His One-Night Mistress(17)

One more strand tying them together. "Oh, Seth, what will we do?"

"I'm going home and finding out what happened to those letters. You're  going home and telling Marise about me. Then she and I will meet."

"You make it sound much too easy. No marriage, no children, that's what  you said. I don't want marriage, either, so that's no problem. But you  have a child, a real live flesh-and-blood child. Fatherhood requires  commitment-it sounds to me like you're commitment-phobic."

He was. Always had been. "I can't ignore Marise, as though she doesn't  exist. I've been landed with a commitment, like it or not. Just as you  were left pregnant, like it or not." He scowled at her. "What have you  got against marriage?"

She scowled right back, pulling free from the circle of his arm. "I don't have the time for it."

"You're too busy being a musician and a single mother."

"Exactly."

"If you were married, you wouldn't be a single mother."

"If you're so clever, will you kindly explain to me how we're going to  handle this?" she exploded. "What about us? We just have to look at each  other and our hormones spike way off the chart. Marise is trusting and  innocent. I won't carry on an affair right under her nose."

"That's right, you won't. I'll visit her when you're not there."

Trying desperately to conceal how his casual dismissal had hurt her, Lia  said, "Don't you get it? We'll be tied together for years."

"We'll both be free to live our own lives."

She gripped the edge of the table. "We first saw each other, masked and  costumed, across a crowded ballroom. But we recognized each other right  away. We're playing with fire here, Seth."

"Marise exists. I have to see her."

Feeling utterly exhausted, Lia leaned back on the table. If Seth were to  meet Marise, it would be at Meadowland. Which was Lia's sanctuary, her  home, the place where love bloomed, unforced and peaceful as the  wildflowers of the meadows. How could she bear for Seth to invade it?

He said inflexibly, "Let's set a date right now-have you got your  datebook handy?" Because he'd been working, his Palm Pilot was in his  pocket. He took it out. "How about one day next week?"

She said in a hostile voice, "I'm playing in Vienna with Ivor Rosnikov a week from today."

Rosnikov was a wildly popular Russian pianist with a well-earned  reputation as a womanizer. The words were out before Seth could censor  them. "Is he your current lover?"

"If he is, that's none of your business. Didn't you just say I was free to live my own life?"

He had. Not one of his smarter pronouncements. "He's bedded half the women in Europe."

"He's also a marvelous musician," she snapped.

There was a red smudge under her chin where her violin had rested. Seth  stared at it, willing himself to stay where he was. But a split second  later, he was crushing her to his chest, kissing her as though she was  the only woman in the world. All the curves of her body, the sweetness  of her mouth, were so achingly familiar, so passionately desired …

Lia clung to him, her lips parted to the dance of his tongue, her hips  tight to the surge of his arousal; and knew she'd come home. Home? she  thought in confusion. Meadowland is home. Not Seth. Seth's too  dangerous, too unpredictable.                       
       
           



       

Then he thrust her away, his breathing harsh in his ears. "You can kiss  me like that, and tell me in the same breath you're Rosnikov's lover?"

"I never said I was!"

Sunlight was flickering through her hair like tiny electric sparks. Seth said implacably, "Tell me when I can meet Marise."

"I'll decide whether you can or not after you've found out about the  letters. After you've had time to think very hard about what fatherhood  implies. Marise has done just fine without a father for seven years. I  won't allow you to wander in and out of her life as your busy schedule  permits-I won't have her hurt, Seth."

"I'm damned if you'll deprive her of her father!"

"I'll give you my phone numbers, including my cell. You can get in touch  with me after Vienna. Assuming you can offer me concrete proof about  the letters, we'll talk then."

He said, keeping any trace of emotion from his voice, "I know you sent  them. I believe you, in other words. I trust you. Why can't you do the  same for me?"

"Try seeing it from my point of view," she flared. "Eight years ago I  was convinced you'd abandoned me, betraying our lovemaking in Paris by  ignoring its consequences. The hurt went deep. Much too deep for me to  now say blithely, sure, we'll sleep together, Seth, and of course you  can see my daughter any time that's convenient for you."

"It wasn't my fault that you were abandoned. Nor will I be kept from Marise."

"But you'd have to make a genuine commitment to her-I'm not sure you're capable of that."

She looked as fierce as a mother bear defending her cub. Deep within  him, respect stirred, mixed with unwilling admiration. He spoke the  simple truth. "The commitment's already made. The moment I saw Marise's  green eyes, I had no choice."

Lia let out her breath in a long sigh. "I play again with Ivor in  Hamburg two days after Vienna. Then I fly home." She did some quick  calculations. "The fifteenth. You can call me then."

He already knew he wasn't going to wait that long: a piece of  information he kept to himself. If Lia d'Angeli thought she was going to  call all the shots, she'd very soon find out she was wrong. "Fine,"  Seth said.

She'd expected him to argue. Conscious of a huge sense of anticlimax, Lia said, "When are you leaving the island?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"I'll get room service the rest of the day."

I'll stay out of your way-that's what she meant. And wasn't that what he  wanted, too? He took a scrap of paper from his pocket and wrote down  the number for his personal cell phone, along with his e-mail address.  "Will you forward me that photo of Marise?"

Briefly she closed her eyes. "Yes."

"Thanks." What else was there to say? Or do? He sure wasn't going to kiss her again.

There were faint blue shadows under her eyes and a tired droop to her  mouth. He said roughly, "Take care of yourself, Lia," and let himself  out the door.

His personal jet couldn't get here until tomorrow. Otherwise he'd be  leaving right now. Getting as far away from Lia as he could.

Lia d'Angeli, the mother of his child.





Dawn was normally Lia's favorite time of the day: everything fresh, the  illusion of a new beginning, the flourish of hope as the sun broke the  horizon.

On this, Seth's last morning on the island, she merely felt miserably  unhappy. After he'd left her cottage yesterday, she'd practiced her  heart out, until she was more confident of the Brahms cadenza. She'd  eaten outside on the patio, trying to convince herself she was getting  the solitude and peace she craved. She'd even slept, off and on.

There was no reason to feel so jangled and off-center. She'd kept in  control of the situation yesterday, insisting Seth meet her terms. Well,  almost in control. That kiss didn't exactly qualify; and was no doubt  the reason she'd woken so early this morning.

When she got up, Lia had decided a swim might settle her nerves. Now she  lay back in the saltwater, trying to empty her mind of anything but the  beauty of her surroundings. On the waves, pearl-pink flecks reflected  the dawn sky; a white tropic bird winged overhead, its long streamers  flashing in the light. The sand was newly washed, the tulip tree near  her cottage blazoned with huge orange blooms, each a miniature sunrise.

She'd feel a lot better once she knew Seth had left.

Hold that thought, Lia.

She was trying to as, fifteen minutes later, she wandered up the beach  toward her cottage, tugging off her swimcap and shaking out her long  black hair. On the boardwalk, she used the little tap to rinse the sand  from her feet, absently admiring the iridescent polish on her toenails.  Frosted Mocha. She must buy it again.                       
       
           



       

In the bushes, a bird gave a loud squawk of alarm. Lia glanced up, every  nerve on alert. Her pulse skipped a beat. Seth had just emerged onto  the beach, wearing skintight navy trunks, a towel slung over his  shoulder. He hadn't seen her.

Then, as though he sensed her watching him, he looked right at her. The  sun was in his eyes. He raised one hand, shading his face, and started  walking toward her.

Her heart was pounding in her rib cage; her feet were glued to the  boardwalk. As he came closer, she saw that he'd removed the tape that  had circled his chest. The scar, a livid, angry red, traversed his ribs  from front to back.