Raphaela's Gift (26 page)

"Don't feel stupid. You can say anything to me."

"It's about Marian--what she said to me."

"You can't believe what she says right now. She's having a hard time with things."

"I know." She stared at Raphaela, her eyes glittering, a shaft of sunlight slicing between the window shutters to blaze in her golden hair. "I don't know how you feel about--about things. But I just wanted to make it clear I'd like to be friends."

"This is the 'Let's be friends' talk? Christ, did I have things all wrong…I mean, I thought I was going to have to be the one to say it."

She looked at him, and he felt the air leave the room. His lungs burned. "Oh," she whispered.

When her gaze fell to Raphaela again, he said, "It's Marian."

She nodded, still looking at his little girl, who played quietly on the floor with some dolls. "So you're going to…" She didn't finish the sentence, and he wondered if it hurt too much to say the words.

"We're going to at least talk about it." He wished he wasn't having this conversation with her. Wished he were telling her they could pursue what they'd started. He was a different man when he was with Faith, and he liked that man.

Her front teeth bit hard into her bottom lip, and he yearned to kiss the blushing flesh.

"Because it's the right thing to do," he added.

She smiled at him, but the mirth failed to reach her eyes. "I'm very happy for you. And for Raphaela and Marian. I hope you’re able to work out your differences." She hugged her arms around herself, her fingers tense around her biceps, the skin of her arms white from the pressure.

"We'll be concentrating on Raphaela, giving her everything she needs."

"That's wonderful."

"That is honestly how you feel?"

She nodded.

"You'll still let me help you find a job and an apartment, though, won't you?" he asked, not believing her. He'd hurt her. No matter what she said, how much she denied it. It was clear on her face. She'd held as much hope for them as he had.

He cursed himself again. If only he'd considered his responsibilities earlier. If only he'd talked to Marian, instead of holding his anger inside. If only he'd acted like an adult instead of a pouting, impulsive child.

"If you insist," she said, staring at Raphaela. "Although I'm capable of doing it on my own."

”
I'm sure you are." He stood, reluctantly, and gathered Raphaela from the floor. ”I guess we should be going now--so you can pack. I'll be back in the morning to give you the names of my contacts. You have someplace to stay in the meantime, don't you?"

She nodded.

”
All right, then." His heart ached. ”Goodnight, Faith LeFeuvre."

”
Goodnight, Garret Damiani."

Raphaela wrenched her hand from his grip as he tugged her toward the door, howling in protest at having been taken from her play.

He blew out a blast of air he hadn't know was sitting in his lungs. ”I'm sorry, Ella. We have to go now. You can play with your toys in our room." He glanced at Faith one last time.

She smiled in return.

Sometimes finding the right person was a matter of timing. Had he found that elusive perfect woman, the one most men won't talk about? What a damn waste!

Raphaela fell to the floor, thrashing, kicking, and howling. He hadn't seen that behavior in a while--since the first day they'd arrived at Mountain Rise, when Faith had touched her and sent her into a rage.

That first day when he'd looked into Faith's eyes and been captured by her.

Utterly embarrassed, flustered, and self-conscious, he swept Raphaela into his arms and carried her from the cottage into the heavy heat outside. Humidity, thick and oppressive, clung to him the instant he stepped from the cottage. He turned, surveyed the tiny building once more and walked the path to the lodge, carrying his protesting daughter. Her cries shattered the wood's twilight peacefulness.

Irony was a cruel mistress once more, he mused. He'd faced his problems head on, was honest and straightforward, and still he faced pain.

After hours of struggling to subdue Raphaela, she lay in a heap in the middle of the floor, and Garret, who was as exhausted as she, lay in the middle of the bed, wishing he could fall asleep. Hours droned on, dragging along at a snail's pace, until finally dawn's rose-hued light cut through the gap between the drawn curtains. Dust motes danced in the light, and he remembered when he was a child how he'd wondered what those tiny sprites dancing in the air were. So many things to learn as a child.

So many things to learn as an adult. When would it all end?

He forced his leaden frame from the bed, and gritty eyed, went to the shower. Today, he would finally return to the real world--to work and life.

And he couldn't be more miserable.

Funny, he'd never expected to feel this way. Before he shut the bathroom door, he glanced at his daughter, who lay curled in a ball on the floor, her yellow blanket gripped to her chest. He was just as unsure of his ability to care for her today, as he'd been when he arrived. The camp hadn't been the answer to everything.

He softly closed the door, the catch clicking, and then turned on the water. It gurgled and splashed against the plastic-lined shower stall. Dropping his shorts, he stepped into the cool water and let it wet his hair, splash over his face and run down his back, drawing the heat from his body. A swim, that's what he needed before he left.

After washing up, he brushed his teeth and donned his swim trunks, not bothering to dry off. He laid out some clothes for their drive home, then tossed the last of his belongings in his suitcase and zipped it closed.

With a suitcase in each hand, he walked into the hallway and down the corridor to Marian's room. Setting them down, he knocked quietly and Marian answered. She agreed to sit with Raphaela until she awakened, and he carried the luggage to the car and headed through the woods to the lake, yearning for the caress of the sparkling, icy water.

As he approached the crystalline lake, still and inviting, with a mist hovering over it, the sight of something sleek slicing through the water caught his attention. The swimmer stopped about fifty yards from him, dipped her head back, and slicked back long hair. Garret considered turning around and heading back, almost feeling like he was intruding, but decided to stay.

"Hello!" he called out, figuring the least he should do is warn the other swimmer she had company.

"Garret?" the voice answered.

Faith.

A flame of desire shot through his body as he stared at her in the lake, imagining his hands running over the curves he'd never had the pleasure of seeing unclothed. Oh, to be a fish! "Yeah, it's me. Looks like we both had the same idea."

She swam closer to shore, treading water about twenty feet from him. "I had to shut down the air conditioning in my cottage."

He stepped into the water. A shock of cold bolted up his spine. "Shit, this water's ice cold!"

"It's not so bad once you get used to it."

He waded deeper, his stomach muscles tightening against the chill.

"Just dive in," she called. "You won't get in if you don't."

Now, those words had more than one meaning. "Just dive in," he repeated. He steeled himself for the shock, sucked in a deep breath, and plunged under the water. The air he'd stored in his lungs shot from them, and he immediately resurfaced. His whole body shook. "Not so bad? I'm shivering like a fool."

She swam to him, her hair slick from her face, droplets clinging to her eyelashes and skin. He looked down, through the water to catch a glimpse of her body.

He wasn't cold anymore.

She was wearing a hot pink bikini. His swim trunks grew snug. His gaze rose from the shimmering water back to her face. Without hesitation, he reached for her, drew her body to him and kissed her. Her curves fit against him, the warmth of her body heating him until he thought the water might steam up around them. Her mouth tasted sweet, her tongue dancing a seductive tango with his.

She groaned, the sound echoing in his head as she wrapped her arms and legs around him, her body buoyant in the iridescent water. His feet planted in the sandy lake bottom, he gave his hands full freedom to roam where they might. Their first target, the firm roundness of her bottom.

He hadn't thought he could get any hotter, but he did. Liquid heat, intoxicating and heady, pulsed through his body. He slid his hands up the sides of her body until they found the firm roundness of her breasts, his mouth still sliding and tasting her, devouring every tiny space of her mouth.

Her nipples grew rigid under his fingertips, and a throbbing centered on his groin. He longed to plunge into her.

That was it. He had to stop. Now. He broke the kiss. His breathing ragged, like he'd run a marathon. Damn, what this woman did to him!

She looked at him, her expression wide-eyed, dazed. She dropped her hands and legs, and ever so slowly drifted from him, the distance widening, and the silence filled by the thumping of his heart in his ears.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Why do things have to be so complicated?"

"Isn't that true of all the great loves throughout history?" he asked. Was he turning into a heartsick sap? He'd never thought himself romantic before.

"Are we talking about love here or something baser?"

Damn it, she didn't expect him to say those words already, did she? After two weeks? He could not fall in love in two weeks. That was impossible. "I don't know. Given time, maybe. But it's not only lust, either." Even to himself, he sounded like a rambling fool. The sad truth was, he didn't know the answer to her question, but he knew this much--he didn't want to face another day without her.

Faith sunk her toes into the sandy lake bottom, the cold water, and the lingering taste of Garret sending shivers up her spine. He'd all but admitted he loved her, and now she had no idea what to do. Not only did she soar on wings of joy, but she hung at the precipice of sorrow.

He'd said he was reconciling with Marian. And she'd encouraged him.

The image of Raphaela's face, her sky-blue eyes and ebony ringlets, the milky white of her skin and rose-kissed lips, played through Faith’s mind. Didn't she deserve her parents together? And their entire focus? Faith knew the little girl needed everything they could give her. Raphaela's condition would require a great deal of time and attention from both of them if they had any hope of growth in her communication skills. They certainly weren't out of the woods yet.

Would he reconsider his decision? Change his mind, based upon his feelings? Not quite love, but not lust either.

The answer, which she tried hard to ignore, drifted to her mind.

He wouldn't.

The droplets of water scattered over his shoulders twinkled in the sunlight, and his jet hair slicked flat to his scalp, his curls weighted by water. His lips were parted a tiny bit, and she had the sudden urge to press her own to them, luxuriate in their taste again.

She forced her eyes from him, to the trees lining the lake's edge. A squirrel scampered up a trunk, its bushy tail twitching as it stopped mid-climb and sniffed the air. "I hope we can remain friends."

Did he hear the lack of conviction she heard in her own voice?

"Okay. Do you still have my card?"

She nodded.

"Good. Call me when you get back to Akron, and I'll give you the phone numbers I owe you." He turned from her, headed toward the beach. The water thrashed about him as he ran toward the shore, sending brilliant diamonds into the air.

She longed to reach for him, tell him how she truly felt. But whom would she hurt? And more importantly, whom would she be serving? There was no way in hell she'd be that selfish.

With at least thirty feet of water between them, she watched him glance over his shoulder one last time before disappearing into the woods. Her heart felt like it had been clamped in a vice--tight and bruised. Her stomach gnawed upon itself, not from hunger but pure misery.

"I love you," she whispered. "Damn it, it makes no sense, but I love you."

The joy of the swim lost, she waded through the crisp chill of the water to the shore, and leaving a trail of drops, walked back to her cottage. One last search of each room, and she'd be ready to leave. Ready. Like she'd ever truly be that.

She only hoped she was doing the right thing--leaving Mountain Rise to avoid their name being brought into scandal. Was she being a fool for giving up so easily? She supposed she'd never know for certain.

One makes decisions based upon the knowledge one has at any given moment.
She remembered her father saying that, long ago, before he'd moved away from her and her brothers. Before he'd grown sick, cancer eating away his body.

So true, that statement. Simple and true.

She changed into her street clothes, a pair of khaki shorts and a tank top, slid her feet into a pair of sandals, and wandered from the living room to the bedroom and finally the kitchen before stepping into the aging morning and locking the door one last time. She dropped the key under the mat, as the director had told her to do--no doubt because Mrs. Murphy hadn't wanted to face her this morning--and walked the short trail to the employee parking lot.