Secrets and Lace (Lonely Lace #2) (4 page)

Chapter 6

One more fist to the ribs and Robbie wouldn’t be able to breathe. He thrust his hips, pulling Slate’s shoulder toward him and the momentum carried them in a barrel-roll close to the end of the hallway.

A gust of cool air swept over the back of his sweaty neck like a fresh burst of energy. It propelled Robbie until they came to a stop with him on top. He pinned Slate’s arms with his one good arm. “You’ve gotten. Soft. Brother.” His gasps for air crippled his effect. Straddling Slate’s hips, Robbie flexed his thighs, stilling Slate’s manic attempts to wiggle free. It took everything Robbie had to be stronger in that moment. His body had seconds left before he would collapse from simple, exhausted pain.

Someone tugged on his shoulder as he stared down at his lying brother. His twin. Who should’ve told Robbie he had a son.

Robbie glanced up, meeting Amelia’s wide gaze. He adjusted, shifting his attention to the little boy staring with frightened eyes his way.

Relaxing his hold as he took in the near black locks and MacAllister blue eyes, Robbie ignored Slate’s shoves as he slid off him to the side. Catching himself before he fell to the ground, Robbie swallowed.

The child broke free from his mother’s embrace, coming to stand between both men. Looking in turn at Slate then Robbie, his fear morphed into excited discovery. “Uncle Slate, there’s two of you!”

Settling to his butt and resting his arms across bent knees, Robbie absorbed the sweet voice. He couldn’t breathe and not because his brother had just matched him in a fight or because of Amelia’s closeness – which didn’t help.

But because of his son. His son. He’d never get tired of that phrase. He’d always wanted children.

Amelia stood, moving to place her hands on Mac’s shoulders. “Mac, you know Uncle Slate.”

Becky knelt next to his uncle, checking out a cut Robbie accepted smugly as his doing. She prodded the edges and the sharp sting took Robbie by surprise. His sharp inhale caught her attention. She watched his expression, but he ignored her as Amelia motioned his way, struggling with how to introduce him.

Robbie took in Amelia’s pained expression. Lips tight, she jerked her head toward her son. His son. And mouthed “he’s yours”.

The truth finally punched him in the gut. His boy. He couldn’t accept it fully until Amelia defined the truth. He swallowed. “I’m Robbie. Your Uncle Slate’s brother.” His voice broke on the last syllable.

The child nodded as if he understood the problems of the world. “So, you’re my Uncle Robbie?”

“No, I’m your…” Robbie looked up to search Amelia’s face for direction. If it hadn’t been for her and Slate holding the secret between them, Robbie would already know his son’s name, already know him. Robbie would’ve returned home long ago, or better yet, never would’ve let Ronan run him off.

Tears ran down Amelia’s face, stinging Robbie’s soul. He didn’t want to see her pain, feel further betrayal that she thought she had the right to be hurt by anything. He’d been kicked away by her. She’d pushed him away.

“Mac, sweetheart,” Amelia had named Robbie’s son Mac? Or was it a nickname for his last name? He didn’t have time to ask because Amelia forced the conversation forward. “He’s not your uncle. Robbie is… well, he’s your dad.”

Mac didn’t react, just held his stare on Robbie, not rejecting the information but not accepting it either. He reached up and grasped his mom’s hand, a sign of uncertainty.

Warmth swelled inside Robbie’s chest, choking off his bitter side-comment he’d been about to make toward Slate. Nothing was Mac’s fault. If anything, Robbie decided he’d do whatever it took to fix missing out on the first three years of his life. No matter what, Amelia wouldn’t keep him away.

Quirking his eyebrows, Mac screwed up his lips. “Do I call you Daddy Robbie? I’ve always wanted my own daddy.”

A small sound from Amelia drew Robbie’s gaze.

With his guard down from fighting, fatigue, and the presence of his own son, Robbie remembered everything about Amelia he loved… loves… present tense. He couldn’t hide it in that moment from himself. His heart had worked four years to return him to his home and his woman.

But an image of Ronan with his hand extended, standing in front of him at the bus station in Missoula snuck into his mind, holding him at bay. He clenched his jaw, wincing at the already prominent swelling. She’d kicked him out. And he’d come back to try again.

He’d never known his brother and Amelia had kept a secret so life-altering…

Slate rolled over, allowing Becky to help him to his feet. “Let’s talk about this after we clean up and have something to eat.” He stood, brushing the loose debris from his pants. “Bec, would you mind taking Amelia and Mac into the kitchen, please?” He waited while they left, only turning to face Robbie after they’d gone. “I know you’re mad—”

“Pissed.” Robbie ground his teeth on the word before exploding. His ribs couldn’t handle anymore yelling or fighting. But he’d be damned before he’d let Slate think he couldn’t fight back.

Slate sighed, crossing his arms. “I know you’re
pissed
, but you need to rest.”

Robbie grunted, forcing himself to all fours. Oh, hell, needles and hammers rained down on every nerve. He contained a scream of agony, but just barely. Closing his eyes, he breathed in through his nose. Lifting each leg so he could get off the floor and not faint in front of his brother shouldn’t have been so difficult. Once there, he locked his knees. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit, Robbie. I can feel the ribs and the left hip. Don’t try that crap with me. I’ll bring you some food. Take a guest room off the main hall and get some rest.” He yanked Robbie’s arm over his shoulders and helped him across the floor. Luckily, it wasn’t the bad side.

Robbie bit back his pride and accepted the aid. Guilt crashed him from all sides. Between unknowingly abandoning his son and more recently killing a man, Robbie’s guilt had become insurmountable.

Chapter 7

The three sent to the kitchen made it there in silence. Mac glanced at his mom every few steps. He had to have a thousand questions – more than his young age would be able to comprehend.

Amelia squeezed his hand and helped him up to the stool. “Becky made spaghetti. Doesn’t that sound yummy?” Technically, Becky had made chicken parmesan but Mac would understand spaghetti better.

Slate walked in. “Yes, it does.” He leaned down and hugged his nephew while looking at Amelia over the child’s head. “Is everything okay?”

Becky burst out laughing, drawing the quizzical gazes of both Amelia and Slate. “No, it’s not, but it’s definitely interesting.” She turned from pulling the pasta dish from the oven. Resting it on the stove, she looked between them. “Oh, you weren’t talking to me, were you?”

Slate crossed to her and pulled her into a hug. “No, She-Doc, but that’s okay. Your answer was perfect.” He kissed her nose and she blushed.

Amelia rolled her eyes. “I’m going to be sick.” Looking over her shoulder, she tried not to let the longing for their previous intimacy show in her face. Knowing he was somewhere nearby stung. She wanted to see him. Needed to see him. Even if it meant they’d be fighting again.

“Who wants some chicken parmesan with French bread?” Becky plated a superhero plastic plate and set it before Mac. “Eat all that, buddy, and I might have stuff for an ice cream sundae.” She winked at him. Their own special code.

He scooped pasta in his mouth, chattering to Uncle Slate around the mouthful falling from his lips.

Becky set up a tray and Amelia watched as she listened to her son ask Slate questions. Each one centered around Robbie – Mac’s dad.

Shame filled her. He just wanted to know about his dad. Maybe she was as worthless a mother as everyone in town liked to say. Fear had held her restrained from sharing much about Robbie with Mac. She’d never known if or when he would return, and since Ronan could never find out she hadn’t seen Robbie in years, she’d harbored every detail about him like a refugee hiding for survival.

Sidling to stand next to Becky, Amelia murmured under the conversation between the boys. “I’ve messed up. Huge.”

Placing a set of utensils on a folded linen napkin, Becky tilted her head. “Haven’t we all? My dad’s flirting up Nurse Shelley. I’ll tell you what, that makes it so I can’t mess up once. You can mess up for me.”

“Nurse Shelley? Really? Okay. But you’re perfect. You don’t know what ‘messed up’ means.” How could she? Becky had to have had a perfect life to be where she was. Amelia struggled to stifle the jealous edge to her thoughts.

Starting new with Robbie had so much appeal. But how did she offer a truce when he felt betrayed over Mac?

He didn’t even know about the marriage… yet…

“What would you do?” Amelia crossed her arms, staring at Mac but only seeing a battered Robbie with despair darkening his countenance.

She-Doc – the name was catchy – shrugged. “Feed him. Everyone feels better after eating.”

Food. A chance to speak with him, maybe without rancor. The meal delivery would give Amelia a reason to be there and an opportunity to save her pride.

He had left her before. The last thing she wanted or needed was to go begging for another chance or answers.

The tray complete, Becky smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

Amelia rested her fingers on Becky’s wrist. “Would you mind, if I took that? You can sit down with Slate. Robbie and I need to talk. This could be my peace offering.” She took the tray and grimaced apologetically. “That
you
made.”

“Sure. We got Mac. I need to check his stitches anyway. Take your time.” Becky arched her eyebrow and offered a side smile. The doctor had the coolest way of communicating so much with such a few simple movements.

Avoiding Slate’s pointed gaze, Amelia carried the tray out of the kitchen. Mac couldn’t be in better hands.

She clenched and loosened her hands on the handles of the rustic tray. Her steps slowed. Guest room… Which one? They lived in a damn guest ranch. Wait. The rest of the house was closed still. Slate had most likely sent Robbie to the room Becky had occupied a week or so before. Just feet from where Amelia slept. And showered.

She stopped outside the door. Her nerves pulled taut. She might not need to say anything. Maybe they could just move forward and forget everything from before. Hashing things out would probably cause more damage. It’s not like he could give a justifiably good reason for leaving her four years ago. Right?

She balanced the tray on her forearm and knocked softly. And knocked again. But no answer. He might’ve fallen asleep. She shifted her feet nervously. What did she do? She didn’t want to return to the kitchen with the food and bring on more questions for Becky and Slate or even worse look more cowardly than she felt. Better yet, she didn’t have the type of relationship with Robbie where she could walk in while he slept and wake him up. Leaving the food by the door wasn’t an option either.

Determined to just leave the food on a nightstand or other table in the bedroom and prepared to be quiet as she entered, Amelia pushed open the door to the suite. The bedroom and mini-sitting area were empty with the lights on.

She crossed to the nightstand, fear suddenly controlling her muscles. He wasn’t sleeping and he wasn’t in the rest of the house – she didn’t think. Which meant she’d come into the web while the spider was home. Instead of preparing herself to see him and guard against anything he might say, she’d prepared to be quiet and get out, vulnerability on a high level. Biting her lip, she set the meal down and spun to leave.

And pulled back, pressing her fingers to her lips.

He didn’t seem to have seen her which made it easier not to look away.

Robbie’s full form – broad shoulders, narrow waist, and muscular angles – silhouetted nicely in the doorway to the bathroom. He moved into the bedroom, revealing his only covering a terry cloth towel draped around his waist. Moisture speckled the planes of his abs and in the dips between his biceps and triceps.

Rubbing a hand towel through his inky-hair, Robbie moved slowly, the light amplifying the shadowy bruising and deep red abrasions. Amelia couldn’t look away. Her senses had been starved far too long. The fresh scent of his cologne rode the steamy warmth spilling from the bathroom doorway. Even damaged like he was, he’d never been more appealing.

Standing there, watching him, Amelia finally accepted the reality that he’d returned and it slapped her across the face.

Unbidden heat spread from her stomach outwards. Had he noticed her? Her eyes widened when he pulled the towel from around his waist.

Facing away from her, his bare ass taunted her as he wiped the towel down his chest and arms.

Oh hell, it’d been entirely too long.

Crap. No. Don’t turn around.
Her mouth moistened.

He turned. Amelia couldn’t hide her gasp. The sound a whisper in the silent room. His muscles had hardened… ahem… an embarrassed heat crept to her hairline.

She had to take the power back. He’d turned, probably hoping to shock her, and stared at her while he toweled himself off.

She blurted out the first thing that came to mind – besides, well, sex. “You’ve filled out.” Her jaw dropped. “I mean, you’re not as lanky as…” Crap, no matter what she said, he knew she remembered him naked. “Sorry to just come in. I… Um… I thought you were sleeping.” She waved at the lowered tray. “Dinner from Becky. It smells amazing.” Which he could probably smell. Yep, she sounded stupid.

He crossed his arms, failing to cover an important part. She focused her gaze over his head, fluttering her hands while still talking. “I haven’t eaten it yet, but Mac…” Dumb girl, why did she bring up the elephant in the room? She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. Ooh, she’d need to talk to Slate about fixing the thermostat in that part of the house. Dang room had warmed up like a sauna.

Robbie’s jaw tightened. He stared, not answering.

Which only increased Amelia’s nervousness.

She chewed on her inner cheek, clasping her hands together at hip level. What did he want? She had nothing for him. He’d taken everything when he’d left.

He’d left. Her.

When would she stop forgetting that?

A fierce calm settled around her like a layer of dust. She relaxed onto the flats of her feet. “I’m sorry.” Where had that come from? “I should have told you about him. No matter what. But you left so fast and I was so mad for so long…” She half-shrugged. “When you finally called, I swore Slate to secrecy until I was ready.”

His eyes narrowed. The distance separating them disappeared with one long stride by his well-toned legs. Oh, wow, absolutely-naked-Robbie stood inches from her, his heat pulsing between them. Wait what? She giggled at the double meaning of her thoughts.

A fingertip under her chin, he tilted her face up. “What’s so funny, Amelia?” The sober tone made her more nervous which brought tears to her eyes. Her mirth faded.

She blinked them away and pulled back. The emotional ride shook her – crying, angry, laughing, what next? She needed to get out of there. Finish her task and then run.

Brutal honesty had always been the only way to get anywhere with him.

A whisper would have to suffice. Any louder and she would certainly cry. “You’re here. I’ve pictured it for so long.” She wiped under her eyes. “But you’re here and all I can think is how mad at you I
should
be.” She broke off, unable to meet his gaze, staring instead at the smooth skin over his collarbone, the sexy way his shoulder curved into thick-but-not-bulky neck muscles.

He didn’t pull away, if anything he took up more space and seemed larger standing over her. “
Should
be?”

She raised her eyes, meeting the blue heat in his. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to be mad at you tomorrow…” And heaven help her, she would be, but right then the loneliness of the last four years acted as a strong aphrodisiac. That and the sheer nakedness standing so, so, so close but not touching her.

“Yeah? Well, if it’s okay with you, I’m still mad.” He wrapped his fingers around her waist and pulled her against him. Their lips melded together, warm, and natural.

Palms flat against the pec muscles she’d dreamt about for so long, Amelia pushed her hands up his still-damp chest, over those delicious shoulder muscles and then clasped them behind the strong column of his neck. Angling her head to his, their lips danced like they had missed each other more than even she could comprehend.

With him naked and her desire to throw her emotions into the hallway just to be able to enjoy the one night of not being alone, being held in someone’s arms –
his
arms, Amelia pushed herself forward, making her intentions known. His moist skin soaked through her shirt and she didn’t care. Well, that was a lie. She cared that her shirt was still on.

Forget dinner. Amelia was only interested in dessert.