Another Man's Child
He had it all. He’d taken the family shipping business and turned it from a solid respectable venture into an enterprise that far surpassed even his father’s vision. Cartwright Enterprises had been through many transitions since its inception almost two centuries before. His early ancestors had made the family’s first millions in whaling and sealing, and the generation following them were glorified Yankee Peddlers. His grandfather had expanded into imports and exports. Marcus’s father had doubled the Cartwright shipping fleet before a car accident had taken his life—and his wife’s, as well.
But in the eight years since Marcus had taken over, Cartwright Enterprises had become a business of the nineties. It owned several of the companies it had once shipped for. It was no longer just the middle man.
And like his father before him, Marcus had done it all for the son to whom he would one day pass his heritage. He was a Cartwright. One of the Cartwrights. His ancestors, English gentry with everything but money, had come to the New World with dreams and determination. Through the early battles with Indians, the revolutionary war, the Civil War and both world wars, the Cartwrights had remained strong, determined and successful, each generation continuing and surpassing the achievements of the one before. And from the time he was old enough to understand, Marcus had worked hard to fulfill his responsibility to his birthright, to ensure that the breath of his ancestors, when he passed it on, would continue to thrive.
But unlike his father, who’d worked for financial power, Marcus had worked like a madman for another reason. He’d done it to buy his freedom, to have the time to be at home with his family when he had one, to make it to every school play, to watch each and every game, to attend all recitals, birthday parties and Christmas pageants. He wanted to make enough babies with Lisa to fill the rooms in the home he was born to, and to dispel forever the emptiness of his boyhood.
He didn’t look back on those lonely years with any fondness. His parents had been interested in raising the Cartwright heir, not a child.
Marcus reached for the bottle and poured another inch of scotch. His mind turned to his sterility, and he tried for the millionth time to think about the alternatives Lisa had talked about soon after his diagnosis. But as hard as he’d tried, and God knew he’d tried, he just couldn’t consider them rationally. He felt the rage coming, felt it in the sudden heat in his veins, in the tenseness in his muscles. Why? By what cruel twist of fate did he have to be the one to end the Cartwright line, to silence forever the voices of his ancestors? He who wanted children more than wealth, who understood their value in a way his father never had?
He’d worked hard all of his life, earning an honest living when, in his position, it would have been surprisingly easy to do otherwise. He gave to charities. He upheld the faith of his ancestors and never balked when there was a task to do. He’d never left a job unfinished in his life.
So why had he been robbed of the ability to do the one thing he wanted most to do? There were plenty of men out there who didn’t want children, who fathered them without even knowing or caring. Yet it was Marcus who’d had that privilege revoked. His wife who had to look elsewhere to get his job done.
Marcus strode around the living room, trying to outdistance his demons. And as always, as the rage within him continued to boil, he was seized by the desire to just pack his bags and leave this town for a place where the Cartwright name meant nothing, where he could hide from his shortcomings—and his heritage. Where he could live out the rest of his days, if not in happiness, at least in peace. He’d have gone, too. If it wasn’t for Lisa.
Marcus took one last swallow from the crystal shot glass, then hurled it into the fireplace where it shattered into a thousand glittering pieces, reminiscent of the dreams he had once been foolish enough to have.
CHAPTER TWO
DREAMS. LISA HAD always had two of them. One was to grow up, get married and have babies as sweet as her little sister, Sara, had been. Lisa had been an only child, a somewhat lonely child, until she was ten years old. And then Sara had come along, surprising them all, like a ray of sunshine that continued to shine in Lisa’s heart long after her baby sister was gone.
Lisa’s second dream, also a by-product of Sara, was to become a pediatrician. So at least she had realized one of the two. And as the weeks passed, she immersed herself more and more in her work. Marcus was never home anymore, and on the rare occasions when he wasn’t working late, he kept busy in his den or out on the grounds, rarely smiling and hardly looking at Lisa at all.
So Lisa volunteered for an extra shift on call. She added to her already full patient load; she offered to cover for whatever physicians were on vacation or taking a long weekend to spend with their families. Anything she could do to stay busy, to keep her mind occupied, to ignore the fact that Marcus was slipping away from her. He still made wonderful love to her—Marcus had always had an incredible sexual appetite—but he didn’t gaze into her eyes while they were making love anymore, nor did he linger in her arms afterward.
Pushing away the fear that had become her constant companion, Lisa pulled some recently delivered X rays from their folder, placed them up on the view box beside her desk and flipped on the light so she could study the results. Her heart sank.
Little Willie Adams’s back was broken; he wouldn’t be playing Little League any more this season, and probably not next, either. Depending on the damage to his spinal cord, he might never be playing it again. Reaching for the phone, she punched in the number for one of the best neurosurgeons she knew, all the while thinking of the little redheaded boy lying so still in the hospital bed across the street. Willie was one of the patients Lisa saw gratis, courtesy of state welfare. He was one of six kids, the only boy, that his mother was raising single-handedly. His father had run off before Willie was born. The one good thing in Willie’s life was his success in Little League.
Lisa pulled into the gate at home two hours later, weary in body, but even wearier in soul. She’d spent an hour with Willie until Dr. Shea had come; she’d told Willie and his mother Willie’s prognosis, she’d answered all of his mother’s questions and watched Willie’s face turn to stone, but she’d never seen him shed a tear. Considering the amount of pain he was in, that was amazing in itself, but to have just had his one hope of getting out of the ghetto snatched away…
Lisa left her Mercedes in the circular driveway, then trudged up the steps, her briefcase weighing on her exhausted muscles as she let herself in. It was late, long past dinnertime, and she knew Hannah, the parttime housekeeper who saw more of Lisa and Marcus’s home than they did, bad left hours before. She started to call out for Marcus, needing him desperately, but closed her mouth before she wasted her breath. He’d been out until midnight or later most every night lately, attempting to keep Blake’s, a family-owned chain of department stores in Rhode Island, from going bankrupt. She didn’t begrudge him the time. Not really. She knew her husband well enough to know how good it made him feel to be able to help save someone else’s dream. Especially since he couldn’t seem to save his own.
But that didn’t stop her from needing him.
Taking her briefcase into the home office she shared with Marcus, she shrugged out of her suit jacket and rubbed the stiff muscles along the back of her neck. Sometimes she wondered if she was meant to be a doctor. She’d never been able to develop that impenetrable shell they’d talked about in medical school.
“Rough day?”
At the sound of Marcus’s voice she whirled around, filled with the instant warmth that still came to her every time he walked into a room.
“Yeah.” She didn’t elaborate as she once might have, rubbing at her neck again.
He looked relaxed, wearing slacks and a polo shirt, instead of one of the suits he always wore to work. She wondered how long he’d been home and was instantly disappointed that she hadn’t been here with him. The gorgeous Connecticut June weather was perfect for evenings sitting out under the stars, sharing a drink. Or more.
His eyes were loving, sympathetic, as he moved closer to her.
“You want to tell me about it?” He pushed her hands aside and began massaging her tense muscles with the expertise born of experience.
Lisa bowed her head, giving him easier access to her neck. “A patient of mine, an eleven-year-old boy, broke his back today playing baseball. He was sliding into home and the catcher fell on top of him.”
“God, the poor kid.” Marcus’s hands continued to work their magic.
“He’d just had an offer from a city team. He’s good, Marcus. And he’s inner city. Baseball was his one shot out.”
“He’s young, Lis. He’s got time to mend.” Marcus pulled her fully into his arms and Lisa soaked up his strength, nestling her head into her usual place on his shoulder.
“He’s paralyzed. The damage may be permanent.” As she said the words out loud, words she hadn’t yet had the heart to tell Willie or his mother, the dam inside her broke and she started to sob, not only for the stalwart little boy lying so still across town, but for the man who held her, for the permanent damage that long-ago fever had done to him, for the damage it was still doing to them.
Marcus held her until her emotion was spent. And then he started to kiss her, long, slow, tender kisses. The healing kind. Offering her forgetfulness in the one way that always worked. She clung to him desperately, and when they moved upstairs to their bedroom, arms wrapped around each other, she gave him all the love within her, all the passion only he could raise. He was her husband, her lover, her best friend. And just as she was going to do everything in her power to help Willie Adams, including footing his bills anonymously if she had to, she was going to do whatever it took to fix the problems between her and Marcus.
Her life’s work was saving lives, but her life was nothing if she didn’t have her soul mate beside her, sharing it with her.
WITH HER NEWFOUND RESOLVE still burning inside, Lisa approached her tenth wedding anniversary the following week with optimism. She checked in on Willie that morning, satisfied that he’d come through his second surgery better than they’d hoped, and then took the rest of the day off. She had some primping to do.
Stopping at the mall on the way home, she wandered through a couple of exclusive lingerie shops until she found just what she was looking for—a black pure-silk teddy. Marcus was a sucker for silk.
“Will there be anything else, Mrs. Cartwright?” the saleswoman asked when Lisa handed over her charge card.
“Is that lavender bubble bath?” Lisa gestured toward the display beside the counter.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s not too overpowering, though, and it’s full of moisturizers. I use it myself. Would you like to try some?”
“Sure, why not?” Lisa said, feeling a little decadent. These days she rarely had time for more than a quick shower, let alone a leisurely bubble bath, but her husband had always liked the scent of lavender. And she’d bet he could think of a few interesting things to do in a lavender-scented tub. He was wonderfully inventive.
She hurried home and stayed there only long enough to pack a few things for herself and a bag for Marcus. Telling Hannah not to bother with dinner, she jumped back in her car and headed out of New Haven. She knew exactly where she was going. Haven’s Cove, the beautiful private resort on the coast between New Haven and Milford. It was the perfect place for her and Marcus to celebrate. If the memories they’d find there didn’t remind them of all that they were to each other, nothing would.
She spent half an hour or more reacquainting herself with the grounds, glad to see that little had changed since the last time she’d been there, and then whiled away the afternoon in the salon, treating herself to the works. She was going to bring the hungry look back into Marcus’s eyes.
At five o’clock on the nose, she sent a telegram to Marcus: MEET ME AT HAVEN’S COVE. I NEED LOVIN’. And then she waited.
Some of the best hours in Lisa’s life had been in the cabanas at Haven’s Cove. It was where Marcus had first told her he loved her. Where, months after they’d become lovers, she’d finally seen the knowledge of her love for him dawn in his eyes. Where he’d asked her to marry him.
And now she hoped he still believed in them enough to join her.
MARCUS WAS BEAT when he arrived back at his office. He’d just come from an afternoon meeting that had lasted twice as long as it should have. The Rhode Island department-store venture had to be pulled into the nineties if it was going to have any hope of surviving, and George Blake, the old gentleman who sat at the helm of the family business, while seemingly agreeable to every suggestion Marcus and his team made, was having a hard time letting go of the only way of life he’d ever known.
Marcus didn’t have to take the time to consider the man’s feelings. Not legally. But he couldn’t just take over a man’s life’s work and leave him with nothing. He wanted Blake to understand the changes, to be able to continue to sit at the helm of his company after Marcus had him set up and running again. So he was taking the time to teach the man what it had taken himself four years at Yale, and three times as many in business, to learn. Or at least an abridged version thereof.
He’d realized halfway through the meeting what day it was. He’d been putting in so many long hours for Cartwright Enterprises the past couple of weeks that the days had all started rolling into one. Not that he minded. To the contrary. The only time he didn’t have doubts about himself these days was when he was working.
But he still didn’t know where the first half of the month had gone. Someone had mentioned a golf date when they’d taken a break for lunch, and it had suddenly dawned on Marcus that it was the middle of June. The sixteenth to be exact. His anniversary.
Or maybe it hadn’t suddenly dawned on him. Maybe he’d been unconsciously trying to forget. He wasn’t sure there was much to celebrate. Not for Lisa, anyway. Not anymore.
He’d had coffee with his wife early that morning and she’d read the paper just like every other morning, not giving any indication that she’d remembered what day it was. She sure as hell hadn’t wished him happy anniversary as she had all the other years since they’d been married. And when he’d tried to call her at lunchtime, he’d been told she wasn’t expected in her office at all that day. Which meant she was either out exhausting herself in the free clinic or volunteering her time at the hospital. Anything to stay away from home. Not that he blamed her. The emptiness there mocked him, too.
“A telegram came for you about an hour ago, and your other mail is there, too,” Marge, his secretary of thirteen years, said as he let himself into his suite of offices on the top floor of Cartwright Tower in downtown New Haven. She’d been with him since his sophomore year at Yale, when he’d begun working his way up the ranks at Cartwright Enterprises. She’d been working for him the year he’d met Lisa; had been at his wedding, too. “There’s also a stack of letters for you to sign, and Paul Silas wants you to give him a call.”
“Thanks, Marge. Give yourself double overtime this week and go home. You don’t owe me all these late nights.”
“It’s okay, Marcus. The twins left a couple of weeks ago to take summer jobs at the University of Connecticut—they’re getting ready for their freshman year—and the house is so quiet it’s depressing. I’d just as soon be here as home.”
“Where’s James?” Marcus asked.
“He’s in Florida for a month, overseeing the construction of a new shopping complex outside Orlando. I almost wish he hadn’t been promoted to project manager.”
Marcus smiled at his middle-aged secretary’s uncharacteristic grumbling. “You don’t mean that, Marge. You’d have to give back that boat he bought you last summer.”
Marge grinned. “You’re right. I don’t mean it. But I’m telling you, Marcus, for once I think you and Lisa have the right idea.”
“About what?”
“About not having children. It hurts bringing them into this world, they take years off your life with all the worry they cause, and then they just up and leave home, not caring that they’re breaking your heart as they go.”
“And if you could, would you trade away any of the past eighteen years with them, Marge?” he asked softly.
She smiled, her pretty features lighting up. “Of course not. Don’t mind me. I guess. I’ll go home and bake some cookies. I promised the boys I’d send them some before the weekend.”
“So why not take tomorrow off and deliver them yourself? Storrs is only an hour away, and you’ll feel a lot better once you’ve checked up on them.”
“Am I that obvious?”
“Maybe I just know you better than most,” Marcus said, envying her sons. He wasn’t even sure his folks had known he was gone when he left the family home for a dorm room at Yale.
“But what about the Rhode Island group?” Marge asked, frowning. “Aren’t you all meeting here tomorrow?”
Marcus shook his head. “We postponed it until after the weekend. George wants a couple of more days to study the manuals for the computer system we’re installing at Blake’s. So take the day off.”
“Yes, sir!” She was grinning from ear to ear as she tidied up her desk and gathered her purse.
Listening to her humming, Marcus headed on into his office and the tasks waiting there for him. Maybe the telegram was something urgent. Anything to take him away from New Haven and the empty house he knew he’d find if he went home. Of course, with all the time he’d been spending on the Blake venture, he had enough pressing work on his desk to keep him busy well past midnight. With that comforting thought, he opened the telegram.
MEET ME AT HAVEN’S COVE. I NEED LOVIN’.
Marcus stared at it, hardly daring to believe the words. But there they were, all neat caps, teasing him with long ago memories. Good memories.
He read it again. MEET ME AT HAVEN’S COVE. I NEED LOVIN’. What full-blooded man could turn down an invitation like that?
Especially when the woman issuing it was Lisa?
The love of his life.
And when the man was feeling such incredible relief that the woman wanted to celebrate their anniversary, after all. He broke every speed limit in Connecticut as his Ferrari ate up the miles to Haven’s Cove.
THE CABANA SMELLED of Lisa. It amazed him that after ten years of marriage, he could be aroused merely by the scent of his wife.
“Lis?” he asked, letting the door close behind him. He was eager to see what she had planned for them, prepared to change her mind if it wasn’t bed in the next ten minutes.
“In here,” she called from the direction of the bathroom.
Marcus shed his jacket as he headed across the room, the splashing of water luring him on. It sounded as if she was in the bath. As he recalled, the bathtubs at Haven’s Cove were huge. He’d played out a few fantasies in one of them on their honeymoon.
They’d been so filled with dreams back then. Dreams that had turned to ashes. He stopped outside the door. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
“Marcus, come on. The water’s wonderful,” Lisa called, her voice husky with desire. It was all the invitation Marcus needed. All the invitation he’d ever needed. His wife to want him.
Lavender. The air was filled with lavender. Lisa was sitting in the enormous porcelain tub surrounded by bubbles, a piece of skimpy black silk hanging haphazardly from the towel rack above her. Her dark hair was pinned up on her head, with a few wispy tendrils, damp on the ends, falling down around her face and shoulders. The glistening skin of the tops of her breasts was just visible above the white foam.
She’d never looked so desirable in her life. Not even the first time he’d scen her naked, when her young ripe body had been much more beautiful than he’d even imagined.
“Hi,” he murmured, staring at her.
Her big brown eyes were sultry-looking, telling him she was his to command, to do with her as he willed. There was no sadness in them now. No disappointment lurking in their depths.
Marcus stepped out of his shoes and dropped the rest of his clothes in a pile at his feet in one quick move. Lisa’s eyes widened, and for the first time in a long time, Marcus was proud of his body. Sexually, he knew no other man could please her more than he did. Because no man could love her more.
“I hope you didn’t call for room service,” he said, lowering himself, facing her, into the warm water.
She shook her head, her eyes filled with a hunger room service couldn’t assuage. “I waited for you.”
“Good.” He slid his hands up her calves to thighs that were still as smooth as the day he’d married her, holding her gaze with his own. “Your skin’s like satin.”
She smiled slowly, the smile that had brought him to his knees the first time he’d seen it and kept him there ever since. For a woman who had come to him almost innocent, she had the art of seduction down to amazing perfection.
Skimming his hands over the sides of her hips, he found her waist and almost circled it with his big hands. Every time he felt her slenderness, her femininity, he was filled again with a need to cherish her, to protect her from whatever hurts life might throw her way.
He’d just never counted on being one of those hurts.
His fingers continued their exploration, up her rib cage to her breasts. He cupped their exquisite softness, knowing the feel of them, and yet finding their familiarity wildly exciting. They were his. She was his. Right here. Right now.
“You’re as beautiful now as you were the first time,” he said.
She reached for his swollen penis and caressed it. She chuckled softly, a sweet husky sound. “You remember that first time? I wanted you so badly it was driving me crazy, but I was scared to death you’d think I was easy.”
Marcus smiled, too, remembering. She’d been such a contradiction, seducing him and crossing her knees at the same time. “All I could think about was getting between those gorgeous legs of yours. You’d been tempting me all summer, running around in shorts so short they revealed more than they concealed.”
“They did not!” she said, pretending to take offense.
“Oh, yes, you were a little tease,” he returned, and then he immediately availed himself of the treasures the shorts had promised that long-ago summer.
Her hand had fallen away from his penis, and now she reached for him again. “Oh, Marcus, please…”
He gently pushed her hand away, completely caught up in his memories of the past, the invincible feeling he’d had the day he’d married her. “Not yet, my love.”
“But…” She frowned up at him as he placed his finger against her lips.
“Let me.” He spent the next hour, in the bath and then out on the bed, showing her how much he adored her.
Her eyes were slumberous with passion, with a peace he hadn’t seen in months, when he finally entered her and found his own bit of paradise.
“I love you,” she whispered in the aftermath, her body still clinging to his. Her words warmed his heart as thoroughly as she warmed his body.
“I love you, too,” he said. He looked at her and saw she was smiling. And at that moment, Marcus had all he wanted. “Happy anniversary.” They fell asleep, locked in each other’s arms.
MARCUS STAYED IN BED with Lisa for most of the next twenty-four hours, loving her, laughing with her, debating with her about everything under the sun—except the life awaiting them outside the door of their cabana. They explored each other in ways they never had before, made love in ways that were achingly familiar and ordered whatever outside sustenance they needed from room service. He wanted to draw out their time at the cabana forever. To never let the honeymoon end. Because he was afraid of what came next.