And I still feel the same. What could possibly be gained by my coming back home? We’d only wind up hurting each other more than we already have.”
Tears stung the back of Hope’s eyes, but she fiercely fought them away. Weakness was the last thing Drake needed to see in her. He had to know that nothing he could say or do would break her determination.
“The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Drake. But—”
Her words halted as he suddenly whirled, his face dark with anger.
“Don’t try to act as though you’ve been thinking of my needs or wants these past few months,” he rasped. “Because we both know what’s been on your mind, and it sure as hell hasn’t been me!”
Quickly, Hope rose to her feet and crossed the room to where he stood. “All right,” she said quietly. “Blame everything on me if you must. I don’t care if you want to paint me the villain. None of that matters right now. I’m not even asking you to come home for my sake.”
Drake was trying his best to digest her words, but it was a hard thing to do when his attention kept slipping to the dove-gray sweater clinging to her breasts, the long black skirt slit up her calf. He knew every inch, every sweet curve beneath her clothing, and he was aching to touch her, taste her, bury himself in the warmth of her body.
“Then why?” he asked hoarsely. “Why do you want me to come home? You think us being back together will improve your chances for adoption?”
If adopting a baby was the only choice she had, she would gladly snatch it. But Hope was still fairly young, and she was healthy. Her deepest desire was to have her husband’s baby, but if not his, then she had to believe there was some man out there who would be glad to give her the family she wanted.
“Whatever you might think of me, Drake, I would never use you—for any reason.”
The trail of his suspicious green eyes was like a red hot torch sliding over her body. She tried to ignore it, but heat was rapidly flushing her cheeks.
“Then why ask me to come back? I don’t—”
“For Stevie,” she interrupted.
Drake’s expression went blank. “Stevie?”
“Yes. Your sister’s son. Denise called a few days ago and asked if I’d be willing to keep him from now until the New Year while she and Phillip are in Europe.”
“Europe!” he burst out. “What the hell are they doing going there? The last time I talked to her, she was ready to divorce Phillip and move to Houston.”
Hope clasped her hands in front of her—mostly to keep from touching him. “Apparently, she’s had a change of heart. They’ve decided to spend some time alone, away from everything, to try to work out their differences.”
Drake shook his head with disgust. “Denise doesn’t know what the hell she wants! And God knows, she should never have had a child. From the time he was born, she’s done nothing but shoulder that little boy off on someone else!”
The last time Hope had seen Stevie, had been a year ago. He’d been five then. A kindergartner with toffee-brown hair, a smattering of freckles and a frail little body. But it had been his eyes that had stayed with Hope. Somber brown eyes without a flicker of joy or laughter to light them.
Denise and Phillip had come to Austin to attend a blues concert and had dropped the boy off at Hope and Drake’s house, expecting, more than asking, them to baby-sit. During his brief stay, Hope had tried her best to make friends with her nephew, but he’d remained a closed book. Since then, the memory of his sad little face still had the power to haunt her.
She nodded in agreement. “That’s one of the reasons I couldn’t refuse. I don’t want Stevie hurt any more than he already has been by his parents’ neglect.”
He glanced at her sharply. “Then why didn’t you insist they take the boy with them? That’s where he needs to be. Not with me. Or you.”
A sigh escaped her as she pushed one hand through her hair. “I know the boy isn’t my responsibility. But it was obvious just by talking to Denise that she’s in no better shape to care for Stevie now than she ever was. And as for Phillip, I never considered him to be father material. But then I don’t suppose Denise ever pressed him to be a dad to Stevie.”
“Why would she?” Drake snorted. “She doesn’t want anything interfering with their social life in Dallas.”
His voice was full of bitterness, and Hope knew he was thinking about his parents. His father had died three years ago from a sudden stroke, and his mother two years before that from a lingering illness, but even with them gone, Drake was still deeply affected by their lack of love and interest in him. Like Stevie, he’d been raised by nannies and placed in one boarding school after another until he was eighteen and on his own at college. He knew all too well what it was like to be neglected and cast aside, and she could only pray he wouldn’t let the same thing happen to his nephew.
“I’m sure Denise and Phillip are both to blame,” Hope said. “But right now I’m more concerned about putting some normalcy back in Stevie’s life while he’s here in Austin.”
Drake frowned. “I don’t see where you need me to do that. The boy has rarely laid eyes on me.”
Hope raised a hand in protest. “He doesn’t know me any better than you. We’re both going to be strangers to him. And he’s going to feel frightened and abandoned. That’s why we need to try to give him a sense of security.”
Drake wearily wiped a hand over his face. “I agree the boy needs security, Hope. But I can’t see us giving it to him. We don’t even have our own house in order!”
“Okay, so we don’t. But we can pretend. That’s all I’m asking, Drake. Just for one month while Stevie is here.”
His brows puckered with confusion. “What are we supposed to pretend? That his parents really do love him? A child knows when he’s loved and when he isn’t. It would be cruel to mislead him.”
She glared at him. “Do you have to be so harsh?”
He sighed. “I’m not being harsh, Hope. I’m being realistic. I can’t help it if you don’t like the truth.”
She didn’t know why his attitude should hurt her. Drake had never been one to sugarcoat anything for any reason. He expected people to face facts, no matter how painful they were. But these past two months without him had been living hell for Hope. Her emotions were raw, and his words were pouring salt deeper into the wound.
Tears were once again scalding the back of her eyes. She blinked and swallowed, then looked away from him before she could manage to speak.
“I don’t want you to—” She stopped, shook her head, then swallowed again. “When I said we could pretend, Drake, I was talking about us. You and me. All I’m asking is that you come home for a month. And make believe you love me.”
Pretend. Make believe. Dear Lord, Drake thought, he didn’t have to do any of that. He loved Hope more than his own life. He always had. She just couldn’t believe it. She thought he was a selfish bastard. And maybe he was, Drake admitted. But that didn’t mean he loved her any less.
When he didn’t say anything, Hope stepped forward and placed her hand on his forearm. It had been too long since she’d touched him, and the feel of her left him trembling inside.
“It’s December, Drake. Christmas is coming. You know how important that is to a child.”
As a young boy, Drake remembered it being a special time for his friends. But not for him. He’d dreaded the holidays. His parents had never failed to fill the house with people he didn’t know. He was relegated to his room upstairs while the parties went on and on. Christmas morning, he and his sister were given a generous hour downstairs to open their gifts, and then the two of them were packed up to their rooms to spend the rest of the day