Storm of Desire (8 page)

Aiden grabbed her hand under the comforter and gently squeezed. “The thought of you making love with any other man…. Go on. Tell me everything.”

Right or wrong, Aiden’s touch of jealousy sent a thrill through her. She dragged air through her lungs and continued. “There may be a solution, but I’m not sure I want it.”

He kept silent, giving her time.

She gripped his hand. “The firm I work for is a very prestigious, international one. I worked my butt off in school and interned for them. It was my dream job, but now not so much.”

“I can see why. So what’s the solution?”

“There’s an opening in our London office. If I take it, the experience will boost my career. I can’t practice law in England, but I can advise the firm on American law and make valuable contacts.”

Beside her, she felt him stiffen. “London?” he echoed. “Richmond isn’t that far, but London? I’d never see you.”

He wanted to see her again? Her heart sang with joy, but she tamped it down. It would be so easy to use him as a crutch, to flee back here to escape her problems. She wouldn’t use Aiden like that. Not again.

“Do you want to go to London?” he asked quietly.

“It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. But if I accept, I’ll work at least eighty hours a week, even more than I do now. I haven’t got much of a personal life in Richmond, but in London, I’ll have no personal life at all.” She released his hand and turned to face him, bracing herself on her forearm. “And moving to London won’t entirely solve the problem with my boss. He visits the London office at least twice a month.”

Aiden made a sound of disgust.

She shot him a wry smile, pleased by his outrage on her behalf. But then she sobered. This wasn’t high school. She was a big girl now and needed to handle her problems on her own. “Somehow going to London feels like I’m running away. I keep telling myself I should stay where I am and fight.”

“What do you really want, Sam?”

“I’m not sure.”

A mask seemed to slip over his eyes. “Marriage? Kids? Family? You don’t want any of that?”

“I’ve never had a real family. My grandparents died when I was a baby, and Aunt Rosie was busy in Richmond raising her own family. Growing up, it was just Mom and me. I don’t even know who my father is.” She fought the tears that threatened to spill. “I’d like my own family, but I’m scared too. I’m afraid I won’t know how to be a good mother. I’m afraid I’ll be like my own mother.”

He touched her face, softly, gently. “I think you’ll make a great mother.”

“Thanks. I wish I were as sure. I like working. At least I have control over that part of my life.”

“Do you?”

“Not as much as I’d like.” She stilled, as fear gripped her, but she needed to know. “What do you want, Aiden?”

Aiden paused, then took a surprisingly deep breath. “I want what I thought I was headed for before. I want a wife I can cherish forever, kids, lots of kids, a home filled with love and a little chaos, like the one I grew up in.”

Her heart sank. They didn’t have so much as a sandbar of common ground. “And you want to stay here.” It wasn’t a question.

He looked into her eyes, his tinted with an odd shade of regret. “I left once. I won’t do it again.”

“Nor should you have to.” She meant it. Aiden Rourke deserved the kind of woman he wanted. He’d obviously thought this feeling through.

His eyes took on an almost flinty edge. “Any woman I marry will have to want the same things I do.”

She gazed deeply into his eyes, now as unfathomable as the ocean outside their door. “It sounds like maybe we want different things.”

CHAPTER TEN

SAM STEPPED FROM
the shower, dried off, then with the towel wrapped around her damp hair, slipped on her robe and headed to her room. Melancholy weighed on her, heavier than her terry robe.

She heard dishes clattering in the kitchen. After breakfast, Aiden had offered to clean up while she took a shower. They’d shared a quiet breakfast, neither saying much. When they had talked, it had only been about packing and making sure the house was in good shape for Lisa and Sean. A tacit understanding seemed to hover over them as they’d eaten—what they’d shared these past days had been as fleeting as the storm.

With sadness still clinging to her, Sam entered her room, closed the door, then slipped off her robe. Somehow she’d hurt Aiden. She hadn’t meant to, but she’d read the disappointment in his eyes. He seemed to want more from her. But did he really? And what did she want from him?

She’d worked hard to make a name for herself in the legal field. London could solve her work problems, for a while. But it would be a long time before she saw Aiden again, if ever.

She turned to stare at herself in the full length mirror. There was something different about her. She took off the towel around her head and shook out her damp hair, running fingers through it. She studied herself again. Her breasts looked fuller, the nipples pinker. With gentle hands, she caressed her breasts. They were tender to the touch, a heated reminder of Aiden’s hands and mouth. Her skin almost seemed to glow. She looked sexy, contented. Aiden had awakened something in her, had shown her the depths of her sexuality.

Remembering how she’d slept spooned against him, warmth curled through her, settling in her most private parts. Her feelings involved more than sex, though. She knew that now. How could she leave him, but how could she stay?

She dressed quickly in jeans and a sweater, and headed for her mother’s room. Aiden had occupied her mother and Sean’s bed only a short time that first night. He’d spent every night since with Sam in her bed. While Aiden straightened the kitchen and living room, she’d change the sheets on her mother’s bed.

She needed the ritual of housework to clear her head. She’d come here to be alone, but that hadn’t worked out the way she’d planned. Entering the room, she inhaled the familiar scent of cinnamon. The scent seemed to sharpen her melancholy. She sat on the bed and tried to make sense of the jangled mess of her thoughts. It would probably have been easier to make a decision if this time with Aiden had never happened. But she didn’t know if she’d have given up what they’d shared. In her heart she knew she’d cherish these days always.

Once the Coastal was clear she’d head back to Richmond. Her assistant had texted that the firm sent someone else to the conference in Philadelphia as the storm had caused Sam to miss the first day. Sam pushed off the bed. She had work to do.

Later, dirty sheets in hand, she turned to leave. On the bureau top, where she’d tossed it that first day, lay the manila envelope that had fallen from behind it.

Whatever was in the envelope was her mother’s business, not hers. Yet curiosity, or maybe a desire to learn more about Lisa Greco—the woman—propelled Sam to set the sheets aside and reach for the envelope. Being here in her mother’s house, telling Aiden her deepest secret, had opened the old wounds, had brought her mother to the forefront of her mind again. Maybe what was in the envelope contained some clue that would help Sam understand her mother. Maybe she could finally let go of the old hurts.

Envelope in hand, Sam sat on the bed and pulled out the contents, spreading them on the dark green comforter. A man’s photo stared up at her. Something about his eyes grabbed her attention. She knew him, or at least knew someone who resembled him. She picked up the color snapshot and studied it. She’d never seen this man before, yet he seemed familiar.

Tall and slim, appearing to be in his early thirties, longish blond hair blowing in the wind, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, he stood, arms folded, in front of a vintage blue Ford Mustang. The arrogant tilt of his head and his confident smile reminded her of magazine photos of beautiful, privileged people sure of their place in the world.

Sam peered closer. Another car, this one a vintage sedan, was parked nearby.

Maybe the cars weren’t vintage, but new when the picture was snapped. The dunes in the background were familiar too. Although smaller now, she was sure they were the dunes at Bethany Beach before beach expansion and overbuilding almost destroyed them. The picture had to be at least thirty years old. A chill shot up her spine.

The man’s almond-shaped eyes held her. She couldn’t see the color clearly, but they appeared to be light. Picture in hand, Sam strode to the mirror, then held the picture close to her face. The eyes were the same shape as hers. His cheekbones were high and sharp, like hers. Unlike Lisa’s. Sam’s hand shook.

Clutching the snapshot, she stumbled back to the bed and sank down. Her throat thickened. She stared at the photo again. The cars and the dunes faded into the background. All she saw was the man—her father. It had to be. Lisa had told her he’d died in a swimming accident before Sam was born, but she’d refused to say anything more. Sam didn’t even know his name.

She snatched up the envelope with “Tom” scrawled across it, studying it as if it could talk to her. Her father’s name was Tom. With a trembling hand, Sam set the photo and envelope down and sifted through the other papers. A stack of letters was bound together with a rubber band. She slipped off the band and fanned the letters on the bed. Five of them, addressed to Lisa, postmarked Wilmington, Delaware, all written in a feminine hand, the ink slightly faded.

Sam lifted the first one. It was dated seven months before she’d been born. The others were similarly dated, the newest just three months before her birth.

Dread pressed against her chest. She couldn’t read the letters. They weren’t hers. Yet, instinctively she knew they concerned her.

Trepidation flowed over Sam as she slipped the first letter from its envelope and unfolded it. Only one sheet, the woman’s fury evident in the way the feminine handwriting slashed across the page.

Taking calming breaths, Sam began to read.

Stay away from my husband, you teenage slut
, the letter began.

The calming breaths weren’t helping. Sam glanced away. She could do this. She could read this letter, and the others.

Steeling herself, she turned back to the letter and continued reading.

Stay away from my husband, you teenage slut. Tom doesn’t love you. He used you for sex while I was laid up with my pregnancy. Find yourself someone your own age and quit fucking other women’s husbands. You’re not the first woman he’s cheated on me with. You’re not even the first one he’s gotten pregnant. He always comes back to me.

If you keep calling here, I’ll take out a restraining order against you.

The letter’s vileness made bile rise in Sam’s throat. She let the letter drift onto the bed and wrapped her arms around her midriff, trying to stop her body’s trembling. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.

Her mother had had an affair with a married man. Lisa had been eighteen when she’d had Sam. She must have been seventeen when she’d had her affair with Sam’s father. Sam brushed back tears. Had Lisa been a calculating teenager as the letter inferred, or had he been a manipulator, preying on young women?

Willing herself to stay calm, Sam quickly read through the other letters. All were from Tom’s wife, each mirroring the sentiments of the first letter. With each letter, the writer’s anger and desperation increased. Sam almost felt sorry for the wronged wife.

Chewing her lip, Sam set down the last letter. Understanding of what Lisa had gone through began to chip away at the wall of resentment Sam had built around her heart. She’d never understood her mother. Maybe she’d never tried.

Determined to discover all she could about her mother and her father, Sam reached for the newspaper article that had fluttered from the envelope.

The headline read¸
Tom Ericson, real estate developer, dies in fiery crash.
The picture accompanying the article showed an older version of the guy standing by the Mustang.

Sam read on,
Tom Ericson, age 59, a descendant of one of the original Swedish families that settled in Delaware, was killed today when his Ferrari crashed into a barrier on I-95 south of
Wilmington. He died on impact. Police believe speed and alcohol played a role.

Sam skimmed through the rest of the article, reading about Tom Ericson’s many accomplishments, his family’s wealth, his charitable giving and his standing among the state’s elite. She released a bitter chuckle. He was a fine, upstanding man all right.

The article went on to say Tom Ericson was survived by his wife and two sons. Sam had half brothers, one close to her age. She was Tom Ericson’s only daughter, unless one of his other girlfriends had a daughter. She wondered if her brothers knew about her. She doubted it. Pity for her own mother rushed through her.

Blinking back tears, Sam reached for the last envelope, one addressed to her, when her gaze lit on the date of the newspaper with the obituary notice. She grabbed the piece of paper from the bed where she’d let it fall.

“Oh. My. God.” The tears came freely now. The newspaper was dated the day she’d found Lisa in bed with Kurt. The truth broke through her muddled thoughts like shafts of sunlight breaking through dark clouds. Lisa, a woman who turned to sex whenever life became a burden, had read that the father of her daughter, a man she’d probably loved, had been killed. Knowing Lisa, she’d turned to the only man around—Kurt, who’d been staying with them for the weekend.