Seduce Me (11 page)

She was bent over her artwork again, drawing as if he hadn’t come into the room, as if he was invisible.

He shouldn’t have been surprised—he’d always been invisible to her—but in his current mood, her indifference galled him as nothing else ever had.

“Where do you suppose she’s living now?” he asked just to hear what she’d say.

“Why would I know?  Why would I care?”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

“No.”

She was humming to herself, ignoring him, and thirty years of rage boiled up.  He stormed over, seized her sheet of paper, and ripped it to shreds.

“What is wrong with you?” she hissed. 

“I want to look at the agreement Katie signed with Father.”

That flash of panic was back.  “It’s in his private documents somewhere.”

“So if I contact his attorney, he’ll be able to show it to me?”

“Of course.  Why wouldn’t he?”

“You tell me.  How much did Father pay her to go away?  It had to be a huge settlement.”

“Yes, the dollar amount was quite large.”

They engaged in a visual standoff she couldn’t win.  Not this time.

“There must be a point you’re trying to make,” she blandly chided.  “I suggest you get on with it.”

“She’s dead.”

“Well…”

“What happened to her baby?”

A lengthy pause ensued, her mind whirring as she juggled her lies, and a wave of sadness flooded him.  He hadn’t wanted to believe Faith, hadn’t wanted her to be correct, but it was obvious that—the more Jacquelyn talked—the more she would verify Faith’s every word.

“Her…baby?” Jacquelyn said.  “Did she have a baby?  I don’t recall.”

“You understand, don’t you, Mother, that if she had a boy, it would be my son.”

“You’re so naïve.”  She chuckled, the sound brittle and cruel.  “Yes, it would be your son
if
you were the only man who had slept with her.  With a girl like that, one can never be sure.”

“Is that your story?  She was a whore so we didn’t need to worry about her?  What if the child was mine?  Wouldn’t it have been worth checking to find out?”

“Really, Lucas,” she scoffed, “what if it was yours?  Why would we claim such a mistake?  The girl didn’t bump into you by accident.  She deliberately sought you out and glommed onto you like a leech on a thigh.  If you’d had a baby with her, and we’d admitted it, we’d never have been rid of her.”

Hatred washed through him, and he gave the powerful emotion free rein.  His loathing for her had always simmered below the surface, and previously, he’d tamped it down.  But no longer.

She wanted to be a bitch?  She wanted to hurt and wound?  Well, two could play at that game.

“Tell me about Father’s mistresses.”

“He had no mistresses,” she coldly replied.

“How many children does he have besides us?  Am I about to have half-siblings crawling out of the woodwork?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  Your father was the most faithful man on earth.”

“I’ve met his daughter—she’s called Peanut; I don’t know her real name—but how many others are there?”

“I don’t have to put up with this from you.  Get out of here.” 

She pulled out another sheet of paper and laid it on the table, then she grabbed her wine and took a sip that became a long gulp.  She was trying to appear calm and unaffected, but her hands were shaking.

“What’s it been like,” he taunted, “to deny my son—your grandson—all these years?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” she insisted.

“I have a son!”

“No, you don’t, and whoever filled your head with these lies, they ought to be taken out and shot.”

“You hid him from me.”

“Shut up.”

“I won’t be silent.  I’ve had it with you.”

“Get out.  I won’t tell you again.”

“No.”

“Dustin!” she shouted.  “Dustin!  I need you.”

“He can’t protect you.”

“He can toss you out.  That’s good enough for now.”

“Don’t you wonder what he looks like?  Don’t you wonder what kind of boy he’s growing up to be?”

“Get out!  Get out!” 

She was shrieking—it was the only genuine burst of emotion he’d ever seen her display—and she flung her wine at him.  She missed, but wine spewed everywhere, and the glass smacked on the floor and smashed to pieces.

Dustin ran in.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Get him out of here!” Jacquelyn wheezed.

Lucas frowned at his brother.  “Did you know?”

“Know what?”

“About my son?”

“Your…son?  You have a kid?”

“Did you help Jacquelyn hide him from me?”

“Hide…your kid?  Me?  You actually think I would?  You think I’d side with her”—he made a derogatory gesture toward Jacquelyn—“against you?”

“I’m not sure.  I’m figuring it out as I go along.”
“You don’t have a kid,” Dustin said.  “We’d have found out.  Whoever told you is a liar.”

Lucas studied his brother, and he seemed perplexed, so maybe he was telling the truth.  With Dustin, it was hard to guess.

“We’re done with Faith Benjamin,” Lucas advised them.  “We not suing her, we’re not harassing her, and she’s keeping the money Harold gave her.”

“No way!” Dustin fumed.

“Yes, she is, and we’re not arguing about it.”

“The hell we’re not.”

“Don’t mention her to me ever again.  I won’t listen.”

Lucas headed for the door, and Dustin blocked his path. 

“Would you stop for one damn minute?” Dustin pleaded.

“I’m leaving for a bit,” Lucas said.  “While I’m gone, pack Mother’s things and take her to the airport.  I want her on the next plane to Santa Fe.”

“I’m not ready to return to New Mexico,” she huffed.

Lucas spoke to Dustin.  “She better not be here when I get back.  If she is, I can’t predict what I might do.”

“Calm your ass down,” Dustin demanded, “and tell me what’s happening.”

“Jacquelyn can tell you—on your ride to the airport.”  Lucas glared at her.  “By the way,
Jackie,
my son’s name is Bryce.  Not that you ever cared to know.  But it’s Bryce.”

He left without another word.

*          *          *          *

“Come to bed, Faith.  It’s so late.”

“You go on, Gracie.”

It was nearly two o’clock, and Faith was on the front steps, staring out at the quiet, dark street.

Gracie had been in bed for hours, but unable to sleep.  After Faith’s scene with Lucas earlier in the day, the energy in the house was all mixed up.  There were too many ghosts, too many lies swirling.  Who could rest?

“He’s not coming back,” Gracie said.

“I’m not waiting for him.”

“Of course you’re not.”  Gracie snorted and handed Faith a sweater.  “Put this on.”

“Thanks.”

Faith stuffed her arms in the sleeves as Gracie patted her head.  “Don’t let me catch you still sitting here in the morning.”

“You won’t.”

“It will all work out just as it’s supposed to.  There’s no use regretting what could have been.”

“I know.”

Gracie trudged inside, muttering, “Men!  Can’t live with them, can’t kill them.  It’s against the law.”

Faith chuckled, listening as she climbed the stairs to her room.  Her door closed, then it was quiet again, and Faith was alone with her miserable thoughts.

Harold had urged her to tell Lucas about Bryce and Peanut someday.  Faith had promised she would, but she’d been nervous about complying, mostly because she wasn’t sure what sort of person Lucas was.  Harold had claimed that—deep down—Lucas was decent and honorable, but he was a Merriweather.  How could she be certain?

One of the reasons she’d spent the weekend with him, besides that he was hot and she couldn’t resist, was to get better acquainted, to determine if Harold’s assessment was correct. 

Crafty old Harold had proved himself right.  Lucas
was
a good guy—his familial genes notwithstanding.  He had to be told about Bryce and Peanut, but she’d assumed the disclosure would occur in the hazy, distant future. 

She’d envisioned a sensible, calm discussion where she’d divulge the facts.  She hadn’t expected him to actually notice Bryce or figure it out on his own. 

She hated that they’d fought, and he hadn’t meant the horrid things he’d said—he’d been hurt and lashing out—but still, she felt awful.

Where was he?  What was he doing?  What was he thinking?

She’d been the messenger, sharing information that his parents should have provided.  He’d eventually come to understand that, wouldn’t he?  He’d eventually forgive her?

He had to.  She couldn’t bear to imagine any other ending.  They had to remain friends and able to communicate.  Bryce and Peanut deserved that much.

She heard his car long before she saw it.  The muffler purred softly as he drove down her street.  He pulled to the curb and parked.

“Ha!” she murmured to herself.  “Gracie doesn’t know everything.”

He slid out and stood on the sidewalk.  They were silent, staring, then she rose and went to him.  She wrapped her arms around his waist and gazed into his handsome, troubled face.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” he asked.

“Silly man.  I’ve been waiting for you.  I didn’t think you’d ever arrive.”

On a ragged sigh, he admitted, “My heart is broken.”

“I know, I know.” 

“I’ve been driving and driving.  I finally realized that I didn’t have anywhere to go.”

She took his hand in hers.  “Come inside.”

She led him in, guiding him up to her room.  She locked the door and drew him to the bed.  He sat on the edge, watching as she lit a candle.

As the flame caught and grew, she turned to him.  He looked haggard and weary, as if he’d aged since she’d last seen him. 

She rested a palm on his cheek.  “It’ll be all right.  It’s a new reality for you.  You’ll adjust to it.”

“Everything I believed about myself and my parents was a lie.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out so abruptly.  Can you forgive me?”

He scoffed and waved away his prior upset.

“What they did to Katie was horrible.  I hardly knew her, but she shouldn’t have been treated that way.  And Bryce and Peanut!  My God, where should I start?”

“We’ll fix it, but we don’t have to do it tonight.”

“I want to be friends with them.”

“Well of course you should be.”

“And when you decide the time is right, I’d like to tell them who I am.”

“When the time is right,” she agreed, wondering when that would be.  Definitely not until they were older and could grasp the intricacies of what had occurred.

She climbed onto his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs, and she kissed him, the pressure of her mouth easing him down onto the mattress. 

They lay like that for an eternity, with her hovered over him, kissing and kissing.  They took solace from the closeness, from the intimate joy of being together.  Eventually, his distress began to wane. 

He rolled her and spooned himself behind her, an arm draped across her stomach.

“I was going to have sex with you,” he said, “but I’m too exhausted.”

She chuckled.  “I like being with you like this.  I don’t need anything else to happen.”

“Good, because I can’t do anything but this.  I feel a thousand years old.”

His respiration was slowing, and she warned, “Don’t fall asleep.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it.”  She propped herself on an elbow and glanced back at him.  “I can’t have the kids find you here in the morning.  I couldn’t explain it to them.”

“I’ll leave in awhile.  I just have to catch my breath.”

He settled her down, his fingers stroking lazy circles on her thigh.

“Did my grandfather love you?” he asked.

“As a daughter.  As a granddaughter.”  She could feel him nod, and she smiled.  “Have I finally shed the title of gold digger?”

“For now.”  He smiled too.  “Unless I stumble on some new scandal.”

“You won’t.  With me, what you see is what you get.”

“He was smart to pick you.”

“Not smart.  Brilliant.”

He laughed, the sound soft and low.  He was big and warm and comforting, and she was thrilled to have him in her bed.  How long would she be able to keep him there?

Ultimately, he’d tire of her, and she’d be crushed, but she’d learn to deal with it.  She’d steel herself against despair.

She had more than he had.  She had a family, one that had been cobbled together from nothing.  She had people who loved her, people who would sustain her after he left.

Who and what did he have?  Who would sustain him as he meandered through the troubled times ahead?

She was lucky.  Luckier than he was. 

Her eyes drifted shut and she slumbered.  When she woke, he was gone and there was not the slightest hint that he’d ever been there at all.

*          *          *          *

Angela sat in the dingy bar, smoking a cigarette and furtively studying the other patrons.  The place was a dive, and she hated it.  She should have been rubbing elbows with a better clientele, but the owner’s prices were all she could afford.

She was broke, so she shouldn’t have been drinking, and if Gracie found out, Angela would never hear the end of it.  But sheesh, it was Friday night, and she wasn’t about to mope in her apartment.

Someone put money in the jukebox and selected a boring country song, exactly the kind of tune she’d expect from such a bunch of losers. 

She shifted on her barstool and gazed into the mirror behind the bar, surreptitiously checking out every male.  Most were with girlfriends or wives, and those who were alone looked like criminals. 

There were a couple of prospects in the backroom shooting pool, and she’d probably have to wedge herself into a game.  Pool players could usually be counted on to buy her a drink.

The door opened, and a customer entered.  As she downed the last of her whiskey sour, he slid onto the adjacent barstool. 

She peeked over at him and was stunned to discover that a black-haired, blue-eyed Adonis had arrived.  What was such a luscious guy doing in such a crappy spot?

“Hey, don’t I know you?” he said.

If was a pathetic come-on, but she wasn’t about to complain.

“No.”