Single with Children Page 13

  Caroline produced a surprisingly unladylike snort. “Monica Malone has never struck me as a woman who might be willing to settle for a piece of anything.”

  Adam had to concede the point. “True. All right then, so ultimately she’s after the company.”

  “Kate’s company,” Caroline pointed out.

  “You think that’s pertinent?” Adam asked.

  “Somehow I do.”

  Adam thought a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t see the point in speculating about this.”

  “We have to be prepared,” Caroline argued.

  “You have to be prepared,” Adam retorted, then he sighed. “You said it yourself, Caroline, I’m more detached. The truth is, I’ve got more on my mind than Monica Malone and the Fortune companies. I have a family to raise, and I haven’t the slightest idea yet how I’m going to support them.”

  “You know you just have to say the word and the door to the office of your choice will open at Fortune—”

  “And you know I’m not going to do that,” he said, interrupting her. “Look, Sis, thanks for calling. Sorry I couldn’t be more help, but like I said, I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “Poor Adam,” Caroline said lightly. “Don’t worry. You’ll find your place in the world.”

  But would he? Adam wondered. He seemed no closer now than he had the day Diana died. He sat forward in his chair, uncertain why he wanted to get off the phone so badly. It wasn’t as if he had anything truly productive to do. Nevertheless, he couldn’t wait to end the conversation. He tried to sound caring and busy. “Give my best to Nick.”

  “All right, thanks. Say, why don’t you and the kids come over one weekend soon? I haven’t seen my niece and nephews in ages.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll call.”

  “No, you won’t. Maybe I should call and make arrangements with Laura.”

  “No!” Adam rubbed a hand over his face, aware that his outburst had been telling. “Laura’s not the parent here. I am, and I’ll take care of it first chance I get.”

  “Great. I look forward to seeing you soon, then, big brother.”

  “Soon,” Adam promised, and dropped the telephone receiver into its cradle. He reached for the top file folder from a short stack on his desk, flipped open the cover and began to read. After a moment, he realized that he hadn’t absorbed a single word and started over again from the beginning. But it was no use. He tossed the folder back onto the pile and slumped in his chair.

  He was in a lousy mood. Nothing seemed to be going right these days, and he was impatient to settle in to some solid work. Yet he couldn’t seem to concentrate—not that he’d found a damned thing on which he wanted to concentrate. Nothing, but nothing, appealed, and he was sick of the search. Moreover, he was sick of his own company, but he didn’t want to see anyone else, except… He scowled at the very thought of Laura. He would not fall to fantasizing about the nanny, for pity’s sake. It was bad enough that he couldn’t control his dreams, that he woke up night after night hard as stone, thinking of Laura sleeping in her bed just across the hall. Better to think of his children.

  He smiled at that. Who would have thought that he’d so enjoy those three little scamps of his? And they were scamps, no doubt about it. They needed a firm hand, those three, and yet a firm hand was what the previous nannies had tried, and in every case, the children’s behavior had worsened instead of improving. What was it about Laura that reached them? Or was it Laura at all? Might it not be him? He was the one who had changed his behavior, and the children had responded in kind, more or less. Oh, he wasn’t fooling himself. Every one of them would continue to challenge and try him, simply because of the exuberance of their individual natures and the history of his neglect. It was to be expected. He had it coming. But he felt certain that he could deal with it now. Considering that, what was his excuse for keeping Laura on?

  She had lied to him; she was keeping things from him. Despite what she’d said, he knew that she hadn’t renewed her driver’s license, and he knew there had to be a reason for that. She was afraid, afraid of being tracked, of being found—but by whom? The law? He prayed that it wasn’t the law, but how could he know? And, not knowing, how could he go on trusting his children to her? Because he wanted to, because he did trust her, despite everything. Because he wanted her.

  That was the upshot of it all. He wanted Laura Beaumont, with a passion far surpassing anything he had ever felt for anyone else, and that desire was making him crazy. It was destroying his concentration, undermining his search for a business and career, playing havoc with his moods and emotions. Was it also compromising his judgment? Was he making a mistake by keeping her on? He wished to God that he knew.

  Laura glanced across the room and laid aside her book. He was preoccupied, lost in thought, his magazine sagging to his lap. Even as she watched, he closed his eyes and laid back his head. She wondered again what was bothering him, and why he didn’t talk about it. He seemed so tense lately, so worried. Quietly she got up and walked into the kitchen, pulled a snifter down from the cabinet and tipped a measure of brandy into it. She cupped the bowl of the snifter in her hand, as she’d seen Adam do, and carried it back into the den.

  “Here.”

  Adam abruptly sat up straight and opened his eyes, focusing on the brandy snifter.

  “Thought you might like a drink,” she said, offering it to him.

  He glanced up in surprise, then carefully took the snifter from her hand. “Thanks.” He quaffed half the amber liquid in a single gulp while she crossed once more to the sofa and sat down, curling her legs beneath her. Adam gasped and shook his head as the liquor burned.

  Laura folded her hands in her lap. “How was your day?”

  He lifted a cryptic brow. “Pointless.”

  “No luck yet?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, maybe the military is the only thing I’m fit for.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He sipped brandy and thought. “Maybe I need someone to give me orders.”

  She laughed at that, her voice clear and bright. “I’d say that you’re definitely better at giving them than taking them.”

  He smiled. “Maybe so. I’ve had a few superior officers who would testify to that.”

  Laura answered his smile with one of her own. “I think you could do any number of things,” she told him.

  He seemed pleased. “It’s not that I can’t do any of these things,” he admitted. “It’s just that I haven’t found anything that appeals to me. I mean, how excited can you get about replacing brake pads or selling other people’s property?”

  “Well, for the right persons, those are fine things,” Laura ventured, “but maybe you need something with more challenge.”

  “I guess,” he muttered into his drink. Then he settled back, apparently thinking aloud. “I want to be passionate about what I do. I want to look forward to going to work every day. I want…too damned much, evidently.” He sighed and laid his head back once more.

  Laura sat forward, unwilling to let him fall back into the malaise that seemed to afflict him these days. “Maybe you’re going about it the wrong way,” she said thoughtfully. “What sort of things are you interested in? I mean, what are your hobbies?”

  He grimaced. “I don’t have any hobbies.”

  “Well, what are your favorite things?”

  He shook his head, rolling it from side to side against the back of his chair. “I don’t know.”

  For an instant, she was exasperated with him, but then she had a thought. Scooting to the edge of her seat, she said, “You like history. At least you seem to prefer historical subjects on the television and in magazines.”

  He lifted his head, then looked down at the magazine on his lap, flipping it closed. “That’s true, but everyone likes history. It’s fascinating.”

  “But everyone doesn’t,” she argued.

  He frowned. “Well, they ought to. History is…well, it’s us. At least it’
s what makes us what we are.”

  “I agree.”

  He sat forward, warming to the subject. “Maybe all the traveling I’ve done has given me a special perspective on history, though. I mean, this is a young country, socially. Now, you take Europe or the Orient, those societies are thousands and thousands of years old! What’s really fascinating to me, though, is how slow change came until relatively modern times. For instance, people just don’t realize how little the American life-style changed, say, in the century that encompassed the American Revolution and the Civil War. Honestly, just tour Washington’s place, Mount Vernon, then go down and do the antebellum mansions on the River Road, between Baton Rouge and New Orleans. You’ll see that there wasn’t much difference in the quality of the life-style in those two periods.”

  “Fascinating,” Laura murmured, smiling to herself as he launched into another monologue.

  “You can’t begin to understand how society has changed until you realize what it changed from. Now you take, oh, all the emphasis on health issues these days. In the past, nobody really worried about cancer or high blood pressure or any of those diseases we now focus so much preventive care on. For one thing, they had no idea what to do about them. For another, too few people lived long enough to suffer from them. Do you know what the major cause of accidental death for women was until this century?”

  Laura shook her head. She could have guessed childbirth but he didn’t give her a chance.

  “Fire,” he said. “Think about it. Open fire was the only method of cooking until the advent of the cast-iron stove, and that was inefficient at best. Plus, it had to be stoked. Now think about the clothing that women wore until after the turn of the century. You turn too fast in a small, crowded kitchen. Your long, full skirt brushes a live ember or a red-hot stove. Poof! You go up in flames. The danger of fire was why so many kitchens were built separate from the house—and who worked in those kitchens?”

  “Women, naturally,” Laura said.

  “You bet. And when did that begin to change? That began to change with the advent of public utilities.” He set aside his brandy snifter and shifted in his seat to face her. “Now, you take warfare. You have no idea how brutal basic warfare was until the repeating rifle came along. These days…”

  Laura sat back and got comfortable. She loved to see him like this, talking a mile a minute, gesturing broadly, so very animated and involved. If he could see his own face now, she mused, he’d know how passionate he can be about a subject. Irrationally she wondered if he could ever be that passionate about a woman, and then she remembered the feel of his arms, his mouth, his hands.

  Instantly, remembered sensation swept over her, heightening her senses and evoking a sudden sense of loss. Instinct told her that Adam Fortune’s unrestrained touch and focused attention would reduce her to the most elemental level of her existence and simultaneously lift her to the highest plane. She knew that nothing she had ever experienced would compare to what she could have with Adam—or rather, what she might have had, were it not for the mistakes of her past. How could she have thought that she loved Doyal, or that he loved her? And now, because of him, she was no longer free to love any man, and certainly not this one, for there were the children to consider. She could not expose them to danger, which meant that her time here was growing short. Suddenly grief swamped her, tears burning the backs of her eyes.

  “Hey.”

  She didn’t even know that Adam had moved until he took her hand in his. The shock of physical contact brought her thoughts to an abrupt halt, and her eyes once again focused outward. He was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, his elbows on his knees as he leaned toward her.

  “What’s wrong? The history of warfare may not be everyone’s favorite topic of conversation, but I don’t believe I’ve actually reduced anyone to tears with it before.”

  Laura realized her eyes were swimming and hastily dashed away the moisture, forcing a laugh. “I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.”

  He abandoned the avuncular tone. “Tell me what’s wrong, Laura.”

  She shook her head, deciding on half-truths. “Oh, it’s silly. I was just realizing that I probably won’t ever know what career you choose. “I—I won’t know how the children progress or if the family likes your sister’s new husband or how your father fares.” She used her free hand to lift her hair and smooth it back from her face. “I guess I didn’t expect to get so involved.”

  His thumb skimmed her knuckles. “You don’t have to go,” he said softly. “You can stay.”

  Laura gently pulled her hand from his, pretending a need to shift her weight. “I know I could stay at least as long as the children need me,” she said, retreating once more into the lie, “but what about my plans? My dreams?”

  He straightened, his hands smoothing up his thighs. “There ought to be a way to accommodate both your desire to go to college and your wish to stay here.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. Quickly she shook her head. “The children deserve more attention than I could give them while attending college.”

  He leaned forward again suddenly, grasped her upper arms and pulled her to the very edge of the sofa, so that her knees came up against his. “I don’t want you to go. I need you here. Doesn’t that mean—”

  She pressed her trembling fingers to his mouth, stopping the flow of words before they became too much to bear. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Please don’t make it harder than it has to be.”

  He lifted his chin and pushed her hand away, pulling her closer still. “Laura…” It was part plea and part demand.

  She slipped off the edge of the sofa and onto her knees just as his mouth found hers, giving herself up to the moment, knowing that it must be all she would ever have of this man. For that moment, she allowed herself to kneel there on the floor, between his splayed legs, her arms sliding around his waist as he bent her head back with the force of his kiss. He pulled her up and against him, his arms locked at the small of her back, his thighs holding her firm. His tongue pushed into her mouth, testing the edges of her teeth, licking the silky arch, stroking the sensitive walls, coaxing her tongue to dance, filling her, opening her to him. She clutched his shirt in her hands, wanting all the moment could give her, reveling in the knowledge that he was trying to bind her to him, even if it was only with desire.

  When his hand slipped beneath the hem of her sweater at her back and began a slow journey upward and around, she knew where it was headed, and her breast tingled with anticipation long before his fingers plowed beneath the band of her bra and covered her flesh with his, making it crest against his palm. She began to tremble as he kneaded her, his mouth possessing hers, his arm and legs holding her captive to that possession. He couldn’t know how badly she wanted truly to belong, how much she wanted to give herself, to him, only to him. He couldn’t know, and she couldn’t tell him. It was that sad knowledge that brought fresh tears to her eyes when he tugged himself free and gathered the soft curtain of her hair into both his hands, pulling her head back so that he could look down into her face.

  “Tell me you won’t go. Laura, sweetheart, tell me you’ll stay. I’m asking you to stay. For pity’s sake, say you’ll stay!”

  She could only gaze sadly into his eyes and whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  He jerked as if she’d slapped him, and his breathing was suddenly harsh and uneven. He released her abruptly, his hands going to his knees, splayed wide. He turned his face away from her, a muscle working in the hollow of his jaw. Laura bowed her head, her arms falling to her sides as she got a foot beneath her and rose. She swallowed the need to tell him how desperately she wanted to stay, how much she had come to love him and his children, how only her fear for their safety could make her go now. She stepped carefully to the side and moved swiftly toward the door.

  “I trust there will be no accusations about my immoral intentions tomorrow,” he stated bitterly.

  Laura halted where she was and turned
back, her arms wrapping around her middle protectively. “No, no accusations, no pretending I didn’t want you to kiss me, not this time.”

  He was suddenly on his feet, facing her. “Why did you before? Why try to make either of us believe you didn’t want it?”

  Her smile was self-deprecating. “No woman wants to admit she’s a fool, not even to herself.”

  “Why does wanting to be with me make you a fool?” he asked, frustration sharpening his tone. “It’s what I want. You know it’s what I want!”

  Laura shook her head, blinking back tears. “It doesn’t make any difference, Adam. I cannot stay. I have to go. Only a true fool would make the leaving more difficult than it has to be.”

  He pushed a hand over his head, then brought it to his hip, nodding. “I’ll call the agency tomorrow,” he said roughly, his gaze carefully averted.

  Laura lifted her chin, steeling herself. “Fine. Thank you.” With that, she turned and made her escape, forcing her feet to keep a sedate pace, despite the tears rolling down her face.

  “There’s a Miss Wilton here to see you, Adam.”

  Her voice was smooth as silk and utterly devoid of emotion. He felt a flash of irritation, but then he looked up and caught a spasm of pain on her face. She mastered it quickly, lifting her chin. Nevertheless, he felt a surge of hope. He had wondered what her reaction would be when he made the appointment, intentionally arranging this interview where and when Laura was sure to be about. Now he knew. She didn’t want to go. No matter what she said, she didn’t want to go. Why, then, was she doing this? He pushed the question away, rising to meet the small, delicate, almost childlike woman who stood at Laura’s side. He put out a hand, sliding into cordiality. He gauged her age at about thirty, now that he got a closer look.

  “Hello. I’m Adam Fortune. Please have a seat on the couch.”

  The little woman nodded cheerfully and moved quickly to sit. Laura turned to go, but Adam stopped her. “No, Laura, stay. Since it’s your position that Miss Wilton is applying for, she may have a few questions for you.”