What Mattered Most Page 18

  John grinned. “One. I have one gift for him stashed up there, McInvale. Stop exaggerating.”

  Through lowered lashes, Lanie shot a glance at John. He was already Christmas shopping for Sonny Buck. Thinking ahead. Planning to be a father for the long haul.

  Turning his head, he caught her looking at him and grinned. He leaned closer. “Wondering what’s in that closet for you?”

  Ignoring the warmth pooling in her stomach, she pushed pure ice into her voice. “Save your money, O’Reilly. I don’t want anything from you.”

  He straightened, the skin around his mouth taut and pale. “You’re not going to give an inch, are you, Falconetti?”

  She shot him a look. “Do you expect me to?” Folding her napkin and laying it by her plate, she rose. “Excuse me a minute. I’m going to call and check on the baby.”

  The hotel had a large stone patio off the lobby, and she drank in grateful breaths of the cool sea breeze. A quick call to Tristan confirmed that Sonny Buck still slept peacefully. Tucking the cell phone back in her small bag, she walked to the balustrade and stared out over the waves.

  “You know, Lanie, he’s not going to hang around and let you kick him in the gut forever.” Beth joined her at the railing. “Don’t you think he’s been punished enough?”

  Startled, Lanie shot her a wary glance. “What are you talking about?”

  Beth matched her glare for glare. “He was a shallow jerk, and he followed his libido into your bed. I don’t remember you asking for hearts and flowers at the time. When the condom broke and you got pregnant, he took responsibility. He avoided the emotional involvement, but a lot of guys would have just walked away and left you to handle it on your own. He didn’t.”

  Nerves trembling under her skin, Lanie feigned a bored air. “And how is this any of your business?”

  Looking unimpressed, Beth folded her arms over her chest. “Because he’s probably the best friend I’ve ever had and you’re ripping him apart. He loves that baby, and for some unknown reason, he loves you. And instead of thanking your lucky stars that he does, you’re still punishing him for what Doug did.”

  Anger sparked to life, burning away the nerves. “You think this is about Mitchell? This is about—”

  “Me,” Beth finished for her. “Or what you think John feels for me. About him not telling you about our past. Then why aren’t you blaming me? I’m the one who wouldn’t let him, who made him keep my secrets, even when he didn’t want to.”

  “I can’t—”

  “Blame me because I’m a victim, too?” Beth’s laugh was harsh, ugly. “Yeah, it’s not real PC to blame a victim. But don’t you see, Lanie? John was Doug’s victim, too. He robbed me of my life, Nicole of hers. He stole your baby’s birth from you. And he stole John’s chance to sort his feelings out in his own time. You know, he would have figured out that I wasn’t the woman he really loved, probably about the time he helped you bring his son into the world. Doug robbed you both of that experience.”

  Lanie didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to think about the weird kind of sense Beth’s words made. She locked trembling hands onto the carved stone railing. “I can’t believe you’re making excuses for him. He should have told me.”

  Beth pinned her with another look. “And what secrets do you keep from him? Does he know everything about you? He has his share of ghosts, Lanie, and they kept him from confiding in you. You just never bothered to find out what they were.”

  Speechless, Lanie stared at the other woman, confused thoughts tumbling in her head. What kind of ghosts? Like his mother? Had she been that wrong about him?

  “One more thing,” Beth said, rubbing at her arms. “You’re going to drive him away, and some other woman will welcome him with open arms. Can you live with that? Think about it, Falconetti. That stubbornness of yours isn’t going to keep you warm at night when he’s in someone else’s bed.”

  Hands tucked in his pockets, John leaned against the wall and watched the couples on the dance floor. His own future stretched before him, grim and empty. He could give Lanie all the time from here to infinity or tell her how he felt every second of that period, but none of it would matter a damn. She wasn’t coming back to him.

  Head tilted back, he closed his eyes, not able to handle watching the happiness of others any longer. Beth had thrown that crack about eating his gun at him, but he didn’t even have that option. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, do that to Sonny Buck.

  A light, familiar touch on his arm snapped his eyes open. Lanie stood beside him, her golden eyes shadowed. He straightened, nerves thundering in his stomach. “What’s wrong? Is it Sonny—”

  “He’s fine.” She swallowed, and he watched the fine muscles in her neck work. Her collarbones stood out above the deep neckline of the red dress, the line of her cleavage inviting his touch. In his pockets, his hands clenched tighter. “I’m ready to leave, and I thought… I thought you might like to come with me.”

  He wanted to read something into her invitation, to believe some miracle he didn’t deserve had occurred to change her mind. Instead, he glanced at his watch. Ten o’clock. The baby would wake for a feeding around eleven. He hadn’t seen his son in four days, and he couldn’t miss this opportunity.

  “Yeah, I would.” He gestured toward the dance floor. “I’ll drive you. Do you need to let them know you’re leaving?”

  She nodded, still gazing at him with that unreadable expression in her eyes. “I’ll meet you out front.”

  The valet pulled his car around, and John leaned against the passenger door. A couple of minutes later, Lanie walked out, and the breeze molded the silk of her dress to her body. John stared, his hungry gaze following the curves and planes of her form. Eyeing the line of her thighs, he felt the familiar heaviness settle in his groin.

  Forget it, O’Reilly. She invited you home to see the baby. She’s not interested in anything else.

  He straightened and opened the door as she approached. She smiled, her hand grazing his upper arm. “Thank you.”

  His body jumped under the brief touch, heat zinging from the point of contact to his groin. Dragging in a deep breath, he crossed to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. Lanie twisted to fasten her seatbelt, the skirt of her dress riding high on her thighs, knees angled toward the gear shift.

  When he shifted gears, his wrist brushed the bare skin of her legs. The brief drive to what had been their home was torturous. Surrounded by the evocative scents of cinnamon and vanilla, John was bombarded by memories of other journeys, when he’d been free to stroke a hand up her thigh, or her hands had roved over him, making him crazy.

  The Clapton CD changed tracks, the distinctive strains of “Wonderful Tonight” filling the car, and Lanie sighed.

  “I love this song.” She leaned forward to turn up the volume. Her breast brushed against his hand on the gearshift, and he sucked in a harsh breath, the tightening in his groin growing. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was deliberately trying to drive him crazy.

  He turned into her driveway and jumped from the car, coming around to open the door for her. She walked ahead of him up the walk and stairs, and he found it impossible to keep his gaze from the sway of her hips under red silk. Sonny Buck better wake early, or he risked having an insane father.

  Once inside, Lanie greeted Tristan, and John listened in disbelief as the young woman told them Sonny Buck had indeed woken early, taken his bottle and gone back to sleep. Irritation jerked under John’s skin. He’d endured the torture of her seductive presence for nothing.

  He stood in the living room, glaring out at the waves, while Lanie walked Tristan to the door. When she returned, he watched her reflection in the glass, his chest aching. God, he wished she still wanted him.

  He wanted her to love him.

  Jerking a hand through his hair, he turned. “I should go.”

  A nervous expression flitted across her face. She walked toward him. “We need to talk.”

  T
hat was never a good phrase to hear from a woman. He had a sickening premonition that she was going to ask that his visitation hours be changed, shortened, and he prepared himself for a fight. He’d lost her. Damned if he was giving up any more time with his son.

  She didn’t stop until she stood directly in front of him, so close he could see the tiny pulse in her throat. He stared down at her, his heart pounding, knowing that if she got any closer, she’d be able to feel exactly what she did to him. “Lanie, can’t this wait? We’re both tired—”

  Leaning up, she covered his mouth with hers.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Heat exploded with the fusion of their mouths. Lanie wrapped her arms around John’s neck and pressed closer. Through the thin silk of her dress, the line of his body burned into her skin. She felt everything—the ripple of muscles, his heartbeat, outline of shirt buttons, his belt buckle, the thickening ridge of his erection against her abdomen.

  His hands spread over her back. She opened to him, drawing his tongue into her mouth with a soft, sucking motion. The groan that rumbled in his chest vibrated through her, sending a thrill along her nerves. She’d missed this, missed him. An ache of desire swirled in her and pooled between her thighs. She moaned and pressed closer still, wanting him all over her.

  One second he was kissing her, and the next his hands were at her hips, putting her away from him. He glared, chest heaving. “What kind of game are you playing now?”

  She flattened her hands against his chest, his heartbeat thudding under her palms. “I’m not playing anything.”

  He backed up a step and pushed a hand through his hair. “Thought you said you didn’t want anything from me.”

  Confused, she shook her head. Why was he doing this? Wasn’t she offering him the one thing he’d always wanted from her? “I want you.”

  His strained laugh assaulted her ears. “You could’ve fooled me. You know, Lanie, I don’t think you know what you want.”

  Stepping around her, he headed for the foyer. Stunned, Lanie stared after him for a moment. Anger and rejection washed through her. He couldn’t just walk away, could he? She followed him, her fingers closing around his on the door knob. “That’s it? You’re just leaving?”

  She felt his shudder before he jerked his hand out from under hers. He straightened, his bad temper crackling, seeming to fill the small area. “Yeah, I’m leaving.”

  “John, don’t go.” Angry desperation trembled in the words. If she let him walk out, she was afraid it was all over—he wouldn’t be back.

  “Give me a reason,” he snapped. He waved a hand toward the living area. “And not what you were offering me in there.”

  The words hurt. She narrowed her eyes at him, fighting off the urge to screech in frustration. “It never bothered you when I offered you that before.”

  He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, well, I didn’t know then what I know now. Are you going to get the hell out of my way or not?”

  She leaned forward, in his face. “What do you think?”

  “Don’t start with me, Lanie. It’s not a good idea right now.” A tense warning lurked in his voice.

  “I tried starting with you. You weren’t interested.”

  His hands shot out and closed on her shoulders. He pushed her against the wall, his lower body in intimate contact with hers. He was erect, and Lanie gasped, staring into navy eyes so dark with frustrated arousal they seemed black. “That’s how interested I am, Falconetti. I could take you right here, right now, but I want more than just sex between us.”

  “What do you want?” Her voice emerged a raw whisper, her gaze still locked on his. A different ache spread through her body, a need for something more than his possession.

  He shifted closer, until she didn’t know where he ended and she began. “I want all of you. I want everything. I want you wrapped around me, but I want it to be because we love each other, not because we’ve got an itch. I want you to trust me.”

  Her harsh laugh bounced off the walls in the small area. “You want me to love you? To trust you? I don’t even know you.”

  “But you were willing to screw me anyway, weren’t you?” He released her shoulders, hands resting against the wall on either side of her neck. “Or were you going to get me all tied in knots again before you pushed me away and blamed me for it? I make a hell of a whipping boy, don’t I? Am I standing in for your father? Paying because he didn’t love your mom?”

  She stiffened, everything turning to ice. “You bastard. Why don’t we talk about your mother?”

  He paled and dropped his hands, stumbling away from her. “I’m out of here. I don’t need this.”

  The piercing cry from upstairs raised the hair on Lanie’s neck and sent dread racing through her. John’s face reflected her own fear. He sprinted for the stairs, a mere step ahead of her. Lanie stumbled in the heels and cursed, stopping to rip off the offending shoes.

  When she reached the nursery, John already had Sonny Buck in his arms. The baby screamed, arms and legs jerking. John looked at her, his face white with fear. “He’s burning up.”

  “I’ll call Dr. Ridley.” She dashed for the cordless phone in the bedroom, hearing him moving about in the nursery. One hand holding her address book open, she punched in the number and almost screamed when the all-night pizza joint downtown answered. She hung up without an apology. Fighting down frustrated tears, she rushed back to the nursery.

  John had the baby care book open on the dresser, Sonny tucked against his shoulder. The screams had stilled to shuddery sobs and sniffles. He looked up as she entered the room. “What did he say?”

  The tears overflowed. Filled with an urge to throw herself into his arms and sob out her fear and inadequacy, she held out the phone. “I can’t even dial the number.”

  Comprehension dawned on his face, and he groaned. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Here, take him, I’ll call.”

  He shifted their son into her arms and took the phone. Lanie cradled the baby close, and he snuffled into her shoulder, his tiny head hot against her cheek. Fear curled through her. He had to be all right. She couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him. Her arms tightened.

  “All right. Thank you.” John dropped the phone on the dresser and looked at her. “Answering service. They’ll have the doctor call us. We’re supposed to take his temperature.”

  Lanie nodded, panic gripping her throat. “There’s a digital thermometer in the changing table basket.”

  John went for it. Straightening, he motioned at his ear. “We don’t have one of those ear ones?”

  “No. I was going to—”

  He waved the words away, looking at the baby book again. A grimace crossed his face. “Rectal temperature? You’ve got to be kidding me. I can’t do that to him.”

  “You can take it under his arm. I remember that from another book.” Her hair was falling, and she tossed back loose strands the best she could.

  John reached for the baby. “Give him to me.”

  When John laid him on the changing table, Sonny Buck burst into fresh screams. John winced and lifted the baby’s sack gown. With the thermometer under his arm, they waited. John cupped the baby’s head in his hand and whispered soothing nonsense.

  Lanie hovered, glad for his presence. The incident with the phone number unnerved her. What if John hadn’t been here? Insecurity crowded in on her.

  After a shrill beep sounded, John pulled the thermometer from under Sonny Buck’s arm. Lanie reached for the baby and lifted him back to her shoulder, rubbing his back in a soothing motion. “A hundred and one point two,” John said, looking ill. “God, that sounds high.”

  The phone rang, and John snatched it up. “Hello?”

  Lanie listened as he explained the baby’s condition and told the doctor how high the temperature was. He rubbed a hand over her back, a distracted, soothing caress, and Lanie leaned into his touch, grateful for his strength.

  “All right. We’re on our way.�
�� Clicking off the phone, John dropped it on the dresser again. His thumb rubbed over her spine, and the corners of his mouth quirked in a tight smile. “Dr. Ridley is going to meet us at the emergency room.”

  The short drive and brief time spent in the waiting room stretched until Lanie’s nerves threatened to snap. Sonny Buck kept drifting into an uneasy sleep, only to jerk awake and squall again. She refused to leave him in the carrier and lifted him into her arms. John rubbed his palm over her knee, a quick supportive gesture, and again gratitude for his solid presence suffused her.

  A nurse appeared and called them back to a small, curtained area. With smooth, efficient movements, she checked Sonny Buck’s temperature and other vital signs. Lanie watched, keeping a hand on the baby’s head. She glanced up to find John staring at the plaid curtain, jaw clenched, a haunted expression on his face.

  “Dr. Ridley will be with you in just a moment,” the nurse said and pulled the curtain behind her.

  “John?” Lanie laid her other hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

  He turned anguished eyes in her direction. “I hate this place. I keep remembering you lying in one of these damned cubicles and all that blood…knowing it was my fault you were here, that it would be my fault if you died.”

  Beth’s insistence that he was as much a victim as anyone else echoed in Lanie’s head. She tightened her fingers on his wrist. “You didn’t—”

  “All right, let’s see what’s wrong with our Sonny Buck tonight.” Dr. Ridley pulled the curtain closed behind him. Lanie dropped her hand from John’s arm, glad the doctor was here for her baby yet aware that some intangible opportunity had just passed her by.

  Arms wrapped around her midriff, she watched Dr. Ridley’s quick examination and answered the questions he threw out while listening to Sonny Buck’s heart and lungs, palpated his stomach, and looked in his nose and mouth. The noncommittal noises he made while doing so intensified her worry and impatience. She glanced at John. The tightness of his features reflected her own edginess. He caught her looking at him and sent her a tight, reassuring smile.