THE NEXT EVENING, Lisa told herself she was doing the right thing. So far during Matt's visit to Connecticut, her judgment had been too clouded by her emotions. She'd tried arguing with him, she'd tried berating him, she'd even tried dismissing him. Now it was time to explain to Matt in a purely logical, rational manner why he shouldn't be interfering in her life. And, in order to accomplish this logical, rational discussion, Lisa had invited him to dinner at her own small house.
For the past few years, Lisa had rented a place a short distance from Brennan House. Although she and Dena took turns staying overnight with the teenagers, they'd both agreed that a certain amount of distance from work was necessary. That was why neither one of them lived full-time at Brennan House. Yet, now, as Lisa hurriedly pushed the vacuum through her living room, she realized what little effort she had put into decorating this place. She shared her mother's love of antiques, but whenever she found a special bureau or tea table or dower chest, she always envisioned how it would spruce up one of the girls' rooms. She never got around to sprucing up her own home. What would Matt think when he saw how plain and unadorned it was?
She told herself firmly that she shouldn't care what Matt thought. She had only invited him here this evening for a discussion…a neutral discussion.
Right. And you also wanted to see him.
Lisa tried to ignore that niggling little voice in her head. And, when her doorbell rang at precisely seven-thirty, she'd managed to convince herself that all she really did want was a rational interchange with Matt.
She opened the door to him, and rationality almost went out the window. It was always like this when she saw Matt, she always felt as if she were losing a part of herself just by looking into his smoke-blue eyes.
“Come in,” she said stiffly.
He entered her house, his masculine presence seeming to pervade the place, making the surroundings feel suddenly unfamiliar to Lisa.
“I don't have much to offer you by way of a drink,” she said almost defensively. “Wine, mostly.”
“Any wine, thanks.”
She poured each of them a glass of her best, and then gestured for him to sit on her boxy, uninspiring sofa. She sat across from him in an equally uninspiring armchair. But Matt didn't seem concerned about the furnishings. He just sipped his wine and gazed at her. Maybe he'd been talkative yesterday, but now he'd gone back to his usual reserve. That only made the situation more difficult for Lisa.
“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” she said. “Don't get your hopes up too high, though. It's just an ordinary casserole. I used to be something of a cook, but lately I don't seem to have much time for it.”
Matt nodded gravely. “See much of Patrick?” he asked after a moment.
Lisa shifted position. “Patrick…” This wasn't a subject she wanted to get into. With Patrick, she'd had a safe, dependable man who truly seemed to care for her…and then Matt had come into her life again. “Patrick and I, we've talked,” she said. She wouldn't tell Matt just how strained those conversations had been. “Anyway,” she went on quickly, “how's the restoration coming on that old plane?”
Matt seemed somewhat impatient with her query. “I'm in the middle of rebuilding the carburetor. But something tells me you didn't ask me here to talk about that.”
Lisa sighed. “No, I didn't.” In spite of all her efforts to be nothing but logical tonight, her emotions threatened to spill over. “Matt…I never even knew that you went to law school, that you became a lawyer. I heard about it for the first time only yesterday. We've shared so little about our lives.” She paused, searching for the best way to go on. “I know someone who dreams of becoming a lawyer,” she said, thinking of the very young and very pregnant Julie Douglas. “But it never seemed your ambition, Matt, when you were eighteen. Not that you ever talked about your ambitions…”
“By the time I hit twenty-one,” Matt said, “law school sounded like a good idea. Like I told you, it seemed a way to be different from my father. But afterward…” His voice tightened in that way she had come to recognize. “After the crash, I had to spend a lot of time in rehab. It took a lot of time, and a lot of effort. I guess I stuck with it because it gave me a goal, something to focus on. The hard part came when the clinic told me I was finally on my own. I tried to go back to corporate law, but I guess you could say my heart wasn't in it.”
“So now you're managing the brassworks…”
“And intruding in your life. Isn't that what you wanted to tell me, Lisa?”
Somehow she'd envisioned this conversation going a little more smoothly. “Matt, I want you to know that I do appreciate your…efforts. But surely you can understand why I can't possibly accept—”
“You need help, I want to help. It's as simple as that.”
“Hardly,” she said. “First of all, you've gone overboard. Buying that house—”
“I would have asked your opinion first, but you would have said no.”
“Of course I would have said no! You're the last person who should be helping me out;—”
“No. I'm the first person who should be helping you. After what I did to you—”
“Dammit, I don't want to be your charity case. Or your way of erasing guilt.” Lisa took a deep breath, told herself to calm down.
He regarded her intently. “Another house would allow you to help even more teenagers. The real reason you're refusing is because you don't want to feel beholden to me. You'd far rather tell me to go to hell, just the way you did that day in Hurricane Beach.”
Lisa set down her wineglass. She stood and headed toward the kitchen. “We ought to have dinner,” she said. “This conversation isn't doing us any good.”
He rose, too, and blocked her path. “Lisa, you're angry at me. You have a right to be. But that doesn't change the fact that I want to help.”
“I don't need your damn money.”
“Yes, you do. You're too stubborn to take it from anybody else.”
She gazed into his eyes, losing herself all over again. “Matt, why did you have to come here? To Connecticut?”
“It wasn't just to make you miserable by throwing my money around and buying houses. I wanted to see you, too.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“I think you know.” A huskiness had come into his voice, and his eyes darkened. He stood close to her, then lifted his hand to touch her cheek. She trembled deep inside, wondering what would save her now. She knew she could not save herself. She felt as if she were moving in a dream. Now she was in his arms, her lips next to his. She gave a low moan of desire, of regret…of yearning.
“No,” she murmured, as if this time she really could save herself. Matt continued to hold her, but she could feel his stillness, his waiting. She knew that the next move was up to her. And she knew that she could no longer deceive herself. Maybe she wanted to convince Matt to stay out of her life, but she couldn't keep him out of her heart. And that was why she had asked him here tonight, so that she could be near him, just like this. In his arms, welcoming his touch, his kiss. She was no longer a shy, awkward sixteen-year-old girl. She was a woman who knew her own longings, and at last was willing to risk herself for them.
“Yes,” she said at last, her voice shaking with the need inside her. She was the one who led the way to her bedroom. Every one of her actions felt deliberate now. She stood before Matt, undoing her dress one button at a time, slipping off her sandals, gazing at him all the while almost with defiance.
“Lisa…” His voice had deepened. She allowed her dress to fall from her, and now she stood before him in her camisole and slip. He seemed to know that she did not want his help, that she would do this on her own…reveal herself to him without shame, without prevarication. The moment for turning back had passed.
Slowly, with trembling fingers, she pulled off her camisole. She felt the relentless beat of her pulse. The late-evening light spilled into the room, ripening toward night. Matt came to her then, touching her, both hands gentle upon her.
“You're more beautiful than ever,” he said with that huskiness in his voice. “Far more beautiful.”
She reached up to unbutton his shirt, fumbling in her haste. This time she did allow his help. He pulled the shirt from the waistband of his jeans, even as he bent his head to kiss her. Yet she would be the provocateur. She ran her tongue across his lips, rewarded by his groan of response. They sank together onto the bed, the sheets tangled beneath them.
It seemed to Lisa that she had been yearning all of fifteen years for this, carrying the longing deep and unfulfilled inside her. How much longer could she wait, now that he held her, now that he was next to her?
“Matt—”
He seemed to understand her urgency. His breath came unevenly, as if he too held himself back only with an effort. Together they managed to free him. of his jeans, his underwear. And that left only her slip, her briefs, to be slid from her hips and down her legs. They hid nothing from each other now. Lisa saw the scars on Matt's body, the remnants of that terrible crash. But she also saw the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his muscles, the unashamed maleness of him.
Matt's gaze lingered upon her. “Beautiful,” Matt murmured again, raising himself over her, kissing her skin. When he lifted his head, she saw that his eyes had darkened to midnight blue. He cupped her face with his hands, kissing her lips now. She arched toward him, heated with her need, burning for his touch. Yet some small part of her remained cool and distant and aloof, and that part guided her next actions. Turning underneath Matt, reaching awkwardly toward the nightstand, she pulled open the drawer, fumbling inside until she found a condom packet. Turning again, she handed it to Matt.
He sat up and tore the packet open. He was still breathing unevenly, but he spoke. “Always prepared, Lisa?”
“Always.” She heard the unexpected hardness in her own voice. “Always,” she repeated.
A few seconds later he lowered himself beside her again, his fingers brushing across her cheek. “Lisa, what's wrong?”
“Nothing. Just hold me—please.” She clung to Matt almost fiercely, almost angrily, willing desire to blot out everything else between them. And the need built again, taking her with it, lifting her to a place where only sensation mattered. Matt caressed her, each touch more intimate, more arousing until she cried out.
“Matt, please—” She opened herself to him, and neither one of them could hold back any longer. She felt him fill her, slowly and then more urgently. They moved together, Matt's powerful body covering hers. She clutched his shoulders, and even as waves of a pleasure almost too intense swept through her, she felt the jagged edge of a scar beneath her fingers. And perhaps it was touching the scar that sent tears trickling out from beneath her eyelids.
Afterward, they lay together, skin slick with sweat, the mellowing evening light cascading upon them. Matt blotted one of her tears with a fingertip.
“I seem to have a habit of doing this…making you cry.”
“In my line of work, crying is an occupational hazard. You spend enough time around weepy teenagers, and unfortunately it rubs off.” She tried for her usual flippancy, but it seemed to have deserted her. And so she simply lay in Matt's arms. She was here with him. Did anything else really matter?
“We never seem to eat when we're together,” he murmured.
“Oh, no, that casserole in the oven is probably charcoal by now.” Yet she made no move to get out of bed. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Matt, brought him even closer to her. They kissed for a long, satisfying moment. And then, somehow, the words slipped out.
“Matt…oh, Matt. I love—” Lisa froze. She'd stopped herself, but not before it was too late. The meaning of her words couldn't be any more clear. For just a moment, she hoped desperately that she hadn't make a mistake, after all, that they had been the right words to say. She prayed, with every fiber of her being, that Matt would smile and say the words back to her: It just so happens I love you, too.
Instead, he drew away from her, his eyes troubled. “Lisa—”
She scooted to the edge of the bed, pulling the sheet up over her breasts. “Just forget it,” she said. “Maybe that casserole is still edible. We should find out—”
“I'm sorry, Lisa. Sorry that I can't give you more.” His voice was very quiet. Lisa felt as if she had reached desperately for some dazzling prize, managed to grasp hold of it…only to open her fingers, and find it gone.
And never, in all her life, had she felt such an emptiness inside.
MATT PULLED UP to the house on Highland Drive, the house he'd so recently purchased. He sat in his car, gazing at the place. He could picture Lisa here, doing the work that seemed so important to her. Helping young, pregnant girls. Just as she herself had once been young and pregnant.
He'd come to Danfield so he could start making amends. It had almost given him a sense of purpose. If it had been up to him, he would have bought a dozen houses for Lisa's work. According to her partner, the need was there. Far too many girls found themselves lonely and afraid, with nowhere else to turn.
He wished he could have been there for Lisa all those years ago, when she'd been afraid, and carrying his child. Even more, he wished that he could give her what she seemed to need from him now. But some deep, essential part of himself had died in that crash five years ago, right along with his family. He didn't know how to resurrect it, didn't think it ever could be done. He couldn't lie to Lisa about that.
He'd been wrong to make love to her last night. He'd taken what he had no right to take. And he knew he would regret that for a long time to come. He also knew it wouldn't stop him from wanting Lisa, wanting what he shouldn't have.
He stared at the house another long moment. Then he started the engine again, drove away from Highland Drive and headed out of town.
DENA WOULD GIVE Lisa no rest. She marched into Lisa's office, plunked herself down on the edge of the desk and started talking in exclamations.
“I don't understand what's gotten into you! We can't just let all the money sit there! What do you have against Matt Connell?”
Lisa regarded her partner impatiently. The bank account of Brennan House was now very healthy indeed. The last thing she could imagine, however, was using even a dime of Matt's money.
“Can't we talk about this some other time?” she asked. Dena ignored her.
“And what about that house on Highland? We can't just let it sit there, empty!”
Matt had left Danfield three days ago, returning to Hurricane Beach. A dozen times Lisa had lifted the receiver from the phone, on the verge of calling him. But what would she say? Berate him for not loving her? Accuse him of showering her with money but not affection?
“Lisa,” Dena began.
“Please, just leave it alone. Please, Dena.”
And, miraculously, Dena didn't say another word. But that didn't stop the terrible emptiness inside Lisa, an emptiness that now threatened to overwhelm her.
MATT HEFTED the aircraft battery out of his trunk and made his way into the barn. He was definitely making progress with this old bush plane. These days, he spent more and more of his time in the barn, working on the plane…and trying not to think about Lisa. Trying not to think about the way he'd failed her yet again. So far, it seemed he wasn't too good at the business of making amends. No matter how he looked at it, his trip to Danfield last week had been a bust.
Just then, a man appeared in the doorway. Matt recognized the guy right off—Palmer Boyce, the developer who'd been making a nuisance of himself all around town. He'd been pointed out to Matt a few times by people who disliked the idea of any development in Hurricane Beach. And Boyce had been having dinner with Lisa's mother that night at Beltramo's. It seemed Palmer Boyce really got around, but this was stretching things a little, seeking out Matt in the barn.
“Mr. Connell, you're a difficult man to track down. Someone at the brassworks finally told me I could find you here.” Boyce stepped into the barn gingerly, as if afraid he'd get dirt on his obviously expensive three-piece suit. Matt had to wonder what type of person wore a three-piece suit in the middle of a Florida summer. He surveyed the guy without enthusiasm.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Boyce?”
“Ah, so you know who I am.” Boyce glanced around the barn. “Interesting project you have here. What type of plane—”
“I've never been too good at small talk,” Matt interrupted.
Boyce didn't seem to mind. “Very well, let's get right to it. As a representative of Silver Sands Development, I have been negotiating with your cousin Joanne, and she has agreed to sell us a sizable parcel of land adjacent to the brassworks— prime riverfront property for which we are offering a very generous price. I'd like to wrap up the deal, Mr. Connell. I'd like to wrap it up right now.”
JOANNE SAT AT THE BAR, tossing back a boilermaker. It didn't appear to be her first.
“Isn't there any place I can get away from you, Matt? Do you have to follow me even here?”
Matt sat down next to her, reflecting that the Barnacle overdid it as far as local color—driftwood scattered around, fishnetting hanging on the walls with a catch of seashells. He wondered just how much time Joanne had been spending down here lately, soaking up the local color…soaking up a whole lot else, from the look of it. She signaled the bartender for another.
“This isn't the solution, Jo,” Matt said.
“Since when do you know so much about solutions? You're the problem, or have you forgotten, Matt?” She glanced at him briefly. Even in the dim light of the bar, he could see the accusation in her eyes. Always it came back to that—Joanne accusing him for what they'd both lost. In a peculiar way, Matt welcomed that. After the crash, everyone else had reassured Matt that he'd done the best he could. But not Joanne. She wasn't one for reassuring. Instead, she seemed to zero in on all of Matt's harsh doubts. Carrying Joanne's sister, Paige, from the crash site had been a judgment call. It might have been better to leave her while going for help, maybe then she would have survived. Who cared if the doctors said otherwise? They weren't infallible.
“I remember,” he said harshly. “I don't want to remember, but I do.”
“So it gets to you now and then,” Joanne murmured. “Imagine that. I thought maybe you just blanked it out. But you still see them, don't you? My little sister…my mother…” Her voice cracked.
He did try to blank it out. His aunt and his cousin dying in that crash. He tried not to think about his own parents and little sister, too. But Joanne was the only one who understood the truth: there had to have been something Matt could have done. He should have stopped it from happening. He hadn't—yet he'd been the one to survive.
“You didn't just follow me here to reminisce,” Joanne said. “What do you want, Matt? Tell me, and then leave me alone.”
With an effort, he recalled Joanne's latest attempt to destroy Connell Brassworks. “I'd like to know why you thought you could sell off our holdings to Palmer Boyce.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah, right. What made me think I could pull that off? I suppose you were bound to find out sooner or later. No chance now that we'll make a nice profit off Silver Sands. Too bad, they might even have bought the entire brassworks if I'd pressed for it.” She wasn't drunk yet, but close to it.
“I set Boyce straight,” Matt said tersely. “He's not getting his hands on anything. But what are you up to, Jo? Don't you give a damn about the brassworks anymore? For Bea's sake, at least, we have to keep it in one piece.”
“The dutiful grandson,” she said mockingly. “Quite a turnabout. You hated the brassworks when we were kids. But me…you know something, Matt? The first time Grandpa took me there, I was only seven years old, but I still remember exactly what it was like. Exactly how I felt.” Her voice softened. “The rows and rows of molds…Grandpa wearing his big gloves and eye mask and pouring the brass—I thought he'd turned into some wonderful magician. Even back then, I knew I wanted to work with him someday. I wanted to be a magician myself.” Another bitter laugh. “But I never got along with Bea the way I did with Grandpa. She doesn't care for my management style, and neither do you.”
“Jo,” Matt said after a pause, “if the brassworks means something to you, why are you doings everything you can to destroy it?”
She signaled the bartender for another. “I guess it's just a talent I share with you, Matt. Destroying things…destroying our family. Each of us goes about it in a different way, that's all. Now—just get out of here, and go to hell, Matt.”
It seemed that everyone wanted to tell him that lately. Joanne…Lisa, too. But they didn't realize one thing. He'd already been in hell—ever since the plane crash.