His Heir, Her Honor (11 page)

The evening spent talking with his father and his brothers was such a mixed bag of familiar and torturous. There was a hole in their family that had never been filled.

A void because he'd failed to keep his mother safe.

And while he knew in his head that he'd been one thirteen-year-old against a small band of rebels, that didn't stop him from feeling, knowing, he should have been able to do more. He'd lived with the knowledge for years, but tonight the memories flayed him raw. More than ever he needed the forgetfulness he knew he could find in Lilah's arms.

Rising, she faced him without hesitation. Her hands fell on his shoulders and he gathered the soft cotton of her nightgown set in his fists. When he saw her pupils widen with desire, he swept the fabric up and over her
head. He sent the gown sailing across the room in a white flag of truce, not surrender.

She stood before him, unflinching, proudly naked. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he reached to touch her. Trembled, for God's sake. He was known for his ever-steady control under even the most stressful and lengthy surgeries. But nothing had tapped his composure as deeply as Lilah, her beautiful body and creamy skin on display for him.

Only him.

Possessiveness spread further through him, growing roots until he knew he could never escape the feeling. And right now it became vitally important to make sure she was every bit as consumed by desire as he was.

Cupping her shoulders, he eased her back to the bench, guiding her further still until she reclined with her legs draped over the end. Her eyes flared with understanding a second before he lowered her head. Nudging her knees apart with his shoulders, he stroked up the insides of her thighs, following with slow, deliberate kisses. Her sighs encouraged him.

Aroused him.

Softly,
deliberately,
he nuzzled her through the thin satin barrier of her panties. The scent of her filled him every time he inhaled, which he wanted to do over and over again because nothing, absolutely nothing rivaled her.

He skimmed aside her panties and…yes…tasted her essence, teased her sweet folds. Her back bowed upward as she mumbled sweetly incoherent requests for more. He hooked his arms under her knees and brought her closer, urging her pleasure higher. She gripped his shoulders,
her nails cutting half-moons into his flesh. Each husky gasp came faster until she grasped his hair.

“Now,” she demanded, “I need you inside me.”

No need to tell him twice. “Lucky for us both that's exactly where I want to be.”

Kissing her slickened, swollen sex gently once, he eased her feet to the ground again. He stole a lingering look at her, reveling in her dazed eyes, flushed cheeks and tousled hair streaming an auburn flame over the edge of the bench. She'd never looked more beautiful.

She arched upward and he caught her around the waist, shifting her onto the keyboard in a jangled chord. She yanked at his pants with frantic hands, tearing at his zipper until she freed his throbbing length. Bracing his hand behind her on the piano, he thrust inside. Her moist heat clamped around him in sync with her legs locked around his waist. Her heels dug into his buttocks as he thrust again and again.

Their speeding hearts, breaths and sighs mixed with the Steinway's own tune. He let her transport him from this room, from the island and the memories slamming into him from all directions. With each incredible grip of her silken body, stroke of her hands, he realized he'd approached things all wrong with Lilah. He'd thought by shutting her out he could avoid the past. Instead, with Lilah like this, the hell of it faded to the back of his mind. If he could stay with her, inside her, he could shut the rest out.

She clenched around him as her release built, increased until she flung her head back. Her cry of pleasure echoed into the domed ceiling. Hearing her, watching her—feeling her—unravel in his arms snapped the last thread of restraint in him. He pulsed inside
her, deeply, fully, and somehow nowhere near enough because already he wanted her again.

Holding her as aftershocks snapped through him, he gathered her close and sank to the piano bench with her in his lap. He smoothed her hair and whispered along her brow how much she moved him, other words he couldn't form or remember, except that some poet inside him had come to life with her.

The feel of her against him, perspiration slicking her skin and sealing her to him, felt so damn right. He skimmed his hands down her back and soaked in the leisurely pleasure of her pressed to him, her breasts, her hips… Her stomach curved ever so slightly and he realized…Her pregnancy was beginning to show. Medically, he knew all the stages and changes she would undergo. But for the first time, he allowed himself to think of experiencing that miracle in an up close and personal way.

As a father.

Something shifted inside him and he slid a hand between them, splaying across her stomach, her child. He felt the weight of her gaze on him and looked up. She stared back with an open vulnerability that sucker punched him. In that moment, she was his old friend, his lover now, the soon-to-be mother of his child, and he had to have her.

The warmth in her eyes all but unraveled him. But he couldn't lose focus, not when he needed her in his life for so many reasons.

He would do anything, say anything, pretend to be the man she seemed to want if that's what it took to persuade her to stay.

L
ounging in the overlarge tub in her suite, Lilah leaned back against Carlos's chest. His long legs stretched on either side of hers with rose petals floating in the water, scenting the air. She'd never seen a place with so many fresh flowers around every corner, even vases alongside the LCD screen and sound system currently piping Beethoven into their tiled retreat.

Two brandy snifters filled with milk sat on a silver platter beside the marble tub. He'd insisted that if she couldn't drink alcohol, then he would abstain as well. The silly gesture touched her as fully as his hands.

He'd made such intense love to her in the music room, and again in her bed before they'd migrated to the spacious bath. Her wary heart wondered if maybe, just maybe, she could trust what they shared. Hopefully he'd resolved whatever freaked him out that first night
they'd been together. Without question, Carlos carried heavy baggage from his past. That had to have left some emotional marks.

But as long as they kept open lines of communication, maybe they really had a shot at working this out. Counting on that honesty between them calmed her own fears of ending up like her parents. It had to. Because heaven help her, if Carlos asked her to marry her again, she wouldn't be able to say no.

He swept his foot under the brass faucet, activating the electronic fixture. Warm water flowed into their cooling bath.

What would she have done if he'd proposed right after she told him about the baby? Her hand tightened on his knee. She liked to think she would have told him to take his dutiful proposal and shove it after the way he'd acted. She needed—and deserved—confirmation that he held deep feelings for her, not just because she carried his baby.

Nestled against his chest, she wanted to roll out her thoughts, test their newfound truce, but concerns for his father had to take precedence. No wonder he'd been pouring his heart out through his music.

She stroked up his leg and reached through the rose-covered surface of the water, folding her hand over his cupping the snifter. “The way you played—” her fingers caressed the rougher texture of his “—your hands on the keyboard, it was magical. You're quite accomplished.”

“There wasn't much else for me to do during my teenage years. Between surgeries…” His voice rumbled his chest against her back, his low words mingling with the sound of water shooshing from the faucet. “My
father had the music room built to be airy, open and bright, like being outside.”

“Apparently you spent a lot of time practicing.” Pouring out his pain, his loss, his frustration onto the keyboard? What a heart-wrenching image.

“More than average.” He brought the goblet of milk to her mouth for a sip. “One especially hot July day, my brothers surprised me by showing up with wheelchairs they'd lifted from the island clinic. They nailed a basketball goal right in the middle of one of our father's murals and gave ‘ballroom' a whole new meaning.”

She tried to laugh with him, but her mind hitched on one telling word. “Wheelchairs? You were in a wheelchair?”

With careful deliberation, he swept his foot under the electronic sensor again and shut off the water. “For a while, the doctors weren't sure whether or not I would walk again.”

“How long is awhile?” she pressed gently.

“Three years before I was on my feet again. Seven more years of surgeries after that.” He reached for his milk abruptly and drained the glass.

“Carlos…” she gasped, at a loss, overwhelmed by what he must have gone through. “I had no idea.” She tried to turn, to face him, to comfort him, but he locked her in place with one arm around her.

He set aside his snifter and slid his hand over her stomach. “Let's talk about something else instead. You're learning a lot of my crummy past. How about you share up some things about yourself?”

“Strip for Secrets doesn't work when we're already naked.”

“I have plenty of other enticements to offer.” His
hand dipped below the water, between her legs for a languorous caress.

His obvious attempt to change the subject didn't escape her notice—even though it was growing difficult to think of anything but the talented tease of his fingers.

She angled back to kiss his jaw. “What do you want to know?”

Laughing softly, he moved his hand to her stomach again. “Are you hoping for a boy or girl?”

And, wow, he'd chosen his distracting topic well, because finally they were talking about their child in a way she'd barely dared dream.

“I haven't thought about that one way or the other.” She held his hand over her stomach just as she'd done earlier around the goblet of milk. “The baby already is what he or she is.”

His fingers circled lightly along her skin. “Are you planning to find out during the ultrasound?”

“It doesn't matter to me either way.” She forced herself to relax, to grow comfortable with his hand curving over her stomach as if it belonged there. “Are you hoping for a boy?”

Just yesterday he'd said he wanted the baby to be his. Was he finally settling into the reality of being a father after all? She could see how he would have grown leery of hope after such traumatic teenage years. At the hospital, she'd witnessed more than one patient become cynical to the point of losing reasonable perspective.

If only she'd known more about Carlos's past from the start.

His deep inhale pressed against her back before he
finally answered, “I don't have any preferences other than that the child be healthy.”

“We're in agreement on that.” She swirled her fingers through the water, swirling red petals before her hand fell to rest on top of his again. “Well then, do you have name preferences?”

“The Medinas typically pull from the family tree.”

Everything she'd learned since coming to the island had shed such light, helping her understand this enigmatic man. Did she dare push further? Yet, how could she not when this could be her only window of time? “Your mother's name was Beatriz, right?”

“She didn't care much for her name. She said it sounded too old-fashioned.”

“And what about boy names?”

“My family tree is filled with relatives. We have plenty to choose from.”

We? Her heart raced against her ribs. “We'll have to make a list.”

“What about your family?” He skimmed a kiss across her temple, brushing aside a stray curl that had fallen from the loose bundle on her head. “Any names you wish to use?”

The water went chilly again. “Not really.” She toed the drain to release some water and activated the brass faucet again, grateful for what had to be the world's largest hot water tank. “We aren't estranged or anything. My brothers and I keep in touch, but we're not what I would call close. We exchange emails, speak a couple of times a year. I try to make it for special occasions in my nieces' and nephews' lives. But we're not all taking family vacations together by any stretch.”

“You've done an admirable job in setting up what
works best for everyone,” he said, his tone nonjudgmental, another characteristic she liked about him. “Have you told your family about the baby yet?”

“My parents are away on their fifteenth honeymoon.”

“Fifteenth anniversary? I didn't realize you had a stepparent.”

“No, you heard correctly.” She really didn't want to think about this now, but she'd demanded so much from him tonight. She owed him the same consideration. “They're both my biological parents, and it's their fifteenth honeymoon, not fifteenth anniversary. You've heard of couples rekindling the romance with a second honeymoon? Well, my parents are on their fifteenth reconciliation.”

“Sounds like they've had a rocky go of it,” he offered up another diplomatic answer.

“That's putting things mildly.” She sat upright, hugging her knees, all of a sudden weary of dancing around the truth. “My father cheats. My mother forgives him. They go on an elaborately romantic getaway that puts stars back in my mother's eyes until the next time he strays and the cycle starts all over again.”

His strong arms went around her, muscles twitching with restraint as he held her gently. “They've hurt you.”

“In the past? Yes. Now I'm mostly…numb, I guess you could say.” She rested her cheek against his forearm. “When it comes to the two of them, nothing surprises me anymore.”

“That's why you were so upset when you bumped into Nancy outside my office.”

“And don't forget the airport.”

He turned off the water and pulled her to her feet in a fluid movement. Facing her dripping wet and naked, water pooling around their toes on the warmed tiles, he stared directly into her eyes. “I may have gone out with her but I never slept with her. You kept getting in the way.”

“What do you mean?” She needed to hear him say it, to spell out every single thought as salve for her wounded ego and hope for her wary heart.

Carlos gripped her shoulders in his broad palms. “She's a perfectly nice and attractive woman, but she bored the hell out of me because she wasn't you.”

“You're just saying that to get into my good graces.” Although right now she wasn't sure why he would work so hard for that. They were already sleeping together again. And, sure, she hadn't agreed to his proposals, but they had time now.

“I'm sorry your father has made it difficult for you to trust what I say.” He'd touched too close to the truth, like poking his surgeon finger right into an open wound.

She snatched up a towel from the warming drawer and tucked it tight under her arms. “Don't put this off on him, and don't blame it on some hang-up I may have.” She thrust another towel at him, reminded too vividly of when she'd confronted him in the hospital shower. “You are the one who refused to speak to me after the Christmas party.”

“I did what I thought was best for you.” He knotted the towel over one hip.

“Easier for you, you mean.” How had this conversation gone so wrong so fast? Was she sabotaging herself? Scared to take the happiness just an arm's reach away?

“Then let's make this right.” He clasped her shoulders
again to keep her from racing away from him. “Forget taking any paternity tests. I accept the baby is mine and I want us to be married. Tomorrow. No more waiting. We can have the ceremony performed in my father's hospital room.”

No paternity test?

He believed her.

Finally, she heard the words she'd been hoping for from the beginning. Almost everything. He hadn't said he loved her. But then her father threw the word
love
around like pennies in a fountain. Cheap and easy to come by. Carlos was offering her something far more precious and tangible. He was offering her the truth.

Drawing in a bracing breath, she took the biggest gamble of her life and placed her hand in his. “Call the preacher.” As the words fells from her lips, she tried like hell not to think of the morning after they'd made love for the first time nearly three months ago.

 

Lilah reached for Carlos, called his name softly as she woke…but her hand found nothing but cool cotton sheets and emptiness on his side of the bed. She might have thought the whole crazy night with him after the fundraiser had been a dream. But her body carried reminders of their impetuous lovemaking, from the tender muscles of her legs after their near acrobatics on his office desk to the scent of chlorine in her hair from his hot tub on the deck of his mountainside home.

How appropriate he should live on a cliff, how in keeping with the edginess of the man himself.

She stretched her arms overhead, her eyes adjusting to the dim room lit only with a few pale streaks of morning sun. Not that she could afford to lounge
around. In a Tacoma winter it could be nearly eight in the morning already.

Her toes protesting the chilly hardwood floors, she searched for something more appropriate to wear than a sheet or her evening gown currently crumpled in a corner. She'd kicked the designer dress off and away in her frenzy to be with Carlos again, in his bed, then in the hot tub, before returning to his room, certain she was too exhausted for more. Only to have him prove her wrong.

A smile on her lips, she plucked his tuxedo shirt off the bedside lamp. Apparently she'd thrown his clothes around too. The crisp fabric still carried his scent, stirring her all over again with languid memories of making love until the blend of them together made a sensual perfume.

She found him in his kitchen, another simple room with the bare essentials—stainless steel appliances with black-and-white tiles.

And one hot chef wearing only a low-slung pair of scrubs that showcased his taut butt as perfectly as any tailored tux.

The scent of frying bacon hung in the air as he tended the stove, a second pan in place with batter in a measuring cup.

He pivoted toward her. And with one look at his emotionless eyes, the stark set of his jaw, all the warmth seeped from her. He took in her standing there in his shirt and…nothing. He didn't smile. He didn't reach for her.

Carlos simply turned away. “Do you want breakfast?”

She wanted to tell him to go to hell. Instead she said, “I think it's best if I just go.”

Still, like a fool, she hesitated, giving him a chance to say something softer, nicer. Instead, he just opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk.

Apparently last night had been a dream after all, and it was time for her to wake up….

 

Unable to sleep, Lilah inched from Carlos's bed, the one in his father's mansion. Although the past and present felt strangely merged at the moment with memories of that wretched morning after hammering in her head.