D'Alessandro's Child Page 4

  He’d left Doug Russell, his chief foreman, in charge, and flown down to San Francisco the next day, braced to cope with the physical devastation of Kay’s illness and willing to do whatever he could to help ease her final days. But the sight of her poor ravaged body—emaciated, bloodless, her once glorious auburn hair reduced to a few pale wisps, her milky skin turned bilious yellow—did not hit home quite as hard as the bombshell she handed him when he arrived at her bedside.

  We had a baby, Mike…a son. I gave him away….

  That he hadn’t been able to think straight since was his only excuse for the way he’d acted tonight. Because if he’d stopped to use his brains, he’d have realized that alienating Camille accomplished nothing. She was his passport to Jeremy. He needed her in ways she couldn’t begin to imagine.

  Stooping, he sent a rock skipping over the moonlit surface of the water and watched the ripples spread toward the far bank in a complex, glimmering chain. Sort of like his life, right now, he mused.

  Two weeks ago, he’d been single, unattached, and successful. The lean years were behind him, the money rolling in, his life, like his financial records, an open book in perfect order.

  Today he was an undercover father lusting after a woman he couldn’t have; a liar, a sneak, and now, as the final icing on the cake, supposedly an abusive ex-husband.

  He could hardly wait to find out what tomorrow would bring!

  CHAPTER THREE

  IF SHE’D known who it was ringing her bell at eleven o’clock the next morning, she’d have slipped into something less revealing before answering. Better yet, she wouldn’t have answered at all. But expecting it was Fran, whom she knew must be eaten up with curiosity about what had gone awry the night before, Camille left Jeremy splashing in the pool under Nori’s watchful eye and flung open the front door without a second thought.

  Fran, though, didn’t top six feet by at least three inches, or sport the kind of shoulders associated with beefcake movie stars in their prime. She didn’t wear khaki shorts that showed off a pair of tanned athletic legs dusted with fine black hair. And she did not, as a rule, look as if she were about to have a seizure at the sight of Camille in a bathing suit.

  “I know,” Michael D’Alessandro began, eyeing all the skin she was showing with undisguised interest and not the least bit deterred by what she hoped was the icy glare she offered him in return. “I’m probably the last person you want to see.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “I’m a jackass.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your mother would probably like to see me strung up by the thumbs.”

  “Leave my mother out of this,” she shot back. “It’s what I’d like to see happen that you need to worry about.”

  “I wish I could explain.”

  Explain reducing her to molten lava with his expert seduction, then tossing her aside and leaving her to return to the gala alone to face her family and friends? “Don’t even try. There’s no excusing the way you behaved. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”

  “I kinda figured that might be the case.”

  “Then it should come as no surprise that you’re not welcome in my house. I’m giving you exactly thirty seconds to vacate the premises.”

  “At least let me apologize before you turn the rotweilers loose on me.”

  The man had the audacity to smile as he said that and she, dolt that she was, had a hard time not smiling back. “I don’t keep rotweilers. Until I met you, there was never any need.”

  “Until I met you,” he said, his voice as smooth as warm satin against her skin, “I never behaved like a maniac on the loose. But then, I’ve never met a woman like you before, either, so I’m a bit at sea on the proper protocol.”

  Oh, the nerve of the man, trying to look angelic and remorseful all the time his insolent gaze roamed over her without a shred of shame! “It’s no great mystery,” she said tartly. “In the kind of social situation we shared last night, it’s customary for a gentleman to treat his dinner partner with the same courtesy and respect that she extends to him.”

  “I know.” He tried to look suitably humble, but the devil lurking in his eyes was laughing. “However, when the lady in question persists in turning the social situation into a romantic tryst beneath the stars, a gentleman’s better instincts tend to get lost in more…earthy concerns.”

  “Are you suggesting that I deliberately set out to…to…well, to…?”

  “Get me so hot I couldn’t see straight?”

  Shocked by such a blunt assessment, she backed away. “I had no such intention!”

  “Didn’t you?” he said, losing no time getting his foot in the door and stalking her across the foyer. “Wasn’t that why you followed me outside?”

  “Certainly not!” She had never sounded more definite in her life. Neither had she ever blushed so furiously that even her ankles turned pink!

  “Mmm-hmm.” He gave her a pitying smile, the kind which said, Come off it, Camille! I wasn’t born yesterday and neither were you!

  “I thought you weren’t feeling well and came after you to see if there was anything I could do.”

  “You came after me because you thought I no longer found you attractive and you wanted to know why.”

  She opened her mouth to deny it, but giving voice to such a barefaced lie put a stranglehold on her vocal cords and rendered her mute. Was there to be no end to her humiliation?

  He touched his forefinger to the underside of her lower lip and pushed it back where it belonged. “In case I left you in any doubt, I find you damn near irresistible, Camille.”

  He sounded as if he really meant it; as if, in having hurt her, he’d hurt himself. It had been so long since a man had spoken to her like that, with his voice cloaked in tender regret—as if she mattered, as if he cared!—that her eyes filled and her chin quivered.

  Noticing, he hooked his finger in the strap of her bathing suit and tugged her toward him. “If you thought my behavior was out of line last night,” he said, his mouth inching dangerously close to hers, “you should know that I’m fighting a serious urge to kiss you again now, and if you start crying, I don’t hold out any guarantee that I’ll be able to control myself.”

  “I’m not sure that I want you to,” she whimpered.

  “Oh, brother!” He closed his eyes and exhaled, his breath ruffling sweetly over her face. “I’m in trouble!”

  “Not necessarily.”

  The back of his finger slid from her shoulder to graze the upper slope of her breast. “Are you sure you know what you’re saying? I’m not made of stone, Camille, and you’re not exactly dressed to receive company. Do you really want to run the risk of Jeremy walking in on us?”

  “Heavens, no!” She pulled away and slapped her crossed arms over her breasts before he noticed how animated they’d become at the prospect of a little morning seduction. “Thank goodness one of us has some sense!”

  He shot her a cajoling glance. “Does that mean I’m forgiven for last night?”

  She’d never been much good at holding a grudge. An optimist herself, she looked for the best in other people; wanted to believe that their motives were pure, their intentions good. And the more she saw of Michael D’Alessandro, the more she sensed that his was a strength drawn as much on integrity as physical power.

  “I think we should forgive each other and move on,” she said, stepping well out of the reach of temptation before she weakened and begged him to throw caution to the winds and follow his instincts. She’d wound up in enough trouble last night when she was fully clothed. Playing fast and loose with fire when she had barely a stitch on was asking to be burned.

  “In that case, I have something in my car I’d like to give to Jeremy—with your permission, of course. Come and tell me what you think.”

  Slinging an arm around her shoulders, he steered her outside to his car and lifted the hatchback. “What do you think of that?” he said, nodding at the fire-engine
-red car inside.

  She recognized it at once. It had been donated by a local businessman with a passion for vintage cars, and was a scaled-down working reproduction of a 1920 roadster, perfect to every last detail. “I know it’s one of the items raffled off last night and that half the fathers in this town hoped they’d be taking it home with them. How did you come by it?”

  “Someone phoned me at the B and B this morning to tell me I’d won it.” He stroked an admiring hand over the gleaming chrome rear fender. “It’s a beauty, and I hoped, since I’ve missed out on so many—” He stopped suddenly, his expression startled, as if he’d caught himself about to say something untoward. It took him a moment before he recovered enough to continue, “Well, I hoped you’d let me give it to Jeremy.”

  “Michael!” she protested. “I’m the one who solicited donations for the raffle. I know what that toy’s worth and I can’t possibly let you give it to a child you barely know.”

  “Why not? There’s no one else I’d sooner see have it, and as for how much it cost….” He shrugged. “I got it for the price of a couple of tickets. A pretty cheap way to give a boy pleasure, wouldn’t you say?”

  “But isn’t there someone at home you’d rather save it for?”

  “I don’t have children waiting there for me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Well, she had wondered about that, given that he’d mentioned he’d been married at one time, but she hadn’t expected touching on the subject would trigger quite such a vehement reaction in him.

  As if realizing he’d been abrupt, he said lightly, “My cousin Dante and his wife have four-year-old twins, but those boys already have enough toys to fill a barn. They don’t need any more.” He gestured at the roadster. “In any case, I’ll be flying home, and there’s no way this is going to fit in my carry-on bag.”

  “Jeremy isn’t exactly lacking when it comes to playthings either, you know.”

  “I’m not suggesting he is.”

  “I know. I just feel I’m taking advantage of your generosity. Wouldn’t you rather give the car to charity—maybe to a children’s hospice, or even to our shelter? Many of the women we help are mothers with small children and a toy like this—”

  “Jeremy will have a blast with it and I’d like to see it go to him.” His tone was edging toward sharp again, and he made a conscious effort to moderate it. “Look, I’ll make a deal with you. Let him have it for now, and when he outgrows it in a year or two, you have my permission to donate it wherever you think it will do the most good.”

  My, the man was stubborn! But he was also right. Jeremy would be in seventh heaven. “Well…okay! You’ve convinced me. I’ll go get him out of the pool and into some dry clothes.”

  His face broke into the smile she couldn’t resist. Was there a woman alive who could? “Terrific! While you’re doing that, I’ll unload the car.”

  The mixture of awe and delight reflected on Jeremy’s face when he saw his gift left Camille midway between laughter and tears. It was impossible not to enjoy his pleasure—and equally impossible not to be aware yet again of how much he missed not having a father around to share such moments with him.

  After his initial shriek of delight and wide-eyed, “Wow, Mommy, look!” she was relegated to the role of spectator as he and Michael got down to the serious man-to-man business of examining the car and figuring out how it worked.

  “The thing is, buddy,” Michael said, hunkering down beside him and flipping open the trunk, “your engine runs on these batteries in here.”

  “Cool!”

  “Yeah, but it won’t be so cool if they get drained. So when you’re finished playing for the day, you have to take them out like this, see?”

  “But not ’til I park, right?”

  Michael buried a grin. “Right. When you’ve parked, they need to be plugged into an electrical outlet to recharge so that you’re ready to roll again the next day. Think you can sweet-talk your mom into doing that for you?”

  “I can do it myself.” Jeremy puffed out his chest with pride. “I do it for my remote control truck. Mom showed me how.”

  “No kidding.” Michael looked appropriately impressed. “I guess you’re more grown up than I realized.”

  “I’m three!”

  “That’s pretty grown up, all right.”

  “Can I drive now?”

  “Sure, as long as you remember to steer straight and brake when you want to slow down, otherwise you’ll be plowing through your mom’s flower beds and I’ll be for the high jump.” He held open the door while Jeremy climbed into the driver’s seat, then stood back and gave him the thumbs-up. “Hit the road, Jack!”

  Camille held her breath, all at once unsure she’d made the right decision. “How fast can that thing go, Michael?”

  “About as fast as this,” he assured her, his long-legged stride keeping easy pace as Jeremy took off around the circular turn-around at the foot of the steps. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay with him until he’s got the hang of things, and as long as you keep the driveway gates closed so he can’t wander out into traffic, he’ll be fine.”

  He really was a nice man, she thought; patient, kind, and generous not just with material things, but with his time and the attention he paid to her little boy. “I’ve got my camera in the car,” he said to her, at one point. “Do you mind if I take a couple of shots to record the moment, before the novelty wears off?”

  “Of course not. I should have thought of it myself.”

  He snapped a picture of Jeremy beaming behind the wheel, and another of him polishing the hood of the car with the tail of his T-shirt, then caught her offguard and took one of her, as well. Later, when Jeremy asked him to play football, Michael made a big production of trying to wrestle the ball away from him and not succeeding.

  Jeremy was in seventh heaven and would happily have kept him hopping all afternoon if Nori hadn’t come out to say that lunch was ready.

  Michael seemed genuinely sorry to see him leave. “He’s a real gem, Camille.”

  “I know. And you were wonderful with him.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s easy to…like.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his shorts, seeming almost uncomfortable with the compliment. “Thanks for hearing me out—and for letting me unload my winnings on him.”

  He gave a little salute and turned away with no mention of seeing her again. The possibility that their association had come to an end, that he might leave Calder and head home without so much as a goodbye, all at once struck her as unthinkable. “You don’t have to go just yet if you don’t want to,” she called out, seconds before he climbed into his car. “You could stay for lunch—unless you have other plans, that is?”

  “No plans,” he said, loping back and coming to a stop so close to her that she could see her reflection in the pupils of his eyes. “At least, not until later this afternoon.”

  “Then please say you’ll stay. I know Jeremy would like it.”

  “Just Jeremy?” His mouth twitched with amusement.

  She flushed. “All right, I’d like it, too.”

  “You just talked me into it.”

  Her heart beat a little tattoo against her ribs. “It won’t be anything fancy.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” he said. “Just seeing you blush like that could turn dry bread and water into a feast.”

  Her idea of fancy didn’t coincide with his. Although a member of two of Vancouver’s most revered clubs, when he was on the job he usually brown-bagged it for lunch, which meant something simple like a sandwich and fruit. He’d hang out with his employees, using the time to listen to their beefs and iron out any problems. Or, if the weather was really lousy, he’d take the whole crew down to the nearest hamburger joint.

  Sushi on a sun-dappled terrace might be considered a “nothing fancy” lunch in Camille’s world, but it was a “special occasion” treat in his.

  What really stunned him, though, was the way Jeremy dug right in, wielding chops
ticks better than most kids his age used a fork. Tuna, abalone, eel, pickled ginger—the whole lot went down the little red lane with equal relish.

  “Quite the cosmopolitan little gourmet you’ve got there,” Mike remarked.

  “He loves Japanese food, and I have Nori to thank for it.” Camille exchanged smiles with the tiny woman hovering over Jeremy, then lowered her voice to add, “She’s been with me from the day we brought him home from the hospital. I don’t know how I’d have managed without her, especially since the divorce. She’s been a second mother to him—not that that makes up for his not having his father around, of course.”

  His father’s around, sweetheart. You’re sitting right next to him!

  Hard-pressed not to spit out the truth and have done with, Mike turned his attention to a plate of California rolls and selected one. But either he needed more practice with chopsticks, or he was too preoccupied with his private dilemmas because the roll took on a life of its own, flipped loose and splattered on the table.

  Jeremy burst into the same infectious giggle which had captured Mike’s heart the first time he laid eyes on the boy. “You made a mess, Michael. You’ve got gohan all over your shirt.”

  “Gohan?”

  “Rice,” Camille said. “He’s picked up quite a bit of Japanese from Nori. Do you care for more tea?”

  “No, thanks. I should be going. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

  He might be mouthing words he didn’t mean, but she wasn’t when she replied, “Oh, please! We’ve hardly had any chance to visit privately.”

  “Quit tempting me! I might wear out my welcome.”

  “Don’t be silly. Jeremy goes down for a half-hour nap once he’s finished eating, so unless you really do have to rush off, do stay a little longer.”