A Family Affair: Spring: Truth in Lies, Book 2 (10 page)

“Greta—”

“I know.”  She planted a soft kiss on his belly and stood. “Lie down.”

She didn’t need to repeat that request. Harry flipped back the covers, tossed the extra pillows on the floor, and slipped into bed.
Ready and waiting. Her eyes were on him, over him, stopping here and there, settling on certain areas of interest, sliding to his hip, his chin, his belly, back to that area of interest. “Like what you see?”

“Oh, yes.” The sultriness in her voice told him she did indeed. She reached behind her back, unfastened the pink lace bra
, and let it slip from her shoulders. Her breasts were large and beautiful, her nipples pink and hard. She unzipped her shorts, shimmied out of them, and stood before him half-naked in pink lace panties. “Like what you see?” she asked seconds before she stepped out of the panties.

“Hell
, yeah. Come here.”

She slid onto the bed and leaned over him, her blonde hair brushing against his belly. “I have thought of this many times.” She sighed, stroked his cheek, and murmured against his mouth, “So many times.”

“Not half as many as I have.” He eased her on top of him, settled her so she straddled him. “I’ve wanted this since the moment I saw you.”

“And now you can have me. All of me.” She rubbed her breasts against his chest, moaned as their tongues mated in a deep kiss of passion and need. Her words were as tantalizing and seductive as her body, shivering through him. He wanted her and he had to have her.
Now.

“I need you.” He groaned and jerked against her. “You’re torturing me.”

“Then let me end your torture.” She clasped his face between her hands and slid onto his sex with a deep, lusty sigh.

It was over after that. Harry didn’t remember who came first or how it even happened. There were moans and whimpers, cries of delight and pleas for release. Who rode who
m, how, where—at one point, they were on the lush carpeting—it was a blur, and it was the most incredible sex he’d ever known. Once wasn’t enough, twice would never be enough. After the third time, he pulled her close and for the first time in too many years knew true peace.

Nate sanded the cherry wood, pleased with the initial results. He’d selected this type because of its tight grain and smooth texture. He’d have to be careful with the spindles; he didn’t want any rough spots. It had to be perfect. He’d started the project three weeks ago, borrowing Gino
Servetti’s workshop so Christine wouldn’t know what he was doing. It had been a real challenge to get here after work and on Saturday mornings, and he’d hated like hell lying to Christine, but it was her surprise. If he’d built it in his own workshop, the chances that she’d snoop around or end up finding out by pure coincidence were too risky. Gino hadn’t been his first choice because of his past relationship with Natalie, but he’d been desperate to get this piece done for his wife.

Three more nights, four at best, and he’d be finished. The next challenge was how to give it to her. Should he just put it in the spare bedroom, take her by the hand
, and when she spotted the cradle in the middle of the room say, “What do you think about a baby?” Did that sound ridiculous? Did he care? They hadn’t talked about a baby, but then they hadn’t
not
talked about one either. It didn’t have to be tomorrow or even next month, but Nate would be forty in a few years; they should at least start talking about it.

And he hadn’t missed the way she’d looked at
Bree Kinkaid’s swollen belly when they’d run into her last Saturday. Or the smile she gave Bree’s two-year-old, Lindsey. Christine was thinking about it; he’d bet his wedding ring on it. Nate grabbed his beer, took a long pull, and admitted he was thinking about it, too. He spent the next hour wiping down the wood and putting the first coat of varnish on it. One day, his child would sleep in this cradle. The thought slowed his hand as he pictured Christine’s belly swollen with their baby.

“Nate. What are you doing here?”

He’d recognize Natalie Servetti’s voice anywhere, like sex served up hot and ready. Nate glanced up, spotted the tank top and jean shorts, and shrugged. “Working.”

“I see that.” She moved close to him, too close. Natalie always had a game, but he was no longer interested in playing it. “What is it?”

She wasn’t stupid; she knew it was a cradle. He dipped his brush in mineral spirits. “It’s a cradle.”

“Hmm.”

He worked the brush in the mineral spirits, letting the bristles saturate. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d get the message and leave.
Probably not. That was one thing about Natalie: She really believed no man could resist her. What she didn’t know was they all thought she was an easy target who could be had with a cheap dinner and a six-pack. That used to be Nate’s style, quick and uncomplicated. Until he met Christine and life changed; he’d changed.

“I miss you.” She eased her hand down his back, slid her fingers in the back of his jeans.

“Hey!” Nate jerked away and glared at her. “What the hell are you doing?”

She smiled, her full lips glistening pink. “Playing,” she
said, her voice soft and low. “You used to like it.”

“I’m married.”

She shrugged, fingered the neckline of her tank top. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Don’t. Look, you need to find somebody else.”

“I don’t want anybody else, Nate.” Her dark eyes grew bright as she whispered, “Just you.”

Carmen and Marie
Servetti did their daughter no favors by granting her every whim. They should have taught her the value of
no
just as they’d taught their sons. Nate wrapped the brush in plastic wrap and placed it on the workbench beside him. “I gotta go.” He grabbed the empty beer bottle and said, “If you see Gino, will you tell him I’ll be back tomorrow night?”

“Sure.” She eyed the bottle in his hand. “Can you at least have a drink with me? For old times’ sake?” She didn’t wait for him to respond but turned and made her way to the refrigerator in the corner.

Damn, he was not going to get out of here without having a drink with her, probably some idle chit-chat, too. Oh, hell, he might as well do it and be done. Nate waited while Natalie peered inside the fridge, her shorts riding high and exposing a splash of butt cheek—for his benefit, no doubt. She straightened, pulled out two beers, and waved them at him. “Just a sec.” She turned her back to him, set the bottles on the counter, and fiddled with the opener. “One more sec.”

How long did it take to open a bottle of beer? Nate sighed, regretting his decision to spend one extra second with her. The old Nate would have ignored the puppy-dog sad eyes and high-tailed it out of here, but Christine had softened him up, taught him about compassion for other people, even ones he didn’t particularly like.

“Come and get it.” Natalie burst into his thoughts with a sultry command that did nothing but annoy him. She’d eased onto the old plaid couch that had been in the place for at least fifteen years and had no doubt seen more than its share of X-rated entertainment. Gino had thrown a sheet over it and that’s where his dog, Hound, slept while he worked. Except Hound wasn’t here right now and Natalie was in his spot looking all cozy. Nate moved across the room, snatched the bottle from her, and took a long pull on his beer, calculating the amount  of time it would take to finish it and not appear rude. Six minutes? Seven? No more than eight. That was his limit. Natalie sipped her beer, eyes on him. “Sit down.”

He shook his head. “I’m good.” He was not sitting on that couch with her. Ten grand said if he did, she’d latch onto him and head for his zipper in three seconds. How had he ever thought her desirable? He pictured Christine, warm, welcoming, not filled with subterfuge or scheming. She didn’t need to throw sexual innuendos at him; she was damn sexy all by herself.
Just being her.

“You really don’t want to be with me?”

No, I never wanted to be with you.
“I’m married, Natalie. I love my wife.”

Her dark eyes grew bright, and he knew the second before the tears started that he should have just shut up and finished his beer. “You used me, didn’t you?” She sniffed, swiped a hand across her cheek. “You never cared about me.”

“Natalie—”

“Don’t pretend.” She crossed one long leg over the other. “We were good together. You know we were.”

Those eyes challenged him to deny it. How could he tell her the truth.
You were  about filling a need, like getting a caffeine jolt. You were never long-term.
He took another drink, debated the best way to salvage her self-esteem and escape in the next five minutes. Damn, but he’d been here too long already. He settled on a meaningless response. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?” She bit her lower lip, sniffed again. Was she playing him? Getting him to feel sorry for her? For what?

“It
does
matter, Nate.” The tears started again, slipping down her cheeks onto her chin. “I love you.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that.” He glanced at his watch. Damn, he’d been in this spot almost eleven minutes but he couldn’t leave on a comment like that. He had to set her straight. “Natalie, listen to me.” He gentled his voice. “It’s never going to happen between us, okay? Whatever we shared is done.
Gone.”

“Is it because she’s rich? Is that why you picked her?”

The tears kept coming, but her tone had switched. Anger? Jealousy? Hell, he was no good at this crap. “I picked Christine because I love her. That’s it.” And then, because he was tired and wanted to get the hell out of here and home to his wife, he said, “I don’t love you, Natalie. I never did.”

She buried her face in her hands, let out more sobs and maybe a wail or two, her shoulders shaking. “Come on, don’t do that. There are a lot of nice guys out there. You’ll find one.”
If you stop sleeping with them the second they look at you
.
More sobs, more shoulder shaking. Damn. He glanced at his watch again: another eight minutes wasted. “Hey.” He moved to pat her shoulder, stumbled toward the couch.

“Nate?” Natalie’s voice echoed in his head as though she were in a tunnel and not a foot away. He tried to take another step but grew dizzy. “Let me help you.” She slid the beer from his hand and guided him to the couch. “There. Just relax.” Her face was fuzzy, her words
, too. He rubbed his eyes, refocused. More fuzziness.

“I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Nate.” The tears were gone, the sadness, too. “Nothing at all.”

Hours or maybe minutes later, Nate woke up with a kink in his neck and a sore back. His head wasn’t in great shape either. What the hell had happened? He worked his eyes open, fought a wave of dizziness when he tried to straighten
, and fell back onto the grimy couch cushion. The last thing he remembered was Natalie’s voice, telling him something. What was it? He ran a hand over his face, tried to piece it together. He’d been working on the cradle when she showed up and started with her song and dance about missing him and loving him more than her own breath. That part, he’d be happy not to remember. She’d insisted he have a beer and because she was not going to leave him alone until he did, Nate agreed. The crying jag started again and when he moved to pat her shoulder, he stumbled. Did he land on the couch? Had she helped him? What the hell had happened? He glanced at his watch: 1:30 a.m. He had to get home. Christine knew he was working late, but not
this
late.

He should tell her what happened
. Anytime a person was involved with an ex-lover and blocks of time he couldn’t remember was not a good thing. Nate dragged his gaze to the cradle resting on the workbench. He blinked until it came into focus. One day it would hold their baby. In four days when the last coat of varnish had dried, he’d take it home and confess everything: the real reason for the late nights, Natalie Servetti’s visit, the blackout. He would tell Christine because he couldn’t
not
tell her. All he needed was a few more days and then he’d make everything right. Nate stood and took a step toward the door. The room spun and he stumbled, his stomach bouncing and threatening to erupt. When the extra saliva pooled in his mouth, he knew he was going to puke. He made it to the 2x2 box Gino called a bathroom, knelt down, and puked into the rust-rimmed commode until there was nothing left but dry heaves. When he could move, he crawled out of the bathroom and leaned against the wall. The truth hit him as he sat there, sweating, cotton-mouthed, and groggy.
Natalie had drugged him.

***

Christine spent the rest of the day caught between visions of Nate in bed with her this morning and picturing how he would react when she told him they were going to have a baby. She’d driven to the next town to purchase a pregnancy test lest the store clerk at Sal’s spill the news. Had Christine imagined it, or had Nate pressed a possessive hand on her belly the last few times they’d made love? Had the action been intentional, maybe a subconscious desire for a child? In the last few months, he’d begun sliding a smile her way whenever Miriam began dropping not-so-subtle hints about expanding the Desantro family. Even Lily had started asking when she was going to get a niece; apparently that was her preference. Once Christine told Nate about the baby, they could tell Miriam together. Lily might have to wait until after the first doctor appointment, since telling her was like publishing it in the
Magdalena Press
, and naturally, Uncle Harry would want to know, not the details of course, just the outcome.

She would not tell her mother, and whether that was cruel or childish was not the point. Gloria
Blacksworth was not a part of her life anymore. Maybe if she had stopped playing the victim in life and had taken responsibility for the disasters she’d created, she would have been more human, thus, more forgivable. This baby would be brought up in a home filled with love and commitment. And respect.

The afternoon sped by with two loan applications and a budget. The budget happened to be Mimi Pendergrass’s niece, and while she was a nice girl with a “can-do” attitude and a teaching degree, she’d spent the first two years of college sucked in by credit card debt. Christine explained the need to consolidate debt and how to do it. When the young woman left, spreadsheet in hand and a follow-up appointment for next week, Christine wondered if Mimi had sent her.
Bring it on, Mimi. I can handle anything you throw my way.
Pop said he’d work the crowd at The Bleeding Heart Society the way he used to do when he was selling raffle tickets at the St. Guadalupe Festival. Well, he’d done more than that when he offered her services in the fund-raising department. Pop had told her afterward not to worry if she wasn’t well schooled in fund-raising because he was, and with him backing her, they couldn’t lose. The man sure had energy and a mind that never stopped.

Pop would be excited about the baby. He’d tell her a story or three about when his wife was pregnant and the stories would include food, namely
pizzelles. There would be tears and such longing that Christine would hope she and Nate could grow old with feelings like that.

Tonight was a new beginning for the
Desantro family, a celebration of life and love. She’d stop at the grocery store and pick up a pork tenderloin, one of Nate’s favorites. By the time he got home, she’d have it ready with a salad, baked potato, and a cold glass of beer. Tonight she’d fill his belly and his heart.