When the Heart Lies Read online

  She hunched over the table and spoke in a whisper through clenched teeth. “Things have been hard on him this year.”

  He darted his head from behind the paper. “He’s had things too damn easy lately if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t ask you.” She sighed heavily and went back to her planner. “We’re having dinner tonight with the Ericsons at the club, and we’re attending a benefit at the hospital tomorrow evening.”

  He stood to leave, but paused and turned to her, annoyed. “Wonderful. I know how important maintaining our social obligations is to you. I’ll be at the office until seven.” He folded his paper, tossed it in front of her, and left.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kinsley stripped off her gown and headed into the shower. After a superfast one, she hurried from the bathroom, grabbed her purse, and dumped what little make-up it contained onto the dresser. Good. Her perfume was here. She pulled on a sky blue tank top and tugged on her favorite worn-out jeans, jumping up and down as she wiggled into the perfect fit. After towel-drying her hair, the natural waves fell into place, ending inches below her breast. The sunlight streaming through the small opening in the drapes highlighted the dark chestnut color, revealing an array of rich, red undertones. She spread her lips taut, covering her teeth, to create a smooth canvas to apply the rose blush lipstick and then followed with a light overlay of mascara to the lashes of her cobalt blue eyes. Once she finished preening, she slipped her feet into the comfortable leather flip-flops she tossed into her bag when she left the house. Out of habit, she peeked into the mirror and pouted her full lips. Not bad at all.

  The heavy wooden door to her room pulled open easier than expected, slamming against the wall. She stepped out smiling at random strangers and pretending the loud bang came from somewhere else. The dining and social areas were only a few feet in front of her. Breakfast was still being served. Rich aromas of coffee and baked goods filled the large room where casual guest and staff conversations lingered just below a tranquil, piped-in melody. That, and the tasteful decor, made the place resemble an upscale private club.

  She passed up everything from freshly baked croissants to made-to-order omelets. Instead, she scooped up some scrambled eggs, grabbed some toast and coffee, and looked around for a place to sit. In the far corner, she spotted an empty table for two. As she slid into her seat, a man, not too much older than she was, settled into the seat opposite her. They glanced at each other, lowered their heads, and started eating. The awkward silence was uncomfortable.

  “Kinsley,” she said, expecting him to respond with his name.

  No acknowledgement came, only the blank gaze of his compelling brown eyes with golden, starburst-patterned irises that stared from beneath fallen strands of sun-streaked hair. As far as she could tell, nothing was registering. Yet, he continued to stare. They were the type of eyes you’d want to take a second peek at. She didn’t and turned away, but not before noticing his near perfect build. A few minutes went by before he spoke and interrupted her short infatuation.

  “Jackson.” His voice was authoritative. Yet, his response was long and drawn-out as if he were distracted. Possibly, her silky, dark curls falling beneath her full breasts sidetracked him. His eyes lingered smack dab on them as he said his name. She wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a post-coital cigarette. If he did, he had better make it a chocolate one. His long silence and spacey introduction got to her, and she responded with an annoyed half-hearted smile. Yet, she didn’t look away. She kept willing herself to, but she never did.

  His head tilted in a pleading way, and he met her gaze. “Honestly—I’m sorry.”

  “No problem.” She wasn’t sure why, but she softened her voice to sound especially forgiving. Finally able to lower her eyes, she continued fiddling with her food. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage him.

  He cleared his throat, politely catching her attention. When she didn’t respond, he glanced away and back again. “Give me a break. Okay?” He grinned, and the little clef in his chin deepened, making his smile even more appealing.

  Sincerity radiated from his eyes. That, combined with their jewel-like quality, was indeed an unneeded distraction. “Break given. Forget about it.” Trying to avoid continuing with the conversation, she gave him another brief smiled before returning to her meal.

  Looking doubtful of her forgiveness, he cocked his head and laid on the charm. “Okay, I’ll even admit I was staring. Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You’re stunning.”

  Apparently, smiles weren’t enough for him. His persistence bothered her, but only because he stirred her up inside. Although flattered, she was only concerned with leaving Florida, returning to New York, and getting Max settled into a semblance of a normal life again. She placed her fork on her plate and gave him her full attention. “Me? Or my breasts?”

  “Both.”

  She softened her expression, and his smile broadened. How could she fault him for picking the absolute worse time to flirt with her? With a nonchalant scan, he gave her the once over. She felt his eyes sliding over her body. When he angled in for a better look, his smile pulled to the side, and he appeared thoughtful. She could tell he approved. The sensations it brought on prompted her to squish into her chair in an attempt to extinguish the sparks his smoldering eyes created.

  Once his eyes returned to hers, they didn’t waver. “Sweet. A woman who gives second chances.”

  She almost giggled at his persistence and lowered her head, hiding her cheeks that were becoming hotter by the minute. “Aren’t you afraid you won’t be able to get rid of me?”

  He didn’t answer until she looked up curiously. When she did, he had the oddest expression. Soft and dream-like. “I decided that wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” he said. And then he laughed. He had a great laugh.

  She was sure she appeared dumbfounded.

  The intensity of his stare grew hypnotic, seeming too intimate; she broke the connection and stirred more unneeded cream into her coffee. They continued with their meal trying to avoid being caught stealing glimpses of each other. Unable to resist after a few minutes, she looked up, but the clock distracted her. She frowned, disappointed that she couldn’t prolong the meal any longer and a little mad at herself for wanting to.

  “Well, I have an appointment with Dr. Pierce at ten. I have to go.” She stood, and as she turned to leave, she found herself smiling and wondering why he was there. Nearly everyone wore street clothes, so unless someone asked, who knew why anyone was there? Hopefully, he wasn’t some boob ogling head case or recovering heroin addict.

  “Kinsley—?”

  She twirled back, catching his eyes as he promptly withdrew his gaze from her rear-end.

  “Be careful with Pierce. He’s a dick. Oh, and all that …” Playfully, he waved his finger though the air, outlining her body. “… won’t get you anywhere with him.”

  His comment elicited a breathy laugh. “Don’t underestimate me.” She returned his once over, making sure he noticed.

  He smiled. Full grill this time. “Okay … thanks for the warning.” Before resuming his meal, he flashed a seductive wink.

  She felt like a teenager as she walked away, stomach fluttering. The unwanted sensation bugged her, but his in-your-face manner seemed refreshing and honest. This little distraction had gone on long enough, though. Because Max needed her, and she wouldn’t let him down again. As soon as she was discharged, she was getting away from Wayde. He had a distorted take on their relationship. There was nothing between them, but a twenty-year age difference, lies, and his constant threats against Max’s safety, which made leaving him terrifying. There was no way of knowing how valid his threats were. Whatever she had do to keep Max safe, she’d do. But first, she had to figure out how to get the hell away from Wayde and she had to get some money together to make it happen.

  Chapter 2

  Nick lay flat, eyes to the ceiling and naked, on the rumpled designer sheets of the king-size bed in the guestroom of his and Kinsley’
s home. He’d spent most of his nights in that room since she left town. It’d been over six months since they were together. Catching sight of the picture of them on the bedside table, his face fell flat. The empty bottle of scotch that lay beside it dripped the remaining amber liquid onto the cream-colored carpet.

  With dull melancholy eyes, he lightly swatted the picture down and returned his attention to the big breasted someone or other he hooked up with the previous night. She rode his fully impaled member with a smile. He grabbed her hips and ground himself into her hard a few times, finishing.

  “Yeah, yeah baby, that feels so good.” Her voice sounded like a squealing pig. She leaned down to kiss him, and he gave her his neck. “You’re something else, handsome. Tell me your name.” She ran her fingers through his shiny black curls and tousled them playfully.

  From age fourteen, he was far too handsome for his own good. Women both older and younger were captivated by his tall, athletic appearance and dark Greek characteristics descending from his mother’s side of the family. Sadly, if not for the admiration of the women who desired him and the men who were envious, it’d be questionable if he’d see himself as a man of value at all.

  He slapped the woman on the ass and pushed her aside. As he sat up, he braced his arms on the side of the bed. His face screwed up in the same way it would if he’d accidentally swallowed a big gulp of sour milk from the carton. The booze was getting to him. On her knees, the woman crawled from where he’d dumped her and wrapped her arms around him. They hung from his neck, and her huge breasts pushed against his back as she babbled on.

  “I’ve got to get ready for work. Just see yourself out.” After removing her arms from his neck and tossing the used condom into the trash, he stood, snatching her clothes from the floor and tossing them to her. He fished his wallet from his pants lying beside the bed and handed her three hundred dollars.

  Her mouth dropped open, and her face contorted. “Hey asshole, I’m no whore.”

  His eyes narrowed as he assessed her. Lifting his chin, he delivered a flippant dismissal. “Of course not.”

  She looked at the money, gave him the finger, and left. She kept it. They always kept it. And it cleared his conscience.

  When the resonating slam of the front door subsided, he sat hunched over on the side of the bed. He held the photograph of him and Kinsley in his hand and stared intently as he tapped it repeatedly into his open palm. The blare of the alarm clock broke the monotony, and he returned the picture to the table. His fingers outlined the edges with a delicate caress. With his next breath, he swatted the thing down again and left the room.

  Once showered, he dressed and went downstairs for some breakfast: Wheaties, the preferred Breakfast of Champions and lonely, ditched men. Noticing a blinking voicemail alert, he picked up the phone. There was always the possibility it could be Kinsley. It was his mother.

  “I drove by on my way to the hairdressers this morning. I noticed your car in the driveway. Your father and I are having dinner with the Ericson’s tonight at the club. Come by if you like. Drinks at seven-thirty, dinner’s at eight. Love you.”

  He sifted through the pile of mail on the counter and ran his fingers over the umpteenth letter he’d written to Kinsley that had been stamped ‘Return to Sender.’ After putting the letter upstairs with the others, he set out for the office.

  Before the second chirp that disarmed his car security system, he spotted Xavier’s limo as it slowly rolled to a stop in front of the driveway, effectively blocking his car in. He looked in the opposite direction, then turned back to face the limo and stood waiting. The tinted window on the driver’s side edged down as slowly as the car rolled up. The driver jerked his head directing him to get in. He set his briefcase on the hood of his Mercedes Z Series Roadster and got into the limo. He didn’t say anything and settled comfortably into the leather seat across from Xavier.

  “We should talk Nick,” Xavier said.

  “About?”

  “Kinsley.”

  “Kinsley? My marriage. My business. I’ll handle things my way.”

  Xavier’s fist tensed against his thigh, and his jaw set tight leaving his words forced and pressured. “Your way is avoiding, which doesn’t work in business or in life. I gave you her post office box number. Finding her physical address would be simple.” He waited for a response. There was none. “It would make sense for a husband who loves his wife to do that. To fight to get her back.”

  Nick stared at Xavier intently and then laughed. “I don’t fight for any woman. That’s where we differ. You have your persona. I have mine. You’re the rich iconic business mogul, the relatively faithful family man. I’m the playboy heir. Anything else and I’m Xavier Wentworth’s semi-successful son. I much prefer people to think of me as that lucky bastard who can bang any woman he pleases and has a beautiful wife and family to boot. The envy of men, the desire of women. Thanks to all your hard work, it’s been easy.”

  “Your wife is gone.”

  Nick grasped the door handle. “She’ll be back.”

  Before he opened the door, Xavier reached over and rested his hand on top of his. “I’m not so sure she will be back, Nick. She needs to know you love her. A woman needs that from her husband. Money can’t compare to a woman knowing she’s loved.” Xavier lifted his hand, and Nick headed back to his car without responding.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kinsley approached Dr. Pierce’s office with shoulders back and a poised smile, but continued to rest her hand on her queasy stomach. Doctors always made her feel uneasy. She knocked lightly on the opened door and stood there, trying to appear confident.

  “Come in, come in.” Without looking up, the doctor continued to shuffle papers on the large mahogany desk. “Well, who do we have here? Mrs. Kinsley Wentworth.”

  She took a few steps in and stood waiting.

  Dr. Pierce looked up sharply and shook his head. “Well?—Sit down.” He motioned toward the two red leather chairs across from his desk and sat muttering, taking a moment to look over her chart.

  Reluctantly, she walked around the first chair and sat down. While the doctor remained occupied, she drifted—thinking over her options. There weren’t many. She stared through the window beyond him at the small lake, which reflected the morning sun in the distance. Leaving Wayde would be her first priority. After that, she’d get Max back to New York to be closer to his father. If she could patch their family back together, all the better. Her plan sounded very rational and orderly, but in recent months, she had gradually traded hope for despair.

  “You came in by ambulance?”

  Startled from her thoughts, she returned her attention to the present, hoping she hadn’t appeared far away.

  He continued to look at the chart. “Your blood pressure was extremely low. You fainted. Also, your husband thought you might be depressed. He said this incident began with an argument with his niece?” After a measured nod, he puckered his lips as if the story was clear to him.

  “Wayde isn’t my husband, and I fainted because I was dehydrated.” She’d spoken too fast, sounding rushed and defensive. Her eyes closed briefly as she drew in a steady breath, she needed to slow down. “The heat index was one hundred and ten degrees, and I hadn’t eaten.”

  With an authoritative expression, he peered above his black rimmed glasses, took them off, and slicked his oiled black hair to the side. His appearance was reminiscent of the 1950’s. “Well, who is he?”

  This time, she was the one to lower her eyes because explaining things would be difficult. After all, if she thought her decisions were foolish and reckless, what would a doctor think? “I’m separated from my husband, Nick. I live with Wayde. Things haven’t worked out. I’m planning on returning home to New York. I won’t be here much longer.”

  “Says here, his young niece, Savannah, also lives with you?”

  “Woman. Savannah is a woman.” Savannah is a stripper, a belligerent slob, and a drunkard whose sole purpose in life is to prov
oke me. Kinsley refrained with difficulty from displaying her disgust, stopping just short of an eye roll and a jerk of her head. The picture of Savannah, upside down with her shoulders and bleached blond hair hanging over the edge of the sofa seat, crossed her mind. The red stilettos she wore pointed to the ceiling, and her legs made scissoring movements as her shoulders undulated making the tassels spin. Savannah laughed as Max giggled and pointed. How could anyone act that way in front of a child?

  “And your three year-old son lives with you also?” He leaned back in his chair and stared at her.

  It was unsettling.

  “Yes, that’s right.” Not knowing what he wanted her to say next, she stared back at him.

  “Any history of anxiety?”

  “No. I don’t know what Wayde said happened, but I need to get back to my son.” She may have sounded a little too desperate. Breaking eye contact, she stared at her thumbs as she began twirling them around one another. “I need to leave.” She blurted the statement out. Fearing it made her appear desperate, she clasped her restless hands and smiled, making eye contact again.

  He sat, silent, with a questioning glare and jotted something down before he asked, “Mrs. Wentworth, do you have a history of depression?” He put his hands together and rested them against his lips. The way she’d learned to pray as a child.

  “A long time ago … almost six years, I took some pills. So yes, at the time, I was depressed. Before the pills, but more so after, considering taking them was such a brainless move.” Unfortunately, she couldn’t avoid direct questions. She wanted him to discharge her. Would it make a difference if I told him more than wanting to die, I wanted to shake some, any type, of reaction out of my drunken husband?

  It was so vivid—Angela consoling her when she heard of Nick’s tryst with Stephanie. She explained that affairs came with the territory, especially when you’re married to a rich, handsome man. Angela said she was lucky because women like Stephanie were all purchased in some way. Wives, on the other hand, were loved and compensated. “Hold your head up. This will pass. If you fight the issue, you’ll destroy the love he has for you.”