The Confession (5 page)

“Where have you been?” he barked, surprised at his own reaction.

Aimee jerked around and jumped back from Peter, her brow creased in surprise and obvious confusion.

Peter looked Mark up and down and erupted with laughter. “Maybe the better question is where have you been? You’re shirtless, soaking wet, and tracking mud down the hall. Mimsey is going to tan your hide.”

Mark clenched his jaw and felt the blood surging through his veins.

Seeming to recognize the situation, Aimee stepped between them and gently urged Peter toward the door. “Thank you again for lunch, Peter. I’ll make sure to go over the list with Emily and call you by the end of the week.”

With a final wave, she snapped the door closed and abruptly spun around. “What is wrong with you?” She bit off each word, her voice laced with steel. “You were so rude to Peter.”

He knew he was acting like a fool. He felt out of control and completely out of his mind. Without another thought, he reached forward, pulled her against him and crushed his mouth to hers. He could feel her surprise give way to pleasure as the rigidity of her body dissipated and she melted into him. He lost what little self-control he had left when she reached her arms over his shoulders and ran her fingers through his wet hair. He pulled her tighter to him, wanting to feel every inch of her body pressed against his.

He slowly pulled his lips from hers and ran his thumb over her swollen bottom lip. Her eyes were closed. Her head tilted back exposing her delicate neck. He lowered his head and began to gently suckle its curves. He felt the vibration from her soft moan against his lips. He buried his hands into her hair and again molded his lips to hers. He ran his hands gently down her back and slowly up her sides. Losing himself in the moment, he tenderly brushed his hands over her blouse enjoying the sensation of heat, silk and lace.

The doorbell rang. Startled, they both quickly drew back. He looked into her flushed face and read the uncertainty in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, before he abruptly ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth it and opened the front door.

“Luther?” Aimee squeaked from behind.

Aimee knew her mouth was hanging open. She blinked, trying to recover the focus she’d lost in Mark’s kiss. She rubbed her hands over her face, blinked again, and looked up. It was definitely Luther standing on the porch, surrounded by suitcases and garment bags.

“Luther, what are you doing here?” Finding her legs, she walked toward him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Putting on his dramatic wounded face, one he’d worn often over the years, he gently pulled away, pushed her arms down to her sides, and stepped farther back from her. “Oh, no you don’t. This is not ‘Luther, what are you doing here,’ this is ‘Aimee, what are you doing here?’ What the hell is going on?”

Her eyes grew wide as she slowly turned her head and looked at Mark. He was watching them both intently. He reached around her and held out his hand. “I’m Mark.”

Luther looked him slowly up, then down, pausing at his naked chest, and pursed his lips appreciatively. “Well, yes you are. Hello, Mark.” He purred.

Trying not to laugh at the look of sheer puzzlement on Mark’s face, Aimee said, “Mark, this is my friend Luther, from New York.”

Luther put his hand into Mark’s, and squeezed rather than shook. “It seems I have rudely interrupted you two.” He looked Mark up and down again, then reached over and reconnected a button on Aimee’s disheveled blouse.

Her cheeks flamed as she begged Luther for silence with her eyes. He smiled maliciously in reply.

“You didn’t have to fly here, Luther,” Aimee said, trying to break the eye contact between him and Mark. “They do have these conveniences called phones now.”

He glared at her.

“Not that I’m not glad to see you,” she added.

“And let you hang up on me again? I don’t think so.” He looked down at her, his expression growing serious. “Aimee, tell me what’s going on! I didn’t fly three thousand miles … in coach … can you believe I had to fly coach? It was horrible. Look at me, I’m a mess.” He waved his arm up and down for emphases. She looked at his perfectly creased jeans, and his wrinkle-free baby blue shirt, and smirked at his extreme exaggeration.

Mark raised his eyebrows in confusion as he watched Luther smooth the bright pink silk ascot at his neck.

As if recognizing that he’d become sidetracked, he stood up straighter, looked into her eyes and said in a soft heartfelt voice, “Aimee, I’ve been so worried about you. When you said that your mother … ”

She quickly reached out and grabbed his hand in a crushing grip before stepping around him onto the front porch and pulling him with her. “Excuse us, Mark, we need to get these bags off the porch,” she managed to say before closing the door in his face with a snap.

She turned to Luther, her face red with anger. “Are you crazy? You can’t just show up here. Who is watching the shop?”

His eyes became angry slits. “Oh, no you don’t.” He pursed his lips, and snapped his fingers in a ‘Z’ formation before placing his hand on a jutted hip. “You just drop a bomb like this? Just up and take a job in San Francisco with no explanation, and expect me to sit in New York and wait by the phone? I don’t think so, girl.”

“We can’t talk about this here, Luther.” She reached down and picked up a suitcase. “Grab one of those and follow me.”

“I will not,” he replied, looking down at the bags in horror. “Where is the staff? I know a mansion like this has staff to carry a visitor’s luggage.”

She turned around and glared at him. “Grab the bags, or I promise I will put you in a cab, not a limo, not a town car, but a cab, and send you back to the airport without any explanation, and without letting you even change your clothes.”

He mumbled under his breath. The only word she was able to make out was “bitch” but he grabbed a bag and followed her around the house.

She held open the door to her cottage and turned back to see what was keeping him. He was walking slowly down the path, turning in circles as if trying to see everything at once, and continuing to mutter to himself.

“This yard is the size of Central Park,” he said when he finally made it to the cottage, still struggling with the single bag he carried.

Once inside, she took the bag out of his hand and set it down next to the one she’d carried. She looked at her watch and then up at Luther. He was silently watching her. His eyes filled with warmth and concern, all evidence of his earlier anger faded.

“You didn’t need to come all this way. I would’ve called you.” She was surprised by the tears that welled in her eyes.

He pulled her into his arms. “Let it out, girl.”

She relaxed against him and let her previously unshed tears flow. After she was able to regain her control, she took the handkerchief he held out to her and wiped her eyes. Taking his hand, she led him to the couch.

Choking back a new wave of tears, she finally uttered, “She lied to me. For my entire life she has lied to me.”

“Sweetie, start at the beginning. I’m so lost here.”

She told him about the box, and her mother’s confession. “I think Emily could be my mother, Luther.” She wiped a tear from her cheek and leaned into Luther’s open embrace.

Luther led her to the couch and sat beside her, gently stroking her hand. “So what was Emily’s reaction when you told her?”

“I haven’t told her.” She looked at his disapproving expression. “Please try to understand. I couldn’t just barge in and say, you’re never going to believe this, but … ” She rose from the couch and began to pace. “I didn’t … don’t … know if this is even something she’d want to know. I needed to be sure that my telling her wouldn’t hurt her any more then she already has been.”

“You don’t think she deserves to know, even if it may hurt a little?” he finally asked her.

“Of course I think she deserves to know. It’s complicated.” She blew out a breath of frustration. “I ended up in a job interview. Just one of those timing things, or call it mistaken identity, whatever. Then I saw her. Oh Luther, she is so beautiful, but so much more. She is just one of those people who draw you in. You want to know her. I needed to know her. I told myself that if I could take this chance to understand her, maybe I would know for sure how she’d receive this bombshell.”

“And now?” he prompted.

“Now it’s out of hand. She’s been hurt and lied to so many times. She hates lies and just pulling up to this house and letting her believe I was here for a job interview was a lie.” She stopped pacing and looked into his eyes, silently begging for his understanding.

“You didn’t lie. You just omitted the truth. Fix it, Aimee. Tell her.”

“But what if it’s already too late for that? She feels very strongly about trust, and I’ve been less than honest. I thought I was just being careful, trying to save her feelings, but maybe she’s right and I’m just being selfish.”

“You’re losing me again. I can see that not telling her this and letting her believe you’re just an employee can be taken as dishonest, but what do you mean by selfish? You’re not being selfish. In fact, it seems to me you’re only thinking of her in this situation.”

“Emily said that if you look deep at the reason someone feels they are justified in telling a lie, you will discover that it’s a selfish decision. I think she’s right. What I’ve done is selfish, now I’m waist deep in this lie, and not only will she never believe me because of it, but Mark will truly hate me.” She let her hands fall to her sides and hung her head in defeat.

“And Mark’s the hot, half-naked man that you were about to have sex with in the foyer?”

She laughed. The sound was a mixture of hysterics and frustration. “I wasn’t about to have sex with him in the foyer.” She looked at his disbelieving face and hung her head again. “I just really wanted to. What is wrong with me? He’s the closest person to her. He’s like her personal pit bull, even if it annoys her. He totally distrusts me, treats me like an inconvenience, and makes me feel things I’ve only read about. He barks at me, and then kisses me until I can’t stand up on my own legs.”

“And you want him.” Luther interjected.

She looked at him, and rolled her head to the side as if dejected. “Oh Luther, I really do. I have no chance with him, not as long as I work for Emily, and he will never trust me again once the truth comes out. Not that he will ever believe it … ”

“He won’t have a choice. The truth is the truth.”

She looked down at her watch again and cursed under her breath. “Unless it isn’t. The truth, I mean. I have to go. I’m meeting with Emily fifteen minutes ago. I need you to stay put, stay out of trouble, and don’t speak to anyone. You got it?”

“I want to meet her.” He stuck out his bottom lip.

“I’ll talk to her about dinner,” she replied, opening the door. “Until I can come up with some way out of this, it has to stay our little secret, got it?”

He nodded his head and blew her a kiss. She turned to go and bumped into Mark standing outside her cottage.

“Mark.” She placed her hand to her heart. “You scared me.”

His eyes were hard, his face emotionless. “You left a bag on the porch.” He placed it at her feet and walked stiffly away. His behavior left no doubt he’d heard her utter the word secret. Watching his retreating back, her heart sank.

It was three hours later when Aimee walked back into her cottage to change for dinner. She found Luther sitting at the dining room table typing on her laptop.

“She is amazing, Aimee,” he gushed. “Her Talbot Cancer Foundation has raised billions of dollars for cancer research since it opened. She is one of the biggest contributors to the fight against cancer. Not just financially, but she’s, like, Florence Nightingale or something. She’s driven people to their chemo treatments if they didn’t have transportation. She visits hospice houses, hell, she even built three of them. She’s put over a dozen children who lost a parent to cancer through college. And tons more of them work for the foundation or the hospice houses.”

Walking up behind him and wrapping her arms around his neck, she leaned her chin into his shoulder to read with him. “Wait, back up a little, there.” She moved closer to the screen, her eyes flicking left to right as she read the interview question that caught her attention. Emily had lost her husband, Nathan Talbot, when he was only thirty years old to cancer. The foundation was named after him.

“Do you think, maybe?” Luther asked.

“I don’t know.” Standing up, she walked into the kitchen. Filling a glass with cold water, she took a large swallow trying to control her urge to cry.

Luther turned in his chair. “She hasn’t mentioned anything about her personal life to you at all?”

“No, she hasn’t. She comes across very open, but she’s actually guarded, justifiably so. She’s been through so much. No wonder Mark is so protective of her.” She placed the glass on the counter and walked over to sit in the open chair next to him. “Luther, I think I should go home. I don’t think I should disrupt her life. What if she has already made peace with her loss? What if … what if it isn’t true?”

“You’re reaching.” He took both of her hands into his. “Do you want my honest opinion?” Not waiting for her response, he continued. “Talk to Mark. If he loves her the way you say he does, maybe he will be the best person to tell you how to handle it.”

“But he’d never believe me. And even if I managed to somehow convince him, he would be done with me. I don’t think he’d ever forgive me.”

“You’re a hard girl to resist, Aimee Roberts, or should I say, Aimee Morrison. You practically had sex with him in the foyer and he doesn’t trust you now.”

She playfully punched him on the shoulder before laying her head down on the table.

“This is quite a mess, isn’t it?” She mumbled.

“Well, girl, you’ve never been void of drama, and this is definitely topping even
your
list.”

She lifted her head and looked lovingly at her friend. “So do you want to meet her?”

Jumping up from his chair, he clapped his hands together with childish delight. “Hell yeah I do.”