When Morning Comes (24 page)

“Your guests will be here soon. You can't grill and prepare things in here as well.”

She blew out a breath. “I wanted to do this myself.”

He went to her. “Why is it so important?”

“To prove I'm not completely hopeless in the kitchen,” she told him.

“Hopeless is not a word anyone who knows you would ever associate with you. If I or Kara needed help, would you think less of us if we asked for it?”

“Of course not,” she answered.

“Then where do I wash up? And do I grill or slice?” he asked. “I'm good at both.”

“You can use the sink over there. The burgers are in the refrigerator.” She picked up the onion. “Thank you.”

“You can thank me later,” he said, his voice stroking her, heating her body, leaving no doubt as to how he wanted her thanks.

She grinned. “Count on it.”

*   *   *

Tristan had gotten his badminton game, and planned to take Kara home with him before the day was over. He hated seeing the defeat in her beautiful eyes where there had been so much passion and happiness last night. He knew the reason for her unhappiness, her mother.

Kara took her responsibilities seriously. No matter how much the situation saddened her, she was sticking. All he could do was to be there for her. There was no way he was letting her mother keep them apart. It wasn't just the sex, although it had been incredible, Kara drew him. She was an amazing woman. He'd keep telling her until she believed him.

From the sideline, women, especially Sabrina, cheered Kara, while the men cheered Tristan on. The score between him and Kara was tied. He grinned and sent the shuttlecock back over the net, enjoying her laughter as much as the agile quickness of her long legs, legs he kept remembering wrapped around him last night as he pumped deep into her.

Suddenly, the laughter left her face. She straightened, the racket clutched in her hand. The shuttlecock fell unnoticed to the lawn. Groans came from the women. Kara didn't seem to notice as she stared across the street. Tristan cursed, knowing before he turned he'd see her mother.

Mrs. Simmons, her face unsmiling, stood on the porch, both hands propped on the cane she leaned on. Tristan wondered briefly how Kara had managed to grow up so caring when her mother treated her like a hired servant.

“I'm sorry. I need to check on her,” Kara said.

“I'll go,” Sabrina said, already walking away. “You stay and finish the game.”

Kara shook her head. “No.”

“You both stay,” Mrs. Golden told them. “Your mama probably wants to watch the game.”

With a resigned expression, Kara handed the racket to Sabrina. “Finish the game for me,” she said, then briefly touched Mrs. Golden's shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You coming back?” Tristan asked.

Kara swallowed, her smile tremulous. “Probably not. Good-bye.” Her hands clenched, she crossed the street.

“Beer and cards at our house,” Mr. Golden said to the milling crowd. “Sheila and I are defending our reign as bid wiz champions. Who wants to fall first?”

The neighbors moved away, laughing, making bets, but not until Kara and her mother had gone inside. It seemed that Tristan wasn't the only one who noticed her mother's less than caring attitude.

“Why does she do that?” Sabrina asked, anger in her voice. Out of the corner of his eye, Tristan saw Cade curve his arm around her shoulders. Tristan wasn't sure if she meant Kara or her mother; either way it came down to the same thing.

He wasn't seeing Kara again tonight. Unless. He pulled out his cell phone. Kara's mother wasn't the only one who could pull out the big guns.

*   *   *

Less than thirty minutes later, Vera's red Mercedes roadster convertible stopped in front of Sabrina's house. Tristan, Cade, and Sabrina met her on the sidewalk.

“Hi, Vera,” Tristan said, and introduced everyone. “Security let Cade drive his car because he's a doctor. How did you get past?”

Vera, beautiful in an Oscar de la Renta print, lifted a regal brow. “I simply showed him my heels.”

Sabrina grinned. “Once he put his tongue back in his mouth he waved you on.”

Vera smiled. “What's the use of looking good if no one notices?”

“There is that,” Sabrina said. “Tristan, I don't think Kara's mother has a chance.”

“We're going to find out.” He nodded down the street. “Two houses down. I'd take you, but she doesn't like me.”

Anger flared in Vera's brown eyes. “Oh?”

Tristan felt better with each passing second. His mother was fiercely protective of him.

“Let me handle this.” Getting back in the car, she drove away and parked in Kara's driveway. Picking up the Nancy Gonzalez clutch from the passenger seat, she went up the walk.

Tristan folded his arms and glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes top. Kara's mother won't know what hit her.”

*   *   *

Kara heard the doorbell and tensed.
Please don't let it be Tristan,
she thought. Her mother had finally stopped talking about the spectacle Kara had made of herself playing badminton. The doorbell rang again.

Her mother came out of her room. She didn't say a word. Her face said it all.

Rubbing her hand on her pants, Kara went to the door and opened it. Her mouth gaped.

“Hello, Kara. Can I come in?”

“Who is it?” her mother called.

Kara snapped her mouth shut. She didn't know how to answer. Nor could she close the door in Vera's face. Indecision and dread kept her immobile.

“Who are you?” Hazel asked, from behind Kara.

“Vera Fiore, an interior designer, working with your talented daughter.” Vera glanced over Kara's shoulder. “You must be her mother, Mrs. Simmons. Is it all right if I park in your driveway?”

Hazel stepped around Kara, saw the expensive sports car, then snapped her gaze back to Vera. Her mother's entire demeanor changed. “Of course. Kara, get out of the way and let her in out of the heat.”

Kara opened the door, caught between embarrassment that her mother's greed was so obvious and hope that Vera's showing up meant Kara might see Tristan tonight.

“Would you like a glass of iced tea?” Kara asked, waving Vera to a chair.

“No, thank you, Kara.” Vera sank gracefully in the dark, floral-print side chair. In her colorful print dress, the dark furniture looked even worse. “I realize how busy weekends are, but I wanted to drop by and take Kara to see some of the designer pieces I plan to pair her art with. The million-dollar spec home I'm in charge of decorating is fabulous and the perfect place to showcase Kara's work.”

“Million dollars.” Hazel's annoyed eyes snapped to Kara. “You didn't tell me how much the house cost.”

“I'm not sure she knew,” Vera put in smoothly. “Kara's focus has been on finishing framing the paintings. And rightly so. Some very important people will see her art. Tristan will make sure of that.”

“I don't trust him,” Hazel said. “He wants more than the paintings and is using his looks to get them.”

Kara tensed. Vera didn't take kindly to anyone maligning Tristan.

“I can understand your caution. Mothers love their children.” She leaned forward. “Just as I love Tristan, my son.”

Hazel straightened. “Your last name isn't the same as his,” she stammered.

“My professional name. My late husband was an Italian count.” Vera's mouth softened. “He was always supportive of anything I did.”

“A count,” Hazel whispered, awed.

Vera waved her hand negligently. “I didn't come here to talk about me. Kara, I'd love to show you what I envision for your paintings. Please say you'll come with me.”

“Yes,” Kara said, coming to her feet. Vera had given her a chance and she was taking it. “I'll go change.”

“You look fine.” Vera rose.

“Maybe I should go,” Hazel suggested and stood.

No.
Kara swallowed.

“If only you could.” Vera took Kara's arm and steered her to the door. “I'm in the two-seater. If I had thought, I would have driven my other car.”

“What's your other car?” Hazel asked, avarice in her voice. Kara winced, but kept walking.

“A Phantom Rolls.”

Hazel actually licked her lips and followed them onto the porch. “You plan to put all seventeen pictures of Kara's up?”

“Yes.” Vera went down the steps.

“How much does she stand to make?” Hazel asked, one hand on the cane, the other pressed against the brick post.

“That depends on a lot of things. There are costs involved. Commission, overhead, supplies that have to be taken into account and subtracted.” Vera slid into the driver's seat as Kara got in on the other side. “I'll try to have her home before midnight. Good-bye, and thank you.”

Hazel watched them leave, her face unsmiling.

*   *   *

Kara buckled her seat belt and waited until Vera had pulled into the street and her mother had gone back inside. “I'm sorry about my mother.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Vera said, and activated the Bluetooth. “We'll meet you at my shop,” she said, then disconnected the call. “There's only one thing you can do for me.”

“Yes?”

“Live your life the way you want to live it,” she said, stopping at the barricade.

Kara clenched her hands in her lap. Easier said than done. The two off-duty policemen acting as security for the neighborhood party grinned and waved them through.

“We're meeting Tristan at my office,” Vera explained as she headed for the freeway. “I detest liars—unless necessary,” she said, then laughed.

With the wind blowing in her hair and the anticipation of seeing Tristan, Kara should have been feeling carefree as well, but all she could think of was her mother's greed.

*   *   *

Tristan was waiting for his mother and Kara when they pulled up in front of Vera's store, Fiore Design Studio, located in the design district off Oak Lawn. He pushed away from his truck and walked over. Kara got out of the car, but stared at her tennis shoes. “Thanks, Vera,” he said, then took Kara's hand. “You all right?”

“Kara has to come inside the shop before you two disappear,” Vera said, continuing inside.

“Kara?” She finally lifted her head. She looked unbearably sad. He swept his hand over her wind-tossed hair. “Talk to me.”

“My mother loves money more than she loves me,” she whispered.

He bit back a curse. His heart turned over. He drew her into his arms, felt her tremble. He searched his mind for something to say to ease the pain he'd heard. The words
I don't
flashed through his mind. He had to clamp his teeth together to keep from saying them. He shifted uneasily.

Kara pushed out of his arms and started inside the shop. He caught her arm. She glanced back at him, misery in her eyes.

“Her loss,” he said, his hand sliding into her hair, angling her head up. “You count in all the ways that matter. You're beautiful, talented, and courageous.”

Her laugh was ragged. “Hardly.”

“I see what you don't. What you see as weakness, I see as strength,” he said, meaning every word. “It takes more courage and more love to stay than to walk away, which would be the easy thing to do. You chose love over easy.”

She let her head fall against his chest. “Your mother is the only person I've ever seen that outmaneuvered mine.”

“That's my mother. Why do you think I called her?”

Her head lifted. “I thought so.”

“I was worried about you,” he confessed, his mouth hovering inches from hers.

“I wish life was simple.”

“Let's make a pact that when we're together, it will be.” His mouth moved closer.

“I might forget.” Their warm breaths mingled.

“Then I'll just have to remind you.” He kissed her, a gentle press of his lips, then lifted his head. “Let's go see what Vera wants, and then we're going to the movies, sit in the back row, and make out.”

She stared up at him. “How about we switch locations to your house? I don't have to be home until midnight.”

His smile was sad. “I don't want your mother on your case.”

“And you wouldn't want to use Vera that way.”

“Yeah,” he confessed. It was more important that she be happy than they go to bed.

Kara finally smiled and curved her arms around his neck. “You're an honorable man, Tristan. Thank you.”

He hugged her to him, resigned to be horny, but Kara's trust and smile were well worth it.

 

Sixteen

Sabrina sat on the cushioned sofa on the patio with Cade, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. The full moon cast a golden glow over them. She'd never felt more at peace.

“Today was fantastic,” she said, snuggling closer.

“You have good friends, good neighbors,” Cade said, kissing the top of her head. “If one of us had to be adopted by people who loved them, I'm glad it was you.”

She turned to him, her heart aching for him. “Cade.” The tips of her fingertips trembled as they brushed across his lips. “I wish I could do something to make up for what you went though.”

He stared down at her. “You already have.”

Both moved at the same time, their lips meeting, softening against the other. Sabrina turned in his arms, wanting to give, to erase the unhappiness he'd experienced as a child, and was unable to forget as an adult.

“I want to make love to you,” he said, his mouth hovering inches from hers.

Standing, she took his hand. She didn't stop until they were in her bedroom. The lamps on the twin bedside chests were dim, the covers drawn back on the queen-sized bed, the air fragrant from the group of candles on the dresser.

“I was sort of hoping you did.”