“Hey! You try losing everything! Your hopes. Your dreams. Your baby. Your sweet little blue-eyed baby girl who hadn’t done anything to anybody.” Her breath hitched. “You try losing that much, being responsible for that loss, and then putting your life back together.”
“What do you think I’m doing here … with Gino … with my brothers … after my dad’s death?”
She gaped at him. “You think losing your dad compares? ”
“No. But when you add the fact that I lost my mom only a few months before, I think I’m in the ballpark. She was fifty-three. Smart. Funny. Everybody’s best friend. My dad’s biggest defender. And one day she gets to work, has a heart attack and dies.” He grabbed Whitney’s shoulders as if forcing her to focus in on what he was saying. “I’m alone except for that little boy upstairs and two brothers who hate me, shouldering the burden of a company that’s floundering. Do you think I don’t look around some days and want to pack a bag for Tahiti, buy a hut and a bottle of tequila and just say, ‘screw it all’?”
“It’s not the same.”
“No. It’s not. But just like my troubles don’t give me license to stop living, neither do yours. And they sure as hell aren’t going to turn into the reason you expect me always to give you your own way.” His eyes sharpened. The anger in them flared.
Instead of being frightened, Whitney felt something sharp and sexual click inside her. They were both strong, passionate, vital people. Though she didn’t think his trauma was worse than hers, she did believe he at least had a partial understanding of what she was going through. She was sort of sorry that she’d pushed him, but not completely. The score now felt even. Everything was out in the open.
But they were also toe to toe. Stimulated. Attracted. He’d promised he wouldn’t kiss her again, but suddenly that promise seemed to belong to another universe, another time, another two people.
He held her gaze. Their physical attraction vibrated between them. Their anger withered and her breath shivered in her chest.
He was going to kiss her.
She told herself to turn and run. She knew the outcome of the last kiss. She hadn’t been able to control herself. She’d wanted everything from him. Not because she loved him but because her body was desperate for release, satisfaction, closeness.
But making love with a man who was virtually a stranger wouldn’t give her the satisfaction or closeness she sought. Sex would be a cold, hollow, empty substitute for affection.
She couldn’t let him kiss her.
Yet she had no path of escape.
Even as she thought that, his hands slid off her shoulders. He took a step back, away from her, then turned and walked out of the kitchen.
HE’D WANTED TO KISS HER SENSELESS.
Darius stood in front of the mirror over the double sink in the master bathroom. He’d splashed cold water on his face twice, but he couldn’t get rid of the weird, compulsive instinct that he should have kissed her. Not because of their silly sexual attraction, but to shock her. To knock her out of the prison she’d built for herself and into the real world. Not for Gino, but for himself. So he could taste her, touch her.
That was wrong. Or it would be if that were his only reasoning. But it wasn’t. He’d also wanted to yank her back into the real world because he liked her. And he just knew that beyond her fear was a wonderful, passionate woman. Someone he could really relate to. Somebody he could love.
That had scared him silly. The impulse to connect with her was so foreign, yet so strong, he knew the only way to control it had been to leave the room.
He pressed a towel to his face to dry it and headed into the bedroom. Yanking off his sweatshirt, he tried to ignore the emotions swirling through him. Wanting her for anything more than a partner to raise Gino was foolish. Dangerous. Selfish. He was the CEO and Chairman of the Board of a huge conglomerate full of people who depended on him. He’d barely have time to be a father for Gino. How could he expect to have time for a wife—especially a wife who would need a more sensitive husband?
He was not a sensitive man.
He would hurt her.
He had to stop wanting her.
The next morning Darius was already feeding Gino when Whitney walked into the nursery. She said, “Good morning,” then stooped down in front of the rocker. “And good morning to you.”
Their fight the night before had had a greater effect on her than she’d wanted it to. Not only had she come face to face with how attracted she was to Darius, but some of the things he’d said to her had rattled around in her brain.
He’d called her a nice woman.
Just the thought of it made her smile. In the past three years she’d been called cold, distant, frigid. No one had seen past her pain to the real Whitney hiding beneath the surface. And the mere knowledge that someone had actually seen the real her gave her enough strength to try to be that person again.
She sucked in a breath and caught Darius’s gaze. “Let me feed him.”
Darius didn’t say anything, but his dark eyes asked a million questions.
“Hey, I’ve got to do this.”
He sighed. Breaking his silence with her, he said, “Yes, you do.”
“Okay. So I’m ready.”
He rose from the rocker and took a few steps away so she could sit down. When she was comfortable, he handed her the baby first, then the bottle.
Fear made her hand tremble as she slid the bottle into Gino’s mouth. Nearly every time she’d touched him, memories had assaulted her. And, after the memories came hours of recriminations. Guilt. Beating herself up for not seeing the obvious.
But Gino took the nipple greedily and this time she didn’t see her baby’s face as he suckled. She saw dark-haired, dark-eyed, very hungry Gino.
She laughed.
Darius turned away.
Her heart tumbled in her chest. Darius’s silence made her feel ashamed. Selfish. He’d mentioned his mother’s death the night before. He’d said he was alone. He hadn’t exactly reached out to her, but had only told her because it fit into their argument. Still, this morning she knew she had to say something.
Seeing Gino was happily suckling, she drew in a quiet breath, swallowed, then said, “I’m sorry about your mother.”
“It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not.” She shook her head angrily. “This is what always happens with people when I try to talk to them. Nobody’s tragedy is as terrible as mine so nobody really talks with me.”
He turned around again. His face scrunched in confusion. “That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it isn’t. Look at you. You won’t tell me about your mom.”
He busied himself with arranging the items on the changing table.
“See!”
Still occupied with powders and lotions, he casually said, “There’s not really a lot to tell.”
“But you said you were alone.”
“That was a slip. A way to show you that you’re not the only one who’s suffered a loss.” He shook his head, but didn’t face her. “I shouldn’t have compared my situation and yours. Our losses were totally different. Plus, I’m lucky. I might have two half-brothers who