The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [27]
He caught her easily and pulled her against him hard. One minute she was standing by the cactus garden, the next she was pressed against a burning body, her legs cradled by muscled thighs, her torso clamped by sinewy arms. She opened her mouth to protest, but he merely took advantage and captured her lips.
He was not bashful or calculating. His tongue plunged in deep, hot, knowing, and tasting of tobacco. He filled her, stroked her, grazed her teeth, and challenged her. She squirmed in his arms. The kiss deepened and ripened, never painful, but insistent until she felt something unfurl in her stomach.
She wanted to melt a little. She wanted to dig her fingers into his shoulders and hold on to him.
With a harsh cry she hammered her fists against his chest. He let her go.
“Bastard!”
“Absolutely. And I warned you.”
She wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. She felt raw and exposed all over. She wanted to beat the crap out of him.
He didn’t step back or come closer. He just stood there, challenging her. She couldn’t overpower him. He was stronger—men were always stronger—and she didn’t know how to fight yet. Her eyes began to sting. Dammit, she was going to cry.
“Don’t,” he said.
“Leave me alone.”
“Oh, come on, Angela, you were doing so much better than that. Don’t give up on me now.”
“You arrogant son of a—”
“Much better. It’s the spirit that will keep you alive, Angela. Don’t lose the spirit. Now go to bed.”
“And yourself?” she fired back. “Are you going to stay out here all night, ignoring your own advice?”
“Probably.”
She cocked her head to the side, sizing him up. “I see,” she said casually. “Your sister’s only been here twelve hours and you’re already falling apart.”
“Shut up, Angela.”
“Why? You can mess with my mind but I can’t mess with yours? I might not be very strong and I’m probably a lousy shot, but I can connect the dots. You and your sister have some different opinions on your father. You seem to want to have a relationship with her. She seems to want to burn you at the stake. How am I doing so far?”
“Go to bed,” he warned.
“Not when I’m on such a roll. What did your father do anyway?”
“What didn’t he do? Good night.”
“Did he hit you? I know about that kind of thing.”
“Your father beat you?”
“All the time,” she stated flatly. “I still hate him for it.”
“Huh. Now, see, I think that kind of hatred is healthy. I’m a firm believer in it myself. Marion disagrees. She says our father was merely a little strict.”
“But you don’t agree?”
He grunted. “The colonel thought child rearing was a fucking blood sport.” He walked to the table, lit a new cigarette, and inhaled. His hands trembled slightly.
“Go away, Angela. Surely you got bigger things to worry about than my twisted family.”
She didn’t go away. They had a connection now, and it mattered to her. “And the woman?”
“The woman?”
“The prostitute who had your father’s child.”
“My, my, you really did eavesdrop.”
“Yes,” she said shamelessly.
He continued smoking and she decided he wasn’t going to answer her. Then just as his cigarette burned down to the nub, he said, “My father took a seventeen-year-old prostitute as a mistress. He liked to do that kind of thing. She got pregnant. So the colonel tossed her out. She stood on the doorstep and begged for her clothes. He told the butler to turn the dogs loose. She left.”
“That’s it?”
“Of course not. The girl tried going to Marion next. She didn’t want money for herself, but for the baby.”
“But Marion . . .”
“Turned her away. Marion’s whole life is about selective memory. Daddy is her darling. Whatever he does must be all right or the universe will cease to exist. If Daddy says the girl’s some lying whore he’s never met, then the girl’s some lying whore he’s never met.”
“So she came to you?”
J.T. cocked one brow. “You mean you haven’t figured it out?”
She shook her head.
“The girl’s name was Rachel. Her son, my half brother, was Teddy.”
“Oh,” she breathed, her eyes wide as the pieces clicked.
“That’s right,” J.T. said softly. “I married her. And she was the best thing that ever