The Collector's Edition Volume 1 (43 page)

Rowena had to smile. “Yes, it is, Sarah.”

“The prince will do it,” came the vote of confidence. Demonstrating her complete trust in him, Sarah closed her eyes, gave a contented little sigh and went to sleep.

By the end of the day, Rowena had to acknowledge that Keir had done a great deal towards gaining both acceptance and real liking from her three children. After Emily’s swimming lesson and Sarah’s nap, he put on a video of Walt
Disney’s Aladdin,
which was greatly enjoyed. For their evening meal he took them to a McDonald’s, always considered a treat.

When they arrived home, the girls clamoured for him to stay and tell them a bedside story about when Mummy was a little girl. Then Jamie wanted to discuss the merits of the computer games in the catalogue Keir had found and given him. As a new-family-togetherness day, it had to be counted as highly successful.

But it was only one day, Rowena told herself, not wanting to build too many hopes on it. Nevertheless, she deeply appreciated all the effort Keir had put into giving joy and pleasure. The children had been wonderfully distracted from the misery Phil’s desertion could have brought.

Rowena tried to examine her own feelings. She could not deny the underlying yearning for the fulfilment of her youthful dreams, yet the break-up with Phil had eroded her confidence in being able to live up to Keir’s expectations. What if she fell short? What if the rightness she felt with him was simply a desire to feel it because she was frightened of standing alone? It was a scary world for someone who had been out of the work force as long as she had.

“Jamie said to tell you good night.” Keir’s voice broke into her private reverie. “I’ve put his light out.”

She swung around from the laundry tub where she had been rinsing swimming costumes. “Thank you, Keir. For everything,” she added in a rush of gratitude for his being the man he was.

“Would you like me to go now?” he asked quietly.

“No, I…” Was it wise to be alone with him when she was feeling so…needful? He stood in the doorway, almost filling it—big, solid, strong—and the urge to step forward and lean on him, to feel his arms enfold her with the promise of holding her safe forever, coursed through Rowena with close to irresistible force. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” she blurted.

He smiled. “Very much.”

His smile curled around her heart, squeezing it tight. It was the smile of the Keir she had loved, who had loved her. There was a dull ache in her stomach, a faint quiver in her thighs. It shocked her into action.

I’m playing with fire,
she thought, as she hurried ahead of him to the kitchen. It was wrong to want another man when she was still married to Phil. But Phil had Adriana. Why should she care what he thought, what anyone thought? Who cared about her? Only Keir.

And the children, she sternly corrected herself. She had to remember the children.

She was reaching for the electric jug when the wall phone above it rang. She grabbed the receiver as though it was a lifeline out of her internal churning. “Hello. Rowena Goodman speaking,” she said, turning to wave Keir to one of the armchairs in the family room. It was sensible to establish space between them.

“Well, it’s about time you were home,” a voice drawled in her ear.

The tempting excitement of a moment ago drained into a sick hollowness.

It was Phil.

G
UILT
at having been out all day was swiftly dissipated by a strong surge of self-determination. Why should she be at Phil’s beck and call? He had chosen to be with Adriana. He couldn’t expect the wife he had scorned to dance attendance on him, as well. Any meeting they had should be by mutual consent, with consideration given to both sides.

“I’m home now, Phil,” she stated, her tone deliberately neutral.

Keir froze midway from the kitchen to the family room. His gaze swung sharply to her, assessing her reaction to the call. She had the sense of something fiercely primitive emanating from him, as though he were a warrior of old, poised to do battle to protect his territory.

“I suppose you’ve been with Keir Delahunty,” Phil said snidely.

Rowena felt her face tighten. No doubt Phil would like to justify his actions by putting her involvement with Keir on the same level as his with Adriana. She would not give him that exoneration.

“What do you want to talk to me about?”

He laughed. “No need to get your knickers in a twist, Rowena. I know what’s going on.”

He made it sound dirty, and it wasn’t. She had nothing to be ashamed of. “Is there some purpose to this call?” she demanded coldly.

“I came to visit the girls this afternoon.”

Guilt struck again. Rowena stubbornly repelled it. Phil could have given her fair warning. “I’m sorry your trip was wasted. If you’d—”

“Oh, it wasn’t wasted. I picked up all my things. Our bedroom is now completely yours.”

A chill ran down her spine at the thought of Phil coming in and removing all his personal possessions from their home. It was such a final act. Seven years…gone. And she hadn’t even been here to witness it. Maybe it was easier that way, but it seemed underhand, like a thief in the night.

“I see,” she said tightly. “Thank you for letting me know it wasn’t burglary.”

“Don’t tell me you were about to ring the cops.”

“No. I haven’t been in our—my—bedroom since coming home.”

“Busy with the kids, I take it,” he said sardonically.

Conscious of Emily’s need to see her daddy, Rowena smothered her resentment at his mockery of proper parenting and said, “We’ll be home tomorrow if you want to visit the children.”

“I have other plans for tomorrow”

Not so much as a pause to reconsider, Rowena thought. It was typical of his self-centred attitude. “Then could we make an arrangement so
they don’t miss you next time?” she pressed, wanting something definite so she could organise herself accordingly.

“Well, as you pointed out, Christmas is coming up next week. I’ll take the girls out for a while on Christmas morning, get them out of your hair while you’re cooking the turkey.”

No mention of Jamie. Rowena instantly resolved to invite Keir for Christmas Day. She would not have Jamie left out of having a father. “I presume you won’t be staying for the turkey.”

“No. Adriana and I are booked in at a hotel for their festive spread.”

No work for Adriana. Not that Rowena cared about that. She would much prefer to have a family Christmas in her home than go to a hotel where the children wouldn’t feel at ease. “What time should we expect you?” she asked.

“Oh, ten-thirty, eleven o’clock, whatever,” he answered carelessly.

She wanted to say,
Don’t bother,
but she held her tongue, mindful that it wasn’t only her feelings to be considered. “You will come, won’t you, Phil? I don’t want to tell the girls if they might be disappointed.”

“I said I’ll be there. You can have the girls waiting for me.”

Rowena burned. Had they always danced at Phil’s convenience? Looking back, she could see they had, for the most part. As the breadwinner, Phil expected it, and she had thought he deserved
the extra consideration. She had tried so hard to be a good wife to him.

“By the way, I’ve taken the stereo from the lounge, and my favourite CDs.”

She frowned, wishing he hadn’t done it while she was away, but she didn’t begrudge him his precious sound system. It did surprise her he’d been able to fit so much equipment into his Mazda convertible.

“And Adriana took a few bits and pieces she liked.”

Adriana? She’d been with him, picking over the corpse of their marriage for what she could get out of it? Snooping through personal possessions, ransacking the house while no one was here to watch over anything? No doubt she had brought her car, too, to carry off the spoils.

Outrage billowed through Rowena, making her heart thump hard and her head pound with the hurtful injury of having her privacy wantonly invaded by a woman who had already taken her husband.

“You invited Adriana into my home?” She barely found voice enough to ask the question.

Phil snorted. “Don’t tell me Keir Delahunty hasn’t been there.”

It wasn’t the same. Not the same at all. “What bits and pieces did she take?”

“Nothing I didn’t buy, Rowena. You’re not entitled to everything, you know.”

“I am entitled to be consulted, Phil. Please keep that in mind, or I shall call the police if
anything more is taken without my knowledge or consent.”

She was shaking. She fumbled the receiver onto its wall bracket, unsure what her rights were but too upset to argue the point. She would have to see a solicitor. She would have to…

“Rowena,” Keir called softly, “if there’s anything I can do…”

She stared blankly at him, too caught up in the tatters of her marriage to consider what he was saying. The need to know the worst impelled her feet forward, faster, faster, down the hall to the lounge. Open the door. Light on. The far end of the room bare without the stereo equipment. The china cabinet emptied of the crystal wineglasses, the Capo Di Monte figurine of the card players gone from its pride of place on top of the cabinet. Her gaze swung to the—no, no, not the lamp, too. Not the beautiful wisteria lamp he had bought her for their first wedding anniversary.

Tears welled into her eyes. An arm curled around her shoulders and turned her to a broad chest. She sagged against it, needing comfort, needing a solidity that wouldn’t be stolen away from her. “Why?” she cried brokenly. “It was good once. Couldn’t he leave it like that, Keir? Does it all have to be destroyed?”

“No. It shouldn’t be,” he murmured.

“He brought her here,” she sobbed. “He let her take my lamp. I was pregnant with Emily when he gave me that. How could he? How could he?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s like my parents, getting rid of everything to do with you. It was so awful. Like murdering the memories.”

“But I’m not gone, Rowena. I’m here with you now,” he soothed. “And we’ll never be parted again.”

“Oh, Keir!” She burst into uncontrollable weeping.

He held her tight and stroked her hair. “I’m sorry I can’t wipe all the hurt away. I wish I could.”

“Not your fault,” she sobbed.

“It’s not your fault either, Rowena. You always did your best at everything you undertook. Don’t think you’re any less of the beautiful person you are because of this. Phil is the lesser person, not you.”

“Why is Mum crying?”

Jamie! She’d promised him not to cry. She struggled to control the tears.

“There was a lamp. It’s gone,” Keir answered.

“So’s the stereo. And the—” A hiss of breath. “Did Dad take them?”

“He was here with his friend while we were out. It could have been his friend who took some of the things,” Keir added in mitigation. “Jamie, could you bring your mother a box of tissues, please?”

“Sure.”

He was back in a trice, and Keir gave Rowena a handful of tissues to mop up her face.

“I’m sorry, Jamie,” she choked out. “You can go back to bed now. I’m all right.”

“I don’t think so,” Keir said gravely. “Jamie, can you get the girls up? Your mother is too upset to stay here. I think we should go back to my house tonight.”

“No…no, I can’t,” Rowena protested, afraid of where that might lead and too wrought up to handle any decisions properly.

“It’s okay, Mum. Keir will look after you,” Jamie assured her. “I’ll get Emily and Sarah.”

He raced off again.

“Keir,” Rowena appealed desperately.

“I can’t leave you here, Rowena. Everywhere you turn you’ll feel a sense of violation. It’s better that you all come with me.”

“But…”

“Don’t worry. You’ll have a bedroom to yourself. One that Phil and Adriana haven’t been in.”

She shuddered. Would they have? In the light of what had happened, anything was possible.

“You left your bag and keys in the kitchen, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Come on. We’ll collect them and get on our way.”

He kept her hugged warmly to his side as they walked to the kitchen. Rowena couldn’t think in any coherent fashion. There were too many mixed-up emotions running rampant. With all the upheaval and revelations of the past week,
she felt her life had been turned upside down and inside out, and nothing made any sense any more.

When they returned to the hall, her three children were standing in the open doorway to the lounge, staring at the empty spaces.

“See?” said Jamie.

“I bet the wicked witch did it,” Emily declared, trying to be loyal to her father.

Sarah turned to Keir. “Can the wicked witch get into the castle?”

“No. I guard the gate, Sarah. You’ll be absolutely safe there,” he promised.

“It’s good to have a brave prince, isn’t it, Mummy?”

“Yes,” Rowena said weakly, too drained to take anyone to task over the fairy tale.

“Let’s go,” Jamie urged, leading the way.

Keir took charge of everything. He switched off lights, locked the house, settled Rowena in the front passenger seat of his car and made sure the children had their safety belts fastened in the back seat before taking his place on the driver’s side.

Rowena stared at the darkened house as he started the car. It looked abandoned, empty, empty of love and commitment, dead to any happy future. The car moved onto the street and accelerated away. Keir’s hand reached across and grasped hers, enveloping it in warmth, linking her to him.

“Trust me, Rowena,” he said softly.

A brave prince,
she thought.
Brave to take me on, and all the baggage I bring with me.

She looked at their hands, feeling the strength of his seep into her veins. A helping hand, a loving hand, a hand she could hold onto. It wouldn’t slip away from her, would it?

Trust me.

But could she trust herself to do right by him? She was no longer sure what
right
was. Only that Keir’s hand felt right in hers. Was that enough on which to let the past go and forge a future together?

T
HE
children had fallen asleep without any problem. Keir wasn’t worried about them. He was confident of answering their needs and concerns as they arose. There was a wonderful simplicity about children.

He could see Rowena in all three of them, even Emily, trying her best to learn how to swim. It was easy to love them, to give them the attention that made them feel happy within themselves, knowing they had their special place in the affections of the people who counted most in their lives.

Rowena’s parents had robbed her of that precious feeling. They had let Brett’s death overshadow everything. She hadn’t counted any more. Phil had just done the same thing to her. It was like crushing out of her all the value she had as a person, and it was so wrong, so hurtful. It was fortunate that Phil Goodman wasn’t within striking distance, because the violence Keir felt towards him was close to murderous.

At least Rowena now knew he hadn’t dismissed her, too. He hoped she was beginning to realise how meaningful she was to him. He desperately wanted to heal her hurts, to give her the love and life she deserved. He had to pull her
through this, win her trust, give her back the bubbling joy that had once been naturally hers.

He paused by her door to listen again, worrying about her state of mind. The shower in the ensuite had been running for the past half hour. It was a relief not to hear it. He hadn’t known whether it was a lethargy of mind and spirit that had kept her standing under the beat of the spray, or some sense of wanting to wash away the rotten distaste of what Phil and Adriana had done.

Whatever…it had stopped now. He had given her one of his soft, cotton T-shirts to wear to bed. Maybe she was already settled for the night, but he doubted that sleep would come easily. He remembered a habitual nightly routine from her childhood, and headed for the kitchen.

A mug of hot Milo. It didn’t matter if it was no longer a habit with her. It would recall happier times. He tipped two heaped spoonfuls of the sweet chocolate grains into a mug, poured in milk, stirred the mixture vigorously and slid it into the microwave for two minutes.

Happier times…

There had been several little occurrences today when he had felt they had been recaptured, if only fleetingly. This morning…Rowena waiting for him on the front porch as he walked up the path to her. When she had appeared in her swimming costume and looked at him in his, barriers had slipped away momentarily, he was sure of it. Then tonight, in the laundry, that vibrant
moment when he sensed her wanting to reach out to him, wanting to try what he offered.

If Phil hadn’t phoned…

But Phil’s crass insensitivity had resulted in Rowena coming here, under his protection. That was a plus. If he could persuade her to stay, it would give him his best chance to show her how it could be for them. They had so many years to make up. He didn’t want a second of this new start wasted, didn’t want a second of the rest of their future wasted. If only she could see it as he did.

The microwave clicked off. He took out the steaming hot mug, stirred the Milo through the milk again, then, hoping Rowena would welcome it, returned to her bedroom door and knocked.

“Yes?” Definitely awake.

“It’s Keir. I’ve got some hot Milo for you. It might help you sleep.”

“Hang on till I put the bedside light on,” she called.

He waited, wondering if this was such a good idea after all. It might help Rowena sleep, but seeing her in bed was bound to arouse thoughts and feelings that would make sleep difficult for him. He wanted her so much it was almost a constant ache inside him.

“It’s okay. You can come in now.”

Think of her as the child she had once been, he sternly advised himself. He had waited years for her to grow into a young woman. He could wait…please, God, not years again.

He left the door ajar to assure her he had no desirous intent. It was important she feel safe with him. Absolutely safe. She was sitting up, propped against the pillows. She looked like a lost waif, the sleeves of his T-shirt dangling shapelessly around her elbows, her black hair in damp wisps around her wan face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“More or less.” She managed an ironic little smile. “Thanks, Keir. It was kind of you to think of the Milo.”

“I hope it helps.” He set the mug on the bedside table. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Rowena?”

“Are the children all right?” she asked anxiously.

“Yes. Fast asleep.”

“You were good with them today. And tonight.” Her big green eyes were darkly soulful. “I appreciate it. Very much.”

“It’s a pleasure.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Keir…” She flashed him a look of vulnerable appeal. “Sit with me?” She shifted somewhat gracelessly, nervously, to make room for him beside her on the bed.

It left him no option but to oblige her request. She would interpret any retreat as rejection. Unfortunately, her movement had pulled the soft fabric of the T-shirt so that her breasts were delineated too clearly for Keir’s comfort. He tore
his gaze away from them as he lowered himself gingerly on the bed, determined to be the friend she needed.

“Will you hold my hand?” she asked huskily, offering it for him to take.

He shot her a swift, searching look, wondering if she felt frightened and lonely. Her lashes were lowered, her gaze fixed on the inviting hand. Her face had a soft, pearlescent glow in the lamplight. Her lips were slightly apart as though waiting to shape more words. Or perhaps anticipating, wanting the kind of kiss he had given her before starting on his quest.

Keir grimly leashed in that thought. He couldn’t afford to give in to temptation when Rowena already had too much to deal with. He turned more towards her so he could enfold her hand in both of his, feeling both tender and possessive as his fingers stroked softly over her inner wrist.

Her pulse leapt under his touch. Again he glanced at her, sharply questioning. Her gaze remained fixed on their hands, and she was absolutely still, as though even her breathing was suspended.

What was she thinking? What did his touch mean to her?

“I want you to…” She hesitated, drew in a deep breath. “I want us…” She spoke more strongly, but with a slight quaver that suggested she was screwing up her courage. “To make love.”

His heart stopped, then seemed to catapult around his chest with chaotic abandonment of any control whatsoever. Her gaze flew to his, her eyes dark, swirling pools of tortured uncertainties, yet overlaid with a desperate pleading for him to sort them out for her.

No, no, his mind screamed. He wanted it free and clear of anyone else, proving nothing, a joyous celebration of finding each other again, loving because it was beautiful to love. Yet he felt his body stir, urging him to appease the need that had raged in him for so long. She would respond. She had to. Or there was no sense in any of the feelings he’d nursed all these years.

“Tell me it’s not because of what Phil Goodman did to you,” he heard himself say, his voice uncharacteristically harsh, riven with deep and violent emotions. “If this is some hit back at him, Rowena…”

“No! It’s not, Keir.”

He saw the recoil in her eyes and both gloried in it and regretted it. Was he spoiling everything? He couldn’t help himself. The need to have her all to himself, cleaving only to him, was so powerfully imbedded it reeked of the primitive, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t be civilised about this. She was his woman, and he didn’t want the slightest taint of another man coming between them when they made love.

“I need to know…about us, Keir,” she pleaded. Her fingernails scraped the palm of his
hand in her agitation at his reaction. Her eyes begged him to understand.

Not another test, he thought in violent rejection. She couldn’t turn making love with him into a test. He wouldn’t let her. It was too demeaning, too repugnant to him.

He set her hand on the bedclothes and stood up. He couldn’t bear her look of hurt. “I have needs, too, Rowena,” he stated baldly. He hurt, as well. He hurt all over. He turned aside lest he break and give in to her, even knowing it was wrong and possibly destructive to both of them. He walked away from her because he had to, or nothing would turn out right. Even his bones ached.

“Keir…” Anguish.

He felt it, too. “I hear you, Rowena. I hear your grief and your pain, your doubts and your fears. I understand them all. But I can only give so much.” He reached the door he had left ajar and held it to reinforce his resolve to go when he’d said what needed saying.

“Don’t you want me?”

The lost little-girl voice pierced his heart and shattered his defences. The passions he had tried so hard to contain exploded through his mind and ripped through his body. “Want you!” The breath hissed from his lungs. He slammed the door shut and wheeled to face her.

“Want you!” he repeated, words jamming in their tumult to be expressed, then spilling into a torrent. “Have you any idea how it felt to be
suddenly confronted with you last year, you at Phil Goodman’s side, his wife? I didn’t even dare ask you to dance with me. It made me sick to watch you with him, wanting…wanting what I couldn’t have.”

She stared at him, dumbstruck by his vehemence. At least he had her full attention, Keir thought with fierce satisfaction.

“And I had to work with your husband, knowing he went home to you every night,” he said, hammering the emotional dilemma
he
had faced. “I couldn’t make myself get rid of him. I’d given him a well-paid executive job. Maybe you needed the money, I reasoned. But the truth, the deep-down basic truth was I didn’t want to give up the link to you, Rowena.”

She shook her head, as though dazed by his revelations.

It spurred him to lay it all out for her, so she would understand and realise the length and depth and breadth of what she was asking of him.

“I could hardly believe it when Phil started flirting with Adriana. At first I was angry on your behalf. How could he play around when he had you as his wife? Then as the affair ripened into full-blown infidelity, I took a different attitude.”

He paused, warning signals flashing in his brain. Was he flagellating her with too much honesty?

“What?” she asked.

It was enough to goad him on. “I wanted your marriage to break up. I wanted him out of your
life so I could step into it. And if that shocks you, I’m sorry, but it’s a measure of my wanting.”

She said nothing. She simply stared at him.

Too late to retract anything now. He felt too raw himself to do any healing. “Then you came to fight for him.” He flung the words at her. “To fight for a man who cared so little about hurting you. While I…I’d die for you, Rowena.”

Utter stillness from her. Silence.

His hands lifted and fell in a gesture of despair. “Want you…” The words were a whip to tortured passion. “I’ve wanted you most of my life. But when we made love all those years ago, Rowena, you came to me as a woman who wanted me equally as much, and I will not accept less. To ask me to make love on the chance that it might make you feel better about yourself—”

“No, Keir. It wasn’t that,” she swiftly denied.

“Then what? A test of what you feel with me?”

She didn’t answer. Her eyes lost focus as though she was looking inside herself.

“You want a test?” he demanded hoarsely. “I’ll give you a test, Rowena.” He hauled off his T-shirt and tossed it on the floor. “I’ve already stripped myself naked for you in every other way. Let’s get down to the absolute basics.”

She made no protest as he savagely removed his other clothes. Then he stood before her, ostensibly at ease, arms akimbo, deliberately challenging her with his nudity, his eyes blazing forth
his need. “You want us to make love?” His voice shook with the force of it. “Then come to me, Rowena. Show me you want me. Not as some panacea for other ills, but wanting me for the man I am.”

Her focus was certainly on him now.

The air between them was charged with tension.

Decision time.

She moved. Keir could hardly believe it. Hope tingled through him, electrifying every nerve end. Bedclothes tossed aside, long bare legs reaching for the floor. His heart pounded in his ears. She stood. Her arms crossed, hands bunching folds of the T-shirt. Without hesitation she yanked it over her head and hurled it aside.

Keir’s stomach contracted as the full flood of her nakedness hit him, more womanly than he remembered, softer, lushly feminine. His loins tightened, desire shooting through him, vessels expanding, wanting. This was Rowena now, Rowena who had borne him a son in her rounded belly, suckled his baby at her breasts, such glorious breasts, their nipples tightly pointed at him.

There was a magnificent air of pride and confidence in the way she held herself as she walked towards him, shoulders back, hips swaying, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on his, her eyes fiercely aglow. No defeat in her, no grief. Keir exulted in the breaking of those deadly chains, exulted in the freedom with which she came to him.

“I want you, Keir.” Her husky voice caressed the last dregs of torment from his mind. “I’ve always wanted you.” Her words burned the scars from his heart. “And that’s the naked truth,” she said, touching him.

The dark, empty places in his soul exploded in a cascade of light, like brilliant fireworks erupting in showers of stars, wondrous patterns imprinting themselves in renewed bursts, the ecstatic revival of all he had feared lost.

As her hands slid up his chest and linked around his neck, he crushed her body to his, craving the oneness he knew was theirs, unlocked from seemingly impassable doors that had been shut so devastatingly between them. His mouth found hers with a hunger she returned, her passion matching his, her need as wild and as insatiable. The kisses were long and infinitely sweet in their total lack of inhibition.

But they weren’t enough. Not nearly enough. His hands swept down the sensual curve of her back, curled around her bottom, cradling the intimate heat of her closer, wanting the ultimate joining, his flesh sheathed in hers, together as they had been, would be.