The Secret Baby: The Sinful Secrets Series (Book #3) Page 5

  She fought him then, shoving against his chest. “Let me go! You have no right to say those things to me. I didn’t steal from you. I didn’t!”

  “You’re lying.” He caught her wrist in his hands, forcing her arms down to her sides, holding her immobile. “But right now I don’t give a damn.”

  “Damien, don’t,” she begged, knowing what he intended. But her plea fell on deaf ears. Slowly he lowered his head and captured her mouth once more, drinking as though parched. And to her utter shame she didn’t resist. Instead she responded with wild abandon, as though his touch alone gave her the sustenance she needed, gave her life itself.

  The sound of the door being flung open behind them resounded through the room like a gunshot. “Mrs. Caldwell? I—” Janine broke off, her horrified gasp revealing the extent of her shock.

  This time when Sable attempted to jerk free, Damien allowed it. He turned to face the appalled administrative assistant. “Don’t you know how to knock?” he demanded, his fury causing the color to drain from Janine’s face.

  “I’m sorry!” Janine’s pale blue eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “What’s going on here?”

  Sable struggled to catch her breath. “What do you want, Janine?” she asked gently.

  “The letters you asked me to prepare are ready for your signature.” Her gaze shifted from Damien back to Sable. “Mrs. Caldwell, what—”

  “Leave them on your desk and go ahead to lunch. I’ll sign them later.”

  “And knock next time,” Damien practically growled.

  “Yes, sir!” Janine murmured, and scurried from the office.

  The minute the door closed, Sable faced the bank of windows and wrapped her arms about her waist. What a disaster. Janine had been fiercely loyal to Leonard, her devotion bordering on the obsessive. Without question she’d see the embrace as a defection on Sable’s part. Would she understand? It shouldn’t matter, but somehow it did.

  “I didn’t mean for there to be witnesses,” Damien said, his approach unnervingly silent.

  Knowing him, it was as close to an apology as she’d get. Her mouth curved into an ironic smile. “Interesting phrasing,” she murmured, turning to face him. “You don’t say, I didn’t mean for that to happen. No. You say, I didn’t mean for there to be witnesses. Tell me, Damien, does that imply you planned our little embrace from the start?”

  He shrugged, his expression giving no clue to his thoughts. “The kiss was inevitable. You know that as well as I.”

  “Perhaps.” She didn’t bother to argue the point. “But it’s not appropriate at the office.” Reconsidering her comment, she laughed, the sound empty of humor. “Now that I think about it, it’s not appropriate, period.”

  “Isn’t it?” He sounded indifferent, though his gaze told a different story. It swept over her, his dark green eyes smoldering with barely tamped desire. “Your hair’s come undone,” he told her softly. “No, don’t bother fixing it. I like it that way. It goes with the rest of you.”

  Her hands froze halfway to her head. “What does that mean?”

  He smiled in satisfaction. “No lipstick, mouth swollen from my kisses, cheeks still flushed with passion, blouse half-open. You look…” He tilted his head to one side, searching for the perfect word. “Alive, instead of like every other businesswoman in this city.”

  Her hands flew to her buttons. When had that happened? Oh, Lord. Was that how Janine had seen her? Sable swallowed the nervous knot in her throat and lifted her chin. “Then you’ll have to excuse me while I freshen up.”

  Before she could move toward the bathroom, a light tap sounded at the door that separated her office from Patricia’s and he shook his head. “Sorry. You don’t have time. Lunch is ready.” Ignoring her protests, he caught her hand in his and drew her across the room toward the door.

  “But that leads to—”

  “My office.”

  Of course. She didn’t know why she hadn’t realized it sooner. Without a doubt, she could once again thank Patricia for this latest development. When he’d said they’d go to his office, she’d assumed he meant at his Embarcadero headquarters. It had never occurred to her that he meant right next door.

  “We’re eating in here?” she asked, and then caught her breath as she stepped into the room.

  Gone were the hideous animal heads and pelts. Gone was the malodorous clash of perfume and tobacco. Gone was the heavy, pretentious furniture. Even the carpet had been changed from cardinal-red to a misty green. Splashes of taupe and rust and forest-green gave the room color and warmth. Huge ficus trees, palms, and colorful birds-of-paradise plants filled each corner, a sure sign that Lute lurked somewhere in the background.

  “Where is he?” she demanded, forgetting everything but her need to see Lute.

  “Here, Miss Sable.”

  She spun round with a cry of delight. Lute stepped from the balcony bearing an empty tray. Setting it on Damien’s desk, he held his hands out to her. She didn’t hesitate. She flew to his side and threw her arms around his neck, even though she knew such demonstrativeness embarrassed him.

  Tears filled her eyes. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered for his ears alone.

  “And I you,” his gruff voice rumbled in her ear. He pushed her gently away and examined her face with a critical eye. “Shadows,” he murmured with a sad shake of his head. “Still so many shadows.”

  She frowned in bewilderment. “What are you talking about? What shadows?”

  He didn’t answer her question. Instead he stroked his narrow beard and lifted a bushy white eyebrow. “You are hungry, yes? Your lunch is waiting on the balcony.”

  Damien stepped forward. “Thank you, Lute.”

  Lute’s reserve returned, falling about him like a cloak, his manner once more formal and correct. “Will there be anything else?”

  “Perhaps later.”

  Lute picked up the tray and inclined his head. “Very good. Enjoy your lunch.”

  Sable and Damien stepped out onto the balcony. “I’m glad he’s still with you.” She skirted the small linen-covered table set intimately for two and crossed to the stucco half-wall that overlooked California Street.

  Damien lifted an eyebrow. “Where else would he go?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, fingering the colorful impatiens filling the planters topping the wall.

  Far below a trolley bell rang out, attempting to clear a path as it fought its way through the heavy summer foot traffic. “From what little he’s said, I gather he doesn’t have any family. Except you, of course.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “He’s been with you for a long time, hasn’t he?”

  “Since I was nineteen.” He joined her, resting a hip against the wall, his back to the view. Bright sunshine streaked through his hair, glinting in the browns and golds, dancing off the occasional russet strands. “Why the sudden curiosity?”

  “I’ve always been curious about Lute.” She shrugged “But, I never wanted to offend him by asking questions about his past.” She shot Damien a mischievous glance. “So I’ll offend you instead. How did you meet?”

  She didn’t think he’d answer. During the years she’d known him it had been a taboo subject. Almost pensively, he admitted, “Lute saved my life.”

  Sable suppressed a tiny gasp. “Saved your life? How?”

  “In a barroom fight. I suppose you’d say I was wild. Crazy. And very drunk. I started an argument in some dive over in West Oakland. Not a smart move.”

  “You went to a bar in West Oakland?” She couldn’t picture it. He’d never talked much about his background. But she’d always imagined he’d come from a wealthy family. A degree from Stanford didn’t come cheaply. “And they served you liquor when you were only nineteen? That’s illegal.”

  “So is using a fake ID.”

  She tilted her head to one side, a teasing smile playing about her lips. “What were you doing, slumming?”

  It was the wrong question. She realized it the minute she
spoke. His face closed over, sudden irritation slashing deep lines from his cheekbones to the taut corners of his mouth. His eyes narrowed, the green like chips of ice. “What would you know about slumming?” he bit out. “You’ve always had everything handed to you.”

  “That’s not true!” she denied, stunned by the sudden attack. “I’ve worked for what I have.”

  “Is that what marriage to Lenny was? Work?” She flinched from the bitter cynicism in his gaze. He reached out then, snagging the silk lapel of her jacket with his index finger. “Let me guess what sort of work.”

  She jerked free, outrage bringing a hot rush of color to her cheeks. “You know nothing of my life with Leonard. Nothing!”

  “And you know nothing of my background,” he retorted pointedly.

  She caught the implication and frowned in concern, her anger fading as she reconsidered her assumptions. From his reaction to her comment, she must be very wrong about his background. Which suggested he hadn’t been slumming. And if that was the case, then . . . “What in the world were you doing in that bar, Damien?” she asked softly.

  He didn’t avoid the question as she suspected he would. “I suppose I was trying to kill myself,” he answered, and straightened. “You ready to eat?”

  “Eat?” She stared at him, stunned. “No, I’m not ready to eat. What do you mean you were trying to kill yourself? Why? How?”

  He wasn’t going to answer, she could tell. “I think that’s a story for another time,” he said, confirming her suspicion.

  “What about Lute?” she asked, unable to let the subject drop. “Will you tell me that much of the story?”

  She could see the tension tightening the muscles across his shoulders and chest. His hands closed into fists, though his voice remained amazingly dispassionate. “One of my attackers had a tire iron. Lute took the blow meant for me. If it had landed, I’d be dead. Instead Lute had his forearm shattered and his skull cracked open. He spent three months in a coma. When he woke he’d lost his memory.”

  “He didn’t remember the attack?”

  A strange smile played about his mouth. “Oddly enough, that was the one thing he did recall. At least, he remembered me. Except for that brief moment in time, his past is a blank. Who he was, where he’d come from, even his name, had all been wiped clean.”

  “But he has a name,” she protested.

  “Lute was the first word that passed his lips after he woke. We never have found out what it means or its importance, if any. But it stuck.”

  Her brows drew together. “And he’s been with you ever since? You’ve never been able to find out anything more about his past?”

  “He’s happy with the life he has.”

  It didn’t quite answer her question, but she didn’t see any point in pressing. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” she asked.

  “Lute likes his privacy.”

  She gazed at him in bewilderment. “But you’ve told me now. Why, after all these years?”

  He crossed to the table and removed the covers from the platters. “I only tell his story if he wants it told.”

  It took a few seconds for the full significance of that to sink in. Though once it had it left Sable more confused than ever. For some reason, Lute had allowed Damien to reveal his story. But why now, after all this time?

  “Let it go, Sable,” Damien insisted, an impatient edge to his words. “It’s getting late and I still have a lot of work to accomplish this afternoon. Let’s have lunch and get down to business. That’s why we’re here, remember?”

  “I remember,” she retorted, stung. “But it’s not like we’re complete strangers. We have a past—”

  “That’s unfortunate, I agree,” he cut her off with cool precision. “But I have neither the time nor the inclination to dwell on that past. And I wouldn’t think you’d want to, either.”

  Heartless bastard! How could he say that, as though all their memories were painful ones? “You’re right,” she managed to say, holding her head high, “I don’t.”

  Without another word, she took the seat he held for her, determined to keep all further conversation strictly business. Despite the awning that shaded them, the warmth of the midday July sun made it too hot for a jacket and she removed it. Damien followed suit, shedding his own jacket and loosening his tie. Next he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled them up his forearms to expose the Rolex she’d given him for his thirty-fifth birthday.

  She lowered her eyes to hide her reaction, stunned he still wore it. They’d been in Hawaii at the time, celebrating the finalization of the Simpson deal. He’d been astonished when she’d handed him the gift box and she’d found it highly amusing he’d forgotten it was his birthday. What had followed had been one of the most treasured nights of her life. He’d carried her out to the rock pool behind the house they’d rented and made love to her beneath the stars, made love to her as though they were the only two people left on earth and that moment the only moment that mattered.

  She bit down on her lip. Would she ever forget their years together? Would she at least come to view them with dispassion? Somehow she doubted it. No matter how Damien regarded the past, no matter how much he wanted to dismiss its importance, it linked them with bands as unbreakable as time itself.

  “Wine?”

  Her gaze jerked up to meet his. “What?”

  “Here.” He poured her a glass of Chardonnay. “You look like you could use this. Where were you, Sable?”

  “Hawaii,” she admitted, seeing no point in lying. She accepted the glass, her fingers gripping the stem so tightly she feared it would snap off in her hand. “Your watch,” she added as an explanation. “It reminded me of Hawaii.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he limited himself to saying, “Drink the wine.”

  She didn’t normally indulge during the day, but something in his expression demanded compliance and she took a hasty sip. It was delicious, light and tangy with a fruity aftertaste. “Why do you still wear it?” She treaded on dangerous ground, but didn’t care. So much for sticking to business.

  “It works.”

  Well, she’d asked for it. What had she expected? For him to declare his undying devotion? She picked up her silverware and fixed her attention on the plate in front of her, infuriated by the sudden tears that blurred her vision. He must have sensed her loss of control for his wine glass slammed on to the table.

  “Stop it, Sable! Stop the games. I gave you everything. Everything! You chose to betray me. You left my arms and ran straight into Caldwell’s. What I offered wasn’t enough for you, was it? Lenny had more and so you gambled on him. Gambled and lost.”

  “That’s not true.” She looked up, heedless of the tears glittering in her eyes. “I didn’t turn to him until much later. He offered me a job when no one else would. I was desperate. I couldn’t get work. The bills were mounting.”

  “Don’t hand me that. You couldn’t have been all that desperate. I know for a fact you had a ring on your finger within weeks of leaving me.”

  “Six weeks,” she said in a hopeless voice. The day after she’d discovered she was pregnant, to be precise. Leonard had insisted they marry when she’d informed him of her condition and she’d been in such a state of shock, so emotionally distraught, she didn’t have the energy to put up much of an argument. In truth, she just hadn’t cared.

  “You never did go back to work,” he continued. “Not until Lenny was on the verge of bankruptcy and you had no other choice.”

  There was a reason why she’d stopped working. She’d been obviously pregnant by then and, afraid someone would suspect the baby was Damien’s. She’d spent the months after her marriage secluded in Leonard’s house awaiting Kyle’s birth. All the while, she’d missed Damien with an intensity that had wiped every other thought and consideration from her head. Afterward, she’d remained home caring for Kyle because Leonard had preferred it that way, and she hadn’t been in much of a position to argue. In fact, it wasn’t unti
l his business had been in a shambles and he’d fallen too ill to continue on his own that she’d convinced him to let her help.

  “Marrying Leonard was a last resort.” She despised the hint of entreaty that crept into her voice, but she couldn’t seem to help it. “I phoned you countless times, but you wouldn’t take my calls, wouldn’t see me.”

  “What was the point?” he demanded. With a sharp expletive, he thrust back his chair and crossed to the stucco wall. He stood with his back to her, his shoulders stiff and straight beneath his crisp white shirt. “I didn’t trust myself to see you. I was rather…” A harsh laugh broke from him. “I was rather angry at the time.”

  He stared down at the street corner far below, his jaw set in an uncompromising line, but she knew he didn’t see the jugglers and pantomimes performing for the summertime crowds. He’d turned inward where she couldn’t follow, revisiting some long-ago memory. She sensed he fought to keep his control and maintain a safe emotional distance. It was a distance he’d successfully held on to all through the years they were together, a distance that had threatened to destroy their relationship. It very well might have, if Patricia hadn’t succeeded first.

  “You didn’t trust me, Damien. In all the years we were together, you never let me in, never once let down your guard.” She left the table and crossed to his side, daring to rest a hand on his arm. He shoved his fist into his pocket, his biceps bunching beneath her fingers. “If you’d truly loved me, you’d have known I could never have betrayed you. And you would have moved heaven and earth to help prove my innocence.”

  He didn’t look at her as she’d hoped. His face remained a stony mask, revealing none of his thoughts. A sudden breeze whipped his hair from his brow, drawing her attention to his profile, to the arrogant sweep of his cheekbones, and to the full, sensuous mouth and squared, determined chin. A muscle jerked in his jaw.

  “You married Caldwell. That told me everything I needed to know.”