Her Foreign Affair (7 page)

“Yes. I…we couldn’t…have others.”

Ah, a sore spot, must be getting closer to something here. He stepped down the hall, Birdie aging in reverse as they moved toward the single closed door at the end of the hall. At that point, Randi grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his flesh beneath his shirt, and tried to pull him back toward the foyer.

“Come
on
, what you want is this way.” She tugged harder.

But one framed photo caught his eye. There it was. The answer to the question he’d asked earlier.

“Courtney Robin Ferguson, born February fourth, Nineteen eighty...” The words he read from the brass plaque on the elaborate frame strangled in his throat. One year… not even one full year after they’d met. It didn’t take a brilliant mind to do the math, and the psychologists had assured his parents he had a particularly brilliant mind when it came to numbers.

Voice pitched an octave higher, Randi sounded as if she were choking. “Yes, well, the powder room is this way.” Randi tugged all the harder on his arm, practically leaning away from him. Had he moved, she would have fallen on her face.

Too bad he was stronger. But neither could he have moved if he’d tried. Rooted to the floor, he stared at the photo of the smiling infant, arms wide as if reaching for him. God, except for the dress and pink bow in her hair, she looked exactly like…Drew. And only four months younger. Either Birdie had been born premature, or…

Still resisting Randi’s efforts to drag him away, he tried to clear the lump from his throat. “Nice name you chose for her.” Ice ran through his veins, stinging and burning at the same time as his stomach tightened, churning the coffee in his gut. Good God.

“I didn’t name her,” Randi growled, yet he could hear a hint of panic underneath. As well she should be panicked. This news she never should have kept to herself. She tugged harder on his arm, her nails digging in. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have cooking to do. If you need directions, now’s your chance.”

A sudden inrush of oxygen filled his head like helium. “Fine. Loo. Where?”

“This way.”

Unable to see clearly, he grabbed her hand, following where she led. The jolt of heat that zapped up his arm jump-started his stuttering heart.

When they reached the bathroom off the foyer, Randi tried to disengage and step back. Oh no, she wasn’t getting away so easily. Heart hardened, shock fizzled out, and anger began to burn. He crowded her inside and shut the door. The click of the lock he set sounded loud in the small room.

“Court,” she turned on him with a furious whisper, “what are you doing?” Her eyes widened at the expression on his face; her blustering wilted a bit.

“We need to talk, and this is about as private as we’re likely to get, unless you want to take me to your bedroom?” The lifted brow silenced her. “No? I didn’t think so. Too bad.”

Not in a charitable frame of mind and wanting the answers she owed him, he backed her against a small section of wall between a pedestal sink and a chest next to the toilet. He kept going until one knee slipped between her legs, their chests pressed together, and his arms braced against the wall on either side of her head.

“Court,” she whispered again. “Get off me.” Small fists pushed against his chest, but he hardly felt them.

Only one thought occupied his head. Nothing else mattered right then, and he’d have the answer or stir up the scene she obviously didn’t want.

“She’s mine, isn’t she?” In his fury, he wanted to wrap a hand around Jean’s throat. Not normally inclined to violence or manhandling women, he wondered in that instant if he could resort to such measures to get the answer. Plenty of his competitors had left the negotiating table wondering the same.

“She isn’t.” Randi’s fist punctuated her lie, but he hardly felt it, his mind too busy keeping his hands back from choking the truth out of her.

But this was Jean no matter what name she used these days. Sweet, loving Jean. Lying Jean. Instead of choking her, he pressed her against the wall, fitting his body to hers as if they’d never been parted, leaving not one whisper of space between them.

“Then why is she named after me?” Swirling emotions churned faster inside him. Anger at not being told. Anguish for missing a lifetime of a daughter he should have been given the chance to cherish. Fury at Beatrice for holding him by the bollocks for sixteen wasted years, when he could have been with Jean and his daughter. Rage barely kept in check, the urge to throttle Jean stronger than he’d ever felt before because of the truth, the daughter and other secrets, she’d kept from him.

Agony ripped through him, nearly strong enough to drop him to his knees. No, he wouldn’t have given up the years with Drew, but damn. Why did life have to be screwed up? He should have known. Should have had the choice, no matter how difficult, the chance to decide. She’d lied by omission, and he wanted to damn her for her silence. For her avoidance of his attempts at contact. For going so far as to marry another man to hide the truth.

“Tell me how Courtney Robin isn’t named after me? How could anyone else choose that combination? It isn’t an accident, Jean. Stop lying to me.” Furiously spoken, he kept his voice low, though how he had the presence of mind to do it, he didn’t know. Too many years of low volume arguments with old Bea?

“Randi, dammit, my name is Randi.” One little fist pounded ineffectively against his shoulder again, but still he held her. She didn’t have room to work up the momentum to do damage, and despite the heavy emotions battering both of them, he wanted this, craved this closeness, needed to feel her against him. The need for her had been growing steadily the past several years—face it, the need for her had never entirely disappeared. He might have dreamed of finding his Jean again, but he’d never dreamed of discovering a daughter. A daughter sitting in the other room. A daughter he’d met without recognizing. A daughter whose mother didn’t want her secret exposed.

“The lies stop here. Tell me the truth.”

“Oh, like you really care. What’d you do, set Drew on my trail?” She threw the accusation at him. “Was their meeting an accident at all? What are you doing here, Court? Why now?”

His control hanging by an unraveling silken thread, he spoke more harshly than he could remember doing since Beatrice’s death, pressing her for the truth. “Tell me, Randi Jean. I know she’s mine. She has to be. Tell me the bloody truth!”

His gaze glued to her like the gilt on the frame of the picture beside her head, he watched, as the color faded then heated her face until, with an anguished moan, the fight went out of her, and she dropped her head back against the wall, eyes averted. “All right, dammit, you’re right. She’s yours.” Randi’s voice barely reached the level of a whisper. “I…I…” Her eyes closed as she turned her head farther away. He moved his forearm closer, nudging her back to face him. “I almost died before he named her. Wyatt later told me that in my fever I kept muttering the names Court and Robin. He took it to mean Courtney Robin, so he put that name on the birth certificate.”

A tear tracked down her cheek, washing away the worst of his anger, filling the void with something far softer, though no less agonizing. What had it cost her? The confession to her husband, the confession to him now? Had she confessed the details to her parents? Was this the reason the man had loved Birdie more than Randi? Court pushed his upper body back from the wall to cup her face in his hands. He swiped his thumb gently over her skin and lifted the tear. “He knew? You told him my name? He knew the baby wasn’t his, and he still married you?” Would Court have been so generous?

Nodding, she continued with her story. “Yes, he did know your name. No one else knows. When I came to, I was horrified, but the paperwork had been filed.” Randi slumped against the wall with no place to go but to curl against him. “I mean, my parents and Wyatt knew I was pregnant with another man’s child, your child, but I would have put his name on her birth certificate. It didn’t matter to him, he claimed her completely and would have gone along with it. As long as I never contacted you, that was his only stipulation. However, because I was so ill, he decided on following the truth about her parentage, in case, later… Anyhow, she doesn’t know Wyatt isn’t her biological father. I haven’t told her. I was planning to…” her voice faded out, her attention absorbed by his chest as he tightened his hold.

Heart racing as if he’d won LeMans, Court held her while he tried to sort it all out.

What kind of man would marry a woman knowing she carried another man’s child?

An honorable man. A man lucky enough to have this woman as his wife.

Someone he wanted to hate. Instead, he respected the bloke.

Court dropped his forehead so it rested against hers and drew in desperately needed air scented with the aromas of soft perfume and good cooking. His Jean.

Courtney Robin.

Why had she never contacted him? Had her husband truly forbidden it? That made some sort of sense. Of course he wouldn’t want to lose his daughter to a man who’d turned his back on the mother. It hurt like hell to think that, but if Court were honest and put himself in the other man’s shoes, he might have done the same.

Blue eyes, golden hair, and a sunny smile. Now it was perfectly clear who she reminded him of. She reminded him of himself at the same age…and Drew.

The truth slammed into him like a bullet train, and his head snapped up. “Oh hell. Drew’s her brother.” That’s why their closeness bothered him. That’s why Randi’s gaze had seemed extra watchful, her actions furtive and nervous.

“I know, I know.” Randi moaned. “We can’t let them date.”

Drew had been showing signs of interest, and Birdie had been shooting certain looks back. Damn. The train heading down that rail had to be stopped. “We have to tell them.”

“Not now, not today, not with Dad and his friend in the house.”

Exactly who was this Jordan bloke? “Friend as in…friend?”

Randi’s eyes flew open as she looked up at him, and her mouth formed into a horrified “O.” “No, no, no, not that kind of friend.” She laughed a little. “Dad’s so homophobic he’d run screaming from the house. No, Jordan is a consultant, and my father’s attempt to match-make.”

“Like hell,” Court muttered. He’d just found her again, and he’d be damned if he’d let another man try to move in. Where did that come from? When he’d first thought of the idea to find her, he’d had no notion of starting up a relationship again…or had he been fooling himself? What did it mean that she’d lied to him, lived a lie, hid this elemental truth from him? Had she ever meant to tell him?

“Randi, the truth, really, why did you never tell me?”

A sob shook her and she tilted her head back, lids blinking rapidly to hold back tears. “I wanted to, but, God, Court, honestly? I didn’t want to make things worse. I didn’t want to hurt Wyatt. I didn’t want to confuse Birdie. There were my parents to consider. And ultimately, I didn’t want to make you choose between babies. I admit I was hurt and wanted to hurt you back, but not that way. Not by making you choose between one child and another. I knew I could make it on my own. I didn’t know about…her. And if you’d known, and had still chosen her and her baby…Drew…” She gulped in her breath and swallowed heavily. “I couldn’t have… I never would have…”

Court gathered her close, cuddling her against his chest, wanting to pull her into him until they could no longer find the line separating them. So like his sweet Jean to put someone else first. How would he have chosen? There was no way to tell. The emotions were too close, too mixed up. He needed time to think about all this. Not the least of which was how Randi had suffered.

Holding her close, his body remembered. Her scent filled his head; her breath against his chest warmed him like nothing had since he’d last held her. The tightening of his groin assured him she still moved him. Without pulling away, he dipped his head, loving the feel of her silky hair against his lips, her soft cheek against his. As naturally as breathing, they sought to touch each other. Her hands slid up his back, the heat easily penetrating the barrier of the cotton shirt he wore. Ravenous for more, his mouth found hers. Years melted away as they connected, like puzzle pieces finding their mates to make a whole picture. Heat infused him as she opened to him, allowing him in to taste the elixir of life he’d been forced to live without. The fire inside her fed the fire inside him, and he forgot to go slow, to be gentle.

“Everything all right in there? Randi?”

They both jumped at the sound of her father’s voice, the pounding of his fist on the other side of the door an echo of the pounding of Court’s heart. The rosy flush painting Randi’s cheeks, her shortened breath pleased him. She’d been as affected as he.

“Randi?”

Court reluctantly loosened his hold on her.

“Yes, Dad, everything’s okay. W… I’ll be out in a minute,” she called while wiggling out of Court’s arms. The loss of her body heat was a physical deprivation. Almost like losing a limb. He rubbed his chest where their hearts had briefly beat in concert. Her body plastered against the front of him had quickly resumed its place as an essential element of his existence. Dammit, she belonged there.

“You sure? There were some strange noises coming from in there. Kind of like you’re talking to yourself like you do when you don’t feel well. Need Ex-Lax or Pepto?”

Randi slapped her hand over Court’s twitching mouth. “Dad!” she exclaimed in horror. “A moment of privacy, if you please. You can use Birdie’s bathroom, or mine if you need to.”

“The Brit is missing too. He in there with you? Don’t be hiding him from me. I have some questions for him.”

“Dad! Go away!”

Finding it impossible to hold back his grin, despite the threat in the old man’s voice, Court kissed her palm and watched a deep flush rise up from her chest and rush to the roots of her hair. As if his lips had scalded her, she snatched her hand away and turned to the mirror. At the sight of her running mascara and tousled hair, she grimaced and reached for a tissue to begin repairing the damage. To Court, she looked absolutely adorable. As beautiful as when she’d been livid with anger. More so.