скачать книгу бесплатно
She had been just about the last person that he’d expected to find standing on his doorstep on this stormy January night. Not only for the reasons he’d given her— her dislike of driving in bad weather and her stressful, time- consuming job at Mayfair High School—but also because of the emotional distance that had grown so impossibly great between them in the half year they had lived apart.
Charlotte had been so obviously glad to see him move out of the house in Mayfair six months ago, and since then, she hadn’t seemed the least bit interested in having him move back home again. Even over the holidays she had seemed more than content to be alone—although technically she hadn’t exactly been alone.
She had spent Thanksgiving with her friend Ellen Herrington, and Ellen’s family, then she’d gone on a ski trip to Colorado with another friend, Quinn Sutton, during the week between Christmas and New Year’s.
Not that Sean had begrudged his wife having the companionship of her friends during what was a typically lonely time of year for adults on their own. He certainly hadn’t wanted her to spend the season feeling as miserable as he had.
But Charlotte had always talked about how important it was to her to share special occasions like Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year’s with family. And he was her only family now, just as she was his only family, or had been until anger, fatigue and frustration had forced him to call a time-out in their ten-year marriage.
Granted he could have gone about it with more consideration. But at the time, tensions had been running so high between them that he hadn’t exactly been thinking straight. All he’d really known for sure during those last few days they’d been together was that he was very close to losing his wife completely. Leaving on his own had seemed a wiser choice than being asked, or even told, to go.
Sean had only meant for the separation to be temporary, though. He’d been sure that a short period of time apart would be good for both of them—a time during which they could each adjust to and accept the prospect of a different kind of future together. Especially since the alternate future he’d had in mind could be as fulfilling as the one they’d once anticipated having.
But somehow he’d screwed up big time, simply by expressing what he had honestly and truthfully come to believe. A lot of couples didn’t have children, often by choice, and they remained happily married.
How awful had it been to acknowledge that as far as he was concerned, he and Charlotte didn’t have to have a child in order to be content with the life they’d made together?
Neither one of them had been uplifted in any way by their consistent failure to conceive a child. How much more agony had Charlotte expected them to suffer in search of the one goal they had seemed destined never to attain? Why hadn’t she been able to see, as he had, that maybe they just weren’t meant to be parents?
Sean certainly hadn’t had the first clue about how to be a father. His own had been away on business so much that he hadn’t been much of a role model. His father’s cool, distant and demanding demeanor had been extremely off- putting, as well. Though Sean had done his best to please him as a child, he hadn’t ever really wanted to pattern his own behavior after his father’s.
There was also the fact that Sean’s doting mother had often treated his father like the odd man out on those rare occasions when he had been at home with them.
During those last few months when he and Charlotte had been together, she had become so completely focused on baby making that Sean had experienced a similar sense of exclusion. And he had begun to suspect that he might be in for an even worse fate once a child was added to the increasingly dissatisfying mix of his marriage.
Charlotte, too, had grown up without a father. But unlike Sean, she never seemed to have experienced any sense of loss or to have missed the presence of a man about the house. He could see where maybe one day she would be so devoted to loving and caring for a child, as her mother and grandmother had been devoted to her, that she wouldn’t miss the presence of a husband, either.
Calling a halt to the fertility treatments and the in vitro procedures so that they could reassess their situation had seemed like a better idea than continuing to attempt to conceive a baby with so much uncertainty eating away at his heart. But had he realized six months ago that his abrupt decision to move out of the house in Mayfair, albeit temporarily, would cause such a rift between him and Charlotte, he never would have done it.
He would have tried instead to convince his wife that they could be as happy together as a childless couple as they’d been during the eight years they’d shared before she’d insisted that it was time for them to have a baby. Of course, such an attempt would have been frustrating at best, if not downright futile, Sean reminded himself as he added a little more whiskey to the ice cubes in his glass.
His determination not to pursue the possibility of parenthood any further had created an impasse unlike any other he and Charlotte had faced during their marriage. And Charlotte’s refusal to at least try to understand, much less accept, his reasoning had only made bad matters worse.
All of which brought Sean back to the same conclusion he’d come to over and over again during the time he and Charlotte had lived apart.
Despite his own diffidence about becoming a father, he had gone along with Charlotte’s desire to have a baby because he had loved her enough to respect her wants and needs. But every attempt to conceive a child had ended in failure.
As he had told her before he’d moved to New Orleans in June, and as far as he was still concerned, unless and until she could show the same respect for his wants and needs, they really were better off apart.
So, Sean wondered, yet again, what had brought his wife to their town house in the French Quarter on such a dark and stormy night?
Apparently not the threat of a serious illness, much to his relief, he acknowledged. But the possibility that she’d come here to personally present him with a formal request for a divorce was almost as painful for him to contemplate.
Maybe he was dwelling too much on negatives, though. Maybe what Charlotte wanted from him was reconciliation, and maybe, just maybe she’d finally come to terms with the agreement she’d have to make in order to have that happen.
The alcohol buzzing through Sean’s system had eased somewhat the initial tumble of emotions he’d experienced upon first seeing his wife outside his door. But the sudden thought that Charlotte might want to give their marriage another chance made his heart pound and his gut clench all over again.
Such an offer from her would go a long way toward dispelling the anger and disappointment that still lingered, haunting him—
“Either my senses are deceiving me, or you have a muffuletta sandwich warming in the oven.”
The sound of Charlotte’s voice, just a little too cheerful, startled Sean from his reverie. He had been standing at the counter, head bent, contemplating the whiskey and ice in the glass he held, and so hadn’t seen her approach through the doorway that connected the long living/dining room and the kitchen.
Now eyeing her as she hesitated uncertainly a few steps away from him, he wished that he’d focused more fully on the moment at hand. Remembering the past had been all good and well, but his introspection had left him far more vulnerable than he wanted to be to his wife’s considerable charms.
Gazing at Charlotte for a long, steady moment, Sean experienced the same stirring of physical desire that had caught him unawares when he’d first swept her into his arms on the front doorstep. Even dressed in baggy sweats and floppy socks, with her dark hair curling damply against her much-too-pale face, she looked sexy as hell to him.
He’d like to blame the six months of celibacy he’d endured for his response to her allure, but Sean knew there was much more to it than raging testosterone. No other woman he had ever met—no matter how poised, polished, glamorous or willing—had ever appealed to him in quite the same way that his wife did, even when she was barely pulled together.
This wasn’t the time to let her know it, though. Until he found out what she wanted from him, Sean deemed it better to mask his intimate thoughts and desires behind a cool and businesslike facade than risk being hurt by her yet again.
“Yes, there’s a muffuletta sandwich warming in the oven,” he confirmed in a polite tone of voice. “I bought it at Central Market on my way home from work.”
Having gathered his wits about him, he resisted the urge to return her slight smile. There was no sense encouraging the kind of camaraderie they would have once shared. Not if she was about to ask him for a divorce, he thought, eyeing the brown envelope she held so tightly, clutched to her chest.
“I haven’t had one of those since…since the last time we were here together,” Charlotte said, her smile turning wistful.
“Lately I’ve been buying only a half sandwich,” Sean admitted. “Otherwise I’m too tempted to eat the whole thing myself, usually in one sitting. I asked for a whole one tonight, although I’m not sure why.”
“Lucky for me you did, or you’d probably be serving me peanut butter and jelly.”
“Oh, I would have been able to produce a fairly good grilled-cheese sandwich for you,” Sean advised her, finally allowing himself the barest hint of a smile.
“Well, that’s good to know.”
Charlotte walked to the island that took the place of a kitchen table, slid onto one of the tall black enamel stools and carefully set the envelope facedown in front of her.
“The sandwich should be ready in a few minutes.” Sean turned to the counter, set aside his glass and took the carafe off the stand of the coffeemaker. “I’ll make some coffee for you, too.”
“Actually what I’d really like right now, Sean, is a little whiskey on ice,” she said, surprising him not only with her brusque tone, but also with her unapologetic air.
While Charlotte had never been a teetotaler, she had always preferred a modest glass of wine to hard liquor. Since she’d given up even wine during the two years she’d been trying to conceive, Sean hadn’t seen her drink anything stronger than club soda in quite a while.
“I have some wine—” he began, glancing back at her.
“Thanks, but I’d prefer the whiskey tonight. It will take away the chill in my bones a little faster.”
“I can turn up the thermostat if you’re cold.”
“Just give me the whiskey, Sean,” she said, suddenly sounding exasperated. “I promise I won’t get all goofy on you. One bout of hysterical laughing and crying is enough for one night, even for me.”
Sean was about to state that he hadn’t been concerned about a repeat of her earlier behavior, but he knew that he’d be lying. The more relaxed Charlotte became, the more likely she’d be ruled by her emotions.
As he’d discovered more than once already, that would then make it almost impossible for him to deal with her in a rational manner.
Trying not to appear too obvious, he took a glass from the cabinet, filled it with ice, wordlessly poured the smallest measure of whiskey possible into it, then set it in front of her.
She met his gaze with a slight arch of her eyebrows, just enough to let him know she wasn’t stupid. Then she lifted the glass to her lips and took a healthy sip without the least hint of a grimace.
For just an instant, Sean wanted to reach across the island counter, put his hands on her shoulders and—what? Shake her senseless or pull her into his arms and kiss the smirk off her lips?
He’d be damned if he knew for sure.
“Do you think our sandwich is ready yet?” she asked as he turned to fill the coffeemaker with water, a spark of humor evident in her softly teasing tone.
Our sandwich? It was his sandwich, and he damn well didn’t appreciate her proprietary air. But to say so would only reveal to her the emotional turmoil roiling in his belly.
“Why don’t you set out some plates and napkins for us while I put the coffee on?”
“Okay….”
Charlotte slipped off her stool and next thing Sean knew she was standing mere inches away from him, her arm brushing against his as she reached up to open a cabinet door. Had he realized ahead of time that asking her for a little help would put her in such close proximity to him, he would have never done it.
His intention had been to keep relative peace between them, and he’d succeeded…to a point. Busy with dishes and napkins, Charlotte was neither guzzling whiskey nor ragging his butt. Moving around the narrow confines of the kitchen, though, she arrested his senses completely, making him just as crazy, only in another kind of way.
The scent of her favorite soap and shampoo drifted all around him, a pleasant counterpart to the spicy aroma of the sandwich coming from the oven. The subtle waft of flowery fragrance had an equal ability to stir up memories of better days…and nights, as well.
And the nudge of her hip—surely accidental—reminded him of how lithe and firm her body was beneath the sweats she wore. Fragile, too, he added to himself as he gave in to temptation and watched her arrange the plates and napkins on the island counter—not across from each other as he would have preferred, but more intimately side by side.
He had been almost sure earlier, carrying her to the living-room sofa, that she had lost weight during the months of their separation. Not a lot, but enough so that it had been evident in the sharper angles of her bones as well as in the slightly narrower shape of her face.
“All ready if you are,” Charlotte said, glancing up at him as she sat on her stool again.
Her expression shifted from open, almost eager, to wary and uncertain in an instant, warning Sean that his concern for her had likely shown on his face as something more akin to anger. No big surprise, since he didn’t like the idea that she might not have been taking adequate care of herself the past six months. But neither stirring her apprehension nor putting her on guard would do either of them any good.
“Would you like me to freshen your drink?” he asked, the echo of false cheer in his voice signaling that he was in danger of overcorrecting.
“I’m fine for now,” she answered quietly, obviously even more leery of him.
“I’ll just get the sandwich out of the oven, then.”
Relieved to have something to do, Sean slid the muffuletta off the cookie sheet onto the cutting board, deftly sliced it into quarters, then transferred it onto a serving plate that he deposited on the island counter with the merest hint of a flourish.
“Mmm, it looks as good as it smells,” Charlotte murmured, helping herself to a piece of the sandwich, careful to capture all of the melted cheese that oozed out of the bread. One bite later, she smiled at him blissfully. “Tastes as good as it smells, too.”
Trying to ignore the arrow-to-heart effect of the dreamy look in her dark eyes, Sean slid onto one of the stools across from her. He moved his plate and napkin in front of him, then took a quarter of the sandwich for himself.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said, his tone once again cool.
The look she shot at him in return held the smallest measure of disappointment.
“What’s not to like? It’s hot and fresh and full of good stuff, and I’m really hungry.”
Sliding her gaze away, Charlotte reached for her drink, took a fortifying swallow, then silently tucked into her sandwich.
Sean gladly followed her lead, though his eyes lit more than once on the brown envelope she had yet to mention. Much as he wanted to know what it held, there was a part of him that dreaded the moment when he’d find out.
Without the give and take of conversation to slow them down, they polished off their meal in a matter of minutes. Still quietly introspective, Sean rinsed their empty plates and put them in the dishwasher. He then added ice and another small measure of whiskey to each of their glasses, and finally sat across from Charlotte once again.
She had her hands clasped tightly atop the island counter. At the base of her throat, her pulse fluttered, and she seemed determined to look anywhere but at him. Her sudden anxiety fed Sean’s, making him fear again for the true state of her health.
Other than having to deal with a serious illness, what else could tie her in such knots?
Not the decision to file for divorce—she had to know he wouldn’t argue with her about it if that was what she really wanted. Not the decision to ask him to come home again, either—again, she had to know he would move back to Mayfair in a minute, as long as she agreed to his terms regarding any further pursuit of parenthood.
Finally unable to wait any longer for Charlotte to begin on her own, Sean put a hand over hers. With the other he tapped the brown envelope once, his heart hammering inside his chest.
“Now that we’ve finished eating, do you want to tell me what this is all about?” he asked as gently as he could.
“That would probably be a good idea, wouldn’t it?”
Charlotte opened her clasped hands, holding on to him for a long moment as she sent an inquiring yet apprehensive smile his way.
“Yes, that would be a very good idea.”
Sean gave her hands an encouraging squeeze. Then he let go of her and sat back on his stool, crossing his arms over his chest.
Lowering her gaze, Charlotte picked up the envelope and fumbled with the clasp, her fingers trembling enough for him to notice. He was half tempted to take the damn thing away from her and rip it open himself, but she was jittery enough already.
He expected her to pull out all of the paperwork the envelope obviously held. Instead she removed only a single sheet to which something was attached with a paper clip. She gazed at the paper for several moments, her expression softening perceptively. Finally she looked up at him again, and Sean saw the faint shimmer of tears in her eyes. Yet again, he couldn’t help but fear the worst.
“Just tell me, Charlotte,” he said, his voice a ragged, insistent growl filled with more menace than he’d intended. “Whatever it is you’ve come here to tell me, please…just do it now.”
Charlotte sat back on her stool and blinked at him, momentarily looking as if she’d been struck a blow. Then she tilted her chin defensively and eyed him with sudden, steely resolve. All trace of her earlier fragility, as well as her uncertainty, disappeared in an instant.
“Do you remember that we talked about adoption last year?” she asked, her tone surprisingly matter-of-fact.
“Yes, of course, I remember. We even filled out some forms and agreed to have a home study done by an agency here in New Orleans that arranges adoptions of foreign children.”
Sean hesitated, confused by the tack Charlotte had taken. The home study had been done long before he’d moved out of the Mayfair house. But they had been so focused on their last, ultimately unsuccessful in vitro procedure that they really hadn’t pursued the adoption alternative any further.
Or rather he hadn’t pursued the adoption alternative any further, Sean amended.
Realization suddenly dawning as to where Charlotte must be headed, he pushed away from the island counter, stood and raised his hands in an emphatic gesture meant to fend her off.
“No, Charlotte,” he continued with a mix of anger and frustration. “No way am I going to agree to adopt a baby. I made my feelings about parenthood very clear six months ago. We gave it our best shot and we failed and enough is enough. I haven’t changed my mind about that since then, and I’m not going to change my mind about it now.”
There was no denying the flash of hurt in his wife’s eyes as she stared at him reproachfully, but he braced himself against the pain he knew his words had caused her. Unwilling to hear any defense she might choose to offer, he allowed her no chance to speak.
“I went along with the testing, not to mention the fertility treatments, the scheduled sex and the in vitro procedures even though none of the doctors we consulted could give us any concrete reason why we were having trouble conceiving on our own. I did it all for you because you wanted a baby so much. But as I tried to tell you six months ago, in the process I realized that I’m just not cut out to be a father. I also asked you to try to accept and understand my feelings, but you refused to do it.”
“Believe me, Sean, I have accepted how you feel about being a father,” Charlotte insisted, her voice a firm, quiet counterpoint to the echo of his own rising tone.
Sean had always prided himself on his ability to handle problems in his personal life in the same businesslike manner in which he dealt with professional problems. He counted his quiet competence as one of the main reasons why he’d had such success with the corporate security company he’d started after he’d completed his service in the military.
He knew from long experience that flying off the handle rarely earned anyone anything they really wanted. In fact, he only had to look back half a year to be reminded of where the last volatile confrontation he’d had with his wife had gotten him.
Marshaling his resources, he picked up his glass, looked away from Charlotte and took a long swallow of whiskey as he quickly counted to ten. Then he set aside his glass, took a steadying breath and spoke again.
