Raising the Soldier's Son(15)

“What if I tell you we’ll never make love again?” He moved his body over hers, his erection so close to possessing her that they were both panting with need.

“I’d say you’re lying.”

His eyes narrowed. “Haven’t we established that you’re the liar in this little relationship we’ve got going?”

She bit down on her lip. She could prove to him that Wade was his son, but now, she wanted him to believe her without proof. “I’ve never lied to you,” she said earnestly, arching her hips as desire ran through her.

He pulled back just enough to keep them physically separated. “You tried to foist another man’s child onto me.”

Tears clogged in her throat. “No.” She shook her head sadly.

Kirk laced his fingers through hers and held her arms aloft, high above her head, as he drove into her, watching as the moonlight bathed her beautiful face in light, showing relief on her features. He pulled out, and confusion replaced relief.

“If you’re trying to make me admit that you’re not Wade’s daddy, it won’t work,” she murmured, her body on fire.

He shook his head, as desire overtook his need for the truth. He plunged into her again, his body instantly jerking with the complete acceptance of how much this coming together had become a part of his soul. How he needed her regardless of what she was.

He moved quickly, driving her over the edge, but he wasn’t ready to leave her. He didn’t know when they’d be together again. He knew she would be mad as hell once the sensual fog lifted. He slowed down, bringing his mouth to her breasts, kissing her, and touching her, as he stoked desire anew inside of her.

She moaned as he wound her up and pulled her apart again, sending her senses haywire as her whole body seemed to melt into the floorboards. He released himself, finally, and in that moment, he knew he would never feel anything as perfect as being with this woman. It was his reason for walking this earth, plain and simple. And the knowledge brought him a swift stab of desolation.

Annabeth dressed without looking at him. Her hands weren’t steady, and her cheeks were flushed. She pulled her hair into a severe plait, then took a sip of water from her bottle on the desk. She cast a look in the mirror, ignoring the looming shape of Kirk Robinson standing just behind her. Steadfastly, she avoided his eyes. She couldn’t look at him. Her confusion was too profound, her sadness almost overwhelming. How could something so amazing be borne out of such anger and hate? She ran her fingers over the pink patches on her neck, courtesy of his stubble. With a groan of frustration, she loosened her plait and spread her hair around her shoulders. The length did a fine job of covering up the only physical marks of their sexual escapade.

Her voice was without emotion, and her eyes didn’t meet his in the mirror when she spoke. “I have something to give you.” She cleared her throat. “I was going to bring it to you later, but seeing as you’re here now…” her sentence died off in her throat, as finally, she looked at his face. And she saw how distraught he was. She saw remorse, and regret. And she couldn’t let herself care. She slipped out of the office, not bothering to check that he was following.

The pub was a hive of activity. She stopped to chat to a few customers on her way over to Rosie and Cam. By the time she joined them, Kirk was back, looking relaxed and unconcerned with life.

She ignored him, though it took huge effort and control.

“Good news. I got hold of Emma. She’s happy to do it.” Annabeth went through Emma’s rates as quickly as she could, then typed Emma’s cell number into Rosie’s phone. “Give her a call in the morning to confirm details.”

“Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver. Isn’t she a lifesaver?” Rosie’s face was transformed into an expression of ethereal beauty.

“Oh, yeah. She’s something, all right,” Kirk muttered, swapping out his beer for a whisky and throwing it back.

“Will you have a drink with us, Annabeth?” Rosie invited warmly.

Annabeth looked despairingly at Kirk, then past him, to Doctor Dan. “Sorry, I promised this guy a dance earlier.” She smiled brightly and moved over to her friend. A comforting face in the midst of a maelstrom of feeling.

He knew better than to argue.

Her cheery attitude might have fooled most, but he knew her better than that, and he was certainly not buying it. “Come on, honey. They’re playing our song.”

She listened. He was right. The memory of the first time they’d danced together brought a smile to her face. She’d been pregnant, and scared witless at the prospect of raising a child alone.

Feigning ignorance of Kirk’s dagger-laced stare, she put her hand in Dan’s and followed him to the dance floor. Being with Kirk might have felt right, and perfect, but being with Dan felt safe and comforting, and at that moment, she needed a port in the emotional storm.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The box was not familiar to him. He turned it over in his hands, studying the detailed pattern. It looked like a cheap imitation of an oriental treasure.

He sat down on his bed, kicking his shoes off and lifting his legs. He’d slackened with his stretches of late, and his back was showing the first signs of complaint. Or maybe it was the way he kept grabbing Annabeth and making love to her whenever they were alone. He winced, remembering the things he’d said to her. Remembering with a deep sense of shame how he’d used their connection to illicit a confession out of her. Or attempted to.

Mortification turned his stomach. She was the only woman he’d ever loved, and regardless of what she’d done, she deserved better than that. He groaned into his silent bedroom, fingering the box as he stared out of the bay windows towards the rolling, verdant hills of the plantation. La Cachette was the grandest home in all of Mobile County, with its Baroque French architecture and enormous scale. Its beauty afforded him little solace now. Nothing did.

He’d resisted investigating the box all day. He’d told himself that he didn’t care what was inside. Whatever Annabeth wanted to show him didn’t change the facts. Much. He’d done whatever he could to keep busy. But now, there were no more distractions.

With an angry exhalation of breath, he slid the bolt sideways and lifted the lid.

The ring caught his attention first. It was her engagement ring, tied with a piece of satin ribbon around a package of letters. His heart thudded almost to a stop then sped up furiously. He’d presumed she’d sold the ring somewhere along the line. It was worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, and God knew she could use the money. His breath was ragged as he undid the ribbon and slid the jewelry off, into the palm of his hand. He remembered the day he’d bought it for her. He’d flown to New York, wanting the best ring in the world for Annabeth. The canary yellow diamond had been perfect. The color of her hair, and when the sun hit it in the right light, the ring sparkled almost as bright as her eyes.

He ran his fingers around the enormous solitaire, wondering anew why she had kept it all this time. Locked up in a cheap box, somewhere in that falling down home of hers. He placed it on the bed beside him, and then pulled at the ribbon some more.

There were dozens of letters. More than he’d even known about. Impatiently, he opened the first one.

Kirk, I got your email but when I tried to reply, it kept bouncing back. I don’t know how else to contact you, but I needed to write. I can’t accept that you’re breaking up with me. I won’t accept it. He could practically feel her tension, as her writing became noticeably smaller and tighter. I don’t know what life’s like for you over there. I can only guess, and piece together a rough idea from the news. I get it. It’s tough. But don’t lose sight of what we have. I love you so much. I’ve loved you all my life so far, and I plan on loving you for the rest of it.

He put the letter down with the engagement ring and closed his eyes. What good was rehashing the past? He’d made the only decision he could make. It had been for the best, or so he’d believed at the time.

Kirk, I still haven’t heard from you. I don’t even know if my last letter has reached you yet. I don’t know where you are, but I wish you were here, with me. No. Not here in the dorm. I wish we were both back home. Back in Clearview, under that tree we love at La Cachette. I want to feel your arms around me, and to know everything’s going to be okay. Kirk, I’m scared. I need to talk to you. Please, just write me. Don’t shut down on me like this, baby. I love you.

He screwed the letter up and threw it across the room, a guttural cry of anger and pain wrenched from him. He tore into the next letter.

Kirk, it’s been two months since you emailed. A part of me is terrified that the reason I’m not hearing from you is because you’ve been hurt. Or worse. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear to think along those lines, so I’m not. But it’s almost worse to imagine that you’re out there, carrying on your life, and choosing not to have me in it. You proposed to me, Kirk. I don’t understand why you’re ending our engagement so soon? It doesn’t matter now anyway. Your folks say they haven’t heard from you. I think they’re worried, like I am. I just need to speak to you. Please get in touch. I love you.