All or Nothing (9 page)

“You’ve obviously kept tabs on me. Why do you think?”

Was that a dig? “You know you don’t have to work, right? No matter what happens between us, I will take care of you.”

She flipped back the covers and started to sit up. “I don’t need to be ‘taken care of.’”

“Whoa... Hold on now.” He looped an arm around her waist. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just commenting on the fact that we’re married. What’s mine is yours. Fifty-fifty.”

“Don’t let your lawyer hear you give up your portfolio that easily.”

“Not. Funny.”

Still, she sat on the edge of the bed, the vulnerable curve of her back stirring his protective urges. She could shout her independence all day long. That wouldn’t stop him from wanting to give her nice things. And more importantly, it wouldn’t stop him from standing between her and anything that threatened her.

Shifting up onto an elbow, he rubbed her back and tried to backtrack, to fix what he’d screwed up. “Tell me about your new job.”

Was it his imagination or did the defensive tensing of her shoulders ease?

“When I came back to Miami, my old job had obviously been filled. I took the Hospice opening as a temporary stopgap until a position more in my line of expertise became available. Except I found I didn’t want to leave the job. It’s not that I was unhappy with my work before, but something changed inside me.”

“Like what?” He smoothed his hand down to the small of her back, the lolling of her head cluing him in to keep right on with the massage.

“I think I was drawn to E.R. work initially because there wasn’t as much of a chance of my heart being engaged.” She glanced back. “I don’t mean to say that I didn’t care for the patients. But there wasn’t time to form a relationship with someone who’s out of your care in under an hour. I had a set amount of time to help that person, and then we moved on.”

He massaged along the tendons in her neck. “Your dad’s stunt hiding a second family really must have done a number on you.”

“I had trouble connecting with others.” She sagged back onto the bed and into his arms. “Now I find there’s a deep satisfaction in bringing comfort to people when life is at its most difficult. It may sound strange...”

“Not at all,” he said as he tucked her tight against him, this amazing woman he damn well didn’t deserve but couldn’t bring himself to give up.

“Enough depressing talk about the past. I don’t know about you, but I can think of a far more enjoyable way to spend our time now that I am completely awake.” She stretched out an arm to slide a condom from the bedside table and pressed it into his palm.

Smiling seductively over her shoulder, she skimmed her foot along his calf, her legs parting ever so slightly for him, inviting him. And call him a selfish bastard, but he wasn’t one to turn down an invitation from Jayne. He’d been without her for so long he couldn’t get enough of her. Time and time again he’d been tempted to fly to Miami and demand she come home.

Like that would have gone over well.

Instead he’d sent back those damn divorce papers repeatedly, knowing eventually she would have to come to him. She’d been well worth the wait. He skimmed his fingers around her again, slipped them down between the damp cleft, stroking as she opened farther.

With two fingers, he circled, faster, pressing and plucking with the amount of pressure he knew she enjoyed, bringing a fresh sigh from her. And just when he’d brought her to the edge, he hooked his arm under her knee and angled his sheathed erection just right, so close to everything he’d dreamed of and fantasized about when he’d taken those long and unsatisfying showers without her.

As he slid inside Jayne,
his wife,
he vowed he would not lose her. And he would never, never let anything from his past touch her again.

* * *

Jayne stood at the river’s edge and watched the gazelle glide through the tall grasses on the other side of the mangrove swamp. The midmorning sun climbed up the horizon in a shimmering orange haze, echoing the warm glow inside her after a night of making love with Conrad.

Again and again. He’d given her explosive orgasms and foreplay to die for. He’d brought her a late-night snack in bed of flatbreads and meats, fed to each other. He’d fed her perfectly prepared eggs Benedict this morning. They’d talked and laughed, everything she’d dreamed could happen for them again.

How different might things have been if they’d come here for their first anniversary? If they’d talked through all the things they were only beginning to touch on now?

And she couldn’t completely blame him anymore. As she looked back, she accepted the times she’d let things slide rather than push him, because deep in her heart she was scared she wouldn’t be able to walk away.

Her mother hadn’t deserved what happened to her. God knows Jayne hadn’t deserved it, either.

But she refused to be passive any longer. If—and that was a
big
if—she and Conrad stood a chance at patching things up, he needed to be completely open with her. They needed a true partnership of equals.

Glancing over her shoulder up to his home on the plateau, she saw her husband pacing, talking on his cell phone. He’d said he needed to check in with Salvatore before he took her on a tour of the property. Apparently there were other buildings and even a small town beyond the rolling hills and she had to admit to curiosity about what drew him here. The home—the whole locale—was so different from the glitz of his other holdings.

It gave her hope.

So much hope that she’d called Anthony. She’d arranged for a friend from work to pick up Mimi. If she was going to even consider making things work with Conrad, she had to cut off any ties to Anthony, a man she’d considered dating.

Watching Conrad walk down the incline toward her now, she wasn’t ready to pack her things and bring Mimi across the ocean yet, but for the first time in three years, she was open to the possibility. She just needed the sign from Conrad that he would compromise this go-round.

He closed the distance between them, stopping at the shoreline with tall grasses swaying around his calves. He draped an arm around her shoulder. “Salvatore’s staff is still wading through backlogs of visitors, letters, emails, any contact with the outside world. A suspicious amount of money was moved from Zhutov’s wife’s account. Salvatore hopes to have concrete answers by the end of the day.”

The threat sounded so surreal, but then Conrad’s whole hidden career still felt strange to her. “What about Troy and Hillary?”

“They’re safely in the Bahamas at a casino and no signs of anyone tracking them, either. By all accounts, they’re enjoying the vacation of a lifetime.”

“So this could all be a scare for nothing?”

He kissed her forehead. “Not nothing. We’re here, together.”

For how long? Long enough to find a path back together? She wished they could stand here by the river watching the hippo bathe himself in mud.

She tucked closer to Conrad’s side, the sun beaming down on them. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Three or four hours. I’m good.”

“Yes, you are.” Turning in his arms, she kissed him good-morning and wondered just how private this spot might be. She looked at the dock, then up the incline at the deck and the outdoor shower stall. Her mind swirled with possibilities....

With a final kiss to her forehead, he angled back. “Ready to go for the tour?”

“Absolutely.” Walking alongside him to the Land Cruiser, she tucked away her fantasy for another time, intensely curious about this tour and the opportunity to dig deeper into what made her husband tick.

The wilds of Africa were definitely a world away from Monte Carlo. Instead of flashy royalty in diamonds and furs, a spotted cheetah parted the grasslands not far from a mama giraffe with her baby. They walked with a long-legged grace much more elegant than any princess.

She rolled down her window, letting the muggy air clear away the images of the glitzier lifestyle, immersing herself in the present. “We know each other well in some ways and in others not at all—no dig meant by that. I feel like it’s my fault, too.”

“None of this is your fault. I’m the one responsible for my own choices and actions, no excuses from the past.” Wind tunneled in his white polo shirt, his faded jeans fitting to his muscled thighs.

It wasn’t about the clothes with him. She couldn’t help but think—not for the first time—how he had a powerful presence just by existing, whether he was in a tuxedo in Monte Carlo or dressed for the desert realms of Africa.

She studied the hard line of his jaw, peppered with stubble. “Why can’t you let me feel sorry for what you went through as a teenager?”

“I don’t want sympathy. I want you naked.” He shot a seductive grin her way. “We can pull over and...”

“You’re trying to distract me.” And she was determined to talk. “You promised to answer my questions.”

Only the wind answered, whispering through the window as they drove toward a small cluster of buildings in the distance, with cars and lines of people, adults and kids. Perhaps this was a school?

Regardless, her time to talk would be cut short soon.

“Conrad? You promised,” she pressed as birds ducked and dove toward their windshield only to break away at the last instant.

He winced, looking back at the narrow rural road. “You’re right. I promised.”

“Where did you stay on school breaks? Or did you stay at the school, like juvenile hall or something?”

The smile left his eyes. “I went home for holidays with an ankle monitor.”

Thoughts of him as a teenager walking around with that monitoring device chilled her. “That had to have been awkward after you tried to turn in your father.”

“My dad told me I could make it all up to him by connecting him with the families of my new friends.” He steered around a pack of dwarf goats in the road. “Why don’t we talk about your dad instead, Jayne?”

He guided the car back on the road again, leading them closer to the long stucco building, surrounded by smaller outbuildings. The slight detour off the road jounced her in the seat, hard, almost as if he’d deliberately bounced her around.

She held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, message received.”

Her husband wasn’t as open to talking this morning, but she wouldn’t give up. She would simply wait for a better opening while they spent their day at... Not a school at all.

He’d driven her to a medical clinic.

Nine

C
onrad watched his wife, curious as to what she would think of the clinic he’d built. Because yes, he’d built it as a tribute to her and the light she’d brought to his world. Regardless of how their marriage had broken up in the end, his four years with her were the best in his life.

She asked him all those questions about his father and the arrest, looking for ways to exonerate him because she had such a generous and forgiving heart. But she didn’t seem to grasp he’d done the crime. He was guilty of a serious wrong, no justification.

His life now had to be devoted to a very narrow path of making things right. The small hospital was a part of that thanks to a mission to the region nearly four years ago that had left a mark on him. He’d been aiding in an investigation tracing heroin traffic through a casino in South Africa, the trail leading him up the coast. He wasn’t an agent so much as a facilitator to lend effective covers and information about people in his wealthy world. They’d taken down the kingpin in that case, but Conrad hadn’t felt the rush of victory.

Not that time.

His nights had been haunted by visions of the
Agberos,
street children and teens also known as “area boys.” They were loosely organized gangs forced into crime. And no matter how many kingpins Conrad took out, another would slide into place. There was no Salvatore to look after those boys, to change their lives with a do-over.

Conrad opened Jayne’s car door, her reaction so damn important to him right now that his chest went tight with each drag of air. Lines of patients filed into the door, locals wearing anything from jeans and
T-shirts to colorful local cloths wrapped in a timeless way. They were here for anything from vaccinations to prenatal care to HIV/AIDS treatment.

The most gut-wrenching of all? The ones here for both prenatal care and HIV treatment. There was a desperate need here and he couldn’t help everyone, but one at a time, he was doing his damnedest.

He wasn’t a Salvatore sort, but he could at least give these kids some relief in their lives. He could make sure they grew up healthy, and those that couldn’t would have a fighting chance against the HIV devastating so many lives in Africa.

Jayne placed her hand in his and stepped out of the SUV. “Interesting choice for an outing.”

“I thought since you’re a nurse, you would like to see the facility.”

“It’s so much more than I would have expected in such a rural community.”

“It feeds into the population of three villages, and there are patients who drive in from even farther.”

She shaded her eyes against the sun, turning for the full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of everything from the one-story building to storage buildings. The place even had a playground, currently packed with young kids playing a loosely organized game of soccer, kicking up a cloud of dust around them. A brindle dog bounded along with them, jumping and racing for the ball, reminding him of little Mimi.

Patients arrived in cars and on foot, some wearing westernized clothes and others in brightly colored native wear. A delivery truck and ambulance were parked off to the side. Not brand-spanking-new, but well maintained.

They’d accomplished a lot here in a few short years.

He pointed to the doctor pushing through the front double doors. Conrad had given the doc a call to be on the lookout for them. “And here’s our guide. Dr. Rowan Boothe.”

Another former Salvatore protégé.

Jayne halted Conrad with a hand on his arm. “Is it okay if we just wander around? I don’t want to get in anyone’s way or disrupt anyone’s routine.”

The doctor stopped at the end of the walkway, stethoscope around his neck, hands in the pockets of his lab coat.

“Ma’am, don’t worry about the tour. He owns the place.” Boothe said it in a way that didn’t sound like a compliment.

Not a surprise.

He and Boothe hadn’t been friends—far from it. From day one, the sanctimonious do-gooder had kept to himself. Getting a read off him had been tough. On the one hand, he’d picked fights and then on the other, Boothe damn near martyred himself working community service hours.

The doc didn’t much like Conrad, and Conrad didn’t blame him. Conrad had given Boothe hell over his do-gooder attitude. But Conrad couldn’t deny the guy’s skill and his dedication. Boothe was the perfect fit for this place, and probably even a better fit for Jayne.

Damn.

Where the hell had that come from?

Suddenly it mattered too much to him that Jayne approve of the clinic. He was starting to want her to see him as the good guy and that was dangerous ground.

Damn it all to hell. He needed distance, or before he knew it, she would start asking more questions, probing around in his past for an honorability that just wasn’t there.

“Jayne, you’re in good hands here. I’m going to tend to some business.”

* * *

Jayne’s head was spinning as fast as the test tubes in the centrifuge. Her slip-on loafers squeaked along the pristine tile floors as she turned to follow Dr. Boothe into the corridor, her tour almost complete.

One wing held a thirty-bed hospital and the other wing housed a clinic. Not overly large, but all top-of-the-line and designed for efficiency. The antibacterial scent saturated each breath she took, the familiarity of the environment wrapping her in comfort.

She’d expected Conrad to romance her today. That’s what Conrad did, big gifts and trips. He remembered her preferences from cream-filled pastries to Italian opera.

But this? He’d always seemed to think her nursing was just a job and she’d followed his lead, figuring someone else needed the job she would have taken up. She’d had plenty of money as his wife... But God, after six months, she’d become restless and by the end of the first year, she’d missed her job so much her teeth ached.

Walking down the center hall of the clinic, she couldn’t stop thinking maybe he had seen her need there at the end, that he’d been planning this for her. Had she given up on them too soon?

Dr. Rowan Boothe continued his running monologue about the facilities and their focus on childhood immunizations as well as HIV/AIDS treatment and education.

She was impressed and curious. “You and Conrad seem to know each other well. How did you meet?”

The doctor looked more like a retired model than a physician. But from what she’d heard so far, his expertise was undeniable. “We went to high school together.”

North Carolina Military Prep? Was he the kind who’d gone in hopes of joining the military or because of a near brush with the law? Asking felt...rude. And then there was the whole Salvatore issue...an off-limits question altogether. “Hmm, it’s nice when alumni can network.”

He quirked a thick blond eyebrow as they passed the pharmacy. “Yes, I was one of the ‘in trouble’ crowd who now use their powers for good instead of evil.”

“You have a sense of humor about it.”

“That surprises you?” he asked as he held open the door for her, a burst of sunshine sending sparks in front of her eyes.

“What you face here, the tragic cases, the poverty, the limited resources and crime...” She stepped onto the front walkway, shading her eyes. Where was Conrad? “How can you keep that upbeat attitude under such crushing odds?”

“People are living longer here because of this clinic. Those children playing over there would have been dead by now without it.” He gestured to a dozen or so boys kicking a soccer ball on a playground beside the clinic. “You said you’re a Hospice nurse now, an E.R. nurse before that. You of all people should understand.”

He had a point.

“You’re right, of course.” Her eyes adjusted to the stark sunshine and out there in the middle of the pack of boys, her husband joined in, kicking the soccer ball.

Laughing?

When was the last time she’d heard him laugh with something other than sarcasm? She couldn’t remember. The sound of him, the
sight
of him, so relaxed took her breath away. He looked...young. Or rather he looked his age, a man in his early thirties, in the prime of life. Not that he’d looked old before but he’d been so distant and unapproachable.

She glanced at Dr. Boothe. “What was he like back in high school?”

“Moody. Arrogant. He was gangly and wore glasses back then, but he was a brilliant guy and he knew it. Folks called him Mr. Wall Street, because of his dad and what he did with the stock market.” He glanced at her. “But you probably could have guessed all of that.”

She just smiled, hoping he would keep talking if she didn’t interrupt.

“I didn’t come from money like most of the guys there, and I wasn’t inordinately talented like Douglas. I had a monster chip on my shoulder. I thought I was better than those overprivileged brats. I caught a lucky break when I was sent there. I didn’t fit in so I kept my distance.” He half smiled. “The sense of humor’s a skill I acquired later.”

“Yet, Conrad brought you here. He must respect you.”

“Yeah, I guess. I have the grades, but so do a lot of doctors who want to save the world. If we’re going to be honest, I’m here because of a cookie.”

“Pardon me? I’m not sure I understand.”

“My mom used to send me these care packages full of peanut butter cookies with M&M’s baked into them. Damn, they were good.” The fond light in his eyes said more about the mother who sent the baked goods. “One day, I was in my bunk, knocking back a couple of those cookies while doing my macro-biology homework. And I looked up to find Conrad staring at those cookies like they were caviar. I knew better than to offer him one. He’d have just thrown it back in my face.”

He leaned against a porch pillar. “We were all pretty angry at life in those days. But I had my cookies and letters from Mom to get me through the days when I didn’t think I could live with the guilt of what I’d done.”

He shook his head. “But back to Conrad. About a week later, I was on my way to the cafeteria when I saw him in the visitation area with his dad. I was jealous as hell since my folks couldn’t afford to fly out to visit me—and then I realized he and his dad were fighting.”

“About what?” She couldn’t help but ask, desperate for this unfiltered look into the teenager Conrad had been during a time in his life that had so tremendously shaped the man he’d become.

“From what Conrad shouted, it was clear his father wanted him to run a scam on Troy’s parents and convince them to invest in some bogus company or another. Conrad decked his dad. It took two security guards to pull him off.”

The image of that betrayal, of the pain and humiliation he must have felt, brought tears to her eyes she knew her overly stoic husband would never have shed for himself. “And the cookie?”

“I’m getting there. Conrad spent a couple of days in the infirmary—his dad hit him back and dislocated Conrad’s shoulder. The cops didn’t press charges on the old man because the son threw the first punch. Anyhow, Conrad’s first day out of the infirmary, I felt bad for him so I wrapped a cookie in a napkin and put it on his bunk. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t toss it back in my face, either.” He threw his hands wide. “And here I am today.”

Her heart hurt so badly she could barely push words out. “You’re killing me, you know that don’t you?”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong. He’s still an arrogant ass, but he’s a good guy if you dig deep.” He grinned. “Really deep.”

She looked back out at her husband playing ball with the kids. His voice rode the breeze as he shouted encouragement and tips, and she couldn’t help but think of the father that had never been there for him. No wonder he was wary of being a parent himself.

But if he could only see himself now. He was such a natural.

She’d dreamed of them having children one day, and she’d hoped he could be a good father. But she’d never dared imagine him like this. She should be happy, hopeful.

Instead she was scared to death. It was one thing to fail at her second chance with Conrad if she would have had to walk away from the same failed marriage she’d left before. But everything was different this time. What if she lost the chance to make Conrad genuinely happy? This chance to touch lives together in Africa?

That would level her.

An older boy booted the soccer ball across the field, a couple of smaller boys chasing it down. The ball rolled farther away, toward a moving truck stacked with water jugs. The vehicle barreled along the dirt road without the least sign of slowing even as the child sprinted closer on skinny little legs.

Her heart leaped into her throat. Dr. Boothe sprang into motion but there was no way he would make it to the child in time.

“Conrad!” Jayne screamed, again and again.

But he was already sprinting toward the kid, who was maybe six or seven years old. Conrad moved like a sleek panther across the ball field, faster than should have been possible. And in a flash, he’d scooped the child up with one arm and stopped a full ten yards away from the truck. He spun the kid around, sunshine streaming down from the sky around them. The little boy’s giggles carried on the breeze as if all was right in the world. And it was. Conrad had the situation firmly in hand.

Her heart hammered in her ears.

A low laugh pulled her attention away from her husband and back to Dr. Boothe. A blush burned up her face over being caught staring at her husband like a lovesick teenager.

God, her feelings for Conrad were so transparent a total stranger could read her.

What did her husband think when he looked at her? Did he think he’d won her over today? If so, she needed to be damn clear on that point. Yes, she was hopeful, but that didn’t mean she was willing to compromise on her dreams.

But what about his dreams?

This close brush with danger revealed her husband’s competence in a snapshot. She’d spent so many nights worried about why he hadn’t called home, but seeing him in action gave her a new appreciation for how well equipped he was for quick action in risky work. He was smart, strong and he had resources. Furthermore, he had lightning reflexes and a will to help others.

Was she being as selfish as she’d once accused him of being by denying him a job that obviously meant a lot to him? A job that was, she now understood, a conduit to forgiving himself for his past? Clearly Conrad needed his work as badly as she needed hers.