Lead Me On (31 page)

"Because it's still affecting us," she insisted passionately. "He disowned his daughter, and people have been whispering behind our backs ever since."

"You're right. He was a bastard about that, too."

"Then you accept that Nicole was legitimate?"

"I do, which I guess makes us cousins—albeit very,
very
distant ones, thank God." He tried for a smile, but she didn't return it. "I still say that has nothing to do with us. I personally haven't stolen anything from you or your family. Besides, you own the house now, and from what I hear you just got a huge settlement from my side of the family, so the score has evened up a bit."

"Yes." Her voice turned subdued. "I suppose I should thank you for helping out. We heard about what you did."

"You're welcome. Although, for the record, it was an empty threat. I may not like my father, but I don't hate him enough to intentionally try to destroy him."

"Oh." Her brow dimpled in a frown, and he wondered if his statement pleased or disappointed her.

"If we can get back to my question, how old were you when you read the diaries?"

"About fourteen, I think. I don't know, I read them more than once."

He softened his voice for the next question, knowing it would upset her. "Did you read them after you lost the baby?"

Her back jerked straight. "I don't see how that has anything to do with anything." Pushing at him, she tried to swing her feet to the floor.

"Hang on." He braced his hands on the sofa arm and back, trapping her.

"You have no right to bring that up." She shoved against his chest with balled fists. "I spilled my guts to you, opened up parts of my life I've never shared with anyone, and all the while, you were lying to me."

He started to argue, but saw more than fury in her eyes. He saw vulnerability. "Would you like to get dressed before we talk about this?"

"I'd like to leave."

He stood and she scrambled off the sofa. Gathering her clothes, she struggled into them as he pulled on his shorts and shirt. While her back was to him, he picked up the canvas bag and sat back on the sofa. She grabbed her purse and fumbled for the keys, then looked about for the diaries. When she saw him holding them her back straightened.

"Give them to me." She held her hand out.

"No." He raised a brow. "Not until you sit down and answer my questions." He watched the struggle on her face as she weighed the odds of wrestling the bag from him.

Apparently deciding against it, she sat back down with her arms crossed. "Okay, yes, I reread some of them while I was recovering."

"Which ones?"

"Starting with when Henri first came to Marguerite's dressing room backstage."

"The ones where she let herself believe she was in love with a man, only to learn later that he'd seduced her into marrying him with lies. Just as Peter seduced you into sleeping with him with lies."

She kept her gaze fixed on the opposite wall but he saw her throat move as she swallowed hard.

"So now you've lumped all three of us, Henri, Peter, and me, together in your mind. We're all liars who seduce women out of selfishness or greed. And any woman fool enough to fall for us is going to suffer dire consequences."

She finally looked at him, but said nothing.

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs. "I'm not Henri, and I'm not Peter. I kept my name and my relationship to John LeRoche hidden from you, but that wasn't to hurt you. I never meant to hurt you." He searched her face, then sat back suddenly. "Hell, what's the use? Even without all this, I never had a chance with you. You deserve better."

"Why do you do that?" She frowned, finally looking at him, looking into his eyes. "You're always cutting yourself down, saying you're selfish and cynical, but you're actually sweet and generous, hardworking and responsible."

He raised a brow. "Sweet?"

"Kind," she corrected.

His chest tightened. "You make me want to be the man you think I am, because you made me believe that, for some people, commitment can work. If I can take that leap of faith, why can't you forgive me and accept me in spite of my parentage?"

"Because I don't know if what I see is real or an illusion."

"Or are you just too afraid to believe, to take a chance?"

"I ..." He saw the battle of emotions that waged in her eyes before she looked away. "I don't know."

"Allison, let go of the past. Have the courage to give us a chance."

She pressed her fingers to her lips when they started to tremble. An eternity passed as he waited for her verdict. "All right," she whispered at last. "I'll try." He sagged in relief as she turned and gave him a shaky smile. "I can't promise anything, but I'll try."

"You won't regret it." He gathered her against him and held her close as his heart pounded. "I swear, we can make this work."

"You have to help me, though." She pulled back enough to gaze up at him. "Because it's not just the name. I've thought about it a lot since the lawsuit ended, and I think I could get past your relation to John LeRoche. You're right, it's not something you can control and you aren't the one who tried to hurt us. Quite the opposite. I think what really scares me is feeling like I don't know you. For those three weeks we were together, you rarely talked about yourself, or let me past the surface."

He shook his head against a sense of déja vu; she sounded just like Marguerite in the diaries. "I couldn't share very much without risking your finding out I was a LeRoche."

"I know. But now that the big secret's out, there's no reason for you to hold back." She cupped his jaw as hope kindled to life in her eyes. "If I felt like I knew you, it would be easier for me to trust you."

He leaned back. "There's not that much to tell beyond what you already know."

"I know a few sketchy facts. I have no clear picture, though, of what your life has been like, how you became the man you are."

A familiar dread crept into his stomach, the same queasiness he felt when anyone wanted to get close to him. "There's no reason for us to have long, drawn-out conversations about my childhood."

"Was it that bad? You weren't abused, were you?"

"No, I wasn't abused. It's just that that was then, this is now. I don't believe in revisiting the past."

"But"—confusion lined her face—"the past is part of who we are. If I can't get to know all of you, I can't really know any of you."

"That's not true." The last thing she needed to hear was what a rebellious teenager he'd been, or how many times his father's money and influence had kept him out of juvi-hall. Especially since that would bring up the name John LeRoche more times than he thought wise around her. "Considering the fact that you hate my family, I think talking about them would be a bad idea."

"It might be awkward at first, but what else can we do? If we're going to have any chance of working this out and making it last, I'll have to accept them as part of your life."

"That part of my life wouldn't have anything to do with us."

"Of course it would." Disbelief shone in her eyes. "Unless we're back to talking about a short-term affair."

"I want more than that, and you know it."

" 'More' as in the possibility of marriage down the road?"

His lungs locked up and he stared at her several seconds before he remembered how to breathe. "You said you didn't want marriage and kids."

"I guess I lied, too, then. To both of us." She managed a weak smile. Her gaze dropped away though when he just kept staring at her, too panicked to respond. "Since that day, when you first asked me to have the courage to risk caring, I've thought about it, and I've decided that, yes, I want what Chance and Rory have. I want commitment and a family and everything."

Marriage. Commitment. Total sharing.
He blew out a breath as his mind raced. He'd been thinking in terms of reconciliation and building slowly from there, not jumping past the word "relationship" all the way to marriage. "Okay, then. I'll admit, the idea has crossed my mind a lot since meeting you." Crossed his mind along with the word "impossible." But here she was saying it was possible, even with her knowing who he was. "If you can handle the thought of marrying a LeRoche, I'd like to consider it. Although, for the record, your name would be Lawrence and I don't have a lot of contact with anyone but my sister and Chloe."

"Okay then." She nodded. "I'm willing to work on my animosity toward your family, with your help. I assume I'd at least meet your mother, and surely you have aunts, uncles, cousins."

The bands about his chest tightened even more. She wanted him to throw the doors to his life wide open and let her walk right in. The problem being, the minute she saw the mess laid bare, she'd likely turn around and walk right back out. "You don't have to meet them," he insisted. "It would be uncomfortable for you."

"I'd learn to deal with it, because they're part of your life."

"No they're not." Sweat broke out on his brow. "They're part of my past. You would be my present and my future."

"So your relationship with your family and your relationship with me would be totally separate?" She leaned back. "What about things like Thanksgiving and Christmas? Don't you even see your mother then?"

"Okay, I suppose if we got—" He waved his hand as the words stuck in his throat.

"Married," she supplied.

"Yes, if we did that, it would be inevitable you meet my mother, but she wouldn't be part of our lives. I'd still visit her on occasion, but you wouldn't have to go with me."

"That's ridiculous. Scott, you can't compartmentalize your entire life. And you're not being fair. You're asking me to work through a lot of old anger, on top of my fears about relationships in general, yet you're not willing to give anything in return."

"Wait a second. How did we skip tracks from talking about your trusting me, to where we'll be eating Thanksgiving dinner?"

"We didn't skip tracks. It's all related. You're obviously not comfortable being open, but I can't be the only one who has to face the scary demons inside myself."

"Gawd! What is it with women!" He stood and began to pace. "Why do you always want men to open up and bare their souls? I think I've faced enough 'scary demons' just falling in love with the one woman in the world who is most likely to eat my heart for lunch. Isn't that enough?"

She sat there, staring at him. "No. It's not."

Silence stretched between them as the hopelessness became clear. She wanted all or nothing. Yet life had taught him all about the disillusionment that occurred when he let people too close. As much as he hated the thought of her walking out on him, he couldn't let her all the way in. He flat-out couldn't do it. "I guess we really don't have a chance, do we?"

Her face crumbled and she closed her eyes. "No, I guess we don't."

He watched as she reached for the canvas bag and her purse—and he wanted to break something. "Why can't you just accept me as I am now and forget the past?"

"Because it's clear you don't trust me." Her eyes filled with tears. "I would be willing to try, if I thought you were."

Helplessness welled inside him as he watched her head for the archway to the foyer. "Allison, wait ..." He blew out a breath. "I just ... I'm not good at sharing. That doesn't mean I don't love you."

"I know." Tears slipped down her cheeks. "But if you can't share your past with me, how can we survive the future?"