Her Secret Affair Read online

  “Brodie,” she whispered urgently, lifting her mouth to his.

  He tried to pay close attention to the signals her body sent him while driving himself closer and closer to her heart, but it was difficult. Eventually, however, he realized that the deeper he went, the more she held back, fighting him emotionally. She was running from him again, not physically but emotionally, pulling back in panic as he pushed and shoved and rocked her closer to a place she feared, a place, perhaps, where she had never before been. She began shaking her head, tears leaking from beneath her closed eyelids. In pure desperation, knowing that he dare not let her distance herself from him now, he began to coax her.

  “Chey. Honey, please. Come with me. I need you there, Chey. Please.”

  She let go. He felt it as something that expanded inside his chest, growing lighter and lighter until it exploded in the sound of her cry and a cataclysmic quaking inside her body, and then he was there with her, blind and euphoric and strangely whole. He blinked and unexpectedly found himself in a place where he had never been before either, and with a sense of exhausted wonder, he finally put a name to those confusing feelings of his. Love.

  Chapter Eight

  She couldn’t believe what she’d just done. What a fool she was to have thought, even for a moment, that she could indulge in casual sex with this man. And that was what she’d thought, deep down—that she could yield to the first real attraction she’d truly felt for a man and then just neatly file it away in its own narrow compartment and get on with her life. She’d thought she was being so sensible, taking her time, getting to know him first. She hadn’t realized how devastating making love with him would be. She hadn’t even realized that such depth of feeling, both sensual and emotional, could be evoked!

  Had she understood what making love with Brodie would be like, she could never have convinced herself that it would be safe. The man was not only a client; he was a father, for pity’s sake, and emotionally married to a comatose woman who was ensconced in his very house! Those were reasons not to get involved, and yet she had convinced herself of the opposite. No doubt about it, she had made a terrible mistake. She didn’t realize that she had spoken the thought aloud until Brodie rose up in bed next to her, twisting at the waist as he confronted her.

  “A mistake? This was a mistake?”

  She was shocked and shamed by the pain in his voice. Reaching for the bedsheet, she tucked it around her and pushed up on one elbow. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

  “But you do mean it,” he accused, swinging off the bed.

  Chey sighed, feeling drained and weak, her muscles like jelly. “This was my mistake, not yours. I should never have allowed this to happen.”

  “Don’t try to tell me that you didn’t enjoy making love with me!” he exclaimed, yanking on his pants.

  “It’s not that,” she said weakly. The truth was that she’d enjoyed it too much. “I only meant that it shouldn’t have gotten this far.”

  “It’s really only started! Everything that came before was just spinning wheels! This, Chey, is where we really begin.”

  She sat up, tucking the sheet beneath her arms and folding them atop her knees. “What I’m trying to say is, there can’t be anything more. It’s simply—”

  “Nothing is simple with you!” he interrupted hotly. Chey blanched, stung. “At least with Janey I knew what I was getting!” He jammed his feet into his shoes, muttering, “I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but I know that if you don’t overcome it you’ll spend the rest of your shallow life alone!”

  “My life isn’t shallow!” she refuted, angry now.

  “Oh, yes, it is,” he told her, heading for the door, “and only God knows why I even care! It must be a personal character defect, this getting involved with shallow women!” With that he strode from the room. A moment later, the parlor door slammed, and she was alone, more alone, somehow, than ever before.

  He was not at all certain until she actually walked into the newly refurbished breakfast room that she would even show up again. Relief mingled with dismay as one of his many fears was confirmed in that first glance. It was the old, uptight Chey who was back, not the charmingly shy, seductively soft woman he had gradually coaxed into the light these past weeks. He stood, hoping that she wouldn’t bolt when she saw that he was alone in the room. Instead, she crossed coolly to the buffet and helped herself to a cup of coffee before turning to face him. They both spoke at the same time.

  “I owe you an apology.”

  “I’m sorry for—”

  They both broke off. She smiled wanly. “You go first.”

  “Okay, for starters, I’m sorry I called you shallow.”

  She looked down at the cup in her hand. Then her shoulders squared and she lifted her chin. “Apology accepted.” She took a deep breath and got right down to it. “This is all my fault. I knew right from the beginning that nothing could come of this relationship.”

  “Nothing permanent you mean,” he interrupted, gritting his teeth. “Because what happened last night was definitely something, something amazing.”

  She blushed a painful scarlet. “Be that as it may, it can’t happen again.”

  “Why not?”

  She bit her lip and launched into an obviously rehearsed explanation. “You deserve to know that I broke not one personal taboo by getting involved with you but two. The fact that you’re a client is bad enough, but you’re also…a father.”

  He was truly taken aback. “It’s Seth?”

  “No, not Seth,” she answered quickly, “not Seth personally. It’s any child. Actually, it’s me. I don’t want to be…I’m not cut out to be a mother.”

  For a moment, he could do no more than gape at her. Then suddenly he felt two emotions at once, a crushing sense of disappointment and utter disbelief; disappointment because he was in love with this woman, disbelief because he’d seen her with Seth and knew her to be a natural mother. Good grief, she was the great mother of her whole family. Didn’t she realize that? No, of course, she didn’t. Well, he knew something about parenthood that he hadn’t known before Seth—and he suspected that it was something Chey had yet to learn as well. He tried to choose his words carefully.

  “You know, I didn’t put much premium on being a parent, either, until Seth came along. I mean, my business and one of my greatest pleasures is travel, and kids aren’t exactly conducive to that, at least not the sort of travel in which I specialize. But we work it out. If I don’t fly off as often as I used to, well, somehow it just doesn’t matter.”

  “That’s just it,” she said, gesturing towards him, “that selflessness. Parenthood requires a dedication I’ve never felt for anything but my work.”

  “You’ve misconstrued what I’m trying to say,” he told her a little impatiently.

  “I know what I’m talking about. My father died when I was eight, and even then I marveled at the depth of my mother’s selflessness. She had, has, room in her life for nothing else but her children. I don’t want to be like that.”

  “Well, ten children could be rather consuming,” he pointed out.

  “Ten or one, it makes no difference,” she insisted stubbornly. “I see it every day with my brothers and sisters. A good parent always puts the child first, and I don’t think I can do that. I don’t want to do it.”

  “I didn’t want to do it, either,” he blurted, exasperated, “but when Seth came along, I had no choice in the matter!”

  “But I do have a choice,” she stated firmly, “and I’ve made it. I don’t want children.”

  “So you’re saying you could never love a child?” he asked, truly needing to understand the situation.

  “No, of course not. I love my nieces and nephews, but thankfully, it’s not likely I’ll ever be called on to parent any of them.”

  “But you would if you had to.”

  “It’s not likely I’ll ever have to.”

  “Chey, I’ve seen how you interact with your family. It’s
much the same as a mother with her child. You guide and direct, want what’s best for them, stress the finer elements, praise their success. In essence, you mother them.”

  “Even if that were true,” she retorted doubtfully, “it means my plate is full.”

  “So, you’re saying that you won’t sleep with me again because I might expect you to someday be a stepmother to my son?”

  “It’s not that I think you want to marry me,” she answered smoothly.

  “Why not?”

  She blinked at him. “I… Well, that was the whole point!”

  “The point of what?”

  “Of being with you.”

  He stared at her, slowly tilting his head to one side. “You thought I would never want a permanent relationship?”

  “Yes, of course, but I didn’t realize then that sex isn’t as simple as it seems to be.”

  “I see.” He stroked his chin, fingering the short hairs there and thinking that he might see more than she wanted him to. She was as shaken by what they’d shared as he was. More so, in fact. “All right. If that’s how you really feel.”

  Her relief was palpable. “Thank you. I…perhaps we should just pretend that last night didn’t happen.”

  “Sorry, darling,” he replied honestly, “I’m not that good an actor.”

  She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, and he thought he might like to do that himself sometime. He sucked in a calming breath and determinedly cleared his head.

  “But we do have a job to finish here,” he said, “and it’ll be a lot easier for both of us if we can do it as friends.”

  She heaved a sigh. “Friends. Thank you. That’s more than I dared hope for, frankly.”

  “I always like to give a lady more than she expects,” he said with a smile, knowing perfectly well that she did not expect how much more than friendship he intended to give her.

  “A picnic,” she said stupidly, the evidence laid out before her on the ground in the form of a blue blanket and a basket of food. It was a very intimate setting here at the back corner of the property. Spanish moss hung from the overarching branches of a centuries-old oak, beneath which a number of large terra cotta pots had been arranged, exotic blooms spilling over their rims.

  “I thought this would be better than lunch at the same table as Grandmama and Seth,” Brodie told her, his mouth close enough to her ear to send shivers up her spine. “Besides, it’s too nice a day to be cooped up inside. Sit.”

  She debated for a moment while he went down on one knee to set out and uncover plates of thick quiche and asparagus and pineapple salad. Was this an attempt to be thoughtful or something else? No matter, her options were few in this situation. If she refused to join him, he’d know how much his company unsettled her. Her only recourse seemed to be to stay and soldier through. Shouldn’t be too difficult. They were here to discuss business, after all. She sat. He handed her a plate, linen napkin and flatware, before stretching out on his side next to her.

  She put a fork into Marcel’s shrimp quiche and said crisply, “You have to make a decision today on the chair in the Western American room.”

  “Mmm,” he answered, savoring the bite of quiche in his mouth before answering, “I have made a decision. I’ve decided that you ought to decide.”

  She dropped her fork to her plate. “Then what are we here for?”

  “Lunch. Oh, and hockey.”

  “Hockey?”

  “I love hockey,” he said complacently. “Became addicted to it while I was in Dallas, but no one around here will let me talk about it. I need the ear of a friend too polite to ignore me.”

  A friend. It suddenly didn’t sound so innocuous. “But I don’t know anything about hockey.”

  “Then let me educate you,” he said enthusiastically, waving his fork at her. “Now then, a face-off is…”

  They talked hockey for an hour that seemed like ten minutes. She asked stupid questions, and he replied with the seriousness and solemnity of a college professor. The crazy thing was that she actually learned something, even when the conversation deteriorated into inanities and silliness. Then, without her even knowing how it happened, he had one hand hooked around the back of her neck and was drawing her close for a kiss. Even as she allowed her eyes to drift shut, she knew it shouldn’t be happening. And then it wasn’t. Dropping his hand, he sat back on his heels. “Sorry. Forgot myself for a minute there. You’re just so easy to be with sometimes that it feels natural to…well, never mind.”

  She was reeling, her body purely humming with desire and remembered fulfillment, her mind trying to grasp the fact that he had called the halt, which basically meant that all her best intentions were as substantial as mush. Suddenly a little redheaded blur threw itself at Brodie, who caught it in his arms, fell onto his back and began laughing. “What are you doing here?”

  “I fin’ woo!”

  Brodie pushed him into the air, holding him off at the ends of his long, strong arms. “You sure did find us. Where is Grandmama?”

  “Right here.” Brodie sat up, swinging Seth onto his lap. Viola stood to one side, trying to catch her breath. “He’s just too fast for me. I thought you might watch him for a little while. I feel in some need of a nap.”

  “Of course,” Brodie said. “We’re finished here. Chey will help me get him and the picnic basket back to the house. That is, if she doesn’t mind.”

  Chey looked at Seth. Whenever he was around, she felt this terrible pull as if she were being sucked into a whirlpool from which there was no escape, but she couldn’t refuse to help out. That would be selfish in the extreme, and in truth she welcomed the distraction. “Not at all,” she said smoothly.

  “If you need me,” Viola said with visible relief, “you know where I’ll be.”

  “Have a good rest, Grandmama,” Brodie said as she headed back toward the house. Then he smiled at Chey, set Seth aside and began packing away the debris of their lunch, saying, “This won’t take a moment.”

  “Here, let me help,” she said, gathering up her own things.

  “I hep!” Seth exclaimed, rushing to pick up a fork and stepping on a china plate in the process.

  Brodie quickly rescued the plate and gathered in the fork, saying, “No, thanks. I’m cleaning up after myself. That’s what we’re supposed to do, remember?” Seth nodded, then toddled over and plopped down in Chey’s lap. Brodie sent her an apologetic but beseeching look that she simply could not refuse. She wrapped her arms around Seth and engaged him in conversation, asking what he’d been doing that morning. He gave her a disjointed recital of his morning’s activities while Brodie repacked the basket.

  “Okay, that’s everything.”

  Chey set Seth on his feet and allowed Brodie to give her a hand up. He quickly folded the blanket and tucked it under one arm, hoisting the basket with the other. He reached for Seth’s hand, but the blanket limited his reach and Seth was able to dance out of the way, attaching himself to Chey instead. “I go wif Chey-Chey,” he said petulantly.

  Brodie brought his hand to his hip, preparing to be stern, but Chey simply took the boy’s hand in hers and turned toward the house. It was a minor thing, holding a child’s hand. It was better not to make a big deal of it. That great sucking sound that she heard was all in her mind. Brodie fell in beside them, and before long Seth reached up for his hand, too, and there they walked, Seth between them, one little hand in hers, the other in his father’s, as if they were a family.

  Then Seth picked his feet up off the ground, swinging at the ends of their arms, and cried gleefully, “Wheee!”

  He put his head back, face beaming up at them. Such a simple thing, and yet it brought him such joy. Chey laughed, even as she felt the waters closing over her head. The current was pulling her down, after all, and she could not seem to prevent it no matter how hard she tried.

  “Calling it a day?” Brodie asked, arms folded across his chest as he leaned there in the doorway of the smoking room, which Chey had st
arted to call the study. Chey nodded, keys in hand.

  “It’s time. I’m not getting much done for some reason, anyway.”

  “Hard to concentrate when it’s this hot, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t know why,” she said by way of tacit agreement. “The house is cool.”

  “It’s the heaviness in the air,” he theorized. “Humidity, I guess. Tell you what, let’s go for a swim. The water ought to be about perfect now.”

  It sounded very tempting, but she shook her head. “I don’t have a suit.”

  “Grandmama might have something that will work for you,” he suggested.

  She shook her head again but reluctantly. “Another time.”

  “Aw, come on. Marcel’s made up a big pitcher of lemonade. We’ll take a dip, have a cold drink. By dinner time you’ll be thinking it’s March.”

  She laughed, temptation bursting over her. “I could go get my suit.”

  “I’ll take you,” he said. “We can race across town with the top down. Come on,” he coaxed. “I’ve been a good boy, haven’t I? Where’s the harm?”

  She didn’t really want to refuse, and he had been the very soul of a thoughtful, caring friend. She nodded, and they went out together.

  It was viciously hot out, the sun seeming to boil the humid air around them, but somehow the discomfort floated away on a steamy breeze as they drove through town. He waited in the courtyard next to the car while she ran up and changed into a shiny blue one-piece suit and a yellow cover-up. She hurried back down the stairs with a tube of sun block and a beach towel under one arm, rubber flip-flops on her feet. He grinned appreciatively as she drew near, so she skirted wide around the car and let herself inside.