Chapter Five

A week later, Candace sat at her desk, brooding about the morning Neal had stopped by with breakfast.

Though he’d admitted he wanted to kiss her, he hadn’t done so, nor had he touched her in any way other than an occasional, accidental brush of arms or hands. More than once she had been tempted to take matters into her own hands, in a manner of speaking, but she managed to hold back.

Candace’s lips slowly shifted into a smile as she doodled on a nearby pad of paper. If the tension she felt coming from him was any indication, her restraint was proving to be more seductive than any blatant attempt she could have planned.

She hoped before long she would have the freedom to touch and savor his magnificent body. She believed it was simply a matter of time before she would know the thrill of longer, more intimate kisses than the one she could still recall in minute detail. She dreamed she would soon have the joy of exploring the boundaries of her new bed with the man who held her heart.

It was more than sex. Candace closed her eyes as her smile flattened. As strong as her attraction for Neal, it fell far short of the vibrant need to share her life with him. He was a man she could, and did, trust. A man respected by so many in the town that had always held his mother in disdain, a respect that was for more reasons than simply because he gave the town a winning football team to cheer for. Even if the man himself refused to see it that way.

“If you can spare a moment.”

Candace jerked in her chair and glanced up guiltily to find her grandmother standing in the doorway. The unaccustomed disarray on her desk would not be overlooked nor could it be quickly rectified. Her regular duties and those she’d taken on during Ben’s extended honeymoon, coupled with her involvement with the youth center renovation, made for a mountain of paperwork.

“I have something I need to discuss with you.”

“Of course,” Candace said. Before she stood she slipped back into the heels that had been cast off beneath her desk. The apprehension that had instinctively begun at the sound of her grandmother’s tone of voice climbed a notch higher when Anita closed the door behind her.

“Is there a problem?” Candace asked.

“It appears so,” her grandmother answered, simply. Crossing the room she settled in a chair. It was the careful way she sat that parted the unsteady wall Candace tried to keep around her heart. From the pure strength of her commanding will, it was easy to ignore the fact that Anita Hart was a half year away from entering her eighth decade.

“Is your arthritis hurting you today?” Candace asked.

“A little.” Anita sat erect, her legs pressed at the knees and ankles, angled slightly at a dignified slant. “The house is too quiet and empty. I haven’t been sleeping well.” It was rare for Anita to admit to a weakness, which added to Candace’s concern.

“I know it’s hard for you, Grandmother.” Candace circled around her desk, sat in the chair next to Anita. “But it was past time for me to live on my own.”

“I miss having you around.”

The confession was so extraordinary Candace could only sit in stunned silence.

“I understand,” Anita continued, “that you need your independence. Perhaps it’s something I should have encouraged you to do earlier.”

And that, Candace realized, was the closest her grandmother would ever come to admitting she’d made a mistake in convincing her to marry Anthony. And to stay married long enough for him to inflict the damage he had.

“Maybe you should get a dog to keep you company,” Candace suggested.

“I wanted a dog when I was a child,” Anita admitted, her gaze filling with the shadow of distant memories. “My father reminded me I had other responsibilities of greater importance to the family,” she continued in an obvious repetition of the rationalization she’d been given.

“Grandmother.” Candace put her hand on Anita’s arm and, since the door to the office was closed, leaned over to kiss her cheek. At times like this it was so easy to forget all the difficulties between them and recall that this woman was the only mother figure Candace had known in her life. “I love you.”

“Yes. Well.” Candace smiled as her grandmother shifted in her chair.

“Come to dinner at my home tonight,” Candace invited. “You haven’t seen the house since I picked out some of the furniture.” Wanting to avoid an outright refusal she plunged ahead. “Now, what was it you wanted to discuss?”

“I received a call from Carlton earlier this morning.” Carlton Talmadge, President of the largest bank in the county. Candace’s former father-in-law. “Your personal account is overdrawn.”

Candace blinked. Of all the reasons she could imagine for Carlton’s call prompting this visit by her grandmother the question of her personal finances never entered into the picture. “Excuse me?”

“Your personal—”

“I heard what you said,” she interrupted, anger rising far too quickly to be suppressed. Her only attempt to rein in the explosion came in the stiff way she worded her objection. “And I’m positive Carlton is mistaken in his accusation. What I am interested in is why he felt the need to call and speak to you about this matter rather than clarify the problem with me since, as you said, this involves my personal account.”

“I imagine Carlton felt more comfortable speaking to me since we are old friends.”

“And I’m simply the woman his son married because it unified two old families.” Her hands curled around the arm of her chair. The words that erupted from her now were neither slow nor restrained. “I’m simply the woman his son proceeded to nearly beat to death on the night he discovered he had once again failed to get me pregnant. The same day his latest mistress announced she was pregnant with his bastard.”

Candace shot out of her chair and paced her office. Nearly gave into the blind rage to sweep all the papers off her desk. Simmering resentment blocked any concern for the hand Anita pressed to her chest. Candace’s own heart pounded with the mantra that this was one more time when her grandmother had interfered in her life.

“Carlton had no right, no right at all, to discuss my personal bank account with you.” She spun on her heels, aimed a dark look at her grandmother. “And the error is with his accounting department. I know what I’ve spent and how much, to the penny, remains in my account.”

“You’ve been busy, both with furnishing your home and with work,” Anita pointed out, calm and dignified. Candace felt her temper soar higher. Only a lifetime of training enabled her to bank the violent urge that strained against the chokehold she kept on her emotions.

“It’s understandable you might have forgotten to note a purchase. Candace, I’m positive once you get past the personal issue, you will understand Carlton’s concern. His bank holds the funds for both this paper and the youth center renovation.”

Candace froze and stared at her grandmother. “Are you questioning my competence? Or my integrity?”

“You are a Hart and therefore your integrity and your competence are both without question.”

“Apparently not.”

Anita rose, her stiff stance mirroring that of her granddaughter. “If I suspected you were unable to handle your responsibilities here at the newspaper, I would not hesitate to relieve you of those responsibilities.”

And both women knew it was within Anita’s power and influence to relieve Candace of the chairmanship of the youth center renovation as well.

“I had Carlton transfer enough funds from my account into yours.”

“And I will go to the bank during my lunch hour to correct this error.” More hurt than she dared to face, Candace moved back behind her desk. “Thank you for advising me of the problem. I promise your funds will be reimbursed, as well as any lost interest, to your account as soon as this discrepancy is cleared up.”

“Candace—”

“I’m sorry.” She pressed her lips together to hide the trembling until she felt in control. There seemed to be nothing at this moment to do about the way her heart ached with disappointment in her chest. Still she angled her chin, an old habit she knew her grandmother would recognize.

“As I’m sure you can understand there are items which require my attention before I can handle this matter during lunch.”

Two hours later Candace still felt the sting of her grandmother’s remarks. What she discovered at the bank did little to relieve her agitation.

Three thousand dollars. It boggled her mind to know somehow she’d withdrawn three thousand dollars over a two-week period through a combination of transfers and the automatic teller machine.

She had no recollection of the withdrawals and had no receipts to indicate they had been made. The bank computer records showed otherwise.

She knew they were wrong. Yes, she had overspent her projected budget in furnishing the house but not to the extent the bank’s daily activity report seemed to indicate.

As humiliating as it had been to learn of the discrepancies, it had been worse to see that gloating gleam in Anthony’s gaze when he stepped into his father’s office. Otherwise she would never have left without insisting on a printed accounting report. Standing now in front of the bank Candace couldn’t decide which burned hotter—the noonday sun or her own indignation.

Even the sight of Neal walking her way couldn’t lighten her frame of mind.

“Checking up on your part of the family fortune, Candace?” he asked.

Balling her fist, she thumped him in the middle of his chest. “Neal, sometimes you are such a jerk.”

“You’re not ’posed to hit people or call them names.”

Candace glanced down at the little girl with her hand tucked trustingly inside Neal’s large one. Her serious green eyes were fringed with long lashes the same dark brown as the curls on her head. Not quite four years old, Laura Oliver was a darker, miniature version of her mother, Dana.

“You’re right, Laura. It wasn’t very nice of me.” She flicked a finger down the little girl’s pert nose. “How are you?”

“’Kay.” Those brilliant green eyes glittered with adoration as she looked up at Neal. “Uncle Neal is takin’ me to the library and then we’re goin’ get ice cream.”

Wanting to see the smile that had a tendency to slant the left side of her mouth, Candace winked at Laura.

“You make sure your Uncle Neal buys you a double dip of that new flavor, Summertime Slime, okay? It makes you look like you have a green lizard’s tongue.”

Laura’s giggle did more to improve Candace’s spirits than anything else had.

“Why don’t you come to the ice cream parlor with us?” Neal asked.

The invitation surprised and warmed Candace. Temptation curled its finger and beckoned, but Candace couldn’t afford the luxury of taking another hour. “Thanks, but I have some extra work to catch up on.”

“There’s my mommy,” Laura exclaimed, tugging on Neal’s hand.

“All right,” he agreed, letting go. “Be careful.”

Neal and Candace stood silent as Laura safely reached the end of the block and was scooped into her mother’s arms. Candace felt her heart jerk in response to the sight of mother and daughter hugging. Would she and her mother have enjoyed this ease of affection?

She turned to Neal. “Are you dating Dana Oliver?”

“What?” He jerked, glanced around to see who might have overheard. “No. Don’t be ridiculous, she was a student.”

“A few years ago.”

“I don’t care when it was, she’s still a former student. Why would you ask such a thing?”

“You brought her to Ben and Tara’s wedding. You’re spending time with her daughter.”

“Because I know what it’s like to be raised by a single mother.”

She wanted to tell him she understood, but really how could she? Maybe she’d lost her parents when she’d been still in a high chair, but she’d had her grandmother and brothers.

“I’m sorry.”

“What’s with you today?” Neal asked.

Candace hesitated, but the reality is while she wanted to go beyond their friendship, that very friendship with Neal was something she’d always treasured.

“I was at the bank because Grandmother told me she received a call that I’d overdrawn my account. They’re wrong, but I can’t prove it.”

He glanced at the bank, then back at the way she rubbed fingertips at her temple. “You saw Anthony.”

“Which added to my fun.”

“What did he say?”

“Oh, just another of his usual nasty comments, this time with something along the lines of how it was a wonder I hadn’t bankrupted him during our marriage.”

“A better question is how did he manage to avoid bankrupting you.”

She went still. “What?”

“It’s common knowledge that Anthony will place a bet on anything at any time.”

Candace studied Neal, knew there was no reason for him to lie to her. “How could I have been married to him and never know that?”

“I only know because high school football games are a particular favorite of his.”

“Let me guess, he bets against you.”

“Not me, my team.”

No, Candace thought, it’s you Anthony bets against. Because he knows, no matter how long his family pedigree or extensive his social standing, he could never command the kind of respect Neal has earned. Now if only she could convince him of that.

****

By time Saturday arrived, Neal was glad for the excuse to put on his tux and go to Candace’s house. For the past three days, she’d kept him at a figurative distance.

Oh, she answered his telephone calls, had even spent time with him going over some details for the renovation. But she was distracted. There were pockets of fatigue under her brown eyes, lines of stress around the mouth he had not, for a single second, forgotten the taste of. Not once had she made any teasing suggestion or innuendo about their relationship.

Not once, not even when he resorted to demanding an explanation, had she admitted what bothered her.

“Damn stubborn woman,” Neal muttered as he parked on the far right side of her driveway.

He rang the bell, then rapped an impatient fist on the door. A full minute later he repeated the pattern. That’s when he thought about someone leaving flowers in her house, someone trying to run her off the side of the road. He had his fingers wrapped around the knob when he felt it turn in his hand.

“I’m sorry.” With one hand pressed to the doorframe, she slipped into her remaining heel before sucking in a deep breath. “I’m running late.”

Neal had to find air to breathe as well.

She’d used a more liberal hand applying her makeup, a dramatic wash of color at her eyes and a sweep of blush accenting her cheeks. Her hair had been pulled back into some kind of feminine twist. Red stones that no doubt had to be genuine rubies were imbedded in wide gold hoops at her ears. But it was the dress that drew his eye. And had lust burning in his gut.

She wore white. The dress was a simple long column of white that clung to all the feminine curves he tried so hard to ignore. Something that would be impossible to do tonight.

Not that the gown was brazen or provocative. In fact, the gown was all the more effective for what it didn’t display than for what it did. Neal tried to focus on white being thought of in the same context as purity and untouched virginity. Instead his mind kept picturing sheets on a bed—sheets rumpled by lovers.

The sheets he wanted to share with Candace.

“Is that for me?” she asked.

Mutely Neal offered the red carnation he held. He didn’t know if this particular flower held any special meaning such as Candace had explained about the yellow and red roses, but he’d hoped to make her smile. Something to take her mind off whatever it was bothering her, whatever it was that she wouldn’t share with him.

“It’s lovely, Neal. Thank you.” She leaned forward, as if to kiss him. He jerked back, knowing he was too close to that maddening edge of diving in and taking to chance even a small taste of her.

“It’s just a single flower. A cheap carnation,” he added, shaken by the sense of embarrassment he felt. “It’s nothing special.”

“You brought it to me. That makes it special.” She stepped back, giving him room to enter.

“You’ve been busy,” he commented, studying the great room as a way to sidetrack thoughts of reaching for her.

A long, navy leather sofa crowded with colorful pillows held center court, facing the fireplace. Mahogany tables and pewter lamps added to the casual elegance of the room. A touch of whimsy was found in the teddy bear sitting on the flip down seat of an old-fashioned school desk. No less than a dozen candles had been scattered throughout the room: votives in squat glass holders, assorted pillars and tapers, and even a large three wick candle the color of cranberries in a metal floor stand. Pots of plants filled the remaining space.

“You don’t approve?”

“What makes you ask that?”

Before he could evade, she lifted a hand to rub the pad of her thumb over his forehead. “You’re frowning.”

“I guess I expected…I thought you would have some decorator do all of this.”

“It’s my home,” she answered simply. “I know what I want better than anyone else.”

Because he understood she spoke of more than home furnishings, he wrapped a hand around her wrist and moved her touch away from him.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Now there’s the problem, Neal. I do think about it. I imagine what it will be like.”

He hated that she spoke as if it were inevitable they become lovers. He hated that he was almost ready to admit she could be right.

“You can’t begin to imagine what it would be like.”

Her chin shifted into that stubborn angle he knew so well. “Show me.”

Temptation had never been stronger, nor his will as dangerously weak. Still, he managed to pull himself together, to shove those dreams and longings into the dark shadowed corners of his mind and heart.

“Sorry, no time. We’re going to be late as it is.”

Her lips, painted a glossy ruby red, curved. He wanted to hate her for making him want to use his own lips to erase that smile.

“And we can’t have that, can we? What would everyone think? I’ll just get my purse.”

When she came back from her bedroom, she held a small jeweled evening bag. And the carnation he’d brought had been secured in the twist of her hair.

“You look really nice in a tux, Neal. How come I’ve never seen you in one before?”

“I won’t embarrass you tonight.”

Irritation and temper fired her eyes. “I’ve never thought you could,” she said.

He felt a flicker of shame—for the way he’d lashed out at her for his own protection. He knew she would never treat anyone in such a way.

“I’m sorry,” he said, simply.

She stared at him a moment longer, then her smile bloomed slowly. “Shall we go?”

“Uhm.” She stopped and turned around to look at him. “Would you mind if we went in your car?”

She lifted a brow. “Is there something wrong with your truck?”

“It’s just…” He blew out a breath as his gaze, involuntarily, took another long survey of her. “You would have to hike that dress nearly up to your knees in order to climb into my truck. I’d rather you didn’t.”

She opened her bag and offered him the keys.

****

Two weeks after he’d escorted Candace to the Cultural Arts fund-raiser Neal ignored the stream of sweat flowing down his back as he continued to push his limits. In addition to providing an example to his players, the weight lifting helped keep his mind from repicturing Candace in the dress she’d worn that night. He’d sweated plenty that night—both during the entire evening and later in dreams that had been so realistic that when he woke he expected to find her lying beside him.

Instead he now listened to assorted grunts and groans of exertion accompanied by the clank of metal weights and bars being lifted and returned to place.

The high school weight room at an early hour on a summer morning left little room for chatty conversation, although there were short spurts of instruction or encouragement given from some of the assistant coaches.

Some kids wore T-shirts to help absorb sweat while others removed theirs in the hope of seeing muscle develop and bulge. Neal wore a shirt, or what remained of one where the sleeves and collar had been ripped off.

He hadn’t seen Candace other than during the public atmosphere of the meetings for the renovation for the past week. A week in which he should have spent his time considering his future instead of being haunted by dreams of her.

During a conversation with Bradley Reynolds, headmaster of the Academy, the prestigious private school in the area, Neal had been shocked to silence by the offer to be the new head football coach. What stunned Neal more, however, was the realization that he wanted to accept the job.

Naturally the salary was tops, far more than what he earned in the public school system. He would be expected to teach an advanced placement class. That meant bright, serious students who welcomed a challenge. Then the headmaster dangled the tantalizing prospect of Neal moving into the athletic director’s position a few short years down the road. Neal would then be responsible for all facets of all the sports programs at the school.

He curled the weight in his hand toward his bulging biceps and stared at the reflection of the training room in the mirror. The facilities at the Academy were almost on par with what he’d had at his disposal in college. There would be no more pleading and begging for a small fraction of the money needed to provide the winning record the school system expected him to produce each year. There would be no more jockeying around to find kids whose family could afford to have a potential wage-earner wasting time playing a game.

Neal glanced around the room and again worried why Corey had not showed up this morning.

He hoped it wasn’t simply arrogance that had him questioning if any other coach would care as much about these kids and this team as he did.

His arm relaxed, suspending the weight in his hand as he faced the one attraction of the job he had the most difficulty admitting. He wanted to be associated with the privilege and social standards the families who attended the Academy were noted for. He wanted to narrow the difference between the way he’d been raised and what he’d been able to accomplish.

Part of that wanting was a yearning for someone to build a life with; someone willing to accept him, his faults as much as his strengths; someone he could share life with rather than always feel as if he were on the outside looking in. Someone like…no, not just any someone, he admitted. Candace.

He blew out a breath, stripped off his shirt, and moved to a padded bench where he added another twenty pounds of weight. He fit his feet under the bars to begin doing leg lifts.

It always seemed to come back to Candace. No matter where he turned, no matter where his thoughts led, no matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise, he always circled back to her.

“Oops, excuse me.”

Neal swung around and discovered Candace coming to an abrupt stop just inside the doorway. She looked cool and composed, neatly dressed in a tailored gray pinstriped suit and matching gray pumps. Beneath the double-breasted jacket she wore a silver chain but no blouse, hinting at a soft femininity any man would want to strip and discover. Her hair was pulled back low on her neck. Silver hoops hung from her ears.

Like a wave running through the room, muscle that had been pumping and straining now grew still; grunts and groans gave way to whispered compliments and appreciative whistles. Candace’s cheeks took on a faint shade of pink.

“So…” she said, her smile curving wider as her gaze searched the room. “This is where all the muscle gets pumped and the testosterone is put to the test.” Her gaze shifted back to lock with his after she’d taken an unabashed, thorough survey of his body. “Pretty impressive.”

Frustrated and annoyed, Neal freed his feet from the holding bar. “Give me a mile,” he shouted to the room. “Then hit the showers and call it a day.” He waited until everyone put the equipment back into position and were making their way to the door when he called out again. “Six a.m. tomorrow.” At the expected groans, he draped a towel around his neck. “I’ll be here at five thirty.”

Candace stepped further into the room, freeing the doorway for all the exiting boys. She spoke to several, calling them by name, asking and answering questions with a smile. Though the coaches didn’t join in on the running, they did all move outside.

“Sorry,” she said when only Neal remained behind. “I expected you to be here alone.”

“Football camp is a couple of weeks away.”

“Hmm.” She tilted her head and studied him. Then, almost reluctantly, she sighed.

He was shirtless. Candace advanced further into the room heavy with hot, thick air. Little pinpoints of sweat broke out on her skin, matted her jacket to her back and her pants to the back of her legs. But it was Neal who had her heart pumping wildly in her chest.

It was more than the pure physical perfection of his body, more than the intense sensual thoughts his body induced in her. It was the responsibility he felt—to his own physical well-being as much as the interest and commitment he gave his players.

She knew men who spent an obsessive amount of time honing their muscles—because they liked the attention and their own reflection in the mirror. She knew men who prided themselves on improving their minds—and reminding others of their degrees. She knew men who gave time and money to others—usually to get their name in the paper or on the side of a building.

Neal Barrows possessed a great wealth of love, that which he offered to his students and yet more that he held deep inside. He was a man who needed that same degree of interest, commitment, and love given back to him.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she approached him. “But I have to know.”

She reached out a hand, stroked a slow hand over the bulging muscles in his chest, over to his biceps and then, bolder now, across the flat expanse of his stomach. The muscle that was toned by exercise and discipline quivered at her light touch, the skin that was taut and damp felt soft and accepting to her exploring fingers. He never said a word; not once did he try, by either words or action, to stop her.

“You let me touch you here.” Keeping her eyes on his she tossed her head to indicate their surroundings. “I think you’re even almost ready to admit that you’ll let me touch you here.” Her hand moved down his chest, skimmed a fingertip across the waistband of his shorts, then moved quickly away when he sucked in a breath between clenched teeth and closed his eyes.

“What about here, Neal?” She spread her palm wide over his heart. Beneath her hand, she felt the pace and strength of a heart that raced to keep ahead of desire. “Will you let me touch you here?”

His eyelids opened slowly. She saw the darkness of a fierce physical desire, the question of how much longer he could resist her invitations. As she waited for him to speak, she saw a darker undercurrent she couldn’t identify.

He reached for her hand, pulled it away from his chest. For a split second, he held her wrist—then he dropped her arm to her side.

“Darlin’,” he said, southern redneck obvious and forced in his tone. “I’m sweaty and feeling just a little short of patience at the moment. So if you’re willing to touch me here and now and satisfy this itch you seem determine to scratch, I won’t stop you.” He leaned forward, held her still with only the intensity in his eyes. “Let me warn you, though, when I touch you the way I’ve been thinking of doing, it won’t be anything like the civilized way you spent the nights with that banker husband of yours.” He swallowed, raked her with one long look. “After all, I grew up watching my mother be used by one man after another. I guess you could say it’s a classic case of learning by example.”

“You’re not like that, Neal.”

“How do you know for sure?” He inched closer, and it took all of her resolve to stand pat. “How do you know I’m not going to use you in every way possible for a man to use a woman? Then simply toss you aside when I’m through? How do you know I’m not willing to let myself be used by you for however long you decide you want? Only to be tossed aside when you’re tired of me? It’s the only way I’ve ever known.”

Hurt and temper were wound so tightly together that it became impossible to know where one ended and the other began. She hated the tears that gathered in her eyes, swore against them. And against the man who caused them.

“Damn you, Neal, I’m not like your mother.”

She spun on her heels and walked away.