Lyssa cursed the gossip sheets that had plastered the images of Charlene hanging on Mike’s arm all over their front pages. Not to mention the TV shows with their “reports.”
“Didn’t you listen to the programs or read these?” Lyssa asked.
Mattie rolled her eyes and snorted. “After she and Frieda Makepeace locked me in the closet at the Club four years ago you know the less I hear and read about Charlene, the better I sleep at night. Bryce had this stuff tucked away in his office. I’m sure he’s about ready to kill Mike.”
“LaTreace Barrows died of a drug overdose three weeks ago.” The coincidental nature of the situation hadn’t been lost on Lyssa when she’d read the first article about the cover model’s death. Mike would have been in Europe a week when the woman’s body was found. According to Vance, Mike’s hasty departure was because he needed to help a friend. Lyssa was pretty sure LaTreace was that friend.
“Oh my God, I hadn’t heard that part, Lys. I know you’ve worked with her before.” Mattie sat up straighter.
“Mike knew and worked with LaTreace for years. Just before her funeral, he called and told me he felt obligated to attend.” Lyssa shrugged. In regards to Charlene, Lyssa didn’t have an explanation to give since Mike hadn’t mentioned the redhead during their too-brief call, but he had assured her he would return.
Lyssa switched off the burner and pulled the teakettle before it could begin to whistle. After she poured the steaming water into the teapot, she returned the kettle to the stove and sat down across from Mattie.
“That woman doesn’t have a subtle bone in her body.” Mattie grimaced. “Has he told you when he’ll be home?”
“Other than that one phone conversation, I haven’t heard from Mike since he left, Mat.” Lyssa tried not to reveal how anxious and upset she was at Mike’s silence. She pulled one of the magazines toward her and leafed through it to the section with pictures of him and Charlene.
“You’re not thinking he won’t come back, are you, Lys?” It was clear that thought had crossed Mattie’s mind.
Lyssa ignored the voice inside that called her a fool as she shook her head. “Mike would tell me if he wasn’t coming back.” And she believed it, despite all the skepticism trying to undermine her confidence.
“How can you be sure?” Mattie demanded. “I’ve been watching the TV gossip shows and seeing the articles same as you. He’s got women surrounding him. Charlene is hanging on his arm everywhere he goes.”
Lyssa dropped her gaze to the cup she held between her hands. “I can’t be sure, Mat. I can only trust that he loves me and comes home soon.” She moved her attention to the pictures, taking note of the stiff way Mike held himself beside Charlene. The tight expression on his face when he smiled. All those little clues, both in the paper and on the videos she couldn’t help but watch each night, bolstered her defenses against the doubts attempting to plague her.
Mike’s expression betrayed little interest in the woman on his arm. None of the women he’d been seen with over the last three weeks had brought the gleam to his eye. She’d been watching. Dreading it and sighing with relief when it remained missing.
Satisfaction eased the concerned look on her sister’s face before Mattie asked, “So you believe he loves you? What happed to ‘the heart lies’ belief?”
“Yes, I believe him.” Lyssa stirred sugar and milk into her tea. “And I love him.”
“It’s about damn time,” Mattie grumbled.
“Tell me you were this crazy when you finally figured out how much Bryce loved you.”
“Certifiable.” Mattie sipped her tea. “Mike has been nuts about you since the day he asked you out to celebrate selling his first article and pictures.”
“I’m starting to believe that.” She looked into her teacup and then up at her little sister. “It’s kinda scary knowing how much you can start to depend on someone to be there for you.”
“It’s a two-way street, Lys. It’ll be no different for Mike.”
“I’m still finding it difficult to think there can be a future for us.”
Mattie watched her from over the rim of her cup. “He’s the other half of your soul. What more do you need to know?”
Lyssa thought about that for a moment. “Yes, he is.”
“So why aren’t you a basket case?” Mattie asked.
“I am; you just caught me when my confidence is on an upswing,” Lyssa admitted, fighting the tears welling up.
“Oh, Lys.” Mattie dragged her chair next to her sister’s and wrapped her arms around her.
“All my lofty thoughts about him loving me are all well and good, but I need him to come home. I need him here.” Lyssa grabbed a napkin from the table, blew her nose, and wiped at the tears streaking her cheeks. Glaring at her sister, Lyssa poked at the open magazine in front of her. “Every time I see the pictures or watch the video clips, I want to scream. He spends twelve damned years chasing me, and then, right when I’m ready to confess all, to tell him ‘I love you,’ he flits off to Europe! I have half a mind to go over there and shove one of his cameras where the sun don’t shine.”
Mattie laughed. “Okay, now that sounds more like it. Shall I call Bryce and tell him to get the company jet gassed up?”
Lyssa shook her head. The temper drained away slightly. “No, I’ll give him a little more time.” She glanced into the living room where the bushy green Christmas tree Mike had insisted on putting up the day after Thanksgiving twinkled with lights and ornaments. “But I swear, if he isn’t home before Christmas, that man’ll be walkin’ funny by New Year’s.”
They were both distracted by the sound of the front door opening, followed by a squeal of delight. The rush of hope that it was Mike deflated when she and Mattie reached the doorway to the living room to see Maggie demanding Vance pick her up.
“It’s barely noon, Vance,” Lyssa complained.
Vance bounced Maggie on his hip, grinning at the little girl as she tugged free the leather tie holding his hair back. “Sorry, babe. We marines take our duties seriously.”
“Mike did not ask you and Ben to make sure I was eating every meal?”
Mattie laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past him. He is a Halsey, after all.”
“Halseys take care of their own,” Maggie announced in a resolute tone that had all three adults chuckling.
Mattie shook her head. “She’s been listening to her daddy again, I see.” Holding her hands out to her daughter, she smiled. “Come on, sweetie; time to go home.”
Maggie seemed to debate going to her mom for a moment before she gave Vance a serious look. “It’s okay. I’s still waitin’. Down, please.”
Vance squatted and set her on the floor, his smile indulgent. “Waiting for what, kiddo?”
“My angel.” Maggie reached over and grabbed Mattie’s hand. Looking up at her mom, she smiled. “Him and Ben’s bringin’ me Aimee’s angel.”
Lyssa watched Vance drop to one knee, his face blanching as he stared at Maggie. “Are you okay?” She kept her question soft, not wanting to frighten her sister or her niece.
“Maggie.” Vance cleared his throat and tried again. “Maggie, who told you I was bringing you Aim—an angel?”
The little girl stood very still, her pale green eyes holding Vance’s for the longest time before she shrugged and answered, “Just know. I wait.” She turned away and tugged Mattie toward the door. “Come on, Mama. Grandpa Jake’s makin’ ice cream.”
“I’m sorry, Vance. I don’t think Maggie knows what she’s saying most of the time,” Mattie apologized as she followed her daughter out the door.
Vance rose slowly to his feet as the door closed behind Mattie and Maggie. Lyssa felt compelled to explain a little more. “She doesn’t mean any harm. It’s just that Maggie sees things sometimes.”
He nodded, pushing his loosened hair away from his face. “It’s okay, Lys. I just haven’t heard—never mind.” Planting his hands on his hips, he looked down at her. “About your lunch.”
Lyssa groaned and headed into the kitchen, with him following. Even if she wanted to wallow in self-pity, she’d learned trying to avoid him and Ben when they decided to play mother hen simply wasn’t worth the effort.
* * *
Mike ached in every joint and more. He couldn’t blame the long flights from France and New York, since the seats in first class had been more than comfortable. The weariness plaguing him had been present since he’d left San Diablo three weeks earlier. It was not knowing what he’d come home to that made him feel decades older than he was.
A part of him argued he should ignore the urge to head to Lyssa’s and just shower and crash at his apartment over the studio, but he couldn’t. Tuma was still in residence. And based on the last stilted phone call they’d shared, she was still plenty pissed that he’d left Lyssa. Twenty-five days without Lyssa left him craving the sight of her. At three in the morning, he wasn’t expecting to see any lights on when he pulled into the drive.
Pain rose up, but he squashed it down. If he could replay the last twenty-six days of his life, he’d do it. No, make that the last forty-eight months. There would be so many things he’d change. The first being not taking no for an answer when he’d brought Lyssa home from the Club that first night.
Maybe if he’d stayed with her, taken care of her, she wouldn’t have lost their baby. Despite Ben’s explanation when they’d spoken on the phone that her miscarriage had been unavoidable, Mike wondered how preventable the event might have been.
God, how many times had he prayed she was pregnant when he was dragging his ass through filthy whorehouses in Bangkok, searching for information, any clue to help wrap up his assignment? But wishing for the ability to turn back the clock wouldn’t get the job done. Not now.
He wasn’t much different than his big brother in the respect that both he and Bryce knew a baby would bind their woman to them. But did he want to leave Lyssa without a choice? He knew she loved him; she’d simply never admit it. He cursed the weak moment when he’d answered his ringing cell phone, but at the same time, he had appreciated the opportunity to step away from the painful situation facing him.
He tried to be quiet as he entered the house, deactivated then reset the alarm, and put his camera case on the sofa. His duffel bag he carried through the kitchen to the laundry room before shedding his overcoat and draping it over a kitchen chair. Moving down the hall into the master bedroom, he waited in the doorway. She looked peaceful curled in the bed, covers tucked beneath her chin. Exhausted but desperate for a shower after so many hours of travel, Mike eased off his shoes and left them next to the door. He made as little noise as possible as he moved into the bathroom. As soon as he turned on the hot water, steam began to fill the room. Stripping out of his clothes, he left them in a heap on the floor and moved beneath the spray.
Lather coated his shoulders and chest when the door opened behind him and Lyssa stepped inside.
“Are you okay?” She took the soap from him and reached for the colorful fluffy thing she used to bathe.
“Tired.” He watched her rub the soap against the puff and build a froth of bubbles.
“I heard the news about LaTreace.” Lyssa eased the soapy fluff along his chest and down his abdomen. “The reports are saying she overdosed and passed out. No one found her until the hotel maid entered the suite to clean.”
“That’s what they’re saying.” The anger was clear in his voice. It was useless to explain that there was nothing he could do to correct the stories. Frustration gnawed at his insides at the reminder of the lies spread about LaTreace. “I knew her. LaTreace would never have done that. She hated drugs. Even prescribed medications. She was a huge supporter of antidrug campaigns wherever she went.”
“I saw the articles about Charlene.”
Mike groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t believe any of that claptrap?”
“No, but Mattie and Tuma were both very vocal about how often the two of you were seen together.”
“She was already skating on the edge when I arrived. The minute she heard about LaTreace, it was a media circus.”
Lyssa pushed against his shoulder, urging him to shift so she could reach his back. “It was that bad?” He was sure she felt the tension radiating from his body, but her gentle hands smoothed over his back.
“I spent most of the time trying to keep her sober and away from the reporters.” Shaking his head, he braced his clenched fists against the tiled walls. “It’s such a fucking waste. It didn’t need to happen.”
“There’s no rhyme or reason for things, Mike.” She stroked the shower puff across his shoulders and down his spine. His body had no problem responding to her touch. In the weeks he’d been gone, being with Lyssa was at the top of things he’d missed.
He muttered, “I should never have recommended LaTreace.”
“Recommended her?” The drift of the sponge halted at his lower back. “I thought she was in Europe as a representative with that guy—”
“Nigel Hargreaves,” Mike supplied.
“Was that what you were talking about with that Trent person?” She moved closer and eased the cloth around to his stomach. He slid his hand over hers, halting the stroke of her hand as it neared the stiff cock rising between his legs.
“When did you hear—” Mike answered his own question as he recalled the night Trent had rung him. “You were awake?”
Her head moved up and down against his shoulder. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you ask me about it?” Keeping hold of her hand, he eased the puff from her hold and tossed it toward a corner of the shower. Turning to face her, he stepped beneath the spray and rinsed the soap off before tugging her forward to remove the few bubbles that had transferred themselves from his back to her breasts. One-handed, he twisted the knobs, shutting off the flow of water, and then opened the shower door. “Why…”
“I thought if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.” She blinked at the water that had splashed onto her face. “And part of me didn’t. Especially if calls from him would mean you’d be leaving.”
Stepping out of the shower, he pulled a towel from the rack and took his time carefully blotting the droplets of moisture from her skin. He allowed his hands to linger at her chin, neck, and breasts. When she tried to stop him, to use another towel on him, he shook his head. “No, I’m the master. It’s my job to care for you.” Lyssa held her breath as he crouched on one knee in front of her. “I can’t tell you about Trent. Or LaTreace.” He watched her face for reaction. “Not yet at least.”