Under the Wire (40 page)

Nervous. She was so nervous around him.

"So, you're into the domestic turmoil look," she said, groping for an outlet for the sudden tension. Tension that revved to a chest-tightening crush when he took a step across the threshold and stopped directly in front of her.

"I'm into the Lily Campora look." His Latin dark eyes roved over her face. His big hand touched her cheek. "I've missed you,
mi amor
."

Now would not be the time to point out that in six long weeks he hadn't called her, hadn't written, hadn't given her any indication that he was even alive, let alone missing her.

Like she'd been missing him.

Now would be the time to confess, instead.

"I... missed you, too."

She waited then. For the touch of those lush, mobile lips. For the end to six weeks of waiting for and hoping for a happily ever after to this story that had spanned so much of her life and that she desperately needed to end in something other than good-bye.

Ever so slowly, he lowered his head to hers. His breath on her face was warm, minty. His liquid black eyes were swimming with everything she'd ever hoped to see ... longing, yearning ... love.

She tipped her face to his, let her eyelids drift closed in anticipation of his kiss.

"We must talk, Lily," he whispered instead, then pressed a kiss to her forehead and backed away.

She felt herself weave a little, opened her eyes, and realized he was heading for the door.

"You're .. . leaving?"

He paused in the open doorway. "You'll want some time," he said. "With Adam. And he needs some time with you."

She just stood there, struggling not to let her disappointment show.

"I'll call you," Manny said with a last lingering look. "Tell Adam good-bye for me. Let him know I'll be in touch, okay?"

She nodded, suddenly as mute as a post.

And then he was gone, closing the door behind him when he left.

"Hey, Mom."

She turned when Adam bounced back into the room, a whirlwind of energy and light.

"It's cool," he said, all smiles. "My room. Thanks."

One look at his happy, healthy, safe-and-sound face and she shook off her confusion over Manny's sudden departure. "Come're, you. I haven't had near enough mush time with you yet."

He rolled his eyes but let her hug him close again and shower him with kisses—at least for a little while.

"All right already," he grumbled, which made her laugh. "You're not going to be so happy about things when you see the bag full of dirty clothes I brought."

Wrong. She'd never grumble about doing his laundry again.

"Where's Dad?"

Dad.

It rolled off Adam's tongue so easily. Yet Lily sensed the wonder and pride that accompanied that small three-letter word.

"He said to tell you good-bye and he'd be in touch."

Adam's face fell. "He left?"

"Baby," she said gently when she read the emotion in those words. Panic. Uncertainty. And she understood. Adam had just found his father. He didn't want to lose him. "He's not leaving you."

Several days later, however, when neither Lily nor Adam had heard a word from Manny, she started to worry. And to wonder if maybe she'd been wrong. If maybe Manny had left them both.

One week later

Manny had trained in black ops. He'd carried out more missions behind enemy lines than he could count. He'd faced men without conscience, men without scruples or honor. Survived firefights, RPGs, and BEDs. Once, in the jungles of Nicaragua, he'd survived in a foxhole for four days, living on grass and monkey meat, tending to a wounded comrade, rather than leave him to die alone.

Manny had faced the fire. Of war. Of hell. With his nerves intact. His courage fortified and strong.

And yet the thought of facing Lily Campora, of the soft dark eyes and valiant heart, made his blood clot with fear.

Battling back the urge to turn around and run, Manny rapped his knuckles on her door, stood back, and waited.

He didn't wait long.

The door swung open and there she was. Elegant. Vibrant. Expectant. Her eyes were wary with it.

"Hi," she said, and offered a tentative smile. "I've been expecting you."

Yeah. That was his insurance that he wouldn't back out. He'd called her earlier today, asked if he could come see her tonight.

To have that talk.

The one he'd been putting off.

The one he'd been certain would reveal him for the man he was, instead of the man she needed him to be.

"You could come in," she suggested with a lift of her brows when he just stood there.

The view was fine where he was. She'd dressed up for him. Taken special care with her makeup and hair. Not that she'd needed to. She could wear a sack and he'd still think she was beautiful.

Tonight she wore black. Like her hair. Like her eyes. Black cut low against her pale ivory skin that he itched to touch. To taste. To claim ... if she'd let him when he was finished saying his peace.

A long silver chain hung around her neck and disappeared between her breasts beneath her dress. His medal. Lying warm where he wanted to lay his head.

Suddenly the prospect of spilling his guts didn't seem nearly as necessary or smart as it had when he'd screwed up the nerve to call her.

"Manny?"

Her dark eyes questioned.

He bit the bullet and walked into her apartment— wishing, suddenly, that Adam were here for a buffer. But Manny had talked to his son earlier today. His son. Manny still felt a swell of pride and amazement every time that truth sank home.

But home was where Adam was not going to be tonight. At least not for several hours. Adam had told Manny on the phone that the team members who had spent the summer in Sri Lanka were getting together tonight at the home of one of the sponsors to share pizza and photos and experiences.

Manny was betting that Adam was going to be the hit of the night.

"Would you like some wine?"

She looked beautiful. Nervous. And he realized he was making her that way.

"Wine would be good. Thanks." He moved on into the living area when she lifted a hand, motioning him to make himself comfortable.

"I'll be right back."

He watched her walk away. Watched the sweet sway of her slim hips in that clingy dress. Watched the supple muscles of her calves beneath the floating hemline.

And felt need burning low and deep in his gut.

He pushed it back. He needed to talk to her. And if he didn't keep his head in the game, they'd end up naked and in bed before he ever had a chance to say his piece.

Not that the prospect of Lily naked and hot beneath him didn't hold an amazing amount of appeal. It did. Lord God, it did. But she needed more from him tonight. And he was determined to give it.

He hadn't gotten more than a glimpse of her apartment when he'd brought Adam home last week. Manny liked it, he decided, as he wandered slowly around the living room. Classy. Sleek. Like the woman.

"Here you go."

He turned and accepted the glass of burgundy wine she held out to him.

"Salut." She lifted her glass.

"Salut." He watched her eyes above the rim of the wineglass as he drank.

And he could see that his silence was undoing her. That was the last thing he wanted.

"Let's sit down."

She nodded, hesitated, then settled into a suede armchair. Cautious. Yeah. He understood.

He sat opposite her on the sofa instead of beside her, so he wouldn't be tempted to touch her. Touching her would lead to loving her, and loving had never been a problem between them.

He cradled his glass between his palms and contemplated where to start.

"Jesus, Manny," she finally said, her voice breathy, her eyes beseeching when he met them. "If you came to say good-bye for good, just get it over with."

Only then did he realize how truly hard his silence was on her. "I didn't come to say good-bye,
querida
,"
he said quickly. "At least I hope not."

"Then what?" Her dark eyes glistened.

He hated that he was responsible for testing her control. But he would hate it more if he made her cry.

"I'm not... not a man who admits his mistakes easily,
mi amor.
But I have many to admit to you."

"Starting with why you didn't call me? Why for six long weeks while I missed my son, worried about his safety ... worried about yours ... you couldn't have once called and talked to me? Why another week passed and not one word from you?"

"Oh God. I can't believe I said that." She gave her head a little shake, looked away.

She had a right to be angry. She had a right to be hurt.

"Yeah. Starting with that."

He stared at his glass, then back to her brimming eyes. "I was being pretty self-indulgent," he admitted. "And I'm sorry if I hurt you. That was a mistake. But it wasn't a mistake to have that time with Adam."

"I don't begrudge you spending time with him."

"I know. I know that. And I needed that time, Lily. Just him. Just me. To learn about him. To realize and appreciate what a wonderful job you've done with him. And to learn about you through him."

"Learn about me?"

"He may not tell you," Manny continued, "he is, after all, cut from the same cloth as his father ... but he loves you, Liliana. He's very proud of you. He told me how you worked and went back to school to get your master's. He told me how your parents could have helped and didn't."

She swallowed hard.

"He knows how much you gave up for him. And now I know how you raised an amazing boy on your own to become an amazing man. A good man with his mother's values."

"I need to thank you," Manny added as her features softened and she finally let out a breath that he suspected she'd been holding since he'd shown up at her door. "For telling him about me. About how much you loved me."

At that, she looked away, then into her wine. Lifted it to her mouth with an unsteady hand.

"And you did love me, didn't you, Lily? No matter that you always denied it when I asked."

"I... I knew I had to leave you," she said, still avoiding his eyes and his question. "I wanted you to move on with your life. To find someone your age. Someone you could build a future with."

He understood that now. Just as he understood so much more.

"You were right about many things back then. But about that, you were wrong. I may have been a boy. But I understood love."

"I'm not so sure you were ever a boy." She looked up from her wine, a world of regret in her eyes.

Soft. Her eyes were so soft.