CHAPTER Ten
“It was all a setup, wasn’t it?”
“No.” Annalise shook her head, speaking with a quiet dignity that cut deep. “No!”
Jack stepped away from her, unable to hide his raw pain and anger. There was no way he could. His fury battered him with all the elemental power of a hurricane, driving emotions he’d always been able to keep under rigid control. They whipped free, exploded from him in a messy, illogical, unmanageable torrent.
“I have to hand it to you. Your plan was absolutely brilliant.”
“What plan?” She played the role of the innocent with breathtaking perfection, reflecting just the appropriate amount of bewilderment. “All I ever wanted was to make certain Isabella was safe.”
“Safe,” he repeated. “I didn’t realize my reputation was quite that bad.”
She dared to fight back. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
He ignored that and continued the attack with ruthless precision. “Why did you apply to be Isabella’s nanny? You knew she was yours then, didn’t you?” He didn’t phrase it as a question.
She lifted her chin, refusing to cower. “Yes.”
“What then, Annalise? Were you going to use your position to manipulate CPS? To push them that final inch in order to convince them I wasn’t an appropriate guardian?”
“Have you lost your mind?” she asked with impressive calm.
He simply shook his head, amazed by her inner fortitude. “I have to hand it to you. Your logic was flawless. As Isabella’s nanny you could inveigle yourself into my niece’s affections. Maybe drop a word or two of concern in Mrs. Locke’s ear.”
A spark of anger appeared, at war with her self-control. She folded her arms across her chest. “And then what, Jack? Have Isabella’s life upended again when they put her into foster care? Or even worse, stick her into a treatment program?”
He lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Once she was out of my control you’d have a better shot at getting custody of her.”
Fury blossomed, full-throttled and magnificent. “That’s what you think this is all about? You think I want to take her away from you?”
His anger rose to meet hers. “What am I supposed to think? In all this time, never once did you bother to say, ‘Oh, hey, Jack, just so you know, Isabella’s my biological daughter.’” He stalked closer. “Did you think I’d never find out?”
“I was going to tell you!”
“Right. Now that we’re safely married and you’re in an even better position to fight for legal custody.”
She went nose to nose with him. “Is that your real opinion of me? After all this time together, you don’t know me better than that?”
The ache was almost more than he could bear. “I thought I did,” he whispered. “But you lied.”
“I never lied. I just didn’t tell you all of it.” She dared to splay her hand across his chest. Could she still feel his heart beating? It wasn’t possible. Not when it had been turned to stone. “Would you have refused to marry me if I’d told you beforehand?”
“I don’t know.” The confession was ripped from him. “But at least I would have been in a position to make an informed choice.”
Her hands dropped to her sides, stealing away the only warmth left to him. She stepped backward. “Then let me make this easy for you.” She took another step away from him. “I’ll narrow your choices down to two. We can stay married and work through this, or we can divorce.”
“And if I want a divorce?”
For the first time, her composure cracked. No, it more than cracked. It shattered. He found that shattering all the more devastating because he’d never seen her lose control to that extent before. She fought the loss for ten full seconds before managing to grind out a reply. “When we first met I had serious doubts about whether or not you were the appropriate person to raise Isabella. I don’t have any doubts about that anymore.”
He froze. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I think you’re an amazing father, Jack,” she said. “There’s not a single doubt in my mind that she’d not just be safe with you, but that she’ll thrive in your care. I won’t contest a divorce. Nor will I attempt to take her away from you.”
“Annalise—”
She shook her head and her mouth compressed, he suspected to keep her lips from trembling. “If you change your mind about the divorce, you know where to find me.” She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “But if you decide you want to give our marriage a try, there’s only one way I’ll return to you. And that’s not as Isabella’s nanny or your employee. It will be as your partner. As your wife.”
With that, Annalise turned and stepped into her father’s arms. She clung to him for a long minute while Robert stared at Jack with eyes filled with threat. Without another word, he swept his daughter across the patio and into the house. There they paused, and her gaze clung to an oblivious Isabella a final instant. Not once did she look back at him. Then the door closed behind them with frightening finality.
Jack stood unmoving for an endless moment. How was it possible that in thirty short minutes his life had gone from near perfection, straight to hell? Isabella continued to play with Mister Mayhem, giggling in blissful ignorance at the puppy’s ungainly antics. He took a single step toward her when a voice like shards of glass cut into him.
“You, Mr. Mason, are a complete and total idiot,” Mrs. Locke announced in ringing tones of disgust.
He spun in his tracks. He’d completely forgotten about the caseworker. She continued to sit beneath the canopied portion of the patio. Without taking her gaze from him, she picked up her glass of iced tea with impressive casualness and took a dainty sip.
She offered a sour smile. “Forgot I was here, didn’t you?” He muttered a word that had the woman’s carefully stenciled eyebrows climbing. “I certainly hope you don’t use that sort of language around Isabella on a regular basis,” she said.
“Since she doesn’t talk, I didn’t think it mattered,” he shot back.
To his amazement, Mrs. Locke actually smiled. “I suggest you come and sit down before you fall down.” She hefted the pitcher of tea and splashed some into one of the empty glasses. “Here. Drink this.”
He reluctantly approached, amazed to find himself taking the proffered glass and obediently downing half the contents in one swallow. The sugar rush hit his system and helped clear his head. “So, how’s your morning been so far, Mrs. Locke?” He collapsed into the chair across from the caseworker and stared broodingly at his niece. “Entertaining enough for you?”
“Vastly.”
“Glad you enjoyed yourself. Personally, the last time I had a day this bad I was told my sister and her husband had been killed on a flight I was supposed to have been on with them, and that my niece was hanging on to life by a mere thread.”
“I’m sorry, Jack.” There was no mistaking either her sincerity or her compassion.
He found he couldn’t respond. Instead, he traced his finger along a teardrop bead of condensation trickling down the side of his glass. He struggled to gather himself and determine what his next step should be. Having built his business from scratch, he’d learned the importance of flexibility. He’d been an expert at thinking and organizing quickly, and reacting to fluid situations even faster. Logic and ruthless intent had gotten him through many a crisis. But this …
He couldn’t think at all, let alone act.
“So, did you marry Annalise because you loved her, or in order to get rid of me?” Mrs. Locke asked.
“To get rid of you.” He returned the glass to the table and rubbed at the headache gathering in his temples. “At least, I thought that was the reason.”
“Interesting.”
His head jerked up. “What’s interesting?”
“When I asked Annalise why she’d married you, she said more or less the same thing.”
He had a vivid memory of standing in the kitchen, desperate to hear his wife’s response to Mrs. Locke’s question. The truth came as one more blow. He didn’t even attempt to conceal his pain. It cut too deeply. “She told you that?” he murmured.
“No, she told me that’s why she’d initially agreed to marry you. She said she married you for one reason and one reason only.”
“What?” The word was torn from him before he could prevent it.
Mrs. Locke lifted an eyebrow and pinned him with those bright blue eyes. “Don’t you know?” She dismissed her own question with a wave of her hand. “Of course you don’t, or you’d never have made those ridiculous accusations.”
“Are you going to tell me what she said, or not?” he ground out.
“Not,” came the crisp response. “To be honest, it doesn’t matter what Annalise said. All that matters is what you have to say. Why did you marry your wife, Mr. Mason? I expect a truthful answer and I expect one now.”
The question didn’t require any thought. “Because I love her,” he answered starkly.
Mrs. Locke pushed back her chair. “I’ll give you three days to resolve this situation before rendering my final verdict on Isabella’s custody.”
He lifted his gaze, feeling the protective predator stirring. No one was going to take his niece from him. “Is that a threat?” he asked softly.
Just like Annalise, Mrs. Locke didn’t show the least sign of intimidation. What was it with these women? “Yes, Mr. Mason.” She picked up her purse and tucked it under her arm. “That was a threat.”
It didn’t take three days for Jack to figure out what he intended to do. It didn’t even take him three hours. It just took enough time for him to sit quietly and remember. Remember Annalise and how she’d been from the moment they’d first met. From the day she’d stepped foot in his office, she’d lived and breathed her concern for his niece.
No, not just his niece. Annalise’s daughter.
She hadn’t accepted the position of Isabella’s nanny with the intent of attracting a wealthy husband. It hadn’t been about him at all. All her attention, all her focus, had been directed toward Isabella and helping her child recover from a hideous trauma that had forever changed her young life.
Even by giving Isabella up for adoption, Annalise had proven that she’d put Isabella first and done what was best for his niece. Marrying him had simply been one more step in that process. He might have wanted her focus to widen enough to include him. But that wasn’t her first priority and never would be. Her child was Annalise’s priority. He closed his eyes.
Their child.
His gaze drifted to Isabella and he accepted the inescapable truth. She was his niece and he’d always keep her parent’s memory alive for her. But at some point, he’d stopped thinking of her as an extension of Joanne and Paul, and begun to think of her as part of himself. A vital part.
As though sensing his attention, Isabella’s head jerked up and she looked at him and beamed with happiness. Sweeping Mister Mayhem into her arms, she trotted over to him and climbed into his lap. He hugged her close, inhaling the sweet, baby scent of her. From tragedy had come an existence he’d never believed possible.
It didn’t matter what it took. It didn’t matter what he had to sacrifice. It didn’t even matter that he’d never be first in Annalise’s life or heart. He and Isabella needed her and he’d do whatever necessary to bring his wife home. But there was something he had to do first.
He gathered Isabella close and prayed he’d find the right words. “Do you remember when we talked about finding people to adopt Madam’s puppies, like you were adopted?” he asked.
Isabella nodded, though he could tell she still pouted a bit at the thought.
“Do you also remember me telling you about your other mommy? She’s the one who gave birth to you before you were adopted?” When Isabella nodded again, he rested his cheek against the soft curls crowning her head. He gathered his self-control and spoke gently. Carefully. Lovingly. “There’s something I need to tell you about your birth mommy …”
Jack arrived at the boatyard early that same afternoon. Sun pounded down on him as he walked the weathered planks toward the large charter yacht he’d been informed belonged to Robert Stefano. He saw Annalise’s father before the other man caught sight of him. It gave Jack a few seconds to further assess the man and get some sort of handle on him.
Lean and muscular, Robert Stefano wore cutoff shorts and a sleeveless tee, which made him look all the younger and more virile than when he’d first introduced himself. He didn’t wear a cap and the sun picked out the burnished streaks that were so similar to Isabella’s. He must have realized that he was being watched. His head jerked up and he stiffened, like one predator sensing the presence of another. Slowly, he swung around. Cursing roundly, he stalked down the pier, planting himself square in Jack’s path. He folded his well-muscled arms across an equally muscular chest.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
Jack assessed his opponent—who also happened to be his father-in-law. He could take the man if he had to. Maybe. He imitated Robert’s stance. “I’ve come for my wife, even if I have to go through you to get to her. But when I leave, it’s with Annalise. Now, I can do it with your cooperation, or without. Your choice.”
“I vote for ‘without.’ She’s not a real wife to you. She’s just a means to an end, and I won’t let you use her. So turn around, son.” A vicious smile slashed across Robert’s face. “You don’t stand a chance against me. I eat pencil pushers like you for breakfast.”
Jack planted himself, hoping for peace, but prepared for the battle of his life. “Annalise tells me you raised her on your own after her mother died.”
“I did.” Open grief touched his tanned face before being ruthlessly suppressed. “I let that girl down when she was sixteen. I won’t let her down now.”
“Sounds like we have ourselves a problem, because I don’t want to let Isabella down. She needs Annalise.” He drew a deep breath and confessed, “I need Annalise.”
Suspicion glinted in Robert’s green eyes. “For your niece?”
Jack shook his head. “For me. It just took me a while to realize that. Isabella was the excuse I used to bind Annalise to me without admitting why I wanted her.”
Robert’s arms dropped to his sides and he cocked his head to one side in a gesture eerily similar to Annalise’s. “And why is that?”
Jack didn’t bother to pull his punches or hide behind his pride. He put it all out there for the other man to rummage through. “Because I love your daughter.”
Robert eyed him for a long moment, before nodding in satisfaction. “Then what are you doing wasting your time jawing with me?” He stepped aside. “Go tell my daughter how you feel and put her out of her misery.”
“I’ll get right on that.” Jack didn’t hesitate. He passed by the other man and walked toward his future.
“Mason?” Robert waited until Jack turned. “That’s two of mine in your care. I will be watching you.”
Jack nodded. He could accept that. “I’d be doing the exact same thing if I were in your position.” He swung aboard only to have Robert stop him again.
“Oh, and Mason?”
“Yes, sir?”
“You couldn’t have taken me.”
Jack grinned. “I would have enjoyed trying.”
Robert returned the grin. “Yeah. Me, too.”
A cursory glance told Jack that Annalise wasn’t topside. He crossed the deck to the steps leading to the shadowed interior. His wife stood in the small, efficient galley, her back to him. He paused and allowed himself the luxury of watching her graceful movements as she went about the mundane task of putting a meal together.
She’d swept her hair into a casual ponytail, and the ringlets bounced with each dip and sway of her body. She wore a thin cotton tee that hugged her curves and screeched to a halt a scant couple of inches short of a pair of low-slung shorts that bared her endless legs to his view. He was about to announce his presence when she spoke without turning.
“I have your lunch ready, Dad. Grab a beer out of the fridge if you want one.”
“I don’t want a beer, thanks.”
Her spine went rigid and she carefully returned the plate to the counter with hands that trembled. She drew a careful breath before spinning around. “Jack.”
“Annalise.”
One look warned that her control was as tenuous as his own. Unfortunately, he still couldn’t read her as well as he’d hoped. Why had she married him? Was it just for Isabella, or was there more? He’d obsessed over the question ever since his conversation with Mrs. Locke. He wanted to be able to take one look and see the answer in her face. But it wasn’t there, and unadulterated fear threatened to bring him to his knees.
“I’ve been expecting a call from Derek,” she said. “I’m surprised you came, instead.”
Gathering every shred of composure at his command, Jack leaned his hip against the counter and shrugged. “What’s this got to do with Derek? You’re my wife, not his.”
Her chin assumed a combative angle. “For now.”
“Forever,” he stated decisively.
She shook her head. “Forget it, Jack. I won’t live with someone who believes I’m capable of—”
“Stop.” He cut her off with that one, quiet word. Perhaps it was the way he said it—naked pain leaking into the single syllable. Whatever the reason, it worked and she stumbled to a halt. “Please, sweetheart. You’re killing me.”
She gazed at him with a heartbreaking defenselessness that he recognized, mainly because he felt it, too. It was an emotion he’d never experienced before … until now. He’d always been the tough one. He’d always held himself at a safe distance, refusing to allow himself to feel or show the vulnerability she displayed so openly. And what had that gotten him? Money. Success. But what were those in comparison to an empty heart and a cold bed, and a little girl waiting for a mother? He’d had a taste of heaven, and he would do anything and everything to have that back.
Even strip his defenses bare and allow her to cut him to shreds.
Without a word, he opened his arms to her. Time seemed to hold its breath as he waited for her decision. Waited to discover whether he’d know a lifetime of warmth and joy, or be forced to survive in an arctic wasteland. With an inarticulate cry, she flew to him, and he breathed in life. He wrapped her up tight and buried his face against her silken curls and simply inhaled her. The scent of her. The feel of her. The sound of their hearts beating as one.
“I love you, Annalise,” he murmured against the top of her head. “And I’m more sorry than I can ever express.”
She lifted a glowing face to his. “Sorry you love me?” she teased.
A rusty laugh escaped. “I’m sorry I believed the worst.”
“I should have told you about my relationship to Isabella. I was going to.” She made a gesture that emphasized her bone-deep weariness. “But I should have done it before we married.”
“Tell me now, Annalise. I gather Isabella was the result of that night you lost your virginity?”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “You have no idea how terrified I was when I realized I was pregnant.”
“What about the boy?”
“He and his family had moved away by then. Dad contacted them, of course. But they wanted nothing to do with me or the baby and were only too happy to sign the adoption papers.” She shrugged. “It was just as well. Tommy was no more in a position to raise a baby than I was.”
“I remember Joanne saying it was a private adoption, arranged through their lawyer.”
Annalise nodded. “Dad met with Joanne and Paul and had them carefully checked out.”
He eyed her curiously. “You never considered keeping Isabella?”
It was the wrong question to ask. Her chin wobbled for an instant before she firmed it. “I wanted to keep her with all my heart. I dreamed about it every night. But I was sixteen when I got pregnant. I’d just turned seventeen when I had her.” The confession was so soft he barely caught it. “I also know it was the most difficult decision Dad ever made. He’d been a teenage father himself, and he felt he’d done such a poor job of it, that it wouldn’t be fair to repeat the cycle for another generation. He was right. I couldn’t be selfish.” Tears overflowed. “I … I had to do what was best for Isabella, not what was best for me. So I hid my pregnancy until the school year ended and went to stay with my aunt until after Isabella was born. Every summer after that I’d go and stay with her … and remember. Celebrate … and mourn.”
He tightened his hold on her, her words tearing him apart. “I’m so sorry.”
“I never knew who adopted her, but Dad kept track and would reassure me that she was safe and doing well.”
Understanding dawned. “Until the plane crash.”
“Yes. It was all over the news. At first, the media reported that everyone onboard perished. I walked in while Dad was listening to the announcement. He was crying. He tried to keep it from me, but it wasn’t hard to figure out why he was so upset.”
“I gather you read that I’d taken custody of your daughter.”
She nodded against his chest. “And that you were having a hard time keeping a nanny. It seemed the perfect opportunity. I’d apply and see if there was anything I could do to help with the transition. I planned to stay just a short time. Neither of you were supposed to discover the truth. I didn’t even intend to tell my father I’d taken the job. But then …”
“Then?”
Her sigh rippled through her and into him. “I took one look at her and fell head over heels. I would have stuck to my original plan if it weren’t for one other problem.”
He stiffened. “What problem?” he managed to ask.
She lifted her head and looked at him, her heart in her eyes. “I fell in love with you. One minute I was trying to build a world for you and Isabella, and the next you became my world.”
The inner coldness cracked, splitting apart like chunks of icebergs beneath a spring thaw. He didn’t resist any longer. He lowered his head and kissed her. The kiss shouldn’t have been any different from all the other ones they’d shared. But it was. He didn’t know if it was the absence of secrets or the fact that they’d both allowed the last bastions of their defenses to fall. Maybe the fact that they’d confessed their love altered the elemental nature of the embrace. Whatever the cause, he knew he’d remember this moment for the rest of his life. Remember the heat and the generosity, the certainty and the passion. Most of all, it was the awareness that he’d finally come home. That he’d found what he’d spent most his life searching for—and he held her safely in his arms.
“Come home now,” he urged. “We’re lost without you.”
“I thought I was the one who was lost.”
He forked his hands deep into her hair, allowing the curls to bind them together. “The three of us ultimately found each other. That’s all that matters now.”
He took her mouth in a lingering kiss, sinking into the softness and the warmth. If they’d been anywhere else, he’d have fallen into the nearest bed and spent the next twenty-four hours making her his in every possible sense of the word. Reluctantly, he drew back.
“I never realized how empty my life was until you filled it up,” he said.
Her smile was the most radiant he’d ever seen. “Let’s go home.”
Robert eyed them closely as they left the boat. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him because he simply smiled in satisfaction. “I’d appreciate having an opportunity to get to know my granddaughter,” he addressed Jack. “If you’re willing.”
“Anytime.”
The drive to Lover’s Folly seemed endless. But they finally arrived. It felt like weeks since he’d last had his wife at home, instead of mere hours. They walked hand in hand from the garage across the backyard. The kitchen door flew open and a half dozen rambunctious puppies spilled out, yipping and squabbling as they came, with Madam close on their heels.
Behind them, Isabella appeared in the doorway and cut loose with a shriek to end all shrieks. She took off at a flat run and arrowed straight for Annalise. His wife released his hand and knelt, cushioning Isabella’s landing in a loving embrace.
“Hello, Baby Belle,” Annalise greeted her daughter with a tearful laugh.
Isabella twined her twig-thin arms around Annalise’s neck and buried her face in the soft crook between neck and shoulder. Jack found he had to swallow hard at the sight. Isabella pulled back and spared him a brief, nervous glance. He gave an encouraging nod, praying for a miracle. And then it happened.
With a shy look, Isabella said, “Hi, Mommy.”
Billion-Dollar Baby Bargain
Tessa
Radley
Prologue
Who would have thought that a baby—cute and gurgly when his mother held him—could be such a demanding little devil? Victoria Sutton sank down onto the couch in the living room of her Auckland town house and gazed at the sleeping baby in the traveling cot with weary disbelief.
Dylan looked utterly angelic as stubby eyelashes rested in dusky crescents against chubby baby cheeks and his mouth moved gently up and down.
Oh, for a shot of caffeine.
Strong, hot Starbucks coffee. Hard to believe the whole weekend had passed without finding time to pick one up. Mandy, her secretary, would laugh herself silly tomorrow when Victoria recounted the events of the past two days.
Had it only been two days?
Propping her elbows on her knees, Victoria rested her chin in her palms, and groaned. Two days, but also two pretty much sleepless nights during which Dylan had turned her normally organized life upside down. Heavens, it seemed like she hadn’t drawn a breath since her best friend Suzy had gabbled her last bits of advice on Friday evening as Michael had tugged his wife out the front door, eager to get away for a brief romantic break to celebrate their second wedding anniversary.
Never again would she imagine that babies slept all the time!
Lifting her head from her cupped palms, Victoria scanned the normally immaculate living room and took in the chaotic disarray of toys, diapers and other baby paraphernalia. Another groan escaped. She knew her bedroom looked worse. She needed to get the mess packed up before Dylan’s parents arrived to collect him.
Victoria glanced ruefully at the apple puree smears on the winter-white fabric of the couch. And that stain on the carpet hadn’t been there before Friday, either. What had possessed her to feed Dylan in the all-white living room this morning? Had she learned nothing over the past two days?
Tomorrow first thing she’d organize to get the marks cleaned.
Tomorrow. Oh, heavens. Victoria’s hands shot to her mouth in dismay.
The weekly Monday-morning partners’ meeting …
Good grief, she hadn’t done any preparation. She thought wildly of how she’d delusionally planned to work while Dylan napped over the weekend.
A glance at the wall clock showed her it was still early. Michael and Suzy would be here within the next two hours to pick up Dylan. The whole evening lay ahead.
If she worked quickly to tidy the apartment, she might even get some work in before the Masons arrived. Grabbing a nappy bag, Victoria started to toss in toys, wet-wipes and unused diapers.
But nothing could take away from the fun she’d had with her godson. They’d played peekaboo and she’d tickled Dylan’s tummy. They’d been to the beach, where she’d dipped Dylan’s toes in the shallows while he squealed in ecstasy. They’d even shared an ice-cream cone—granted, most of it had ended up over Dylan’s face, plus a few smears down Victoria’s favorite Kate Sylvester T-shirt.
So she’d willingly offer to do it again. Her godson was adorable. A memory of his loud, growling screams in the middle of the night made her amend that statement. Mostly he was adorable.
The throaty roar of a powerful motor pulling up outside her town house unit made her pause in the act of retrieving a miniature sock from under the coffee table.
She checked the slim gold watch on her wrist. Too early for Michael and Suzy.
The doorbell rang in a long, insistent buzz. Victoria leaped to her feet, a quick glance showing that Dylan hadn’t stirred. The bell buzzed again. She shot across the room and, without pausing to look through the peephole, yanked the door open before whoever it was could lean on the doorbell again.
“Connor!”
Connor North, Michael’s best man, stood on her doorstep.
To Victoria’s annoyance her pulse kicked up, but with practiced ease she avoided Connor’s gaze. He wore a white T-shirt that stretched across a broad chest, and a pair of jeans that molded the lean hips.
“I probably should have called.”
His voice was gravelly, all male, full of edges with no smooth sweetness. Victoria knew she should reply, should agree that it would have been better for him to have called first—and then hope like blazes that he would go.
Instead, unable to answer him or steel herself to meet his unsettling pale gray eyes, Victoria fixed her gaze on the hard line of his mouth. Mistake. It had been two years since he had kissed her at Michael and Suzy’s wedding. By rights she should’ve forgotten all about the texture of his lips against hers, the desire that had spun dizzily within her.
She hadn’t.
Victoria swallowed.
The memory of the taste of him, the hardness of his body against hers, was so immediate it could’ve happened yesterday. Despite her every effort to pretend it had never happened at all.
“Connor …” she croaked, wishing he was a million miles away.
Why had he come? They didn’t have the kind of relationship that allowed for casual drop-ins. To be honest they didn’t have any kind of relationship at all.
Since the wedding the two of them had developed an unspoken pact of practicing avoidance: when one arrived at the Masons’ home, the other departed within minutes. The passage of time had not dulled the hostility that crackled between them. A dislike that they both colluded to conceal from Michael and Suzy—and Dylan.
She tried again. “Connor, what are you doing here?”
Carefully, with immense composure, she raised her gaze from that hard, tight mouth and met his gaze. To her astonishment he didn’t look anything like his usual arrogant, assured self. He looked …
She took in his pallor, the dull flatness in his gray eyes. He looked shattered. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Victoria—” He broke off and shoved his hands in his pockets.
At least he seemed to have no difficulty remembering her name these days, Victoria thought wryly. But it wasn’t like Connor to be at a loss for words. Usually the sarcastic quips rolled off his tongue. She frowned. “What is it?”
“Can I come in?”
Victoria hesitated. She didn’t particularly want him in her home. But he was … he wasn’t himself. “Sure.”
Leading him into the living room, she felt a flare of embarrassment at what he must see. Toys. Baby blankets. Dirty plates. She would’ve preferred Connor to see her home as it normally looked. Elegant. Immaculate. “Excuse the mess.”
He didn’t even glance sideways. “Victoria …” That soulless gaze was focused on her face with an intensity that was awfully disconcerting.
The need to fill the awkward silence made her blurt out, “Can I fix you a cup of coffee? Not that it’s anything like Starbucks, but I was about to make myself—” she stopped before she could reveal that one small human had reduced her to a caffeine-craving wreck “—a hot drink.”
“No.”
“Tea?”
He shook his head.
She moved toward the kitchen, which opened off the living room, flipped the kettle’s switch and opened the fridge.
“I don’t have beer. Would you like a cola?” she offered with reluctance as his footfalls sounded on the tiles behind her. She wished he’d waited for her in the living room. There wasn’t enough space in the kitchen for the two of them.
“Please.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and shut his eyes. An instant later they flicked open and she glimpsed … pain?
Victoria swung away and yanked the fridge door open. She stared blindly at the contents before reaching for two cans of cola. Shutting the door, she said more curtly than she’d intended, “So what do you want, Connor?”
His mouth twisted. “Certainly not sympathy.”
She flicked him a rapid once-over as she set the cans down on the counter. He made no move toward the drinks. A ring of white that she hadn’t noticed before surrounded his lips.
What was wrong with him? “Why on earth would I offer you sympathy?”
It couldn’t possibly be about his former girlfriend. That had been over two years ago and no one ever spoke about Dana or Paul Harper, Connor’s former business partner who had pinched his live-in lover while Connor had been out of the country on a business trip.
What Victoria had gleaned of the affair had come from a soft-focus women’s magazine feature on Dana and Paul not long after Suzy’s wedding. Connor’s ex had been nominated for a business award, and was quoted gushing about how happy she was, how she’d “come into herself.” There’d been an accompanying spread of photos showing the couple at home in a modern Italianate mansion, all glass and marble.
Yet according to stories in business publications, Harper-North Architecture hadn’t thrived well under Paul’s leadership after Connor had walked out. In fact, Suzy had once told Victoria that Paul Harper still owed Connor money. Victoria had surmised that the only thing keeping Connor from placing Harper-North—and Paul Harper—into receivership must be his intent to squeeze every cent he could out of Paul Harper.
By contrast, there’d been quite a splash in the media about The Phoenix Corporation, the waterfront development company that Connor had floated. Reading between the lines, Victoria had gathered that he’d turned what for a lesser man might have spelled disaster into a multimillion-dollar success story.
Yet a sense that something was not quite right closed in on her, as he rubbed his hands over his face in a manner she could only describe as helpless.
“I shouldn’t have made that crack about sympathy,” he said. “Oh, hell, let me start over.” He dropped his hands to his sides and the eyes that met hers were as expressionless as ever. “I’m sorry, Victoria, I’ve got bad news.”
“Bad news?” Bewilderment set in. “What bad news?”
“Michael—”
“No,” she interrupted, as if that might stop her absorbing the reality of the despair that clung to him. “Not Michael!”
Her index finger tapped her watch face with insistent, staccato force. “He’ll be here soon. I know it.”
Connor was shaking his head and his face was gray, his eyes drained of all vitality. “He won’t. He’s never coming back.”
He had to be.
A sickening fear hollowed out her stomach. She found herself standing right in front of him—closer than she’d ever been, except for that brief disastrous time when they’d danced together at Michael and Suzy’s wedding. And when he’d kissed her. “You’re wrong.”
Because if Michael wasn’t coming back that meant …
Seized by desperation, she choked out, “Suzy. Where’s Suzy?”
“Victoria …”
This time he didn’t have to say anything more. It was all in the way he looked at her with deep sorrow and regret.
“No!” she howled, her throat thickening with grief.
He moved swiftly forward. “Suzy’s gone, too.”
Victoria fell forward against the broad chest, uncaring of how unyielding Connor’s solid frame had become. After a moment of blubbering her arms crept up about his neck.
He grew more rigid still for just a moment until his arms came around her and squeezed. Then he shook off her clinging arms and stepped back, his eyes remote.
“There are arrangements to make. I need to get on to them but I thought you should know …” His voice trailed away.
“That Michael and Suzy are—” she couldn’t bring herself to say it “—are not coming home.”
A muscle moved high in his cheek. “That’s right.”
“No, it isn’t right. It’s wrong!”
The eyes that met hers were full of torment. “Victoria—”
She shook her head. “They’re supposed to knock on the door … Suzy will be laughing, she’ll call out, ‘I’m baaack.’”
He hunched his shoulders.
The lump in her throat finally got too big and her voice broke. Tears welled up from deep within her aching heart. “It’s not fair. They should be here.”
Backing out of the kitchen, Connor spread his hands, then dropped them to his sides. “Look, there’s a lot to be done.”
“And you don’t have time for good, old-fashioned grief,” Victoria said bitterly, as she followed him.
“You’re overreacting.” He looked hunted. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not. I work faster alone. And you need to take care of Dylan.”
Dylan!
She gaped at Connor in horror. Oh, dear Lord, how could she have forgotten about Dylan?
Dylan had lost his parents.
Connor couldn’t leave now. “Connor!”
But Connor was already halfway across the living room. He threw an unreadable glance over his shoulder but didn’t slow down. “When I come back we’ll talk about Dylan.”