Читать книгу Back In The Enemy's Bed - Michelle Celmer - Страница 11
ОглавлениеThose warm fuzzy memories from their past turned to ice in her veins. Was he here not really to explain, but to turn her against her own father? His weapon this time wasn’t lies and accusations. This time it was truth. And the truth did hurt. A lot.
But why should she trust anything he said to her?
Something in Roman’s expression changed. “Did someone open a window? It just got chilly in here.”
“I see what you’re doing,” she said, backing away from him. “You’re trying to turn me against my father.”
A shadow passed across his face and the temperature dropped another ten degrees. “Is that really what you think?”
She had offended him. Well, tough. “You’ve tried it before.”
“As someone who lost both of his parents at a very young age, I would never intentionally put a wedge between a parent and a child.”
“You told me my father was working with the mob! How did you think I would feel?”
“I said that I suspected he was. And I only told you that to keep you safe. And you didn’t believe me anyway.”
“And I was right. There were no mob ties, were there?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“And I wasn’t laundering money for him, either. Or destroying evidence. Was I?”
That made him wince a little. “No, you weren’t.”
“After all this time I still can’t believe you would accuse me of that,” she said. “I thought you knew me better.”
“I didn’t accuse. I asked.”
“You suspected, and that was just as bad. The idea that you believed I might be capable—” Emotion rushed up to block her airway, making it impossible to finish her sentence. It was taking all her strength to hold back the sob that was working its way up.
She would not cry. He wasn’t worth it.
She thought she’d put all of these feelings to rest, but here she was raw and bleeding again.
She was not going to cry.
“I made a mistake,” he said, “and not a day has gone by since then that I haven’t regretted it.”
He was making it worse, being so reasonable. Admitting he was wrong. And if she didn’t get a grip, she was going to go all girly on him. She was not a crier. The last time she remembered shedding a tear was the day of Sutton’s cancer diagnosis. But here she was fighting back a waterfall.
He needed to go now.
“Your time is up,” she said, not even looking to the clock to see if thirty minutes had passed. Or was it supposed to be twenty? She couldn’t even remember. She just wanted him gone. And she hated herself for letting him get to her. For letting herself care at all. She was stronger than that. And smarter. “You have to leave.”
He didn’t look at his watch as he nodded. Apparently he had said all he came to say. “I’ll let myself out.”
Maybe he could see that she was hanging on by a very thin thread and was kind enough to spare her dignity.
She watched him cross the room to the door, noting a slight catch in his gait, as though he was favoring his left leg. He stopped on the threshold, his broad shoulders nearly filling the frame, and turned back to her. She held her breath, waiting, feeling an overwhelming sense of anticipation.
“Seven years ago, I thought I could keep the nature of my investigation from you. That alone was wrong. And when you did find out I should have trusted you when you said you weren’t involved. But I was young and arrogant and I screwed up. I know I never apologized for what I did, but only because I didn’t think you would ever accept it, or that I even deserved your forgiveness. But I’m saying it now. I’m sorry, Gracie.”
Her heart melted. She wanted to run across the room, throw her arms around his neck and tell him that she forgave him, that she would always forgive him, but she had to keep her head on straight. She was caught up in the moment, in his tender honesty, and knew she would regret letting him off too easy. Besides, she didn’t even know if she did forgive him, or if she believed he had nothing to do with the latest scandal. She didn’t know what to think, so she chose her words carefully.
“I appreciate that,” she said, which got her a wry, slightly crooked grin.
“I get it,” he said. “You’ll accept my apology in your own good time. I understand, and I’m in no hurry.”
She had no idea what to say, but it didn’t matter because he turned and then he was gone.
Feeling relieved, grateful, and painfully disappointed for some silly and irrational reason, Gracie collapsed into a leather chair and exhaled deeply, waiting for the flood, giving herself permission to cry. To sob her heart out if that was what she needed. But the damned tears wouldn’t come.
What the heck was wrong with her?
She didn’t feel sad, or hurt, or even angry with him. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling right now, other than confused.
She had anticipated this day for seven years, and it had gone absolutely nothing like she’d imagined. She’d always envisioned him being cocky and unapologetic. Someone she would love to hate, and keep on hating. But this?
This was way worse than the anger. Or the nerves.
She thought about what Roman had said, about her father disrespecting her. And she hated how right he was. And hated herself even more for letting Sutton do it to her. For turning a blind eye for so long. She deserved his respect. She had earned it. But maybe he didn’t even realize the way the things he did affected her. And instead of walking around with a big chip on her shoulder, she could just tell Sutton how she felt. Maybe he would apologize and promise not to do it again. It would be an amazing gift, because the great Sutton Winchester did not apologize for anything. Ever. But in his fragile condition did she want to risk upsetting him, or possibly putting a wedge in their relationship? He had so little time left.
No, she had to say something. If he passed away tomorrow she would spend the rest of her life feeling this unresolved resentment. That wasn’t what she wanted.
Rising from the chair, she smoothed the front of her skirt, took a deep breath and walked back to her father’s office. She rapped on the partially open door and peeked inside. Sutton was still sitting at his desk. He looked pale and exhausted. He should be in bed resting, but it was just like him to push himself to the limits and tire himself out.
She rapped softly on the door again. “Daddy, can I have a word with you?”
“What is it?” he snapped, not even looking at her.
She winced a little. That wasn’t a good sign. He’d been going through some severe mood swings lately. Most likely a result of the cancer now growing in his brain. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened with Roman.”
His eyes never left the screen, as if she wasn’t even worth his time, and it hurt. A lot.
“What about it?” he said.
As her hands began to tremble, she realized that this was going to be harder than she’d anticipated. But she pulled herself up by her bootstraps, raised her chin and said in a semistrong yet slightly shaky voice, “It was wrong what you did.”
In her life she couldn’t recall ever telling him he was wrong about anything, and he clearly didn’t like it.
The savvy and ruthless businessman looked up at her with eyes as cold as icicles. “And what did I do?”
The question was, what had she just done? He was obviously not feeling well. He looked so pale. Maybe she should have just kept her mouth shut.
Her voice trembling a little, she said, “I didn’t want to talk to Roman and you shouldn’t have forced me.”
“We all make sacrifices, Princess.”
Sacrifices? Shouldn’t that have been her choice? “You didn’t even ask me if it was okay. It was disrespectful and cruel.”
He muttered a curse under his breath. He was mad at her, and she felt herself backing down again the way she always did. “I’ve had a long day and I’m tired.” He sighed. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.”
He thought her feelings were nonsense? Was that seriously how he felt about her?
He’s not well, she reminded herself, holding her tongue. He was dying. Wasting away. For a man like Sutton, to lose his faculties had to be the highest form of humiliation.
So what was his excuse for the other twenty-six years before his diagnosis? that annoying little voice asked. But after what she had been through with Roman today, she didn’t have the energy or the will to make it an issue. If it weren’t for the pile of designs on her drawing table at the office, she would go home, crawl into bed, hide under the covers and stay there until her dignity returned. But that just wasn’t her. She was a fighter.
“I’ll leave you alone,” she said, backing away from his desk.
“I’m not through with you yet,” he said testily, stopping her in her tracks. Then he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, and she wondered if it really was either the cancer in his brain or the treatments making him so temperamental.
She swallowed her pride and in the calmest voice she could manage, said, “Yes?”
“I need you to do something for me.” He gazed up at her and the softness was back in his eyes. “Please.”
It was the please that got her. That melted her into a puddle. And every bit of resolve went out the window that she herself had wanted to jump through earlier. “Of course. Anything.”
“I need you to start seeing Roman again.”
It took a second for the meaning of his words to settle in, and when they did her jaw nearly hit the desk. There was no way he meant what she thought he meant. After what she had just said to him? “Seeing him where?”
“You’re going to date him.” It was a demand, not a request, and she was so stunned, she couldn’t form a reply. Now Sutton was pimping her out?
Finally she managed, “Wh-what if he doesn’t want to see me?”
“He’s clearly still attracted to you, and I need to know what he’s up to.”
Still attracted to her? Oh no he didn’t. He did not just suggest...
Sutton glanced up at her and did a double take. She must have looked as horrified as she felt.
“I’m not asking you to sleep with him,” he said, though his tone suggested he would have expected her to do it had he asked.
Or maybe she was being overly touchy under the circumstances. He wasn’t necessarily in his right mind.
“Just take him out a few times. You used to be good friends. He’ll open up to you,” Sutton said.
What did he think she was, a spy or something? A female James Bond?
She couldn’t deny the lure of spending time with Roman. Purely out of curiosity, of course. Just to see what he was like now, and how much he had changed. But this was crazy. “Daddy, I don’t know if I can do that. You know I’m not a good liar.”
“So don’t lie,” he said, and when she frowned his gaze softened. “Princess, I don’t have much time left and I don’t want to spend it embroiled in another scandal. Brooks is still determined to take us down and I think Roman is helping him.”
“He said he’s not.”
Her father’s brows lifted. “And you trust him?”
She sighed. Of course not. What reason would she have to? He’d lied to her before. Why would she assume that he would be honest about anything? She was smarter than that.
She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
He held his hand out and she took it. His skin felt papery thin and so cold. He had aged so much in the past few months, and it broke her heart.
He squeezed. “I need to know what to expect, Princess. You’re the only one I trust. I need you to do this for me.”
And the guilt train pulled into the station. This was how he got her every time, and as much as she wanted to, as always she couldn’t say no.
“Okay,” she told him. “I’ll do it.”
“Do you have a date for the Welcome Home fund-raiser this weekend?”
She rarely took dates to charity functions, but a social interlude in a very public place sounded like a good idea. Though Roman had always hated formal affairs, and having to wear a “monkey suit.” But Welcome Home was an organization to assist wounded vets and their families, and being a wounded vet himself, he might make an exception.
“I’ll ask him to join me,” she said, then added, “but only as a friend. I will not lie to him, or lead him on in any way. And if he says no, I’m done. I won’t beg him.”
“Trust me, Princess,” he said, with that rare tenderness in his eyes. “He isn’t going to say no.”
* * *
How in the hell had he ended up here?
Roman sat in the back of the limo, watching the lights of Chicago whiz by through the tinted window, but the view inside the vehicle was the one getting him all hot and bothered.
Gracie was seated opposite him, with one tanned, shapely leg peeking out from the slit of an apricot silk evening gown. She was on her cell phone, speaking fluent French. She’d always had great legs, but they hadn’t come from hours of working out in the gym. She was one of those naturally thin women who could eat whatever they wanted and whom other women loved to hate.
Roman wasn’t fluent in French, but he knew enough to understand that it was a business call. After several minutes she said goodbye and slid her phone into her clutch.
“Sorry about that,” she said.
“That’s okay,” he told her, lowering his gaze to the leg playing peekaboo with her gown. “I’ve just been sitting here enjoying the view.”
She shot him a look dripping with exasperation. “Really.”
He grinned and gestured out the tinted window. “The view of the city,” he said, though she knew damn well what he was really looking at. And he couldn’t help but notice that she made no attempt to cover her leg.
She liked that he was looking. And he liked that she liked it. Clearly the past seven years had done nothing to douse his desire for her. The musky scent of her perfume enveloped him like a warm blanket, heating him to the core. It was the same brand she’d always worn. Her silky hair, pulled up in a mass of blond curls, revealed a long, slender neck he would love to kiss, and diamond-studded ears he was dying to nibble on. As a young woman she’d been cute and spunky with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Now, at twenty-seven, she was a knockout. And despite all the time that had passed, and all the discord between them, he still felt a familiarity and a closeness that puzzled him.
“So, are you ready to tell me what all this is about?” he asked her.
“All what?” she asked innocently, but he could see her squirm a little. She had always been a terrible liar. Which made what he’d put her through seven years ago even worse. Though she had never given him a reason not to, he hadn’t trusted her, and he’d paid the price.
“Tonight,” he said. “Your text was very...elusive. I was surprised when I got it.”
“I was a little surprised that I sent it.”
“Didn’t get enough of me the other day, huh?” he asked with a grin, which seemed to make her even more uncomfortable. “Or you just couldn’t get a date.”
“Just to be clear, this is not a date. This is two acquaintances sharing a ride to a social function. And as I already explained, since it’s a fund-raiser for wounded vets, I thought you would be interested in attending.”
He shrugged, shooting her a knowing smile. “If you say so.”
“Some of the most influential people in the state will be there. You’ll make good connections.”
“You sure this nondate has nothing to do with the fact that you wanted me to kiss you in the library the other day?”
She blinked. “When did I say that?”
He grinned. “Sweetheart, you didn’t have to. It’s been seven years, but I can still read you like a book.”
“I seriously doubt that,” she said, but her eyes told a different story. Like maybe she worried that he was right. “I’m not the same naive, trusting woman I was back then. And don’t call me sweetheart.”
“How about Princess? Can I call you that?”
She glared at him.
He shrugged. “Sorry, Gracie. I thought you liked terms of endearment.”
“But that’s not why you said it. You’re not nearly as charming as you think you are.”
“But I am charming,” he said, waiting for a kick in the shin.
She rolled her eyes instead. “I know you think so.”
“Honey, I know so.”
She let the honey comment go. “Funny, but I don’t recall you being this arrogant.”
He grinned. “And you’re as stubborn as you ever were. Just like my sister.”
“How is April? I seem to remember that she was getting married.”
Yeah, and Gracie was supposed to be his date, but he’d screwed that up. “She’s living in California with her husband, Rick, and their twin boys, Aaron and Adam.”
Gracie softened into that gooey-eyed look that women got whenever children were mentioned. “Oh my gosh! Twins?”
“Yep. She has her hands full.”
“How old?”
“They’ll be a year on Christmas Day,” he said, hearing the pride in his own voice. He’d never imagined himself ever having children, so he spoiled his nephews any chance he got. He had held them both just minutes after their birth, so there was a close connection. He would lay down his life for them. And for April—not that she needed his protection. She was one of the most competent women he’d ever known.
“I was in town visiting for the holidays when she had them. Her husband was deployed at the time so I went through the entire labor with her. It gave me a whole new respect for mothers.”
“Do you see them very often?”
“We Skype weekly.”
“She was always such a great person,” Gracie said with genuine affection in her voice.
Four years his junior, it had been exceptionally difficult for his sister when they lost their parents. And even harder for him to be away at college while she grieved alone, though she’d been taken in by a close family friend. He’d considered dropping out of school until she finished high school, but she wouldn’t let him. She did visit him often, though, and she had taken to Gracie instantly. They were only a year apart in age and were both strong, capable women, though they couldn’t have been any more different in their interests. April was a rough-and-tumble tomboy capable of drinking any man under the table, and she chose the armed services over college, marrying young. Gracie hadn’t been interested in marriage—at least not until she finished school—and they had never really talked about a family. He wondered now if she had ever considered it. Her ambition to be a fashion designer had always been her main focus. From what he’d seen in the media, she was a raging success, and her philanthropy was legendary.
“Is she still in the navy?” Gracie asked him.
“She and her husband both,” he said. “They’re both stateside right now, but tomorrow, who knows?”
“It must have been difficult for her when you were a POW.”
“It was.” At the mere mention of his capture that familiar sense of dread worked its way up from someplace deep inside him. But he instantly shoved it back down. It had taken intense rehabilitation to heal the physical trauma of his ordeal, and even longer to conquer the PTSD that had tortured his soul. To this day he still suffered nightmares, and occasionally woke in a panic, drenched in a cold sweat, his mind convinced he was still in the Middle East. But he was back to being a fairly centered and functioning human being. Giving in to his demons had never been an option, and he’d fought like hell to be well again.
Though he was usually pretty good at hiding his emotions, and burying the anguish, Gracie’s pained look said that after all these years, she could read him just as well as he’d read her.
For several seconds she was quiet, her eyes locked on his, then asked softly, “What was it like?”
The question threw him for a second. Aside from group therapy, and private sessions with his therapist, Roman had never spoken of his experience as a POW. Not even with his sister. No one ever asked. The physical scars pretty much spoke for themselves.
But despite their rocky past, he knew Gracie would never judge, or question his fortitude or bravery. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he just did, that despite everything that had happened between them, she genuinely cared.
So he talked.
