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"You think that's progress?"
"Yes, with him, it is. I am prepared to wait. He has been through a hell of a lot, and I am not going to rush him. I am also not going to fade into the background."
"I am not sorry for unloading like that. You are my sister, and I love you a lot. We have always been there for each other, and I will continue to be."
Her expression softened. "I know." She squeezed his hand. "I will be okay."
*****
But the joy had been sucked out of the day. She could not find the heart when she returned home to finish the laundry. Instead, she went for the wine bottle and poured some into a glass, taking it to the porch.
David's words kept hammering at her. She had some manuscripts she had brought home with her, which usually did the trick to take her mind off things, but it was not working now.
She had brought her laptop out with her. Setting aside her glass, she typed in his name, not surprised at the flurry of photos and information—Deacon with different celebrities, a well-known actress attending the movie premiere only three months ago.
He was with a famous judge, and then he was with a European princess attending a charity gala. She scrolled down and saw pictures of his wife attending the opera and restaurants. She had been beautiful and looked adoring as she stared up at him.
In contrast, he looked formidable and cold; that was the only word she could find to describe his expression. Forcing herself to scroll down, she read about his vast holdings and what Forbes and various other magazines had written about him.
He was ruthless in business and frightfully intimidating. His company had been involved in some tangling with the SEC, and there had been rumors about unethical business conduct, which had been thrown out due to lack of evidence.
This was the man she expected to fall in love with her eventually. She tortured herself some more by looking at several other photos, dating as far back as five years ago, before closing the computer and picking up her wine. So, she was in love with a complicated man. A smile touched her lips at how inadequate that was.
She was in love with a terrifying multi-billionaire who had a wife who cheated on him with numerous men. But why did she cheat on a man like Deacon Manchester? That was indeed bothering her. He was handsome, articulate, and powerful.
And he was wealthy. Why would he not be enough? Not to mention the fact that he was electrifying in bed. Just one look from those silver eyes, a touch of those long fingers could send her into a spin.
Why would his wife cheat on a man like that? Was it partly his fault? She shook her head. That was no excuse unless Deacon was cheating on her, too. Women were attracted to him; naturally, why wouldn’t they be? And to some women, it would not matter if he was married.
He traveled the world and met hundreds of beautiful women who would not hesitate to throw themselves at him.
She was up against a mountain that seemed unattainable and unclimbable if such a word existed. But she was in it now and so deep that there was no way out. And she wanted to give him a baby. Pressing a hand against her stomach, she realized that, for the first time, she longed to be a mother.
*****
He was damn nervous, and that was something he had not experienced in a long time. He had agreed to have her over at his place, which was another first, not since Janice.
His housekeeper was off for the weekend because he was never usually home. He had left the office to come straight here and changed into casual slacks and a t-shirt, wondering if the outfit was too casual.
He turned away from the vast closet and went to put on shoes. A glance at his watch showed that she was on her way. He had texted her the address and opened the doors for her. His place was completely private and well-secured.
With that in mind, he left his suite, descended the carved spiral staircase, and went straight into the kitchen, which was Mrs. Martel's territory.
He had already ordered Italian from Isobel's, which had been delivered. They would have the meal on the patio overlooking the delightful stream running through the backyard. Flowers were in full bloom, and he recalled her saying she was somewhat of a gardener.
She would enjoy the view; he decided as he carried the bucket with the wine out and placed it in the middle of the wrought iron table. He checked to see that there were napkins and utensils, and everything was in place.
He was just heading back into the sitting room when he heard the doorbell. Closing his eyes briefly, he strode forward to go and open the door. She had his breath slamming hard against his ribs as he stood there staring at her. Christ!
She was so beautiful. Her hair was loose around her face, and she was not wearing makeup. The jeans and thin green cashmere sweater clung to the slender curves he had become so familiar with.
"Am I going to be invited in?" Her amused voice had him shifting aside so that she could enter. "I brought dessert. Tiramisu."
"Perfect. We are eating out on the patio."
"Sounds lovely." She followed him, taking in the breathtaking elegance of the rooms they passed through. Neutral colors, muted yellows, tan and champagne, and shiny hardwood floors. He stepped through the open glass doors, and everything faded as the stunningly beautiful scene spread out before her.
"Oh my goodness." Putting away her stuff, she walked over to stand at the railing. "You must eat out here every chance you get."
