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The Stars of Mithra: Hidden Star
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Chapter 8
This was what it felt like to be pressed under a man’s body. A man’s hard, needy body. A man who wanted you above all else.
For that moment.
It was breathless and stunning, exciting and fresh. The way he combed his fingers through her hair as his lips covered hers thrilled her. The fit of mouth against mouth, as if the only thing lips and tongues were made for were to taste a lover. And it was the taste of him that filled her—strong and male and real.
Whatever had come before, whatever came after, this mattered now.
She stroked her hands over him, and it was glorious. The shape of his body, the breadth of shoulders, the length of back, the narrowing of waist, the muscles beneath so firm, so tight. And when her hands skimmed under his shirt, the smooth, warm flesh beneath fascinated.
“Oh, I’ve wanted to touch you.” Her lips raced over his face. “I was afraid I never would.”
“I’ve wanted you from the first moment you walked in the door.” He drew back only enough to see her eyes, the deep, melting brown of them. “Before you walked in the door. Forever.”
“It doesn’t make any sense. We don’t—”
“It doesn’t matter. Only this.” His lips closed over hers again, took the kiss deeper, tangling their flavors together.
He wanted to go slowly, draw out every moment. It seemed he’d waited for her all his life, so now he could take all the time in the world to touch, to taste, to explore and exploit. Each shift of her body beneath his was a gift. Each sigh a treasure.
To have her like this, with the sun streaming through the window, with her hair flowing gold over the old quilt and her body both yielding and eager, was sweeter than any dream.
They belonged. It was all he had to know.
To see her, to unfasten the simple shirt he’d picked for her, to open it inch by inch to pale, smooth flesh was everything he wanted. He skimmed his fingertips over the curve of her breast, felt her skin quiver in response, watched her eyes flicker dark, then focus on his.
“You’re perfect.” He cupped her, and she was small and firm and made for his palm.
He bent his head, rubbed his lips where the lace of her bra met flesh, then moved them up, lazily up her throat, over her jaw, and back to nip at her mouth.
No one had kissed her like this before. She knew it was impossible for anyone else to have taken such care. With a soft sigh, she poured herself into the kiss, murmuring when he shifted her to slip the shirt away, trembling when he slid the lace aside and bared her breasts to his hands.
And his mouth.
She moaned, lost, gloriously lost, in a dark maze of sensations. Soft here, then rough, cool, then searing, each feeling bumped gently into the next, then merged into simple pleasure. Whichever way she turned, there was something new and thrilling. When she tugged his shirt away, there was the lovely slippery slide of his flesh against hers, the intimacy of it, heart to heart.
And her heart danced to the play of his lips, the teasing nip of teeth, the slow torture of tongue.
The air was like syrup, thick and sweet, as he slid her slacks over her hips. She struggled to gulp it in, but each breath was shallow and short. He was touching her everywhere, his hands slick and slow, but relentlessly pushing her higher and stronger until the heat was immense. It kindled inside her like a brush fire.
She moaned out his name, clutching the quilt and dragging it into tangles as her body strained to reach for something just beyond her grasp. As she arched desperately against him, he watched her. Slid up her body again until his lips were close to hers, and watched her. Watched her as, with quick, clever fingers, he tore her free.
It was his name she called when the heat reached flash point, and his body she clung to as her own shuddered.
That was what he’d wanted.
His name was still vibrating on her lips when he crushed them with his, when he rolled with her over the bed in a greedy quest to take and possess. Blind with need, he tugged at his jeans, trembling himself when she buried her mouth against his throat, strained against him in quivering invitation.
She was more generous than any fantasy. More generous than any wish. More his than any dream.
With sunlight pouring over the tangled sheets, she arched to him, opened as if she’d been waiting all her life for him. His heart pounded in his head as he slipped inside her, moved to fill her.
Shock froze him for a dazed instant, and every muscle tensed. But she shook her head, wrapped herself around him and took him in.
“You” was all she said. “Only you.”
He lay still, listening to her heart thudding, absorbing the quakes of her body with his. Only him, he thought, and closed his eyes. She’d been innocent. Untouched. A miracle. And his heart was tugged in opposing directions of guilt and pure selfish pleasure.
She’d been innocent, and he’d taken her.
She’d been untouched, until he touched.
He wanted to beg her to forgive him.
He wanted to climb out on the roof and crow.
Not certain either would suit the situation, he gently tested the waters.
“Bailey?”
“Hmm?”
“Ah, in my professional opinion as a licensed investigator, I conclude it’s extremely unlikely you’re married.” He felt the rumble of her laughter, and lifted his head to grin down at her. “I’ll put it in my report.”
“You do that.”
He brushed the hair from her cheek. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry. I never considered—”
“No.” She pressed her hand over his. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m happy, giddy. Relieved.” Her lips curved on a sigh. “I never considered, either. I’d say we were both surprised.” Abruptly her stomach fluttered with nerves. “You’re not…disappointed? If you—”
“I’m devastated. I really hoped you’d be married, with six kids. I really only enjoy making love with married women.”
“No, I meant… Was it—was I—was everything all right?”
“Bailey.” On a half laugh, he rolled over so that she could settle on his chest. “You’re perfect. Absolutely, completely perfect. I love you.” She went very still, and her cheek stayed pressed to his heart. “You know I do,” he said quietly. “From the moment I saw you.”
Now she wanted to weep, because it was everything she wanted to hear, and nothing she could accept. “You don’t know me.”
“Neither do you.”
She lifted her head, shook it fiercely. “That’s exactly the point. Joking about it doesn’t change the truth.”
“Here’s the truth, then.” He sat up, took her firmly by the shoulders. “I’m in love with you. In love with the woman I’m holding right now. You’re exactly what I want, what I need, and sweetheart—” he kissed her lightly “—I’m keeping you.”
“You know it’s not that simple.”
“I’m not asking for simple.” He slid his hands down, gripped hers. “I’m asking you to marry me.”
“That’s impossible.” Panicked, she tugged on her hands, but he gripped them calmly and held her in place. “You know that’s impossible. I don’t know where I come from, what I’ve done. I met you three days ago.”
“That all makes sense, or would, except for one thing.” He drew her against him and shot reason to hell with a kiss.
“Don’t do this.” Torn to pieces, she wrapped her arms around his neck, held tight. “Don’t do this, Cade. Whatever my life was, right now it’s a mess. I need to find the answers.”
“We’ll find the answers. I promise you that. But there’s one I want from you now.” He drew her head back. He’d expected the tears, knew they’d be shimmering in her eyes and turning them deep gold. “Tell me you love me, Bailey, or tell me you don’t.”
“I can’t—”
“Just one question,” he murmured. “You don’t need a yesterday to answer it.”
No, she needed nothing but her own heart. “I can’t tell you I don’t love you, because I can’t lie to you.” She shook her head, pressed her fingers to his lips before he could speak. “I won’t tell you I do, because it wouldn’t be fair. It’s an answer that has to wait until I know all the others. Until I know who the woman is who’ll tell you. Give me time.”
He’d give her time, he thought when her head was nestled on his shoulder again. Because nothing and no one was taking her from him, whatever they found on the other side of her past.
Cade liked to say that getting to a solution was just a matter of taking steps. Bailey wondered how many more there were left to climb. She felt she’d rushed up a very long staircase that day, and when reaching the landing been just as lost as ever.
Not entirely true, she told herself as she settled down at the kitchen table with a notepad and pencil. Even the urge to make a list of what she knew indicated that she was an organized person, and one who liked to review things in black and white.
Who is Bailey?
A woman who habitually rose at the same hour daily. Did that make her tedious and predictable, or responsible? She liked coffee black and strong, scrambled eggs, and her steaks medium rare. Fairly ordinary tastes. Her body was trim, not particularly muscular, and without tan lines. So, she wasn’t a fitness fanatic or a sun-worshiper. Perhaps she had a job that kept her indoors.
Which meant, she thought with some humor, she wasn’t a lumberjack or a lifeguard.
She was a right-handed, brown-eyed blonde, and was reasonably sure her hair color was natural or close to what she’d been born with.
She knew a great deal about gemstones, which could mean they were a hobby, a career, or just something she liked to wear. She had possession of a diamond worth a fortune that she’d either stolen, bought—highly unlikely, she thought—or gained through an accident of some sort.
She’d witnessed a violent attack, possibly a murder, and run away.
Because that fact made her temple start to throb again, she skipped over it.
She hummed classical music in the shower and liked to watch classic film noir on television. And she couldn’t figure out what that said about her personality or her background.
She liked attractive clothes, good materials, and shied away from strong colors unless pushed.
It worried her that she might be vain and frivolous.
But she had at least two female friends who shared part of her life. Grace and M.J., M.J. and Grace. Bailey wrote the names on the pad, over and over, hoping that the simple repetition would strike a fresh spark.
They mattered to her, she could feel that. She was frightened for them and didn’t know why. Her mind might be blank, but her heart told her that they were special to her, closer to her than anyone else in the world.
But she was afraid to trust her heart.
There was something else she knew that Bailey didn’t want to write down, didn’t want to review in black and white.
She’d had no lover. There’d been no one she cared for enough, or who cared for her enough, for intimacy. Perhaps in the life she led she’d been too judgmental, too intolerant, too self-absorbed, to accept a man into her bed.
Or perhaps she’d been too ordinary, too boring, too undesirable, for a man to accept her into his.
In any case, she had a lover now.
Why hadn’t the act of lovemaking seemed foreign to her, or frightening, as it seemed it would to the uninitiated? Instead, with Cade, it had been as natural as breathing.
Natural, exciting and perfect.
He said he loved her, but how could she believe it? He knew only one small piece of her, a fraction of the whole. When her memory surfaced, he might find her to be the very type of woman he disliked.
No, she wouldn’t hold him to what he’d said to this Bailey, until she knew the whole woman.
And her feelings? With a half laugh, she set the pencil aside. She’d been drawn to him instantly, trusted him completely the moment he took her hand. And fallen in love with him while she watched him stand in this kitchen, breaking brown eggs into a white bowl.
But her heart couldn’t be trusted in this case, either. The closer they came to finding the truth, the closer they came to the time when they might turn from each other and walk away.
However much she wished it, they couldn’t leave the canvas bag and its contents in his safe, forget they existed and just be.
“You forgot some things.”
She jolted, turned her head quickly and looked into his face. How long, she wondered, had he been standing behind her, reading her notes over her shoulder, while she was thinking of him?
“I thought it might help me to write down what I know.”
“Always a good plan.” He walked to the fridge, took out a beer, poured her a glass of iced tea.
She sat feeling foolish and awkward, her hands clutched in her lap. Had they really rolled naked on a sun-washed bed an hour before? How was such intimacy handled in a tidy kitchen over cold drinks and puzzles?
He didn’t seem to have a problem with it. Cade sat across from her, propped his feet on an empty chair and scooted her pad over. “You’re a worrier.”
“I am?”
“Sure.” He flipped a page, started a new list. “You’re worrying right now. What should you say to this guy, now that you’re lovers? Now that you know he’s wildly in love with you, wants to spend the rest of his life with you?”
“Cade—”
“Just stating the facts.” And if he stated them often enough, he figured she’d eventually accept them. “The sex was great, and it was easy. So you worry about that, too. Why did you let this man you’ve known for a weekend take you to bed, when you’ve never let another man get that close?” His eyes flicked up, held hers. “The answer’s elementary. You’re just as wildly in love with me, but you’re afraid to face it.”
She picked up her glass, cooled her throat. “I’m a coward?”
“No, Bailey, you’re not a coward, but you’re constantly worried that you are. You’re a champion worrier. And a woman, I think, who gives herself very little credit for her strengths, and has very little tolerance for her weaknesses. Self-judgmental.”
He wrote that down, as well, while she frowned at the words on the page. “It seems to me someone in my situation has to try to judge herself.”
“Practical, logical.” He continued the column. “Now, leave the judging to me a moment. You’re compassionate, responsible, organized. And a creature of habit. I’d say you hold some sort of position that requires those traits, as well as a good intellect. Your work habits are disciplined and precise. You also have a fine aesthetic sense.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Bailey, forgetting who you are doesn’t change who you are. That’s your big flaw in reasoning here. If you hated brussels sprouts before, it’s likely you’re still going to hate them. If you were allergic to cats, you’re still going to sneeze if you pet a kitten. And if you had a strong, moral and caring heart, it’s still beating inside you. Now let me finish up here.”
She twisted her head, struggling to read upside down. “What are you putting down?”
“You’re a lousy drinker. Probably a metabolism thing. And I think at this point, we could have some wine later, so I can take full advantage of that.” He grinned over at her. “And you blush. It’s a sweet, old-fashioned physical reaction. You’re tidy. You hang up your towels after you shower, you rinse off your dishes, you make your bed every morning.”
There were other details, he thought. She wiggled her foot when she was nervous, her eyes went gold when she was aroused, her voice turned chilly when she was annoyed.
“You’ve had a good education, probably up north, from your speech pattern and accent. I’d say you concentrated on your studies like a good girl and didn’t date much. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been a virgin up to a couple hours ago. There, you blushed again. I really love when you do that.”
“I don’t see the point in this.”
“There’s that cool, polite tone. Indulge me,” he added, then sipped his beer. “You’ve got a slim body, smooth skin. You either take care of both or you were lucky genetically. By the way, I like your unicorn.”
She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” he said, and chuckled. “Anyway, you have or make enough money to afford good clothes. Those classic Italian pumps you were wearing go for about two hundred and fifty at department-store prices. And you had silk underwear. I’d say the silk undies and the unicorn follow the same pattern. You like to be a little daring under the traditional front.”
She was just managing to close her gaping mouth. “You went through my clothes? My underwear?”
“What there was of them, and all in the name of investigation. Great underwear,” he told her. “Very sexy, simple, and pricey. I’d say peach silk ought to look terrific on you.”
She made a strangled sound, fell back on silence. There was really nothing to say.
“I don’t know the annual income of your average gemologist or jewelry designer—but I’ll lay odds you’re one or the other. I’m leaning toward the scientist as vocation, and the designer as avocation.”
“That’s a big leap, Cade.”
“No, it’s not. Just another step. The pieces are there. Wouldn’t you think a diamond like the one in the safe would require the services of a gemologist? Its authenticity would have to be verified, its value assessed. Just the way you verified and assessed it yesterday.”
Her hands trembled, so she put them back in her lap. “If that’s true, then it ups the likelihood that I stole it.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Impatient with her, he tapped the pencil sharply against the pad. “Look at the other facts. Why can’t you see yourself? You wouldn’t steal a stick of gum. Doesn’t the fact that you’re riddled with guilt over the very thought you might have done something illegal give you a clue?”
“The fact is, Cade, I have the stone.”
“Yeah, and hasn’t it occurred to you, in that logical, responsible, ordered mind of yours, that you might have been protecting it?”
“Protecting it? From—”
“From whoever killed to get their hands on it. From whoever would have killed you if he had found you. That’s what plays, Bailey, that’s what fits. And if there are three stones, then you might very well know where the others are, as well. You may be protecting all of them.”
“How?”
He had some ideas on that, as well, but didn’t think she was ready to hear them. “We’ll work on that. Meanwhile, I’ve made a few calls. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow. The police artist will come over in the morning, see if she can help you put images together. And I managed to snag one of the undercurators, or whatever they’re called, at the Smithsonian. We have a one o’clock appointment tomorrow.”
“You got an appointment on a holiday?”
“That’s where the Parris name and fortune come in handy. Hint at funding, and it opens a lot of musty old doors. And we’ll see if that boutique opens for the holiday sale hunters, and find out if anyone remembers selling a green suit.”
“It doesn’t seem like we’re doing enough.”
“Sweetheart, we’ve come a long way in a short time.”
“You’re right.” She rose, walked to the window. There was a wood thrush in the maple tree, singing its heart out. “I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am.”
“I’ll bill you for the professional services,” he said shortly. “And I don’t want gratitude for the rest of it.”
“I have to give it, whether or not you take it. You made this bearable, more than that. I don’t know how many times you made me smile or laugh or just forget it all for little spaces of time. I think I’d have gone crazy without you, Cade.”
“I’m going to be there for you, Bailey. You’re not going to be able to shake me loose.”
“You’re used to getting what you want,” she murmured. “I wonder if I am. It doesn’t feel as if that’s true.”
“That’s something you can change.”
He was right. That was a matter of patience, perseverance, control. And perhaps wanting the right things. She wanted him, wanted to think that one day she could stand here, listening to the wood thrush sing of summer while Cade drowsed in the hammock. It could be their house instead of his. Their life. Their family.
If it was the right thing, and she could persevere.
“I’m going to make you a promise.” She followed the impulse and turned, letting her heart be reckless. He was so much what she needed, sitting there with his jeans torn at the knee, his hair too long, his feet bare. “If, when this is over, when all the steps have been taken, all the pieces are in place to make the whole…if I can and you still want me, I’ll marry you.”
His heart stuttered in his chest. Emotion rose up to fill his throat. Very carefully, he set the bottle aside, rose. “Tell me you love me.”
It was there, in her heart, begging to be said. But she shook her head. “When it’s all over, and you know everything. If you still want me.”
“That’s not the kind of promise that suits me. No qualifications, Bailey. No whens, no ifs. Just you.” “It’s all I can give you. It’s all I have.”
“We can go into Maryland on Tuesday, get a license. Be married in a matter of days.”
He could see it. The two of them, giddy in love, rousing some sleepy-eyed country J.P. out of bed in the middle of the night. Holding hands in the living room while an old yellow dog slept on a braid rug, the J.P.’s wife played the piano and he and the woman he loved exchanged vows.
And sliding the ring onto her finger, feeling her slide one on his, was the link that would bind them.
“There are no blood tests in Maryland,” he continued. “Just a couple of forms, and there you are.”
He meant it. It staggered her to see in those deep green eyes that he meant nothing less than he said. He would take her exactly as she was. He would love her just as she stood.
How could she let him?
“And what name would I put on the form?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’ll have mine.” He gripped her arms, drew her against him. In all his life, there had been no one he needed as much. “Take mine.”
Just take, she thought when his lips covered hers. Take what was offered—the love, the safety, the promise. Let the past come as it would, let the future drift, and seize the moment.
“You know it wouldn’t be right.” She pressed her cheek to his. “You need to know as much as I do.”
Maybe he did. However much the fantasy of a reckless elopement appealed, creating a fake identity for Bailey, it wasn’t the answer either one of them needed. “Could be fun.” He struggled to lighten the mood. “Like practice for the real thing.” He pulled her back to arm’s length, studied her face. Delicate, troubled. Lovely. “You want orange blossoms, Bailey? A white dress and organ music?”
Because her heart sighed at the image, she managed to smile. “I think I might. I seem to be a traditional soul.”
“Then I should buy you a traditional diamond.”
“Cade—”
“Just speculating,” he murmured, and lifted her left hand. “No, however traditional your soul, your taste in jewelry is unique. We’ll find something that suits. But I should probably take you to meet the family.” His eyes lifted to hers, and he laughed. “God help you.”
Just a game, she thought, just pretend. She smiled back at him. “I’d love to meet your family. See Camilla do pirouettes in her tutu.”
“If you can get through that and still want to marry me, I’ll know you’re hopelessly in love with me. They’ll put you through the gauntlet, sweetheart. A very sophisticated, silk-edged gauntlet. Where did you go to school, what does your father do, does your mother play bridge or tennis? And by the way, what clubs do you belong to, and did I run into you on the slopes last season at St. Moritz?”
Instead of making her unhappy, it made her laugh. “Then I’d better find out the answers.”
“I like making them up. I took a cop to Muffy’s tenth-anniversary bash. Couldn’t get out of it. We told everyone she was the niece of the Italian prime minister, educated in a Swiss boarding school and interested in acquiring a pied-à-terre in D.C.”
Her brows drew together. “Oh, really?”
“They all but drooled on her. Not nearly the reaction we’d have gotten with the truth.”
“Which was?”
“She was a uniformed cop who grew up in New York’s Little Italy and transferred to Washington after her divorce from a guy who ran a pasta place off Broadway.”
“Was she pretty?”
“Sure.” His grin flashed. “Gorgeous. Then there was the lounge singer in Chevy Chase who—”
“I don’t think I want to know.” She turned away, picked up her empty glass and made a business out of rinsing it out. “You’ve dated a lot of women, I suppose.”
“That depends on your definition of ‘a lot.’ I could probably run a list of names, ages, physical descriptions and last known addresses. Want to type it up for me?”
“No.”
Delighted, he nuzzled the back of her neck. “I’ve only asked one woman to marry me.”
“Two,” she corrected, and set the now sparkling glass on the counter with a snap.
“One. I didn’t ask Carla. That just sort of evolved. And now she’s happily married—as far as I can tell—to a corporate lawyer and the proud mama of a bouncing baby girl named Eugenia. So it hardly counts, anyway.”
She bit her lip. “You didn’t want children?”
“Yes, I did. I do.” He turned her around, kissed her gently. “But we’re not naming any kid of ours Eugenia. Now what do you say we think about going out for dinner, someplace quiet, where we can neck at the table? Then we can watch the fireworks.”
“It’s too early for dinner.”
“That’s why I said we should think about it.” He scooped her up. “First we have to go upstairs and make love again.”
Her pulse gave a pleasant little jump as she curled her arms around his neck. “We have to?”
“It’ll pass the time. Unless you’d rather play gin rummy?”
Chuckling, she traced a line of kisses up his neck. “Well, if those are my only choices…”
“Tell you what, we can play strip gin rummy. We can both cheat and that way— Hell.” He was halfway up the stairs with her, and nicely aroused, when the doorbell sounded. “Hold that thought, okay?” He set her down, and went to answer.
One peek through the side panel of wavy glass framing the door had him groaning. “Perfect timing, as always.” With a hand on the knob, he turned, looked at Bailey. “Sweetheart, the woman on the other side of this door is my mother. I realize you expressed a mild interest in meeting my family, but I’m giving you this chance, because I love you. I really do. So I’m advising you to run, hide, and don’t look back.”
Nerves fluttered, but she straightened her shoulders. “Stop being silly and open the door.”
“Okay, but I warned you.” Bracing himself, he pulled the door open and fixed a bright, welcoming smile on his face. “Mother.” As was expected, he kissed her smooth, polished cheek. “What a nice surprise.”
“I wouldn’t have to surprise you if you’d ever return my calls.” Leona Parris stepped into the foyer.
She was, Bailey realized with a stunned first glance, a striking woman. Surely, with three grown children and several grandchildren, she had to be at least fifty. She could have passed for a sleek thirty-five.
Her hair was a lush sable brown with hints of golden highlights and fashioned in a perfect and elegant French twist that complemented a face of ivory and cream, with cool green eyes, straight nose and sulky mouth. She wore an elegant tailored bronze-toned suit that nipped at her narrow waist.
The topaz stones at her ears were square-cut and big as a woman’s thumb and earned Bailey’s instant admiration.
“I’ve been busy,” Cade began. “A couple of cases, and some personal business.”
“I certainly don’t want to hear about your cases, as you call them.” Leona set her leather bag on the foyer table. “And whatever your personal business is, it’s no excuse for neglecting your family duties. You put me in a very awkward position with Pamela. I had to make your pathetic excuses.”
“You wouldn’t have had to make excuses if you hadn’t set it up in the first place.” He could feel the old arguments bubbling inside him, and he struggled not to fall into the familiar, too-predictable traps. “I’m sorry it put you in an awkward position. Do you want some coffee?”
“What I want, Cade, is an explanation. At Muffy’s garden party yesterday—which you also failed to attend—Ronald told me some wild tale about you being engaged to some woman I’ve never heard of with a connection to the Princess of Wales.”
“Bailey.” Because he’d all but forgotten her, Cade turned, offered an apologetic smile and held out a hand. “Bailey, come meet my mother.”
Oh, good God, was all that came into Bailey’s head as she descended the stairs.
“Leona Parris, meet Bailey, my fiancée.”
“Mrs. Parris.” Bailey’s voice trembled a bit as she offered a hand. “How wonderful to meet you. Cade has told me so much about you.”
“Really?” Attractive, certainly, Leona mused. Well-groomed, if a bit understated. “He’s told me virtually nothing about you, I’m afraid. I don’t believe I caught your full name.”
“Bailey’s only been in the States for a few months.” Cade barreled in, all cheer and delight. “I’ve been keeping her to myself.” He slipped an arm around Bailey’s shoulders, squeezed possessively. “We’ve had a whirlwind courtship, haven’t we, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” Bailey said faintly. “A whirlwind. You could say that.”
“And you’re a jewelry designer.” Lovely rings, Leona noted. Unique and attractive. “A distant cousin of the Princess of Wales.”
“Bailey doesn’t like to drop names,” Cade said quickly. “Sweetheart, maybe you ought to make those calls. Remember the time difference in London.”
“Where did you meet?” Leona demanded.
Bailey opened her mouth, struggling to remember if they’d spun this part of the lie for Ronald. “Actually—”
“At the Smithsonian,” Cade said smoothly. “In front of the Hope Diamond. I was researching a case, and Bailey was sketching designs. She looked so intent and artistic. It took me twenty minutes of fast talking and following her around—remember how you threatened to call the security guard, sweetheart? But I finally charmed her into having a cup of coffee with me. And speaking of coffee—”
“This is just ridiculous,” Bailey said, interrupting him. “Absolutely ridiculous. Cade, this is your mother, and I’m just not having it.” She turned, faced Leona directly. “We did not meet in the Smithsonian, and the Princess of Wales is not my cousin. At least I seriously doubt it. I met Cade on Friday morning, when I went to his office to hire him. I needed a private investigator because I have amnesia, a blue diamond and over a million dollars in cash.”
Leona waited ten humming seconds while her foot tapped. Then her lips firmed. “Well, I can see neither of you intends to tell the simple truth. As you prefer to make up outrageous fabrications, I can only presume that you’re perfectly suited to one another.”
She snatched up her bag and marched to the door with outraged dignity in every step. “Cade, I’ll wait to hear from you when you decide to grant me the courtesy of the simple truth.”
While Bailey simply stared, Cade grinned like a fool at the door his mother had closed with a snap.
“I don’t understand. I did tell her the truth.”
“And now I know what they mean by ‘the truth shall set you free.’” He let out a whooping laugh, swung her back up into his arms. “She’s so ticked off now she’ll leave me alone for a week. Maybe two.” He gave Bailey an enthusiastic kiss as he headed for the stairs. “I’m crazy about you. Who would have thought telling her the real story would have gotten her off my back?”
Still laughing, he carried her into the bedroom and dropped her on the mattress. “We’ve got to celebrate. I’ve got some champagne chilled. I’m going to get you drunk again.”
Pushing her hair out of her face, she sat up. “Cade, she’s your mother. This is shameful.”
“No, it’s survival.” He leaned over, gave her a smacking kiss this time. “And, sweetheart, we’re both black sheep now. I can’t tell you how much more fun that’s going to be for me.”
“I don’t think I want to be a black sheep,” she called as he headed out again.
“Too late.” His laughter echoed back to her.
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