Aphrodite's Secret (27 page)

“I...” She trailed off, licking her lips, her fingers clenched tight around her mug of warm coffee.

“I don’t want to push you, Lane,” he said, pressing his palm against her knee. “I just want to try again.”

His words, though expected, hit her with the force of a sledgehammer. In her heart, she wanted to try, too. In her head, she kept screaming,
Be smart! Be smart
! She already had a nice man waiting in the wings, a man who didn’t make her wonder if he’d be there the next day, a man Davy already adored who didn’t have secrets.

But Aaron wasn’t Jason. And despite everything that told her to run far and fast, that one little fact kept eating at her. She connected with Jason; she always had.

Lane shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Was she doing nothing more than trying to justify what would surely turn out to be a bad decision?

Jason’s fingers stroked her knee and Lane shifted, pulling her leg away so that she was sitting primly on the side of the sofa bed. She couldn’t think with him touching her—not if she wanted to be rational.

She sat up straighter, still not really sure what she was going to say, and started talking. “I don’t know, Jason. I really don’t. I mean, I need to know you’ve changed.”

“I have.”

“No secrets. No finding out six years from now that you’re a superhero or something.”

He grinned. “Not a problem. We’ve already done that one.”

Despite herself, she smiled. “And Davy comes first. Davy and me,” she said.

“You always did,” he argued.

She pressed her lips together, wondering whether to debate the point “This isn’t about the past,” she decided, taking the middle ground. “I already told you, we can’t change the past. What’s done is done.”

A shadow crossed his face, so she reached out to take his hand.

“I’m not making any promises,” she said. She drew a deep breath, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake. “But I’m not saying no, either.”

His head cocked ever so slightly. “What
are
you saying?”

“I’m saying we’ll see.”

“That’s it?”

Moment of truth time
. “No.” She shook her head.

“We’ll move in with you, too. At least for a while.”

“That wasn’t even an issue,” he complained.

She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“We already agreed—until we’re sure you won’t have any more problems with Hieronymous, you two are staying right next to me.”

He had a point, so she nodded. “Well, yeah. But this is about us. I want you to get to know Davy better, anyway. Plus, I want you to teach him everything you can. If that’s the easiest way to avoid some ridiculous Council-mandated boarding school, then we’ll try that.”

“It’ll work,” he assured her. “And if the Council still insists, we’ll think of something else. I promise no one will take Davy from you. No matter what I have to do.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Jason’s face reflected something more than just concern for Davy—a passion, possessiveness. Lane swallowed, suddenly fearing she was making a huge mistake.

Desire, hot and needy, flashed in Jason’s eyes. “And since we’ll be living together, you and I should have plenty of opportunities to get reacquainted.”

Lane licked her lips, liking the idea more than was reasonable. She twisted her hands in her lap, reminding herself why she wasn’t just jumping into his arms and pulling him back into her life. “So, we’re clear, though—right? No more secrets, no more—”

A sharp knock interrupted.

“It’s probably pizza,” Jason said, getting up. “I thought you and Davy might want a bite before we head back to my houseboat.”

Her stomach rumbled, and Lane realized she was famished. “Sounds great.”

Jason pulled the door open, and she gasped. It wasn’t a pizza delivery guy at all.

Aaron.

Well, damn.

Automatically, Lane took two deep breaths and reminded herself what she’d just suffered with Davy: a horrible, terrible, awful day. This—her current boyfriend staring at the man she’d just slept with, who happened to be the father of her child—was nothing compared to that.

Really.

Aaron, trial lawyer that he was, recovered quickly. He held out his hand for Jason to shake. “I’m Aaron,” he said, his polite countenance covering his initial expression of confusion and hurt. “And you are... ?”

“Very pleased to meet you,” Jason answered. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’d say the same,” Aaron suggested, “except I don’t know who
you
are.”

“Ah,” Lane spoke up, leaning forward to interrupt. “About that. Um. ..” She squinted at Jason. “Go check on Davy, okay?”

“But—”

“Go,” she insisted, pointing toward their son’s room.

Thank goodness he went, though he didn’t look happy. She wasn’t in much of a position to argue; certainly she wasn’t going to drag him bodily to the other room.

Aaron watched Jason go, his jaw firmly set.

“Can you step back outside for a second?” Lane asked.

“Lane ...” His voice held a hint of warning.

“
Please
?” She needed a moment to get the room, and her head, in order.

“Maybe I should just shut the door behind me and leave,” he said, his curt words like a slap.

She shook her head, blinking back tears and a wave of guilt-induced nausea. “No, please. We need to talk. But I need a moment.” She met his eyes, sure hers were as full of guilt as his were of ice. “Aaron, please.”

His shoulders sagged just slightly and he nodded. Stepping onto the walkway outside, he pulled the door shut.

Lane moved quickly, tossing the bedsheets into the middle of the couch. She grabbed the sofa bed and shoved it back together, then replaced its cushions.

Stepping back, she gave the living room an appraising glance. Jason’s T-shirt hung over a chair, and she grabbed it, ran to Davy’s room, opened the door, and tossed it in.

Inside, she caught a glimpse of Jason, with Elmer on his lap and Davy on the floor.

She held up a finger in response to his open mouth. “Not yet,” she said. “Just stay.” She blew Davy a quick kiss, then scurried backward, pulling the door closed.

She headed for the door, a little mantra—
I don’t need this; I really, really don’t need this
—echoing in her head.

Pausing at the threshold, she clutched the front door’s knob and took three deep breaths. Finally feeling ready to confront the reality that was her life, she tugged open the door.

Taylor.

No Aaron? Instead, her brother—George Bailey Taylor—filled the doorway. Lane blinked, wondering when she’d stepped out of the real world and into Bizarroland.

He grabbed and tugged her into a bear hug. He gave her one long squeeze, then another—and then one more for good measure before he finally stopped and held her by her shoulders, looking her over.

His face was lined with fear and exhaustion. The exhaustion probably had something to do with the time change. The fear she attributed to the escapades of herself and her son.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked. “And where’s Davy?”

“Davy’s fine,” she said. Squinting, she peered over his shoulder, but she couldn’t find any sign of Aaron. She wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or not She owed the man an explanation, that much was certain. But his timing wasn’t exactly great, so maybe she should just thank Fate or whoever that he’d decided to skip out on her. She could, after all, track him down later.

“Lane?” Taylor prompted. “Where’s my nephew?”

“Uncle Taylor!” Davy’s door flew open, and then the boy himself raced from the room. “Uncle Taylor! I got kidnapped, but I got away, and I’m fine now, and the tennis shoes you bought me helped.”

Taylor caught the boy on the fly and swung him around. “Hey there, sport. I heard you had an adventure. Pretty impressive for a little squirt.” His eye caught Lane’s, and she knew he still didn’t have— but desperately wanted—the whole story.

Jason headed into the room, looking slightly frazzled. Lane stifled a smile. Less than ten minutes in a room with Davy and the boy’s father was already experiencing overload. “I’m sorry, Lane. He heard George’s voice and boom.” He nodded toward Taylor. “It’s good to see you again, George.”

“I’m going by Taylor these days,” her brother said, his face impassive.

The knot in Lane’s stomach tightened.

Taylor deposited Davy back onto the floor. “Can you go back in your room for a sec, Squirt? I want to talk to Jason and your mother,” he said. “When I’m done in here, I’ll join you and you can show me those shoes.”

Davy nodded, then scampered off. The very second the boy’s door clicked into place, Taylor’s formerly blank face erupted with anger. His shoulder shifted, and then—before Lane could even yelp— his fist shot out and connected with Jason’s jaw.

Jason was knocked back, but he didn’t go down.

Taylor, on the other hand, grabbed his hand and howled. “What the hell? Do you have some special superhero jaw?”

“You know about that?” Lane asked, surprised.

Taylor rubbed his hand. “Zoë told me,” he said.

“She told you to hit me?” Jason asked, incredulous.

“Even after he got Davy off that island?” Lane added.

Taylor shook his head. “No.” He looked Jason in the eye. “You get a thank-you for rescuing Davy,” he said. “The punch was an old debt.”

Lane stepped forward, positioning herself between the men, just in case Jason decided to respond in kind.

“It’s okay,” he said, reading her movement. “Taylor’s got his reasons.”

She shook her head. “No, he doesn’t. You didn’t mean to stay away. And hitting doesn’t solve anything,” she added, aiming a glare at her brother.

“Made me feel better,” Taylor said. “That punch has been almost seven years coming.”

“I’m okay with it,” Jason added sheepishly. “Like you said, I may not have meant to stay away, but I did leave in the first place.”

Lane blinked, still firmly grounded in the land of the bizarre, and looked from one to the other. “Are you guys serious?”

Taylor shrugged. “Hell, yes.” He stepped past her and clapped Jason on the shoulder. “And I was serious about the thank-you, too. I was worried sick when Zoë first called me. I’m glad you got Davy away.”

“You and me both,” Jason agreed. “But Davy is the one to applaud. A real trooper. You should go in and let him tell you about it. He’ll make you proud.”

Lane just stood there, staring from one man to the other. Less than a minute ago, her brother had punched Jason in the face; now they were deep into the guy-talk thing.
Men
. She’d never understand them. Not in a million years.

“Lane?” Taylor asked, taking a step toward the door.

“Go ahead.” She waved toward Davy’s room. “He’ll be thrilled to tell you.”

Taylor didn’t quite make it, though. The clatter of footsteps came from the front porch; then Zoë and Deena, both breathless, burst through the door. They were followed in short order by Boreas, who hadn’t even worked up a sweat.

“Taylor!” Zoë cried, flinging herself into her husband’s arms.

He gave her a quick kiss, then pushed her gently away, his intense gaze looking her up and down. “You look winded,” he said, surprise lacing his voice. “Are you okay?” He pressed a hand against her forehead, but she just ducked away.

“A little breathless,” she admitted, “but only because I’m excited to see you.”

“Zo—”

She put a finger to his lips to quiet him. “I’m fine.” She turned to Lane, and real fear flashed across her face. “Is
Davy
okay?”

Lane’s heart picked up tempo. “Of course. He’s in his room. What’s wrong?” She held up a finger, cutting off Zoë‘s answer. “Wait,” she said. And even though she knew it was silly, she raced to Davy’s room and poked her head in. Her son looked up, a ripped tennis shoe on the floor before him.

“I’m, uh, playing neurosurgeon,” he said.

“Right,” she said, ducking her head back out and closing the door. She trotted back to Zoë. “He’s fine. What’s wrong?”

“Hopefully nothing,” Zoë admitted. “But Prigg swears that
he’s
a bad guy.” She aimed an accusing finger at Jason.

“Oh, come on,” he said. “We’ve already been through this. I... did . .. not... kidnap ... Davy. I’m the one who saved him.”

“Look,” Zoë explained. “I want to go with you on this one. I really do. But give me more to work with.”

“More than rescuing my son?”

Zoë half-shrugged. “Prigg’s convinced it’s all part of an act, that you’re just trying to get in good with us. That everything that’s happened is somehow part of your father’s plan.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, Jason,” she said. “But you did neglect to mention that little bit about your parentage. It doesn’t look good.”

“Wait,” Lane said. “Back up.” She turned to Jason. “Father?” she asked, a sick feeling rising in the pit of her stomach.

“Tell her,” Zoë said to Jason. “Tell her who your father is.”

Jason frowned as Lane and Taylor exchanged a glance. Apparently, Taylor was as out of the loop as she.

“For Hera’s sake, Jason,” Zoë said, exasperation lacing her voice. “You owe us an explanation.”

“Please!” Lane said, holding up her hand. “Somebody tell me what’s going on.”

“Hieronymous,” Zoë explained, the single word quieting the room. “Jason’s father is Hieronymous.”

Lane balked, certain she must have heard wrong. She was about to ask, but she never got the chance.

“Hierony-who?” Aaron said, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

Zoë spun around. “Oh. Aaron. Hi. I, uh, didn’t see you there.”

The lawyer paused in the threshold, five pairs of eyes glued on him. His throat moved as he swallowed, and he gestured toward the door. “It was slightly open,” he said. His eyes met Lane’s. “And you said to give you a minute. If you really want to talk, then I’ll listen.”

“Talk,” she repeated dizzily, fighting the cotton that was taking over her brain. “Yeah. Suddenly, I’ve got lots to talk about.” A doozy of a headache had begun, and she moved to sit on the couch. What had started out as a pretty good morning was fast disintegrating into the second worst day of her life.