muttered as he ended the call, chagrined that he’d obviously made a nuisance of himself. “Dammit, Regan. Where are you? And why in the devil haven’t you called me?”
But he had a feeling he already knew the answer. It was the kiss. Kissing her had been a mistake. He still wasn’t sure what had possessed him to kiss her in the first place. The blasted woman had reminded him of a spitting cat yesterday afternoon with her green eyes flashing, that stubborn chin of hers poking up in the air while she ordered him to back off. He’d only meant to ruffle her fur a bit. Instead he’d been the one to get ruffled. Hell, ruffled didn’t come close to what that one kiss had done to him. A simple case of attraction had turned into full-blown lust and short-circuited his brain.
Dammit, he’d frightened her. Hell, he’d scared himself, he admitted. Because he’d wanted her with a fierceness that bordered on pain. And she’d known it, too. That was the reason she hadn’t called him. He’d pushed her too hard, too fast—just as he had twelve years ago when he’d used her pregnancy to bind her to him in marriage. She hadn’t been ready for marriage. He’d known it, but he’d pushed her anyway because he’d been afraid he would lose her. Thinking back to that time, to the mistakes that he’d made, Cole cursed his impatience and all that it had cost him. Regan had been so innocent—part girl, part woman and pure temptation. She’d been caught up in the flush of her first passion and too blinded to know the difference between lust and love. He, on the other hand, had been born old and was long past innocent. The four-year difference in their ages might as well have been forty. He had known from the time he was six years old what he wanted in life—to be rich, successful, respected—and he’d made up his mind to do whatever was necessary to make it happen. He’d allowed nothing and no one to deter him from the path he’d set for himself.
Until Regan.
He hadn’t counted on her coming into his life…on him wanting her, needing her, loving her. She was everything he’d ever dreamed of in a mate. Only she had come into his life too soon—before he’d been able to make himself into somebody, before he’d had a right to love her, to expect her to love him. But he’d been selfish and loved her anyway. And for the short time that she’d been his, he had felt less alone. He’d almost believed that she truly loved him, that who and what he was didn’t matter.
Of course, it had mattered. He grimaced as he reflected upon his self-delusions. Even now, the admission of his stupidity left a bitter taste in his mouth. How had he ever allowed himself to believe that a sharp mind, a strong back and ambition would wipe out the fact that he was the bastard son of a woman who cleaned houses for a living? He hadn’t belonged in Regan’s world of black-tie dinners, designer gowns and blue bloods. Just as she hadn’t belonged in his world of two jobs, rundown apartments, and no time to hit the study books. So he’d pushed her. And in the end, his impatience had cost him not only Regan, but the life of his unborn child.
The hollow ache that always came with thoughts of the baby daughter who had died before she’d ever had a chance to live threatened to claim him now. Dwelling on the past was the last thing he needed. He couldn’t change the past, Cole reminded himself. He needed to think of the future, of the new baby growing inside Regan.
His baby. Regardless of the circumstances, they had conceived another child together, which meant he and Regan were once again a part of each other’s lives. Once again, Regan and their unborn baby were his responsibilities. And, unlike his own father, he intended to live up to his responsibilities—even if it meant fighting Regan to do it. No child of his was going to be subjected to taunts and whispers, made to feel his or her birth had been a mistake. His child was never going to wonder who daddy was because his child was going to have his last name. A fact which he intended to make clear to Regan—just as soon as she got home.
If she got home. Cole stared at the cell phone, willed the thing to ring. It remained silent instead. Impatient, he flipped the phone open and started to punch in Liz’s number again. Just as quickly he slapped the thing shut. If Liz had heard from Regan, she would have called him—especially after he’d taken his well-meaning friend to task for meddling in his and Regan’s lives. Besides, Liz had said that when Regan had stormed out of the clinic four hours ago, she’d been royally miffed with her aunt and had claimed that she needed to think about what she was going to do.
So where the devil did you go to do your thinking, princess?
A late March wind, heavy with the scent of night jasmine, whistled through moss-draped oak trees that stood along the property that had been in Regan’s family since the turn of the century. The familiar scents of New Orleans brought back a rush of memories. Memories of the tiny, dank apartments where he had lived with his mother as a boy, places that had been sweltering hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. Other memories washed over him like scenes in a kaleidoscope—memories of his mother working, struggling to make ends meet by scrubbing floors in other people’s homes until her hands were worn and wrinkled. Unable to stop the flood of memories, he squeezed his eyes shut as the scenes tumbled behind his closed lids. His mother serving the fancy guests at parties in the beautiful homes. His mother shuffling him off to a corner in a kitchen and telling him to be a good boy while she worked. Him sneaking peeks at the party guests and wanting to join the other kids there. Him wishing he could be like those other kids, wishing that he belonged.
Cole opened his eyes and drew in a cleansing breath. Bracing his back against one of the home’s stately columns, he listened to the tinkling of a wind chime somewhere. The musical sound triggered another memory—a memory of other nights like this one—nights when, as a youth, he’d wandered through the dark, narrow streets of the French Quarter, lured by the soulful music and sultry scents, the ghostly tales of pirates and voodoo, the promises of sex and sin that lurked on every corner. He recalled how quickly one turn down a wrong street could prove not only dangerous, but deadly. Suddenly fear knotted like a fist in Cole’s stomach. How many times had Regan taken off to roam the French Quarter streets when she’d wanted to be alone to mull over a problem or brood about an argument with her father?
What if Regan had gone walking in the French Quarter tonight to think?
Bile rose in Cole’s throat at the thought. She knew the area like the back of her hand, the places to avoid, the areas no woman or man should ever venture alone, Cole told himself.
But what if she had another dizzy spell? Or if, in her distressed state, she wandered down one of those wrong streets?
Cole’s heart slammed against his ribs, and he took off across the veranda at a run. “Damn! Damn! Damn!” He should have insisted on going with her. She and the baby were his responsibilities now. If anything had happened to her or the baby—
Cole shut off the thought, refused to even give credence to the notion that something could have happened to her. Still, he raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time. His feet had barely cleared the last step when the black iron gates fronting the property’s entrance swung open, and Regan’s white BMW came cruising up the long driveway.
Relief flooded through Cole, making his heart kick. Remembering past mistakes, Cole forced himself to stay put, not to rush out to meet her and demand an explanation of where she had been. It took Regan no more than a few minutes to park the car and maneuver the path to the house, but to Cole it seemed an eternity. An eternity in which he jammed his hands into his pockets and dug deeply inside himself for patience while every instinct demanded he snag her close, run his hands over her and assure himself she was unharmed.
“Cole,” she said, her voice strained, her expression wary. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
From the expression on her face, he knew that she hadn’t wanted to see him here. The realization smarted more than Cole had thought possible, but he handled it as he had so many others in his life—by
