Playing For Keeps (The Alpha Brotherhood #3)(40)
Author: Catherine Mann

He cleared his throat. “It’s like counting coup.”

“Counting coup?” She broke off another bite of the scone, her attention to his words so intent it was as if the world hinged on what he would share.

“Mental games, war games—sneak into the enemy camp and leave a sign that you were there. Show your enemy their security is worthless.” His mind filled with memories of how sweet those victories had tasted then as he’d lashed out at the world. “No need to destroy anything. Just let them know you’re able to come and go as you please, that you can dismantle the whole system if you choose. Makes sticking around a lot easier.”

“And your headmaster, this man who now works for Interpol, Colonel Salvatore. He was the enemy?”

“Back then he was, yes. And sneaking one past him was the ultimate victory for a group of teens who were feeling they’d been kicked in the teeth by the world.” Little had they known then it was all a part of Salvatore’s strategy to get them to work together as a unified team.

“What made you change your mind and join him?” Cradling a china teacup in her hands, she eyed him over the rim.

Malcolm set aside his silver fork with a clatter. “Turns out he was better at war games than we were. He found my weakness and he used it.”

“I’m not sure I understand.” She set her cup back on the saucer carefully and reached for her scone. “What did he do?”

His mind filled with memories of that fateful meeting when John Salvatore had approached him with the Interpol offer, when he’d revealed all the power that could be his if he just said yes, the power to keep track of Celia. The power to know…everything. A mixed blessing.

“He showed me pictures of our daughter.”

* * *

Celia’s scone crumbled in her hands, her fingers clenching too hard as shock sliced clean through her at Malcolm’s words. At what he’d known all this time and never said a word about. He’d never offered her the consolation such information could have given her.

Her hands shaking, she dusted the crumbs from her fingers and willed herself not to jump to conclusions, to be logical and hear him out.

“You had access to…things like that?”

He looked down at his uneaten food. “I haven’t seen her in person or made contact. I honored the decision we made to leave that up to her.”

The old ache inside her swelled. So painful. So empty.

She squeezed her eyes closed and blurted out, “I know you blame me for giving her up for adoption.”

So much for the calm, logical approach.

“Celia? Celia,” he insisted, taking her hand until she opened her eyes. “I signed the paperwork. I accept responsibility for my own decisions. I was in no position to be a parent stuck states away in a boarding school for misfits. It would have been selfish of me to put her life on hold waiting for me to get out.”

“Then why haven’t you forgiven me? Why can’t we just be happy?”

“I have regrets. That’s not the same as holding a grudge.” He squeezed her hand in a reassurance that didn’t quite warm the chill spreading inside her. “Do I wish things had turned out differently? Of course. I wanted to be the man who could take care of you both.”

A whisper of suspicion curled through her like steam from the teapot. “Is that what all of this has been about? Coming to my rescue now to make up for what you think you should have done eighteen years ago?”

“In part, yes,” he said, confirming her fear that things could never be simple for them, not after everything that came before. A fresh start for them wasn’t an option. Malcolm leaned forward on his elbows. “What did she look like when she was born?”

“Didn’t your Interpol connection give you photos from the nursery?” she snapped, then paused, holding up a hand. “Sorry for being defensive. She looked…wrinkled with her face scrunched up. She had dark hair and the softest skin. I wanted her.” Her breath caught in her throat, every word slicing her like razor cuts on an ache that had never fully healed.

She shoved back from the table, needing air, space. “I really wanted her, and all my life I’d gotten everything I wanted. But something changed inside me when I looked in her eyes. I knew that as much as I wanted to keep her, I couldn’t give her what she needed on any level.”

She shot to her feet, desperate to escape the painful memories and the accusation she knew she would find in Malcolm’s eyes. “I can’t do this. Not now.”

Tears blurring her view of the two roses on the table, she started toward the French doors.

“Her name is Melody,” he said, his voice raw.

She stopped in her tracks, hardly daring to believe what she’d heard. Bracing her hand on the open door, her back to him, she said, “Her adoptive parents asked me what I’d been calling her. I didn’t expect they would keep the name.”

“They did. The photo I saw of her was taken when she was seven years old—the only photo I saw—but even then, she looked like you.”

She clapped her hands over her ears. “Stop. If she wants to find us, she will. That’s her choice. We agreed.”

“I can make this happen, though.” He shoved to his feet, closed the space between them in two strides and clasped her shoulders. “We’re a couple now. We can get married and reach out to her.”

“I meant it when I said that has to be her decision. I owe her that choice.” She blinked fast, her head whirling as her heart squeezed tight. She didn’t want him to ask for old times’ sake or some need to make up for the past. “And that proposal of yours was every bit as abrupt as when you asked me before when we were teenagers.”

His eyes snapped with frustration. “And you’re shutting me down just as fast.”

“You’re changing my life.” She eased his hands from her shoulders. “You have to accept I’m not a reckless, impulsive teenager anymore. I have a life I’m proud of and have no interest in abandoning. I’m not cut out for this high-octane lifestyle of yours—the concert tour or the Interpol implications. God, Malcolm, think. We can’t jump into this.”

“Admit it. This isn’t about where we live or what we do. It’s about making a commitment to me.” He took a step back, face stony with disillusionment, a replay of the way he’d looked at her so long ago. “You don’t want to try now any more than you did then.”