Annabeth swallowed anxiously. “No, hardly. You were right, Emma. The whole thing was a mistake. He didn’t believe me. It was a stupid idea. I should never have told him.”
Emma’s response was prolonged and expletive laden, but it did nothing to soothe Annabeth’s frazzled temper. “Just… don’t worry. Look, they’re in the bar. Can I let them know if you’ll take the job?”
“Yeah, fine. Only because you’re asking, though, Beth. And I want double my usual rate.”
“I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” Annabeth responded simply, disconnecting the call without moving. She stayed against the wall, her eyes shut, her mind hurting.
“So I was right? It was a lie?”
Her blue eyes flew open, to see Kirk standing like a tightly sprung coil in the door of the darkened office.
“Kirk,” she shook her head from side to side.
He stepped into the office and shut the door behind himself. His face wore a grim mask, but once he’d closed the door she could no longer see the detail in his expression. The office was plunged into darkness.
“Emma said she’d do it.”
“I don’t give a shit,” he said harshly. The office was small. He closed the distance between them in seconds. He groaned as he pulled her into his arms. “A part of me hates you, Annabeth. For lying to me. But a part of me loves you, too, and wants you so bad it hurts. What does that say about me?”
She couldn’t speak. Her own emotions were pelting one another from opposite sides of the sensible divide. She knew she should be strong, that she needed to make him understand the truth. And she would. But first… she stood on tiptoes and found his mouth, claiming it with hers. He groaned again, dragging his fingers through her hair and pressing her back against the wall with the weight of his body. Her mouth was so soft and pliant, and he ravaged it. He ravaged her. He kissed her neck, her décolletage, pulled at her shirt so that it fell open and her breasts were exposed. As she moaned and writhed against his body, he kissed her breasts, and lashed her nipples with his tongue, moving his hands lower. She was wearing a denim mini skirt, and he ruched it up around her waist, pulling at her underwear so that he could slip a finger inside of her, while his mouth continued to taste her body.
Annabeth was a shaking mass of sensation. “Kirk, I can’t stand up,” she whispered, her knees so weak, her body so jelly-like, that she was simply a collection of erotically charged cells.
“No.” He lifted her easily and placed her on the timber floor. Outside, the noise of the bar continued to rage, but they couldn’t hear it. There was only them, and this. He undid his jeans impatiently, just enough to remove his arousal and nudge it towards her entrance.
“Please,” she whispered, digging her nails into the cotton of his shirt. “Please, Kirk.”
His smile was satisfied, his expression harsh. “Oh, Beth. I want you, honey, but I kind of want you to suffer. Just a little.”
Groggily, she pushed up on her elbows. “What… do you mean?”
“Suffer in the best possible way, angel.” He dipped his blonde head forward, and made contact with her most intimate, beautiful heart. His tongue was not gentle, and her orgasm was fierce. She thrashed on the floor as her body spiraled into a heated coil of delight, her insides were slick with moisture, her breasts raw and sensitive from his touch.
“That’s not suffering,” she whispered, as she came back to earth.
“What if I tell you we’ll never make love again?” He moved his body over hers, his erection so close to possessing her that they were both panting with need.
“I’d say you’re lying.”
His eyes narrowed. “Haven’t we established that you’re the liar in this little relationship we’ve got going?”
She bit down on her lip. She could prove to him that Wade was his son, but now, she wanted him to believe her without proof. “I’ve never lied to you,” she said earnestly, arching her hips as desire ran through her.
He pulled back just enough to keep them physically separated. “You tried to foist another man’s child onto me.”
Tears clogged in her throat. “No.” She shook her head sadly.
Kirk laced his fingers through hers and held her arms aloft, high above her head, as he drove into her, watching as the moonlight bathed her beautiful face in light, showing relief on her features. He pulled out, and confusion replaced relief.
“If you’re trying to make me admit that you’re not Wade’s daddy, it won’t work,” she murmured, her body on fire.
He shook his head, as desire overtook his need for the truth. He plunged into her again, his body instantly jerking with the complete acceptance of how much this coming together had become a part of his soul. How he needed her regardless of what she was.
He moved quickly, driving her over the edge, but he wasn’t ready to leave her. He didn’t know when they’d be together again. He knew she would be mad as hell once the sensual fog lifted. He slowed down, bringing his mouth to her breasts, kissing her, and touching her, as he stoked desire anew inside of her.
She moaned as he wound her up and pulled her apart again, sending her senses haywire as her whole body seemed to melt into the floorboards. He released himself, finally, and in that moment, he knew he would never feel anything as perfect as being with this woman. It was his reason for walking this earth, plain and simple. And the knowledge brought him a swift stab of desolation.
Annabeth dressed without looking at him. Her hands weren’t steady, and her cheeks were flushed. She pulled her hair into a severe plait, then took a sip of water from her bottle on the desk. She cast a look in the mirror, ignoring the looming shape of Kirk Robinson standing just behind her. Steadfastly, she avoided his eyes. She couldn’t look at him. Her confusion was too profound, her sadness almost overwhelming. How could something so amazing be borne out of such anger and hate? She ran her fingers over the pink patches on her neck, courtesy of his stubble. With a groan of frustration, she loosened her plait and spread her hair around her shoulders. The length did a fine job of covering up the only physical marks of their sexual escapade.
Her voice was without emotion, and her eyes didn’t meet his in the mirror when she spoke. “I have something to give you.” She cleared her throat. “I was going to bring it to you later, but seeing as you’re here now…” her sentence died off in her throat, as finally, she looked at his face. And she saw how distraught he was. She saw remorse, and regret. And she couldn’t let herself care. She slipped out of the office, not bothering to check that he was following.
The pub was a hive of activity. She stopped to chat to a few customers on her way over to Rosie and Cam. By the time she joined them, Kirk was back, looking relaxed and unconcerned with life.
She ignored him, though it took huge effort and control.
“Good news. I got hold of Emma. She’s happy to do it.” Annabeth went through Emma’s rates as quickly as she could, then typed Emma’s cell number into Rosie’s phone. “Give her a call in the morning to confirm details.”
“Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver. Isn’t she a lifesaver?” Rosie’s face was transformed into an expression of ethereal beauty.
“Oh, yeah. She’s something, all right,” Kirk muttered, swapping out his beer for a whisky and throwing it back.
“Will you have a drink with us, Annabeth?” Rosie invited warmly.
Annabeth looked despairingly at Kirk, then past him, to Doctor Dan. “Sorry, I promised this guy a dance earlier.” She smiled brightly and moved over to her friend. A comforting face in the midst of a maelstrom of feeling.
He knew better than to argue.
Her cheery attitude might have fooled most, but he knew her better than that, and he was certainly not buying it. “Come on, honey. They’re playing our song.”
She listened. He was right. The memory of the first time they’d danced together brought a smile to her face. She’d been pregnant, and scared witless at the prospect of raising a child alone.
&n
bsp; Feigning ignorance of Kirk’s dagger-laced stare, she put her hand in Dan’s and followed him to the dance floor. Being with Kirk might have felt right, and perfect, but being with Dan felt safe and comforting, and at that moment, she needed a port in the emotional storm.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The box was not familiar to him. He turned it over in his hands, studying the detailed pattern. It looked like a cheap imitation of an oriental treasure.
He sat down on his bed, kicking his shoes off and lifting his legs. He’d slackened with his stretches of late, and his back was showing the first signs of complaint. Or maybe it was the way he kept grabbing Annabeth and making love to her whenever they were alone. He winced, remembering the things he’d said to her. Remembering with a deep sense of shame how he’d used their connection to illicit a confession out of her. Or attempted to.
Mortification turned his stomach. She was the only woman he’d ever loved, and regardless of what she’d done, she deserved better than that. He groaned into his silent bedroom, fingering the box as he stared out of the bay windows towards the rolling, verdant hills of the plantation. La Cachette was the grandest home in all of Mobile County, with its Baroque French architecture and enormous scale. Its beauty afforded him little solace now. Nothing did.
He’d resisted investigating the box all day. He’d told himself that he didn’t care what was inside. Whatever Annabeth wanted to show him didn’t change the facts. Much. He’d done whatever he could to keep busy. But now, there were no more distractions.
With an angry exhalation of breath, he slid the bolt sideways and lifted the lid.
The ring caught his attention first. It was her engagement ring, tied with a piece of satin ribbon around a package of letters. His heart thudded almost to a stop then sped up furiously. He’d presumed she’d sold the ring somewhere along the line. It was worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, and God knew she could use the money. His breath was ragged as he undid the ribbon and slid the jewelry off, into the palm of his hand. He remembered the day he’d bought it for her. He’d flown to New York, wanting the best ring in the world for Annabeth. The canary yellow diamond had been perfect. The color of her hair, and when the sun hit it in the right light, the ring sparkled almost as bright as her eyes.
He ran his fingers around the enormous solitaire, wondering anew why she had kept it all this time. Locked up in a cheap box, somewhere in that falling down home of hers. He placed it on the bed beside him, and then pulled at the ribbon some more.
There were dozens of letters. More than he’d even known about. Impatiently, he opened the first one.
Kirk, I got your email but when I tried to reply, it kept bouncing back. I don’t know how else to contact you, but I needed to write. I can’t accept that you’re breaking up with me. I won’t accept it. He could practically feel her tension, as her writing became noticeably smaller and tighter. I don’t know what life’s like for you over there. I can only guess, and piece together a rough idea from the news. I get it. It’s tough. But don’t lose sight of what we have. I love you so much. I’ve loved you all my life so far, and I plan on loving you for the rest of it.
He put the letter down with the engagement ring and closed his eyes. What good was rehashing the past? He’d made the only decision he could make. It had been for the best, or so he’d believed at the time.
Kirk, I still haven’t heard from you. I don’t even know if my last letter has reached you yet. I don’t know where you are, but I wish you were here, with me. No. Not here in the dorm. I wish we were both back home. Back in Clearview, under that tree we love at La Cachette. I want to feel your arms around me, and to know everything’s going to be okay. Kirk, I’m scared. I need to talk to you. Please, just write me. Don’t shut down on me like this, baby. I love you.
He screwed the letter up and threw it across the room, a guttural cry of anger and pain wrenched from him. He tore into the next letter.
Kirk, it’s been two months since you emailed. A part of me is terrified that the reason I’m not hearing from you is because you’ve been hurt. Or worse. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear to think along those lines, so I’m not. But it’s almost worse to imagine that you’re out there, carrying on your life, and choosing not to have me in it. You proposed to me, Kirk. I don’t understand why you’re ending our engagement so soon? It doesn’t matter now anyway. Your folks say they haven’t heard from you. I think they’re worried, like I am. I just need to speak to you. Please get in touch. I love you.
His heart was racing as he ripped into the next letter. A photograph flapped out with it. Small, and black and white.
I’m pregnant, Kirk. I’ve written this letter a thousand times, trying to work out how to tell you, what words will make it easier for a man who’s decided he doesn’t love me to hear that a baby is on the way. I’m sorry for both of us that it’s worked out this way. I just thought you should know. I’ve enclosed a sonogram picture. I think the baby has your feet.
His fingers were shaking as he lifted the picture higher, staring at the grainy image. Age had made it peel in the corners. The date was there, clearly printed in the top corner, along with Annabeth’s name.
Despair groaned inside of him as reality finally began to intrude.
Kirk, I’m not going to write anymore, except to tell you once our child’s born. I just need to know you’re alive. I love you. I always will. I can live with the fact you no longer love me. I just need to know you’re safe.
He blinked into the room. Ridiculously, for the first time in his adult life, he felt tears threaten. He shook his head, forcing himself to go on.
Kirk.
Our baby’s here. A beautiful boy. Wade Kirk Sparks is what I’ve called him. I don’t know if you’ll mind him having your name in there. I don’t even know if you’re alive to mind.
Wade’s beautiful. He arrived six weeks earlier than he should have (I guess he’s got your impatience, too). He’ll be in hospital a while, but the doctors think he’ll be fine. If you’re out there somewhere, I guess you’d want to know.
A premature baby. Why had Wade been born so early? He looked back on the earlier letters. The stress and pain she’d been feeling. Could he have caused Wade’s early arrival? He swore and ripped into the next letter.
Kirk,
I wasn’t going to write to you again, but I thought you’d need to know. Wade’s out of hospital. He’s fine. Tiny. So tiny and perfect, and I’m terrified I’m going to kill him, because how can I possibly keep something so beautiful and fragile alive? Remember my goldfish graveyard? And they just need clean water and a few fish flakes. This is a baby! I wish you were here. I’m sorry that you’re not, because you’ve already missed so much and he’s only a couple of months old.
The next letter was post-marked eight months later.
It’s Wade’s first birthday. I still don’t know if you’re out there, but if you are, I thought you’d want to know some stuff. He’s doing well, on the whole, though he is still tiny. Our doctor’s sent off for some tests, but Dan’s not too worried (that’s the new doctor in Clearview. Doc. Carter finally resigned; can you believe it?). To give you an idea, Wade’s one, but he’s about the size of a six month old. His development is great though, otherwise. Doing all the normal baby stuff. I love him so much. I know you would, too.
Kirk pushed the box aside, his heart pounding in his chest.
He took the stairs two at a time and sprinted to his car.
He started the engine and drove off before he’d even shut his door.
He screamed into the luxury interior, cursing as loudly as he could, gaining no peace from the torrid raging emotions swirling through him.
He tore down the interstate, into Clearview, and forced himself to slow to the speed limit. All he could think of was Annabeth, and what she’d gone through. What he’d put her through then, and what he was still putting her through. All because he hadn’t wanted to saddle her with someone like him. He swore again, taking the
turn to her home. He cut the engine and leaped from the car.
His eyes scanned the house, frantic, fervently hoping she would be home. His eyes landed on a small shape, huddled on the porch, a magnifying glass in hand. The boy looked up as Kirk approached, and his expression was direct and assessing. Kirk’s heart turned over. He recognized the expression, and now, so much about the boy. What a fool he had been, to see his diminutive size and assume the worst! He forced himself to seem casual.
“Hey,” he said with a nod.
“Hiya,” the boy’s smile was curious. “You’re my mama’s friend.”
Kirk nodded. “Kirk Robinson.”
“Hello, Mr. Robinson. Pleased to meet you.”
Kirk smiled at the boy’s manners, but pain followed swiftly behind. Annabeth had done that. She’d done all this herself. “What are you doing there, Wade?”
“Watching the ants,” he said, turning back to his magnifying glass. “They get food and carry it away. Look, even tiny pieces of crumb. Cool, huh?”
Kirk crouched down on his haunches, but he didn’t look at the ants. He was watching his son, seeing every detail of his face, seeing him as he should have done earlier in the week.
“Is Beth, I mean, is your mother home?”
“Yep.”
Kirk grinned. “Can I go in?”
“Yep.”
Kirk stood, shoving his hands in his pockets and shouldering his way into the house.
This time, when he stepped inside, he didn’t notice the peeling paint and faded sofa cushions. He saw the homely touches of the house Beth had provided for their child. The bright pictures, framed and hung haphazardly against the walls; the lamps with colorful shades; and the toys stacked neatly in the corner.
Beth was in the kitchen, her face pale, as she watched Wade play. Her hands were in soapy dishwater, but she was frozen. She looked so fragile, so damaged.
“Beth,” his voice was quiet. He cleared his throat. “We need to talk.”
Slowly, she turned to face him. It wasn’t fair that anyone should be so gorgeous, she thought distractedly, as she removed her gloves and laid them down on the kitchen table. Wearing simple jeans and a check shirt, he looked powerful and relaxed. She wiped her hands down the cotton fabric of her summery dress.
Raising the Soldier's Son: So what if they share a history? That's in the past. And it's staying there. (Hometown Hero Series Book 3) Page 8