Marriage, Bravo Style! Page 11

  Because it was.

  But it was also temporary. Her family might or might not understand that part. Whatever. It just wasn’t their business.

  Monday, Javier was released from the hospital. He went home with Luz and she made arrangements for all of his belongings to be moved out of his apartment and into the house they had decided to share.

  Mercy and Luke came over. Luz made dinner for everyone. They all left early. Javier needed his rest.

  Elena hurried to Rogan’s waiting arms.

  Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday were pretty much the same. Days with the family. Nights in Rogan’s arms.

  Thursday night in bed after tender lovemaking, Rogan told her that he, Cormac, her dad and her mom were all meeting with the lawyers the next day to finalize the sale of Cabrera Construction to Murdoch Homes.

  One week. She’d had exactly seven days with him. And now, already, it was ending.

  She reminded herself that it was exactly as it should be. That she had made an agreement with him. And when he left, she would let him go with a smile on her face. “Congratulations.”

  He made a low sound in his throat and tightened his arm around her. His lips brushed against her temple and she thought how much she would miss him. Too much. It hurt just to think about it.

  “Thanks. I’m really happy with the deal we’ve made.” He kissed her temple again. “I think your dad is, too. He’s built a great company over the years. We feel justified in meeting his price.”

  She ran her hand across the hard, warm flesh of his big chest and tried not to think about how much she was going to miss him. “So you’ll be heading back to Dallas pretty soon, then.” She was proud of how easy and accepting she sounded.

  “Cormac’s going back after the papers are signed.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “That’s his plan.”

  “And you?” She spoke without looking up at him, her head on his shoulder, her gaze on the far wall. It seemed safer that way.

  But he didn’t allow her to avoid his eyes. He tipped her chin up. “I was thinking, if you can stand having me around a little longer, I would at least stay the weekend.”

  The weekend. Two whole days more. In an instant, her foolish heart turned from a ball of lead to a moonbeam. “I think I can put up with you….”

  “I was hoping you would say that.” He kissed her.

  She gloried in that kiss.

  And then he eased her over to lie on her back and kissed his way downward, lingering on her breasts, her belly….

  By the time he reached his goal, she was more than ready for him. “So wet,” he said, parting her, kissing her. “You are amazing…”

  She reached out and grabbed the condom from where she’d left it by the lamp. Soon the world flew away. There was only his kiss, his knowing hands, the warmth of his breath against her most secret places.

  Finally, she quivered and cried out.

  And not long after that, she sat up and pushed him down to the pillows. She hitched a leg across him.

  He said her name, his voice like rough velvet.

  She gazed down at him, enjoying the power she had over him, admiring the way he curved up so hard and ready, eager for her, from the nest of dark brown hair at the top of his powerful thighs. “You’re always so happy to see me….”

  “You know I am.” He growled the words. It was a hungry sort of growl.

  She bent over him, stuck out her tongue and tasted him. He moaned. She smiled as she lowered her mouth onto him. He moaned some more.

  She took him right to the edge.

  And then, with a swiftness and dexterity that she never would have dreamed of a week ago, she tore the top off the foil pouch and rolled it expertly down over him. She rose up on her knees and slowly, by careful degrees, lowered her body onto his.

  After that, it was fast and wild and wonderful. They climbed to the peak together and finished almost as one.

  A little later, when he pulled the covers up over them and whispered good-night, she cuddled in close to him and tried not to imagine all the ways she might be able to convince him to stay with her, all the sensual enticements she had at her disposal now, to help hold him to her, to make him realize that being single and unencumbered wouldn’t be all that great, after all.

  Friday, Saturday, Sunday…

  Three more days to be with him. She was going to treasure every minute they had left.

  But the minutes flew by. The hours refused to slow.

  Too soon, it was Sunday.

  They spent the day together, wandering the River Walk, stopping for lunch there and then going back to her condo in the afternoon, making slow, lazy love.

  Later, they got up and she made them dinner. They went back to bed. Their lovemaking was more frantic, then. Three times, he took her to the brink and over.

  Neither of them could get enough of touching each other, of loving each other. Their time, after all, was ending.

  He was driving back home in the morning.

  They were up before dawn. She had school that day. He made her favorite breakfast—French toast with bacon.

  As they were clearing the table, he caught her arm. He gathered her close. He kissed her, a deep kiss. And then he took her face between his cherishing hands. “I’ve been thinking….”

  She tried a laugh. “Uh-oh.”

  “I could come down next weekend. We could be together.”

  Her heart did a forward roll. He didn’t want it to end any more than she did. That meant a lot.

  So very much.

  But she caught his wrists, wrapped her smaller hands around his big ones, pressed them together. “Are you saying that maybe the freedom you’ve been dreaming of isn’t all that important, after all?”

  His gaze slid away. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

  She knew then. He wanted her. But he hadn’t given up his longing to have a life on his own. He still wanted that most of all.

  And she had made him a promise. A good promise. A fair one. He had given her so much, introduced her to a side of herself she’d been longing to meet.

  But the time had come to let him go.

  She went on tiptoe, kissed him. “I think it’s better if we call an end now. That was the agreement and it works best for me.”

  He caught her face in his hands again. “God. I am going to miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you, too. But it’s the best way.”

  He didn’t argue.

  A little while later, he got his things together—his razor, shaving cream and aftershave from her bathroom, a few random items of clothing from the dresser drawer she’d given him to use when he stayed with her, his light jacket from the entry closet.

  He kissed her at the door. A lingering kiss.

  When he lifted his head, she gave him a slow smile. “Goodbye, Rogan. Have an absolutely terrific life.”

  He didn’t say anything. Just pulled open the door and went out.

  She shut it quickly after him.

  She couldn’t bear to watch him go.

  Chapter Nine

  Five months later: October.

  Elena opened the door. The fall evening was cool and pleasant.

  The expression on her brother’s face? Not so much.

  “What now?” she asked, feeling tired and grim and hating that she knew what was coming.

  “I just wanted to see how you were doing, that’s all.”

  Her hand instinctively went to her belly. Protectively, she curved her fingers over the growing roundness there. She said, “Caleb.” Just that, just his name, with a weariness bordering on resignation. And then, softly, “Don’t, okay? Let’s not do this. I love you. You know that. But I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve said all I’m going to say on the subject.”

  “How about a cup of coffee?”

  “You’re not going to get me to say any more.”

  “About what?”

  She blew out a breath. He knew very well what. “Go home
.”

  He didn’t budge. “Just some coffee. Come on.”

  She heaved a sigh. They couldn’t stand out here on her front step forever. It was either let him in or shut the door in his face.

  Reluctantly, she let him in.

  He followed her to the kitchen, where he sat at the counter as she poured water into the coffeemaker, stuck a filter in the basket and spooned in the French roast. She hit the brew button, turned and faced him. “Ready in a few minutes.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  They stared at each other. As a top notch salesman, Caleb knew a hundred ways to dominate an argument. One was to get the other person to be the one to mention a disputed issue first.

  But he was out of luck this time. She knew that trick and she wasn’t going to fall for it.

  Behind her, the brew cycle started with a hiss, followed by a slow trickling sound.

  Finally, Caleb gave in and spoke. “So. You’re feeling good?”

  “Yes, I am. Thanks.”

  “I talked to Rogan today.”

  Apprehension slithered through her. She resisted the desire to fold her arms across her big stomach, a gesture of self-protection that Caleb would instantly recognize. No weakness, she reminded herself. He thinks he knows.

  But he doesn’t know.

  She said lightly, “Oh? How’s he doing?”

  “He asked me how you were.”

  “No kidding? And what did you tell him?”

  Caleb’s pleasant expression had faded. He gave up hiding his real agenda. Now, he seethed where he sat. “Nothing. I said you were fine. I kept my damn word to you, didn’t mention that you just happen to be five months along.”

  “And why would you mention that, Caleb? Since I asked you not to, since I told you to please, please mind your own business.”

  “Why would you care if Rogan Murdoch knows that you’re having a baby?”

  “I told you. I hardly know the guy,” she baldly lied. “And that means it’s none of his business, either. Even less so than it is yours, actually.”

  “Why would you want to keep it a secret from him—unless he’s the father and you’re afraid to tell him?”

  “Secret? It’s not a secret. It’s just not your place to go around telling a bunch of near-strangers that I’m having a baby and you want to know who the dad is.”

  “I wouldn’t call Rogan a near-stranger.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t. You’ve known him for years. I haven’t.”

  “He’s a good man. You have to know that he’ll step up, as soon as he knows what’s going on.”

  Yeah. She knew. And the thought of Rogan’s stepping up, of knowing that he would because that was who he was—that broke her heart.

  “Butt out,” she told Caleb.

  And yes, she did plan to tell Rogan. But not on Caleb’s schedule, thank you very much.

  She would tell Rogan as soon as the baby was born. She felt so terrible about the whole thing. And she considered it the least she could do for her baby’s father, to honor the promise she’d made him, the promise she knew she was eventually going to have to break. The promise to let him go, let him have the freedom he craved.

  Yes, he had a right to know he had a child.

  But Rogan didn’t have a child yet. And there was no reason he had to know about the baby for months. Not until their son was born—and yes, according to the ultrasound she’d had two weeks ago, her baby was a boy.

  Caleb stared at her through narrowed eyes. “I know, Elena. There’s no doubt in my mind. Rogan’s the one.”

  A shiver went through her and her mouth went dry.

  But uh-uh. Caleb didn’t really know, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time. Not for certain. He was only faking her out, trying to get her to bust to the truth.

  He felt guilty. She got that. Because Rogan was his friend. Because if it hadn’t been for him hooking Rogan up with her dad, she never would have met the man.

  “Nice try,” she said, ladling on the sarcasm. “You know nothing of the kind.”

  “I do know,” he insisted. “I know you went out with him at least once. And I saw the way you looked at each other, Easter Sunday, out at the ranch, the way you stuck close together all afternoon, like neither of you could stand being out of the other’s sight. I even saw you holding hands. And I’ve talked to Antonio. He says he never—”

  “You what?”

  Caleb scowled—and his Adam’s apple bounced up and down as he gulped. He knew damn well he’d finally gone too far. “Look. If it was Antonio, I think he would want to know.”

  “That does it.” She slapped a hand down on the counter between them.

  “Elena, come on…”

  “Out.”

  Now he actually looked worried. “Elena, I didn’t get into it with Antonio. Seriously. He said he never did more than kiss you. And I believe that. I—”

  “Out, Caleb. Out of my house. Now.”

  “But if you would only—”

  “Out.” She did fold her hands over her round belly then. She folded them and she pinned him with her most unforgiving, unwavering stare.

  He got up from the stool. “Look, I really—”

  “Out.”

  His big shoulders slumped. “Okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No. You shouldn’t. You had no right to go bothering Tonio. None. And I am furious with you, Caleb. I want you to leave and I want you to leave now.”

  He finally got the message. Carefully pushing the stool under the lip of the counter, he turned for the door.

  She didn’t see him out, didn’t even breathe until she heard the door click shut behind him.

  And then she sagged against the counter, braced her elbows on the cool granite and put her head in her hands. What was she going to do about him? He was obsessed with finding out who her baby’s father was—or rather, with getting her to admit that it was Rogan.

  Maybe she ought to call Irina about him, see if his levelheaded wife could talk a little sense into that thick head of his—not that she cared right then. Right then, she was thinking that she might never speak to him again.

  Behind her, on the sink counter, the coffeemaker beeped.

  She whirled, grabbed the carafe and poured the steaming contents down the drain.

  Two months later: December.

  Caleb stood on her doorstep, arms full of brightly wrapped Christmas presents. “I can’t stand this. I’m sorry. You know I am. And this is stupid. You can’t keep running into me at family get-togethers and pretending I’m not even there.”

  Her heart melted. But she refused to show it. “Hah. Watch me.”

  “Elena, hey. Give it up. I’m your favorite brother, remember? You have to speak to me eventually.”

  Okay, he was right. She couldn’t go on like this. He’d been a complete ass about the whole thing. But she loved him. So much. She missed hanging out with him and Irina. Yes, she still got to visit with Irina at family gatherings. And she got to hold their sweet baby, Hanna, born in August, now and then.

  But it wasn’t the same as having them come to her place. Or going to their house and chowing down on Irina’s amazing cooking.

  And two months was probably long enough to punish him for being beyond pushy and butting into her private business, for going after poor Antonio who didn’t have a thing to do with any of this. Who had a right to live his life with his darling Tappy and not be confronted by some old girlfriend’s overprotective big brother.

  “Elena,” Caleb pleaded. “Come on. Friends?”

  “Will you leave it alone, then? Stay out of it? Please?”

  “I swear. It’s your business. I understand that now.” He looked so contrite.

  She couldn’t stand being mad at him. Not for another second more. “All right. Come on in.”

  His face broke into a wide, relieved smile. “Finally.”

  Inside, he went straight for the living room and the tree in front of the window that faced the s
ide balcony. “Nice tree.” He knelt to put the armful of gifts under it.

  She stood over him, her stomach a lot bigger than it had been when she’d kicked him out two months before, her hands at her lower back, rubbing the achy spot there. “Want some coffee?”

  Still kneeling, he beamed up at her. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  She made him some coffee and turned on the tree lights and they sat in the living room, talking and laughing together, pretty much like old times. He never once mentioned Rogan or the ongoing mystery of who her baby’s father might be.

  She told herself to be grateful for small favors, for brief reprieves.

  Truth was, she might have told him that he was right about Rogan. If she only could have trusted him to keep it to himself.

  A month before, she’d told her sister and her mom and dad that Rogan was the baby’s father. They’d all promised to tell no one. To stay out of it. Even her dad. But then, Javier had learned a lot when he went into counseling for his anger issues. He only insisted that once the baby was born, Rogan would have to know.

  And she had promised him that Rogan would know.

  It wouldn’t be long now. A couple of months and she would be keeping her promise.

  Oh, she dreaded that.

  So she’d decided she was going to stop thinking about it. She would enjoy the holidays, finish getting ready for the baby.

  And she would worry about telling Rogan later. She would try not to even think about it until the time came.

  Two months later, February 10th.

  “Pass those potatoes over here,” Elena demanded.

  Irina handed her the bowl. Elena ladled a giant scoop onto her plate. So what if she didn’t have a prayer of eating more than a few bites now the baby had pushed most of her digestive system up against her breastbone. Irina made the best garlic potatoes in the world.

  Caleb was watching her, looking vaguely perplexed. “How late are you, anyway?”

  “Exactly a week.” She took the bowl of steamed asparagus and carefully transferred a nice, big helping to her plate next to the large mound of potatoes.