Risk (It's Complicated Book 2) (14 page)

They watched in silence as Maya hurried off.

The second he turned back to Angela, she lowered her head and reached into her pocket for her black leather gloves. “You’re so good with her. I can’t believe you taught her to play
chess
. You’re a wonderful uncle. She’s lucky to have you.”

His heart contracted, hard.

Unable to stop himself, he stepped closer. “And she’s lucky to have
you
.”

They stared at each other, her wide eyes riveted to his face as if she’d been hypnotized by it.

She finally blinked and ducked her head, compulsively adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder.

He stepped closer again and cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the sudden tightness. “You okay?”

“I don’t know. Rough day, right?”

“It wasn’t all bad.”

She raised her head. The edges of her mouth softened slightly, as if she wanted to smile but didn’t dare trust herself—or him, for that matter—with the maneuver.

It was okay, though. The softness in her bright eyes when she looked at him was enough.

For now.

“Here it is!” Maya ran back into view, her purple scarf streaming behind her like a banner.

Angela used the distraction to take a hasty step back and wrap the scarf around Maya’s neck. “Say goodbye to Uncle Justus, sweetie,” she said, swinging the door open.

“Bye!” Maya quickly hugged him around the thighs, then darted out the door and down the hall.

Angela stared after her, shaking her head as she pulled her keys out of her purse. “I don’t think that girl walks anywhere.”

“Hmm.”

“Well.” She hesitated. Blinked. Nodded firmly as she turned to go. “Good night.”

“Not so fast,” he said, catching her arm.

She froze, took a deep breath, and looked back over her shoulder at him.

Seeing the wariness in her eyes, he tried to smile. He really did. He wanted to give her time and move at her pace. But she was here, and she was taking up more and more space in his thoughts when she wasn’t here, and the night would be long and lonely until he saw her again, even if again happened tomorrow morning.

The bottom line was that he had precious little pride left where Angela was concerned, and the most troublesome part of that was that he couldn’t care less.

“What is it?” she asked breathlessly.

“Come here.”

W
hen she hesitated
, he tugged on her arm and she came the rest of the way on her own. This was a huge thrill. Her arms went around his waist, both surprising him and providing all the encouragement he needed. He tightened his grip, running one hand around her waist and cupping her nape with the other. Her hair was warm silk between his fingers. Her skin smelled like lilies, expensive face cream, and raw desire.

A faint croon of pleasure hummed in her throat.

Her shuddering response undid him.

The slow heave of her full breasts against his chest told him she was having as much difficulty breathing as he was, and he stored the knowledge away for later, when he could savor it. For that one second out of time, he felt her resistance melt into the beginnings of surrender, and it was enough.

He’d wanted this woman for ten years. He could wait a little while longer.

But now he knew beyond any shadow of a reasonable doubt:

This was his heaven. Right here in his arms.

When she finally reined herself in, tensed, and pulled back, keeping her face down, he forced himself to let her go without a word.

It didn’t matter what either of them said or didn’t say right now, as she hurried off without a backward glance and he watched her try to outrun him.

She ought to know by now that that was impossible.

Nothing could change what had just happened between them.

Or what soon would happen between them.

* * *

T
he following afternoon
, Vincent stared across his desk at Angela, who unflinchingly stared back. She’d apparently come straight from work, and looked very pretty in a navy silk dress. She seemed to belong here with the dark paneling, leather furniture, fine antiques, and expensive first editions in his home library/office.

Unlike some other people he knew.

His gaze slid to Justus and his omnipresent insolent expression. As usual, his son wore casual athletic clothes and shoes. He’d probably come directly from his little gym, where he didn’t see the need to wear professional attire, let alone a suit. God knew
that
would be too much to ask for.

“I assume you’d like to adopt Maya,” Vincent told Angela.

“Yes,” she said.

Leaning back in his chair, Vincent sighed and let his thoughts drift.

The library was his favorite room in the house and contained little gems from his world travels. A Turkish rug from Istanbul. A hundred-year-old globe from the nicest little London shop. And the view was superlative. The tall windows behind Angela and Justus let him look out into the rose garden, not that there was much to see this time of year.

His attention shifted to the bookshelf and one of his most prized possessions, the hand-carved oak chess set he’d found in St. Petersburg: Napoleon and Josephine faced off against Alexander I. The sight of it would have made him smile if he wasn’t so old and exhausted. Once upon a time, a million years ago, he and Justus had played chess together. He doubted Justus even remembered. Now Vincent’s fondest wish was to teach Maya to play, although it seemed unlikely. His health got worse every day, and of course she was much too young now to play a game as complex as chess.

Well.

There was business at hand.

He cleared his throat and put away his hopes and memories.

“I think that would be for the best,” he told Angela. “I’d insist on taking her myself, but...my health isn’t...what it should be.”

That was easily the most outrageous understatement he’d ever made.

In the last couple of years, his body, which he’d taken such good care of all his life—eating right, walking, no alcohol—had given him the Judas kiss. Heart failure. What a kick in the teeth. Only sixty-four years old and his heart was ready to call it a life, even if Vincent wasn’t.

Bottom line? He had no idea how much time he had left, but he knew he couldn’t spend it chasing a preschooler around the house. Such an arrangement would be equally unfair to both him and Maya.

“I understand,” Angela said. “But I know how much Maya needs you. Maybe we can work out a schedule—she could spend every other weekend with you, or maybe one night a week. Whatever works for you is fine with me.”

Justus made a strangled sound. “Sorry to interrupt. I know you both forgot I was here.”

Angela shot him a surprised look, but said nothing, which Vincent thought was a little strange. The last few days they’d been glued to each other’s sides, which was also strange because he didn’t think they knew each other well.

Nor, come to think of it, did he think Justus had ever been friends with a woman or had a significant girlfriend, not that Vincent would be in a position to know.

But today Justus and Angela were as frosty as the Alaskan tundra.

“If you two have finished carving up the Maya pie,” Justus drawled in that hateful tone he always used with Vincent, “I have something to say.”

Angela twisted sideways to look at Justus. “What is it?”

“
I
want to adopt Maya,” Justus announced.

Vincent’s jaw dropped.

Angela gasped and threw her hand over her heart. “
What
did you say?”

“You heard me,” Justus said.

There was a long, poisonous pause.

“But, Justus,” Angela said.

Clearly deciding to give diplomacy a chance, she put a conciliatory hand on Justus’s arm.

Justus tensed but didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to exclude you from the discussion. I know how much you love Maya. So...you and Vincent can alternate weekends, and of course you’ll be involved in all her activities.” She seemed to warm to the topic. “And there’s summer vacation, and—”

Justus snatched his arm free. “You don’t get it, Angela. I don’t want her for a night here and there. I want to
adopt
her. And I’m a better choice than you.” He leveled his challenging gaze on Vincent. “Or you. We all know I’ve been way more involved with her life than either of you.”

Vincent was still too shocked to speak, much less process this accusation. The ornate silver frame on the edge of his desk suddenly caught his eye, and he stared at the lovely photo of Sharon the year before she died. She was smiling in the rose garden, the wind ruffling her shoulder-length hair. Wouldn’t she be spinning in her grave if she knew the lengths her favorite son would go to just to spite Vincent?

“Absolutely not.” Vincent pointed to the picture and glared at Justus. “And if your mother—”

Justus shot up, knocking his chair to the carpeted floor with a muffled
thunk
. “Don’t you
ever
mention her to me!” he roared.

“Oh my God,” Angela cried.

Enraged, Vincent leapt to his feet and slammed both palms on his desk. That same invisible fist, always with him these days, tightened in his chest, squeezing his heart painfully. Only by sheer force of will did he stay upright and not press his hand to his chest.

“Do you think I’d ever let Maya live with
you
?” he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. “When you have no respect for anything or anyone and no sense of duty and no ambition other than wondering where your next piece of ass is going to come from? Are you
insane
?”

Justus’s face twisted into a sneer. Apparently fearing the worst, Angela jumped up and caught his arm to hold him back.

Vincent didn’t care whether his son tried to hurt him now or not. Only one thing mattered here, and that was Maya’s welfare. He raised his hand and pointed across the desk at Justus.

“You’ll raise my only grandchild over my dead body!”

Justus smiled crookedly. “Suit yourself.”

Without another word, he strode out.

Angela took a hasty few steps after him, her arm outstretched. “Justus, wait!”

“Oh, let him go!” Vincent shouted. “Let him go! I never wanted him here anyway!”

Angela had reached the library door, but she stopped and turned, fists clenched, as if she could barely control the urge to punch him.

“What kind of a man are you? Don’t you see what you’re doing to your son? Your only remaining child? Don’t you care?”

“
No
.”

Her eyes widened with horror.

“Don’t you look at me like that! You have no idea what’s going on here, Angela!”

“I know a monster when I’m staring at one!”

“
I’m
the monster? Why don’t you point your finger at
him
? When was he ever a son to me? When he cried every time I touched him when he was a baby? When he howled every time I held him? When did he ever want to read a book with me, or play tennis with me or just sit and watch TV with me? When did he ever do anything other than scorn my career and my work ethic and my house the whole time he was enjoying the money I earned? When?”

“I don’t know about any of that, but I know he’s still your son, just like V.J. was.”

“Don’t you put him in the same category as V.J.!” Ignoring the chest pain, Vincent pointed his index finger at her face. “V.J. loved me!
He
wanted to be like me!
He
understood me! And I understood
him
!”

“And have you tried to understand Justus?” Angela asked without missing a beat. “Because I’ve known him for about ten minutes, and I think I understand him pretty well. I think that
your
shadow and the way
you
treat him hangs over
every
part of his life and most decisions he makes. But, hey.” She shrugged. “What the hell do I know?”

That caught him off guard.

“What?”

“Think about it,” she said flatly.

He tried, but his brain had turned to mush and, really, what was the point? Nothing ever changed between him and Justus. Nothing ever would.

“I don’t expect you to understand, Angela.” Tired now, he sank back into his chair, too drained to hide his despised weakness. Leaning his elbows on the desk, he lowered his head into his hands.

Angela didn’t seem to notice his infirmity. She marched right up to the edge of his desk and loomed over him. “Well
I
care about Justus. He’s a good man. So I’m telling you right now I will
not
stand silently by while you rip his guts out. And I will
not
let you poison Maya’s life with your animosity.”

He slowly raised his head and watched her. He’d gotten rather fond of Angela over the last few days, although he’d already discovered she wasn’t as malleable as he would have liked, most notably over the burial issue. Still, he’d admired her courage and sense.

Until now.

“Are you
threatening
me?” he asked, incredulous.

They locked stares for a hard moment. And she, a young lawyer with less than ten years’ experience, either forgot or didn’t care that he’d been practicing for longer than she’d been alive and was one of the most prominent lawyers in the city.

In the
country
.

“Yes,” she said.

Then she swept out, her high heels drumming loud, angry steps as she disappeared down the hall.

Unbelievable.

He shook his head, tempted to smile again because the unyielding rod in Angela’s spine reminded him so vividly of Sharon.

Sharon.

God, he missed her.

He pressed a hand to his head, not surprised to discover he’d broken out in a clammy sweat. He shrugged out of his jacket and found that his starched cotton dress shirt and undershirt were sopping wet.

Time for some nitro.

With a shaky hand, he took the prescription bottle out of the drawer, shook several tablets onto his blotter, took one, and immediately felt the familiar bitter sting under his tongue.

That was better.

Breathing deeply, he waited for the pressure in his chest to ease enough to go upstairs and lie down.

* * *

“
T
his isn’t a good time
, Angela.”

Justus, who had his arms crossed and was perfectly framed in the doorway to his apartment, watched her with moody, dangerous eyes. For the first time ever, he wasn’t thrilled to see her, and Angela was surprised how much it hurt. After her shouting match with Vincent, she’d come directly here, equally determined to make sure Justus was okay after his father’s attack and to work out a custody compromise with Maya.