Chapter Eleven

She was nervous, so very nervous. Neal standing before her silent and staring did little to calm the jittering of her stomach.

Candace managed to draw in a shallow breath, hold it a moment and then slowly let it slip through her lips. It had been a risk to come here tonight, to set this scene. She loved him so much. Couldn’t he see that? Would he ever see that?

For the past few long days, and nights, she’d almost given up. Neal hadn’t needed her, hadn’t considered that during this awful period she might need him. Instead he’d stood alone against the town prepared to believe the worse about him. He’d been standing alone most of his life.

“I hope you haven’t eaten,” she said, not giving him the chance to turn her away. “However, since I wasn’t sure what time you would get home, everything’s not quite ready.” She moved to the table, lifted the bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket.

“Why are you here?”

“I didn’t think you would want to go out.” She filled two glasses, watched the foam of bubbles rise and fall, mirroring those in her stomach.

“No one saw me,” she told him, understanding, perhaps more than ever, his caution.

She faced him and offered a glass. And wondered if he would ever realize that he already held her heart.

“I thought we would celebrate in private.”

“Celebrate?”

She winced at his bitterness, frowned when he took a glass and downed the wine in one swallow. He slammed the glass back on the table with such force it surprised her that the fragile stem didn’t snap in half.

“Party’s over.”

She reached out a hand to stop his retreat. Beneath her palm she felt the iron strength of his muscles, the soft texture of hair bleached nearly white by the summer sun. His head whipped around, his beautiful blue eyes flat with pain and weariness.

“Go home, Candace.”

“Anthony took something from both of us, Neal,” she quietly stated. “More than money, he robbed each of us of something far more precious.” If she turned away now, if she allowed Neal to turn away, Anthony would have destroyed yet more. “Don’t let him have this also.”

She didn’t want to think about the past. Though she knew Neal well enough to stop from promising the future, she believed their life could be like this. Oh, not candlelight and champagne every night. But they could have the joy of being together after their separate days, sharing a meal and conversation. The anticipation of sharing more when tucked into bed and holding each other. And, she prayed, eventually the worry and pride of parenting.

Lifting her glass, she followed his lead and drained the contents. Refilled both glasses.

“Sit,” she instructed. “I’ll be right back.”

When she returned from the kitchen carrying a tray with chilled shrimp along with cheese and crackers, he stood in the same place. Biting back a sigh she set the tray on the table.

“It’s not much,” she explained. “Just a little something to nibble on while we wait for dinner to finish cooking.”

Determined to break through his reserve she dipped a shrimp into the cocktail sauce and offered it. As her heart seemed to all but stop while she waited, warmth slowly brought a sparkle back into his eyes.

“You are absolutely the most stubborn, pig-headed woman I’ve ever known.”

“Thank you,” she said when he ate the shrimp. “Now sit. My neck’s beginning to cramp from looking up at you.”

He held her chair for her. As she sat, he trailed a single fingertip across her shoulders before he took the chair to her right. Candace lifted her glass and took a small swallow. She wanted to keep her wits about her.

He began to relax. During appetizers she saw the tension slowly slide from his shoulders, felt the quick thrill of hearing his laughter to some comment she made. He joined her in the kitchen as she completed dinner, watching her every move. He drank more champagne than she’d ever seen him drink, but decided if anyone deserved a night to relax and indulge it was Neal.

“I never realized you were such a good cook,” he complimented as they finished the sesame-pecan-crusted chicken breasts along with wild rice she’d made for dinner. “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re anything at all like I once believed.”

“What would that be?” she asked, cautiously, as she stared at Neal over the rim of the cup of coffee she’d switched to.

“A spoiled, pampered princess.” At her continued stare he shrugged and took another drink of champagne. “I mean, I know Ben always worked to be the best at everything.”

“To fulfill Grandmother’s expectations,” Candace agreed.

“Yeah, I guess.” Silent, Neal stared at the last bit of champagne he emptied into his glass. “It was easier to believe you were only interested in dances and society parties.”

“Neal, that’s not my life. Yes, I’ve gone to those kinds of functions and probably will again. Especially if it’s for a cause I believe in.” She touched a finger to the back of his hand. “But I’m just as happy spending a quiet night at home with people I care about.”

“You belong at those kinds of affairs.”

“No one belongs at those affairs,” she protested.

“It’s the life you grew up with,” he corrected.

“I could argue it’s the life I grew out of.” Panic overrode caution. Love overrode pride. “Neal, are you saying you don’t want to be with me anymore?”

“No,” he answered quickly enough to have her heart thump hard. “I should. It’s what I planned to tell you tonight.” He glanced at the glass, drank. “You have a small fortune hanging on your ears, and I’ve never even asked you to dance.”

“These earrings are the most priceless piece of jewelry I own,” she confirmed. “Not because of the cut or size of the diamonds, but because they belonged to my mother. She wore them on her wedding day.” Her hand turned palm up, inviting his. “And you could ask me to dance now.”

He hesitated. Candace knew if she moved, if she stood first, he would take her into his arms. She would have the luxury and the beauty of him holding her, swaying with him to the soft music she’d selected earlier. Because it felt as if she’d made the first move at nearly every turn of their relationship, it seemed vitally important to her, at this moment, she wait.

After one quick glance at the roses in the middle of the table, Neal stood and, still not saying a word, offered his hand.

He held her with so much care. His breath shuddered out once, then again as she felt the muscles in his stomach tremble. It nearly broke her heart to realize that for all the enjoyment they’d found with the speed and heat of passion it had never occurred to her that Neal might be the one most in need of tenderness.

“Neal.” Candace lifted her hands to frame his face. “I—”

He stepped back, stopping her. “Don’t,” he warned. “Please, don’t.”

She didn’t smile or try to force the words past his reserve. Instead she gave him the most precious gift she could. This was not about heat or sharing or even about proving through action what he would not accept in words. It would be giving, the unselfish act of giving him all the gentleness and love he’d never known. Not even from her had he ever had all she intended to show him.

No one had ever given him as much as she wanted to give him tonight. How could they when no one had ever loved him the way she did? The way she always would.

“Neal.” She rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his. “I want very much to make love to you.”

She kissed him again and then drew away in order to circle the room and extinguish all but two of the candles. Handing one to Neal, she linked their free hands and led him to his bedroom.

As if he were unsure of his next move, certainly unsure of hers, he stood in the center of the room while she readied. She placed the candles on the nightstands and turned back the deep blue and gold plaid comforter. Facing him she slowly undid the top four buttons of her dress.

“What—” His throat convulsed as he swallowed. “What do you have on under that?”

“Silk.” She undid one more button and then moved to him. “The silk I’d hoped to wear our first night.” Her hands slid up his chest, hooked behind his neck, guided his mouth down to hers.

“I’ll show you,” she whispered when their lips were a breath apart, when his eyes were dark and intent on hers. “In due time.”

They stood, there in the center of his bedroom, holding and kissing, slowly, gently. A lover’s dance that required no music or movement beyond that of mouth tangling with mouth.

Anticipation trembled with each kiss, growing longer and wetter and deeper than the one before. Passion, of the soul as much as the body, wrapped around them, binding them in a way she could never have predicted.

Finally she began to strip him.

Her mouth continued to mate with his as she slipped his shirt free of his waistband, as her hands snuck under the material and ran over his back, moved to his stomach. When she finally broke away to pull the shirt over his head, she then touched the tip of her tongue to a flat male nipple. His groan, and the way his hands gripped fistfuls of her hair, encouraged her to gently suckle him.

As her mouth made the slow wet journey back to his, her hands roamed over his ribs, skated along his waist as she led him to the bed. There, with a gentle nudge she sat him down.

“Candace.”

She deflected his grasp, captured his hands in hers, and kissed him until she felt him relent.

“Let me,” she said, dropping down to remove his shoes and socks. With a half smile, she rose again and, with little more than a push of a single fingertip, aided by the lingering effects of too much champagne, had him flat on his back.

He lay there, staring at her, a surprising and arousing vulnerability in his eyes. And still he waited for her.

There was power here, Candace thought. Power that should be cherished and not abused. Power that offered.

She caressed the flat of his stomach, took a slow sliding sweep over his chest. Her fingers massaged and tantalized as they traced and tempted. And all the time he watched her, his eyes dark and reserved. Her hands shook as they finally began to lower his zipper. Without a word of direction, he lifted his hips to help accommodate her stripping him.

When he lay naked and fully aroused she finished undoing the buttons of her dress. A shrug of her shoulders sent it to the floor. Next to her skin she wore a navy blue silk camisole and tap pants.

“Candace.”

“I thought of you when I bought this,” she explained, standing still for his inspection. “I thought of your eyes and how dark a blue I wanted them to go when you slipped inside me for the first time.”

His chest rose and fell in quick bursts as she joined him on the bed. His mouth was more avid as he met hers. Determined to give more than she received, her mouth tempered the rising fever; she softened the mood with a murmur. Her hands soothed as they caressed until one raked lower and closed around him.

She thought she knew his body as well as her own, but she learned there was more. In the luxury of time and gentleness, there were new facets of his strength to explore, new sensations and emotions of her own to uncover.

“Let me touch you.”

“You do, Neal.”

Her lips cruised down his torso, felt his stomach muscles quiver as he sucked in a breath. She reached for his hands, closed hers around them.

“You touch me every time I look into your eyes and see the memory of what we’ve shared. And what we will share again.”

Her hands tightened on his, preventing him from dragging her back up to his mouth. Across the plain of his flat stomach she stared at him.

“Let me touch you, Neal.”

She lowered her mouth to him and took the same liberty with his body she’d granted him on their first time.

His skin was slick with sweat by time she returned to his mouth. His hands were desperate as she finally allowed him to remove her chemise and tap pants.

Now there was the edge of frenzy even as he continued to grant her control. She rolled with it, took it. Gloried in it. Loved him with it.

Rising above him, straddling his hips, she took in all of him. And saw his eyes go shades darker than indigo.

“Touch me now, Neal,” she commanded, taking his hands in hers and placing them on her breasts. “Touch me now,” she repeated as her hips rocked. Luxuriating in the emotions that battered her, she rode the crest of having him surround her, fill her, body and soul. She cried out his name as he emptied himself in her.

Her body draped over Neal’s, both of them dazed and sated, Candace felt more content and happy than she’d ever been in her life.

Then, suddenly, she felt her world tilt as he rolled and pinned her beneath him. With one quick thrust he had her arcing, making that delightful climb once again.

“More,” he demanded. “I want more.”

By time he held her, simply held her, her body ached. And her heart beat with so much promise and so many dreams she wondered if she would ever find sleep. Beneath her hand, she felt the steady rise and fall of Neal’s chest. Around her shoulders she felt the strong embrace of the man she loved.

“I should clean everything,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest.

His arms tightened. “Stay,” he murmured, sleep already slurring his voice. “Stay with me.”

Her heart thrilled with the request, and Candace nestled a little closer. It was exactly what she had hoped he would ask.

****

Neal woke alone.

Lying still, the sheet tucked around his waist and daylight still an hour away, he drew in a deep breath. Apparently good champagne had more going for it than simply taste. No pain ripped through his head, no thickness coated his tongue, no threat of a heaving stomach urged him to head for the bathroom.

No alcoholic haze clouded out the clear memory of the nights’ events.

Yet never before in his life had he felt as ashamed as he did this morning.

He should have sent Candace away last night when he arrived to find her here, should have all but opened the door and shoved her out. Instead he’d used the excuse of her stubbornness as his justification to indulge his selfish need for her.

God, Neal scrubbed both hands over his face, he certainly had indulged his craving for her. Whether fueled by champagne or something that danced close to helplessness, he’d taken everything she offered. And when, in the darkest hour of the night, he’d felt her stir, he’d closed his arms around her and had her staying longer.

Staying meant more than a risk to either of their reputations. Staying meant more than the warmth of her body next to his. Staying meant more than the opportunity to empty his soul in her one more time.

Staying meant a confession that she was the only woman he ever wanted to have beside him through the night. All of his nights.

Only he awoke this morning without her warm and cuddled alongside him. Admitting it was for the best did little to ease the ache of loneliness.

“You’re awake.”

He shifted his head and saw her standing in the doorway. Her hands skimmed the hem of the shirt he’d worn last night. A cotton polo shirt while she’d worn silk. She’d made a full dinner, complete with china and cloth napkins, when he would have settled for canned soup and a sandwich on a paper plate. She’d chilled champagne when he would have chosen water or iced tea.

She’d brought roses, red roses. She’d been two words away from telling him what he had no business hearing from her. Certainly what he had no business telling her.

He had eaten with her, knowing it would be the last chance to enjoy the relaxation of friendship. He had danced with her, knowing it would be his only chance. He had loved her, knowing it would forever rip his soul apart to remember how he’d taken everything she offered.

Now he had to hurt her.

“I just finished cleaning up the kitchen from last night.”

She smiled, blushed a little, and moved her hand from the shirt to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The diamond there winked at him, reminding him of the foolishness of thinking he had anything of worth to give her.

“I made coffee. Of course.” Another smile, this one growing a little more tentative. “I was just going to change and head home.” She cocked her head, obviously growing worried that he remained silent. “How are you feeling?”

“You got me drunk.”

He lashed out the words, totally unfair words. Words designed to hurt. Words that hit their mark, dead center. She staggered a step before that chin of hers tilted up.

“I brought champagne,” she corrected. “I poured the first glass, I’ll even admit to pouring the second. After that you took care of it on your own.” Her chin rose impossibly higher. “But then, you’re good at taking care of yourself, aren’t you, Neal?”

Her confirmation fueled his anger. He hated being at the disadvantage of lying here, looking up at her. Wanting her. He refused to stand before her naked despite the knowledge she knew his body as well as he did.

“You should never have been here in the first place.”

“Then by all means let me get out of here now.” All dignity, she swept up her dress and disappeared into the bathroom.

Swearing, whether it was directed at her or himself Neal refused to acknowledge. He climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of shorts.

He paced the room a few steps, waiting for her but the bed was too close, the memories of everything that had passed between them too fresh. Finally he went into the kitchen. The counters were spotless but for the single cup of coffee she’d drunk. The dishwasher quietly churned through the clean cycle and a few items air-dried on the drain board.

The air was heavy with the perfume of the damned red roses sitting in the middle of his kitchen table.

“Excuse me.”

He turned from the counter where he’d poured his own coffee. She wore navy jogging shorts and a white T-shirt with sneakers. Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail and she carried a small gym bag in one hand. Anyone looking at her would assume she was either on her way to or from an early morning workout session.

Perhaps the champagne had screwed with his thinking after all, for instead of appreciating her efforts to be discreet, they irritated him. She made her way around the table on the opposite side from where he stood and headed toward the back door.

“I can’t give you what you deserve!” he exploded.

She whirled and threw the bag at him, hitting him in the chest. “Don’t tell me what I deserve. Or what I want.”

She bore down on him, coming within inches. Close enough for him to see the red rim of spent and dried tears in her eyes. Close enough for him to reach out and pull her into his embrace. Close enough for him to beg her forgiveness and confess his love.

Neal braced his legs apart and prepared to destroy what he wanted most in his life.

“I deserve more than to be treated the way you hated for your mother to be treated,” she quietly condemned.

“You’re the one who came after me,” he countered, desperate to find fault rather than admit his own feelings. “You’re the one who refused to take no for an answer.”

“Yes, and that also reminded you of your mother.” She stepped back. “Unlike your mother, however, Neal, I never wanted things from you. All I wanted, all I’ve ever wanted, was your respect. Your love.” She swiped away a tear. “How can you stand here this morning acting like this after the things you told me last night? After the things we shared last night?” she demanded.

“We shared a hot meal, some cold champagne, and great sex.”

Neal watched her pale. He’d known he would have to be brutal. He hadn’t expected to hurt in return. He’d hoped to find comfort in the belief he was doing what was best for her. At the moment, however, all he felt was cold and empty.

“Yes, I guess that is all we shared after all. All we’ve ever shared,” she softly agreed. “Still, I want to clear the air. Did I ever ask you for anything, Neal?”

“Listen—”

“Did I?” she demanded. “Did I ask for jewelry or expensive dinners out? Did I?”

“No.”

“Did I ever ask you to go with me to some society gathering? No,” she answered for him. “And if I wanted to go to one of those functions I could just as easily go without you.” She sucked in a breath and that damned chin of hers taunted him. “So, don’t tell me you can’t give me anything. I never asked for anything from you.”

“You wouldn’t take no for an answer,” he lashed out.

“Yes,” she agreed. “But then, I’m sure you figured you were safe, that I would eventually tire of you.”

He considered strangling her for knowing his thoughts. Neal was afraid if he touched her, he’d end up carrying her back to his bed. And he couldn’t be sure this time he would be selfless enough to let her leave.

“After all,” Candace said. “As you pointed out just last night, you’ve always thought I was nothing more than a spoiled brat who wanted everything her way.”

“Candace, you know I think more of you than that.”

“No, Neal, I don’t know that.”

Moving to the table, she lifted a rose out of the vase. Snapped the stem in half and lay it on the table.

“What I do know is I’ve loved you for half my life.”

She mangled the stem of another rose, then another. When one stem refused to break, she tore the pedals off and scattered them over the table. Neal winced along with her when a thorn jabbed her thumb.

“That’s why it shames me to realize I settled for the affair we’ve had.”

“Candace, we—”

“It shames me,” she interrupted and Neal felt as if the cool disregard in her voice had cut him off at the knees. “To admit I would have continued to settle for those small crumbs you decided to cast my way.”

“Small crumbs are all I have to give you.”

“No,” she corrected with a tired sigh, still destroying the roses she’d brought him. Neal had the odd notion she was also shredding her heart of all feeling for him. In all the years he’d known her he’d never seen her emotions so shielded.

“You have so much more to give, Neal. If only you’d allow yourself to admit you want more.”

“I won’t be like her,” he shouted.

“Don’t you mean you won’t allow yourself to dream?” she argued, once again hitting on the heart of the issue. “Tell me, Neal, what kind of example do you think that gives your students and players? You tell them to have faith,” she pressed before he could argue or comment. “You encourage them to go after their dreams. You give them the belief they are capable of attaining whatever they want in life. And yet you won’t admit you want more out of your life than what you have.” Candace angled her chin, and looked at him with a penetrating stare. “I’m not talking about material things. I’m talking about pride, a pride in the man you’ve made of yourself. It’s not the dream, Neal; it’s the way the dream is achieved that says something good and strong about you. I’m talking about love.” She bit down on her trembling lips.

“Candace, I don’t want—”

“You’ve lost all right to tell me what you want,” she quietly interrupted, returning her attention to the three remaining roses. “Do you really think so little of me that you can honestly stand here and believe I care more about diamond earrings or attending social functions than being with someone I respect and admire? Someone who respects and admires me in return? I want, all I’ve ever wanted from you, Neal, was to have you love me half as much as I love you.” She shook her head. “Once again I was willing to settle for less than I was willing to give. I thought I’d learned the futility of that lesson with my marriage.” Finished with the roses, she turned away and moved to the door, but not before he saw the tear slide down her cheek. “I won’t settle anymore. Or ever again.”

She turned the doorknob, paused. She didn’t look back at him. “It won’t be necessary for you to return the key to my house. I’m changing the locks.”

****

For a second time Candace had to hear the news from Ben. After she left Neal, while her heart still grieved for all it had held only to lose, she learned that Anthony had been found beaten to unconsciousness. The doctors didn’t hold out much hope of him surviving.

It was pride perhaps—pure stubborn pride—that directed her to the office of the attorney she knew Neal had spoken to when everything first happened.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes.” Candace frowned at the woman sitting behind the receptionist desk. “I was hoping to speak with Dana Oliver, please.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Candace shook her head, explained a bit more, and was asked to wait. She should have seen it coming, Candace realized. Neal’s initial reluctance to have her at his house, his begrudging acceptance of her stubbornness. The underlying message of his confession about all the times he had watched her. Wanted her.

Believed her to be out of his reach.

The desperate way he’d held her throughout the night. The way he’d viciously tried to cut her out of his heart with the pitiful excuse of not being able to give her what she deserved.

“Candace?” She turned to find Dana coming her way. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she answered when, of course, the answer was yes. Her heart had been broken, her dreams smashed. She drew in a deep breath.

“I heard about Anthony.” Though he had hurt her in numerous ways she would never have wished on Anthony the magnitude of the pain he must now be suffering. “I assume,” she continued, “given the circumstances of recent events, that his attorney would want to speak with Neal.”

“As a matter of fact, Neal is down the hall with Mr. Leonard,” Dana answered, her gaze cutting to the receptionist. There were also two paralegals who suddenly found it necessary to look through the paperwork on the receptionist’s desk. “Would you like to speak with him?”

“No.” Candace glanced over Dana’s shoulder. “No.”

“Why don’t we go over here?” Dana pointed to a cushioned sofa a little bit away from the desk.

“What I have to say can be said here,” Candace argued. “In fact, it might be best to have witnesses.” She did relent enough to place a supporting hand on the oak rail of the receptionist’s desk. “I thought you were the receptionist?”

“I was promoted last month.”

“Congratulations.” She looked around, focused back on Dana. “What was Neal’s alibi for his whereabouts last night?”

“You know I can’t—”

“What was it?”

Dana struggled with a grudging smile. “He always has said you are a stubborn woman.” She brushed at the length of her hair. “I could never quite figure out if that amused or frustrated him.”

“I’m sure it depended on the situation.”

“Yes, I imagine so.” Dana nodded. “Other than that he was at home, alone, Neal had nothing more to say.”

Candace closed her eyes against the fresh stab of pain. “He wasn’t alone.” She opened her eyes, well aware that much of the traffic and conversation around the lobby of the office had either stopped or slowed.

Oh, Neal was going to hate this. Despite all the hurt and disillusionment she faced this morning, she still loved him enough to protect him. Just as, no doubt, he believed he’d been protecting her by saying he’d been alone last night.

“I was with him. All night long.” Candace glanced at the on-lookers now openly listening. “We had dinner, one that I prepared while waiting for him to return home, his home. We made love, several times,” she stated and had to pause to press her trembling lips together. “I was still there when he woke this morning.”

“Candace, there’s no need…”

“I can give you details if you like. I don’t think I noticed the exact time he arrived home, but I can give you a close estimate. I can tell you what we had to eat, what he wore, what we talked about. I can tell you everything we did.” When she again faced Dana, Candace saw professional protocol war with feminine sympathy.

“I was with him, intimately, the entire night,” she repeated. “There’s no way that Neal could have beaten Anthony.”

“I know.”

Dana abandoned all pretense of a professional front and spoke woman to woman. Her arm came around Candace’s shoulders as she finally guided them both away from the front desk.

“I know you love him.”

“I’m not telling you this because of my feelings for Neal.” Candace could have cried over the admission that she still had feelings for him. Would always have feelings for him. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“Candace.” Dana shifted so the two women faced one another. “The truth is that everyone in town assumes Anthony’s beating was a professional one.”

“Professional?”

“The people he owes the money to? They want to shut him up before he can turn state’s evidence.”

Candace’s weak legs gave out, forcing her to sit on the sofa. Dana sat beside her.

“Neal’s going to be furious with me for coming here,” Candace said.

“Yes, he will,” Dana agreed, staring off into space, giving Candace a glimpse of an unexpectedly softhearted woman beneath the starched demeanor. “A man rarely understands the choices a woman makes based on love.”