"Take my advice." Roseanne wanted to deflect his focused gaze. "Don't waste your time."
"Oh, I've only got eight and a half more days. It couldn't be any great loss of time." Win straightened, taking his foot off the bench. "'Sides, I've already come to some conclusions."
"Have you, now?"
"Yes, ma'am. Shall we continue with the tour?"
There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Clearly Win intended to keep the result of his analysis a secret. Or maybe he was hoping Roseanne would beg him to tell her.
In a blue moon.
"Yes, by all means, let's see the rest of the displays." She smiled blithely, as though she'd already forgotten the subject of their conversation.
But she hadn't forgotten. Dammit, she did wonder what Winthrop Carruthers thought of her, beyond the fact that she was pushy, aggressive, and willful. Personally, she didn't know of anything more.
~~~
They spent the rest of the afternoon at the Space Center, took in a movie that evening, and then went out for a casual dinner. To Roseanne, Win seemed like a boy let out of school for the holidays. When she asked, he couldn't recall how long it had been since he'd taken a vacation.
"Win, you really ought to be more conscientious about taking time off of work," she scolded.
They were waiting for their dinner in a family-style steak house. Roseanne interrupted her scold to order an eight-ounce T-bone. Win opted for fish.
"You're ordering fish?" Roseanne queried once the waitress had left. "In the middle of Texas?"
"The channel comes up from the gulf all the way to Houston," Win defended himself, then made a face. "'Sides, it's doctor's orders."
"There now. That's just what I mean. Leisure time is as important as diet for a healthy heart and blood pressure."
He shot her a strange look. "I suppose you're right. It's just—"
Roseanne unfolded her napkin. "It's just—what?"
Win lifted a shoulder and picked up the salt shaker. "Never mind. Not your problem."
Roseanne paused in the act of spreading the napkin across her lap. He was right. It wasn't her problem. Just because she was playing his fiancée didn't mean she should nose her way into everything. "Sorry." She shook her head. "Didn't mean to pry."
"Heck." Scowling, Win set the shalt shaker back in its place. "You can't pry if it's no secret. All I mean is what's the point of a vacation if...I'd be going by myself?"
Roseanne stared at him. The admission laid him wide open. Oh, she knew Win supposedly hadn't dated in the last four years. But there was something different about the fact when he sat there and confessed it out loud to her. Her first instinct was to respect that confession, to be careful not to hurt him.
"Vacations are for relaxing," she said after a moment's thought. "You can relax by yourself, can't you?"
Win's gaze grew searching. "Do you? Take vacations alone?"
"Sure. All the time." Every time, in fact. For Roseanne to plan as much as a week in a man's company spoke of far too much commitment.
"But," Win pointed out, "you don't stay alone, do you?"
"I— Well, no," Roseanne admitted, flustered by the shrewdness of his observation. "I usually meet some people along the way."
"People," Win repeated, testing the word out. "You mean men."
"Really Win, you could at least use the singular. Man. Not even I can handle more than one at a time."
His smile was brief. "And then what happens? When the vacation is over? Do you still see the guy?"
Uh, well, no. Not usually." Never, was more like it. But there was something in Win's tone, subtly critical, that kept her from admitting as much. "Really, these holiday companions—well, it's all very casual. Light, you know. No big, heavy emotions involved, just simple companionship."
"Just friends?" Win suggested, raising an eyebrow.
Roseanne emitted a delicate cough, enough to tell him it was none of his damn business. The truth was she had rarely—only twice—allowed a man close enough to share physical intimacy. And those two occasions had been long ago, before she'd gotten wise to the dangers such intimacy posed: dangers of emotional involvement, of sharing too much, of needing more than was safe. Or the biggest danger of all: falling in love.
"I think," she enunciated clearly, "we've about exhausted this subject."
"Hell." Win grinned. "Just when it was gettin' interesting, too."
Roseanne raised a brow. "I suppose you'd appreciate my asking about your love life?"
Win grunted. "Wonder what's holding up our meal?" He turned in his seat to glance toward the kitchen.
Point, Roseanne decided, well taken. She didn't expect any more problems from his quarter for the rest of the evening and she was right.
Almost.
The air was still warm that evening when Win pulled his Cadillac into the garage by the side of his house. Roseanne, busy gathering together her purse, sweater, and scattered purchases of the day, didn't notice that Win had come around to her side of the car to open the door for her.
She looked up, surprised. Did men still open car doors for women? So far, she'd been too quick out of the vehicle to have given Win a chance at the old-fashioned practice.
But now he reached forth a hand to help her from the car.
She looked at his hand, a little alarmed. Such a gesture was so...dismayingly likable. Reluctantly then, she put her hand in his.
Gently, he pulled her from the car.
She came to a standing position in front of him. One of her hands clutched her things, the other was still held in his.
"Before we go inside I want to tell you how much I enjoyed today." His voice was low, quiet, painfully sincere. "It's been a long while since I've had such a good time."
"I told you, Win, you need a vacation." She wished he wouldn't talk like that. She wished the expression on his face didn't mean what she was afraid it meant.
"Maybe I do," he agreed with her.
She had a moment of relief when his gaze strayed from her face. Perhaps he wasn't going to do this, after all. Then she saw his lips twitch and his free hand rose to brush something from her hair.
The gesture was completely chaste—and oh, so sweet. Something very strange happened inside her. Something that felt a lot like...falling.
"Maybe a vacation's not what I need." His eyes fell to rest on hers again. In the dim light they were more intense than usual. "Maybe I just need..."
His voice trailed off and Roseanne simply stood there, stupidly staring into those mesmerizing eyes. Down at the bottom of wherever she'd fallen, she wasn't thinking, not at all, or she would have moved to avoid him as he bent his head and touched his lips to hers. It was a gentle kiss, a short one, an exploratory foray to gauge the enemy's reaction.
The enemy heard a rather impressive array of alarms and sirens, all warning a hasty retreat. But how could she go anywhere? Such a delicious heat suddenly warmed her through. In another minute she wouldn't be the enemy any more; she'd be a willing captive.
But the battle ended before it got started. Winthrop was a Texas gentleman after all. He pulled away before she went from comfortably warm to overheated. He opened his eyes. With them he did a quick scan of her face. Whatever he read there put a light hint of regret in his voice.
"That was just a thank you," he told her. "Just like last night. That's all."
Roseanne silently nodded. Fine. She didn't mind playing it that way. It was the only way, in fact, she wanted to play it. Just to be sure, though, she needed to stake some boundaries. Alarm bells were still ringing. In a crisp tone, she said, "You're very welcome. In the future, however, it would be best for you to confine your communications with me to a purely verbal level."
Winthrop's sad smile was nearly her undoing. But Roseanne steeled herself against it. She had a job to do here. She wasn't about to get sidetracked by some admittedly heavy-duty electricity. Any movement in that direction was headed toward disaster. Carruthers was the opposite of ever
ything Roseanne looked for in a man, starting with divorced and ending with... Ending with the fact she was feeling way too much attraction here. More than she usually felt toward a man. Almost out of control.
And he was the enemy.
"Yes, ma'am. Purely verbal. I'll do that." Averting his eyes, Win turned away from her and made for the house door.
Wishing she didn't feel as though she'd slipped a sharp knife between his ribs, Roseanne dragged her heels after him. It was strange that a wistful pang of disappointment caught beneath her own ribs. As if maybe she'd just closed a door she'd rather have kept open.
Inside, after bidding her an extremely polite good night, Win repaired to his bedroom. Roseanne did the same. But she didn't go to bed. Instead she stood brooding at her window.
What was going on here? How could she have felt anything—and so much—from one measly kiss? And what was this lingering sense she'd maybe done the wrong thing?
Roseanne shook her head. Even if Win didn't have a terrible track record, she'd have called a halt to proceedings which involved far too much...emotion. Safe was better than sorry and a girl could never, ever be too safe.
Roseanne had learned that lesson the day her father hadn't come home. At eleven years of age she'd discovered what it was like to have your whole world fall in on you. She'd found out that love was a word, a game, an impossibility for a man. There were no ties—romantic, familial, legal or moral—that could bind a man who didn't consider himself bound. And because of that Roseanne made sure not to trust any of those illusory bonds. But most of all she made sure not to trust any man.
~~~
Roseanne didn't see Win before he left for work the next morning. Considering he'd probably left the house before six a.m., this was not particularly surprising.
She ate breakfast in peace. The housekeeper, thankfully, did not appear. Roseanne's bowl of cornflakes, a far less satisfying affair than Win's pancakes, nevertheless provided sufficient sustenance for her to think about work.
Installing herself in her host's study, Roseanne set about significantly increasing his phone bill. There were a number of cases she had to check on, clients to call, opposing counsel to annoy. When all that was done, she admitted she ought to check in with her boss, George.
"You going to tell me what you're up to yet?" George wanted to know.
"I'm up to getting your problem client back in the fold," Roseanne returned. "You don't need to worry about the details of how."
"All right, all right." George chuckled. "I trust you, Roseanne. And so, apparently, does Win." A note of some surprise crept into his voice.
Roseanne's forehead felt tight. "Any reason why he shouldn't?"
"None that I know of." George's tone was cheery, yet with a certain reservation, Roseanne thought. It made her wonder what her boss thought of her morals. True, she'd deliberately created a reputation for herself as a shrewd and calculating litigator, ruthless in the courtroom.
But that didn't mean she was completely without scruples. She'd promised Win to get a job done, and damned if she wouldn't do it for him. He had nothing to fear from her. She'd take good care of him.
Roseanne stated her next thought aloud. "The better question is whether or not I can trust Win."
George's response was instantaneous. "With your life."
Roseanne wondered about that statement after they'd rung off. With your life? How could George possibly have such faith?
Easy, she decided, staring at the phone. George was a trusting fool. In fact, he'd been bitten many times for his trust—once even by Win himself.
~~~
Roseanne came back from a late afternoon walk—it was just too hot to go out during the day—to find Win already home, busy in the kitchen putting away groceries.
He looked up quickly as she came through the door. For an instant she caught an impression of relief on his features.
Gee, Roseanne thought, it had seemed like a safe enough neighborhood to her, idyllic in fact. But then, maybe Win imagined the awful humidity might have done her in. That had been a distinct possibility as the shimmering heat had risen from some of those wide, asphalt streets.
"I believe I ran up a couple hundred dollars on your phone bill," she cheerfully admitted as she let the door close the heat of the day behind her. Truth be told, she felt pretty nervous. The next few moments would set the tone. Was her rebuff the night before going to make him act standoffish, resentful, or any other kind of pain in the ass?
Win gave her an affable grin. "I'll take it off your first retainer." And so, without the slightest reminder of the night before, or any disgruntlement it might have occasioned, he went back to sorting the groceries. "Do you mind having dinner at home tonight? I bought some fresh pasta."
"Hm. Doctor's orders again?"
"Well." He winced. "Not with the Alfredo sauce I was planning to make."
Roseanne chuckled and relaxed. Everything was going to be fine. The man had a basic good nature. If a woman didn't happen to be married to him, he was a completely amiable fellow. And he'd mentioned CovMarch's first retainer as though it were a done deal.
Roseanne was pleased enough that she didn't point out a private dinner at home was hardly conducive to fostering Win's public image as 'taken.' They had all weekend, after all, to take care of that little matter.
All weekend, Roseanne mused, taking a seat at the kitchen counter. Watching Win whistle as he set about making their dinner, she found herself looking forward to the coming weekend with something suspiciously like pleasure.
And, well...why not?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Roseanne was not disappointed in her weekend with Winthrop Carruthers. She had a wonderful time. Every now and then a thought would pop into her head, a concern that maybe she was enjoying herself too much. The guy was officially a cad, after all. She wasn't supposed to like him. But the pleasure of the moment always banished such scruples to the background. On Saturday they toured art galleries and walked around the campus of Rice University. On Sunday they drove down to Galveston.
As a traveling companion, Win made the grade: pleasant, even-tempered, and mannerly to the point of gallantry. He was a bit lacking in spontaneity, perhaps, but he made up for the defect by easily falling in with Roseanne's impulsive ideas.
Not once did he lay a hand on her. True to his word, he kept all communications strictly verbal. Roseanne let herself relax on the issue. Everything was going great, not a cloud on the horizon.
Until late Sunday afternoon. They were on the beach in Galveston. The nippy spring air had driven any would-be sunbathers home, so Winthrop and Roseanne had the place to themselves. The scene was eerie, however, rather than romantic. An occasional gull cried overhead, giving the scene an even more desolate atmosphere.
As if in tune with the setting, Win grew silent and withdrawn. In vain did Roseanne suggest he take off his shoes. He simply watched while she pulled off her own loafers to dangle them from her fingers.
She plunged her toes into the sand and wiggled them. "Feels nice," she told him, persuading.
Winthrop stared at her bare feet for a moment, obviously a million miles away. Mumbling something about, "not today," he turned distractedly and started walking.
Roseanne had to run to catch up to him.
Winthrop strolled on the sand above the water line, his hands shoved deeply in his pockets and his frowning eyes considering the lines of beached kelp.
Maybe he was doing that nerdy engineering thing, Roseanne thought. Calculations and mechanical designs were zipping through his brain. But she had a sinking feeling that wasn't the explanation. Something was weighing him down. His aura reminded her of the evening she'd intercepted him in the Seattle airport. Weary and sorrowful.
Roseanne bit her lower lip and gazed out to sea. The longer they walked along the sand, the more she felt an urge to somehow lighten his burden.
Bad urge, she scolded herself. If her once-cheerful companion were now moody it was not he
r problem. None of her business. Didn't concern her.
Only...it did concern her.
Winthrop stopped short and gazed down at something in the sand. "Look at this." He squatted to get a better view, himself.
She came up and squatted too. It was a small sand shark, about the size of a large trout, twisted in death into a graceful, curving shape.
"Poor bastard wandered in too far," Winthrop hypothesized. "Got caught in an ebb tide and never made it back out."
Why did she feel like he was talking about himself? Roseanne glanced toward Winthrop's face. "What's wrong?"
He looked up at her, surprised. "Did I say something was wrong?"
Roseanne expelled a breath. "Did you have to? For the past two hours it's been clear you're depressed."
The two small crescents of his smile appeared faintly in his cheeks. "Now, how could I be depressed when I'm enjoying one of the best weekends in a long time with as marvelous a companion as yourself?"
"Flattery will get you nowhere with me. You ought to know that by now."
He gave a short laugh and let his gaze wander out over the sea. "I often wonder if there's a way to get anywhere with you."
His words struck a strange, jarring chord. "Not really." Roseanne forced a grin. She didn't want to examine the peculiar sound that chord made inside of her. "I'm generally at wherever I want to be gotten to."
Winthrop raised an eyebrow. "Well, I doubt you're going to want to be where I'm going tonight."
"Oh? Where's that?" This, then, was the crux of the matter. He was obliged to go somewhere unpleasant. It was a relief to discover his problem had nothing to do with the strange jarring chord inside her.
Win grimaced as he picked up a pebble and then cast it into the waves. "Tonight I'm supposed to have dinner at my parents' house."
Roseanne straightened, frowning. "I'm catching the use of first personal singular. Aren't you taking me along?"
Winthrop gave her a shocked look. "Good Lord, no."
No? Had he said no? She crossed her arms over a very odd stab of pain beneath her breastbone. "That's pretty odd, Win. Don't you think you'd better take me? I mean, convincing your parents you aren't getting back together with Sylvia was a major part of this whole enterprise. You didn't want your father to think you would remarry and then he could finish that oil company merger with Sylvia's father."
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