Point of No Return (22 page)

“Not if he thinks you’re carrying Blane’s child.”

That made me jerk my head around to look at Kade. His gaze met mine, with his black lashes so thick and his eyes such a beautiful blue, it made me want to drown in them. I pushed the thought aside.

“And why would he think that?” I asked.

Kade just looked at me.

“But it’s been months since Blane and I
. . .
I mean, you and me happened after
. . .
” This was getting awkward. “Did you tell him the truth?” I asked instead.

“Nope.”

“Why in the world not?”

“Because you and me should never have happened,” Kade said firmly. “It was a mistake.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. If Kade had slapped me, it would’ve hurt less. The look on my face must have betrayed my dismay, because Kade cursed. I barely noticed as he took the coffee cup from my trembling hand and set it aside.

“How can you say that?” I managed, my voice a near whisper.

“Because I am the absolute worst thing for you,” Kade replied. His voice was harsh with bitterness and anger, but it wasn’t directed at me. “I’m the stuff nightmares are made of, princess. I’m not the kind of man who gets the girl. We both know that.”

Of course. Kade and his damn inferiority complex when it came to him and Blane.

“I’m not a machine,” I said. “You can’t just tell me how to feel and expect me to obey. I’m not going back to Blane. It’s not fair to him, or to me, or to
our
child.” I got to my feet. “So you’re wasting your time. You can stay for breakfast, if you want, or leave now if you’d rather. But I’m not going anywhere, no matter what Keaston does. I have a gun, and I know how to use it, so he’d better think twice before sending someone after me. This is my home and if he wants me dead, he’ll have to come do it himself.”

I didn’t give Kade a chance to respond, just walked past him into the house. My stomach was growling and based on the limited experience I’d had so far, I needed to eat right away while I was hungry.

Grabbing eggs and a packet of bacon from the fridge, I loaded some bacon on a cookie sheet into the cold oven, then turned it on. While that started cooking, I scrambled several eggs in a bowl, adding a little half-and-half to make them creamier.

Kade walked in while the frying pan was heating, so I decided to treat him the way I would any other friend by asking him to hand me the loaf of bread from the cabinet.

I poured another cup of coffee and sipped it while I slowly stirred the eggs in the hot pan. Kade put a few pieces of bread in the toaster and searched the cabinets for plates. We didn’t speak as the food cooked, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. I was trying real hard not to think about him leaving, or what he’d said to me. I’d wait until later to dwell on it and have another crying jag.

The aroma of bacon filled the kitchen as I pulled the cookie sheet from the oven. I scooped the scrambled eggs onto two plates, added liberal portions of bacon, and snagged the toast when it popped up. I set the plates and a couple of napkins on the table, then grabbed two forks.

Some things just taste better when you’re pregnant, I’d realized, and bacon was one of them. I’d taken to buying it in bulk, since it was a protein my stomach didn’t seem to mind. Whereas beef was a definite no-go.

With food in front of me, my hormones took a backseat, and I made short work of the meal. I was buttering my toast when Kade caught my eye. He was watching me.

“What?” I asked, immediately self-conscious. “Do I have something on my face?” I picked up my napkin and wiped my mouth again, just to be sure there weren’t some lingering crumbs.

Kade shook his head. “It’s good to see you eating again—that’s all.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just finished off my toast. He must’ve been hungry, too, because his plate was also clear.

He helped me clean up, bringing dishes to me to load into the dishwasher. It was too quick, and then breakfast was over.

I stood, my back pressed against the counter, twisting a dish towel in my hands. I was determined not to cry. This was what he wanted and there was nothing I could do or say to change it, just as there was nothing he could do or say to make me marry Blane.

It was a sad way to end things. No one, except maybe Kade, had gotten what they wanted. There was no happily-ever-after, for any of us. Kade had been right after all.

“There’s no such thing as a happy ending.”

Kade walked over to me, not stopping until we were inches apart. I couldn’t hold his gaze, was afraid I’d start crying, so I looked down at the towel.

“Stop fidgeting,” he murmured, placing a hand over mine.

It was the first he’d touched me and I felt it to the tips of my toes.

We didn’t move, both of us breathing the same air, and my pulse kicked into overdrive. His thumb lightly brushed the top of my hand, the caress as soft as a butterfly’s wings against my skin.

My eyes slid shut, and it took all my willpower not to lean forward and press my body against his. I wanted him with an intensity that frightened me. Not just sexually, though that was high on the list. I wanted him to stay with me, be with me, build a life together. And more than anything, I wanted him to want that, too.

Kade’s other hand lifted to settle under my chin, his fingers gently turning my face up. I opened my heavy-lidded eyes and our gazes collided.

Pain and desire warred in his eyes, his brow creasing as he seemed to drink me in. My gaze dropped to his mouth. I wanted him to kiss me, could almost taste him already. My tongue darted out to wet my lips.

Suddenly, Kade pulled back, taking several steps and turning away from me. He shoved a hand roughly through his hair.

I let out a little sigh of disappointment. If he’d wanted to drop down on the kitchen floor and do it right there, I would have been an enthusiastic participant, judging by how damp my panties were. Nice. Real classy.

I took a deep, shuddering breath. Manual labor seemed the way to go to work out the sexual frustration I was feeling.

“Listen,” I said, my voice throatier than usual, “I have stuff I need to get done today, so are you leaving? Or are you staying?” I held my breath, waiting for his response.

Kade glanced back at me. “It seems I don’t have much of a choice now, does it,” he said wryly.

Did I mention that besides the crying jags and emotional roller coaster I was on, it also meant my temper could be on a hair trigger and send me from zero to flaming superbitch inside of three seconds?

I was supremely pissed off in the time it took to draw another breath. Grabbing my empty coffee mug from the counter, I sent it hurtling toward Kade’s head. He ducked, depriving me of the satisfaction of seeing the heavy ceramic crack against his even thicker skull.

“Fuck you, Kade!” I yelled. “You want to leave? Then don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.”

My hands were shaking, I was so angry, yet tears also stung my eyes. I turned and ran up the stairs. Even though I was pissed off enough to want to yank Kade’s hair out, I wasn’t so far gone that I thought I could handle watching him walk out that door.

I burst into the bedroom that I hadn’t shown Kade last night. Standing in the middle of the room, I took several deep breaths, trying to calm down. The anger was ebbing now, leaving an overwhelming pit of despair and loneliness in its wake.

Robotically, I began setting things out to continue painting. This was going to be the baby’s room, and though I didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl, I’d decided on a shade of blue that was precisely the color of Kade’s eyes. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I remembered standing in the paint store, scrutinizing and debating the color swatches. I’d started crying then, too, and the salesclerk had looked almost panicked. He’d been very happy to sell me the paint and send me on my way.

The crib was in a huge box that I’d wrestled up the stairs and then to one corner, where it waited for me to put it together. I’d also bought a mobile, with little stars and moons, that played “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” when it turned.

I plopped down on the floor with a sigh, the paint forgotten. I cranked the mobile, holding it and watching it turn as the music played.

Was I going to be enough for this baby? I’d loved my dad, had spent a lot of time with him growing up. It hurt that my baby wouldn’t have that same relationship with its dad. What was I going to say when he or she was old enough to ask where Daddy was? How could I possibly explain that Daddy had chosen to leave us? When would it not hurt anymore to say that?

Kade suddenly stood in the doorway, making me start in surprise. How the heck had he gotten up the stairs without me hearing him?

I quickly swiped at my wet cheeks and set aside the mobile. “You don’t have to stay,” I said, my voice flat, resigned. “If something happens, it’s all on me. I get it.”

But Kade wasn’t paying any attention to me. He was taking in the room, the look on his face one of stunned shock. As if he’d been pretending this wasn’t real, that I wasn’t really pregnant. And maybe he had been.

After a minute or two, he focused on me, sitting on the floor. He seemed to recover his poise and stepped forward, crouching down next to me. Reaching out, he wiped away a stray tear track. Our eyes met.

“Don’t cry, princess,” he said softly. “It kills me when you cry.”

He was so close to me. I couldn’t help leaning forward just slightly, and it was enough for me to rest my forehead against his chest. I let out a trembling sigh, my eyes slipping shut. Yes, I knew that if I had to, I could do this by myself, could raise our child by myself.

But I didn’t want to.

I had no way of convincing Kade that my need of him outweighed all the reasons he thought we shouldn’t be together. If he believed I was better off without him, nothing I said would convince him otherwise. He had to believe it for himself, or he would always have doubts, would always wonder if he should leave me.

But it felt so good to lean on his strength, even if it was only temporary.

Kade lifted a hand, settling it gently on the back of my head. It was not quite an embrace, but I figured I’d take what I could get.

“So are we painting today?” Kade asked.

I pulled back, not meeting his eyes, and nodded.

“Okay then,” he said, getting to his feet. He reached down, offering his hand, which I took and then stood as well.

I’d already painted one wall and had started on another. Kade stirred the paint and poured some into the pan, grabbed a roller, and began painting. I only had one roller, so I picked up a brush and started on the smaller areas around light switches and outlets.

We painted in companionable silence for a while, Kade being much quicker with the roller than I had been. At the rate he was going, we’d be done in an hour or so.

“Did you buy this place?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, “with some of the money you left.” A sore spot with me, but I didn’t want to argue.

“Do you have enough?”

“Enough what?” I asked in confusion. “Money?”

“Yeah. Because I have more. If you need it.”

I was on all fours, but stopped painting and turned to stare at him over my shoulder. “You’re joking, right? Kade, I couldn’t spend all that money in my lifetime, much less in a month.” I rolled my eyes, then a thought struck me and I sat back on my haunches.

“Kade,” I said.

“What?” he asked. When I didn’t answer, he paused from painting to glance at me, his brows raised in a question.

“Please tell me you were making a bad joke last night when you said you’d killed ten men.”

Our eyes locked for a moment, then Kade turned back, dipping the roller into the pan of paint. “When have I ever joked about shit like that,” he said, and it wasn’t a question, because the answer was—never. Kade had always been perfectly serious and matter-of-fact about what he did.

Oh my God. Ten people. Kade had killed ten people. That was more than a baseball team. He’d killed a baseball team. Why-why-why?

My thoughts were slightly hysterical and I was reeling from the actual number. And in so little time? How many people had he killed overall? And still the question: Why?

“Take it easy. Just breathe.”

Kade was crouching next to me again, and I realized I was breathing in choked gasps.

Ten people.

“Why?” I managed, looking up at him. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s who I am,” he said.

I shook my head, adamant. “No, it’s not. That is
not
who you are. You’re a good man—”

“Will you stop?” he cried, jumping to his feet and pacing away from me. “I am not a ‘good man’! I never have been and I never will be, Kathleen!”

I got to my feet, angry now. “That’s not true! I know you believe it, but you’re wrong. What, did you kill those people just to prove to me how horrible you are?”

His eyes flashed blue fire as he glared at me. “I’m not explaining myself to anyone. Not even you.”

“You don’t have to,” I shot back. “You think I don’t know you? That I don’t know that all of this”—I waved my hand to indicate me and him—“and shoving me away and pushing me at Blane, that all of it is because you think you’re some kind of horrible person who doesn’t deserve to be happy?” I used quotey fingers for “deserve.” “Because you’re wrong—”