Nathan's Child (6 page)

“Don't bother.”

He drew a breath, then let it out and sighed. “Look, Carin. I didn't come here tonight to fight with you. And I didn't come to Pelican Cay to make your life miserable. I came because my daughter's here.”

If Carin had ever dared hope he'd come back for
her
, she knew now that she'd hoped in vain. It was only Lacey he'd come for.

She swallowed the hurt, told herself it didn't matter, that she wasn't surprised. Which she wasn't.

“And you're determined to do your duty by her.” Her tone was mocking. She couldn't help it.

“Yes, damn it, I am.”

“Bloody noble of you. And unnecessary. We don't need you.”

“Lacey does. She said so.”

Hell. Oh, hell.

“Well,
I
don't need you. And I don't want you!”

“Don't you?”

His quiet challenge made her glare at him in fury. “What are you saying?”

“That once upon a time, you damned well wanted me!” And he stepped around Zeno, who never even looked up as Nathan hauled her into his arms and kissed her.

It was a kiss to remember—a kiss so like the passionate kisses they'd shared so long ago that it was as if all the years between vanished in an instant. As Nathan's hot mouth pressed hers, persuaded hers, opened hers, Carin's mind fought the surge of desire, the onslaught of memory. But her body did not.

Her body wanted it—wanted him.

For years she'd told herself she had imagined the hunger in the kisses they'd shared. For years she'd almost believed it.

But it wasn't true. She hadn't exaggerated. This kiss was as fierce and possessive and hungry as his long-ago kisses had been. And it touched that same chord deep inside her, and she responded. Desire and need and hunger and passion all resonated, reverberated, began to grow.

Blood pounded through her veins, her heart hammered against the wall of her chest. And against her will, against her better judgment, against everything she had been telling herself for years, she opened to him. Her lips parted, savored, welcomed.

And then, heaven help her, she was kissing him back.

Nathan groaned. “Yesss.” The word hissed between his teeth, and he wrapped his arms around her more tightly and pressed his hard body against hers. And far from frightening her away, the pressure of his arousal incited and encouraged her own. Her own hunger, unsatisfied for so long and now awakened, was ravenous. She deepened the kiss, couldn't stop herself, needed it, needed
him!

And then quite suddenly, Nathan wrenched himself away.

Carin stared at him, stunned, the night breeze cold on her burning flesh.

“There,” he said raggedly, “I'd say that pretty much proves it.” His breathing came quick and harsh. The skin over his cheekbones was flushed and taut.

Dazed, Carin shook her head. “Proves what?” She ached, abandoned and bereft.

“I said you wanted me once, Carin. You still do. We'll start from there.”

 

“So,” the gruff voice on his cell phone said the minute Nathan answered it. “When's the wedding?”

“Dad?”

Douglas Wolfe was the last person Nathan expected to hear when he'd grabbed the phone off the bedside table. And yet, the moment he heard his father's unmistakable baritone, he didn't know why he was surprised.

Just because the old man had never rung him on his cell phone before—and as far as Nathan had known, didn't even have his number—didn't mean that Douglas wouldn't have it and use it when he chose to.

“Of course it's me. Who were you expecting?” Douglas gave a huff of impatient indignation. “So, did you set the date?”

How his father even knew he'd proposed was a mystery to Nathan. But Douglas Wolfe hadn't run an internationally respected company for thirty years by being unaware. He had tentacles everywhere.

“The old man's an octopus,” Dominic had once said, a note of respect and awe in his voice.

Nathan hadn't given a damn then about his father's far-reaching tentacles; they'd had nothing to do with him. Now they did. He raked a hand through his hair, wondering if the old man had the house bugged or if he could just read minds.

If so, he ought to try reading Carin's.

“No,” Nathan said flatly. “We didn't set a date.”

“Why the hell not? You dallied around a whole year just getting down there.”

“I had obligations.”

“You have a daughter!”

“I know that,” Nathan said roughly. “And I didn't want to come and have to leave again right away. I took care of my responsibilities elsewhere, and now I'm here. I spent this evening with my daughter.”

“Ah, you met her? Isn't she a peach?” Douglas's whole tone changed, and Nathan could hear his father's obvious delight. “Pretty as a picture. Reminds me of your mother.”

There was just a hint of wistfulness in his father's tone as the older man recalled Nathan's mother who had been the love of his life. “Beth would have loved her,” Douglas said. “She's smart as a whip, too, that girl. Got a good head on her shoulders. Polite, too. Wrote me a thank-you letter after I, er, stopped to see her in the spring.” He said that rather quickly, as if he wasn't sure he ought to be admitting to having visited his granddaughter.

“She showed me the camera you gave her,” Nathan said so his father would know he was aware of the visit. “Thanks.”

“Made sense to give her one,” Douglas said briskly. “She was interested.”

“She's taken some pretty nice shots.”

“Figured she might. Reckon she comes by it naturally, what with you being a photographer and her mother an artist.” Douglas paused again. “That Carin's got talent.”

“Yes.”

Douglas waited for him to amplify. He didn't.

Finally, impatiently, Douglas demanded, “So when
are
you going to set the date? Dominic will need to know in order to set aside some time, and Rhys will have to apply for leave.”

“Sorry. Can't help you.”

“What's that supposed to mean? By God, boy, she had your child. I don't care if thirteen years has gone by, Lacey is a Wolfe!”

“I know that!”

“Well then, do your duty and ask—”

“I asked.” The words hissed through Nathan's teeth. “She said no.”

The sputterings of disbelief on the other end of the line should have been comforting. Dominic, Nathan was sure, would have been heartened to know the old man was on his side. And even their younger brother, Rhys, wouldn't have seen Douglas's meddling as a liability.

Only Nathan had consistently turned his back on their father's commands. He hadn't finished college. He hadn't gone into the family business. He hadn't shown any interest in any of the girls Douglas had wanted him to date. Instead he'd taken his camera and left. He'd made his own way in the world ever since.

It had been a point of pride to do things his own way.

And in the old days he would have taken Douglas's demand that he marry Carin as reason enough to pack his bags and head for the hills. Even now Nathan found that the instinct ran deep.

But for once, unfortunately, he agreed with his father's assessment of the situation. He was Lacey's father and he wanted to be part of her life. More than a peripheral part.

Easier said than done.

“She said no?” Douglas was still sputtering. “I'll talk to her,” he said.

As if that would help. Nathan was almost tempted to say, Be my guest.

He could just imagine how Carin would react to Douglas's corporate power tactics. She'd run from them once already when she'd jilted Dominic.

There was nothing to stop her running again.

But having seen her today, Nathan didn't think she'd run this time. The Carin Campbell he'd met today wasn't merely older, she was stronger. She wasn't a girl anymore. She was a woman. There was a resilience and a determination in the grown-up Carin that she'd lacked all those years ago. She had no trouble speaking her mind now.

He had no doubt she'd speak it to Douglas if he attempted to interfere, too. And Nathan didn't need any more complications than he already had.

“You stay out of this,” he told his father.

“I'm only trying to help.” Douglas sounded aggrieved.

“Fine. Then don't meddle. Leave us alone.”

“Left you alone for a year.”

Nathan ground his teeth. “And you'll keep on doing it now. Trust me, Dad, you sticking your oar in won't help at all.”

“She likes me. Said so. Said it was good for Lacey to know me. Told me I could come and visit anytime. I could just sort of drop in and—”

“No!” Nathan said sharply. He drew a steadying breath. “No,” he said again, more moderately. “Thank you. I appreciate the support, but I'll handle it.”

Douglas didn't say anything for a long moment. Then he sighed. “I damned well hope so.”

To be honest, Nathan did, too.

W
EDNESDAYS
were Carin's day to paint.

Last month she had promised Stacia, her agent, a dozen more paintings for the show Stacia had got her in New York City right before school started. That meant a lot of hard work.

So every Wednesday Fiona Dunbar did behind-the-counter duty while Carin stayed home and painted.

But that wasn't going to happen today.

Fiona had arrived, of course, bright and early to pick up the cash box and anything else Carin wanted to send to the shop. She was standing in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and talking animatedly about the collection of flotsam and jetsam she was going to use for her next big sculpture, when Carin heard a noise on the porch and turned to see Nathan at the screen door.

This morning he wore a pair of faded denim jeans and a chambray shirt with the tails flapping. His sunglasses were parked on top of his thick, tousled hair, and Carin thought he looked like an ad for Ray
Bans, gorgeous as ever and well rested to boot.

Clearly he hadn't tossed and turned all night. The kiss that had kept her awake for hours obviously hadn't affected him!

But then, it wouldn't, would it? He didn't love her.

Well, damn it, she didn't love him, either, Carin vowed. Not anymore. She steeled herself against reacting to him now.

Fiona had no such compunction. Always a connoisseur of male beauty, Fiona gave Nathan an appreciative once-over and murmured, “Well now, where'd you find him?”

“He's here to pick up Lacey.”

Fiona stared. “
Lacey?
Since when is Lacey going out with gorgeous guys old enough to be her father?”

“He is her father.”

Fiona's jaw dropped. “That's Lacey's
father?
That gorgeous…I didn't know Lacey's father was coming,” she said accusingly.

“Neither did I.” And she wouldn't have announced it in any case. “Lacey will be right back,” she said to Nathan, not bothering to invite him in. “She went to borrow some fishing gear from Thomas.”

“Good.” He didn't wait for an invitation. He stepped into the kitchen and smiled at Fiona, who looked at Carin expectantly.

“Aren't you going to introduce us?”

Carin introduced them. Fiona didn't only admire his looks, she was disgustingly flattering about Nathan's photos and his books and articles and how pleased she was to meet him. And Nathan was his most charming, too, saying he'd noticed Fiona's sculptures in Carin's shop. He'd thought they were eye-catching and appealing—even the weird ones made out of stuff Fiona had found on the beach. They were well on their way to forming a mutual admiration society when Lacey at last appeared.

“Hey, wow! You're early.” She beamed when she saw Nathan already there. “I got some stuff from Thomas.” She waggled the rod, coming dangerously close to decapitating Fiona. “I thought I'd bring my camera, too. So I can take pictures. And maybe afterward you could show me some of yours?”

“Don't pester,” Carin warned Lacey, who seemed about ready to offer yet another suggestion.

“I never pester,” Lacey said indignantly. “All set?”

Nathan nodded. “All set.”

They started out the door.

“Wait.” Carin snagged Lacey's neon-lime-green ball
cap off the hook by the door and thrust it at her daughter. “And don't forget sun screen.”

“I won't.” Lacey rolled her eyes.

“And wear your life jacket. You do have life jackets?”

Nathan nodded.

“And don't stand in the boat and—”

“If you're so worried that we can't manage without you,” Nathan cut in, “why don't you come along, too.”

“No! Thank you. I have work to do.”

“Mom paints on Wednesdays,” Lacey said. “She's got a lot to do 'cause she's having a show.”

Nathan's brows lifted. “A show? Where?”

“In New York City,” Lacey said proudly.

The brows hiked even further. He looked at Carin for more details.

She shrugged. “It's no big deal.”

It was a huge deal, and sometimes she thought she'd made a mistake agreeing to it. A successful one-woman show in New York City would take her to a whole new level. She'd had a couple of shows in Nassau and one in Miami. But Stacia hoped to broaden her market.

But if the critics panned her work or the sales weren't there, Carin knew she would regret it. She had agreed to the show only because the offer had come after Dominic had discovered her whereabouts. There was no longer any point in keeping a low profile. And she'd hoped that the show would result in more money in case she needed to fight Nathan in court.

She didn't imagine she would have to—couldn't believe he would want custody of Lacey—but it would be better to have a nest egg than not.

“Where?” Nathan asked now.

She told him. It was just a small gallery in Soho. But he'd heard of it.

“I'll have to go,” he said. Which would be fine with her because she had no intention of going.

“Dad,” Lacey said impatiently. It amazed Carin how she
could say the word so easily, as if she'd been saying it all her life.

“Coming,” Nathan said just as easily. “You won't mind if I don't bring Lacey back until after dinner, then? Since you're going to be painting all day.”

Hoisted by her own petard. Carin pressed her lips together. “Fine. If that's what you want.”

“It's what we want, right, Lace?” Nathan took the ball cap Lacey held and clapped it on her head. “Come on, kid. We've got dinner to catch.”

Giggling and grinning over her shoulder at her mother, Lacey followed her father out the door.

“Welllllllll,” Fiona said when the door shut after them, “I can certainly see why you went to bed with him!”

Carin flushed. “I was young and foolish and it was a mistake. Except for Lacey.”

“Of course.” Fiona nodded, then slanted Carin a glance. “You had very good taste. He's lovely.”

“It's purely skin deep,” Carin said. Of course that wasn't entirely true, but she was not getting into a discussion about what had attracted her to Nathan in the first place.

“The bones aren't bad, either,” Fiona said with a grin, “speaking as a sculptor, of course. Still got the hots for him?”

“Of course not!”

Fiona's grin turned wicked. “Protesting just a bit too much?”

Carin clamped her mouth shut.

Fiona added a little more coffee to her cup and settled against the kitchen cabinet. “When did he show up?”

“Yesterday.” Pointedly Carin glanced at her watch. “I think you might want to head on over to the store. Turk brought paperweights by yesterday. You can price them and put them out in a display.”

“Okay.” Fiona nodded, sipping her coffee. “How long's he staying?”

Carin sighed. “Who knows? Who cares? Tommy Cash is supposed to be bringing some toys into the shop this morning. You'd better get a move on.”

“You'll feel better if you talk about it.”

“I'll feel better if you go open my shop and I can get to painting!”

Fiona tut-tutted. “So testy this early in the morning.”

“I've got work to do.”

“Fine.” Fiona took one last swallow of coffee and poured the rest down the sink. “If you ever want to talk about it. About
him
—”

“I will certainly let you know,” Carin said. Not. “Now I really have to get to work. I need eight more paintings at least.”

Fiona picked up the box of paperweights and, shaking her head at Carin's one-track mind, pushed her way out the screen door. “Down, Zeno.”

He was waiting on the porch, angling for breakfast. But when Carin shut the screen again, he followed Fiona toward the gate.

“I'll bring you a sandwich for lunch,” Carin called after her. “Ham or grouper?”

“Ham.” Fiona opened the gate. Zeno, spying Carin's neighbor's cat, forgot all about breakfast and shot through the gate after it. The cat took one look, darted under the fence and hid. Zeno barked, paced, prowled, hovered.

Ordinarily Carin found his antics amusing. This morning, feeling hunted herself, her sympathies were all with the cat.

She took a cup of coffee with her and went out back to her tiny studio. She had three paintings in varying stages of progress. She had twenty or thirty sketches that she should be working from.

She started to work on a painting of some children playing on the quay. But the children made her think of Lacey. Lacey made her think of Nathan. Nathan made her remember last night, made her remember the kiss.

She couldn't think—or paint—for remembering that kiss.
She set aside that painting and tried another, this one a landscape of the windward beach. It was a wide-angle painting done from a photo she'd snapped when Hugh had taken her up in his seaplane. But her eye was drawn to the rocky promontory where she and Nathan had once stood together, hands clasped, hearts beating as one.

And that brought her to Nathan again. And the kiss.

So she moved on to a landscape of higgledy-piggledy houses perched on the hillside above the harbor. But somehow even the houses reminded her of days long ago when the two of them had walked side by side through the narrow streets, when they'd shared an ice cream, licking madly before it melted in the Bahamian summer sun.

Everywhere she looked, there was Nathan.

Desperate, she got out her sketchbook and tried to figure out other ideas she wanted to develop. She flipped through the photos she'd taken last week, hoping for renewed inspiration. She had shot several rolls of film and had easily half a dozen island scenes that she could work on—children playing in the street; a cricket game on the “cricket grounds” with Daisy the resident horse-and-lawn-mower watching the game; a bunch of happy diners at the Grouper, sitting under palm trees decorated with tiny, colored fairy lights; a shot of two little boys riding the old cannons that had sat on the point, defending the island, for almost 350 years.

They were nothing fancy—just bread-and-butter shots—but they had always captured her imagination before.

Not now.

Now her mind's eye didn't see cricket players or children in the street or little boys swinging their legs on the cannons. It saw Lacey's grin as she'd followed Nathan out the door. It saw Nathan's broad shoulders and strong back. It saw Nathan's back as it had been thirteen years ago, bare and tanned and smooth—

“Argh!” Carin flung the photos aside and raked both hands through her hair.

My God, it was nearly two o'clock and she had nothing—
nothing!
—to show for her day's work. Fiona had asked when Carin brought her the sandwich and Carin had said, “It's coming.”

But it wasn't coming. All she could see in her mind was Nathan.

Damn it! Even when he wasn't here, he was here!

Well, fine. If she couldn't be creative, she'd go for a walk. She'd do leg work, make some sketches, get raw material. In the wide-open spaces she'd have other things to distract her.

She put on a pair of sandals, grabbed her sketchbook and her sunglasses and set out.

The air was stifling, steamy and hot, like getting slapped in the face with a hot wet towel—minus the towel. There wasn't a tiny bit of moving air anywhere. The flag hung limp. Even the water in the harbor was flat and still.

Carin headed toward the beach on the far side of the island. If a breeze existed, that's where it would be. The tarmac road burned through the thin soles of her sandals as she walked up the hill. She wasn't outside three minutes before the sweat was running down her back and making damp patches on her shirt.

“You crazy, girl? What you doin' out in the noonday sun?” Carin's neighbor, Miss Saffron, who was eighty if she was a day, looked up from her rocking chair on her shady front porch and shook her head as Carin passed.

“Just out for a little inspiration.” She lifted her sketchbook in salute.

Miss Saffron chuckled. “If I be you, crazy girl, I'd be gettin' all the inspiration I need from that man was kissin' you last night.”

Her blush came hotter even than the beating sun. Carin wished the tarmac would open and swallow her up. Instead she listened to Miss Saffron's cackling laughter all the way up the road.

She walked past the cemetery and the library, then turned
up Bonefish Road, which led round past the cricket ground, over the hill and through the trees, eventually turning into a path that led through the mangroves down to the beach.

There she found a breeze at last. Tiny waves broke against the shore. To her right there were signs of civilization—a half dozen strategically placed beach umbrellas sat in front of the newly refurbished and gentrified Sand Dollar Inn, an island institution recently turned yuppie since Lachlan McGillivray, Hugh's brother, had added it to his hotel empire.

Carin turned away from it, started to walk, and found no more focus than she'd found trying to paint. The only thing that would help was exertion—making so many demands on her body that she couldn't think of anything at all.