They all joined in. The only one who couldn't find his voice was Evan.
Because he couldn't stop thinking about their kiss.
It hadn't been a kiss he'd give a sister. Instead, it had been like his first taste of water after years in a desert, and he hadn't been able to get enough, hadn't even come close to satisfying his thirst.
Before he realized what was happening, the photographer placed Paige next to him, probably because they were the lone man and woman in the group.
The silk of her dress brushed his hand--and just like that, he was back outside in the snow with her, the silk of her hair against his fingers as he kissed her, as he devoured her mouth.
He was desperate to feel and taste her all over again.
But he couldn't trust his judgment or his emotions anymore. He just plain couldn't trust, so he knew he had to stay away from Paige until he had himself totally under control again. Especially given that Whitney had left his bed cold since her last fake miscarriage as the distance between them grew into a deep chasm.
Last night's kiss with Paige had stirred up not only emotional longings, but physical ones too. Yes, he desperately needed to blow off some sexual steam with someone, but he knew damn well that the worst woman he could do that with was Paige. She was kind, giving, caring. And he wouldn't just end up hurting her badly.
He'd lose her friendship forever.
Yet he still couldn't stop reliving their wild, insane, sexy, mind-altering kiss.
The photographer took dozens of pictures, then rearranged them all again for more shots from different angles. "You two here," he said, pointing in front of the arbor.
Before he, or Paige, could explain that they weren't a couple, they were moved into position by the assistant, and more pictures were snapped.
Lyssa stepped between them as soon as the photographer finished and linked elbows with them. "What do you say the three of us get some champagne and start ringing in the New Year?"
Evan looked at his watch. "It's only four o'clock."
Lyssa rolled her eyes at him. "It's never too early to celebrate a new marriage and a new year."
He should be grateful for the way Lyssa had just separated him from Paige. Had it not been for her interruption, who knew what he might have said? Or done.
Because the kiss he and Paige shared had not only scrambled his brain, it had made it nearly impossible to remember who he was. Who Paige was.
But no matter how much he wanted to kiss her again, forgetting wasn't something he could allow himself to do. Not ever again. For both their sakes.
Especially hers.
Chapter Seven
Evan left Chicago right after ringing in the New Year with his family. He justified his early departure with the fact that he'd been gone from the San Francisco headquarters of The Collins Group, for over a month. He'd been in contact with his hundreds of traders, financial analysts, planners, and market analysts while he was gone, but there was still plenty for him to personally catch up on.
But it was more than work that had him flying out early on January first. All evening at Will and Harper's wedding reception, it had taken every ounce of willpower he'd had not to grab Paige's hand and pull her away from the crowds to a quiet, secluded spot where he could devour her mouth again.
Somewhere he could devour all of her this time.
She had been far too gorgeous in her dress, the silky fabric caressing each and every one of her curves. When she laughed, he'd not only picked out the sound above everything else, he'd felt her laughter deep inside.
Had it not been for the family and friends who'd somehow managed to keep the two of them on opposite sides of the room the whole night, he might have slipped. He'd wanted to hold Paige close, bury his face in her hair and drink in the scents that had driven him nuts the night before. He'd wanted to bust past everything he knew to be wrong...and take the hot night of pleasure that Paige's kiss had promised.
But she was the opposite of her sister. She wasn't hard or conniving. Paige was sweet and guileless. She was giving and selfless. She cared for others above herself, thought of everyone's well-being before her own. She gave too much of herself already, and he simply could not take anything more from her. The best way he could look out for her now was by not dragging her into his mess of a life.
Because he would never forgive himself if he hurt her.
Which meant it had to stop. All of it--especially the erotic dreams of her at night. They needed to get back to the place they'd been, where they used to laugh and talk without tension, just like when they'd been friends in college and everything had seemed so much easier.
In San Francisco, Evan's driver met him at the airport. "It's good to have you back, sir," said Mortimer, holding open the door of the roomy town car.
"It's good to be back."
Mortimer had been with Evan for five years, and though Evan insisted there was no need for sir, Mortimer preferred the formality, along with a black suit, chauffeur's cap, and shiny black boots.
For once, traffic was light, and the drive down the Peninsula to his home in Atherton seemed to flash by as he buried himself in more of the work he'd been doing on his plane.
Mrs. Mortimer opened the front door as soon as they arrived. The Mortimers had come as a package deal--housekeeper/cook and driver/property manager--and lived in a cottage on Evan's property, with a tidy little garden. Mrs. Mortimer was as tiny as Mortimer was tall, with white hair as thick as her husband was bald.
"It's wonderful to see you, Mr. Collins. I hope you had a good trip."
"It was good, Mrs. M, and I'm happy to be home."
"In your absence, Mrs. Collins has been here several times. She--" Mrs. M pursed her lips, breathing out with a long sigh. "--took things."
He'd expected as much. "Don't worry about it, Mrs. M. I'll take care of it."
She frowned, but nodded without pressing any further. "Shall I make you a spot of lunch?"
"I ate on the plane. Just some coffee in the office, please."
Her footsteps had barely faded down the hallway to the kitchen when Evan noticed the first missing item, a large porcelain jar, Ming dynasty, that had stood on a pedestal in the corner of the entry hall. Directly across, the living room wall was empty where the Salvador Dali had hung. He'd liked that painting, his choice rather than hers. Whitney had allowed it in the house only because it was worth a fortune. He would have to take inventory. Whitney should know he had every valuable documented. At the same time, however, he found he was numb to the loss of his possessions. The lawyers could hash it out.
Honestly, the more he looked around his home, the less he cared for any of it. It was way too large for him. This was Whitney's showpiece, a twelve-bedroom monstrosity with Italian marble in the large foyer, a curving staircase like something out of Gone With the Wind, and a tub in the master suite that rivaled the Roman baths. The house included a formal dining room and living room, an actual ballroom, a somewhat cozier family room, a library, and the gym. There was a large home office, plus an enormous kitchen and informal dining room used for private meals. The outdoor pool, Jacuzzi, and tennis courts were just beyond the formal garden, which included every flowering bush imaginable and exquisite roses his gardener tended daily. Of course, Whitney had spared no expense in furnishings and artwork, which she now seemed to think she was entitled to take. At least he could be reasonably assured she wouldn't make a grab for the first editions in his collection, since she'd never entered the library.
Evan had always spent the bulk of his free time in the library. He'd enjoyed many evenings in that quiet, comfortable room discussing books with Paige over an excellent bottle of wine. He'd enjoyed those nights far more, in fact, than the galas Whitney had insisted they attend--and throw.
Now that Whitney was gone, he didn't need twelve bedrooms or elaborate grounds. What he needed was a change. A new start. He should sell the damn thing and buy a flat in San Francisco where he wouldn't have to commute to his headq
uarters.
But if he did that, he'd be too far away from Paige, who lived just a few miles away in Menlo Park. There would be no late-night discussions about books, no shared bottle of wine, no more spontaneous weekend visits.
And no more kisses.
Damn it, he needed to stop thinking like this. Needed to stop wanting like this.
When the doorbell rang, his immediate thought was that he'd conjured Paige, wishing it were true, even as wrong and crazy as that was.
A beat later, a worse thought hit. One far more likely since Paige was probably still back in Chicago. It had to be Whitney, here to whisk away another priceless piece of art--and fan the flames of anger and betrayal.
Never seeing his soon-to-be ex-wife again would be too soon. They could hash out the divorce through their lawyers. But he didn't want Mrs. M to answer the door and end up in the middle of something ugly between him and Whitney. That wouldn't be fair to the woman who had gone out of her way to take care of Evan all these years.
He steeled himself against the fury of seeing Whitney again, but when he opened the door, he instead found a young man and woman on his front porch.
Their hair was a matching shade of light brown--though the woman's was streaked with blond. They looked to be somewhere in their mid-twenties, and judging by the similarities of their features, they were obviously related.
"Hi," the man said. "We're looking for Evan Collins. And I'm pretty sure you're him."
A slight movement behind them made Evan realize they weren't alone. An older woman stood in the background.
Despite the years and the lines on her skin, despite the gray in her brown hair, he knew that face, even though he hadn't seen it in twenty-five years.
His mother was back.
Chapter Eight
The silence was so deep it had no bottom.
Evan's mother looked at him with the same expression she'd worn whenever his father had started to rage. Eyes narrowed with fear, brow furrowed, worry etched into the lines at her mouth. With a clench of his gut, he was right back in their dilapidated Chicago apartment, trying to dodge his father's fists.
"You're Evan Collins, right?" the stranger repeated, while the young woman stepped back to flank his mother, hovering by her protectively. Only, Evan's mother hung back as if ready to bolt. "Aren't you?" he said again in a surprisingly tough voice. Or maybe it was desperation that made him think he had the right to get up in Evan's face like this.
"Yes," he finally replied, "I'm Evan Collins."
That was all it took for his mother to break down, tears all but spurting from her eyes like a broken water line. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so proud of you." She put her hand to her mouth and kept repeating the words. "I'm so sorry. I'm so proud of you. I'm so sorry." Over and over again.
The young woman, slightly taller than his mother, drew her close. "It's okay, Mom. Everything's gonna be okay."
"She's your mom?" The question escaped before Evan could stop it. This young woman was his half sister? "What the hell?"
The guy put the flat of his hand to his chest. "I'm Tony." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "That's my sister, Kelsey. We only recently learned that you're our brother."
Shock wasn't the right word for what Evan was feeling. It was more like a bowling ball had just slammed into his head at top speed, leaving his brain cells scattered like bowling pins at the end of the alley after a strike.
Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe, from the moment Whitney had told him she'd lied about being pregnant, putting him through the grief of those faked miscarriages, never even wanting his kid in the first place--maybe it had all just been a nightmare. Sure, why not add in his long-lost mother walking back into his life, the woman who'd abandoned him to a child-beater? Returning with two grown kids, no less, who were his brother and sister.
Twenty-five years. That's how long she'd waited to come find him.
He hadn't been able to hold back his surprise, but he'd be damned if he'd let her see he was still hurting over her desertion. He'd gotten over it a long time ago.
"What are you doing here?"
His question was deliberately cool. Calm, despite the fact that his mother continued to bury her face against Kelsey's shoulder while the younger woman stroked her hair, murmuring to her. Evan had let his emotions get the best of him one too many times during the past month. He wouldn't make that mistake again, no matter the provocation.
"We didn't want to freak you out, but we worried that if we called your headquarters, we'd never get through to you. And if we did, you probably wouldn't believe we were actually related to you."
Hell, he could hardly believe it now, even though he could see with his own eyes that this was his mother--and knew he shared more than one physical feature with Tony and Kelsey.
"We aren't here for your money, if that's what you're thinking."
His thoughts hadn't had a chance to get that far, not when seeing his mother again after all these years had jumbled his brain so badly.
Evan raised an eyebrow, taking Tony's measure. They were the same height, with the same hair color and hazel eyes. Tony had a strong chin, a sturdy stance, and an intelligent gaze he didn't drop. He looked to be about a decade younger than Evan.
It hit him then--his mother had left when he was nine. One day she was there, the next she was gone. His father had told Evan she obviously didn't want to take care of him, or the husband she "owed everything" to, anymore.
That had been a brutal night for Evan. One that had played out in his nightmares for years. He hadn't been able to avoid his father's fists that night. And finally, alone in his bed, his body aching, Evan had given in to tears for the mother who hadn't loved him enough to take him with her.
"How old are you?" he asked almost roughly.
"Twenty-five," Tony answered.
He glanced at Kelsey and she answered his unspoken question. "We're twins."
Maybe he should ask their birthday, work out the exact date. But he didn't need to ask for any more confirmation. Not when he already knew by looking at them that these two weren't his half siblings. They were full-blood siblings.
It wasn't difficult for Evan to put two and two together. His mother must have found out she was pregnant and decided to get the hell out. Obviously, taking a nine-year-old on the run would have been too hard.
So she'd left him in hell.
Tony lifted his chin and looked Evan straight in the eye. "Can we come in?"
Jesus, how had his life come to this, screwed up beyond all comprehension? His wife had lied to him for years. He'd kissed his sister-in-law breathless. And now good old Mom was back, accompanied by two siblings who wanted God only knew what.
He could kick them off his property and file a restraining order against them to ensure they never got within a hundred feet again. But Susan always said it was better to face the devil you knew. And his foster mother--the woman who'd saved him from the brutal pit his birth mother had left him in--was always right.
"You might as well come in."
*
Mrs. M made coffee and brought out pastries and coffee cake to go with it, as if this were a social call. They sat in the formal living room furnished with expensive chairs and sofas that Evan had always found uncomfortable.
Tony's sister--Evan's sister too--sat on the sofa next to their mother. Kelsey had produced tissues from her bag and given them to their mother, who was now dabbing her nose and eyes, sniffling. Tony sat in the chair on her other side, as if he and Kelsey were sentinels protecting her.
Evan poured coffee for everyone. Really, at this point, why the hell not? He pushed the sugar and cream their way across the glass tabletop. When his mother said, "Thank you," her voice was soft.
He remembered that voice. Remembered her singing to him when he had trouble falling asleep at night. And he remembered her crying too. Remembered the sounds of breaking glass and slamming doors, the smell of mold in the hallways of their tenement. He remembered the b
itter cold in the winters, his gloves, coat, and shoes too worn and too small to keep it out.
Kelsey fixed two cups with milk and sugar. Tony took his black, just like Evan. Despite the crazy situation, he couldn't help but be impressed by the twins so far. They were dressed as impeccably as any of the Mavericks and they were straight-forward and polite. They both obviously cared a great deal for their mother. And why wouldn't they, when she'd chosen their welfare over Evan's?
"So what's your story?" he asked Tony, planning to get as much information as possible out of them in the shortest amount of time. That way he'd have the ammo he needed to protect himself going forward. Evan had let people get the best of him one too many times. That stopped now.
"It was Mom's birthday a couple of weeks ago."
December fifteenth. He hadn't forgotten the date.
"We were watching TV, one of those houses-of-the-rich-and-famous shows. It was your home. Nice place, by the way."
Evan had completely forgotten about that interview. It was something Whitney had set up back in October. Before everything went to hell.
Although that wasn't true, was it? Because their marriage had gone bad long before she admitted her lies. Long before she'd lied about the pregnancies, if he was perfectly honest.
The shine had worn off almost right from the start, in fact, if it had ever truly been there at all.
"We saw the resemblance between you and Tony," Kelsey put in. "It was unbelievable."
His mother--no, Susan was his mother now. This woman didn't deserve the title anymore. Theresa sipped her coffee, looking at him over the rim, then held the cup between her hands as if she needed warmth.
Once upon a time, he'd been desperate for warmth. And she hadn't been there to give it to him. He was supposed to be getting answers from his long-lost siblings, but his fury couldn't be contained another minute longer.
"Did she tell you why she left me behind?" Bubbling, boiling rage rose up in him. "Did she tell you about the hell she left me in?" He had to put his coffee down before he broke the delicate china.
"She hasn't really talked about any of that," Tony admitted as Theresa broke down in renewed sobs. "We thought it would be better if we were all here. Then we could work it out together."