Tattooed Hearts (28 page)

His mouth was on the nape
of her neck when he let out a low groan and slowly slid her body down against
his, inch by inch, allowing
her to feel every inch of
him. Confused as to why they were not heading to his bedroom, she stared at
him.

“Someone is at the door,”
he explained, voice gruff. “Don’t move.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He leaned in for a deep,
lingering kiss, muttered, “Give
me two minutes.”
And disappeared.
Claire flopped on the
couch
.
D
eep in her stomach, her muscles coiled, the tips of her
breasts tightened and between her thighs tingled with need. After counting to
twenty and no sign of Forrest, she headed to the foyer an
d came to a screeching halt. Forrest stood, feet planted
wide in an aggressive stance that screamed pissed off,
his
eyes locked in a stare
showdown with Charles.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously
the head, the heart and the senses.”

Lao Tzu

Claire froze, her stomach
churning over the thick tension bouncing between the two men. She looked at
Forrest’s stiff posture, so brittle as if one snap would shatter him into
thousand pieces. H
is eyebrows knitted, jaw rooted,
seemingly alone with his thoughts while his brain tried to organize the chaos
in his life.

He hadn’t had time to
prepare for his father’s death. His mother’s confession catapulted him from
shock to anger, and it gave him a
convenient venue to
direct his vexation at the injustice of it all.

They lied to him. Both of
them and robbed his father of his place in Forrest’s memory.

“I’ll go upstairs,” she
said, wanting nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and give him sola
ce.

“Stay.” Forrest said, his
eyes never leaving the spot where Charles stood. “Charles is not staying.”

“Actually, I am,” Charles
responded in a surprisingly calm tone. “You’re going to listen.”

No sign of anger from
Charles, but Claire knew him well
enough to know his
mood was just as pissy as his son’s.

“You’re not welcome here.”

Forrest’s voice was stone-
hard
,
it forced Claire to take a step
backward. Her eyes flickered back and forth between the two men, the atmosphere
becoming more and
more tight
.
A feeling of dread crept from her deepest inside.

“Get off your high horse,
son.”

“I’m not your son.”

Charles walked past
Forrest and gave Claire a long, calculating look. “Are you happy with him?”

The question caught her
off guard. Of course she was happ
y. She was finally
reunited with the man who owned her heart. They loved each other. Forrest just
needed to accept that. But in a few days she’d be back in L.A. dealing with a
crazy schedule promoting
Tattooed
Hearts
set to release in the summer. Anxiety,
the sleeping beast, awakened and filled her mind with
uncertainty over their pending separation.

Distance didn’t always
break relationships.
Right?

They’d make it work. More
importantly she’d come back more frequently.

“Yes,” she responded, but
she hesita
ted. Forrest noticed, so did Charles. He
glared at his son with cold, steady eyes.

“All your life, you’ve
only cared about two women,” Charles said, “You’re going to lose them both.”

“I don’t need advice from
you.”

Father scoffed.

Son sneered.

They stood i
n their grandeur, angular jawlines hard as rocks. The
resemblance wasn’t striking, but it was there. Claire’s stomach bubbled with
uneasiness.

“Starting tomorrow you
need to go to Herring Creek on a regular basis to check on your mother,”
Charles said, his
voice filled with the authority he
exuded as soon as he walked in a room. Another trait his son inherited from
him.

“Don’t you do that?”
Forrest asked.

“You are her son!
Her only child.
Stop being a fucking
asshole!” Charles’ booming voice bounced off the
walls and echoed down the hall.

Claire winced. Forrest’s
eyes narrowed at the man in front of him, and she knew from the dark, burning
glare in his graphite depths that he was very, very angry, and ready to take on
his biggest foe. A total shift, because
he used to
love Charles. He still did. Otherwise, the cut wouldn’t run so deep. But she
knew from experience Forrest’s world had no grayscale, only polar extremes.

“Seriously…” Forrest
shoved a hand through his hair. “You’re the last person to call someone
an asshole.”

“I came here to talk to
you. But you have this way of irritating the crap out of me.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“I slept with your mother
once. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I don’t regret it either because I
care about Marjorie.” He pa
used, shoved a hand
through his hair.

Like father like son.

“We created you in the
process,” Charles said in a gentler tone.

“Fate is a bitch.”

Claire stared at the
floor.

“Are you still with her?”
Forrest asked.

“What is it about once
that you don’t
understand?” Charles challenged in
rushed speech, his frustration on full display.

An awful, massive silence
hung in the air. It made Claire’s blood as cold as the wintry air that crept
through the open door. She walked past the two men, still locked in a staring
duel. Other than the rhythmic
thunk-tap
of her boots striking
wood and the
creak of the door closing, there was
absolute stillness.

“When it comes to you and
Jason, at times I feel as if I’m speaking to five-year-olds,” Charles said,
snapping the silence.

“It could be because
you’re such a great role model
,
”
Forrest spat in disgu
st
. “Let’s see, you slept with your
supposedly best friend’s wife and cheated on your wife twice.”

Charles’ jaw clenched.
“Leave Victoria out of this.
In spite of everything, I
loved my wife.”

“You cheated on her with
her best friend,” Forrest
countered
, d
isdain filled his voice. “Did she know?”

The room fell into a
deafening silence.

“She committed suicide
because of you,” Forrest continued, his voice brutal and accusing.
 

Charles clenched and
unclenched his fist.

Claire’s heart froze and
her stomach turn
ed icy. “Forrest, stop!”

“Stay out of this,
Claire.” Forrest took a step forward to Charles. “This is between us, isn’t it
Dad
?” His voice grated on the
Dad
part.

She sucked in a breath and
stepped in between the two men. “No.” Her eyes darted between them
, rage and frustration on full display. The sight made her
heartsick.

“What are you doing?” She
ran a hand over Forrest’s uncompromising jaw. “You’re not a cold, ruthless
person. You’ve never been. Don’t let anger change you into someone you’re not.”

Charl
es let out an impatient snort, drew in a breath and
released it before speaking. “That day your mother came to the house to speak
to Victoria but she wasn’t home. I noticed how upset Marjorie was so we started
talking.” He stared at his son. “That’s when I
learned Luc couldn’t have children.”

“So you stepped in.
Very honorable of you.”

Frustrated, Claire threw
her hands up and stepped back.

“Your father was a brother
to me,” Charles said in a heavy voice, ignoring Forrest’s snarky comment. “I
never meant to
betray him. When I found out your
mother was pregnant of course we told Luc the truth, but he asked that I let
him raise you as his son.” Charles let out a deep breath. “And so I did.”

Luc knew all along Forrest
had not been his son.

The news passed throu
gh her like a hurricane, its scythe blade tearing down
everything in its path including Forrest. She watched the rapid rise and fall
of his chest as he processed the information. His hands clenched and
unclenched.

Charles, with all of his
flaws, had always
shown love to the boys and her. To
step aside and let someone else raise the son he obviously wanted. The thought
made her shudder.

“Not because I didn’t want
you,” Charles said delicately. “I sacrificed what I wanted so I could give my
friend, my brother
, what he wanted most and couldn’t
have.”
His voice thick with
emotion.
“You made him happy. So I gave you up,
but for thirty-one years, every second, I wanted to be a part of your life. I
wanted to be your father.”

* * * *

Charles’ words rained down
on Forrest with the fury of a hail storm. Waves of deep, stabbing agony forced
his abdominal muscles to contract painfully. He deliberately kept his gaze off
Charles, couldn't bear to look his way, because if they made eye contac
t Forrest’s esophagus might close with disgust.
Total disgust.
And denial.

His once-sunny childhood
memories forever tarred, disfigured into something grotesque. His brain, a
violent whirl of stupidity, sought to discover a way to control the
capriciousnes
s of the situation.

Forrest’s immediate
reaction was to flee, and forget the pain that crushed and claimed his body for
its own. He looked at Claire. She heaved a sigh. A frown settled between her
brow, and regret came to him in this quiet moment. He now u
nderstood all the reasons why she ran that night. The
saddest thing about betrayal was that it never came from those perceived as
enemies. And though his brain knew all of this, his subconscious remained
stubborn in its attempt to protect and ensure surviv
al.

“You should leave,” he
said to Charles.

“You don’t need to take
over the farm. Your father…” Charles started and stopped. “Luc,” he corrected,
silently claiming his rightful place. “He had workers. They still come around,
but your mother misses you. Ta
lk to her,” he said
gently, his voice filled with emotion. “And when you’re ready to speak to me,
you know where I live.” He headed to the door and stopped. “I want to build a
relationship with you, but I won’t force it. I understand your anger.” He glance
d over at Claire then back at Forrest. “Take care of her.
She loves you.”

It wasn’t until Charles
closed the door behind himself that Forrest drew in a steadying breath,
then
slowly let the air out of
his lungs. “I’m going to do some work.”

Claire took a f
ew steps forward and closed the space between them. “I love
you,” she whispered and lit a spark in his dark and empty heart.

Her chestnut eyes blazed
down to his mouth, then back up and locked with his. A feeling surged through
him that felt startlingly li
ke relief. And need.

So much
fucking need.

“You should go upstairs
and lock that door,” he said because no way in hell was he going to manhandle
her again.

“Why?” she asked in a way
too sexy voice.

“Because
I’m one pissed-off asshole right now.
And if we d
o anything, it will be pure fucking.” He raked a hand
through his hair. “But I get it. I know how that makes you feel, so—”

She caught his hand. Her
eyes told him she understood and she was here for him, but he refused to take
her pity, or worse, make her
feel she was his
cushion. She was so much more. Standing on her toes, she pressed her lips to
his neck, making him suck in a breath.

“God, Claire.”

“I’m here for you.”