breasts grazed his chest and his breath quickened in response. The buttons of her blouse were a barrier swiftly dispensed with, the silk blouse stripped from her and sent floating to the floor. The thin, lacy bra provoked a more leisurely exploration. He traced the line between French silk and creamy skin, dipping into the cups to palm the softness within.

  Sable moaned, the sound whispering between them. “Damien, please.”

  “Please, what?” he demanded. “Tell me what you want, my love.”

  “I want you,” she confessed. “I want you to make love to me, not out of revenge, but because you need me as much as I need you.”

  He unclasped the tiny hooks at her back, the straps of her bra dropping from her shoulders, followed by the silk drifting away. “This isn’t revenge,” he told her, his eyes burning with a fierce heat. “This is inevitable.”

  She knew he was right, knew she belonged with him and only him, that they had been building toward this moment since he’d first reappeared in her life. He dropped to one knee, his hand cupping the back of her calf, before drifting upward beneath her skirt to the garters anchoring her stockings. With a flick of his thumb, he released them one by one. She trembled within his hold, her fingers sinking into his hair while she fought for balance. Like the brush of a feather, the nylons glided
down her legs. He lifted one foot, then the other, removing them.

  Then he rose, his hand tugging at the zipper of her skirt, easing away her remaining garments with a gentle touch. She stood before him, motionless, vulnerable and afraid, yet wanting his possession with a desperation she couldn’t deny. Moonlight etched a path across the room, caressing her nudity, the silvery glow turning her skin to alabaster and sparkling in her hair like stars glittering in a midnight sky.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured, molding her breast with his hand. “So perfect.”

  Tears gathered in her eyes and she bowed her head, pressing her lips to his chest. He groaned, the sound ripped from his throat, savage and raw. She felt the intensity of his desire and nervous dread feathered along her spine. “It’s been a long time,” she told him softly. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

  “It’s all right. There’s no hurry,” his gentle assurance bled through the darkness. “I won’t hurt you.”

  But he’d already hurt her. And she knew, as surely as the sun would rise in the morning, he would hurt her again. Worse, she would let him.

  Once again he swept her into his arms. He was all strength, tough sinew and taut muscle and she reveled in his maleness. He carried her to the bed and placed her tenderly on the sheets. And then it was his turn to remove the final few pieces of his clothing. He reached for his belt, yanking it free. The leather making a sharp whipping sound that startled her and the breath trembled in her lungs in a combination of nervousness and excitement. In a easy, economical movement he stripped away his trousers and shorts.

  Moonlight stole across his body the way it had hers, this time highlighting the hard, masculine planes and sinking into the carved ridges, sculpting him in pearly shadows. He was wild and beautiful and so intensely male. And for tonight, he belonged to her. He approached, pausing at the bedside stand to retrieve a condom. He rolled it on with swift efficiency.

 

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