Secret Star (13 page)

“Tell me you want me.” He trailed slow, open-mouthed kisses up her torso.

“Yes.” She gripped his hips, urged him. “I want you.”

“Tell me you need me.” His tongue slid over her nipple.

“Yes.” She moaned again when he suckled gently. “I need you.”

Tell me you love me.
But that he demanded only in his mind as he brought his mouth to hers again, sank into that wet, willing promise.

“Now.” He kept his eyes open and on hers.

“Yes.” She rose to meet him. “Now.”

He glided inside her, filling her so slowly, so achingly, that they both trembled. He saw her eyes swim with tears and found the urge for tenderness stronger than any other. He kissed her again, softly, moved inside her one slow beat at a time.

The sweetness of it had a tear spilling over, trailing down her glowing cheek. Her lips trembled, and he felt her muscles contract and clutch him. “Don't close your eyes.” He whispered it, sipped the tear from her cheek. “I want to see your eyes when I take you over.”

She couldn't stop it. The tenderness stripped her. Her vision blurred with tears, and the blue of her eyes deepened to midnight. She said his name, then murmured it again against his lips. And her body quivered as the next long, undulating wave swamped her.

“I can't—”

“Let me have you.” He was falling, falling, falling, and he buried his face in her hair. “Let me have all of you.”

I
n the nursery, Grace was rocking an infant. The baby girl was barely big enough to fill the crook of her arm from elbow to wrist, but the tiny infant watched her steadily with the deeply blue eyes of a newborn.

The hole in her heart had been repaired, and her prognosis was good.

“You're going to be fine, Carrie. Your mama and papa are so worried about you, but you're going to be just fine. She stroked the baby's cheek and thought—hoped—Carrie smiled a little.

Grace was tempted to sing her to sleep, but knew the nursing staff rolled their eyes and snick
ered whenever she tried a lullaby. Still, the babies were rarely critical of her admittedly poor singing voice, so she half sang, half murmured, until Carrie's baby owl's eyes grew heavy.

Even when she slept, Grace continued to rock. It was self-serving now, she knew. Anyone who had ever rocked a baby understood that it soothed the adult, as well as the child. And here, with an infant dozing in her arms, and her own eyes heavy, she could admit her deepest secret.

She pined for children of her own. She longed to carry them inside her, to feel the weight, the movement within, to push them into life with that last sharp pang of childbirth, to hold them to her breast and feel them drink from her.

She wanted to walk the floor with them when they were fretful, to watch them sleep. To raise them and watch them grow, she thought, closing her eyes as she rocked. To care for them, to comfort them in the night, even to watch them take that first wrenching step away from her.

Motherhood was her greatest wish and her most secret desire.

When she first involved herself with the pediatric wing, she'd worried that she was doing so to assuage that gnawing ache inside her. But she knew it wasn't true. The first time she held a sick child in her arms and gave comfort, she'd under
stood that her commitment encompassed so much more.

She had so much to give, such an abundance of love that needed to be offered. And here it could be accepted without question, without judgment. Here, at least, she could do something worthwhile, something that mattered.

“Carrie matters,” she murmured, kissing the top of the sleeping baby's head before she rose to settle her in her crib. “And one day soon you'll go home, strong and healthy. You won't remember that I once rocked you to sleep when your mama couldn't be here. But I will.”

She smiled at the nurse who came in, stepped back. “She seems so much better.”

“She's a tough little fighter. You've got a wonderful touch with the babies, Ms. Fontaine.” The nurse picked up charts, began to make notes.

“I'll try to give you an hour or so in a couple of days. And you'll be able to reach me at home again, if you need to.”

“Oh?” The nurse looked up, peered over the top of wire-framed glasses. The murder at Grace's home, and the ensuing investigation, were hot topics at the hospital. “Are you sure you'll be…comfortable at home?”

“I'm going to make sure I'm comfortable.”
Grace gave Carrie a final look, then stepped out into the hall.

She just had time, she decided, to stop by the pediatric ward and visit the older children. Then she could call Seth's office and see if he was interested in a little dinner for two at her place.

She turned and nearly walked into DeVane.

“Gregor?” She fixed a smile on her face to mask the sudden odd bumping of her heart. “What a surprise. Is someone ill?”

He stared at her, unblinking. “Ill?”

What was wrong with his eyes? she wondered, that they seemed so pale and unfocused. “We are in the hospital,” she said, keeping the smile on her face, and, vaguely concerned, she laid a hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”

He snapped back, appalled. For a moment, his mind seemed to have switched off. He'd only been able to see her, to smell her. “Quite well,” he assured her. “Momentarily distracted. I didn't expect to see you, either.”

Of course, that was a lie, he'd planned the meeting meticulously. He took her hand, bowed over it, kissed her fingers.

“It is, of course, a pleasure to see you anywhere. I've come by here as our mutual friends interested me in the care children receive here. Children and their welfare are a particular interest of mine.”

“Really?” Her smile warmed immediately. “Mine, too. Would you like a quick tour?”

“With you as my guide, how could I not?” He turned, signaled to two men who stood stiffly several paces back. “Bodyguards,” he told Grace, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm and patting it. “Distressingly necessary in today's climate. Tell me, why am I so fortunate as to find you here today?”

As she usually did, she covered the truth and kept her privacy. “The Fontaines donated significantly to this particular wing. I like to stop in from time to time to see what the hospital's doing with it.” She flashed a twinkling look. “And you just never know when you might run into a handsome doctor—or ambassador.”

She strolled along, explaining various sections and wondering how much she might, with a little time and charm, wheedle out of him for the children. “General pediatrics is on the floor above. Since this section houses maternity, they wouldn't want kids zooming down the corridors while mothers are in labor or resting.”

“Yes, children can be quite boisterous.” He detested them. “It's one of my deepest regrets that I have none of my own. But having never found the right woman…” He gestured with his free hand.
“As I grow older, I'm resigned to having no one to carry on my name.”

“Gregor, you're in your prime. A strong, vital man who can have as many children as he likes for years yet.”

“Ah.” He looked into her eyes again. “But there is still the right woman to be found.”

She felt a shiver of discomfort at his pointed statements and intense gaze. “I'm sure you'll find her. We have some preemies here.” She stepped closer to the glass. “So tiny,” she said softly. “So defenseless.”

“It's a pity when they're flawed.”

She frowned at his choice of words. “Some of them need more time under controlled conditions and medical care to fully develop. But I wouldn't call them flawed.”

Another error, he thought with an inner sense of irritation. He could not seem to keep his mind sharp with her scent invading his senses. “Ah, my English is sometimes awkward. You must forgive me.”

She smiled again, wanting to ease his obvious discomfort. “Your English is wonderful.”

“Is it clever enough to convince you share a quiet lunch with me? As friends,” he said, lacing his smile with regret. “With similar interests.”

She glanced, as he did, at the babies. It was
tempting, she admitted. He was a charming man—a wealthy and influential one. She might, with careful campaigning, persuade him to assist her in setting up an international branch of Falling Star, an ambition that had been growing in her lately.

“I would love to, Gregor, but right now I'm simply swamped. I was just on my way home when I ran into you. I have to check on some…repairs.” That seemed the simplest way to explain it. “But I'd love to have a rain check. One I'd hope to cash in very soon. There's something concerning our similar interests, that I'd love to have your advice on, and your input.”

“I would love to be of any service whatsoever.” He kissed her hand again. Tonight, he thought. He would have her tonight, and there would be no more need for this charade.

“That's so kind of you.” Because she felt guilty for her disinterest and coolness in the face of his interest, she kissed his cheek. “I really must run. Do call me about that rain check. Next week, perhaps, for lunch.” With a final, flashing smile, she dashed off.

As he watched her, his fisted fingers dug crescents into his palms. Fighting for control, he nodded to one of the silent men who waited for him. “Follow her only,” he ordered. “And wait for instructions.”

 

Cade didn't think of himself as a whiner—and, considering how well he tolerated his own family, he believed himself one of the most patient, most amiable, of men. But he was certain that if Grace had him shift one more piece of furniture from one end of her enormous living area to the other, he would break down and weep.

“It looks great.”

“Hmm…” She stood, one hand on her hip, the fingers of the other tapping against her lip.

The gleam in her eye was enough to strike terror in Cade's heart and had his already aching muscles crying out in protest. “Really, fabulous. A hundred percent. Get the camera. I see a cover of
House and Garden
here.”

“You're wheedling, Cade,” she said absently. “Maybe the conversation pit did look better facing the other way.” His moan was pitiful, and only made her lips twitch. “Of course, that would mean the coffee table and those two accent pieces would have to shift. And the palm tree—isn't it a beauty?—would have to go there.”

The beauty weighed fifty pounds if it weighed an ounce. Cade abandoned pride and whined. “I still have stitches,” he reminded her.

“Ah, what's a few stitches to a big, strong man like you?” She fluttered at him, patted his cheek and watched his ego war with his sore back. Giv
ing in, she let loose a long, rolling laugh. “Gotcha. It's fine, darling, absolutely fine. You don't have to carry another cushion.”

“You mean it?” His eyes went puppylike with hope. “It's done?”

“Not only is it done, but you're going to sit down, put up your feet, while I go get you an icy beer that I stocked in my fridge just for tall, handsome private investigators.”

“You're a goddess.”

“So I've been told. Make yourself at home. I'll be right back.”

When Grace came back bearing a tray, she saw that Cade had taken her invitation to heart. He sat back on the thick cobalt-blue cushions of her new U-shaped sofa arrangement, his feet propped on the mirror-bright surface of the ebony coffee table, his eyes shut.

“I really did wear you out, didn't I?”

He grunted, opened one eye. Then both popped open in appreciation when she set the loaded tray on the table. “Food,” he said, and sprang for it.

She had to laugh as he dived into her offer of glossy green grapes, Brie and crackers, the heap of caviar on ice with toast points. “It's the least I can do for such an attractive moving man.” Settling beside him, she picked up the glass of wine she'd poured for herself. “I owe you, Cade.”

With his mouth half-full, he scanned the living room, nodded. “Damn straight.”

“I don't just mean the manual labor. You gave me a safe haven when I needed one. And most of all, I owe you for Bailey.”

“You don't owe me for Bailey. I love her.”

“I know. So do I. I've never seen her happier. She was just waiting for you.” Leaning over, Grace kissed his cheek. “I always wanted a brother. Now, with you and Jack, I have two. Instant family. They fit, too, don't they?” she commented. “M.J. and Jack. As if they've always been a team.”

“They keep each other on their toes. It's fun to watch.”

“It is. And speaking of Jack, I thought he was going to give you a hand with our little redecorating project.”

Cade scooped caviar onto a piece of toast. “He had a skip to trace.”

“A what?”

“A bail jumper to bring in. He didn't think it was going to take him long.” Cade swallowed, sighed. “He doesn't know what he's missing.”

“I'll give him the chance to find out.” She smiled. “I still have plans for a couple of the rooms upstairs.”

It gave Cade his opening. “You know, Grace, I
wonder if you're rushing this a little. It's going to take some time to put a house this size back in shape. Bailey and I would like you to stay at our place for a while.”

Their place, Grace mused. Already it was their place. “It's more than livable here, Cade. M.J. and I talked about it,” she continued. “She and Jack are going to her apartment. It's time we all got back to our routines.”

But M.J. wasn't going to be alone, Cade thought, and thoughtfully sipped his beer. “There's still somebody pulling the strings out there. Somebody who wants the Three Stars.”

“I don't have them,” Grace reminded him. “I can't get them. There's no reason to bother with me at this point.”

“I don't know how much reason has to do with it, Grace. I don't like you being here alone.”

“Just like a brother.” Delighted with him, she gave his arm a squeeze. “Listen, Cade, I've got a new alarm system, and I'm considering buying a big, mean, ugly dog.” She started to mention the pistol she had in her nightstand, and the fact that she knew how to use it, but thought that would only worry him more. “I'll be fine.”

“What does Buchanan think?”

“I haven't asked him. He's going to come by later—so I won't really be alone.”

Satisfied with that, Cade handed her a grape. “You've got him worried.”

Her lips curved as she popped the grape into her mouth. “Do I?”

“I don't know him well—I don't think anyone does. He's…I guess
self-contained
would be the word. Doesn't let a lot show on the surface. But when I walked in yesterday, after you'd gone upstairs, he was just standing there, looking up after you.” Now Cade grinned. “There was plenty on the surface then. It was pretty illuminating. Seth Buchanan, human being.” Then he winced, tipped back his beer. “Sorry, I didn't mean to—”

“It's all right. I know exactly what you mean. He's got an almost terrifying self control, and that impenetrable aura of authority.”

“It seems to me that you've managed to dent the armor. In my opinion, that's just what he needed. You're just what he needed.”

“I hope he thinks so. It turns out he's just what I needed. I'm in love with him.” With a half laugh, she shook her head and sipped her wine. “I can't believe I told you that. I rarely tell men my secrets.”