"My chicken cacciatore?" Parker's lips curved slightly.
"I know what you were trying to do with that meal."
"Change you?" Parker's smile grew.
"I'm not going to change." Meredith ignored his obvious amusement. "I'm not going to become—" She waved a derisive hand. "Soft."
"Soft," Parker repeated. His smile was very big now.
Meredith leaned against her own section of the kitchen counter and raised a challenging eyebrow. "If anything," she heard herself claim, "it would work the other way around."
"Oh?"
"I would change you."
"Is that right?" Parker's huge grin was utterly intolerable.
"You don't believe me," Meredith stated.
Slowly, still grinning, Parker shook his head.
He was cockiness personified. Heat blazed under Meredith's St. John shirt. He thought he was stronger than she was. But nobody was stronger than she was. Nobody could persuade her the values of a lifetime were mistaken or misguided. Not even if that person could give her the world's most mind-blowing orgasm.
And she could prove it.
"I'd make you work," Meredith asserted. She pushed off her section of counter and stepped toward him. "I'd make you sweat and strive."
"You think?" His eyes flashed as she approached. "Are you saying I don't usually?"
"You don't know the meaning of the word." Meredith set a hand on the counter beside his, half-caging him. She smiled. "But you will."
"Is that right?" Parker's gaze locked with hers. She was close enough to feel his breath hitch.
Her own arousal leapt in response. Desire quivered, stretched, tugged.
"I'd like to see exactly how you plan to accomplish that," Parker murmured.
"I have two hours." Meredith set her other hand on the counter, completely caging him. "Watch me." And then she kissed him.
He kissed her back. Oh, my. Everything inside of her went into an immediate tailspin. Yet a little voice inside her head managed to get through. What if this doesn't work? What would happen if going to bed with Parker actually did change her, furthering the erosion of her life certainty?
Then Parker put his arms around her, pulling her full against him, and all worrisome voices shut up. Meredith released the kitchen counter to smooth her hands up Parker's rock-hard biceps. Her mouth ravaged his. She needed to get closer, closer. Heat and need pooled in her belly.
"I won't think any less of you," Parker panted between kisses, "if this takes a little longer than a couple hours. Practice makes perfect—" He paused to take her mouth. "—and all that."
"Two hours," Meredith gasped in reply. "You'll get your bread in the oven on time."
Parker lifted her into his arms. "You're on."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Felix clasped his hands behind his head and gazed fixedly at the ceiling. He was afraid if he turned his head to look at Aletheia lying next to him in bed he'd find her gone, the whole night nothing more than a figment of his imagination.
But no, he knew she was there. He could feel the warmth of her body and the small weight that couldn't counterbalance his own.
An odd emotion, quite alien, sifted through him, something soft and heavy, like a warm blanket on a cold night. For a moment, one long, sweet moment, he savored the sensation. If he had to put a name to it, he'd have to call it...happiness.
The thought made Felix still. Happiness? This, what he'd gotten into with Aletheia, made him happy?
The warm blanket sensation departed. A cold, twisting feeling took its place. He shouldn't feel happy, not about this.
No longer warm and comfortable, Felix eased his way out of bed. On the floor by the wall, he found his pants. Taking care not to make any noise, he pulled a sweatshirt from his dresser.
While zipping his pants, he glanced toward Aletheia. All he could see was a gently rounded form under the burgundy sheets. That was enough. Desire—a large, vague, and not completely sexual want swelled in his chest. She looked so right there. She'd felt so right in his arms.
But—it hadn't been right, had it? It hadn't even been honest.
With a strained grimace, Felix left the bedroom and padded down the hall to the kitchen. A typical San Francisco summer morning lurked outside the windows: overcast with a dose of fog.
He reached for some coffee, then remembered Aletheia's face yesterday morning on tasting his brew, the hastily disguised scrunch of her nose. Though he bought gourmet beans, they were from the grocery store and evidently didn't come up to the standards of a café-owner professional.
Shrugging, Felix opened the can, dumped a couple spoonfuls of grounds into the filter, and shoved it home. Failing to come up to snuff on the coffee front was the least of his deficiencies. He turned on the machine and wandered toward the tall windows in the breakfast nook. Brooding, he stared over the bay.
Last night, he'd slept with Aletheia. Yep, he'd gone and done what he'd wanted to do since first meeting her. In fact, he'd gone and done it quite a few times over the course of the night.
Had all of this activity abated his desire for her? Had it dimmed the possessive need that clawed at him?
Not one bit.
Every time his body had joined with hers had only driven deeper his desire to maneuver this woman into his life, to make her his.
And now this new absurdity, this creeping idea of happiness.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Felix stared out over the gray. He had to admit, an evil temptation hovered. In order to lure her in, could he pretend to be something he was not? Could he pretend to do something he knew he could not do?
Could he pretend to love her?
A thrust of self-disgust pushed through a miasma of longing. Surely even the darkness wouldn't drag him into behavior that low.
"Felix? Oh, there you are." Smiling, Aletheia came through the dining area toward the kitchen. She was wearing one of Felix's pajama tops, must have rifled through his drawers to find it. A silk Ralph Lauren, it was huge on her, the gray and silver shoulders draping over her arms and the hem scraping her knees. She looked even smaller and more delicate by contrast.
Desire roared through Felix. Of course it did. Her shy, warm smile was a morning-after expression any sane man would kill for. It spoke of remembered pleasure, generous affection, and a gratifying hint of willingness to go another round.
Felix clenched his jaw. See? That smile was yet another illustration of the huge obstacle that lay between them. He couldn't begin to reciprocate with any similarly open and affectionate display.
All he had was his dark need.
Felix drew in a long breath as Aletheia helped herself to one of the stools at the counter. It wasn't fair for him to want her so damn much.
Aletheia set her chin on her hands and grinned. "Are you going to give me breakfast?"
Felix smiled ruefully as he strolled toward her from the windows. "After ravishing you completely last night? I think I'd better."
Her grin faded. "You did not ravish me. I was a completely willing participant." She leaned toward him over the high counter. "Your dark side didn't take advantage of me."
He grunted and turned to open the refrigerator. That's what she thought.
"Felix."
Looking into the refrigerator, he asked, "Do you prefer eggs or pancakes?"
"Felix, you believe me, don't you?"
Felix reached for a carton of eggs. "I believe you were willing." He closed the refrigerator. "But you have no idea who you actually slept with last night."
Her eyebrows rose. "I don't?"
Setting the eggs on the counter, Felix shook his head.
"This is fascinating." Aletheia's smile returned as she settled more comfortably on the stool. "Didn't I sleep with you?" She made a face of mock surprise. "Or, wait. You have an identical twin."
Felix muttered something deliberately unintelligible. The damn woman thought this was funny.
But she apparently noticed Felix didn't find it fu
nny, for her amusement dissipated. Leaning her forearms on the counter, she said, "I think you want to explain something to me."
He didn't want to explain. He'd never described the full truth about his inner situation to a living soul—never! But he realized that telling Aletheia the truth was probably the only way to block the temptation to pretend. Once she knew the facts, she'd keep a wary distance. She'd understand what kind of man Felix really was. Then he could...relax.
But it wasn't easy to start. The words felt like rocks, jamming his throat. "It's about my father," he managed to get out.
Aletheia's gaze remained steady. "You told me you didn't know your father."
"I never met him." Felix paused to rotate the carafe in the coffeemaker. "But I know who he is."
Aletheia said nothing.
Unable to look at her, Felix made himself go on. "First thing you need to know is I was a mistake. An accidental pregnancy."
He could practically hear Aletheia raise an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"
He chanced a brief glance at her. "My mother wasn't married. Didn't even have a serious relationship going on. I don't think she's ever told a soul who made her pregnant. It's almost like—" Felix stopped, unsure how to put it.
"Almost like she wanted to pretend it never happened?" Aletheia guessed.
Felix nodded. Unfortunately for his mother, his very existence made it impossible for her to carry out this ruse completely. A baby had happened. A child who'd been an embarrassment and a liability regarding her personal and professional judgment.
And if people knew the truth, that embarrassment would move right into scandal.
Felix had to give his mother credit for going through with the pregnancy at all. Indeed, she'd not only given him life, but a home with all the advantages she could provide. Felix had lacked nothing; he'd received an excellent education, medical care, and a well-structured upbringing.
"I assume there's more." Aletheia's head tilted.
"Oh, yeah." Felix rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "That secret about my father. It was a secret from me, too. I understood I was never to ask about him, not anything at all. As far as my mother was concerned, he'd never existed."
Aletheia sighed deeply. "I hate to say anything negative about your mother. I've never even met her, for goodness' sake. But dear Lord, Felix, what a terrible thing to do to a child."
Felix shook his head. "I think not. I think my mother was simply trying to protect me."
"To protect you from what?"
The question made Felix suck in his lips. "Do you want a cup of coffee?"
Aletheia seemed to realize he needed a moment to gather himself. She leaned back a little. "Sure."
Felix got a mug down from the cupboard and filled it from the carafe. He handed it over the counter, then turned to get another mug.
Postponement did not make the telling any easier, though it did help him prepare his next words. Sighing, he lifted the carafe to pour the second cup. "My mother was always concerned about my behavior in school. Overly concerned." He watched the dark coffee pour into his mug. "She'd ask my teachers if I'd been bad, defiant, unruly. Her relief was apparent when the teachers assured her I was fine." Felix set down the carafe and picked up his coffee. "I think I started to puzzle out the truth even then."
Aletheia said nothing until Felix gathered enough courage to glance at her. Her expression was sober, attentive. "I'm listening."
One corner of Felix's mouth twitched. Of course she was listening. Not only was she a great listener, but he'd given her enough information to set anyone worrying. "When I was about eleven, I began learning how to do research, how to go to the library and look things up. My mother was a federal judge, she was mentioned in the newspaper and magazines. I looked into what she'd been up to around the time I would have been conceived." Felix swished his coffee mug. "You see, I thought I wanted to know who my father was. I thought maybe I even wanted to meet him."
Felix heard a click as Aletheia set down her coffee cup. "That sounds perfectly natural."
Natural, perhaps, but in Felix's case, unwise. He leaned against the kitchen counter. "I got lucky, in a manner of speaking. I found a newspaper article about a criminal trial my mother was presiding over about a year before I was born."
Aletheia's face was pale, her gaze steady. "Go on."
Felix lowered his head to take a sip of coffee. This was the crux of it, what colored his entire life. He forced himself to go on. "It was the trial of a master mob figure. Brian Greco. He was a brilliant thief, an extortionist, gangster, and murderer. Highly intelligent, utterly ruthless. He was also elegant, charming, and—according to all reports—devastating to women."
Felix set his coffee down. "In one of the newspaper articles about the trial there was a courtroom photograph. You could see both of them in the photo, my mother and Greco. You could see their eyes meet. You could see...chemistry."
Even without looking at her directly, Felix could tell Aletheia's eyes were opened wide. "Felix," she said, very softly, "You think this mobster is your father?"
Aware of a surprising sensation of relief, Felix nodded. He'd never dreamed it might feel good to tell somebody.
"But—" Aletheia's brows came down. "How could it have happened?"
"I figure they must have met during pretrial motions, when he was out on bail. Getting together would have violated all kinds of ethical rules and federal laws. She must have been smitten out of her mind."
"To do that, it seems so unlikely..." Her frown grew confused.
"You don't get a seat on a federal bench by age thirty without sacrificing something. In my mother's case it was a social life. With all of his charm and sophistication, plus the old attraction-of-opposites, Greco must have bowled her over."
"Hm." Aletheia looked thoughtful. "Did you ever ask her?"
"Ask my mother—if she'd had sex and conceived a child with an infamous mobster?" Felix was horrified. "A man she eventually sentenced to eighty-two years-to-life? Of course not."
"Then you don't really know—"
"I know."
"Yes, yes, I see you believe it all fits together, answers a lot of questions, but still, you don't really know."
Felix felt a grim smile. He knew what Aletheia was trying to do, give him an out, let his life bear a different complexion than the one it actually wore. "I'm not wrong."
She looked pained, confused, but not alarmed. Or convinced. "Just tell me," she said, "how you can be so sure."
He released a deep sigh. "I know Brian Greco is my father because of the way I feel sometimes, inside."
Her expression of pained confusion didn't change. "The darkness you were telling me about?"
"Yes."
"You think the way you feel is something you inherited from a gangster father?"
"I'm certain of it."
"But, Felix—" Exasperation entered the mix of emotions on her face.
Felix waited patiently while she attempted to sort her thoughts. It didn't matter what she came up with, she couldn't refute his assertion. He knew his deepest flaw.
"Felix," Aletheia finally said. "I don't think people can inherit feelings."
Nice try. Felix raised his brows. "Why not? People can inherit anxiety, schizophrenia—any number of mental illnesses."
That stumped her, but only momentarily. "You aren't mentally ill," she scoffed. "This darkness you've told me about, well, I'm not sure it's that different from what other people feel when they're upset or scared, or even aroused. It's just—emotion, for heaven's sake. And if sometimes that emotion feels...dark, I suspect it's because you're not comfortable with emotion. That can make it hard to...kinda know what's going on inside yourself. But it's not bad." She leaned forward. "People can't inherit evil."
She looked so earnest, so sincere, that Felix wished he could have agreed with her, just to make her happy. But she was dead wrong. He knew exactly what was going on inside himself. In fact, it made him feel jittery that s
he was so far off base.
"I think they can," he told her. "I think people can inherit even more than evil. Aletheia, you won't get any kindness or warmth from me. None at all." He huffed. "Self-control is about the best I can offer."
"Self-control?" she repeated softly, looking at him.
She didn't seem to believe him, which increased his inner jitters. She needed to understand—for her own good. And maybe for his, too. He couldn't afford this temptation. He couldn't afford the risk he might start to believe, himself...
So he gave it to her, spreading his hands, palms up. "I can't love."
If he'd expected shock, revulsion, or disgust he didn't get it. Instead, oddly, Aletheia only continued to gaze at him with her earnest, concerned expression. "You can't love?" she repeated, and sounded disconcertingly calm.
Felix clenched his jaw. "No." This he knew he'd inherited. It had to be, because he'd tried. Of course he'd tried. He'd been married. He had a mother, for crissake. But everyone always ended up shying away. They seemed to sense what he was, and how little he could give.
Only two people had ever accepted Felix, his two former business partners. Neither of them really counted. Frank Gable, who'd died before their real estate company had gone bankrupt, had been a bona fide saint. And old man Morrison didn't seem to care all that much about the tender emotions, himself. Each in his own way had been able to take Felix just as he was.
But Aletheia wouldn't be able to accept him. Looking at her now with her sweet, sincere expression, Felix knew this like he knew the sun would come up in the morning. She needed more than he could give and she would demand more. If not today, then eventually. This could never become a relationship.
She nodded now, slowly, carefully. "You can't love," she said again. She slid off her stool and came around the counter toward him. "You know what I think?"
Felix frowned. His stomach muscles tightened as she looked up at him, her eyes bright and unfrightened.
No. He didn't want her to say something nice, something that would add to the temptation to trick her—or himself.
I Gotta Feeling Page 16