Hideaway

by Alers, Rochelle

  He truly is beautiful, she mused. She remembered she had called him beautiful once and embarrassed him.

  Martin couldn’t take his gaze off his daughter and he wondered if it was possible to love someone on sight. She was beautiful, charming, engaging and bright, and he felt a tugging of love from within his body that made it difficult to control his feelings.

  He and Parris had created a perfect child.

  He drank his chocolate and ate his monster cookie, declaring both delicious. Glancing at his watch, he rose to his feet. He had stayed for nearly an hour.

  “I have to go,” he announced. It was only a half-truth. He wanted to stay forever, but he had to place an international telephone call.

  Regina stared up at him. “When are you coming back, Daddy?”

  He winked at her. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll make a date.”

  “I’m too young to date,” Regina squealed.

  “You’re never too young to date your father.”

  Parris stood up and tugged at one of Regina’s braids. The initial meeting had gone well.

  “I’ll get your coat,” she said to Martin.

  The three of them of stood at the door staring at one another.

  Hunkering down, Martin pressed a kiss to Regina’s cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He straightened and leaned down and repeated the action with Parris. “Thank you,” he whispered near her ear.

  He opened the door and then he was gone.

  Regina wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist, smiling. “He’s nice, Mommy.”

  Parris dropped a kiss on the top her head. “That he is, angel.”

  What she didn’t say was that she still was in love with Martin. She’d never stopped loving him.

  Chapter 16

  Regina woke up the following morning, complaining of a headache yet insisted on going to school because she was scheduled to present her project on invertebrates in her science class. Science and English were her favorite subjects.

  Parris tied a scarf around her daughter’s neck, pressing her lips to Regina’s forehead. “You feel a little warm. I want to take your temperature.”

  “I’m going to be late for the bus, Mommy,” Regina whined.

  “Okay, sweetheart. But if your headache doesn’t go away have the nurse call me and I’ll come and pick you up.”

  “See you later, Mommy.” She raced out of the apartment to wait for her school bus.

  Parris spent the morning changing bed linen and putting up several loads of wash. She had just completed vacuuming all of the rugs when the telephone rang.

  “Parris,” came a familiar male voice.

  “Martin.” She couldn’t help the breathless quality in her voice.

  “I’d like to thank you.”

  Her brow furrowed. “For what?”

  “For the child. She’s delightful.”

  Her frown vanished. “She’s quite a joy.” There came a beeping sound, indicating an incoming call. “Hold on, Martin. I have another call.” She depressed the hook and picked up the call. It ended quickly and she depressed the hook again. “Martin, the school nurse just called. Regina has a fever and I have to pick her up from school.”

  “Wait for me, Parris!” he shouted.

  “I can’t, Martin.”

  “Wait for me!” he insisted, then hung up.

  Parris didn’t know how Martin got to her house within the time it took her to change her clothes and run a comb through her hair, and as she stepped out of the apartment he was already striding up the path to her building.

  He took her arm and guided her to his car. He practically shoved her into the car and slammed the door. He slipped behind the wheel and shifted savagely into gear.

  “How do I get there?”

  Parris gave him the directions and he exceeded all of the speed limits, coming to a screeching halt in front of Regina’s school.

  He followed Parris into the school, pacing the floor as they waited for the nurse to bring Regina to the front office.

  Regina emerged, walking slowly, her face flushed. “My head still hurts, Mommy.”

  Parris gathered her to her chest. “It’s all right, baby.”

  Martin went to his knees and pulled Regina from Parris. He picked her up, his dark gaze searching the tiny face so much like his own. “We’re taking you home, cupcake.”

  Regina dropped her head to his shoulder. “I don’t feel well, Daddy.”

  Parris signed the release form, then followed Martin and Regina out of the school building. She sat in the back of the rented car, holding Regina as he retraced the route back to her apartment.

  Parris put Regina to bed, then called the pediatrician. She listened intently to his instructions. She returned to Regina’s room and saw that Martin had pulled the rocking chair next to the bed. He cradled one of her hands in his. The scene was reminiscent of the time he had sat by her bed when her jaw was shattered.

  She gestured to Martin and he rose to his feet and followed her out of the bedroom. “The doctor says she probably picked up a virus. He says to give her plenty of fluids and take her temperature every four to six hours. He says she’s going to feel pretty weak until her fever breaks.”

  “Has he recommended any medication?”

  “I have an aspirin-free medication he wants me to give her every four hours.”

  His black eyes, filled with concern, impaled her. “Are you sure she’s going to be all right?”

  “She’s been sick before, Martin. She’ll recover.”

  He ran a hand over his hair, closing his eyes briefly. “This is all so new for me. I suppose being a father is going to take some getting used to.”

  Parris patted his muscular shoulder. “You’ll make it.”

  He tried smiling but it looked more like a grimace. “Do you mind if I come back to see her in the morning?”

  “She’ll probably be out of it for few days. I’ll call you when she’s feeling better.”

  “I still want to come.”

  “Martin…”

  “Don’t Martin me, Parris. She’s my child and I want to see her.”

  Parris felt her temper rise quickly. “This is not about what you want, Martin. It’s about what’s right. You walk in here and declare that you want me for your wife while you expect me to fall in your arms and give you my consent; and now you demand to see a sick child who needs as much rest as she can get without you distracting or upsetting her.”

  Martin grasped Parris’s arm, guiding her into the living room. He sat down on the sofa, pulling her down beside him. He held her hand, not permitting her to escape him.

  “I wanted to marry you ten years ago, Parris, and I haven’t changed my mind. Do you want to know why?” He didn’t wait for her response. “Materialistically I have it all: money, fancy cars, custom-tailored clothes, a recognizable face, and a family name with enough clout to frighten those who displease me. But none of it means spit because I don’t have what really matters to me.

  “I never knew what it meant to give of myself until you came into my life. Suddenly I wasn’t the only person in my universe because I had someone else to share it with. You were that someone else, Parris.”

  Parris shook her head, trying not to hear what he was saying. There was no room her life for Martin. She had changed; she was a different person.

  “We can’t pick up the pieces, Martin. What we had is over. I’ve changed and you’ve changed.”

  “The only thing that’s changed is ten years and Regina. We now share a child.”

  “Wrong!” She inhaled deeply. “Why don’t you want to face reality? I don’t love you,” she lied, feeling a lump rise in her throat as soon as the words were said.

  Martin leaned closer, his gaze unwavering. “How can you love Regina without loving me?”

  “I can love you without being in love with you,” she argued.

  His classically handsome features froze moments before his mouth curved into a smile. “Oh, plea
se. Spare me the psychoanalytic prattle. I think you’ve been watching too many T. V. chat shows.”

  A shadow of rage crossed her face and Martin recognized it immediately. He released her hand, rising to his feet. Gathering the coat he had tossed on the love seat, he slipped his arms into it.

  “I’ll call you,” was all he said before he opened the door and walked out of her apartment.

  Parris sat where she was, replaying Martin’s confession. If her feelings for him hadn’t changed in ten years there was no reason why his should’ve changed.

  She had been only twenty-two when she fell in love with Martin, and she had been mature enough to know what they’d shared was a love that had been so strong and profound that it was destined to last a lifetime.

  She had tried dating a couple of years ago, but each en counter ended with her date promising to call her again. They never did. No man wanted to see a woman who wouldn’t let them touch or kiss her.

  The doorbell chimed, followed by three rapid knocks. “Parris. It’s me.” Parris opened the door for Stephanie.

  A slight frown marred Stephanie’s normally smiling face. “Is Regina all right? Scotty said she didn’t come home on the bus?”

  “I picked her up early,” Parris explained. “The doctor says she probably has a virus. I’m going to keep her home for the rest of the week.”

  Stephanie took a backwards step. “I’m not going to come in. The last thing I need is not feeling well on top of being humongous. A sick fat pregnant woman is not the nicest person to be around.”

  “Just hope Scott doesn’t get it.”

  “The only thing Scotty ever gets is a stomachache when he overeats. I don’t know whether to say anything,” Stephanie continued, lowering her voice, “but I saw a tall man coming out of your apartment yesterday and…”

  “The man you saw is Regina’s father.”

  Stephanie tried to look embarrassed as she glanced away. Her braided hair was swept up in a ponytail, making her look a lot younger than thirty.

  “I kind of knew that,” she admitted. “Regina looks just like him. And I hope you don’t mind my saying it, but he’s hot, Parris.”

  Parris recalled Stephanie’s assessment of Martin as she lay in bed, her mind blocking out the sound of the newscaster’s voice on the all-news radio station.

  She smiled. Martin was hot. And it was not only his looks.

  Martin had the power to make her want him every day and at any time. She never seemed to tire of him.

  He never made love to her and she never made love to him—they always made love to each other. From the first time they shared a bed they shared whatever they had to give the other. There was no pretense, no guile.

  She had given him her innocent body and he treasured the gift, reciprocating with his offer of marriage.

  She had turned down his marriage proposal, but what Martin didn’t know was if she hadn’t been forced to leave Florida she would’ve married him after she discovered herself pregnant. She had grown up not remembering her father. She didn’t want the same for her unborn child.

  However, that decision had been taken out of her hands the very night her pregnancy was confirmed, and Regina had lived the first nine years of her life not knowing who her father was.

  Parris turned off the radio and snuggled under her blanket. She fell asleep immediately, and just as quickly the dreams began. She dreamt of Owen Lawson shouting obscenities. Owen dragging her into the ocean. Owen hitting her and the excruciating pain in her face. She dreamt of Martin holding her, kissing her. She dreamt of floating and responding to the fire of Martin’s powerful lovemaking. The nightmare ended with the raspy voice of the man who threatened to put a bullet in her head, killing her and the child in her womb. She remembered his promise to cut Martin into little pieces before he threw what was left of his body into a lake filled with alligators.

  She woke up, her body drenched with moisture and her mouth screaming a silent scream. Then she cried. It had been ten years since she cried, and when the tears no longer flowed she lay on the wet pillow and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

  Parris heard the ringing of the telephone through a thick fog. She picked up the receiver, swallowing to relieve the dryness in her throat.

  “Hel-lo.”

  “Parris. Are you all right?”

  Falling back to the pillow, she closed her eyes. “What time is it, Martin?”

  “It’s eight o’clock. How’s Regina?”

  The cloudiness in her brain cleared instantly. Regina! She replaced the telephone receiver and jumped from the bed.

  Her heart was pumping uncontrollably as she raced into Regina’s bedroom. Holding a hand to her chest, she walked over to the four-poster bed and stared down at the sleeping child.

  She pressed a hand to Regina’s forehead. Thankfully it was cooler than the night before. She would let her sleep.

  It was only after she’d returned to her bedroom that Parris remembered she had hung up on Martin. She dialed the number to his hotel room, listening as the phone rang and rang. Shrugging her shoulders, she hung up and made her way to her bathroom to shower.

  Parris covered her feet with a thick pair of cotton socks before she slipped into a pair of laundered jeans. The jeans had been washed so many times that they were now a pale blue shade. She pulled on a light gray sweatshirt, then brushed her hair, securing it in an elastic band.

  She checked on Regina again and found her awake. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “My head still hurts a little bit.” Her voice came out in a croaking sound.

  Parris removed a thermometer from its case and inserted it under the child’s tongue. She sat down on the side of the bed. “I’m going to see if you still have a fever, then I’ll run some water for you to take a bath and change your bed. You’re going to have to drink a lot of juice and water.” She watched Regina wrinkle her nose when she mentioned water. The child did not like to drink water.

  She removed the thermometer. One hundred point two. It was down from the previous one hundred and two, but Regina still had a fever.

  Parris and Regina were startled by the ringing of the doorbell and the pounding on the front door.

  “Stephanie,” they said in unison.

  Parris raced to the front door, but before she could open it she heard his voice calling her.

  She flung the door open, shouting at the same time. “Are you mad?”

  A coatless Martin pushed past her. “Where is she?”

  She stared at Martin glaring down at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Is Regina all right?”

  “Of course she’s…”

  “Why did you hang up on me?” Martin asked, cutting her off.

  Heat suffused her face in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. Your call woke me up and when you mentioned Regina I remembered she was sick and I guess I kind of hung up on you.”

  Martin ran a hand over his hair. “You kind of hung up? When you slammed the phone down in my ear I thought something had happened to her.”

  “I tried calling you back,” Parris countered.

  “I probably was on my way over here.”

  “And without your coat.”

  Martin stared down at his running shoes, jeans and sweater as if he’d never seen them before. “I suppose I panicked.” His head came up slowly and he smiled, the dimples in his cheeks deepening as Parris returned his smile.

  “Can I see her?” he asked shyly.

  “Wait until I give her a bath and change her bed. Then you spend as much time with her as you want.”

  Martin spent the entire day with Regina, sitting on the rocker and reading to her as she dozed on her bed. He gave her her medication, coaxed her into drinking water and shared the lunch Parris had prepared for the both of them.

  Parris spent most of her time in her bedroom, sitting at her desk and going over a stack of photographs she had taken of the furnishings of an estate she’d catalogued for a client.
The large Dutch manor house overlooking the Hudson River had yielded priceless treasures dating back to the early seventeenth-century. Most pieces of furniture had found their way to the New World via the Dutch West India Company.

  Her gaze narrowed as she stared down at the photographs of several pairs of silver candlesticks. She considered candlesticks to be one of the most essential pieces of silver to own; the Dutch patron who commissioned to have the manor house built had a passion for them which had been handed down through subsequent generations.

  Parris had catalogued a pair of five-shell-base circa 1760 Georgian candlesticks; circa 1880 Baltimore repoussé candlesticks from Samuel Kirk. The extreme rococo curves of a pair of circa 1885 French first standard candelabra by Armand Gross were only matched in bravado by a pair of 1825 Warwick vase wine coolers. An exquisite 1860 sterling bowl with matching serving pieces crafted by silversmith John Wendt rounded out the exquisite collection.

  What puzzled her was that the five-shell-base Georgian candlesticks were quintessentially Southern. What was a New York Hudson River Valley family doing with pieces of silver that were usually seen only on a formal Southern table? She was taught that Southerners have very different tastes in silver from Easterners. Southerners liked silver that reflected very understated, conservative tastes, and collected for style, not for name.

  Parris felt the pull of his energy and presence before looking up. She didn’t know how long he’d been standing in the doorway to her bedroom, waiting and watching, but something impalpable raced through her. Glancing up, she met his dark eyes.

  She wanted to run away, hide, but his emotions kept pulling her back; back to where she was unable to resist him, and back to love him. Martin was a thief: he’d stolen her love and her heart.

  Their gazes held, and a whispered silence was broken even though no words were spoken.

  She remembered every inch of his large body as if it had been only the night before. Her hands and mouth had explored his flesh, drawing moans of pure unbridled pleasure from him whenever she led him to heights of spiraling fulfillment. Martin had been an excellent teacher, and she an apt student.