Lush (19 page)

“I’m sorry.”

She blinked in rapid succession, her body stiff, her lips pressed tightly together.

He took a deep breath and tried again. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.” Only his tone was off. He’d ended up yelling what should’ve been soothing.

Her small voice came to him from across the car. “Don’t shout.”

“What?”

“Don’t shout at me.” This time stronger.

He laughed even though there was nothing funny here. The fury at what she’d been through was always there, lapping at his insides and leaving scars he didn’t think would ever heal. He thought he’d learned to live with it. But there she was, still cowering like a wounded puppy, waiting for the next strike, telling him to stop his shouting, and he realized that he hadn’t managed his rage at all. He’d ignored it, hoping it would go the fuck away.

Every time she’d flinch if he came at her too quickly or shrink from him if he showed an ounce of anger or impatience, he’d flush hot, infuriated for her, and at himself, her ex, the whole goddamned situation. It had gotten harder and harder to control his emotions around her until he felt like he was walking on cracking ice, staring into the abyss beneath it, expecting it to pull him under.

He let out a heavy sigh. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” Her chin came up a fraction of an inch. “Or I’ll make the driver stop the car.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll get out.”

“And then what?”

She wrinkled her brow, pressing her lips together. She shook her head, and he noticed that half of her hair had come down. He ran his gaze over her, noting a tear at the hem of her dress and that she was missing a shoe and an earring. Things he could replace. If only he could replace her memories and experiences as easily.

Her expression opened up, slowly returning to the Lucy he’d known before. “No, I’ll kick
you
out of the car.”

“What if I refuse to get out?”

“You won’t.”

“Why?”

“You just wouldn’t.”

He sat back in his seat, the boiling-hot mess of emotions slowly draining from him. Maybe she did know the difference between him and that asshole. Somewhere deep inside she knew the difference. At least he hoped to hell she did.

“You’re right on that, darlin’. I’d get out if you told me to. I’d do just about anything you told me to do.” Did she know? Did she have any idea the power she held over him? He reckoned if she did, she’d never truly believe it.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“I swear to Jesus if you say that one more time, I
will
get out of this fucking car. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m sorry.”

“Do you realize that since we got married you curse more?”

Did he? He supposed it was because there was so fucking much to curse about. “Does it bother you? I’ll stop.”

“Maybe if you saved it for the bedroom.”

He let out a half laugh. “You want me to talk dirty to you, darlin’? You’d like that?”

She nodded, a naughty gleam in her eyes. “Isn’t that one of the options?”

“If not, we’ll add it.”

She smiled, and it was like the first rays of sunlight across the open water, lighting up everything inside him. She sat up, and her fear seemed to fall away. “I do know you’re not like…him. I know it in my heart—” She placed a hand on her chest. “But it’s going to take time for my head to catch up. I’m—” She made a noise at the back of her throat. “I
regret
that you’re the one paying the price for what he did to me.”

“Darlin’, that’s the same as saying you’re sorry, and I told you to stop apologizing to me for that asshole. He’ll get what he’s got coming to him. Don’t you worry about that.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Now come here.” He held a hand out to her. “I want to hold my wife.”

She came right to him, which was something of a relief. He realized that a part of him still expected her to reject him. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who needed to relearn how to react. His confidence where she was concerned had taken a hit of his own making. As she curled up in his lap, laying her head on his chest, he swore he’d do everything in his power to protect her and what they were building between them. She’d gifted him with so many things—their daughter, their new life together, and tentative forward moments like this in which he could imagine them together forever.

As the limo pulled through the gates of their home, he swore he’d kill the bastard who was trying to take all of that away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Lucy prepared for the interview with
Dallas Women Today
magazine the way she used to gear up before cheerleading her high school’s football games—extra deodorant, Vaseline on her teeth, and double-stick tape on her blouse so she didn’t show anything she didn’t want shown. Cal had been called out of town unexpectedly to handle problems with a merger or something or other. He’d promised he’d be home in time for the interview, but as it grew closer to the time when the crew was supposed to arrive, the chance that he’d make it grew less and less probable.

Since the night of the ball there had been a subtle shift in their relationship. If she’d asked Cal about it, he’d only deny it. But she felt it. Something had changed between them that she couldn’t quite pin down what it was. Nothing was missing that had been there before and nothing had been added. It was more of a rearrangement of things, a slight resorting and reorganizing.

If she had to put a finger on any one thing that had changed, it would be the way Cal seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second before he spoke to her or reached for her. Almost as though he had to think twice about what he did with her. And then he’d say or do what he’d normally say or do and she’d wonder if it had been her imagination. He was still the same Cal just with a half-second delay.

Earlier that day she’d gotten the best news she’d received in a long time. She was officially HIV free, as was Poppy. She hoped that bit of good news might shake loose the doubts that seemed to lurk at the back of her brain. She and Cal didn’t have to use condoms anymore if they didn’t want to. And they could do other things. Cal had said more than once how he couldn’t wait to go down on her. One night he’d described so vividly what he would do to her with his mouth that she practically came right then and there. And she could reciprocate. They could finally cross off option number four.

“Mrs. Sellers?”

Lucy had been so fixated on her sexual daydream that she hadn’t heard their housekeeper, Hazel, come into the room. She had a feeling that wasn’t the first time Hazel had called to her from the doorway of Lucy’s bedroom.

“I’m sorry, Hazel. What is it?”

“Priscilla Barnes from
Dallas Women Today
is here with a photographer for your interview. Miss Preston has them setting up in the living room.”

“Thank you. I’ll be right down.”

Lucy gave herself one last look in the mirror, then squared her shoulders and followed Hazel down the stairs. Cal’s publicist, Charity Preston, had arrived early that morning with a small crew of hair and makeup people. Everything Lucy was wearing had been chosen by Charity and deemed appropriate for Cal Sellers’s new wife. Lucy must give the right impression. Appearance was everything to Charity. Even if it was fake, which described perfectly how Charity’s hair and makeup people had made Lucy look.

Before entering the living room, Lucy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she swept into the room as Charity had shown her how to do and walked straight up to Priscilla Barnes, offering her hand.

“Ms. Barnes, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The woman gave her a funny look.

“
I’m
Priscilla Barnes.”

Lucy swung around to find Charity glaring at her as she stood next to a woman who was clearly Priscilla Barnes…twenty-five years older and without all of the retouching of the photo Charity had shown her of the woman. Oh, crud. There was no making up for this. Charity had drilled into Lucy how important it was that she greet Priscilla just so and give her as much attention as possible. Lucy had failed on both accounts. Miserably.

“Of course,” Lucy stammered as she made her way over. “I’d know you anywhere. Please forgive my mistake.” She held her hand out to Priscilla, catching Charity shaking her head out of the corner of her eye. Crap. She’d messed up again. Priscilla was a germaphobe. She hated shaking hands. Lucy quickly disguised the gesture as an all-encompassing sweep of her hand around the room. “Welcome to my home, Ms. Barnes.”

Priscilla ran her gaze over Lucy, then the room in general. After what felt like forever, her pale blue stare returned to Lucy, pinning her to the carpet with its directness. “You have a lovely home, Mrs. Sellers. You must be very proud of yourself.”

Of all the insulting things! Not that Lucy should be proud of her home, but of the way in which she’d acquired it, insinuating that she’d attained it by lying on her back. Lucy wanted to tell the insufferable cow that she
was
proud, proud of the way she was able to hold back and not coldcock the bitch.

Charity must have seen something in Lucy’s face because she stepped in smoothly with, “Mrs. Sellers, why don’t you have a seat on the sofa.” She beckoned the makeup artist. “Wanda, can you give Mrs. Sellers a little touch-up?”

Charity steered Priscilla away from Lucy by asking the woman a question about where Priscilla had just returned from vacation. A question Lucy had been coached to ask. Lucy hadn’t been in the room half a minute before she’d botched the whole thing. She dropped onto the sofa and lifted her chin so Wanda could sweep a makeup brush across her face.

Lucy had one job. One. To make Cal look good. She couldn’t seem to do that one simple thing. He’d asked her to do this interview in the hope it would present Lucy to the Dallas business community as his wife and earn her some much-needed good press. And she’d gone and mucked it up big time. How was she going to make this up to him?

The front door opened and closed, and Cal came striding into the living room. He spotted Lucy and paused for that half second before heading toward her. Lucy caught Priscilla’s raised eyebrow and Charity’s pressed lips as she stood to greet her husband. So they’d noticed Cal’s hesitation too. Great. Just great.

“Sorry I’m late, darlin’.” Cal bent and kissed Lucy on the cheek. He put his mouth to her ear and whispered, “You’ll be fine.”

Cal gave her elbow a squeeze and turned to make his way toward Priscilla and Charity. “Damned if you don’t get prettier and prettier every time I see you, Priscilla. I hope you’re not giving Charity too much grief over the setup here.”

“No, Cal, it’s fine. I understand perfectly why your new bride would want to show off her new home.” Priscilla sent Lucy a smile that dripped with the condescension she’d laced through her words.

“Now don’t go blaming Lucy.” Cal returned to his wife and brought her over into their group. “This was all my idea.” He looked down at her with all the love she felt from him in their most private moments, and it made her cheeks heat. “I want the world to see what I see when I look at her. She’s the best wife and mother a husband could ask for. And that’s never more apparent than when we’re in our home.”

The real reason was because they could control the environment and who had access to Lucy. But if Priscilla Barnes knew that, she’d know how real the rumors were about Lucy. The last thing they needed was more fodder for the rumor mill.

Lucy pasted on her best
Pleasure at Home
smile and hugged her husband around the waist. “And you’re the best father and husband a wife could ask for.”

“Darlin’, that’s hardly true, but I love you for saying it.” He kissed Lucy’s forehead.

“Well.” Priscilla clapped her hands together. “Shall we get started then? Or do the two of you need a…moment?”

“What I have in mind for my wife will certainly take longer than a moment.” Cal winked at Priscilla, which seemed to have little effect on the woman.

They were doomed. This whole scheme to redeem Lucy in the public’s opinion was going to backfire on them. She should call this whole thing off right now and save herself the humiliation of what Priscilla would write about her. And about Cal.

Charity cleared her throat. “Mr. and Mrs. Sellers, why don’t you have a seat on the couch.” Charity motioned toward the chair next to the sofa. “Ms. Barnes. Can I get anyone anything before we get started? A beverage maybe?”

“Nothing for me,” Priscilla said before lowering herself gingerly onto the chair. She placed her hands in her lap over her tablet and narrowed herself, as though she was trying to touch as little of the chair as possible.

“Lucy?” Cal asked.

Lucy shook her head and arranged her skirt so that it lay smoothly in her lap. “Nothing for me, thank you.”

“We’re fine, Charity.” Cal unbuttoned his suit jacket and stretched back, placing an arm around Lucy.

“I can see you’re still in the honeymoon phase of your marriage,” Priscilla began, tapping her tablet to life. “How did the two of you meet?”

For all of her ferociousness and judgmental behavior, Priscilla Barnes conducted the interview like a professional. It was almost as if all the questions had been given to her in advance and were slanted strongly toward making Lucy look good. Priscilla lobbed so many slow-pitched questions Lucy’s way that Lucy forgot why she was supposed to keep her guard up. After a rough start, Priscilla seemed to really warm toward Lucy.

Maybe warm was too generous a word. Priscilla had stopped looking down her nose at Lucy as if she were the source of whatever horrid mysterious scent Priscilla thought she smelled. Even Charity had relaxed back in her chair. Lucy began to think that maybe she hadn’t messed things up for Cal after all, that maybe this interview would be the boon they needed for Cal’s reputation.

Priscilla powered off her tablet. “That’s all I have. Thank you for being such interesting interview subjects. Marcus.” She motioned for the photographer. “Why don’t you get some posed shots of Mr. and Mrs. Sellers? Then maybe we can convince them to bring in their daughter for some family photos.”

Wanda moved in with her makeup brushes. When she was finished, the photographer directed them how to sit and where to look and began snapping away.

After a few moments, Priscilla called a halt. “And now the little girl.”

Lucy started to stand, but Cal motioned her back down. “I’ll get her.”

Charity got a phone call that she left the room to take, leaving Lucy alone with Priscilla.

As soon as Charity was out of the room, Priscilla pounced like a hundred-and-twenty-pound cat dressed in Chanel. “As I understand it, you got married as a business arrangement, a deal just like all the others he negotiates on a daily basis.”

Lucy couldn’t hold back her surprise. How did Priscilla know that their marriage had started as a business deal? Lucy looked around the room for some help, but the only other people in the room were the photographer and Priscilla’s assistant huddled together discussing the next shots.

“I…” Lucy began.

“I also understand that he’s asked for a paternity test on the child.”

Lucy jerked back as though the woman had slapped her. Cal wanted a paternity test?

“And that there was no prenup. Rather clever of you,
Mrs. Sellers
.” Priscilla said the words
Mrs. Sellers
in a tone that branded Lucy a whore. “Although if the child turns out to not be his, you might have some trouble on your hands.” Priscilla leaned forward and delivered a shot that went straight through Lucy. “All of your bedroom tricks might not be enough to hold on to him, but I’m sure you’ll be able to console yourself with half his fortune.”

Lucy gasped so loud the other two people in the room turned her way. Cal reentered the room with a big smile on his face, carrying Poppy. “She said my name.”

“How wonderful,” Priscilla said as she rose to her feet. “She’s just darling. But isn’t she a little young yet to be talking?”

Lucy sat, unable to move, pinned to the couch by Priscilla’s words. If Priscilla knew about them, then it was all going to come crashing down around them. Cal would never redeem his reputation if Priscilla wrote about their arrangement in the magazine. It would be all over Dallas about how his marriage wasn’t real, that it was a business deal. Or worse, that he’d paid Lucy to be his wife. He’d become the butt of cruel jokes. He was better off with a reputation as a playboy than as a man who paid women to be with him.

“I distinctly heard her say ‘da’,” Cal said.

“Babies make all kinds of gibberish sounds.” Priscilla leaned in for a closer look at Poppy, no doubt checking to see if there was any resemblance between Cal and his daughter. “What lovely red hair she has.” But Priscilla didn’t sound like she thought it was lovely. More like a smoking gun that confirmed her suspicions about Lucy.

“She gets that from her momma’s— Darlin’, are you all right?” Cal brushed past Priscilla to get to Lucy, making the woman jump out of the way to avoid any contact with Poppy.

Lucy cleared her throat and put on a smile that hurt almost as much as the knot twisting her gut. “I’m fine. Just a little warm.” She stood up. “I’ll be right back.” She dodged Cal and didn’t look at Priscilla as she passed the bitch. She had to get a hold of herself before she broke down in front of Priscilla and really gave that viper a story to publish.

She tried to close the door to the downstairs bathroom, but Cal caught it and stopped her. “Are you feeling all right, darlin’? You’re as pale as porcelain.”

“I’m fine.” She jerked on the handle of the door, fine pricks of sweat popping out all over her body as her mouth filled with saliva. “I’ll just be a minute.”