by Mallory Rush
"Who's fooling around? This is serious business and you know it as well as I do."
Because he couldn't stand the abstinence another second, because he couldn't forget how her hair had wrapped around his hands like silken chains, binding him irrevocably to the only woman he could ever love, and just because he wanted to, he stroked his hand over her flushed cheek and into her thick hair.
Her response was immediate—the heady catch of her breath, the smoky turbulence in her gaze, which obliterated the caution he would stop at nothing to destroy.
"Uncle Grant, why are you playing with Aunt Cammie's hair?"
Damn, he thought. Cammie pulled back instantly. He gripped the nape of her neck, refusing the distance and holding her prisoner.
"I'm fixing it for the party, Audrey. Isn't it pretty?"
"Sure is. I want hair just like Aunt Cammie's. Will you fix mine too, Uncle Grant?"
"Okay, under one condition. You skedaddle so I can tell Aunt Cammie a secret."
"Ohh," Audrey moaned. "Do I have to? I wanna fish some more."
"You can. But I'll bet Uncle Brian could give you a few pointers on catching that algae eater we couldn't get off the side. Why don't you go show him your new rod and reel and find out what we should do? When you come back, we'll give it another try."
"Well..."
"I'll bet you a dollar you can't do it."
"A whole dollar?" Audrey promptly reeled in her line and hopped off the stool. "Oh boy! I'd be rich!"
The second she was out the door, Cammie whirled on him. "You bribed her, Grant."
"Damn right. And if the dollar hadn't worked I would have gone for a candy store. Audrey should have held out."
"She knew something wasn't right," Cammie said urgently. "Even as young as she is, she noticed. What does that tell you about how long it would be before other people started to catch on?"
"Let them." In one swift, fluid motion he reversed their places so she was right where he wanted her, with her back to the wall, a bookcase and the aquarium on either side. "If we're lucky we've got ten minutes alone. That's not much time, Cammie. Let's make the most of it."
"What are you thinking, Grant? The entire family's on the other side of the wall. Let me go."
"Not on your life. I've waited all week to get this close. Hell, I've waited forever. You can scream if you want to, but considering you want to be so secretive, I don't advise it."
"Don't you have any principles? Don't you even care?"
"I've got principles. Not that I need them, since you seem to have enough for us both. And yes, I do care. I care too much to ever let you get away." He leaned into her, forcing her to endure what he knew was an excitement she didn't want. "Quit squirming. I'm still so hard from last week I'm hurting, so do us both a favor and be still before I do something rash. All I want right now is to talk."
She went suddenly still. "Then move away. We can talk better if we're not in each others' faces."
"Why? So you can think some more while you keep me at a distance? No way." He cupped her face in both hands when she tried to give him her cheek. "How can you talk about the problem when you're afraid to confront exactly what it is?"
"Okay, Grant," she said, her voice shaking. "We do have a problem. A very big one."
"Yes," he agreed with an ironic chuckle, "Indeed it is a big problem. But it goes a lot further than that. We can work better as a team than we can playing hide-and-seek. Let's quit hiding from reality, Cammie, and seek some solutions to make it work."
"I've thought, Grant, believe me. I don't see how it can work. Not without doing a great deal of damage that could possibly never be repaired. It's very selfish of us to let something as superficial as passion make decisions that can never be taken back."
His anger was swift and deep. Grant struggled to keep his voice even, struggled to keep his hands off her arms so he could shake some sense into her.
"Is that what all your thinking this week netted you? The realization that we were caught up in some temporary kind of hormonal rush?"
"I..." She paled. "I told myself that, yes. We've known each other so long, Grant. It's—it's insane."
"Insane? I've got news for you, lady. This is as real as it gets. Feeling you move against me was real, making you so hot you were melting into my hand was real. Hearing you moan my name while I found out you were so tight you could be—"
She suddenly thrust away from him, her face ashen. Grant pushed her back against the wall, blocking her escape.
"Stop it, Grant. I don't want to hear anymore—"
"Too bad, because you're hearing me out." He anchored her face between his hands, forging mercilessly on. "You're right, all that was passion. It was the most incredible physical desire I've ever felt in my life, though God knows it was just enough to whet my appetite. But to hear you say it was no more than that makes me sick. All my life I've been waiting—"
The door suddenly opened, the roar of voices spilling over the heat of his outrage.
"Grant? What are you and Cammie up to?"
"Hi, Mom," he said, his frustration barely contained. "I was just—"
"Helping me get an eyelash out of my eye." Cammie bolted with spring-action reflexes, rushing past him and refusing to meet his gaze. "Thanks, Grant. Much better. Mom, can I give you a hand in the kitchen? I know you've been working nonstop all morning."
"And loving every minute of it. And no, you may not help me on your day. Besides, I've already got too much help in the kitchen. Wash up, Grant, it's time to eat. I just came to call you both to dinner."
"Thanks, Mom," he muttered as the door shut behind them. "Thanks a whole hell of a lot."
* * *
Cammie wondered if the agony that was passing itself off as dinner was ever going to end. Grant's constant stare was sandwiched between Dorothy's motherly concern about where her appetite was and admonitions that she needed to put on some weight. The only relief she found was in the sympathetic squeeze Trish gave her hand under the table before she commanded everyone's attention with a vivid recounting of a scandal at school.
One grueling ordeal rolled into another. As soon as dessert was served, everyone gathered around to sing "Happy Adoption Day to You," then took turns presenting her with a gift.
"Aunt Mabel, how sweet of you. White Shoulders talc and body lotion. I can't wait to take a bath and put some on."
Without looking up, she could feel Grant's eyes boring into her. She could hear his thoughts— the idea of smoothing it on her mingling with the anger she knew was still simmering close to the surface.
Grant was a man of purpose, and in spite of his independent thinking, his moral fiber was equally strong. She had offended him with her absurd suggestion that the power surging between them was only a physical whim. That was a crock and she knew it, but she'd been grasping at straws.
"I drew it just for you," Audrey said as Cammie opened the girl's gift. "Mommy bought me new colors. I liked the purple for your hair. Don't forget, Uncle Grant, you promised to fix mine like Aunt Cammie's."
Cammie snapped out of her trance, the crayon drawing barely registering as she hugged Audrey, not risking a glance at her parents for their reaction to the innocently spoken words.
It was needless, she realized moments later. Grant ironically proved her salvation.
"I hope you like them," he said as he handed her his gift. His fingers brushed hers, eliciting a thousand tiny thrills.
She fumbled with the small package, her hands shaking with awareness of the tension crackling between them. Awareness of him, of their audience—and of her anticipation of receiving a gift from Grant, one given with overtones that had never been there in the past.
Opening the jeweler's box, she gasped. Everyone leaned near, trying to catch a glimpse of the diamond-and-aquamarine-studded hairpins nestled into sapphire velvet. Personal, yet far more personal than anyone there could guess.
"They're beautiful," she breathed, even the onlookers unable to diminish her awe. "I've looke
d at these every time I've passed the jeweler's window for the last two years."
"I know," he said quietly, with an undercurrent only she would recognize. "You kept me waiting enough times while you window-shopped."
She looked up at him as if in slow motion. The desire to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him sweet and hot was so strong, she yearned for life to have been different, his parents no longer hers.
As she tilted her head up, he smiled the smile of a secret lover. Then he lifted a pin out and worked it into her hair. She strongly suspected his clumsiness was feigned, an excuse to toy with her hair longer than he should, to stroke his fingers against her scalp and create tingling, rippling chills.
When both pins were in, everyone applauded— whether for the spectacular gift or Grant's seeming accomplishment, she wasn't sure.
"Ladies and gentlemen. Friends and relatives," he announced, "I propose a toast to the loveliest lady to grace our TV sets each night." Everyone raised iced-tea glasses or beer mugs. "Here's to our Cammie. She's special. And she's ours."
A cheer went up as glasses clinked and several sniffles were heard when Grant leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.
Appearances dictated a chaste kiss, and outwardly that was what they all saw. But Cammie felt his breath wisp against her ear, the tiny, hidden flick of his tongue; heard the whispered, "But most of all she's mine."
Her head was still spinning, the sweet lushness of the exchange humming through her veins, when Dorothy and Edward handed her their present next.
"A locket!" she exclaimed. "A gold heart. And the diamond and aquamarine match the hairpins. Thank you, Mom and Dad. It's perfect."
"We found out what Grant had in store and decided you needed a set to wear on the news. Open it," Dorothy urged.
Cammie unlatched the catch, and a miniature family portrait glared back at her, quickly stealing the thunder of her joy.
Tears sparked her eyes.
"How silly of me," she said, impatiently brushing them away and swift to disguise the source. "I'm such a sentimental fool."
"You get that honest enough," Edward said with a chuckle while tears brimmed in Dorothy's eyes.
"Here, put it on me," Cammie said. "I'll only take it off when I have to. And I'll treasure it always."
"Turn it around so we can all see it," Uncle Brian said after Dorothy fastened the locket.
Cammie gulped down the bitter taste in her throat and opened the locket, holding it out for all the relatives to witness the perfect, loving family in the portrait.
The family she could splinter.
They took turns going on and on about how lucky they all were when the world was such a mess, and wasn't it wonderful that Edward and Dorothy had such smart, good-looking, outstanding children. Why, they were kids any parents would be proud of.
The parents in question were agreeing heartily, and all Cammie could think was that she wanted to be sick, she wanted to scream, "No! You're wrong! You're all wrong. We're not perfect. I'm weak and I'm human and if you only knew the truth you'd be appalled and half of you wouldn't want to lay eyes on me again for ruining the illusion."
She made herself scan the table, and everyone there blended into a horrible collage, until she accidentally met Grant's steely gaze.
His lips were compressed and his eyes were flat, hard. He shook his head slightly, his resentment blatantly obvious—to her. Everyone else seemed blind to it all.
"Cammie," Trish said brightly, her own expression reflecting some kind of understanding, "your vacation's in a week. What sort of plans have you got lined up?"
Cammie managed a smile of gratitude for Trish breaking Grant's visual line of fire.
"I'm not really sure. I'd like to get away, though. Some peace and quiet is what I have in mind."
"What about Mom and Dad's getaway?" Trish suggested.
"Cammie, sweetheart, you're welcome to the cottage if you want to spend some time there." Dorothy reached across the table to squeeze Cammie's hand. "The lake's peaceful and there's not another soul around for miles. The pantry's stocked, so you wouldn't have to bother with many groceries."
Cammie thought for a moment. Two weeks alone with no work and no phone and no family? It was exactly what she needed to try to get her world back on track. She could think and get her act together, put everything into perspective. It was paramount for her to get a firm grip. She couldn't go on this way and keep her sanity.
"That sounds like a great idea," she said. "Two weeks at the cottage alone would be the perfect vacation."
"Are you sure you want to go all alone?" Dorothy asked. "What if you got hurt? You know Dad saw a big rattler last year, and if he hadn't had his boots on he could have been a goner the way that thing kept striking." Dorothy shivered. "Oh, those things scare me. And remember that drifter that came by when you and Trish went swimming in the lake? Lord knows what might have happened if Grant hadn't been there to run him off."
"I'll be okay." Cammie said urgently, premonition and anticipation and dread rolling up her spine. "Really, Mom. Only two incidents in the fifteen years you've owned the place aren't reason enough to get worried about me. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."
"I know. I know. But still, I won't rest easy here knowing you're so isolated by yourself. Why don't you get Grant to go along?" Before Cammie could put up a fuss, she called down the table, "Grant, Cammie's taking her vacation at the cottage and I don't want her stuck in the middle of nowhere alone for two weeks. You wouldn't mind staying with her, would you? Just to make sure she's safe?"
"No!" Cammie's objection came out too loud and forceful. Dorothy turned a puzzled gaze on her while the nearby chatterers quietened to listen in. "I mean... well, I know Grant has several projects he's working on and it wouldn't be right for him to get behind on my account. I'll be fine, Mom, I promise."
"That's okay, Cammie," Grant said loud enough for everyone to hear. "I can take my work with me. Besides, I wouldn't mind getting away for a couple of weeks myself."
"There, it's all settled," Dorothy pronounced. "You can have your vacation and Grant can take one with you, so I won't have to worry."
"But, Mom–"
"Yes?"
What could she say? Nothing without raising suspicion.
"Umm... thanks. I'll get the key before I leave."
Grant sent a smile of supreme satisfaction her way. She deflected it with a discreet scowl. They were going to have this out, and good, as soon as she got him alone.
* * *
When dusk settled in, Cammie was finally able to extricate herself from the hellacious gathering held in her honor.
"Are you sure you can't stay the night?" Dorothy asked. "Tomorrow we could do a fitting on your new outfit."
"Thanks, Mom. You and Dad went to a great deal of work to have the party, and it means a lot to me. But frankly, I'm really beat. It's been a hectic week, and if I stay I'll be up half the night visiting."
"You're right about not getting any rest here, and you sure look like you could use some. Just be careful on the road."
Cammie performed all the ritual hugs and kisses, anxious to get away.
"I love you both. You've done so much for me, I could never pay you back."
"Why, Cammie," Edward said, "there's nothing to pay back. You've been a gift to us from the day the Lord brought you here. You make us proud, and this family wouldn't be the same without you."
"That's right," Dorothy echoed. She dabbed at her eyes and added, "Sometimes I feel guilty for thinking it, and my heart hurts for you that you lost your family... but Cammie, Lord forgive me for saying it, but I've always been thankful your grandparents had already passed on. If they'd been alive, or if your folks had had brothers or sisters, they would have gotten you instead of us. I know it's a selfish thing to admit, but it's the truth."
Cammie's throat swelled too tight to say anything, so she hugged her parents fiercely before climbing into her car and waving good-bye. She was too d
istressed to realize she was speeding off with uncharacteristic carelessness.
Less than three miles away, the oil light flashed a reminder. "Damn!" she screamed at the car, then pulled to the side of the road and pounded the dash in frustration.
Quelling the urge to slump against the steering wheel and give in to a crying jag, she shoved open the door and proceeded to dig out a few cans of oil from the oversized trunk.
Efficiently, she raised the hood and reached for the oil cap. She immediately snatched her hand from the overheated metal, shaking it back and forth while tears, sparked more by her pummeled emotions than by the minor burn, stung her eyes.
She found an old rag and opened the cap with enough force to twist the transmission out, then poured the oil in.
"You'd better start, you old battle-ax, or you're junk metal next week." She shoved the hood down and cleaned up the mess, unable to care about her white party dress. "I'll sleep in here if I have to, but I'm not going back," she vowed, and twisted the key in the ignition.
The engine growled in protest but kicked in, just as a pair of headlights rounded the corner.
The Porsche raced past, then squealed to an abrupt halt before she could hit the accelerator. Grant backed up in a millisecond, throwing dust and gravel against both cars as he blocked her path. Without bothering to cut the engine, he got out of his car and strode over to her.
Before she knew what was happening, he had flung her door open. "Get out," he ordered.
"I'm not getting out. I'm going home, Grant. Now move your car out of my way. We're going to talk, but it's not going to be here."
"Well, at least we agree about one thing." His fingers bit into her upper arms, and she pushed at him as he hauled her out of the front seat and pressed her against the side of the car. "Talking's not what I want to do here either. What I've got in mind is a little lesson for sneaking off without a word."
"You—you were busy," she stammered lamely.
"Don't insult my intelligence with that crap." His face lowered to hers as he gritted out, "Now shut up and quit running. Your brother wants his good-night kiss."
Chapter 7