Secrets Of The Heart (Book 1, The Heart Series) (8 page)

“What could you have done that’s so bad? What could be so awful?” Her puzzled tone tore at him, jabbing at his loyalty, his honor.

He gave her one from a list of many, the one that would end this painful interrogation. “Kissing my son’s wife.”

Her shocked gasp rent the air. She moaned as if in pain. The sound tore him in two. “If you haven’t been able to pardon yourself, then I have no chance, do I?”

Nick dragged a hand through his hair. “Not likely,” he said in resignation, hating himself in the process and wondering when he’d become so heartless, so damned hurtful to Bree.

“I thought that by marrying me…you could at least put it behind you.” Her voice throbbed with agony, ripping him apart even more. “I guess I was wrong.”

Nick’s thoughts whirled, crashing together. He had to find a way to salvage what little potential remained in repairing what he’d nearly destroyed. “We may never mend the past.”

“We won’t as long as you hold onto those uncompromising ideals you refuse to examine.”

Her barb stung. Drawing strength from his desire to have a family once again, Nick continued, “If we can find a way to bury our ancient history, then maybe we can go on to have a pretty good future together.”

“Just because you bury something doesn’t mean it dies, Nick. You and I both know that; haven’t we tried to do that with our forbidden kiss? It just festers and becomes infected. If we had talked it out when it happened maybe we wouldn’t be in the position we’re in now.”

“Married?”

“Guilt ridden.”

“Well, we can’t change the past, can we?” He took a slow, deep breath, and then released it. Nick dismissed her attempts to hash out their terrible mistake. It was over and done with, the threatening repercussions gone along with Vinnie. “I’ll be the first one to admit we’ve made this huge leap from antagonists to husband and wife. It’s a little daunting to expect to switch gears so fast. Maybe we should look at this time at the cabin as an adjustment period.”

“A sort of transition?”

“Consider it a start to lay down a foundation of friendship.”

“Friendship…” She’d ended the word on a questioning lilt. “But you’re the one that forced the issue of a real marriage with the prenuptial agreement. Are you taking it back now?”

He gritted his teeth, trying to stem the raw edge of his desire for her. He’d waited years to make love to her. What would a few more days matter? What he said next screamed against his body’s needs. “We should get to know each other better first. I’m asking for a delay, that’s all.”

“A delay.”

“You sound like a damn parrot. Don’t you have anything worthwhile to say?”

“Well, excuse me for not being so
damned
articulate!” She rose swiftly. Towering over him, she bit out, “If you didn’t want to make love to me, Nick, then all you had to do is come right out and say so, not beat around the bush.” She marched into the cabin. The loud click of the door shut him out once again.

He groaned. If she only knew just how much he wanted her, he thought, it would scare her just as much as it did him.

***

Bree stirred awake. Peeking under her lashes, she found herself alone in the king-size bed. Weak beams of predawn gray light penetrated the cracks in the twin shuttered windows, illuminating the shadows in the large, masculine master bedroom.

The curved indentation in the snowy-white pillowcase beside her told her Nick had finally sought rest sometime last night, without waking her, without consummating their marriage.

A flash of sadness shafted through her chest. And an ache grew, deep and strong. Bree sucked in a shaky breath. The sharp painful catch caused a knife-like stab to puncture her throat.

Moisture gathered in her eyes, making her vision swim in disjointed, blurred shapes.

Will I ever have a husband who wants me on my wedding night?

Sighing, Bree grabbed Nick’s pillow to her, burying her face in the plush spongy softness and inhaling his special scent.

Anguish, low and deep, tugged at her, painfully reminding her how badly she wanted a real husband, one who loved her. In spite of her allegation, Bree sensed he wanted her. She may have little experience with men; she’d only been intimate with one, but she did detect desire in Nick.

The gentleness of his kiss yesterday still surprised her. Gentle wasn’t a word she’d ever associated with Nick, not in conjunction with her at least. He’d sampled her lips, and then gauged her response before he carried on.

There was tenderness in him, and compassion, only he refused to acknowledge that aspect of himself. Why would he hide that? Why would he deny that vital part of himself? Did he see it as a weakness?

He suffered unduly, heaping mountains of accusations on his doorstep when in fact nothing of the sort rang true.

She’d thought the closeness they’d shared last night would pave the way for a frank discussion on his son, therefore releasing Nick from his prison of guilt. But, he’d obstinately held onto his strong, unwavering stance on the entire matter, creating a wider rift between him and her.

And Bree realized now, the more she revealed about her life, the greater jeopardy she placed Sydney in.

Something I won’t fall prey to any time in the near future, she vowed, filling with steely conviction.

Her past tainted her first marriage. She wouldn’t allow it to destroy her second. Hadn’t Nick made it perfectly clear he hated liars? She’d keep her secret barricaded behind a very high, unbreachable stone wall with Nick on the other side.

But, she refused to disregard how Nick stirred a need in her, one that hinted at affection, caring, passion and so much more.

She marveled at that untapped side of herself, the emotional neediness. No other man had approached that level of fulfillment, not even hinting at the wondrous delights a mere hug could evoke. No other man could give her the refuge she sought.

Bree planned to seek haven in Nick’s arms. Hopefully, by doing so, he’d also find solace, and then grant himself some clemency for the whole host of crimes he swore he’d committed.

With a growing sense of rightness, determination sprouted. She’d give Nick her body, quenching this deep-seated craving to be cherished by him, releasing him from his self-imposed torment, but she’d never relinquish her precious, fragile secret.

That she’d guard with her life. And Sydney’s.

***

Bree must have dozed off; the next thing she knew brilliant sunshine, like greedy fingers, clawed through the slats. The mouthwatering aroma of frying bacon, percolating coffee, and something else drifted to her. “Blueberries,” she identified the third distinct scent. She groaned in appreciation.

Tossing off the covers, Bree rose hurriedly. Barefoot, and only wearing Nick’s UCONN sweatshirt, she padded across the highly polished wood floor, down the narrow hallway, and then the stairway. She ran her fingers through her hair, straightening it as she went.

Rubbing the last of sleep out of her eyes, she rounded the corner to the large living room. Part of her wished to prolong her next meeting with Nick, wondering at the reception she’d get, and the other part stood in admiration. She loved this room.

The comfortable red sofa and chairs invited guests to sit and relax. The many artifacts surrounding the large stone fireplace on matching floor-to-ceiling, built-in natural wood shelves spoke of Nick’s love of the Native American culture.

His house in Connecticut held Nana’s touch. But here, in his log cabin, Nick’s personality, his passion, beamed bright and strong.

She let her gaze sweep over the space, capturing the essence of the man she’d married. Tradition, heritage, family, loyalty, all screamed in unison. When she focused on the delicate sculpture of a mother cradling her infant, tenderness forged a path to Bree’s center.

That
elusive quality in Nick presented itself on rare occasions. Or maybe he purposely kept his compassion under wraps, she guessed. But it was there, an integral, endearing component to the man. One he claimed he didn’t possess.

He lied.

His deep voice intruded on her reverie, jolting her heart rate. He sang a familiar tune.

Bree walked softly to the kitchen, and then leaned a shoulder against the arched entryway. Sydney, dressed in a pink T-shirt and denim overalls, stood on a chair and lent her voice to the song. Her little girl assisted Nick in cooking breakfast. Bree’s heart swelled at the touching scene.

He wore faded jeans that hugged his bottom and a form-fitting black T-shirt. She halted the impulse to walk to him, wrap her arms around his middle, and then press her face against his solid back.

When the last note drifted away, Bree clapped, gaining their attention. “You guys are great together. Just as good as Dino, in fact. Maybe you should go on the road with your act.”

Sydney giggled. “And I can dance and put on a great big show. You can come, too, Mommy.” She jumped down and ran to Bree, hugging her, and then scooted to the table to pull a chair out for her mother.

Nick’s long, lingering perusal caused heat to enter her cheeks. Unmistakable male appreciation produced a zing tingling through her blood.

“The Singing Carlettis. How does that sound?” Nick asked, trying, with difficulty, to drag his thoughts back to the conversation. He could barely form the two sentences after seeing Bree standing there in nothing but his sweatshirt.

With her short hair tousled, no trace of makeup on her beautiful face, and his sweatshirt skimming her mid-thigh, revealing her shapely legs, Nick had never seen a sexier woman in his entire life.

He bet she wore nothing under his favorite shirt, he figured as he watched, mesmerized at the gentle sway of her full, unbound breasts as she walked to the breakfast table. His middle twisted in a tangle of knots, a myriad of desire.

“Can we really?” Sydney asked, her voice filled with hope.

He turned back to the frying pan, flipped the blueberry pancakes, and then chanced a glimpse over his shoulder.

No, Carletti, you weren’t delusional, she’s still one hot woman. Just like when she was lying beside you in bed last night, sleeping soundly as you memorized every nuance of her features, heard every soft breath, and slowly drove yourself insane
.

Bree’s chuckle sent a flare of heat shooting through his veins. “Sorry, sweetie,” she said. “I’m not half as good as you and Nick when I sing. You certainly don’t take after me in that regard.”

“It must be in the Carletti family,” Sydney said.

“Ah…yeah, that must be it.”

Nick heard the hesitation, his years of training easily detecting the brief, uncomfortable pause. What could have caused it? Did Bree want her daughter to have nothing from his side? Or was it his direct link to her child that irked her so?

Irritated at the thought, Nick spoke a little more harshly than he intended. “You owe your mother an apology.” He glanced at Sydney, urging her on after his discussion with her minutes before Bree arrived. His chest clenched as Sydney’s smile vanished, her lower lip trembling.

“I’m sorry, Mommy, for being a brat last night.”

Bree scooped up her little girl, wrapping Sydney in a big hug and placing a kiss on her temple. “You weren’t a brat, just a tad crabby after a very long day. You’re forgiven.”

Nick’s heart contracted, wishing she’d forgive him as quickly, wishing he could follow Bree’s lead and do the same to her. But he couldn’t. For Vinnie’s sake, he needed to press onward, uncover the secrets, and shed some light on this woman, on his doubts. Maybe then Nick could cut some slack on his tortured soul.

“Anyone hungry?” He broke the awkwardness.

Fifteen minutes later, sitting opposite Bree, Nick smiled inwardly at the woman’s ferocious appetite.

“Mmmmm. This is so good.” She closed her eyes as she savored a morsel. Nick conjured up erotic images of her.

With a great deal of difficulty, he swallowed his last bite of blueberry pancake.

“See, I told you she makes noises when she likes something,” Sydney said, and then popped a fork full of pancakes into her tiny mouth.

“Yeah,” he murmured, recalling Bree’s moans when he kissed her, long and slow.

Opening her eyes, Bree sought his. Hers widened and shifted to green, clearly telling him without words they both thought the same thing. An answering awareness hummed in his middle.

“Just wait ’til you see what’s in the picnic basket, mommy.”

Bree averted her stare, turning to her daughter. “Picnic basket?”

Was it his imagination or did her voice sound deeper, huskier? “Unless you have any objections, I thought we could hike around the lake, eat lunch, and go for a dip,” he explained.

“Poppa promised he’d teach me how to swim today.”

“Well, tell me about what you’ve packed and maybe you’ll sell me on this hike,” Bree said teasingly, returning to her food.

“It’s a secret.”

She pointed her fork at Sydney. “Now, that makes me want to know even more, young lady.”

“You’ll just have to trust us.” Nick swore her neck cracked from the speed she’d twisted to face him.

All signs of amusement evaporated. Sober now, she frowned. “Trust you, hmm? Can you do the same so easily if I asked you?”

He heard, as well as felt, the tension, stretched to unbearable lengths. She’d thrown down a challenge she knew he couldn’t, wouldn’t accept. He had to diffuse the strained situation fast. “Okay, you can pack the next surprise picnic basket.”

He witnessed the momentary hurt that slashed across her expression. It disappeared just as quickly as it had shown itself, making him wonder for a second if he’d seen it at all. The steel band tightened another notch around his chest, telling him he had without a doubt.

“I’ll help,” Sydney offered. “I’m real good at picking stuff for the basket. Right, Poppa?”

He smiled at his beaming granddaughter, her lips shiny from maple syrup. “Right, Princess.”

“Well now, it sounds like I’ll have to scavenger the cupboards to outdo you.” Bree directed the last at Nick, obviously playing along for Sydney’s sake.