Hidden Desires (13 page)

“I think that’s very possible. I know that even though you loved Carrie, underneath, you’re nothing like her. You’re a fighter.” He paused again, pensive, looking as though he were contemplating something.

“Have there been many men in your life?” he finally asked.

His question caused a warm flush to splotch her face. Telling him about her lack of grief for Hattie had come so easily, so why was voicing her past relationship so difficult? It almost shamed her to admit her distorted view of love and sex to Travis, the only man ever to challenge that outlook. With him, intimacy was not cheap or tawdry. His touch didn’t make her skin crawl or send a barrage of memories charging into her mind.

“There was one.” She lifted her head to meet his gaze, seeing only thoughtful curiosity in those whiskey-colored eyes. “We dated for about six months.”

“Did you love him?” Travis asked roughly, running a hand over her bare stomach.

“I kept telling myself I did, but I always knew deep down that I didn’t love him.” Bitterness climbed up her throat. She swallowed it back. “Not that it mattered. He didn’t love me, anyway.”

“But he told you he did?”

She nodded. “At the beginning, yes. He said all the right things. Once he got me into bed, though, he stopped saying them. He only wanted one thing from me and after he got it, he got bored and moved on.” Travis frowned. “He was a fool.”

Though his firm words warmed her heart, Rachel found herself hesitating. She wondered what Travis’s intentions toward her were. How did he view their time together? He’d claimed to want more than a roll in the hay, but so far, he hadn’t broached the subject of where the two of them would go from here.

She’d come to rely on him, and the thought that this was just something temporary troubled her. How would she ever be able to survive if, like Paul, Travis decided to move on?

Uncertainties clouded her head, but she feared raising them would make Travis push her away.

And right now, she only wanted him close to her.

“Make love to me,” she found herself whispering.

He didn’t say a word as he slowly reached for the button of her slacks. She didn’t care. She didn’t want him to say anything. She didn’t want to talk about her mother, or Paul, or where things stood between them. Not now.

She shivered as Travis pulled off her slacks and panties in one swift move, anticipation already coiling inside her. She watched as he shrugged out of his shirt, tossed it aside, then reached down to remove his jeans.

“I want to feel your skin against me,” she murmured.

With a nod, he shucked his boxer-briefs and splayed himself against her so that their bodies touched from shoulders to toes, his leg entwined in hers, his arms braced around her waist.

She dug her face into the crook of his neck and inhaled a deep breath of that clean, spicy scent.

Gripping her waist, he lowered his head, his lips tickling her breast. He sucked one pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling a blizzard of pleasure through her veins. She wanted to return the pleasure. Kissing his shoulders, she attempted to reach between them.

“Ah.” He pulled her hand away. “Lie back and relax.”

He pressed his weight on her chest, his body warm, his lips soft. She wanted him to surround her like a cocoon, to fill her heart and soul, to act as a barrier between her and the outside world.

After slipping on a condom, he parted her legs and slid inside, slowly, calmly, stroking against her, massaging against her like he’d massaged her shoulders before. And, like before, she felt her body relax.

His deep brown eyes sank into hers, speaking words only the two of them could hear. She latched onto his back, wanting to pull him closer. She curved her back, wanting to draw him deeper. And still it wasn’t enough. She wanted every part of Travis to incorporate her soul.

Her eyelids went heavy as a ripple of sensation streaked up her spine. She was close, and his low groan told her he was too.

“Travis,” she whimpered.

“Let it go, sweetheart.” He thrust inside her again. “Let it all go.” With his strong arms pulling her against him and his length stroking her most sensitive part, the rip of climax swept through her, arching her back and gripping her center around him.

Travis shot out a cry as her orgasm pulled him over the edge, sending him bucking against her, shuddering over her and draining inside her.

She grabbed his taut buttocks and pulled him deeper, wanting him to become a part of her and stay that way forever. His face buried in her hair, his chest panting over hers as his length pulsed inside her.

An unfamiliar emotion lodged in the back of her dry throat, but she closed her eyes, shutting out everything but the pleasure she felt right now. Tomorrow, she could figure out what that nagging little emotion meant. Tomorrow, she could gather the courage to ask Travis where he stood.

Tonight, she just wanted to fall asleep in his powerful arms and lose herself in him.

Chapter Nine

For the second day in a row, Rachel woke up entangled in Travis’s strong arms. With a smile, she wiggled her bottom against his groin and was rewarded with a sleepy moan. His arms tightened around her chest, pulling her close so that the hard ridge of his arousal pressed against her lower back.

“I could get used to waking up like this,” he said huskily, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder.

She rolled over, pushed him onto his back and straddled his naked body. The bed sheets were strewn in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed, a reminder of last night’s lovemaking. The comforter had been thrown off the side of the bed hours ago, and Rachel felt a rush of warmth as she thought of the naughty activities that had taken place in this room.

God, would she ever get enough of Travis? She didn’t think so. When she was with him, she always wanted more. And more. And more. For the first time in her life, she was being selfish, and she had to admit, it felt good.

“What do you want to do today?” she asked, running her fingers over the dark stubble on his chin.

He shot her a lazy grin. “Hmmm, let me think.”

“You’ve got a one-track mind, don’t you?” she teased.

“Says the woman who kept me up all night.”

Guilty pleasure warmed her body. “You’re right. I was bad last night. Wanna arrest me?” A chuckle escaped his throat. “Let me find my handcuffs.”

She let out a laugh and wondered if she’d ever felt this happy in her entire life. No, she hadn’t. She’d never known happiness until Travis.

“Save that thought for later,” she said, jumping off him. “I’m hungry.” He arched one brow. “Me too.”

“For food, Travis.”

“Right, food.”

She rose from the bed and walked over to her closet, where she pulled an emerald green silk robe off a hanger. She wrapped the robe around her body and tightened the sash, glancing back at the bed. “What do you like in your omelets?”

“Everything.”

He stood up and she nearly fainted at the sight of his glorious naked body. God, he really was a spectacular-looking man.

“Mind if I hop in the shower?” he asked.

“Go ahead. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

It was difficult to tear her gaze from him, but she forced herself to leave the bedroom. As she walked down the hall toward the kitchen, she suddenly froze.

Hattie was dead.

How on earth had she forgotten? Guilt washed over her like dirty bathwater, and she suddenly felt like the most despicable human being on the planet. Her mother had died yesterday, and it was the last thing on her mind. She was a terrible person.

No. You have every right to forget.

The little voice nagging in her mind made her straighten her back in determination. The voice was right. Hattie Foster had never been a mother to her. Mothers were supposed to love their children. Mothers were supposed to nurture and support, to offer strength and compassion. Something Hattie had never done.

Rachel breezed into the kitchen and began pulling items from the refrigerator. She wasn’t going to feel guilty for not mourning her mother. She would plan Hattie’s funeral, bid her a bittersweet farewell.

Maybe she’d even have something nice written on the headstone.

Hattie Foster, mother of Carrie and Rachel.

Tears stung her eyes as she thought about her mother’s tombstone. She didn’t feel grief over Hattie’s death, but another emotion filled her chest. Pity. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she stood motionless in front of the marble kitchen counter.

“Rachel?”

For the first time in weeks, Travis’s warm voice didn’t offer comfort. “God, I pity her so much,” she whispered between anguished sobs.

In a second, he crossed the room and took her into his embrace. She almost jumped at the feel of his bare, damp chest. Noticed he wore only a towel and remembered he’d been in the shower. But she couldn’t take the time to appreciate his exquisite form, not right now.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, stroking her hair.

She pressed her face against his chest. “She was so troubled, Travis. The disease destroyed her, made her incapable of taking care of anyone, especially herself.”

“I know, baby.”

Rachel continued to cry. She cried for her mother, for all the pain and humiliation she’d suffered. She cried for Carrie, and the desperation she must have felt to take her own life. And then she pulled back, wiping her wet face and swallowing hard.

“We need to go to the hospital to talk to those surgeons,” she said, her voice firm. “Otherwise I’ll never be able to let go of the past.”

Travis nodded, and the compassion she saw in his eyes melted away her pain. “Let me get dressed.” Two hours later, Rachel walked out the automatic front doors of Chicago General, feeling like the world had just crumbled around her. Her feet were like heavy weights as she trudged across the parking lot toward Travis’s SUV.

She couldn’t believe it was over. It was truly over.

As if reading her thoughts, Travis trailed after her and said, “It’s not over, Rachel.” She stopped in front of the vehicle and shot him a hopeless look. “How can you say that? You were in there too.”

“Rachel.” He reached out to her, but she shrugged off his hand.

“You heard the man. Brad Frederick never laid eyes on Carrie in his life. He couldn’t help us. And Barry Forrester…” She took a breath. “The man is dead. He can’t help us either. It’s over. We’ll never know why Carrie…” Her voice trailed off.

When she looked at Travis, she saw steely determination in his smoky gaze. “It’s not over. We have one final lead to go on.”

Hope bloomed in her chest. “What lead?”

“Virginia Forrester, Barry’s widow.”

She shook her head. “What can she tell us? She doesn’t work at the hospital.”

“She might know something. If her husband was spending time with a teenage girl, she’d know.” Rachel hesitated. “What if Carrie was having an affair with the man? If his wife was aware of it, she might be furious if we show up and open old wounds. I doubt she would be hospitable to us.”

“We have to try. Come on, get in the car.”

With a nod, she slid into the passenger seat and waited for Travis to join her in the car. She didn’t know what Forrester’s widow could offer, but Travis was right, they had to try. She couldn’t live her life wondering why her sister had taken her own life. She just couldn’t.

The car ride across town was a silent one, and Rachel wondered if Travis was as desperate to continue this investigation as she was. He seemed determined, but was it because he wanted to solve a case, or because he didn’t want their time together to end?

She chewed on her lower lip as the car whizzed across the residential streets of the suburbs. As much as she wanted to learn the truth, she had to admit, she was also apprehensive about solving the mystery.

Would Travis want them to go their separate ways? The thought crushed her heart, nearly bringing her to tears again. She couldn’t say goodbye to Travis.

Because she loved him.

The realization hit her with the speed of a jet plane, sucking all the breath from her body and making her head spin like a Merry-Go-Round.

She was in love with him. Why had it taken her so long to admit it to herself? She’d known she’d cared for him, but she’d never let herself think about love. For so long she hadn’t even thought love was possible. Her views on the male gender had been tinged with cynicism, with pessimism, tainted by the memory of all the men who’d traipsed through her childhood home. Men didn’t want love. They wanted sex.

But not Travis. He’d proven to her that he wanted more from her than her body, that he respected her, and that he valued her mind as well as the physical pleasure she could offer him. He’d held her as she cried, reprimanded her when she allowed self-pity to consume her. He’d shown her that relationships were about giving as well as taking, and she knew, no matter how he felt about her in return, she’d always be grateful for that.

“Rachel? Why are you so quiet?”

Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of his husky voice. What was she supposed to answer?
I’m quiet
because I realized I love you?
Could she really tell him how she felt? Could she risk the rejection that might follow?

“I’m just thinking about work,” she lied.

“Oh? Concocting some new designs in that pretty head of yours?” he teased.

Designs. Oh, no. She’d been so focused on this investigation, on Travis, that she’d forgotten she had a show next week. Though all of her designs were done, there were dozens of other arrangements that needed to be made. She had to decide on a final lineup for her models, speak to the coordinator in New York about the changes she’d made to the sleepwear line, contact Darin Mortensen to find out if he had received the early sketches she’d sent him.

“Damn, I can’t believe I forgot,” she said with a groan, fiddling with the seatbelt strap. “I have a show next week. There’s still so much that needs to be done.”

“Where’s the show?”

“New York.”

Travis gave her a sideways glance. “Maybe I’ll come with you. I have some personal time coming up.”

Her throat went dry. He wanted to go to New York with her? She had to wonder what that meant. In a few short minutes, their mystery might be solved, which meant he had no reason to see her next week.