Uncensored Passion (Men of Passion) (18 page)

“Yes, we had a wonderful time, Devon. You’re a fantastic lover. I will remember that.”

“You won't have to remember it, Kayla, because you can experience it whenever you want. I’ll be here.” Trey heard the desperation in his voice.

“You have to return to San Antonio. You have your job and…”

“Screw the job.”

“What are you saying? That you’d stay here, quit your job, just to be near me?” Kayla looked steadily at him.

“Yes.”

“If only that could be, but it can’t, Devon. Because, well, we don’t agree on so many things.”

“I wasn’t aware that we had disagreed on anything, Kayla. What’re you talking about?” He tried to pull her into his arms.

But she pulled away, not answering. Then she reached for her purse, straightened her clothes, slipped on her shoes, and left.

CHAPTER 17

Tomorrow never comes

Kayla pulled the Lexus into the garage close to midnight. She had driven home automatically, almost blinded by the tears she had to keep swiping away, feeling as though something wonderful was lost forever.

She switched the car off and just sat crying softly, overwhelmed by a sense of dejection, suddenly questioning the values she had adopted and always believed were rock solid.

How could a man I’ve only known for a couple of days do this to me? Because I love him!

That realization struck her hard. She loved Devon Walker with a depth of emotion she had never experienced.

That wounded boy, troubled, tortured teen, and now self-sufficient, magnificent man has gotten to me—really gotten to me and
I love him. Oh, God, I do! This is crazy, but it’s real.

When the car door was suddenly opened, Kayla was startled and gasped as she gazed into Harm’s worried eyes. She had not even heard him come out of the house.

“Kayla, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No. I—ah—I’m just tired, Harm.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her out of the vehicle, slamming the door shut with a kick. He carried her into the house and placed her on the living room couch.

The house was still and quiet, and Kayla was thankful the others were asleep. She had a feeling Harm, in his intuitive way, had felt something was wrong and that was why he was waiting for her, even though he couldn’t have known she’d come home tonight.

“You want to tell me about it, baby?”

She shook her head. “Just hold me, Harm.”

He held her, rocking back and forth, soothing her with words. “It will be all right, whatever it is. We all love you. You’re safe at home now.”

But for the first time, Kayla didn’t feel safe, or even at home. She felt detached and sad, as though some part of her was missing.

When Harm knew she had calmed down, he carried her to her bedroom, undressed her, kissed her goodnight, and left her alone.

And Kayla had never felt so alone in her life.

* * *

Across town, Trey lay in bed feeling the same way. He finally gave up on the idea of sleeping. He got up, showered, dressed, and went down to the bar. It was deserted. He was told they closed at 1:00 a.m., so that gave him thirty minutes to drown his sorrows.

He ordered a Johnny Walker Black and sat staring at it morosely, trying to figure out what had happened with Kayla. Had he said something that made her jump up and run? What? And what did she mean, they were worlds apart? Because what he had confided about his childhood had disgusted her?

But hell, she’ll hate me anyway when she finds out the truth, that she doesn’t even know my real name, much less why I’m here.

Trey silently cursed himself for telling her about his life. That had to be what had made her think they couldn’t ever be a couple. Because he was screwed up. Because of all the things he had done, had been forced to do. Because he was so far beneath her, socially, mentally, and emotionally. Because he probably reminded her of her twisted patients instead of a potential husband.

But there is no denying we are sexually compatible. And I know, dammit, that she feels the same almost magnetic pull toward me as I do toward her.

He downed the drink and ordered another one.

The question is, where do I go from here?

He decided to go to her home and just demand to know what had happened, what had caused her abrupt change of mind and made her run away. And then he would tell her the truth. If she hated him, at least he would be able to look himself in the mirror without wanting to smash it. And as far as his job went—that was obviously gone. But he
would
find out what Gavin Johnson had against him if he had to beat it out of the man.

He ordered another drink. The bartender said, “Last call, I’m afraid.”

Trey nodded as he downed it, tossed a couple of bills on the counter, waved away the change, and left.

Returning to his room, he just stood breathing in the erotic essence of their day together—her perfume, chocolate, and sex. Staring at the bed, remembering their frenzied lovemaking marathon, Trey took in the crumpled sheet stained with dried chocolate and it suddenly crossed his mind that it looked like bloodstains.

He felt like they were—his blood—because he felt bloodless standing there, wanting her, needing her, knowing he couldn’t have her, and not understanding why. He closed his eyes, recapturing the feel of her clever, seeking lips and her hands claiming every inch of his body.

I won’t give up Kayla that easily. I can’t. I’ll fight for her. Somehow I’ll make her understand that I didn’t want to spy on her, that I would never do anything to deliberately hurt her, that I love her.

Damn! I do. I love her.

He sank down on the corner of the bed and put his head in his hands as that revelation sank in, telling himself it was impossible. You couldn’t just meet someone and fall in love, not even if you found them vibrant, seductive, and spellbindingly illusive.

“But I do I love her,” he said out loud. “So, what the hell can I do about it?”

It dawned on him that the first thing he had to do was report to Dr. Romero that there was no dirt to be had on Kayla, that his son was simply her pool boy who needed some space to sort out his life. He had to get Romero off Kayla’s back first. Then he would have a face-to-face with Johnson and settle that—whatever the hell
that
was, and then he would return and pursue Kayla until she realized she needed him as much as he needed her.

Tomorrow. That’s what I’ll do, starting tomorrow.

A phrase sprang to mind. Or was it a song? He knew he’d heard it a million times before somewhere:

“Tomorrow never comes.”

But it would this time. And he’d somehow fix everything then.

Tomorrow.

Or rather later today,
Trey thought as he glanced at his watch and saw it was after 2:00 a.m.

Having made that decision, he undressed and crawled into bed, feeling somewhat better now that he had a plan. But though he was infinitely weary, sleep eluded him as he lay assaulted by the erotic scents.

After four, when exhaustion finally closed down his mind, Trey drifted into a dream-filled kaleidoscope of past and present sounds and pictures—Deke yelling at him, the sound of the leather strap striking his back, his frantic escape from the Samsons and his fear of Deke’s furious retribution when he’d been returned, Marion moaning as he fucked her, Kayla gasping in disgust as she watched the forbidden orgy from a suddenly opened gossamer doorway between the two worlds of past and present.

His dream persona saw her turn and run in revulsion. He tried to disentangle himself from Marion, to jump up and chase Kayla, but he fell. He called her, begged her to come back, begged for her forgiveness. He lay beside the Samsons’ king-size bed, unable to stand, feeling weighted down and defeated.

Tossing and turning, Trey stayed lost in the dream until after dawn had dragged the beginning of the sun-heated day in through the slit in the curtain.

It was after seven when he came fully awake, feeling drugged and as tired as when he’d gone to bed. For a minute he was disoriented, not remembering where he was or why he was there. Then he did and wished he hadn’t. He wondered how Kayla was feeling this morning, wondered if she was thinking of him, too. His jaw clenched as he thought about his resolution.

Well, here it is, that tenuous tomorrow that never comes. And, in fact, it doesn’t—because now it’s today.

He recognized the irony and wondered,
what will the tomorrow turned today be when I finally put my world back firmly on its axis by putting the lies on the table and standing up to the consequences?

The question that gripped his gut, tied it in knots was, could he stand to see hatred in those green eyes when he confessed the truth?

Swallowing hard, Trey pushed off the bed and made his way to the bathroom with the firm resolution that he’d see it through no matter what. He splashed his face with cold water, trying to wash away the twisted nightmares, though he couldn’t remember the details. He never did fully recall the dreams that often plagued him, but he felt the draining power of them and knew they had robbed him of another peaceful night of sleep.

He turned on the shower, then stood at the lavatory, staring at his mirror image, reminding himself, “So it’s now time to face the music.”

With a deep, resigned breath he stripped and stepped beneath the shower, letting the nearly too hot water purge him of the nightmares and doubts.

He silently reassured himself.
I can do this. She’ll listen and she’ll understand when I tell her. But tell her what? That everything I ever said to her was a lie? That I was sent here to spy on her, to try and ruin her life?

For the first time since his last, nearly disastrous mission outside Karbala, Trey sent up a prayer, hoping it got beyond the ceiling.

God, I hope You hear me. Please don’t let her hate me.

* * *

Kayla had awakened at six thirty, but she didn’t get up. She stayed in bed, lacking the energy and the inclination to rise. As a rule of thumb, they all rose fairly early on Sundays, had a hearty breakfast, and began the day of just relaxing, reading the paper, and sharing. Simple yet comfortable small things that had made them such a close-knit family unit, things Kayla had always looked forward to—but not this morning. This morning, she didn’t want to talk and certainly did not want to share her feelings.

She knew Harm would have questions. But knowing him, she knew he wouldn’t push the issue when he realized she wanted it closed. Yet she hated to see his doubts behind those frowning eyes she knew would focus on her in his confused silence. She hoped he wouldn’t tell the others about her meltdown, because she didn’t want to explain—didn’t intend to explain Devon and what they had shared, what she felt for him. What she was still feeling for him was something she intended to keep to herself.

As she lay thinking of their time together, Kayla was guiltily thankful she had given in to her fantasies because it had given her a warm, vivid memory she could quietly cherish of the first man she’d ever loved with every fiber of her being.

“Get a grip! You’ve got the best men in the world right here in your home, you idiot!” She admonished herself, trying to shake off the depression, trying to remind herself how great her life was, how unfettered and unconventionally perfect it was.

Of course, you can do that ‘til the cows came home, and even knowing it’s true, it won’t stop the desire to see and be with Devon Walker.

She lounged in bed for another thirty minutes wallowing in self-pity before getting up, showering, and donning her robe. She wandered into the kitchen to find Harm and Lee already up.

Harm handed her a cup of coffee, then kissed her good morning, as did Lee, who asked, “What time did you get home last night, hon? Thought you were going to spend the night in town.”

Kayla stole a look at Harm who just smiled the answer, those condemning eyes she knew she’d see trying to remain neutral as he silently conveyed,
no, I didn’t say anything, and I won’t.

“Around midnight, I think. I just couldn’t stay in town when I wanted to be home with all of you. You know how much I value our Sundays.”

“I hate to think about you out driving that late by yourself,” Lee said as he popped biscuits in the oven. “Most of the crazies are out around then.”

She walked over and gave him a kiss on his broad back.

“Thanks for being worried about me. But there’s no need. So, looks like we’re having biscuits this morning. There wouldn’t happen to be tomato gravy to go with those biscuits, would there? And ham?”

“There is if you want tomato gravy and ham.”

“I do.”

As Lee disappeared into the pantry looking for one of the jars of canned tomatoes, Kayla exchanged looks with Harm. He put his arm around her and whispered, “Feeling better?”

“Yes.”

“If you want to talk, I’m a good listener.”

“I know. You’re the best, and I love you for it. But I’m fine now.”

The look he gave her said he knew better, and even though she managed a fake smile, she knew he saw through it.

As soon as Lee started frying the slices of country ham, Luke and J.J. appeared and things settled into the normal Sunday morning routine.

Luke retrieved the Sunday paper from the hedges, where it usually wound up after the paperboy’s careless toss, and passed around different sections.

Even though they all wanted to ask about her strange Saturday meeting, only J.J. dared broach the subject, and received a negligible answer from Kayla. He caught the warning look from Harm and played off Kayla’s strained silence with the comment that he hated that she worked too hard.

They had finished breakfast, loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, and were going to the media room, which was situated to the back of the house, to watch a movie when the doorbell rang.