Sugar Daddy (30 page)

After minute or two of excruciatingly careful conversation, Hardy glanced at me and murmured, “I’ll head out now.” He nodded to Gage. “Nice to meet you.”

Gage nodded, turning his attention to Carrington, who was trying to tell him more about the horses.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” I said to Hardy, profoundly relieved the encounter was over.

As we walked, Hardy put an arm around my shoulders. “I want to see you again,” he said in a low voice.

“Maybe in a few days.”

“I’ll call tomorrow.”

“Okay.” We stopped at the threshold. Hardy kissed my forehead, and I looked up into his warm blue eyes. “Well,” I said, “the two of you were very civilized.”

Hardy laughed. “He’d like to rip my head off.” He braced one hand on the doorframe, sobering quickly. “I don’t see you with someone like him. He’s a cold son of a bitch.”

“Not when you get to know him.”

Reaching out, Hardy took a lock of my hair and rubbed it gently between his fingers. “I think you could probably thaw out a glacier, honey.” He smiled and let go, walking toward his SUV.

Feeling tired and bemused, I went in search of Carrington and Gage. I found them in the kitchen, raiding the refrigerator and pantry.

“Hungry?” Gage asked.

“Starving.”

He set out a container of pasta salad, and another of strawberries. I found a loaf of French bread and cut a few slices while Carrington brought three plates.

“Just two,” Gage told her. “I’ve already eaten.”

“Okay. Can I have a cookie?”

“After lunch.”

While Carrington got out the napkins, I looked at Gage with a frown. “You’re not staying?”

He shook his head. “I found out what I needed to know.”

Mindful of Carrington nearby, I held back my questions until the plates were fixed and set on the table. Gage poured Carrington a glass of milk and set two small cookies on the edge of her plate. “Eat the cookies last, darlin’,” he murmured. She reached up to hug him, then started on her pasta salad.

Gage gave me an impersonal smile. “Bye, Liberty.”

“Wait—” I followed him out, pausing only to tell Carrington I’d be right back. I hurried to keep pace with Gage. “You think you’ve got Hardy Cates all figured out after seeing him for five minutes?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your take on him?”

“There’s no point in telling you. You’ll say I’m biased.”

“And you’re not?”

“Hell, yes, I’m biased. I also happen to be right.”

I stopped him at the front door with a touch on his arm. Gage looked down at the place my fingers had brushed, and slowly his gaze traveled to my face.

“Tell me,” I said.

Gage replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think he’s ambitious to the bone, works hard and plays harder. He’s hungry for all the visible signs of success—the cars, the women, the house, the owner’s box at Reliant. I think he’ll throw away every principle he’s got to climb up the ladder. He’ll make and lose a couple of fortunes, and he’ll go through three or four wives. And he wants you because you’re his last hope of keeping it real. But even you wouldn’t be enough.”

Blinking at the harsh assessment, I wrapped my arms across my front. “You don’t know him. That’s not Hardy.”

“We’ll see.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’d better go back to the kitchen. Carrington’s waiting.”

“Gage…you’re mad at me, aren’t you? I’m so—”

“No, Liberty.” His face softened a little. “I’m trying to figure it all out. Just like you.”

I saw Hardy a few times over the next couple of weeks—a lunch, a dinner, a long walk. Beneath the conversations and silences and reconnecting intimacy, I tried to reconcile the adult Hardy had become with the boy I had known and longed for. It troubled me to realize they weren’t the same…but of course I wasn’t the same either.

It seemed important to figure out how much of the attraction I felt for Hardy came from
now,
as opposed to the past. If we had met now, for the first time, as strangers, would I have felt the same about him?

I couldn’t have said for certain. But Lord, he was charming. He had a way about him, he always had. He made me feel so comfortable, we could talk about anything. Even Gage.

“Tell me what he’s like,” Hardy said, holding my hand, playing with my fingers. “How much of what they say is true?”

Knowing Gage’s reputation, I shrugged and smiled. “Gage is…accomplished. But he can be intimidating. The problem with Gage is, he always seems to do everything perfectly. People think he’s invulnerable. And he’s very private. It’s not easy to get close to a man like that.”

“But you have, apparently.”

I shrugged and smiled. “Sort of. We’d just started to get close…but then…”

Then Hardy had shown up.

“What do you know about his company?” he asked casually. “I can’t figure out why a man from a Texas family with connections to big oil is fooling around with fuel cells and biodiesels.”

I smiled. “That’s Gage for you.” And, with a little prodding, I told him what I knew about the technology Gage’s company was working on. “There’s a huge biofuel deal in the works. He wants to build a blending facility at this huge refinery in Dallas, and they’re going to start mixing biodiesel with all their fuel, and distribute it everywhere in Texas. From what I can tell, the negotiations are pretty intense.” I heard the note of pride in my own voice as I added, “Churchill says only Gage could pull it off.”

“He must have gotten past some damn big hurdles,” Hardy commented. “In some parts of Houston, just saying the word ‘biodiesel’ will get you shot. Which refinery is it?”

“Medina.”

“That’s a big one, all right. Well, for his sake, I hope everything works out.” And, taking my hand, he deftly changed the subject.

Near the end of the second week, Hardy took me to a supermodern bar that reminded me of a spaceship, the sterile décor backlit with blue and green. The tables were the size of coasters balanced on soda straws. It was the latest place to be seen, and everyone in the bar looked extremely hip, if not exactly comfortable.

Nursing a Southern Comfort on ice, I glanced around the place and couldn’t help noticing that Hardy was attracting attention from a few women. No surprise there, considering his looks and presence and charm. And as time passed, Hardy would be even more of a catch, more visible in his success.

I finished my drink and asked for another. I couldn’t seem to relax tonight. As Hardy and I tried to talk over the blare of the live music, all I could think about was that I missed Gage. I hadn’t seen him in a few days. Guiltily I reflected that I had asked a lot of Gage, maybe too much, in asking him to be patient while I tried to figure out my feelings for another man.

Hardy rubbed his thumb gently over the backs of my knuckles. His voice was soft beneath the biting staccato of the music. “Liberty.” My gaze lifted to his. His eyes glowed an unearthly blue in the artificial light. “Let’s go, honey. It’s time to settle a few things.”

“Go where?” I asked faintly.

“Back to my place. We need to talk.”

I hesitated, swallowed hard, and managed a jerky nod. Hardy had shown me his apartment earlier in the evening—I had opted to meet him there rather than have him pick me up at River Oaks.

We didn’t talk much as Hardy drove me downtown. But he kept my hand in his. My heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings. I wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen, or what I wanted to happen.

We arrived at the luxury high-rise and Hardy took me up to his apartment, a large space comfortably furnished with leather, hide, and stylish rough-woven fabrics. Wrought-iron lamps with textured parchment shades cast a muted glow through the main room.

“Want a drink?” he asked.

I shook my head, knitting my fingers together as I stood near the door. “No, thanks. I had enough at the bar.”

Smiling quizzically, Hardy came to me and pressed his lips to my temple. “Are you nervous, honey? It’s just me. Your old friend Hardy.”

I let out a shaky sigh and leaned against him. “Yes. I remember you.”

His arms came around me, and we stayed like that for a long time, standing together, breathing together.

“Liberty,” he whispered. “I told you once that in my whole life, you’d always be what I wanted most. Remember?”

I nodded against his shoulder. “The night you left.”

“I won’t leave you again.” His lips brushed the tender edge of my ear. “I still feel that way, Liberty. I know what I’m asking you to walk away from—but I swear, you would never regret it. I’ll give you everything you ever wanted.” He touched my jaw with his fingertips, angling my face upward, and his mouth came to mine.

My balance disintegrated, and I held on to him. His body was hard from years of brutal physical labor, his arms strong and secure. He kissed differently than Gage, more direct, aggressive, without Gage’s erotic stealth and playfulness. He parted my lips and explored slowly, and I kissed him back with mingled guilt and pleasure. His warm hand moved to my breast, fingers lightly following the round contours, pausing at the sensitive tip. I tore my mouth from his with an agitated sound.

“Hardy, no,” I managed to say, desire forming a hot weight in my stomach. “I can’t.”

His mouth searched the quivering skin of my throat. “Why not?”

“I promised Gage—he and I agreed—I wouldn’t do this with you. Not until—”

“What?” Hardy drew his head back, eyes narrowing. “You don’t owe him that. He doesn’t own you.”

“It’s not that, it has nothing to do with ownership, it’s just—”

“Like hell.”

“I can’t break a promise,” I insisted. “Gage trusts me.”

Hardy said nothing, only gave me a peculiar look. Something about his silence drew shivers up from beneath my skin. Dragging his hand through his hair, Hardy went to one of the picture windows and stared at the city spread below us. “You sure about that?” he asked finally.

“What do you mean?”

He turned to face me, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankles. “The last couple of times I’ve seen you, I noticed a silver Crown Victoria tailing us. So I got the license plate number and had it checked out. It belongs to a guy who works for a surveillance company.”

A chill rushed over me. “You think Gage is having me followed?”

“The car is parked at the end of the street right now.” He gestured for me to come to the window. “See for yourself.”

I didn’t move. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“Liberty,” he said quietly, “you haven’t known the bastard long enough to be sure of what he would or wouldn’t do.”

I rubbed my prickling upper arms with my hands in a futile attempt to warm myself. I was too stunned to speak.

“I know you think of the Travises as friends,” I heard Hardy continue in a level tone. “But they’re not, Liberty. You think they’ve done you a favor, taking you and Carrington in? It was no fucking favor. They owe you a hell of a lot more than that.”

“Why do you say that?”

He crossed the room to me, took me by the shoulders and stared into my bewildered eyes. “You really don’t know, do you? I thought you might at least suspect something.”

“What are you talking about?”

His mouth was grim. He pulled me to the sofa, and we sat while he gripped my nerveless hands in his. “Your mother had an affair with Churchill Travis. It lasted for years.”

I tried to swallow. The saliva would hardly go down. “That’s not true,” I whispered.

“Marva told me. You can ask her yourself. Your mother told her all about it.”

“Why didn’t Marva say anything to me?”

“She was afraid for you to know. Afraid for you to get tangled up with the Travises. For all she knew, they might have decided to take Carrington away from you, and you couldn’t have done a damn thing to stop them. Later, when she found out you were working for Churchill, she figured he was trying to make it up to you. She thought it best not to intefere.”

“You’re not making sense. Why would they have wanted to take Carrington away from me? What could Churchill have—” The blood drained from my face. I stopped and covered my mouth with trembling fingers as I understood.

I heard Hardy’s voice as if from a great distance. “Liberty…who do you think Carrington’s father is?”

I drove away from Hardy’s apartment building, intending to go straight to River Oaks and confront Churchill. I was in more turmoil than I had been at any time since Mama had died. I was strangely calm on the outside, even though my mind and heart were in anarchy.
It can’t be true,
I thought over and over. I didn’t want it to be true.

If Churchill was Carrington’s father…I thought about the times we’d been hungry, the hardships, the times she’d asked why she didn’t have a daddy when her friends did. I’d showed her the picture of my father and said, “This is our daddy,” and I’d told her how much he loved her even though he was living in heaven. I thought of the birthdays and holidays, the times she’d been sick, all the things she’d had to do without…

If Churchill was Carrington’s father, he didn’t owe a damn thing to me. But he owed plenty to her.

Before I realized what I was doing, I found myself driving up to the gated entrance of the garage at 1800 Main. The security guard asked for my driver’s license, and I hesitated, thinking I should tell him I’d made a mistake, I hadn’t meant to come here. Instead I showed it to him and drove into the residents’ parking section, and stopped the car. I wanted to see Gage. I didn’t even know if he was home.

My finger was shaking as I pressed the button for the eighteenth floor, a little from fear but mostly from anger. Despite Mexican women’s reputation for having hot tempers, I was pretty mild-mannered most of the time. I didn’t like getting angry, I hated the bitter adrenaline rush that came with it. But at the moment I was ready to explode. I wanted to throw things.

I went to Gage’s door with long, heel-digging strides, and hammered with a force that bruised my knuckles. When there was no response, I raised my fist to hammer again, and nearly pitched forward as the door was opened.

Gage stood there, looking calm and capable as always. “Liberty…” A question tipped the last syllable of my name. His light gaze swept over me, coming to rest on my flushed face. He reached out to draw me inside the apartment. I jerked away from him as I stepped over the threshold. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

I couldn’t bear the warmth in his voice, or my own aching need, even now, to bury myself against him. “Don’t you dare pretend you’re concerned about me,” I stormed, throwing my purse to the floor. “I can’t believe what you’ve done, when I’ve been nothing but honest with you!”

Gage’s expression cooled considerably. “It would help,” he said in a pleasant tone, “if you’d tell me what we’re talking about.”

“You know exactly why I’m angry. You hired someone to follow me. You’ve been
spying
on me. I don’t understand why. I’ve done nothing to deserve being treated like this—”

“Calm down.”

Most men don’t seem to get that telling a pissed-off woman to calm down is like throwing gunpowder on a fire.

“I don’t want to calm down, I want to know why the hell you’ve done this!”

“If you kept your promise,” Gage pointed out, “you have no reason to worry about someone keeping an eye on you.”

“Then you admit you hired someone to follow me? Oh, God, you did, I can see it on your face. Damn you, I haven’t slept with him. You should have trusted me.”

“I’ve always believed in the old saying ‘Trust but verify.’”

“That may work great for business,” I said in a murderous voice, “but not in a relationship. I want it stopped now. I don’t want to be followed anymore. Get rid of him!”

“All right. All right.”

Surprised that he’d agreed so readily, I shot him a wary glance.

Gage was staring at me oddly now, and I realized I was trembling visibly. My rage had fled, leaving me with a sense of sick despair. I wasn’t at all certain how I’d gotten to be in the middle of a tug-of-war between two ruthless men…not to mention Churchill. I was tired of it, tired of everything, especially the swarm of unanswered questions. I didn’t know where to go or what to do with myself.

“Liberty,” he said carefully, “I know you haven’t slept with him. I do trust you. Damn it, I’m sorry. I couldn’t stand back and wait when I wanted something—someone—this badly. I can’t let go of you without a fight.”

“Is this all about winning? Is it some kind of contest to you?”

“No, it’s not a contest. I want you. I want things I’m not sure you’re ready to hear about yet. Most of all I want to hold you until you stop shaking.” His voice turned hoarse. “Let me hold you, Liberty.”

I was still, wondering if I could trust him, wishing I could think straight. As I stared at him, I saw the frustration in his eyes, and the need. “Please,” he said.

I went forward, and he caught me tightly against him. “There’s my girl,” came his low murmur. I buried my face against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar spice of his skin. Relief flowed over me, and I fought to get closer, needing more of him than my arms could encompass.

After a while Gage eased me to the sofa, kneading my back and hips. Our legs tangled together, and my head was on his shoulder, and I would have thought I was in heaven if the sofa hadn’t been so hard.

“You need throw pillows,” I said in a muffled voice.

“I hate clutter.” He shifted to look down at me. “Something else is bothering you. Tell me what it is and I’ll fix it.”

“You can’t.”

“Try me.”

I longed to confide in him about Churchill and Carrington, but I had to keep it private for now. I didn’t want Gage to handle it for me, and I knew he would if I told him.

This was between Churchill and me.

So I shook my head, burrowing closer, and Gage stroked my hair. “Stay with me tonight,” he said.

I felt fragile and raw. I savored the hard-muscled surface of his arm beneath my neck, the reassuring warmth of his body. “Okay,” I whispered.

Gage looked down at me intently, his hand cradling the side of my face with infinite gentleness. He kissed the tip of my nose. “I have to leave before dawn. I’ve got a meeting in Dallas, and another at Research Triangle.”

“Where is that?”

He smiled and traced my cheekbone with a lazy fingertip. “North Carolina. I won’t be back for a couple of days.” Continuing to stare at me, he started to ask something, then checked himself. He lifted from the sofa in a fluid movement, pulling me up with him. “Come on. You need to go to bed.”

I went with him to the bedroom, which was dark except for the glow of a small lamp focused on the ocean painting. Feeling shy, I undressed and put on the white T-shirt Gage handed to me. Gratefully I crawled between the slick, luxurious sheets. The light was extinguished. I felt the weight of Gage’s body depress the mattress. Rolling toward him, I snuggled close and hitched my leg over him.

Pressed together as we were, I couldn’t help noticing the hard, almost scorching pressure of him against my thigh.

“Ignore it,” Gage said.

That made me smile in spite of my fatigue. I brushed my lips furtively against his throat. The warm scent of him was all it took to start my pulse beating in a swift erotic tattoo. My toes delicately explored the hairy surface of his leg. “It seems like a shame to waste it.”

“You’re too tired.”

“Not for a quickie.”

“I don’t do quickies.”

“I don’t care.” I crawled over him with ardent determination, gasping at little at the flexing power of his body beneath mine.

A chuckle sifted through the darkness, and Gage moved suddenly, turning to pin me beneath him.

“Be still,” he whispered, “and I’ll take care of you.”

I obeyed, shivering as he eased the hem of the T-shirt upward, peeling it back over my breasts. The tender heat of his mouth covered a taut nipple. I lifted up to him with a pleading sound.

His lips crossed my chest in a sojourn of half-open kisses, while he crouched over me like a cat. He nibbled on the wing of my collarbone, finding the shallow depressions where my pulse stung, soothing it with his tongue. Lower, where the banded muscles of my midriff quivered at his touch, lower where every lazy exploring kiss turned to fire and I twisted to escape the indecent pleasure, and he held me there, still and tight, while sensation rushed and shattered all through me.

I woke up alone, swathed in sheets that held the incense of sex and skin. Huddling deeper beneath the covers, I watched the first rays of morning creep through the window. The night with Gage had left me feeling steadier, able to handle whatever lay ahead. I had slept against him all night, not hiding, just taking shelter. I had always managed to find strength in myself—but it had been a revelation to draw strength from someone else.

Getting out of bed, I went through the empty condo to the kitchen, and picked up the phone to dial the Travis mansion.

Carrington picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Baby, it’s me. I had a sleepover at Gage’s last night. I’m sorry I didn’t call you—by the time I remembered, it was too late.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” my sister said. “Aunt Gretchen made popcorn, and she and Churchill and I watched the silliest old movie with lots of singing and dancing. It was great.”

“Are you getting ready for school?”

“Yes, the driver’s going to take me in the Bentley.”

I shook my head ruefully as I heard her casual tone. “You sound just like a River Oaks kid.”

“I have to finish my breakfast. My cereal’s getting soggy.”

“All right. Carrington, would you do something for me? Tell Churchill I’ll be there in about half an hour, and I need to talk to him about something important.”

“About what?”

“Grown-up stuff. I love you.”

“Love you too. Bye!”

Churchill was waiting for me near the family room fireplace. So familiar and yet a stranger. Of all the men in my life, I had known Churchill the longest and depended on him the most. There was no getting around the fact that he was the closest thing to a father I had ever known.

I loved him.

And he was going to let loose with a few secrets now or I would kill him.

“Morning,” he said, his gaze searching.

“Morning. How are you feeling?”

“Fair enough. And you?”

“I’m not sure,” I said truthfully. “Nervous, I guess. A little angry. A lot confused.”

With Churchill, you never had to lead gracefully into a touchy subject. You could blurt out just about anything and he would handle it with no problem. Knowing that made it easier for me to walk across the room, stop in front of him, and let it roll.

“You knew my mother,” I said.

The fire in the hearth sounded like a flag whipping and flapping on a windy day.

Churchill answered with astonishing self-possession. “I loved your mother.” He let me absorb that for a moment, and then gave a decisive nod. “Help me move to the sofa, Liberty. The chair seat’s digging into the backs of my legs.”

We both took temporary refuge in the logistics of transferring him from the wheelchair to the sofa, more a matter of balance than strength. I fetched an ottoman, propped it beneath the cast, gave Churchill a couple of small pillows to wedge against his side. When he was comfortably settled, I sat next to him and waited with my arms wrapped tight around my middle.

Churchill fished out a slim wallet from his shirt pocket, searched through its contents, handed me a tiny ancient black-and-white photo with tattered edges. It was my mother as a very young woman, beautiful as a movie goddess, and there were words written in her own hand.
“To my darling C. love, Diana.”

“Her father—your grandfather—worked for me,” Churchill said, taking back the photo, holding it in the palm of his hand like a religious artifact. “I was already a widower when I met Diana at a company picnic. Gage was barely out of diapers. He needed a mother, and I needed a wife. It was obvious from the start Diana was wrong in just about every way. Too young, too pretty, too fiery. None of that mattered.” He shook his head, remembering. Gruffly, “My God, I loved that woman.”

I watched him without blinking. I couldn’t believe Churchill was opening a window to my mother’s life, the past she had never talked about.

“I went after her with everything I had,” Churchill said. “Whatever I thought would tempt her. I told her right off I wanted to marry her. She got pressure from all sides, especially her family. The Truitts were middle-class, and they knew if Diana married me there was no limit to what I’d give ’em.” Without shame he added, “I made sure Diana knew that too.”

I tried to think of Churchill as a young man, pursuing a woman with every weapon at his disposal. “Jesus, what a circus it must have been.”

“I bullied, bribed, and talked her into loving me. I got an engagement ring on her finger.” He gave a sneaky laugh that I found sort of endearing. “Give me long enough and I grow on a person.”

“Did Mama really love you, or was it an act?” I asked, not meaning to be hurtful, just needing to know.

Being Churchill, he didn’t take it the wrong way. “There were moments I think she did. But in the end it wasn’t enough.”

“What happened? Was it Gage? She didn’t want to be a mother so soon?”

“No, it had nothing to do with that. She seemed to like the boy well enough, and I promised her we’d hire nannies and housemaids, all the help she’d ever need.”

“Then what? I can’t imagine why…
Oh.
”

My father had gotten in the way.

I felt instant sympathy for Churchill, and at the same time a jab of pride in the father I had never known, who had managed to steal my mother away from a rich and powerful older man.

“That’s right,” Churchill said, as if he could read my thoughts. “Your daddy was everything I wasn’t. Young, handsome, and as my daughter Haven would say, disenfranchised.”

“Also Mexican.”

Churchill nodded. “That didn’t go over big with your grandfather. In those days, marriage between brown and white was frowned upon.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” I said dryly, aware that it had probably been an outright disgrace. “Knowing my mother, the Romeo and Juliet scenario probably made the whole thing even more attractive.”

“She was a romantic,” Churchill agreed, tucking the photo back in his wallet with extreme care. “And she had a passion for your daddy. Her father warned if she ran off with him, not to bother coming back. She knew the family would never forgive her.”