Little Secrets

Like now, for instance.

“Michael and Braden Franco!” Gina shouted. “If you ride your skateboards down the steps and one of you breaks another bone, I will burn those boards in the fire pit—”

The five-year-old twins were adventurous and barely containable. It’s what Rita loved best about them.

Gina broke off with a satisfied sigh. “Another crisis averted. Sorry sweetie, what were you saying again?”

Back to the matter at hand. “Jack. He’s alive. He’s here.” Rita bit down hard on her bottom lip and blinked wildly to keep the tears filling her eyes from falling. Though there was no one there to see her cry, she didn’t want to give Jack the satisfaction.

Hadn’t she already cried rivers for Jack? After two months had passed without a word from him, Rita had known that he was gone, no doubt killed in action somewhere far away. What other reason, she’d told herself, could there have been for him not to write her?

They’d had such an amazing connection. Something strong and powerful had grown between them in one short week. She’d loved him fiercely even after so short a time. But then her mother had always told her that time had nothing to do with love. If you knew someone five days or five years, the feelings didn’t change.

It had taken Rita much less than five days to know that Jack was the one man she wanted. Then he was gone and the pain of loss had crippled her. Until she’d discovered she was pregnant.

“He’s there?” Gina whispered as if somehow Jack could overhear her. “At your apartment?”

“No,” she said, though she tossed a quick look toward the door at the back of the building that opened onto a staircase leading to a small parking lot. She half expected Jack to show up on her landing and knock. Shaking her head, she said, “No, he’s not here, here. He’s here in Seal Beach. He came into the bakery today.”

“Oh. My. God.” A moment or two passed before Gina continued. “What did you do? What did he say? Where the hell has he been? Why didn’t he write to you? Bastard.”

A short laugh shot from Rita’s throat. She heard the outrage in her sister’s voice and was grateful for it. How did anyone survive without a sister?

“I nearly shrieked when I saw him,” Rita confessed. “Then I hugged him, damn it.”

“Of course you hugged him,” Gina soothed. “Then did you kick him?”

She laughed again. “No, but I wish I’d thought of it at the time.”

“Well, if you need me, Jimmy can watch the kids for a few days. I’ll fly out there and kick him for you.”

Rita sighed and smiled all at once. “I can always count on you, Gina.”

“Of course you can. So where’s he been?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t he write?”

Rita frowned. “I don’t know.”

“Well, what did he say?”

Rita picked up her cup of herbal tea and took a sip. “He only wanted to talk about the baby.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Exactly.” Sighing more heavily now, Rita set the cup down on the coffee table again. “He was...surprised to find out I was pregnant and he didn’t look happy about it.”

“We don’t need him to be happy. But why wouldn’t he be? Who doesn’t like babies? Hold on. I’ll be right back.”

While she waited, Rita’s head dropped back against the couch. Her apartment wasn’t tiny, it was cozy, she thought in defense as her gaze swept over the space. A small living room, an efficiency kitchen, one bedroom and a bathroom that, she had to admit, was so small she regularly smacked her elbows against the shower door. But the apartment walls were a soft, cheerful green and were dotted by framed photos of the beach, the mountains and her family.

“There,” Gina said when she was back. “I took the baby to Jimmy. I have to pace when I’m mad.”

Rita laughed. “Gina, I’m okay, really. I just needed to talk to you.”

“Of course you did, but we’re Italian and I need my hands to talk as much as I need to move around. Besides, I just finished feeding Kira. Jimmy can take her for a while.”

Her sister had four gorgeous kids, the youngest only eight months old and a husband who adored her. A small pang of envy echoed in Rita’s heart. Then to ease the hurt, she rubbed the mound of her baby with slow, loving strokes, and reminded herself that she had a child, too. That she wasn’t alone. That it didn’t matter that Jack had walked away from her only to suddenly crash back into her life.

“So,” Gina said a moment later, “what’re you going to do about this? How are you feeling?”

“I’m not sure, to both questions.” Pushing up off the couch, Rita walked to the window overlooking Main Street and smiled, thinking Gina was right. Italians thought better when they could move around. Looking down on the street, she enjoyed the view that was so similar to the one she grew up with. Historic 25th Street in Ogden also had the old-fashioned, old-world feel to the buildings, the lampposts and the bright, jewel-toned flowers spilling out of baskets.

But as pretty as it was, it wasn’t home. Not really. She was alone in the dark but for a slender thread of connection to her big sister.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, “because I don’t know what he’s planning.”

“Whatever it is, you can handle it.” And, as if Gina had read her mind, she added, “You’re not alone, Rita.”

Her mouth curved slightly. “Not how it feels.”

“You still love him, don’t you?”

Rita laid her hand on the glass, letting the cold seep into her skin, chilling the rush of heat Gina’s question had awakened.

“Why would I be foolish enough for that?” she whispered.

Three

“What’s going on with you?”

Jack looked up. His father walked into the office that, up until four months ago, had been his. Thomas Buchanan was a tall man, with salt-and-pepper hair, sharp blue eyes and a still-trim physique. Though he’d abdicated the day-to-day running of the company to his oldest son, Thomas maintained his seat on the board and liked to keep abreast of whatever was happening. That included keeping tabs on his son.

“Nothing,” Jack answered, lowering his gaze to the sheaf of papers on the desktop. “Why?”

“Well,” Thomas said, strolling around the room, “you nearly bit Sean’s head off when he couldn’t get the shipping schedule up on the plasma fast enough.”

“It’s his job,” Jack said, being perfectly reasonable. “He should be able to accomplish it when asked.”

“Uh-huh.”

Jack knew that tone. He glanced at his father, saw the wary curiosity-filled expression and looked away again. He wasn’t in the mood for a chat and couldn’t satisfy his father’s curiosity. He knew that ever since he’d returned to civilian life, his family had been worried about him and no one more than his father. There didn’t seem to be anything Jack could do about it, though. He didn’t need therapy or sympathy and didn’t want to talk about what he’d seen—what he wanted to do was forget about it and pick up his life where he’d left off. So far of course, that wasn’t happening.

Rather than try to explain all of that to his dad, Jack chose to ignore the man’s questions, even though he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere. The worry would remain, along with the questions, whether spoken or not. After a few seconds of silence from him, though, Thomas seemed to understand that it was a subject Jack wasn’t going to address.

“Still don’t understand why you changed the office furniture around,” his father said, surprising Jack with the sudden shift of topic. “My father’s the one who put that desk in front of the windows. I don’t think it’s been moved since then. Until now.”

Jack squirmed slightly in his oversize black leather chair. He’d made a few changes since he’d stepped into his father’s shoes. The main one being that he had moved the old mahogany desk across the room so that he could have his back to a wall and not be outlined in a window.

Yes, he knew it was foolish without anyone pointing it out to him. He didn’t have to worry about snipers here, but it was hard to shake ingrained habits that had kept him alive.

“I like it where it is,” Jack said simply.

“Yeah.” His father gave a resigned sigh, then admitted, “I wish you could talk to me.”

His father’s voice was so quiet, so wistful, Jack’s attention was caught. He looked up and found his dad watching him through concerned eyes.

He didn’t enjoy knowing that his family was worried about him. In fact, it only added to the guilt and the pain that were crouched on his shoulders every day. But he couldn’t ease for them what he couldn’t ease for himself.

“We do talk,” Jack said.

“Not about anything important,” his father answered. “Not since you got back. It’s like you’re still too far away to reach.”

“I’m right here, Dad,” he said, trying to help, knowing he was failing.

“Part of you is,” his father agreed, “but not all of you. I wonder every day when my son will finally come home.”

So did Jack. It was as if a piece of him had been left behind in the heat of a desert and he didn’t know when or if he’d find that part of himself again. Jack sat back and let a long breath slide slowly from his lungs. “I’m doing my best here, Dad.”

“I know that.” Thomas stuffed his hands into his pants pockets and rocked uneasily on his heels. “I just wish there was something I could do to help. That you would let me do. I thought that stepping down, having you take over here, would make a difference. Drop you back into the world and, all right, force you to find your life again. But you continue to shut yourself off. From me, from your sister and brother. Hell, you haven’t even been on a date since you got back, son.”

“I don’t want to date.” Lie. Everything in him wanted Rita, but he wouldn’t give in to it. He was in no shape to be in her life and he knew it.

“Right there should tell you that there’s something wrong.”

“I’m fine,” Jack said, hoping to head his dad off at the pass. He’d heard this before. Knew that his father had the best of intentions. But Jack couldn’t give the older man what he wanted most.

Thomas shook his head, then nodded. “You’re not, but you will be. I wish you could believe me on that.” He walked toward his son, laid both hands on the desk and leaned in. “I know you don’t. Not yet. But someday you will, Jack. Just give yourself a chance, all right?”

“I am.” He looked into his father’s eyes and lied again. “Everything’s good. I swear.”

Nodding, the older man pushed up from the desk. “Okay. We’ll leave it there for now.”

Thank God, Jack thought in relief.

“On another subject entirely,” his father said, “I’m headed down to San Diego tomorrow. Sam and I are taking the boat out fishing for the weekend. Want to join us?”

The Buchanan Boys, as his mother used to call the three of them, had gone on hundreds of fishing weekends together. And in the old days, there had been nothing Jack liked more than getting away with his younger brother and his father. But now, the thought of being caged on a boat in the middle of the ocean with a too-curious father and brother sounded like a nightmare. They’d hammer him with questions, he’d resent being prodded and they’d all have a crappy time.

Besides, he told himself, there was Rita. Decisions to be made.

“I can’t,” he said. “I’ve got plans I can’t get out of.” Not that Rita knew of his plan to corner her into talking with him about their baby.

“Plans?” Thomas gave him a pleased smile. “That’s good, son. Really good. To prove how happy that makes me, I won’t even ask you what you’re going to be doing.”

“Thanks,” Jack said wryly.

“All right, then.” His father slapped his hands together then gave his palms a good scrub. “I’ve got to go by the house, pick up my fishing gear. Then I’m headed to San Diego. I’ll have my phone with me if you need to contact me.”

“I won’t,” Jack assured him. “But thanks. And say hi to Sam.”

“I will.”

Once his father was gone, Jack took a long, deep breath and willed the tension out of his body. It didn’t work, so he got up, walked across the well-appointed office without even noticing the familiar furnishings.

Beige walls, dark red carpet, thick and plush enough to take a nap on, and twin couches facing each other across a low wood table. Windows were on two walls and Jack had moved the desk out of the line of sight of both of them.

Now, though, he walked to a far window and looked out over the sea. He didn’t look at the beach below or the crowd of early-summer sun worshippers spread out on the sand. Instead, he watched the steady rise and fall of the water as wind and its own weight formed ripples and waves that seemed to go on endlessly.

It was quiet in the office and normally he treasured that. But now, that silence tapped at the edges of his mind like a persistent knock on a closed door. As that door opened, images of Rita flooded his brain, from before, from yesterday, until he half expected her to simply appear physically in the office. But that wasn’t going to happen.

Rita would never come to him, she was too angry and he couldn’t blame her for it. But that wouldn’t stop him from doing what he had to do. She was pregnant with his child and damned if he’d ignore that.

There was a knock on the office door just before it opened and his assistant stepped inside. A middle-aged woman with a brisk, no nonsense attitude, Linda Holloway said, “Excuse me, Mr. Buchanan, you’ve got a twelve-thirty meeting with the captain of The Sea Queen.”

In the last four months, Linda had been responsible for Jack’s seamless takeover of his father’s position. She kept meticulous track of his schedule, his tasks and anything involving Buchanans. He was grateful, but right now, he didn’t appreciate the interruption.

“The captain will meet you at the dock so you can take a walk-through of the areas you didn’t see on your visit last month.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I remember.” The Sea Queen was their latest ocean liner. And yes, he did have to meet the captain if only to go over any last-minute concerns about the ship’s maiden voyage coming up in about a month. But not today.

“Cancel it,” he snapped and stalked across the office.

“What?” Linda watched him, eyes wide. “But the captain has come in from his home in Arizona specifically for this meeting.”

Yet one more guilt straw landed on the bale already situated on his shoulders, but he accepted it and moved on.

“It can’t be helped. I’ve got personal business to take care of. Put the captain up in the best hotel in the city and tell him we’ll meet tomorrow morning.”

“But—”

“Eight o’clock on the dock. I’ll be there and we can take care of this business then.”

He snatched his suit jacket out of the closet and shrugged into it. What good was being the boss if you couldn’t make the rules?

“But—”

“Linda,” he said firmly, “I have somewhere to be and it can’t wait. Make this happen.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, the slightest touch of defeat in her tone.

He didn’t address it. “Thanks,” he said and walked around her to leave without a backward glance.

* * *

“Tall, dark and dangerous is back.”

Rita glanced at her friend and bakery manager, Casey. “What?”

She jerked her head toward the small cluster of tables in one corner of the bakery. “The guy who swept you out of here yesterday? He’s back and looking just as edible as ever.”

Rita’s pulse skittered as she slowly, carefully, looked over her shoulder. Jack was sitting at the same table he’d spent hours at the day before. He wore a black suit, with a black dress shirt and a dark red tie. He looked exactly how Casey had described him. Dangerous. Edible.

As if he sensed her looking at him, he turned his head and his gaze locked with hers. Instantly, her blood turned to a river of fire and the pit of her stomach fluttered with nerves and expectation. He’d had that same effect on her from the beginning.

The minute he took her hand that first night on the beach, she’d felt it. That something special. Magical. There was a buzz between them that was electrifying.

She hadn’t been afraid when he’d walked toward her out of the darkness. Maybe she should have been, but instead, it had felt almost as if she’d been waiting for him.

They walked to a small café, took a table on the sidewalk and ordered coffee. There they sat for three hours, talking, sharing their lives, though Rita did more of that than he did. He hadn’t talked about his family or where he lived, only that his name was Jack Buchanan and that he had a week to be back in the real world and how he didn’t want to waste a moment of it.

And when he walked her to her nearby hotel, neither of them wanted to say goodnight. He escorted her through the lobby to the bank of elevators with mirrored doors and she looked at their reflection as they stood together. He was so tall, she so short. But they seemed to fit, she thought, as if they’d been made for each other.

He turned her in his arms and asked, “Tomorrow? Be with me tomorrow, Rita.”

“Yes,” she said quickly, breathlessly.

“Good, that’s good.” A brief smile flashed across his face and warmed his cool blue eyes. “I’ll be here early. Nine okay?”

“How about eight?” Rita asked, wanting to be with him again as soon as possible.

“Even better.” He cupped her face in his palm and held her there as he bent his head to kiss her.

Rita held her breath and closed her eyes. Once, twice, his mouth brushed hers, gently, as if waiting for her response to know if there should be more.

And she wanted more. She wanted it all. Never had she felt for a man what Jack made her feel. Just talking with him stirred everything inside her and now that she knew the taste of his mouth, she hungered for him.

Rita answered his unasked question by wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in to him. Her breasts pressed against his chest and her nipples ached as her body hummed. He actually growled and that sound sent her head spinning as he grabbed hold of her and deepened the kiss. Devouring her, his tongue tangled with hers, his breath mingled with hers and Rita felt as if their souls were touching, merging. Every inch of her body lit up and awakened as if she’d been in a coma all of her life and was only now truly living.

Neither of them cared about who might be watching, they were too lost in the fire enveloping them. Light-headed, loving the feel of his big strong hands sliding up and down her back, Rita could only think how badly she wanted him, but she wasn’t a one-night stand kind of woman and didn’t think she could pretend she was, even for Jack.

When finally she thought she might never breathe again, he broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers while they both fought to steady themselves.

“You are a dangerous woman,” he whispered, a half smile curving his mouth.

“I never thought so, but okay.”

His grin flashed. “Trust me.”

She smiled back at him and felt her equilibrium disintegrate even further. Honestly, he didn’t smile often, but when he did, it was a lethal weapon on a woman’s defenses. Her mouth was still tingling from his kiss and the taste of him was flooding her system.

“Looking into those brown eyes of yours makes me feel like I’m diving into good, aged whiskey,” he murmured, reaching out to smooth his fingers over her face. “Makes me a little drunk just losing myself in them.”

“Your eyes remind me of the color of the sky after a mountain storm,” she said, “clear, bright, with just a hint of shadow.”

His smile faded then and Rita wished she could pull her words back. She hadn’t meant to say anything about the darkness she saw in his eyes, but her urge to ease those shadows was nearly overwhelming.

“I’ve shadows enough, I guess,” he admitted, letting his hand drop to his side. “But when I’m with you, I don’t notice them.”

“I’m glad,” she said and went up on her toes to kiss him again.

Putting both hands on her shoulders, he held her in place and took a long step back. He shook his head and said, “If I kiss you again, I’m not going to be able to let you go.”

That sounded pretty good to Rita, but she knew it wasn’t smart to go to bed with a man she just met no matter how much she wanted to.

“So,” he continued, “I’m going to leave while I still can.”

“Probably a good idea,” Rita said though, inside, her mind was whimpering, demanding that she beg him to stay.

“You keep looking at me with those whiskey eyes and I’m not going to be able to walk away.” His voice was wry, his eyes flashing with heat.

“Then I will,” she said, reaching out to punch the elevator call button.

“I do like a strong woman,” he told her.

“Not so strong at the moment,” Rita admitted when she looked at him again and felt a rush of heat settle and pool at her core. “But I will be. So, good night. I guess I’ll see you at eight.”

“Seven,” he said.

“Even better,” she said, throwing his own words from earlier back at him. The elevator dinged and the doors swished open. She stepped inside, then turned to look at him again. “Seven. I’ll be ready.”

“Good,” he said as the doors slid shut on a whisper of sound, “because I’m ready now.”

Alone, Rita leaned against the wall of the car, smiled to herself and lifted one hand to her mouth as if she could capture his taste and hold on to it forever. As the elevator rose to her floor, she told herself she wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight, but her morning was going to be wonderful.

“Rita?” Casey’s voice and an insistent shake of her arm. “Hey, Rita? You okay?”

“What?” she tore her gaze from Jack’s and looked at her friend. Coming up out of that memory that had been so filled with sensation and sound was like breaking the surface of the water when you were near drowning. You were back in reality but still too stunned to accept it easily. “Sure,” she said, nodding for emphasis. “Yes. I’m fine. Really. Just...tired.”

And sexually frustrated and angry and hurt and confused and far too many other emotions to even name.

“You sure?” Casey tried to steer Rita toward a stool. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“No.” Rita shook off all those unwelcome emotions and smiled. “I’m fine. Really. Um, will you keep an eye on the front while I go in the back to restock the cannoli tray?”

“Absolutely,” Casey said, “as long as you call out if you need me.”

“Don’t be such a worrier,” Rita told her with a pat on the arm.

Hurrying through the swinging door into the kitchen where she could get a couple of minutes to herself, Rita gave a sigh of relief to be on her own. She needed a little time to settle. Do the ahooom thing until she could breathe without feeling like she was going to shake apart at the seams.

“Get a grip, Rita,” she mumbled as she snatched an apron off the hook by the door. Slipping it on over her head, she drew the string ties around her ever-expanding belly then tied it down. The simple, familiar task helped her get steady again.

She scrubbed her hands in the kitchen sink, dried them on a fresh towel, then turned to survey her domain. She might have chefs come in to help her, but this bakery was all hers, right down to the last cookie.

She was most comfortable in the kitchen. Rita and her brothers and sister had grown up working in their parents’ Italian bakery in Ogden. From the time she was a little girl, barely tall enough to reach the mixing table, Rita had been helping the bakers. Even if it was just sprinkling flour on the cool white marble so dough could be rolled out. She loved the scent of baking cookies, cakes, pastries. She loved the feel of getting her hands into a huge bowl of dough to knead it. She’d worked off a lot of temper by working bread dough into shape.

“But there’s not enough dough in the world to help me through this,” she whispered, laying out paper doilies on a stainless steel tray. Then she moved to the end of the counter and carefully set fresh cannoli, some draped in shiny chocolate, on each doily. To her, presentation was as important as taste so before it went out to the shop, it would be perfect.