Revealed: His Secret Child (6 page)

“He's okay?” he asked.

“Fine.” She walked slowly toward him, stopping in front of him. Near enough to feel his warmth.

“Does he do that often?”

She glanced back at Ethan. “Occasionally.”

Max hesitated. “Was it hard?” he asked softly. “Doing it all on your own?” He lifted his hand and brushed a lock of her hair back behind her ear. Fingertips skimming her jaw. The gesture tender and almost intimate. She could want that touch. If she let herself.

Gillian swallowed. “It wasn't easy.”

“Did you ever think of calling me?” His hand came to rest on her shoulder. As though he, too, wanted this simple connection to last.

“Yes.” Every day. Sometimes every hour. “But you didn't want this.”

“No,” he agreed.

“It was lonely sometimes.” She'd never admitted that to anyone; she'd wanted to cope perfectly, thought that would validate her decision. But it hadn't stopped her thinking of him, missing him.

“There's been no one else?”

Did she imagine a slight tension in that hand on her shoulder? “No.” There had been neither the time nor the inclination. She'd devoted all her energies to her son and her job. And after the bewilderment and pain she'd endured at the end of her relationship with Max, his unceremonious dumping of her, she'd not even had any desire to go back to the potential hurt, not to mention the complications of a relationship. The loneliness was a small price to pay to protect her son and her heart. But beneath it all she'd missed Max. Missed having him to share the moments like this with.

“You've done a good job. He's a great kid.”

The compliment, the shared pride, warmed her. “Thank you, though I don't know how much credit I can take. He came out good. Settled and happy from the beginning. I was lucky.”

“I'd say that part came from you.” His hand shifted on her shoulder, warm and firm.

“Maybe. But his determination to do things his own way, I think that came from you.”

She caught the gleam of white teeth as his lips eased into a smile. Exactly the kind of shared moment she'd never had.

“Will you get back to sleep okay? You weren't always good at that.” The question was harmless but his voice low and warm wrapped itself around her in the same way his hand curved around her neck.

Too clearly, she remembered the best way Max had
discovered for helping her achieve the boneless completion that led to sleep. “I've gotten better with practice.” What she clearly hadn't gotten better at was controlling her reaction to this man. Even now, when she should know better she wanted to reach out, just to touch her fingers to his chest, to see if he felt like he used to, a pleasure to her senses. Solid and warm…male.

The air seemed to shimmer and hum between them. Drawn to him, she leaned closer. She shouldn't want his touch, shouldn't want his arms around her. But he was the father of her child, and she had shared more of herself with this man than any other person.

In the dim light, his gaze dipped to her lips. She held her breath, her heartbeat heavy in her chest. Time stretched.

He took a sudden step back and turned from her.

M
ax woke, knowing something was different. He turned his head and saw that difference sleeping beside him. Gillian.

He had a wife.

In his bed.

Breathing softly. Her lips full and rosy. Lips he'd kissed yesterday. Lips he'd kissed three years ago. Lips he'd kissed in his dreams.

During the night, she'd moved closer to the center. And so, somehow, had he. She lay on her side, facing him, within easy touching distance. Her chestnut hair spilled over her pillow, one lock sweeping across her pale cheek. A storm surge of erotic memories and unwanted desire rushed through him.

His weakness for her dismayed him. By rights he should still be furious, but he couldn't quite hold on to the anger. Maybe because he also didn't seem able to rein in his attraction for her. Worse, he knew she still felt it, too. Though she did her best to hide it. The awareness, the remembered desire, had passed between them in the quiet stillness last night.

He didn't want to want her. And he wasn't going to be the first to admit or give in to that wanting. That was why he'd turned from her last night when instinct had screamed otherwise.

But that was then. This was now. She was close and warm and soft. He curled his hands into fists before they reached to stroke that lock of hair from her cheek. “Morning.” He made the word gruff. Waking her so that he wouldn't be the one lying here thinking about her touch, about the feel of her beneath him.

Slowly, her eyes opened, then widened farther as the first shock of seeing him registered. Her lush lips parted. Again, unable to stop the recollections, he remembered what those lips could do, the pleasure they could bring.

Time hung suspended.

She sucked in a breath, snapped her jaw shut and scooted to the far side of the bed, rolling on to her back and sitting up a little against the pillows. Avoiding his gaze, she looked around the room. “So what happens now?” she asked, all brisk and businesslike.

Despite his intentions the wrong answer slid into his mind. Along with the awareness that just because he wasn't going to let her anywhere near his heart didn't mean their bodies had to miss out.

Neither of them might be ready to admit or explore the possibilities between them just yet. But they were married now and would be spending a lot of time, a lot of nights, together.

Her proximity sent a renewed surge of desire sweeping through him. He wouldn't allow it. Not now. “What time does Ethan wake?”

Gillian glanced at the bedside clock. “Anytime now.”

“In that case, we get up and dressed so we can get on the road back to Vista del Mar as soon as possible.”

She nodded, still not looking at him. “Dibs on the bathroom?”

“It's all yours.”

Eager to put distance between them, she slid from beneath the covers and stood in her dancing bear pajamas, her hair disheveled and falling softly over her shoulders. A soft tap sounded on the door. “Room service,” Jake called through the door. “You two decent?”

“Give us a moment,” Max called. “Get back into bed,” he whispered to Gillian, who stood at the side of the bed as though frozen to the spot.

She slipped once more between the sheets, sitting back against the pillows on the very edge of the bed. Max shook his head. “Closer to me. And completely beneath the covers.”

“He'll think I haven't got anything on.”

“That's the general idea. Sure as heck beats him seeing the dancing bears and knowing we didn't make love on our wedding night.”

She edged closer till she was almost touching him. Max closed the little remaining distance till her side pressed along his. The soft yellow fabric of her pajamas didn't provide anywhere near the barrier it ought. “It's still not right,” he whispered. “You look like a nun. Undo the first couple of buttons and slip your shoulders from your top.”

“But—”

“Just do it.”

She bit her lip and wriggled around beneath the sheet, finally settling the covers back into place with just a glimpse of the tops of her bare, pale shoulders showing. Warmth. Heat. Desire. And it was only a glimpse of shoulder.

The part of him that was no better than a teenager governed by hormones wanted Jake in Timbuktu and that top and those bottoms off her completely.

But, he reminded himself, he wasn't a teenager. He was a
grown man, in control of his choices and his actions. Even if he wasn't totally in control of all of his body parts. Thank goodness for the thick comforter on the bed. “Come in,” he called.

Jake pushed open the door and stepped in carrying a laden tray. “Not looking at anything,” he said, his gaze averted. “Mom wanted me to bring this up. Don't blame me. I told her it was a bad idea but she insisted.”

“Tell her thanks, but she shouldn't have,” Max said with feeling. “And for goodness' sakes, look where you're going before you walk through Gillian's underwear strewn about the floor.”

“It's not!”

He slipped an arm around her rigid shoulder, his hand resting half on flannel and half on bare skin. And if it hadn't been for the distraction and presence of his brother he could almost have been undone. It had been too long since he'd had a woman. Too long since he'd had
this
woman.

Jake finally glanced their way and set the tray down on the nearest bedside table. “Just acting on my orders. Your orders, on the other hand, are to enjoy your breakfast and take your time coming down. Ethan's already up and having breakfast. We'll look after him and bring him to you if he wants you.”

Max wouldn't have thought it possible, but Gillian tensed even further beneath his touch. “I don't think that's such a good idea.” Her son was her buffer between them, her excuse to divert her attention. If he was happily ensconced with his uncles and grandparents she had no excuses left.

“I'm only the messenger.” Jake held his hands up, palms facing them. He backed from the room. “Enjoy. And, barring emergencies, I promise no more interruptions.” He winked at them before pulling the door shut behind him.

Gillian wriggled her arms and shoulders fully back into
her pajama top at the same time as she scooted away from him. Any farther and she'd fall off the edge.

He wanted her back.

“So now what?” she asked.

Max glanced at the tray. “Now, coffee or OJ, and eggs benedict by the look of it.”

“Really?”

“Mom asked me last night what your favorite breakfast was.”

“You remembered?”

“It's not a big deal.” Was it a sign of weakness that he remembered so very much more about her than her favorite breakfast? That though he told himself he'd wiped her from his life and his mind, he clearly hadn't?

“Thank you.”

He poured two cups of coffee from the silver coffeepot, and once she'd levered herself to sitting, handed her one.

They ate in silence. She'd always been comfortable with his silences, not feeling the need to fill a void. She was easy to be with in that way.

From the corner of his eye he watched her cut delicate portions of her breakfast and chew slowly. A crumb from her English muffin fell down the vee of her top. She pulled the top out from her chest and fished for it. Too late, Max returned his attention to his own breakfast. He'd seen the luscious swell of breast, glimpsed a darkened peak. And his body had responded. Fiercely.

He'd dated a few women since Gillian. Had let none of the relationships become serious. Had let none of them get to the point of sharing breakfast in bed. But breakfast in bed was something of a Preston family tradition, as evidenced by this morning's room service. And he'd occasionally done the same for Gillian in their time together. Bringing her breakfast, which they'd eaten sitting in bed, occasionally reading the
paper, but more often following up the meal with long lazy lovemaking.

Definitely the paper today. They had to kill at least forty minutes up here, if not longer, in order not to raise his family's suspicions. He finished his eggs, reached for the newspaper, pulled off the sports section for himself and put the remaining paper on the bed between them. True to form, she reached for the section containing the comics and puzzles. She folded it to reveal the crossword and pulled a pen from her bag on the floor.

In the old days she'd consulted him over the puzzle if she came across a difficult clue. Today she was silent, chewing the end of her pen, as she mulled over answers.

In ten minutes she'd completed the puzzle. He'd liked that about her, that she was sharp, and determined, and independent.

Too independent apparently. So independent she thought she didn't need him.

He was a PR expert, he knew all about making the best of a bad situation, of turning what might look like a disaster to a person's advantage.

He followed her glance to the clock. “Yeah, I think we can go now.”

She smiled her relief and practically leaped from the bed, darting to the bathroom. Only for a moment did he let himself visualize the body he once knew so well, beneath the stream of the shower.

 

Max was stowing their bags in his car as Gillian stood talking with Laura in the marbled entry foyer hung with family portraits. She didn't understand why someone who was part of such a loving and close family would so assiduously avoid that kind of closeness for himself.

Unless it was just her he avoided it with.

Ethan sat happily on Laura's hip, studying with eyes and fingers the dangling necklace hanging at her throat.

Their time with his family this morning had been less awkward than Gillian had expected. But only a little. Laura and Stephen did their best to make her feel welcome but beneath their natural warmth she could see the questions and doubts in their eyes. She didn't blame them. Thankfully, Ethan provided a distraction that they all appreciated. She and Max had made their excuses and got ready to leave as soon as was polite.

Soon she'd be in the sanctuary of her own home. Back in her own territory. She held tight to the prospect. After the whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours, she only had to get through one and a half more before she'd have some space to collect her thoughts.

Laura looked about her then called, “Stephen. They're going.” When Stephen failed to materialize, Laura touched a hand to Gillian's arm and said, “I'll be back in a minute, I'll just go find him.” Carrying Ethan away as though she'd done it countless times before, she left Gillian alone.

She breathed in the blessed silence, her first few moments alone since she'd gotten into the car with Max yesterday. Home. Soon. She had no idea how things would go from here. But the worst was over. She'd married him. Even saying the fateful words
for better or for worse.
So, he had what he'd wanted, his name on a marriage certificate beside hers. Ethan had parents who were married. And for what it was worth, and for however long Max's interest lasted, she would be glad of it, would make the most of it.

Gillian crossed to the large family photo hanging amidst a cluster of individual portraits. She'd glimpsed the photos when she first came in yesterday but had had other things on her mind than stopping to inspect them.

The photo showed a young family beneath a spreading
autumnal oak. The shot wasn't formally posed, far from it, almost none of the laughing and numerous family members were looking directly at the camera. Almost too numerous. She studied the picture then counted the children, trying to identify each of them.

At the sound of footsteps on the tiled floor she glanced over her shoulder to see Max watching her, his expression remote, his arms folded across his chest. “The bags are in the car. Where's Ethan?”

“Your mom has him.” She looked back at the photo.

Six children, not the five she knew about. Two of the boys, with their arms slung over each other's shoulders, identical except for their shirts. Two young Maxes. She was guessing around ten years old. And she was guessing one of them was the mysterious Dylan Carter had mentioned last night. A band tightened around her chest. A deep estrangement or death were the only explanations she could come up with for the fact that Max hadn't so much as mentioned him. And of those two, given the warmth of his family, death seemed the most likely. But when? How?

She turned back to Max, questions teeming in her mind. Now both his and his mother's reactions on learning Ethan's birthday made sense. But she read in his narrowed eyes and the arms folded across his chest, a warning to ask none of them. “I'll go find the others,” was all he said as he left.

He'd had a twin.

And he wasn't going to say anything about it to her.

 

They pulled into her driveway, ending the silence of the trip. A silence filled with unspoken questions. She hadn't asked about his twin and he certainly hadn't raised the subject. Would he ever? Did she have any right to ask or to know? She couldn't come close to imagining how catastrophic losing a twin brother must have been for him. But the questions about
Max and his twin were in some ways just a mental diversion from the more pressing question of what now.

Max cut the engine but left his hands resting on the steering wheel. Too silent.

She looked at her house, her haven. Now she would get some respite from the previous day's—and night's—upheaval. Space. Freedom. Finally. For however long she could make it last.

There would be time to figure out next steps, to transition into their new arrangement. His urgency had abated from the time she'd married him.

Max helped her and Ethan inside and carried their bags upstairs. Gillian crouched in front of Ethan to remove the T-shirt he'd managed to spill water down the front of.

Gone. Soon Max would be gone. She held on to that thought as she blew a raspberry on her laughing son's tummy. Laughing in her turn. Soon she'd have the space to make sense of where her life was now at. So much had happened yesterday. It seemed a lifetime ago.