by HELEN HARDT
“You don’t have to, Kath.” Then he turned, his eyes wide. “Are you okay?” He reached toward me, trailed one finger along the burning flesh of my neck. “If they hurt you, so help me, I’ll—”
“Do what? Take down three giants yourself? I don’t think so. I’m fine. They didn’t hurt me. You’re hurt. And I’m going to take care of you. Come on.”
8
“Did you ever regret not having a son?” I asked Brett as I tore another piece of Italian bread from the loaf.
“Only a little,” he said. “I mean, sure, part of me always wanted a chip off the old block.” He smiled. “But I love my girls. They’re everything to me.”
Yet his voice held a whisper of regret.
“But still…” I urged.
“Yeah, I would have liked to have a son.”
You have a son. His name is Michael, and he wants to meet us.
My heart thumped. How could I tell him without him hating me for keeping it from him?
“How about you? Did you want a boy?”
“I was thirty-four when I had Maya. I was pretty sure she’d be my one and only. I didn’t care whether she was male or female, as long as she was healthy.”
“She’s a beautiful little girl, Kath. She looks just like you.”
“Thank you.” The warmth of a blush raged up my neck. “She does favor me, though she has Danny’s eyes. He has those gorgeous icy blue eyes. I’m glad Maya got them. They’re so noticeable.”
“I like your warm brown ones, Kath,” Brett said, smiling. “Though Maya is beautiful. I don’t mean to say she’s not.”
“I know.” I smiled. “Tell me. Do your other girls look like Zoe? In other words, like mini Bretts?”
He laughed. “Candy does. Marie favors Michelle more. Still dark hair and eyes, like me, but her facial features are softer, a little curvier, like Michelle.”
“I’d love to meet them.”
“Okay. We’ll plan on it sometime. Does that mean…”
“Mean what?”
“That you want to…be with me? I mean, I hope you do. It’s what I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, to be honest.”
My insides melted and I nodded. “But we don’t know each other very well, Brett. We never did, really.”
“We knew each other in the biblical sense.” He smirked.
I couldn’t help but return his roguish grin. “Evidently, we still do. But really. It’s been twenty years. There’s so much about each other we don’t know. That we need to learn.”
“We’ll have fun learning.” He reached across the table and took my hand, massaging my palm gently with his thumb. “I want to know everything about you, Kath. Every single thing. I want to know what kind of dressing you like on your salad. What you like to watch on TV. What kind of books you like to read. What makes you laugh, smile, cry. Everything.”
“That’s lovely.” My eyes misted. There was so much he didn’t know. So much he needed to know. I opened my mouth to tell him but lost my nerve.
“I mean it. Every word. I shouldn’t have married Michelle when I loved you. I should have chased you down. Found you. Convinced you I could give you what you needed.”
I shook my head. “We were different people then, with different needs. You deserved the chance to play baseball.”
“I know. I guess I couldn’t compete with Stanford.”
“Oh, it wasn’t just that.” God no, it wasn’t just that. If he only knew… “You and Michelle had a history. And you had a baseball scholarship.”
“That only lasted a year.”
“I know. I’m sorry you had to quit school and work.”
“It wasn’t just that.” He looked down.
“What is it?”
“I injured my knee. Had a few surgeries. I’m fine. I mean, I get around fine, no limp. But it ended my baseball career.”
“Oh, Brett, I’m so sorry.”
My heart sank. All this time I felt I’d done the right thing, keeping our child a secret. I wanted him to have the chance to play baseball. I wanted him to have the chances for so many things—the chances he deserved. Now, to find out baseball never would have been possible… Shivers raced up my spine. Had I made the wrong decision? Would he have wanted the baby? Would he have wanted me?
“It’s okay. I enjoyed school, but I never would have done as well without you there to help me.”
I smiled and shook my head. “You never needed me, Brett. I shouldn’t tell you this, but Mr. Phillips, the counselor, remember him? He confided in me when he was trying to get me to tutor you that you had scored in the superior range on the state tests.”
“Superior? What’s that mean exactly?”
“It’s one ranking below genius level.”
“I suppose you scored at the genius level?”
“Yes, but just barely. There isn’t that much difference between where you and I scored.”
“Really?” Happiness glowed on his face. His brows lifted. “I wonder why no one ever told me.”
“I told you. I told you how smart you were.”
“Yeah. But I thought you were just being nice. You know, being a good tutor.”
“I’m not that nice a person.”
“Sure you are. You were always nice. I remember that day you took care of me when those guys attacked me. I don’t think anyone’s ever taken such great care of me since.”
I shuddered.
That day.
That fateful day that had led to our son.
Twenty years earlier
Brett jerked as I touched the warm washcloth to his cheek.
“I’m sorry. I have to clean it before I can help you.”
We sat together on the sofa in my living room.
“It’s okay. Just stings a little.”
“I know. Again, I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, Kath. I’m sorry you had to witness that. Sorry you had to be in the middle of it. All I wanted to do was protect you.”
“You did.”
“Hell, no, I didn’t.”
“Well, you couldn’t do much when there were two gorillas holding you, could you? It doesn’t matter. We’re both okay and out of danger.”
“You shouldn’t have had to see that.”
“So they got the wrong guy. I know there’s mob around here. Everyone knows, Brett.”
“At least you don’t have a mob name.”
“Nope. I’ve got a Pollock name.”
Brett reddened. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry that I’m Polish? I’m not.”
“No. Geez. I mean sorry I used to call you a Pollock.”
“Everyone did. Polish jokes were the rage, remember?”
“Yeah, I know. Better a Zurakowsky than a Falcone. The mob’ll never mistake you for someone they’re after.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I actually had that same thought today, during the whole thing. Never have I been so thankful for my Polish roots.”
He laughed with me. “Ow, that hurts!”
“Then stop laughing.” I smiled as I cleansed the rest of the dried blood from his cheek. “Now I just need some anti-bacterial ointment or something. There isn’t much blood. But you’re going to swell up, I bet.”
“Won’t be the first time.”
“You mean they’ve come after you before?”
“Not those three, but others. It’s never the same ones twice. They find out they made a mistake, and then they leave me alone.”
“Who are they after?”
“Brad Falcone. He’s a junior at Bishop Academy. His dad is an attorney with lots of mob ties.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say to that, so I made small talk. “I guess Brad sounds a lot like Brett.”
“Especially when you have the IQ of a tomato.”
I laughed. “See, you are intelligent. You can recognize when someone is stupid.”
“I don’t need to be intelligent to recognize a moron, Kath.”
“I suppose
not. But you are smart. I’m still amazed that you figured out the whole negative times negative equals positive thing.”
“Are you positive?”
“Yeah. Positive.”
Stupid joke between us, but it made me warm. Brett and I had a private joke.
Silly, but nice. Nice and warm and fuzzy.
Geez, Kathryn, you’re getting all fluffy and perfumey, like Michelle Bates. Can’t have that. I was not the frou-frou cheerleader type that Brett Falcone liked. I never would be.
Yet he seemed to like me. He liked kissing me, and he was leaning toward me now.
“Just a minute.” I backed away. “I’m not done with you yet.” I squeezed some anti-bacterial ointment onto my fingers and rubbed it gently over his cheek.
He winced.
“I’m sorry. I’m trying not to hurt you.”
“I know.”
When I finished, I went to the kitchen, scooped Belgian chocolate ice cream into two bowls, returned, and gave one to Brett.
“Here. You look hungry.”
He laughed. “Shit, that hurt. I am, actually.” He took a bite of ice cream and winced. “Hurts to open my mouth, though.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I scooped some ice cream into my spoon, but on its way to my mouth, the cold custard glopped onto my neck. Nice. Be a clutz in front of the Italian Stallion. Could this day get any better?
Before I could grab a tissue from the box on the end table, Brett leaned forward and licked the ice cream off my warm skin. Tingles shot through me. Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around his neck and brought his mouth to mine.
Chocolate dreams… His tongue found mine and danced around it. His mouth hurt, I knew, but it didn’t seem to faze him. The kiss was raw and pure. Raw emotion and pure need. Pure love.
At eighteen, could I really be in love? With the Italian Stallion?
When he trailed kisses down my neck, licking up the last of the ice cream, I closed my eyes and sighed.
Yes, I love him. I loved Brett Falcone.
My hand shaking, I reached toward the crotch of his jeans and touched the bulge underneath. It pulsed against my fingers.
He moaned. “Kath, are you sure?”
Was I?
A little over an hour earlier, a knife was pressed to my flesh. My life could have ended, and what would I have had to show for it?
For once, I wanted to live in the moment. Take what I wanted and think nothing of the consequences.
“Yes, Brett,” I said, my voice a raspy sigh, “I’m sure.”
9
Nerves. Tingling nerves. I swallowed as I closed the door behind Brett.
He turned to me and smiled. “I love you, Kath.” He cupped my cheeks. “I want you.”
How easy it would be to surrender to him again, to let the lust take me away from what I faced.
But no. I shook my head. “We need to talk first.”
“Really?” His lips turned slightly downward. “We talked a lot at the restaurant. I want to be with you. Isn’t that what you want?”
God, yes, it’s what I want, what I’ve always wanted.
But I had to clear the air before I succumbed again. He deserved that much.
“I do want you, Brett. I want to be with you in every way I can, but”—I choked back a sob—“there’s something I have to tell you.”
“What, baby?” He caressed my cheeks with his thumbs. “What is it?”
“Let’s sit.” I led him to the living room, sat down on the couch, and patted the seat next to me.
He sat, his handsome face racked with concern. “Kath?”
I swallowed again. “Please don’t hate me.”
He touched my arm gently. “I could never hate you. Believe me, I tried. I wanted to hate you when you disappeared. I couldn’t.”
Oh, God. Queasiness seized my tummy. He had wanted to hate me for leaving, and he didn’t know why I left. When he found out…
Could I put it off? Have one more night of passion with him before facing the piper?
No. I braced myself and steadied my emotions. He had to be told.
“I loved you then, Brett, and I love you now. I wouldn’t have given you my virginity if I hadn’t—” A sob caught in my throat. I cleared it.
“I know that now.” His deep voice soothed me. “It’s okay.”
“But it’s not okay. I’m afraid it will never be okay, what I did.”
“Just tell me, Kath. I love you. That won’t change.”
I didn’t doubt he thought he spoke the truth. But he had no idea what was coming.
“I left town for a reason, and I started college late for a reason. The reason is… His name is Michael. He’s my son.”
Brett’s eyes widened. “What? You were pregnant?”
I nodded. “Our son, Brett.”
Brett sat, immobile except for a slight tremble in his full lips.
“I love you. Please say something.”
Several minutes passed. I fidgeted, afraid to touch the man I loved.
“Please, Brett.”
“Michael. You know him?”
I shook my head. “He just found me. I haven’t met him yet.”
His features softened for a moment. Did he understand? Would everything be all right?
My hopes dashed when he came to life, his dark eyes blazing.
“Don’t you think I deserved to know?” His handsome face reddened. “Or did you think at all?”
I gulped. “Of course I thought. All I did was think.”
The anguish so long buried slammed back into me as though it were yesterday. The yearning for a child I’d never know by a man no one knew I loved. The stigma of being the girl in trouble. Not just the girl in trouble, the class valedictorian in trouble. The heartache, the loss, the absolute fear.
“You deserved a chance to play baseball. God knows you earned it. I had no idea you were going to run and marry Michelle.”
“I wanted you, Kath. You. We could have made a life together with our child.”
“What kind of a life? You had a scholarship to Ohio State, and I had one to Stanford. That’s a heck of a commute, Brett.”
“I would have given up baseball.”
I shook my head. “That’s not what I wanted.”
“What you wanted?” He paced, rage staining his face. “Did you give a thought to what I might want?”
“A child? A child at eighteen? Who would want that?”
“I had one the next year, anyway. What would it have mattered?”
I balled my hands into fists. “Maybe it’s not what I wanted. Did that occur to you? Maybe I wanted to go to Stanford and then to medical school. That was always my dream. Do you have any idea how hard med school is on married people? Over half the ones I knew ended up divorced. Would you have wanted that?”
The sadness in his beautiful dark eyes haunted me.
“You didn’t want our child?”
Nausea gripped my insides. “That’s not what I meant, Brett. Of course I wanted our child. I still want our child. But I knew another family could give him more than either you or I could at that time.”
“Damn it, Kath.” His fist came down on my coffee table. “I never imagined you could betray me like that. Whether you were right or wrong, I had a right to be involved in the decision.”
I said nothing. What could I say? He was right.
My head fell into my hands as he walked silently out of my living room, out of my home.
Out of my life.
Twenty years earlier
I wasn’t nervous as Brett peeled my clothes from my body.
I wasn’t nervous as he then undressed himself.
I wasn’t nervous when he took my hand in his and led it to the private part of him between his legs.
If ever anything felt completely right in my life, this did.
This.
I stood, naked, wrapped in Brett’s arms, our lips fused together and our tongues dueling.
I throbbed betw
een my legs, even more so when Brett trailed one hand downward to my private place.
His dick pulsed against me, and he broke the kiss. “Kath, you’re so wet. You’re ready for me.”
I couldn’t speak, so I merely nodded.
This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be happening.
Yet it was.
I was going to lose my virginity to Brett Falcone.
The Italian Stallion.
Only he was no longer the Italian Stallion.
He was Brett. Simply Brett. And he was nothing like I’d thought.
Brett was intelligent. Brett was caring. Brett was kind and gentle. Brett was funny and made me laugh.
And Brett wanted to make love to me. To Kathryn Zurakowsky.
He rained tiny kisses over my jawline and down my shoulder to my breast. My nipples were hard and taut, begging for his attention.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said.
Warmth surged through me. Warmth, and a feeling so pure I knew instinctively what it was.
Love.
When Brett flicked a finger over one nipple, I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt such intense pleasure. Until he took it between his lips and sucked.
I lost all thought, then, and only feeling remained. Raw, intense feeling that whirled through me and around me, almost visible as it encased us in a cloud of love.
I loved Brett Falcone.
He didn’t love me back. He belonged to another. But I loved him, and I chose to give him this gift I could give only once.
And I imagined that he loved me too.
I gave in to the emotion, and when he entered me, I welcomed the sharp stab.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Yes, keep going. Please.”
With each thrust the pain lessened, and soon only pleasure remained. Pleasure, and a sense of completeness I’d never known, and that I was sure I’d never know again.
That didn’t matter. If I had only this moment with Brett for the rest of my life, it would be enough.
This stolen afternoon of passion could hold me forever.
10