“WHEN YOU LEFT town, you thought Carlie was pregnant—with Kevin’s baby?” Nadine was clearly astonished. Hauling a huge suitcase out of her new Mercedes, a wedding gift from her husband, she shook her head, then slammed the door shut with her hip.
“That’s what the letters said.”
“No way.” Shaking her head in disgust, she unlocked the front door. “Sometimes, Ben, I don’t understand you. Come in. I think we need to talk. But first things first. Bring in those other bags, will ya?” She tossed him her keys and he found two suitcases in the backseat. “Hayden will park it in the garage later—there’s some stuff he’s got to move around in there—things left over from the wedding.”
Ben grabbed the other two bags, locked the sleek car and walked back into the house. The Christmas tree was still standing in the corner but some of the lights had been stripped from the stairs and all the flowers had begun to wilt.
Nadine sighed loudly as she walked to the den, dropped her large case and kicked off her shoes. “Oooh, that’s better. I’ve been dragging my latest inventory all over the place. Heather Brooks hooked me up with some art dealers who are expanding into jewelry and jackets, you know…‘wearable art.’ Now I’m afraid I’m going to end up with more orders than I can fill.” She led him into the kitchen where she opened the refrigerator door and peered at the contents. “How about some sparkling apple juice?”
“I don’t think so,” he said with more than a trace of sarcasm.
“Might brighten your mood.”
“I doubt it.”
“A cola?” She didn’t bother waiting for an answer, just grabbed two cans and handed him one. As she sat in one of the kitchen chairs and popped the lid, she rested her heel on one of the empty chairs and said, “Now let’s start over. You thought Carlie was pregnant—by Kevin, right?”
Was she deaf? “We already discussed this.”
“But why, Ben?”
“Because of the letters.”
“The letters?” she repeated, then caught on. “Oh, we’re talking about the letters you found in Kevin’s bedroom, right?”
“Yep.” He didn’t like talking about the subject, but knew there was no other way to get to the truth. Ben had been seated in his pickup, waiting for Nadine, brooding about Carlie for over an hour, wondering what was truth and what was fiction.
“Are you serious?” She actually had the gall to laugh.
“This isn’t a joke.”
“Yes, it is!” Rolling her eyes, she took a long swallow of her drink. “You really thought—”
“Yes, I did. Now what’s so damned funny?”
“It’s pathetic really.” Her green eyes turned sober. “I think you read too much between the lines.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, surprised at the hope leaping in his heart.
She massaged her foot as she shook her head. “I read those letters and yes, Kevin was in love with Carlie—that much was obvious. He was really hurt that she was seeing you and he felt betrayed by both of you.”
The old pain knotted Ben’s stomach, but he’d expected as much. Nadine never pulled any punches. You asked her a question, she gave you a straight answer.
She was still talking. “…but the pregnancy he wrote about had to have been Tracy’s.” Nadine reached across the table and touched the back of Ben’s hand. “Don’t you remember? Tracy was pregnant. Not Carlie. And the abortion you read about was just hopeful thinking on Kevin’s part,” she said with a twist of the lips. “He didn’t want the baby. We’re talking about Randy, you know. It took a lot of guts for Tracy to have that baby and raise him on her own. Kevin was dead and the tongues in this town were wagging like crazy. But she did and Randy’s a super kid. In fact,” she said wryly, “with his grades and all, he certainly shows mine up, not that I’d change anything about John and Bobby. My boys are just more…trouble.”
“Like their mother,” Ben said, though he didn’t feel much like joking. Had he been so blind? For all these years. “Those letters were addressed to Carlie.”
“But never mailed. They were just a way for Kevin to let off steam, or maybe someday he would have had the nerve to send them to her, I don’t know, but you turned everything around in your head.” She took a long swallow of her soda and settled back in her chair.
Was that possible? Had he been so much a fool? So quick to judge? Blaming Carlie for something that wasn’t her fault? He lapsed into dark silence and his thoughts were like demons in his head, poking and prodding with painful memories.
“Look, it was a rough time for all of us,” she said, “but if you’ve been hating Carlie because of those letters, you’d better let it go. It’s just not fair.”
“That’s what she said,” he admitted, remembering her fury.
“Oh.” Nadine’s breath whistled through her teeth. “You didn’t go charging over there half-cocked and accuse her of all sorts of vile deeds, did you?” When he didn’t answer she rolled her eyes again. “Oh, Ben, why? I wanted to blame her, too. She was an easy target, but the fact of the matter is, Kevin took his own life. It’s a damned shame. God, I still miss him. But that’s what happened.”
At that moment Hayden and the boys arrived home. The back door banged open and two dogs, muddy feet and all, bounded into the kitchen in a swirl of rain-dampened air.
“Hershel—Leo—out!” Nadine commanded, but the animals paid no heed. They raced through the kitchen and down the hallway leading to the foyer. “That’s what I like about this place, the way I have absolute control,” she muttered under her breath.
John and Bobby barreled in through the back door. They were hurling insults at each other at the top of their lungs.
“Nerd!”
“Baby!”
“At least I didn’t kiss Katie Osgood!” Bobby said, tossing Nadine a superior glance.
“You kissed—”
“Aw, Mom, she kissed me!” John said, his face mottling red.
“So much for peace and quiet,” Nadine said, reaching for Bobby as he tried to race out of the room. She captured him and planted a kiss on his cheek. He giggled loudly. “That’s what you get, mister, for not even saying ‘hi’ to your mom.”
He smiled and nuzzled her cheek. “Hi.”
“And you—” She turned to John but he was backpedaling out of the room.
“I’m too old for that sissy stuff,” he said, disappearing into the hall.
“Yeah, that’s because you got enough kissing for the day,” Bobby crowed.
“Not me. I haven’t had nearly enough sissy stuff!” Hayden leaned over and kissed his wife’s crown. “The older I get the more of the ‘sissy stuff’ I want.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“And you’re irresistible.” He kissed her again, then glanced up at Ben. “Hi—I suppose you came with the blueprints,” he said, obviously hopeful to see how the plans for Nadine’s cabin were progressing.
“Nope, he just brought the blues,” Nadine quipped. “But I think I can twist his arm and convince him to stay for dinner.”
“With your wild bunch? No way.”
“Come on—”
“Not tonight,” Ben said, draining his can and shoving his chair away from the table.
“Got a lot to think about?” she asked, shooting him a knowing look.
“Too much,” he admitted as he walked out the back door and cut through the breezeway to his pickup. He climbed in and fired up the old truck.
Somehow he had to figure out the truth. Had he been so naive, so insensitive that he hadn’t realized that he was making love to a virgin? Had he just assumed that she’d been experienced and then ignored the signs of her own naiveté?
He felt like a fool. He remembered their night of lovemaking in the rain. He still felt a wonder at the thrill of it.
Never had he felt so alive and never, with the women he’d been with since that fateful night, had he ever felt so completely undone. The joining of his body and Carlie’s had been unique and earth-shattering and passionate. Even Kevin’s death hadn’t turned that spectacular memory bitter.
He’d blamed Kevin’s death for his inability to feel the same exhilaration with a woman, but now he knew differently. The reason sex had never been the same was that he’d never again allowed himself to become so emotionally attached to his partner.
Fool! he told himself as he drove home through the misting rain.
He hadn’t even realized that she’d been a virgin. He’d been so caught up in his own pleasure that he hadn’t noticed any sign of her discomfort, or any breakage of tissue or any pain.
“Damn it all.” He felt like a complete idiot. An idiot who had falsely blamed a woman for too many years. “Hell, Powell, who did you think you were?”
Never had he considered Carlie’s feelings. After Kevin’s death, he’d turned her phone calls and letters callously away, never once explaining, refusing to listen to her side of the story. He’d just blamed her for Kevin’s death and condemned her to his family and friends. And when he’d joined the army, he’d run as fast and as far away from her as possible.
The truck bounced along the rutted drive to his little rental house, a house he’d hoped to share with a woman someday.
He wondered if Carlie would ever be that woman and snorted at the thought. She’d be out of her mind to trust him again.
* * *
THOMAS FITZPATRICK’S OFFICE was quietly understated. Located on the third floor of one of the oldest buildings in town, the original Gold Creek Hotel, the offices of Fitzpatrick, Incorporated were plush without being ostentatious.
Carlie was seated in a chair near the window and Thomas was speaking, his even voice well modulated from years of public oration.
“…So I don’t want any studio shots or pictures that are obviously posed. I want to show the men at work, doing their jobs, the American worker at his best.” Thomas Fitzpatrick leaned back in his leather chair, seemingly pleased with his eloquence. His hands were tented under his chin and, from the far side of his desk, he watched Carlie over his fingertips. His gaze was speculative and thoughtful and it bothered Carlie more than it should.
She didn’t know why she felt like a bird with a broken wing under the fixed stare of the neighborhood tomcat. She shook off the feeling. He was a man, a wealthy man, but he had no power over her.
Carlie hoped her smile didn’t look as brittle as it felt. “No mugging for the camera?”
“Absolutely,” Thomas said, a smile curving beneath his clipped mustache. “Now, mind you, I don’t want anything that looks the least bit…dangerous…or uncomfortable for the men. I want to show the logging company as an exciting but safe workplace, where we, at Fitzpatrick, Incorporated are concerned with the environment and working conditions as well as the bottom line.” He raised his eyebrows as if expecting her to comment.
“Is that possible?”
His lips twitched. “I think you can make it possible, Miss Surrett.”
She wanted to tell him that she was a photographer, not a magician, but she decided discretion was the better part of valor in this case. “I’ll give it a shot,” she agreed, feeling like a traitor.
“Good. Now tell me, how is your father?” He had the decency to look genuinely concerned.
“Better. He should be going home in a couple of days.”
Thomas sighed heavily. “When he’s up to it, have him call me. I’ve already talked to the corporate attorneys and accountants about the possibility of his early retirement, but I wanted to speak to Weldon again first.”
“That’s a good idea,” she said stiffly.
“Look, he knows that there are desk jobs available, but—”
“He doesn’t want your charity, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Nor your pity.” Deciding she shouldn’t discuss her father’s health with the man who was stripping away all of Weldon’s dreams, she slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and stood. “I can start working at the logging company offices at the beginning of next week.”
“Perfect. Just check in with Marge, the secretary over there, and she’ll let Brian know what’s going on.”
She started to turn to leave, but his voice stopped her. “There are a couple of other things.”
She tensed, but willed her body to relax as she turned to face him again.
“My daughter, Toni—you know her, I believe.”
“We’ve met.”
Thomas’s face clouded over. “She may be getting married soon—within the next couple of months—and we might need a photographer for the wedding. I wondered if you’d be interested.”
She wanted to tell him no, that she was already regretting working for him, that she didn’t want anything more to do with the Fitzpatricks and their money, but she couldn’t. She was too practical and until her father was home, the hospital and doctor bills paid, and his future a little more certain, Carlie couldn’t afford to turn down any offers. “I’d be very interested,” she said. “Have Toni give me a call.”
“I will. Now the other.” He set his feet on the floor and placed his elbows on the desktop. “It’s more personal. I was hoping you could find time in your busy schedule for dinner. With me.”
Uncertain she’d heard correctly, she hesitated for just a heartbeat. “I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”
His grin was self-deprecating. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Ms. Surrett. This would be strictly business. I am, after all, still married.” A dark shadow passed behind his eyes for just a second, then disappeared.
“As long as we understand each other.”
“Absolutely. How about a week from Friday? Seven?”
Carlie felt uncomfortable. She was used to handling passes from men of all ages; she’d had more than her share of offers when she was modeling, but she couldn’t afford to offend Fitzpatrick. “Let me check my calendar.”
“Fine. I’ll give you a call,” he said, as she made her way out of his office and into his secretary’s, Melanie Patton’s, sanctuary. Melanie hardly glanced up as Carlie breezed by and swept through another set of doors to the reception area where a young girl was talking on the phone. The elevator took her down three floors to the foyer of the elegant old hotel.
Thomas Fitzpatrick had done the town one good turn, she decided. Rather than call in the wrecking ball, he’d spent the money necessary to restore one of the oldest buildings in Gold Creek and returned the gold-brick building to its original charm. Thick Oriental carpets covered glossy floors and, three stories over the lobby, a skylight of stained glass allowed sunlight to pool in muted shades upon the walls and floor.
However there wasn’t enough charm in the building to alleviate her distaste at dealing with the man. He was too smooth, almost oily, and she had the gut feeling that anything he did was with one sole intention: the promotion and profit of Thomas Fitzpatrick.
She had lunch with her mother at the drugstore, visited her father for the remainder of her lunch hour, then spent the rest of the day at the shop. By the time she was finished with a studio sitting with four-year-old triplets, it was nearly seven and she was exhausted.
The last person she wanted to deal with was Ben Powell, but as she pulled into the parking lot, she recognized his truck parked in between the twin spruce trees. “Great,” she muttered, remembering the disaster of the night before. She was tired and cranky and didn’t want to face him.
Hopefully, he was working in another apartment.
No such luck.
When she shoved the door to her unit open she found him, sprawled across her old sofa, his shoes kicked off, his head propped against the overstuffed arm. As if he belonged. As if she’d invited him. As if she wanted him.
“I’d about given up on you,” he drawled.
“What’re you doing here?”
His smile was slow and sexy. “Waiting for you.”
“So you could come back and insult me again?” she asked, all the old anger chasing through her blood. “No way. I’m tired and I don’t think I should have to make a nightly ritual of throwing you out of my apartment. So why don’t you take the hint and I won’t have to get rude?”
“We need to talk.”
“Talk? I don’t think so. We said plenty last night. More than we should have.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He swung his feet to the floor and stood, studying his fingernails for a second. “We’ve got a lot more to say to each other.”
She waited.
“Okay, I’ll go first. I’m sorry, Carlie,” he said, though the words seemed to lodge in his throat for a second.
“You’re sorry?” She couldn’t believe her ears. Ben Powell was apologizing. To her? After all this time? Damn hard to believe.
“For jumping to conclusions.” He glanced up at her and his expression was sober. “I made a lot of mistakes and I have no excuses. I could say that I was just a kid, that I was confused, that I was naive enough to believe lies, but the truth of the matter is I guess I wanted to believe the worst about you. You were an easy target. You made it possible for me to shrug off some of the guilt.”
She felt hot tears threatening the back of her eyes again. “You believe me?” she whispered.
“I didn’t want to. To tell you the truth, I wanted to go on thinking that you were a lying, callous, coldhearted woman.”
“Why?”
“Because it was easier,” he said. “Less complicated.” He walked up to her and touched her shoulder. Quickly she drew away, crossing the room to the window and stared out at the gathering night. “I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours soul-searching, trying to convince myself that you’re trouble, that you’re the last woman in the world for me and that I’d be a fool to come back.” He hesitated a minute, then let out a long sigh. “But I couldn’t. Not until we straightened things out. I think there’s a chance I haven’t been fair to you.”
“A big chance.”
His jaw tightened. “As I said, I came here to apologize.”
She knew she should point him in the direction of the door and shove him hard, but there was a part of her, a very small and determined part, that wanted to hear him out. For years she’d fantasized about him groveling in front of her, begging her forgiveness, but those were just girlhood dreams of vindication. “I don’t want or need your apologies, Ben,” she said slowly. “There’s been too much time…too many years…” She lifted her hands and dropped them again. “Too much pain. I just want to be left alone.”
Shaking his head slowly, never letting his gaze move from the contours of her face, he said, “I don’t believe you.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
His smile was irreverently cocky. “Been called worse.”
“I’ll bet.” She swallowed hard and her pulse thundered in her brain as he approached her, his eyes glimmering with a silver fire. The way he was staring at her turned her blood to warm honey and she had to remind herself that he was dangerous, that spending any more time with him would only cause her more heartache than she would ever be able to bear. Until today he’d believed the most hideous lies about her. “You…you have to leave.”
“Not yet.”
“Please, Ben, do us both a favor.”
“In a minute.”
“You have to leave—” Throat so dry she could barely speak, she whispered, “Please, Ben, if you really want to make things right, just walk out the door and don’t ever come back.”
“If only I could,” he said as his arms suddenly surrounded her and he lowered his head. For an instant he hesitated, as if he, too, were afraid to take the next step. His lips were poised over hers, bare inches from her mouth.
“Don’t do this.”
“I have to.” Her breath caught and she thought she might die as desire and disgust warred deep within her soul. “I’ve wanted to do this from the minute I saw you at the lake before the wedding,” he said as his lips found hers in a kiss that was hard, and hot and filled with years of repression. She told herself to squirm away, to fight, but the gentle pressure of his mouth, the sweet sensual tickle of his tongue against her teeth and lips, the hard contours of his muscles fitting perfectly against hers, kept her silently pressed against him.
She knew this was wrong, that right now she was vulnerable and that she couldn’t let Ben back into her heart or her life. Yet she couldn’t pull away, and the harder he kissed her, his tongue and hands becoming more demanding, the more distant the warning bells sounded.
She was wrapped in the warm, seductive haze of yesterday. The winter wind was no longer lashing at the house and rattling the windows; no, a soft summer breeze, scented with lilacs and honeysuckle played upon the air. And she was a girl again, a girl in love. Her arms wound around his neck and she didn’t stop him when his hands clamped over the lowest part of her rib cage, holding her close, letting her feel the heat of desire burning through his flesh.
When at last he lifted his head, he let out a long rush of air. “It’s always been like this between us,” he said, as he dropped his forehead to rest against hers. “I don’t understand it.”
“Neither do I.” Her senses began to clear and she struggled away from him. “But it’s got to stop.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s wrong, Ben. We both know it. You use me when it’s convenient and when it’s not, you hurl insults at me and accuse me of things I had no part in.”
She took a step backward, but his strong arms surrounded her again, more tightly this time. He yanked her back against him. “Carlie, don’t—”
“You don’t!” she insisted, refusing to be one of those kind of women who went weak around a man regardless of how he treated her. “A few days ago you accused me of… Oh, Lord, this isn’t worth thinking about. Just let go of me!”
Ben refused. Determination and grit clamped his jaw shut. “I came here to sort things out.”
“They’re sorted. We both know we’re wrong for each other.”
“What we know is that we were young and impetuous and couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”
“You thought I slept with your brother,” she reminded him, trying to keep her voice steady. “You thought I got pregnant by him and got rid of the baby. You thought I used him to get to you and you thought he killed himself over me. Oh, God, Ben,” she whispered, blinking against the rush of unwanted tears that filled her eyes. “You blamed me for everything that went wrong in your life.” She had the urge to tell him the truth, to let him know that at one time he, not Kevin, could have become a father, but she couldn’t trust that very private secret to him. Not yet. Probably not ever. “I wasn’t at fault and neither were you. So stop beating yourself up and while you’re at it, do the same for me.”
He didn’t flinch, didn’t move a muscle, but she could see by the hardening of his features that she’d finally gotten through to him. He looked as if he were grappling with an inner struggle, and a tiny muscle ticked above his eye. “I know I’ve made my share of mistakes. Big ones. But I just want a chance to start over with you, Carlie. We can’t pretend that the past didn’t happen, we’d be foolish to believe that it won’t affect the rest of our lives, but I want to try…to find a way that we can become friends.”
“Friends?” she repeated, refusing to cry though her heart was twisting painfully. “Oh, Ben, it’s gone too far for that. We’ll never be friends.”
“Then lovers.”
“Too late,” she said, though the pulse at the base of her throat throbbed with ancient memories.
“Don’t you know it’s never too late, Carlie?” he said, drawing her body even closer and kissing her with lips that were demanding and hard.
She felt something uncoil within her though she fought the feeling. She could never fall for Ben again. Never! When he lifted his head, his eyes were glazed and his breath stirred her hair. “I wish I didn’t feel this way,” he said roughly.
“So do I.”
“You can’t deny it, Carlie.” He kissed her again.
She wanted to stop him, to protect her heart, but all thoughts of protest fled as his fingers twined in the strands of her hair and his body, long and lean, drew her down to the couch. Her arms wound around his neck and her body molded to his, instinctively fitting intimately against the hard planes and angles. No words of love were spoken, no vows of forever passed his lips, but he kissed her with a passion that was answered only by her own hot desire.
He found the zipper on the back of her dress and it slid downward in a quiet hiss. She felt cold air on her back, but soon his hands were caressing her, bringing back the warmth, molding anxiously against her skin.
Still he kissed her, his tongue thrusting boldly through her parted lips, his mouth supple and strong. Emotions, old and new, brought a soft moan from her throat.
His weight carried them both to the floor and she closed her eyes against the protests forming in her mind as they tumbled onto her old Oriental carpet. This is wrong, her brain screamed, wrong and dangerous. Stop him now, while you still can!
But she couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Instead she silenced those awful doubts and thrilled to the wonder of being with him. His hands, rough and callused, rubbed anxiously across her skin and he lowered the top of her dress slowly to reveal a lacy camisole and filmy bra.
“Oh, Carlie,” he murmured as he kissed her cheek and neck, lowering himself leisurely, letting his lips and tongue trail along her collarbones before drifting lower and leaving a dewy path that chilled when the air touched that sensitive film. “You’re so incredibly beautiful.” His breath whispered across the dusky hollow of her breasts as he tasted of the lace that covered her nipples. “I’ve missed you.”
She arched off the rug and he took more of her into his mouth, licking and sucking, gently teasing.
Liquid heat swirled deep inside her and her fingers delved deep into his hair, holding his head in place, offering more of herself.
Don’t do this! Carlie, think! her desperate mind screamed as he lowered the straps of lace that were small protection against his seductive assault.
He doesn’t love you. Doesn’t even like you. You’re setting yourself up for more pain than you can imagine.
Moaning, she felt her bra and camisole slip away, knew she was naked from the waist up and reveled in the feel of his hands and mouth slowly moving over her flesh, stoking the flames of desire already running rampant in her blood. “Ben,” she whispered.
He slid one hand inside her dress, pushing it over her hips while he suckled at her breast.
Writhing with desire, she worked on the buttons of his shirt. Her mind was blurry with emotion, her heart pounding, the ache deep within her crying to be filled.
He’s using you! He’s playing you for a fool! Remember what happened before. Oh, Carlie, think! Before it’s too late!
His hand slid lower, beneath the waistband of her panties.
Remember the baby! For God’s sake, Carlie, remember the baby! “Ben, no!” she said, alarm bells clanging wildly in her mind.
He froze, every muscle strident and taut.
“We…we can’t. I can’t!” Tears welled from nowhere in her eyes as he gazed down at her. “This is…this is too fast,” she said, feeling like a fool as she lay, half-naked beneath him. “Way too fast.” His shirt was open and his chest rose and fell with the effort of his breathing. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on his skin.
Slowly he rolled off her. She watched as he drew in long, mind-clearing breaths. “Too fast?” he said, once his voice worked again. “It’s been eleven years!” With a sigh, he stared at the ceiling. “What do you want from me, Carlie? Hearts and flowers? Champagne and moonlit walks, diamonds and promises—the whole ball of wax?”
“I—” She struggled back into her clothes. “I don’t want to make a mistake.”
“I’ve got news for you, darlin’,” he said, rolling onto his side and staring at her. His mouth curved into a self-deprecating smile. “We’re way past making our first mistake, or our second or third. The way I figure it, we’re in double-digits, maybe triple.”
Carlie couldn’t argue with his logic, cynical though it may be, but she wasn’t a girl any longer. She was a woman determined to control her own destiny. Ben was making it difficult—damned difficult. “Okay, so I don’t want to make any more, or at least I don’t want to make one that will follow me for the rest of my life.”
“Like sleeping with me?”
She swallowed hard against that painful lump. “Yes.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Seems to me we already crossed that bridge,” he pointed out, his hazel eyes sharpening as he stared at her.
“Not in recent history.”
He snorted. “Taking it slow with you is like trying to stop a runaway train.”
She had the urge to scream. It was all she could do to control her tongue. “Look, I’m not blaming you, okay? I’m here. A responsible adult. I’m supposed to know what I’m doing and so…I think we should just be careful.”
He stared at her long and hard, his eyes roving over her body. She was stretched out on the thick Oriental carpet, her body only inches from his and she felt a flood of embarrassment wash up her neck. He touched her cheek and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Okay, Carlie, you win. I didn’t come over here to try and seduce you. I just wanted to apologize and get to know you again—not necessarily in the Biblical sense, although—” his eyes sparkled with a seductive gleam “—that would have been nice.”
“Forget it, Powell,” she said, finally able to laugh as she levered up on one elbow and tossed her hair over her shoulders. “This is probably the same old line you told every girl you met all over the world when you were in the army.”
“I didn’t have time for girls, or women for that matter, while I served.”
She shook her head. “I’ve heard about soldiers and sailors and marines. You’re not going to convince me that you never had a date—”
“Okay, I had a few,” he conceded. “Well, more than a few, but nothing that lasted over a couple of weeks.” She narrowed her eyes skeptically and he lifted a shoulder. “It’s true. I was pretty dedicated and I moved around a lot and whenever a woman got too serious, I stopped seeing her.”
“So you broke a million hearts all over the world.”
“Not quite a million.” He shoved himself upright and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. I’ll buy you dinner while I tell you my life story.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” His fingers closed over hers. “What will it hurt?”
She was afraid to answer that one.
* * *
HE CHOSE A restaurant in Coleville, the Blue Lobster, which specialized in seafood. Rough plank walls adorned with black-and-white photographs of fishing crews and whaling boats were complemented by fishing nets strung over individual booths. Dried starfish and sea horses were cast into the nets and colorful glass floats completed the decor.
A waitress showed them to a private booth near a fireplace. Glassed candles and fresh flowers graced a varnished table constructed from the hatch cover of a small boat.
Ben ordered a plate of seafood appetizers as well as wine for Carlie and a beer for himself.
When the drinks and hors d’oeuvres arrived, he touched the neck of his beer bottle to her glass of Chablis. “To new beginnings,” he toasted.
“Here’s mud in your eye,” she responded, then laughed, remembering so many years ago when she’d laughed with Ben and shared her most intimate secrets with him. She’d told him her dreams, her fears and made love to him without a worry for the future.
“Nice, Carlie,” he said, but laughed. The candlelight flickered, casting golden shadows on his face, and she wondered what it would be like to fall in love with him again. Gone was any trace of the boy she’d once cared for. Seated across from her was a man, one with lines around his eyes, a leg that sometimes pained him and years of military service. A man who had seen action in deserts and jungles and cities of the Third World. While she’d been in New York and Paris, he’d been in the Middle East, Africa and Central America.
Worlds apart.
She sipped her wine, studied the menu and ordered baked halibut with rice. He chose steak and prawns.
“You were telling me about your love life,” she reminded him as the main course was served and the waitress disappeared.
“There was no ‘love’ to it,” he assured her.
“No special girl?”
His head lifted and he stared at her, his hazel eyes sending her a message that caused goose bumps to rise on her arms. “No special woman,” he said.
Carlie’s throat nearly closed on a piece of halibut.
“What about you?” He broke off a piece of garlic bread. “You’re divorced, right? Who was the lucky guy who walked you down the aisle?”
An old ache settled in her heart and the food suddenly lost its taste. She didn’t like discussing her failed marriage and had barely mentioned it to anyone. Her parents knew most of the story, of course, and Rachelle, from various conversations, had pieced together the most telling details, but now, seated across from the only man she’d ever loved, she didn’t know if she could face the pain. “I, um, don’t talk about it much.”
“Why?”
“It’s…history.”
Ben’s lips tightened. “Does it hurt too much?”
“I suppose.”
His brows lifted slowly. “You still love him.”
“Oh, no! I mean…that’s the problem.” No time like the present to be honest. She’d convinced herself that she would be straight with any man she became involved with, that she would tell him everything that had happened in her life. But she hadn’t expected to start a relationship with Ben, the very man who had caused her the greatest heartache of her life. “I didn’t love Paul as much as I should have.”
“Paul was your husband.”
“Yes, Paul Durant. He was a struggling actor and I had just started modeling. Neither one of us had a dime to our names and we started seeing each other. I guess he caught me on the rebound from you,” she admitted, and noticed Ben’s mouth tighten at the corners. “He wasn’t handsome, but very cute. Blond and wiry…” She smiled sadly and pushed around the uneaten portion of her fish into her rice. “Well, before I really had time to think about it, we decided to get married.”
“Why?”
It seemed like a sensible question. “You know the old saying, two can live as cheaply as one? Well, we both needed roommates—Manhattan was so expensive. We, um, liked each other a lot. Even convinced each other that we were in love.”
“But you weren’t?”
She dropped her fork and stared at him. “I’d only been in love once before, Ben, and it hadn’t worked out all that well for me.” His jaw tightened perceptibly, but she plunged on. After all, he’d asked. “I don’t think passion is a driving force for two people planning to spend the rest of their lives together. I just wanted to…not be alone and to spend my time with someone I liked. Someone who cared about me.”
“Sounds perfect,” he said sarcastically.
“It wasn’t.” She finished her wine in one gulp. “I started getting more jobs than he did. While he was still waiting tables in an Italian restaurant two blocks from our apartment, I was getting more work than I could handle and making a lot more money. He went to audition after audition and only landed a few parts—nothing to speak of.”
“So jealousy and money drove you apart?”
She ran the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass. Somehow it seemed a violation, a betrayal of a trust to tell him any more. “That was most of it.”
“And the rest?”
“He fell in love with someone else. My best—and only—friend in New York. You might have heard of her. She’s starting to make a name for herself on-and-off-Broadway. Angela Rivers.” She didn’t add that she’d walked in on Paul and Angela, twisted in the bedsheets, making love with such passion that they hadn’t heard her come into the room. She’d been horrified and embarrassed and had promptly thrown up.
Paul’s biggest fear had been that Carlie might be pregnant and he would be tied to her forever, but fate had saved him that particular embarrassment. He’d told her that the marriage had been a big mistake from the get-go, that he loved Angela and that he wanted a divorce. He filed the next morning and Carlie hadn’t fought him. She’d just wanted out.
Licking her wounds, she’d given up her life in Manhattan, started taking photography classes again and spent a lot of time in different cities, finally spending the last few years in Alaska where she’d taken shots of wildlife and quaint villages and natives. Her photographs had been commissioned by the state as well as bought for a book about America’s rugged northern wilderness.
She’d cut all ties with Paul and knew nothing of his life. That’s the way they’d both wanted it.
“I’m sorry,” Ben said, though his gaze belied his words.
“I’m not. It’s over. Probably never had a chance to really get started. Besides, it was all for the best.”
“How so?”
“I gave up all those silly dreams about the big city,” she said.
“You didn’t like New York?”
“I loved it, but I was younger then, had different ideas about what I wanted out of life.”
The waitress came with dessert and coffee and while Carlie picked at a strawberry mousse, Ben devoured a thick wedge of apple pie. He wondered about her marriage to the actor. She’d obviously glossed over her relationship and Ben sensed she wasn’t being completely honest with him, but he really didn’t care. Everyone was entitled to a few secrets. What bothered him was the sadness in her eyes as she’d talked of the man she’d married, and he couldn’t help but feel a spurt of jealousy run hot through his blood.
At one time in his life he’d hoped to marry Carlie, dreamed of sleeping with her every night and waking with her snuggled safely in his arms. After Kevin had died, he’d convinced himself that Carlie was the wrong kind of woman for him, a schemer, a user, a woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. She was too beautiful, too flighty, too interested in the bright lights of a big city.
He paid the bill and ushered her back to his pickup.
On the way home, he flipped on the radio and told himself that Carlie was still a woman to avoid. True, he’d misjudged her in the past, but although she now seemed to know what she wanted out of life, he suspected that she still flew by the seat of her pants, took chances that were unnecessary and didn’t know the meaning of the words discipline and structure. Her apartment, though charming, was an eclectic blend of antiques, period pieces and modern furniture. She wore anything from high-fashion designer labels to jeans or faded “granny dresses” right out of the seventies. She was confident and secure and fascinating, but she wasn’t the woman for him.
So why did you try to make love to her? his imperious mind demanded and he scowled to himself. Despite all his rational thoughts, all the reasons he should avoid her like the proverbial plague, he was entranced by her.
Shifting down, he glanced in her direction. She was certainly the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, but her looks were only a part of her allure. Sophisticated and sexy, she still smiled easily and her eyes were warm with humor and intelligence.
Boy, have you got it bad!
Swearing under his breath he wheeled into the drive of Mrs. Hunter’s apartment house and let the pickup idle.
“Thanks for dinner,” Carlie said, reaching for the handle of the door. She seemed anxious to escape and he had the overpowering urge to drag her into his arms and make love to her forever.
“I enjoyed it,” he admitted and she offered him a fleeting smile. A darkness shadowed her eyes and he imagined that he’d hurt her more than he could remember. She was as enigmatic and mysteriously beautiful as ever.
“Next time it’s on me,” she said as the door opened.
“Carlie?”
“Hmm?”
He couldn’t stop himself. His arms surrounded her and he drew her close. His lips found hers and though he told himself to go slow, to kiss her gently, the passion that still burned through his blood exploded and his mouth moved urgently against her lips.
She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him with the fever that seemed to have infected them both. As the windows began to steam, her tongue mated and danced with his and the swelling in his jeans ached so badly, he thought he’d go crazy.
Shifting to get closer to her, he pressed against the small of her back, urgently dragging her atop him.
Carlie lifted her head and breathing raggedly, whispered, “Slow down, soldier.”
“You’re going to drive me crazy,” he said in frustration. With a groan he released her.
“That works two ways.”
“Does it?” His hands tangled in her hair and his breath whispered across her face.
“We’ve got time, Ben. We’re not kids anymore.” Again the pained shadow appeared in her eyes. She seemed about to tell him something vital, then forced a smile and kissed him quickly and chastely on the cheek.
“How much time do we have?”
“As long as you want.” She slid out of the truck and left Ben with an ache in his groin that refused to wither.
Half lying across the seat, he watched as she let herself into the building and closed the door tightly in her wake. Within a few minutes the lights of her apartment were switched on and she appeared in one of the windows of the turret.
She threw the sash open and stuck out her head. Ben rolled down his window and watched in fascination as the wind blew her hair, a black and gleaming banner, away from her face. “Go home, Ben,” she said, her laughter light as a summer breeze. She’d tucked her sadness away again.
“What if I refuse?”
“You’ll freeze.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Not likely, lady. Not if I’m anywhere near you!”
He rolled his window back up and put the old truck into gear. All the way home he reminded himself that she wasn’t the kind of woman he wanted, but by the time he opened his back door and his dog, barking and growling, raced out to the yard, he still hadn’t convinced himself.
Like it or not, he wanted Carlie Surrett.