The Way They Were (24 page)

She jumped and forced Rourke Flannigan from her brain. “What?”

“I just want to know one thing?” All traces of the earlier compassionate tone disappeared and in their place was Angie’s usual no-nonsense voice. “How long are you going to feed me this line before you tell me the truth?”

“His ex-girlfriend’s pregnant.” There.

“Oh.” Angie eased from her chair and moved toward Kate. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around Kate’s shoulders. “What a bastard.”

Kate swiped at a tear. She needed Angie’s barrage of ill-intentioned curses to remind herself Rourke Flannigan was no good for her. “He said it wasn’t true,” she sniffed, “that it was all a set-up and he was going to get to the bottom of it, but what’s the use?”

It felt good to slash Rourke’s name. Kate opened her mouth and spilled out more dirt. “Do you know he hired a detective to spy on the woman? Said that’s what he does so he can stay
uninvolved
?”

“Here. He said he knew all about my loans and Clay’s business problems.” She dragged a hand over her face and forced herself to continue. “He even admitted he’s been doing it for years.”

“Years?”

“I know, it’s bizarre.”

“Yeah. Bizarre.” Angie toyed with a coil of dark hair, twisting it around her finger, tighter and tighter. “But why would he spy on you for years? I always thought the guy walked out of Montpelier and never looked back. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I know. He said he couldn’t stop, which made no sense at all.” Kate closed her eyes and willed everything about Rourke Flannigan to disappear.

“Oh my God.”

“What?” Kate blinked her eyes open and stared at Angie. “What’s the matter?”

“Don’t you see? If he told you he
couldn’t
stop spying on you for all these years, it could only mean one thing.”

Rourke was in a foul mood tonight, just as he’d been the last several nights. He hid it when he was with Julia, or at least he tried to, but other than that, he was miserable and bent on making everyone else miserable, too. Janice had evaporated and reappeared in New York on a photo shoot—a hand and foot lotion ad, very busy she’d said, no time to talk until she returned tonight. She was giving him a line and he’d been half tempted to fly to New York and confront her, but common sense and a fear he wouldn’t be able to control his anger won out. So he waited. She’d be here soon enough and then he’d drag the answers out of those lying, red lips.

Maxine had taken Abbie and Julia out for pizza and a movie. She’d developed a strong maternal tendency these past several weeks, ever since her trip to Montpelier. Rourke refused to think of anyone associated with that town, except for Julia, of course. He sipped his bourbon and considered the evening ahead. Janice would pounce on him shortly, overflowing with chatter and buzz like newly uncorked champagne. She’d bring him a tie or cuff links or some other nonsensical gift he didn’t need or want. All he wanted was the truth so he could go about reconstructing the rubble that had become his life six days ago. At least he still had Julia.

The front door opened and the
clickety-clack
of heels on tile broke through the quietness. “There you are.”

“Hello, Janice.” He lifted his bourbon and sipped.

Coco Chanel suffocated his breath as she stepped closer. Had he really thought her antics tantalizing or had she merely been another distraction from his real problem—trying to forget Kate? She inched toward his mouth but Rourke turned his head seconds before she kissed him.

Janice sighed and perched on the arm of the couch. “Okay, you’re angry.”

Had she purposely crossed her legs just now so her skirt rode up her thigh, inches from the garter belts she loved to wear? “Why would I be angry?” He hadn’t mentioned Kate or what she’d told him. In fact, he hadn’t mentioned anything to Janice other than ordering her back to Chicago immediately. An order she’d avoided.

“I can read body language, Rourke.” She ran a hand down his arm and inched closer. “I’ve always been very good at that…bodies, I mean.” She eased her fingers along his chest to his belly and settled on his thigh. “I think you’re tense,” she said, working slow circles over the muscles of his leg. “And I know just how to relieve that ache.”

He shoved her hand away. “I’m not in the mood for your games, Janice.” He stood and moved to the fireplace, several feet from her groping hands.

“Rourke.”

“Start talking.”

She sniffed, twice. She was a much better actress than he’d given her credit for. The tears appeared on command, along with the sniffling and somehow she conducted the theatrics without smearing her makeup. Now that was truly an art.

“Oh, Rourke, I don’t know where to begin. Hormones. I can’t seem to control them these days.” She offered him a teary smile. “I’d hoped to tell you under different circumstances. I was thinking a table at Gianoni’s and a bottle of Cristal but…” she lifted her slender shoulders and a fresh wave of tears fell.

Despite his anger, a tiny thread of panic gripped him. She
was
just acting, wasn’t she? That’s why she’d thrown the hormone thing in, wasn’t it?

Janice turned to him and murmured in a voice heavy with anguish. “I know you never wanted a child. I know you think them bothersome and demanding. I know.” She buried her face in her hands. “I am so sorry.”

Rourke sucked in the last whiff of oxygen from the room and forced his legs to move toward her. “Janice.” He reached out and awkwardly touched her shoulder.

She clutched his other hand and gazed up at him. “Do you want me to get rid of it? Is that what you want me to do?”

He pictured someone else in that seat and knew
she’d
never consider that an option. “No, of course not.” He raked a hand through his hair and rubbed the knot at the back of his neck. “It’s just that, well it’s a damn shock.”

“I know.”

“How the hell did this happen?” He still wasn’t convinced anything had happened but there was a minute fracture in his previous degree of certainty, and that disturbed him.

She giggled. Janice never giggled. “I’d say it happened in the usual way.”

“That’s not what I meant.”
Christ, no, please no.
“You were on the pill. I used a condom.”

She settled back against the couch and crossed one long leg over the other. “There is such a thing as human error. We’re both human.” Her lips curved into a full smile, reminding him of sex and lots of it. “Apparently we both erred.”

He was going to be sick. “How do you know for sure?” He’d read that super skinny types like Janice didn’t always get their periods on time. Maybe that was it. She was just late.
Dear God, please let that be it.

She swung her leg again, long and silky and tanned, strapped in a three inch red stiletto. “Women just know, silly. And I’m late.”

“How late?” He was sure he’d read underweight women could miss three or even four periods. Sometimes as much as a year. Where had he read that?

She slid him a shy smile. “A month. This will be a spring baby.”

The three bourbons he’d downed earlier burned a hole in his gut. He swallowed hard and pictured Janice’s concave middle protruding against those tight jersey dresses she loved to prance around in. The visual slipped through his mind, sharp, precise, and nauseating.

“Rourke? Are you okay?” She was beside him, stroking his back. “You look gray and you’re sweating. Here. Sit down.” She let out a soft laugh and settled herself next to him on the couch. “I don’t blame your reaction.” The stroking continued, along his shoulders, neck, down his arm. “But I guess we’ll both get used to the idea and just think what a beautiful baby it will be.”

“Did you take any of those home pregnancy tests?” There had to be a mistake. Somewhere.

“Of course I did. EPT. The little line showed up. That means it’s positive
.”

He opened his mouth and gulped in air.
Positive
.

“Do you want to know the sex of the baby?”

“I don’t know.” He stared out the window at the sliver of moon floating over the blackness of night and wondered what
she
was doing right now.

“I absolutely think we need to find out as soon as possible. Then we can plan the room and the names and Nordstrom’s has the cutest little outfits.”

Did she believe me when I told her I wanted to marry her? Or did she think it was all a sham because of this? How can a man have every material possession in the world and lose the one thing he wants most? Again?

“I’m not tired.”
How could he touch her after Kate? How could he ever touch another woman after Kate?

“Good. Neither am I.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth. When he didn’t respond she pulled away with a pout. “I see you’ll need a little time to adjust to the idea of being a father. So where does this leave us?”

The tone in her voice put him on immediate alert. “What do you mean?”

She bounced off the couch and paced the room. “Just that. Where does this leave us? Are you going to be an involved father or just one who pays child support and maybe sees his son or daughter every other weekend and on the occasional holiday?”

“Of course I want to be involved.” He wasn’t about to let another of his offspring roam the planet without knowing who his or her real father was.

“And what about us?” She wheeled around and squared off like a gunfighter, hands on hips, chin thrust forward.

There is no us. There’s never been an us.
“I haven’t thought about it.” What a lie.

“I’m not raising this child alone. If you aren’t interested in the whole package, I’m sure I can find someone who is.”

He flew off the couch and planted himself next to her. “I won’t have another man raising my child.”
Not again
.

She lifted a graceful shoulder and shrugged. “It’s your choice, but if you wait too long, it won’t be.”

Chapter 28

“
I mean, here’s my mother, but when I’m reading that stuff, she’s not really my mother then.”—Julia Maden

He dreamed of Kate at night, her long dark hair skimming his chest as she knelt over him, her lips moist and warm against his. The sheerness of her white negligee exposed the curves and dips of her beautiful body, a body that smelled of hyacinth and passion. He needed to touch that body, stroke the silky skin, lift her onto his hardness. “Come to me,” he whispered. “Let me make you mine.” He closed his eyes and reached for her, anxious to feel her softness drape him. His hands grasped air where her hips should have been. His eyes flew open to nothingness. Kate had vanished. The dream returned three nights in a row, and each time she disappeared just as he was about to touch her.

“Dammit,” Rourke growled, jolting awake from another anguished dream. He threw back the covers and padded to his study where he poured a shot of bourbon and downed it in one swallow. He hadn’t slept much since Janice’s sucker-punch announcement and when he finally dozed off in the early morning hours, damn it all if he didn’t dream about Kate and her disappearing act. He’d tried to call her at least twenty times in the last three days—twenty-two to be exact—but she wouldn’t take his phone calls. He bet Angie, the Wicked Witch of the West, loved that.

How had he messed things up so badly? He was a responsible, articulate, educated man who managed his life and his business with precision. But put a woman in the mix, and it went to hell. He cursed and made his way to the kitchen where he fished around in the pantry for something to eat. Since Abbie had come to live with him he had his choice of high fat, high calorie goodies. He pulled out a bag of Lay’s and dove in. Hadn’t he seen a container of French onion dip in the fridge? Maybe having a kid around wasn’t so bad after all. He yanked open the fridge and stuck his head inside, peering around a carton of chocolate milk and a container of Cool Whip.

Julia stood in the doorway wearing shorts and a Chicago Bulls T-shirt. Rourke rubbed the side of his head and said, “Yeah, I’m fine. What are you doing up at this hour?”