She was all they had, she knew that. Yet she’d only seen her parents once since she’d returned from Germany three months before.
The visit had ended after only two hours. Having gained space from them during her time in Europe, enduring their constant harping and sly, nasty comments about each other had been more than she could tolerate. After more than twenty years, she’d finally lost it.
Why don’t you separate and find your own lives? she’d said as she’d headed for the door. You should have done it when I was little, then I wouldn’t be so screwed up now. You didn’t stay together for my sake, you just want to keep punishing each other forever. I can’t stand any more. I’m your daughter, not your referee!
Since that day, her mum and dad had phoned her every day as usual, but although they’d tried apologising, asking, and finally begging her to come home, she couldn’t force herself to go back. If she had to hear one more snide, sarcastic remark between them…it felt as if she were dying of slow suffocation, a strangling of her spirit. It might entertain them, but it only hurt her, and reinforced the reasons why she’d never be normal.
She came out of her reverie to the realisation that something was wrong. By instinct, her gaze swerved to the large French doors leading onto the back veranda.
Jim stood leaning against the doorway talking into his phone, looking at her, yet it was as if she wasn’t there; his whole concentration was on the call. His body was taut, his face filled with quiet storms.
It was none of her business.
She turned her eyes back to the table, determined to show everyone that she didn’t care. She forced a smile to her face, and joined in the laughter and teasing common to their group of friends, but rare for her.
She couldn’t do it. Just as she always responded to wounded creatures in distress, she had to look at him…she had to know.
He no longer leaned on the doorpost, but stood rigid in the doorway, his face so hard it seemed carved in dark marble. His laughing eyes were like flint; his nostrils were flared. She’d never seen laid-back Jim look so shocked, or so thoroughly furious. And the pain inside the depths of those coffee-dark eyes…
He flipped his phone shut, turned on his heel and stalked back outside. She could almost feel little flicks of lightning following in his wake.
“Go to him,” Laila whispered.
Shocked, Danni stared at her friend. “Me? Jim and I aren’t even friends. You should be the one to help him. He loves you. He’ll accept your help.”
Laila’s eyes grew misty with tears. “I can’t.” She lowered her gaze for a moment. “I’ve been having the Braxton-Hicks contractions all day, on and off. I have to rest…and—and…” she sighed, her face filled with the wretchedness of guilt. “Please, just go to him. Make sure he’s all right—for me?”
Laila was hiding something from her, but the plea was genuine.
All her life, Danni held aloof from people; to grow too attached only caused pain. But from the time they’d met, Laila wouldn’t be held at a distance. Her open, loving heart didn’t know boundaries. She’d dragged the sarcastic loner Danni into her small circle and, seeing the hurt others caused Laila with the princess tag given to her as the only and most cherished daughter of an obscenely wealthy man, Danni had begun leaping to her friend’s defence before she’d even known Laila was a friend.
Laila was part of her heart now, and she asked so little. How could she refuse?
With a small smile, she walked out to find the man she wanted never to speak to again—at least not without her shield of protective sarcasm.
But that was what she had to do now, for Laila’s sake…and maybe for her own. If she did a good deed for Jim Haskell in return for his two years before, whatever it was she felt for him—lust, obligation—would be over.
The phone rang again almost as soon as he’d shut it, and again and again. He just kept disconnecting. He’d be damned if he’d answer it. The woman was demented!
Was he part of some prank? It was ridiculous, like some melodramatic movie or reality show. And he’d laugh if—if—
If her story hadn’t been so plausible.
That was the worst part of it. He’d tried to scorn the woman—Annie, she’d said her name was—or laugh at her, or think she’d got the wrong number. But she’d named his parents, his hometown…and she’d asked the fatal question.
“Haven’t you ever wondered why you’re lighter-skinned than your parents?”
He ground out a savage curse. The woman might be crazy, but she’d known a lot about his personal life, including the wonder most kids had who didn’t strongly resemble their parents. Am I adopted?
Why now? Why had she called? What did she want from him?
“Jim?” The question sounded halting, uncertain.
With a sense of fatality, Jim turned from the tree where he leaned with a balled fist. Only one woman he knew had a voice that made him think of shadows and moonbeams. Only one woman didn’t give him the nickname Jimmy, and never had.
She stood ten feet from him, seeming smaller than her five-six or seven because she was so dainty. Her pale skin glistened in the clear moonlight; her long, shimmering waves of hair blew around her in the gentle breeze like the ocean at night. Her filmy silver skirt caught in the gusts, softly billowing. Her eyes, fixed on his face, were limpid pools of concern.
She looked like an elf maiden straight from his favourite fantasy books. So beautiful, and she had no idea of it…
“Danni,” he said with grave courtesy. Hiding his emotions, his need, as he always had. The oldest of six kids, he’d always been the dependable one in the family.
His fists clenched. Family…Were they that anymore? His one anchor in life had crumbled before his eyes, vanishing without warning.
“What can I do for you?” he managed to say with a semblance of politeness.
“Laila’s worried about you,” she said quietly. “We saw you take the phone call…and your reaction to it.”
That was Danni, never hiding behind pretty words; she always got straight to the point. “I’m fine,” he ground out, sounding almost savage. “Go back and tell Laila I’ll be in soon.”
She should have turned and gone back inside—his rare brusqueness had that effect on people—but she stood her ground. “I wouldn’t be able to reassure her, and she’d only get more worried. I can stand a lot of things from people, but I always know when someone’s lying to me…and Laila will know, as well. I can’t lie to her.”
“So I’m not fine,” he snarled, surprising even himself with his sudden hostility. “What do you care? You don’t even like anyone here but Laila.”
“True.” Her smile was remote, austere. “And I won’t have her worried right now. She’s in pain and trying to hide it for the family’s sake. I can’t go in there and say ‘He said he’s fine, now leave him alone.’ You know she loves you. She’s worried about you.”
A sudden shaft of bitterness hit him. If Laila had loved him enough, he would have her to share this with. He wouldn’t feel so scared or so alone.
“Yeah, Laila loves me. Just like my sister. It’s wonderful.” Though he knew the bitterness would fade as quickly as it came, he still said it, wanting to push Danni away, make her turn and flounce back into the restaurant, safe inside her anger and mistrust of all men.
Again she surprised him by holding her ground. “It’s more wonderful than you know. You take all the love in your life for granted. I always wanted a sister, a brother—anyone