A Family Affair: Winter: Truth in Lies, Book 1 (24 page)

He covered his hand over the watch, felt its smooth surface mold into his palm. “I’ll have to thank her.” It was all he could manage.

She stood and walked to his side of the desk. “She’d like hearing from you.”

He let out a long sigh. “Guess you’re getting ready to head out?”

“My suitcase is already in the car.”

“Does Nate know you’re coming?”

“No, I didn’t know myself until two hours ago.”

“Good. Keep him guessing.” He eased out of his chair and pulled her into his arms. “You take care, girl. And you better damn well not forget where I live.”

“Never.” She hugged him tight, buried her face in his jacket. “Thank you.” He swore she whispered something else. Dad? It sure as hell sounded like it, but he didn’t have the guts to find out.

“You better get going, Chrissie, before I change my mind and try to force you to stay here.”

She kissed his cheek and smiled up at him. “You’re a good man, Uncle Harry.”

“Yeah, good for nothing.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, now go already. Jesus, I really am going to change my mind. I mean it, damn straight I do.”

Her laughter filled the room. When she reached the door, she turned and raised a hand in silent good-bye. Then she was gone.

How could parents raise children and then watch them walk out of their lives? Were they all masochists? Why would they do that to themselves? He knew the answer deep down; he’d felt it when Chrissie told him she loved him. They did it because for all the pain and heartache children brought, they gave back equal amounts of pure, limitless joy.

The phone rang and he thought it might be Greta calling about menu selections for the restaurant. Harry’s Folly. He’d thought of the name himself. He didn’t care what the hell she served as long as it wasn’t that goddamn radicchio. He wondered sometimes if she fabricated reasons to call him. Damn, but the woman didn’t give up. He’d told her they were no good together, that he wasn’t the settling-down type and didn’t she go and invite him to Sunday dinner? And didn’t he go and accept? She was wearing him down, he could feel it, with that little German accent of hers and that damn smile, but truth was, he wasn’t fighting as hard as he used to, maybe he wasn’t fighting much at all anymore.

What the hell. He picked up the phone. “Harry Blacksworth.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Blacksworth, this is Belinda. I’m looking for Ms. Blacksworth.”

“You’re the new girl, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been here six months, sir.”

“Like I said, the new girl.
Ten years will make you the old girl.” He laughed.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but is Ms. Blacksworth available?”

“No, she’s not. She went home.” Home. Hell, yes, there was truth in those words. “What did you need?”

“One of her clients is on the line.” Pause. “
It’s fine, Mr. Blacksworth. I’ll just take a message. I’m so sorry to bother you.”

“Slow down, Belinda, right? Maybe I can help.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Novel idea, I know. Tell you what, why don’t you take a message and tell her client I’ll get back to him in fifteen minutes or so. Then bring me the file and I’ll see what I can do.”

Silence.

“Belinda?”

“Thank you, Mr. Blacksworth, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.” He hung up the receiver and settled back in his chair. The gold pocket watch lay in the middle of his desk, its power diminishing under the memory of the young girl who’d changed all of their lives. Harry reached for the watch, pressed it into his palm, and laughed.

He wouldn’t be expecting her for another sixteen days. Christine fit the key he’d given her last month into the lock and opened the door. Streams of late afternoon sun escaped through the half-drawn blinds, casting shadows in the darkened rooms. She walked quietly toward the bedroom, hoping he’d be asleep so she could enjoy the luxurious thrill of waking him. Just the thought of touching his body again made her breath quicken.

But the bedroom was empty, the bed unmade. She glanced out the back window at the twenty acres of wooded backyard Nate loved. And there he was, dark and glistening, naked to the waist, as he lifted wood into the bed of his truck. Heat pooled low in her belly as she watched him move with the graceful fluidity of a jaguar coupled with the overpowering strength of a mountain lion. She slipped through the double glass door and onto the deck.

He must have heard the sound because he looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun, then slowly stripped off his gloves and moved toward her. Without his beard, he looked more vulnerable yet somehow more untouchable. He stopped a few feet from her, his face dark and unreadable.

“Surprise,” Christine whispered, suddenly unsure of the wisdom of her unplanned visit. Maybe he really did only want to see her four days a month. Maybe he wasn’t ready for a long-term commitment. Maybe—

Nate pulled her against him, ground his mouth over hers in a fierce kiss. When the kiss ended, she looked up at him and said in a breathless whisper, “I thought I’d surprise you.”

Still, he didn’t smile, merely stared at her, his dark eyes burrowing deep into her. “You surprised me all right.” He kissed her again, his tongue searching the depths of her mouth, his hands kneading her buttocks, pressing her against his erection.

“Is that good or bad?”

In answer, he lifted her skirt and eased her panties off. When he straightened, he opened his fist and gazed at the scrap of satin. “Peach,” he murmured.
“My favorite.”

Christine watched him unbuckle his belt and yank down his jeans and boxers. Then he lifted her, wrapped her legs around his waist and entered her in one powerful stroke. The mindless, needful mating began—hard, fierce,
possessive. She rode him in frantic pleasure, soft moans escaping her lips until he threw back his head, groaned, and exploded with her in a burst of white heat.

Seconds later, Nate eased her off him and pulled his boxers and jeans up. “I need to sit down,” he said, falling into a deck chair a few feet away. Christine followed and slipped into the chair beside him.

For several minutes his gaze remained on the woods in front of them. She wanted to reach over and touch him but something in his expression stopped her.

“Nate?”

“I don’t know why you’re here, but I’ll take whatever I can get. Hell, I’ll take one day a month if that’s all you’re offering.” He ran both hands over his face and said, “Guess that makes me nothing but a damn hypocrite.”

“Look at me, Nate.”

He turned to her, torment straining his face.

“I’m here.
Now. I’m not leaving.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lily’s fall opened my eyes. My suitcase is in your bedroom. I’m not going back to Chicago.”

He hesitated, clearly confused. “You want to move in here with me?”

Heat crept up her neck to her cheeks. “I was hoping to,” she said in a small voice.

The muscles in his face relaxed and the smallest smile inched across his face. “A woman usually waits to be asked.”

She trailed her fingers up his thigh and murmured, “I’m waiting.”

“Come closer.” His words poured over her, rich, velvety, sexual.

She inched forward, her fingers settling near his crotch.

“Closer.” He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “This is where you belong. I love you, Christine Blacksworth. I want you by my side, every day, for the rest of our lives.”

“Until death do us part?” She leaned in and kissed him again.

“Damn straight.”

“If that’s a proposal, I accept.”

His smile faded. “I never thought I’d thank God for sending Charles Blacksworth to Magdalena, but you’re here because of it, and for that, I will always be grateful.”

“I love you, Nate.” She looked into his dark eyes, saw the love there. “From this day forward,” she murmured, stroking his jaw, “I’m yours. Three hundred and sixty-five days a year.”

He brushed his mouth over hers and whispered, “And all the nights that go with them.”

Go to 
MaryCampisi.com
 
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A Family Affair: Spring
, Book Two in A Family Affair Series – coming late 2013.

She’ll risk anything to save her child…even the truth.

It’s taken nine years and a cross-country move, but Audra Valentine Wheyton has kept her secrets safe. She’s created the perfect life—a husband who loves her, a daughter she adores, and a position as head writer for an award-winning daytime soap. When her husband dies suddenly, Audra returns to her hometown for the funeral and faces a community that has not forgotten her meager beginnings and a man who has never forgiven her for marrying his brother.

Jack Wheyton is a successful pediatric neurosurgeon who is about to become engaged when Audra walks back into his life with her daughter. He forgave his brother long ago for taking something that had been his, something he hadn’t even realized he wanted until it was gone. But forgiving Audra is another story…and forgetting her? Near impossible.

When a shattering illness strikes Audra’s daughter, she turns to Jack to save her child and risks exposing a secret that will change their lives forever.

“It’s not the end of the world, you know. It’s only eight days.”—Christian Wheyton

They were leaving tomorrow. Scraped away from her like a D&C without anesthetic. Even after all these years, she still dreaded it—the suitcases, tagged and waiting at the front door, the early morning trip to the airport, the luggage checks, the lines of travelers snaking past. Each process pulled Audra Valentine Wheyton’s husband and daughter away, minds and bodies beginning the two-thousand-mile trek before they reached the first escalator. Kara had a new suitcase this time, pink and green canvas with wheels to replace the Cinderella vinyl she’d used the past six trips.

Christian thought Audra should stay home and forego the airport ritual, but she needed to watch her daughter’s blonde head disappear among the mesh of travelers and gain comfort from her husband’s tanned hand raised in one last good-bye. He no longer asked her to go with them, but his pale blue eyes shone with hope each time he packed his suitcase and looked at her with a quiet longing that begged, 
Come with us. Settle the past. Show them it doesn’t matter anymore
.

But it did matter. It would always matter. Christian thought the past would never catch up with her and if it did, no one would recognize it as hers anyway. He discounted the one person who might piece together the truth and recognize her deceit. Nine years and nine states separated them, but she feared
 
him
 most.

“I saw the show today.” The softness in Christian’s voice cocooned her and she snuggled closer. “I like where you’re going with it.”

“You didn’t think it was too revealing?” Writing a story was one thing but watching the scripted words morph onto the screen and slip through someone else’s mouth? Especially words tied to a past only three people in the entire state of California knew about? That was close to torture.

“Give yourself a little credit, Audra.
 
Soap Digest
 wouldn’t call you a masterful storyteller if it weren’t true.”

Of course Christian supported her but what did a man entranced by the Cold War know about hype and wordplay? She sighed and said, “There are no masterful storytellers in daytime drama.”

He was not going to be denied his opinion. “What about 
People’s
 blurb last month? Bland doesn’t make 
People
, unless it’s a new diet or health food craze.”

Her husband, the optimist.
“You don’t think it has to do with the public’s insane quest to unearth the identity of the show’s head writer?”

“Maybe.”
He stroked her back, played with the ends of her shoulder-length hair in that familiar way he did when he was thinking, as though he were turning the pages of a well-worn document.

“It has everything to do with morbid curiosity. Howard’s got the press wrapped up in the mystery and he’s going to play it as long as he can.” By the time her identity squeaked out, and it would eventually, she’d be months, maybe even a year past the current storyline, and it wouldn’t matter. It only mattered now, when the critical aspects of the story might be recognized for what they were—a duplication of her own life. From the moment she walked on the set thirteen months ago, the staff knew her only as Rhetta Hardt, a clever name born of Howard Krozer’s imagination and obsession with all things German. The rest of the staff believed they were protecting “Rhetta’s” identity, forming
a camaraderie of sorts to band against overzealous fans and too-curious reporters, and it was this desire to be part of the informed group that led them to trust blindly.

Many whispered their own suspicions about the dark-haired woman who rarely smiled. One said she’d defected from Germany to flee the stigma of parents convicted of spying. Another maintained Rhetta was in witness protection for turning state’s evidence on a kingpin boyfriend who had been engaged in drug or arms dealing. Only a few believed Howard Krozer’s fabricated story. And once they met Christian, who had been introduced sans last name, he became part of the wondering.
Perhaps a good part of the fantasizing as well. The costume designer with the double knee replacements invited Christian to coffee every time she saw him, even brought raspberry streusel when she knew he’d be on the set. And 38DD Sophia Pregganio pumped extra purr into her love scenes when she spotted him. Even Roland Gergi offered up a wink and a promise to ditch his partner, Julio, if Christian would only look his way. It was all spoken in fun with the half-seriousness of those who aren’t quite joking.

And all the while, Howard smiled and popped handfuls of Chiclets in his mouth, another obsession of the sixty-something soap guru.
 
People don’t care about the truth
, he’d told Audra. 
They only care about supporting what they believe is the truth, which is rarely even close.
 He was right about that. The truth was nowhere close.

“So—” Christian heaved a sigh and pulled her from her thoughts “—are we going to talk about tomorrow?”

And there it was, the segue to tomorrow and the beginning of eight days of longing and loneliness.

“Audra?”

“I’m sorry. Just distracted, I guess.”

Christian kissed the top of her head. “It’s not the end of the world, you know. It’s only eight days.”

His presence calmed her as it had so many times before—during the scandalous death of her mother, the loss of her beloved grandmother, the horrific labor pains and emergency C-section. “I know,” she murmured, relaxing despite the dreaded separation. “This is just not a good time. Kara’s really excited about her gymnastics classes and Peter promised to take her to the set next week and…” Who was she kidding? It would never be a good time.

“I’ll miss you.”

When she didn’t answer, he loosened his hold and tipped her chin up so he could see her face. “Moscow was twenty days.”

“Moscow was work. And besides, it’s a world away from San Diego.”

“So is Holly Springs.”

“Very funny.”
She envied Christian’s light-hearted view of the world. With him there was always a solution, often tinged with a glint of humor that made the worst scenarios seem not so bad, especially when delivered with a wide smile and flash of dimple. “I’m going to miss you and Kara, whether it’s three days away or thirteen.”

“I know.” And then with the tiniest glimmer of hope, he said, “You could go with us.”

“You know I can’t.”

He didn’t respond, just held her while she breathed in his comforting scent. From the moment they’d exchanged vows nine years ago, he’d promised to be there for her and he had, with the exception of the annual research projects that took him to Moscow. But she hadn’t minded any of it, not even the three-week excursion to Altai and Novosibirsk. History professors researched and traveled so when they returned home they could write and lecture with purpose and familiarity. It was the biannual trips to Holly Springs, New
York, that left her queasy and unsettled. Every trip. Every year. Every time.

“How about I fix my favorite girl a piece of cinnamon toast, just the way she likes it?”

A smile slipped grudgingly from Audra’s lips. “Only if it has gobs of butter and your special cinnamon sugar mix.”

“Absolutely.”
He kissed her softly on the mouth. “Then we’ll head to bed. Morning will come soon enough.”