Secrets Of The Heart (Book 1, The Heart Series) (3 page)

With that she turned, scooped up her ring of keys, and then walked on unsteady legs to the door. She grasped the shiny brass knob as if it were a lifeline.

Before she twisted it, Nick halted her actions by planting a hand against the wide wooden door, a hairbreadth from her. She jumped, wondering how such a big man could move so fast, so silently.

Tension surrounded him as if it were a living, breathing being. He stepped closer, holding his body scant inches away. Immobilized, she waited for him to move, to speak, to do anything.

He didn’t make her wait long. His hot breath made her shiver. But his voice, angry and dangerously low, sliced her to her core, shredding all hope of a compromise. “Is that how you operate? Is that how you tethered my son to you? By using your daughter?”

***

With her keys digging into her palm, Bree trudged up the concrete stairway to her tiny, second floor apartment. Each step was more leaden than the last. The pungent scent of flowers floating on the warm summer night breeze did little to refresh her from the hellish day she’d endured.

All afternoon and evening she went through the motions of styling hair. People’s faces, many of them longtime friends and customers, blurred now as she recalled the numerous haircuts, blow drys, dye jobs, and permanents she’d accomplished. Usually, she loved her demanding creative work, but today proved different.

“All because of Nick,” she whispered, still disturbed after the passage of ten hours. “Marriage? To Nick?”

She halted on the top step, momentarily paralyzed. Weariness seeped in and she turned around, plopping down on the hard cement as she reviewed their meeting.

The debacle played havoc with her mind, body, and soul. Every fiber of her being pulsed in memory. Her thoughts shunned the possibility of losing Sydney and drummed up the close contact with Nick.

Her body flared with remembered desire. But her soul suffered the most, twisting in agony. Dagger-like spears of guilt stabbed at her conscience, torturing her for her silence, her secret.
It’s the price I have to pay.

Bree blinked rapidly as if she could will the painful confrontation into nonexistence. Nothing would sweep away the bitter taste it left in her core.

Leaning her forehead against the cool iron railing, Bree released the tidal wave of regret, for the horrific present and for the loss of the past. What had gone so very wrong?

Vinnie, so young, so scared, either wouldn’t or couldn’t cope well with her problem pregnancy. With countless doctors’ appointments and numerous tests always looming, he had either volunteered to work more hours or planned his class schedule accordingly, leaving Bree to fend for herself. Or, she’d thought.

Nick came to her rescue more than once, creating an undeniable bond between them, an unmistakable connection. One she longed to reestablish for her sake, if truth be told.

More often than not, he taxied her back and forth, making certain any bad news be filtered through him first. On many occasions it was his strong shoulder she cried on when the risk, the pressure, became too great.

And eight months into it, when Vinnie left her alone while he went to the cabin for a breather, it was Nick she called in the middle of the night.

The contractions gripped her in frighteningly painful squeezes. He, with Nana in the backseat, rushed her to the hospital in his police cruiser with the siren blaring, clasping her hand, lending her his strength.

And it was Nick who coached her through the arduous labor and delivery, even being the first one to hold Sydney after the nurse brought her to him.

For all intents and purposes, Nicholas Carletti was more of a father to Sydney than Vinnie had ever been. So how could she fault Nick for seeking custody when they both knew he deserved more time with her daughter?

Nick’s ingrained sense of right and wrong, his loyalty, his integrity, always impressed her. She welcomed, even cherished, his positive influence on Sydney. Bree admired him and had come to depend on his solid, steady presence in her life.

Now she felt bereft, lonely, without his ready brand of security, his assistance. A big gaping void nearly swallowed her whole.

She missed him, missed the man he had been before Vinnie died eighteen months ago, before all their lives had been shaken upside down like a snow dome, upsetting the norm.

Even with all their bickering, all their differences, all his unspoken accusations, Nick had always come through for her, time and time again.

Nick Carletti had been her Rock of Gibraltar, her Sir Galahad, and her Knight in Shining Armor. “And your substitute husband,” she murmured. The stark reality penetrated her thoughts, confounding her at this shiny new nugget of startling information.

Bree discovered more solace, more comfort in Nick’s arms than in Vinnie’s. And, with that one, all-too-brief kiss, more passion, she admitted ruefully.

Shame stung her cheeks.

Mentally shaking herself, she tried to brush aside the clinging cobwebs of despair, the darkness dogging her heels.

With more energy than she felt, Bree stood, dusted off her bottom, and then approached her humble dwelling. She fit her house key in the lock and opened her door.

“I’m home, Tilly,” she called softly, not wishing to awaken Sydney. The muted sounds of the television reached her in the cheery yellow kitchen. She placed her purse along with her keys on the nearby scarred secondhand pine tabletop.

“It’s me, Ms. Hansen,” Tilly’s teenaged granddaughter answered. “Gram has another one of her migraines, so I offered to take care of Sydney."

Bree moved to the living room archway, and then leaned against the frame. The only light in the dark, spartan room came from the flashing images on the boob tube.

Sprawled on her stomach on the square of beige carpeted floor, the tall, willowy fifteen-year-old gazed intently at the small screen, absently flipping her long, reddish blonde hair over her shoulder. She obviously favored the hard floor over the Bentwood rocker and worn armchair.

“Thanks, Ali.”

“Mmmm,” she murmured, glued to the popular Thursday night comedy.

Bree chuckled at the single-minded absorption. “Ah, if life were that easy,” she muttered, feeling ancient all of a sudden. Today thirty seemed so much older than normal.

“Huh? Did you say something?”

“Just talking to myself. I’ll go check on Sydney.”

Tip-toeing down the short hallway, Bree wished for a real home with a great big yard for the puppy Sydney longed for. Selling the house Bree shared with Vinnie, along with most of its contents, to pay off their debts and finance her beauty shop provided continued security, a future for Sydney.

Guilt ridden from taking so much from her daughter, Bree poured the little bit of extra money into a special place for Sydney. The pink and white bedroom was a little girl’s dream, one Bree happily supplied for her daughter.

She pushed open the door. The glow of the night light yawned across Sydney’s tiny, pink pajama-clad form as if standing guard over her daughter, protecting her.

Entering, Bree almost stumbled as a well of love, so deep and so pure, rocked her.
How did I get so lucky?

She halted at the side of the twin bed, a ghost of a smile tugging at her mouth. Gazing down at the angelic sleeping child brought tears to her eyes. A tight band of steel constricted around her chest, squeezing off her air supply.

She yearned to spend more time with Sydney. The constant ache of missing her daughter, the loss of witnessing all the wondrous things happening to her, became so unbearable.

More often than not lately, Bree toyed with the idea of asking her two best friends and employees to buy into her business. The plan would solve the time issue since she’d cut back on her long hours. But, she reasoned, the assuredly lower income would only add to her struggle to make ends meet.

Gently, she sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly. She tucked the white sheet around her daughter’s shoulders. Undisturbed, Sydney slept on in blissful wonderland with her thumb stuck in her mouth.

Bree’s heart hitched; she knew Sydney only sucked her thumb now when she was emotionally troubled. Nana’s death certainly caused this new bout of upheaval. Bree suspected the thick, oppressive tension between Nick and her contributed to the situation.

Reaching out, she tenderly brushed back the white blonde bangs and chin length hair, grazing the full, soft cheek and exposing the dusting of freckles dotting the tiny nose.

Bree longed to see the cobalt blue eyes staring up in joy at her, but denied herself that reward, putting Sydney first as she always did.

“Oh, sweetpea,” she murmured, feeling the tug of war with her conscience, watching her daughter’s little chest rise and fall. “How can I keep you safe?”

The risk of a custody battle loomed like a huge rain cloud over her head, dark and threatening. The alternative frightened her to death; she’d worry endlessly on guarding her overwhelming attraction to Nick.

On the other hand, marrying him would cease his relentless prodding and probing into her merits on mothering Sydney, into her past. Into the circumstances on the shameful conception of my daughter, she added that painful reminder, shying away from the dreadful memories it evoked.

“What’s more important here?” she whispered softly. “My pride or Sydney’s safe, secure knowledge that she was conceived in love?”

If she allowed Nick’s search to continue he’d ferret out every kernel of truth, holding it up to the harsh, unforgiving light of his high standards. And, in doing so, she’d lose everything, including her daughter’s unwavering love, respect, and trust. “And Nick,” she said, experiencing a hollow sensation in her middle.

She chuckled. It came out raw and pain filled. “
He
doesn’t trust you now, silly.”

If Nick uncovered her deceit it would destroy all her hopes of developing a more satisfying, more intimate relationship with him. But, far worse, Sydney’s life would be irreversibly harmed, ruined.

“I can’t let that happen,” Bree vowed.

Taking a shaky breath, Bree made her decision. Even if she had to grovel she’d get Nicholas Carletti to marry her and put an end to his constant nagging suspicions about her.

***

In his refinished basement gym, Nick grunted as he lifted the ten-pound weight, performing arm curls. The unusual night time workout had nothing to do with conditioning his body. It had everything to do with sexy, disturbing Bree Hansen.

“Damn woman,” he bit out between gritted teeth. He prayed expelling this restless energy that plagued him since seeing her this morning eased his troubled thoughts. So far it proved futile.

She’d been a constant companion in a corner of his mind since their first meeting. The time and space she occupied seemed wrong, forbidden.

As much as he fought it, as much as he hated himself for it, Nick couldn’t stop it from occurring. She slipped into his musings at the strangest of times, bringing a smile to his lips or a chuckle rumbling from his chest.

Cold stark reality hit him square between the eyes: Sydney, a miniature version of her mother’s zest for life, kept him close to Bree, kept him connected to a woman that didn’t want anything to do with him.

“You fool, Carletti,” he cursed himself for hurting Bree today. “In order to get your family back you tried to steal a child away from her mother. You’re a sorry excuse for a man.”

Admit you want Bree back in your life, that’s why you went after sole custody of Sydney, that’s why you won’t stop pestering Bree
.

Nick could almost feel Nana’s chastisement raining down on him. He figured it didn’t even measure up to the pile of recriminations he heaped on himself.

He gave in to the burning in his overworked muscles, putting an end to his brutal pace. Placing the weight on the floor produced a ting of metal. He ignored the rivets of perspiration sliding down his bare chest.

Instead, he focused on blotting out the fresh wave of agony every time he recalled how close he’d been to Bree only hours earlier.

He cringed inwardly at his ruthless attacks on her. Why should he be so surprised at her withdrawal from him, at her rejection? Why should he care if she didn’t want him as her husband? But he did.

The sharp, piercing peel of the doorbell ripped through his disquieting reverie.

“Who the hell’s visiting at this time of night?” he growled as he snatched up a handy white towel and took the stairs two at a time. At the last minute, he remembered he’d left his T-shirt downstairs.

Passing through the pitch black, newly renovated kitchen, he wrapped the towel around his neck, using a dangling end to mop his forehead.

The annoying sound shrilled through the house again as he skirted the dining room and made his way into the living room.

“Hold your horses,” he said as he yanked open the front door. Shock rippled through him as he stared at his late night visitor on the other side of the screen door. She never made unscheduled visits. “Bree.” Her name came out on a thready breath.

“Can I come in? I need to talk to you.” Her husky voice sent tingles down his spine.

He shoved open the screen door. The hinges protested sharply. He kept his hand on the cool metal, his arm stiff, so she could pass by. She took her sweet time entering.

A waft of her heady scent tickled his senses. Her lengthy perusal of his nearly naked body caused his middle to knot. Her gaze lingered on his gray workout shorts, making him fear she’d get an eyeful in a minute.

“Why are you here?” he asked, still standing less than a foot away from her as he released the door. The squeak that followed grated along his strained nerves.

“I told you, to talk.” She broke the invisible threads that bound them together as she moved inside. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

Lady, you always disturb me, more than you’ll ever know.

Closing the door, he cupped her elbow and directed her beyond the night shrouded dining room and into the starlit sun room.

Her warmth seeped into the empty spaces in his splintered core, making him want to hold on for much longer. With his thumb he found the pulse point in the fold of her arm, detecting the jump in the rapid beats. He figured he wasn’t the only one affected by the closeness and the physical attraction.