Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [127]
“No way.”
“But I need—”
“You can’t keep coming to me. Every time there’s a problem, you call me. It’s time you stood on your own two feet or leaned on that pretty boy of a boyfriend of yours.”
“Wade?” she said, wrinkling her pert little nose before taking a swallow. “He’s useless.”
“Then find someone else, damn it, Mary Theresa. It’s what you’re good at. You and I—we’re through.”
A bubble of laughter escaped her throat. “Silly boy,” she said, though tears were still drizzling from her eyes, and she stopped her runny nose with the cuff of her robe. Her eyelids lowered to the same seductive half-masts he’d always found so damned alluring. “We’ll never be through. Don’t you know that?”
“What I know is that it’s finally over.” He opened the French door leading to the patio. Cold air, promising winter, raced into the room.
“Don’t think so.” She lifted her glass and drained it of vodka and orange juice. Then slowly, her gaze never leaving his, she started crunching ice between her beautiful teeth.
“As I said, I’m outta here.” He was through the back door and taking in deep gulps of air. Dry leaves scattered and scratched across the bricks, and the lake, with naked branched trees standing guard, was a cold dark mirror.
“Don’t you wanna know why it’s not gonna be over? Why it never can be?” Following him outside, where the evening air was brisk and clear, the first few stars flung high in the purple sky, she hurried to catch up with him. The hem of her bathrobe dragged in the brittle yellowing grass, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“No.”
“Sure you do—”
He made it to the gate and unlatched it. Somewhere in a neighboring house, a door slammed. “Forget it, Mary.”
“Can’t do it and neither should you.”
He didn’t listen, made his way toward the front of the house, but she caught up with him, grabbed hold of his shirt. “I’ve got a secret,” she taunted, her face white in the thin moonlight.
“More than one, I’ll bet.”
“But this one’s a doozy. It’s about you.”
“Not interested.”
“Oh, I think you should be.” Her voice had taken on a singsong quality as he approached the edge of the garage and the front of the house. “You were the one who was so keen on being a daddy way back when.”
“What does that have to do with—” He spun on a heel and took hold of her wrist. His heart slammed in his chest as he began to understand. “What are you saying?” he demanded, his voice low. From the corner of his eye he saw a cat slinking through the shadows.
“Don’t you get it?” She laughed, the tinkling sound of victory. Somehow she thought she’d won.
“Get what?”
“We did have a baby, Thane. A boy.”
“No way. You told me you miscarried.”
“After the first one…I found out just about the time we split the sheets.”
“It’s a lie.” His head hammered.
“If you think so.”
His short supply of patience fled. “I mean it, Mary.”
“Oh, well, you’re not interested.”
He slammed her up against the side of the garage. “Don’t mess with me.”
“I’m not, Thane. It’s true. You’ve got a seventeen-year-old son.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Not drunk enough.”
“I swear if this is another one of your bullshit lies, Mary Theresa, I’ll kill you!” His fingers tightened roughly over her shoulders, and he shoved his face so close to hers he smelled the perfume in her hair, the nearly odorless scent of vodka on her breath.
“You don’t have the guts.” In a heartbeat he realized how easily he could crush her bones or…take her into his arms and make love to her until…Oh, Christ, no! He dropped his hands and stepped backward, nearly tripping on the damned cat. It yowled, then hissed, scrambling under the fence. “Where is he?”
“Don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“Nope. I gave him up.”
“Where?” Thane demanded. “Where were you?”
“Write me a check. Then we’ll talk.”
“You miserable, self-serving bitch!”
“There was a time when you didn’t think so.”
“There was a time when I was trapped,” he’d said, but felt the noose that kept him tied to Marquise tightening. Anger churned through his blood. “But no more. No more!”
“Then rot in hell, Thane Walker.”
I am, he thought, driving away.
Now, as