Slightly Imperfect (21 page)

Her jolting response answered her own questions.

"Defense rests." He smiled, releasing her and stepping away. "You think about us, Victoria. Think how it could be." Promise smoldered in his eyes. "Think how it's going to be, because it is. And remember this. I'm not going to die and leave you." Quick, unconscious rebuttal must have registered in her eyes, for he assured her, "I'm not afraid of Coby. I can handle that. And I'll never move across the world and leave you, the way Christian did. God hasn't created a race of heathens needy enough to make me put them before you. I want to make love to you as much as I've ever wanted anything in my life."

His resignation migrated past reasoning and into her soul.

"But even more, I want to love you. You and Marcus and Ari and Alex. For the rest of my life. Every time you open your eyes or look around, or close your eyes to fall asleep, I'll be there for you, and someday there will be no ghosts for either of us. All the hurts will be nothing but dim memories God allows us to keep just so we'll know how lucky we are." He tilted forward, touched his lips to her forehead. "You think about
that
, Victoria."

"Zac."

He swiveled to face her, centered in the doorway, dark brows lifted, eyes questioning.

"Are you angry?" Anger had deprived her before. Denied and manipulated her through men who professed to love her. Realization of how the consequences of this man's anger could reach beyond her to Marcus grieved her.

"Angry because you don't know you love me? Because you're afraid to love me? I'm not angry. No,
novia
." His eyes searched her face. "When I'm angry you'll know it. You won't have to tiptoe around wondering. I won't withhold sex to punish you. I won't play games. I'll tell you, and I'll tell you why. That's the kind of relationship we'll have. So you think about that, too." He waited as quiet closed in, settled on them. "We'll make love when you want to. You let me know."

* * *

When he walked into Bay Shore the phone was ringing. He thought she had shown remarkable restraint by not calling him on the truck phone.

"When, Victoria? Where?"

She laughed softly. "I'm sorry that I—"

"Don't be. I understand."

"I'll come over there. Now."

His skin prickled, lower parts leaping wildly. The ocean roared in his ears. "No." He must be crazy. "I'll come by tomorrow night after class." He'd be crazy by then, all right.

"The children will be here."

"They always will be,
novia
. They're a fact of life."

He understood her hesitation, and he knew it didn't have all that much to do with Ari, Alex and Marcus. Making love was going to be just as hard for him, here in his and Carron's bed, but Tomas Cordera's overpowering influence had to be banished first.

"I love you." He waited, giving her ample time to reciprocate before he said, "I'll see you tomorrow night."

"Good night, Zac."

"Good night, Victoria. I love you."

"I'll think about that," she promised.

* * *

Victoria stood in the foyer of Chandler House, keys in her hand. She stole one last kiss from the twins before Monica, her father's wife of two years, led them up the winding staircase.

"Victoria, could you come into the study before you go?"

Her heart weighted by Pierce's tone, she watched the twins go. "Of course."

The familiar straight-backed chair, one she had never occupied to hear good news in all the years she had lived in Chandler House, beckoned her. Pierce perched on the edge of his leather club chair. She recognized the ragged and curled edges of the photo he took from his pocket.

"Who is this man?"

"Zac Abriendo." She accepted the photo.

Lizbett had taken the snapshot of Zac and Ariana the day they had gone to brunch, along with an entire roll. Ari had latched onto this one, carried it in her little pink plastic purse, talked to it, slept with it.

"Where did you get this?" She dropped it into her bag.

"Ariana left it when she was here last. Who is he?" He rephrased his inquiry. "What's his relationship to Ariana? And to you?"

"He's a friend."

"Are you sleeping with him?"

"I plan to." Pierce's mouth tightened as she consulted her watch. "When I leave here tonight."

"I'm trying to understand all this, Victoria."

His voice held sincerity, she decided. She credited him with not having called her earlier, when Ariana had left the photograph.

"If you're going to sleep indiscriminately why can't you stay with your own people?"

"If I had stayed with
my own people
I wouldn't have Marcus."

"Precisely."

"Zac is a wonderful man." "He's Mexican."

"That's where any similarity between Zac and Tommy ends." The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed inordinately loud. "I'm a grown woman. I'm making my own way in the world, and my own decisions." The clock's ticking, the only sound to break the elongated stony silence, equaled a time bomb in her soul. "Is this conversation going somewhere?"

"Five years is a long time. I'm making moves—putting out feelers—toward seeking the senatorial seat again."

"You won't need me. You have Monica this time."

"I need you to stay away from this Mexican man. It will only stir up old rumors. The media will pick up on the similarity of Tomas Cordera immediately. They'll ride it—and you—to death. And ride me into obscurity."

"If the media is fair they'll give Zac credit for who he is, not who he resembles." As she had begun to do. "His family is hundred-year-old Ramona stock. He's a decent person."

"I told you five years ago if you would recognize my relationship with Tomas Cordera the Hispanic vote would be yours," she reminded. "History truly does repeat, Pierce. If you're wise you won't compromise yourself this time."

Pierce's face colored; his steel-gray gaze held hers. "What does Abriendo do?"

"He was a shrimp fisherman. He inherited some money. He fishes for pleasure now, more or less. He's continuing his education. He's very... astute." She had almost said ambitious.

"What does he
do
, Victoria? As a contribution to commerce."

She held a breath, released it quietly before plunging in. "He works with Gerald Fitzpatrick somehow. They're rebuilding the old Fischer's Landing district, turning it to low- income housing."

His countenance stormed, eyes narrowing. She wasn't sure which she heard, disgust or defeat in his voice. "You'll go to any length to punish me for Tomas Cordera, even if it means taking up with the enemy camp."

"I want to form my own opinion about that—the enemy camp. I always took your opinion, Pierce. Before. I owe Zac an open mind where Gerald Fitzpatrick is concerned."

"Your last word? No consideration for my needs?"

"Marcus needs a male influence in his life. The twins too. Zac is the finest I could hope for."

"What was wrong with the twins' father?"

"He didn't love Marcus."

His brow corrugated. "I distinctly know that's untrue. I had a lengthy conversation with Christian when he was here in May."

"Christian didn't love Marcus the way I wanted him to."

"No man will ever be able to do that. You're obsessed where that child is concerned."

"Zac will."

His mouth twisted. "I have advice for you, Victoria. I hope you'll listen, regardless of how you view my motives."

She made a listening face, brows arched slightly.

"If you put so much worship into that boy—"

"Marcus. Marcus Cordera. My son. Your grandson."

"He will grow up someday and break your heart." His tone was acerbic. "The voice of experience speaks."

"I would do it anyway. It's unconditional love. The kind a parent is supposed to give."

He flinched.

"The kind you seem to have for Coby."

Pierce stood, crossed the Aubusson carpet to an armoire in the end of the richly paneled room. Scotch splashed from a carved crystal decanter into an equally fine old-fashioned glass. Dropping one ice cube from a silver bucket into the amber liquid, he sipped several times, his back to her, before asking, "When in God's name are you going to call that doctor and tell him to let Cailen come home?"

"When I believe it's safe."

"I have to have him out of there before I can officially begin—"

"Do you think it's safe, Pierce? Do you think Coby is well—that he won't do it again if things—if I don't please him? Suppose I'm the one he decides to eliminate this time? I have children now. Responsibility."

"You were responsible
then
."

She braced.

"Responsible, for what your cousin did. You led him on." He threw back the scotch without a sign of burning. "Come to grips with that, and we'll have no problems. No problems, if you don't make the same mistake again."

"A mistake like Zac, you mean."

"I want Cailen out of that hospital. Do you want me to beg?"

"No." She rose, looked at her watch pointedly, causing him to frown. "I want you to care. Care about me and what's best for my children." She shouldered her bag. "By the way... thank you for converting Coby's and my old rooms for the twins. But there's a discrepancy, I believe."

"Point it out," he said quickly. "I'll have it corrected immediately."

"I have three children. There are only two suites."

Fear settled on her as she left Chandler House. Fear the gulf between she and her father would never be bridged.

Zac stood in Victoria's bathroom doorway. He had let himself in and found her exactly ss he had the night before. Abruptly, he understood why she had dropped off a key to the suite at the Bay Shore gate earlier that day. "Now I know the real meaning of
déjá vu
."

"I've felt badly all day for sending you away last night."

Crossing to where she sat on that same stool, he knelt in front of her again. "Last night's insanity made an interesting day for me, too." He smiled, his hand going to the opening of that same creamy blue robe, easing it from her shoulders.

She had a scrubbed look, face bare and shiny, skin cool, still dewy from the shower. Fine, wet tendrils of hair framed her face. Her soapy smell, the same smell Ari sometimes had, was nothing as mundane as Ivory. He paced himself, kissing her shoulders, the hollow of her throat, before he worked his way to her mouth. "Where are the children? Will we have a gallery?"

Her humoring smile wrenched his heart. That smile allowed him to believe it would be just this way between them all the way to infinity.
Perfect.

"They're gone." Her hands went to his hair, fingers trailing on the back of his neck. "We're alone, and we have champagne."

The significant disclosure fired his anticipation. He eased the robe away and caressed her breasts, his eyes holding hers. "Champagne. Is that the way rich people are supposed to do this?" When she put her hands over his and pressed, a wave of longing moved through him so powerfully his body swayed. "I don't need champagne."

"This is a celebration."

"Doesn't champagne need to breathe or something?" He pressed his face into a shallow valley of cleavage created by their joined hands.

"Red wine breathes," she whispered against his temple. "Champagne goes flat. It ruins."

"Let it ruin." He stood, pulling her up gently, against his rigid body. "I want you so much I
can't
breathe. I'll buy more champagne."

Carron would like him spending her money that way.

He made a move to pick her up, thinking of the room he'd just passed through, the beautifully dressed bed. He wondered if Tomas Cordera had bothered to throw back that elaborate spread before enjoying her there. Zac could understand how Tommy had loved her, worshipped her enough to get himself killed. Zac believed he loved her more, enough to exorcise Tommy from her life.

Apparently she was having related thoughts. She caught his forearms, giving a gentle, downward tug. "This rug is wonderful." She looked down for an instant then back at him, meaningfully.

The rug was thick, deep, soft, the color of her robe with a lot of creamed coffee mixed in. Of course she knew its wonder, but for the moment he could allay that pleasure.

"I want you in that bed." That minute crease he had come to love appeared between her jade eyes, just above the bridge of her nose. He kissed it, kissed her deeply, pledging his conviction, seeking her compliance, which was not immediate in coming.

"It has to be this way, Victoria. Trust me." He met her eyes, hoped his were kind, hoped they expressed the desire and conviction behind his edict.

Restraint slackening, she drew him toward the door.

He hadn't known what to expect. She had never actually said she wanted him. He feared maybe he wanted that enough to imagine it, unable to completely dismiss the possibility she was doing it for Marcus. She was always so reserved, so proper. Yet, there had been veiled sensual hints he often pondered.

No amount of speculation could have prepared him. She opened like a flower kissed by a gentle sun, gradually, at a consistent velocity until she burgeoned, grew ripe within his hands, beneath his mouth. She drew him in, rising to him, gorging him with intense pleasure, nearly indistinguishable from pain.

He eased back, staying her, her face pressed to his chest.

She forced her head back, her eyes to his. "What is it?"

He smiled. "I'm pacing myself."

"Don't," she said against his mouth. "Take what you want."

She
was the taker. His female repertoire was limited, but he had never been with anyone who savored sex as much as Victoria. She raised her arms above her head, clasping her hands loosely in a passive position akin to bondage. Her body arched into his touch; she held his eyes until hers glazed and closed, heavy with what could only be desire.

"Yes," she whispered when he moved to cover her, enter her.

He thought of a movie he had once watched, books he had felt he shouldn't enjoy. He fought his urge to thrust, to seek completion.