The Millionaire's Marriage Demand(25)

Travis had never once mentioned that he had a sister. Nor, for that  matter, had Brent. Julie said reluctantly, "After you left, Travis was  sent away to boarding school, and for two years wasn't even allowed back  to Manatuck."

"One more betrayal …  he loved that place." Leonora raised her head, with  its crown of dark hair. "Julie, I'm going to ask a favor of you. A huge  favor. You've met Travis. He trusts you enough that he's told you what  happened when he was six. I want you to tell him that I didn't die, that  I'm here in Portland, and I want to see him. You could prepare him, so  that it won't be such a terrible shock for him."

"I couldn't!"

"Please …  I don't often beg for anything, I have more than my share of  pride, too. But I'm begging you now. The truth is, I'm afraid. Afraid  that he won't consent to see me at all." Her smile was twisted. "I've  danced in front of the toughest critics in Europe, and I'm afraid of my  own son. But why should Travis want to see me? I left him, abandoned  him, ran away as though he didn't matter at all." Leonora's eyes were  bleak with remembered sorrow.

Briefly Julie rested her head in her hands. "I don't really know Travis that well," she said in a muffled voice.

"Let me tell you something-I liked you from the first moment I met you.  You're honest and courageous. You, more than anyone I know, can do  this."                       
       
           



       

For a wild moment Julie considered telling Leonora about the weekend  she'd spent in Travis's arms; and how she'd then sent him away, because  she, too, was afraid of him. She looked up. "I'll do it," she said, her  voice sounding as though it came from a long way away. "But you've got  to give me a couple of days to think about it, and rehearse what I'm  going to say."

"Of course." Leonora slowly unclenched her hands. "Thank you, Julie. More than I can say."

"Maybe we should wait to see how this all turns out before you thank me."

"You'll do the best you can. The rest is up to Travis." Julie pushed  herself to her feet. Her cold hands pressing against the desk, she said,  "I've got to go back to work, Leonora. I have an appointment in five  minutes."

The older woman hesitated. "You'll let me know as soon as you see Travis?"

"Yes, of course," Julie replied. Briefly Leonora rested one hand on  Julie's shoulder; then she walked away down the empty corridor.

Julie watched her go. Three weeks ago she'd told Travis their  relationship was over. Now she was committed to seeking him out, as the  bearer of shattering news.

To say that she was afraid was a massive understatement. And yet,  beneath the terror, wasn't there a grain of pure joy that she would be  seeing him again?





Travis was late home from work on Wednesday evening. It had been an  exhausting day. Far too much paperwork, two patients who seemed to think  he had nothing to do but immerse himself in their imaginary symptoms,  and a tragic prognosis he'd had to deliver to another of his patients, a  young woman with three small children.

His exhaustion stemmed from more than a bad day at work. Try as he  might, he couldn't get Julie out of his system. More times than he'd  care to admit he'd pulled back with his hand actually on the receiver to  phone her; twice he'd driven past her apartment, just to see the lights  glowing from her narrow windows. He was obsessed with her, he thought  savagely. Worse, nothing he did loosened her grip one iota.

He hated being so helpless. So entrapped.

He tossed a package of frozen pasta in the microwave and hit the  buttons. He didn't even like pasta. But he lacked the energy to barbecue  anything, and he didn't want to eat by himself in a restaurant.

He was a mess.

He went into the bedroom, hauling his shirt over his head and searching  for a clean T-shirt in the drawer. He should do a wash. Maybe he'd get  around to it on the weekend. Although Bryce, on their last conversation,  had suggested that Travis make use of Bryce's cottage north of Portland  next weekend. Get the hell out of that condo, is what Bryce had  actually said. Along with a fair number of uncomplimentary remarks about  Julie.

What was he going to do at the cottage? Think about Julie from Friday night to Sunday evening, that's what.

The T-shirt slung over one shoulder, Travis went back into the kitchen  and opened the microwave. He'd forgotten to pry open the corner of the  pasta box. Steam had ruptured the cardboard seal, splattering rigatoni  all over one wall of the microwave. Then the doorbell rang, a melodious  chiming that made Travis swear out loud. If it was the blond bombshell  down the hallway who was pursuing him with all the subtlety of a  bulldozer, she was right out of luck.

Not bothering to look through the peephole, he yanked the door open, a  blistering refusal already on his tongue. His jaw dropped. "Julie!" he  gasped.

In one quick glance he took in every detail of her appearance: slim  white jeans, a coral silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up, coral  lipstick and blusher and eyes a wide, terrified green. She'd come back,  he thought in a great flood of gratitude and joy. She'd changed her  mind.

He put his arms around her waist, lifted her over the threshold, slammed  the door shut with one foot and began kissing her. He could feel the  shock run through her, the sudden rigidity of her spine, and ignored  both. She'd come back. She was in his arms, where she belonged. His  Julie, his beautiful Julie …

With another of those surges of passionate gratitude, he realized she  was kissing him back, her hips pressed to his, her palms clasping his  bare ribcage. Her lips were soft and warm, she smelled delicious, her  body fitted his embrace as though made for it. He forgot what a desert  the last three weeks had been, forgot that he was furious with her for  leaving him. Swinging her off her feet, he headed for the bedroom.                       
       
           



       

The bed wasn't made and there was dirty laundry scattered all over the rug. But what did that matter?

Wholly intent on where he was going, it took Travis several seconds to  realize Julie was beating on his chest with her fists. "Travis, let me  down!"

He smiled at her, a smile of unquenchable happiness. "Hey, stop that.  You came here to make love with me and I'd rather do that in bed than on  the hall floor."

"I didn't!"

"Sure you did. You don't kiss a platonic friend the way you were just kissing me."

"Travis, I didn't come here to go to bed with you," she said  frantically. "I have something to tell you, something very important."

He looked at her blankly for the space of five full seconds. "You're pregnant."

"I'm not! Don't be silly."

"There's nothing silly about it. That rainy Sunday afternoon at your  place we made love twice, and neither time did we use protection. That,  dear Julie, is how babies get made."

"This is something else altogether," she said impatiently. "I don't even  know where to begin but I sure know it isn't in your bedroom." Still  pushing at his chest, she looked around her. "Which is a mess."

He put her down, his hands tight on her shoulders. She meant it. She  hadn't come here to revive their affair. "So what if my bedroom's like a  pigsty?" he snarled. "I miss you day and night and doing the laundry  hasn't been a priority."

"I didn't mean to kiss you back," she quavered, "I'm sorry about that. It just …  happened."

"Oh sure. You had nothing to do with it."

She wriggled her shoulders free. "I'm going into the living room, you're  going to pour me a glass of wine and then you're going to shut up and  listen to me!"

"It had better be good, that's all I can say."

He followed her down the hall, trying to ignore the swing of her hips in  her white pants. "Find a chair," he said. "White wine or red?"

"Red. The more robust the better."

He opened a very expensive bottle of Merlot and poured two glasses.  Julie was standing by the window, looking out over the harbor. When he  passed her the glass, she took a gulp and said raggedly, "Earlier this  week, I found out something about your past. Now I've come to tell you  about it. It's big stuff, Travis, so please listen carefully …  I'll do my  best to give it to you straight."

For the first time since she'd arrived, Travis really heard her. His  nerves tightened. What did she mean? What could she have found out about  him to make her look so serious? He, too, took a substantial mouthful  of wine.

She began with Leonora, whose eyes so strikingly resembled Travis's, and  slowly unfolded that long-ago story of abandonment and deceit. Travis  had been sitting on one arm of a leather-covered chair; when she got to  the fake funeral in Philadelphia, he stood up. Taking her by the arm, he  said harshly, "You're not making this up?"