Now Win leaned over her shoulder. "Hey, beautiful." He placed a kiss under her ear. It was a light but lingering kind of kiss, a promise of things to come. Roseanne knew from the night before that Win could manage a lot with mere kisses. His hand settled warmly on her waist. "Let's go home."
Roseanne zipped her briefcase closed. "I'm not beautiful."
"No? Let me take a look at you." Win turned Roseanne gently toward him.
She had to let go of her briefcase, and then lift her chin as Win put a finger underneath it to lift her face for a look.
Their eyes met.
An odd sensation went through Roseanne, even though it was impossible to tell what Win was thinking as he solemnly studied her face. Surely he didn't think she was beautiful, though. Not after having been married to Sylvia.
"Well?" she finally asked.
"Well," Win replied, which would have been no reply except that he then lowered his mouth. Their lips touched.
That thing happened to Roseanne again, the same thing that happened every time the darn man kissed her. Explosions, tidal waves, earthquakes. Roseanne's arms lifted to hold him.
How long the kiss lasted, Roseanne had no idea. But she did know that when they finally pulled away from each other, she caught a movement past Win's shoulder.
Out in the hall, Boyd Henderson stood watching them. He wore a smile from ear to ear. Then, with a wave, he continued down the hall, striding jauntily.
We're not engaged. This isn't real. Roseanne wanted to shout the words after the man.
"Is something wrong?" Win asked.
Roseanne realized she'd stiffened in his arms. Deliberately, she relaxed her muscles. "Boyd was out there."
Win twisted to look over his shoulder, then turned back to Roseanne with a lascivious grin. "He's gone now." He lowered his head again.
"Win!" Roseanne turned her face so his lips met her cheek. "Shouldn't we have a little more privacy before we start, uh, this sort of thing?"
Win chuckled against her cheek, then straightened. "I thought we were supposed to put on a show."
"Yes, right." Inwardly, Roseanne winced. He was right. And yet she was really starting to hate the subterfuge. Quickly, she came up with a different excuse to postpone the fireworks. "And here I thought you were such a private person."
Looking down at her, he affected surprise. "Who, me?"
Roseanne lifted her eyebrows. "Oh, yeah, you. In fact, your sister Meredith put it well. She said you can know Win all your life and never really know him."
Win's amused smile faded. "My family is probably the least likely of anyone to understand me."
Roseanne tilted her head. As far she'd seen, Win didn't communicate much with his family, which made him as much to blame as they. "Your dad seems the most out to sea of all," she mused. "Meredith says he considers you something of a changeling."
Letting go of Roseanne, Win emitted a snort. "I should hope so."
His sudden vehemence was striking. "I'll admit he's not the most tactful apple in the bunch," Roseanne observed slowly. "But at least you know where you stand with the guy. Your mother, on the other hand..."
Win took a step back. "What about my mother?"
She's a cold fish. But instead of saying as much, Roseanne chose her words carefully. "She's...kind of distant."
Win turned aside. Around them, the office building appeared to have emptied. No more stragglers wandered past the glass walls in the hall. "Whatever my mother is," Win told Roseanne, "my father made her that way."
Roseanne frowned. He was exhibiting all the signs she'd come to know well: the muscle twitching in his jaw, the tension at the corners of his eyes. She'd clearly stumbled into a minefield here. The smart thing would be a strategic retreat. Both smart, and eminently appropriate for a casual, no-strings relationship.
Instead, Roseanne heard herself ask, "What did your father do to your mother?"
Over by his desk now, Win shifted a pen from one side of his blotter to the other. "Nothing. Shouldn't have mentioned it."
He was right. This was taboo territory. Lifting a shoulder, Roseanne told herself not to feel snubbed. "I apologize. Of course it's none of my business."
"Okay." Not looking at Roseanne, Win clenched his hand into a fist. "He was unfaithful to her, all right. A lot of times."
Roseanne blinked. "Oh."
"It's not like it's so unusual." Win's tone sounded deliberately neutral, but Roseanne could see both his hands now bunched into fists. "Not for a man of his generation and social class."
Maybe not unusual, Roseanne reflected, looking at Win's hands. But no less devastating. "How long have you known about it?"
"Since I was sixteen." The information came out grittily, as though Win were both relieved and appalled to be telling her. "But, believe me, it had been going on for years before then."
"Did your mother know?"
Win shrugged. "She must have. But for her own reasons, she turned a blind eye."
Roseanne nodded, reluctantly understanding Elizabeth Carruthers' position. With three children to raise, she probably hadn't wanted to rock the boat. "Do your sisters know?"
"Are you kidding?" From his position by the desk, Win shot Roseanne a dark look. "For years I've bent over backward to make sure they never find out. Meanwhile, that bastard was proud of it."
Roseanne watched the tension knot beneath Win's dress shirt. "How'd you find out, yourself, then?"
He turned back to glare into one of his computer monitors. "On my sixteenth birthday he brought me into town with him from the ranch—we grew up several miles outside town. I was thrilled. He'd never brought one of us into town with him before." Win uttered a brief, humorless laugh. "I soon found out why he kept us so far away. At his townhouse he had a woman. An attractive young woman. All smiles and lipstick. My daddy introduced her to me as his 'friend.'"
Roseanne snorted.
Win twisted sharply to glare at her. "You got something to say?"
"Yeah." Her smile was wry. "That word 'friend.' It's the same word my dad used to describe his relationship with his receptionist."
Win's eyes bore into her.
The laugh Roseanne gave wasn't as light as she'd intended. "Until the day he moved in with her, of course. After that, it was kind of hard to pretend."
For a moment, Win continued to stare. "Your father deserted you?"
"Me, my three sisters, and my mother. Yes."
"So," he said slowly. "You understand." His expression shifted. "And then some. At least my daddy stuck around."
"Yes," Roseanne agreed.
Win shook his head. "Four daughters. I suppose that's what happened when you were eleven."
"Pardon me?"
"You told me you had to start taking care of getting your own way when you were eleven."
"I did?" Roseanne was startled. "When?"
Win walked back toward her from his desk. "On the airplane coming down to Houston."
"You remember that?"
There was a moment's hesitation as he came to a halt in front of her. "I remember everything you've ever told me, Roseanne."
"What, like you've got a photographic memory or something?"
He lightly cleared his throat. "Or something. Now I get it. What you have against men who divorce their wives. You figure they're all like your daddy, a man who abandoned some poor woman and her four daughters."
Roseanne shrugged.
"What happened afterward? Did you ever hear from him again?"
"Oh, he called on the phone about a week after he moved out." Roseanne smiled faintly. "I managed to get a private minute to talk to him. I was sure if I could get him alone he'd admit the whole thing was a joke."
"I take it it wasn't a joke."
Roseanne shook her head, remembering. "He put his girlfriend on the line. I think she tried to say something comforting, but I started to scream. I hung up the phone, ran up to my room, and cried for five hours straight. When I was done I swore I'd never cry ove
r another man as long as I lived."
Win's gaze was close on her. "You made a few other decisions that day, didn't you?"
She nodded. "I swore I'd never end up in my mother's position. She hadn't been in the job market for fifteen years. She had four school-age daughters and was accustomed to the income of a medical doctor. Sure, there was child support, but it was still a mess."
"Hence your push to make partner at CovMarch."
"Right."
"And the lectures about independence from men." His mouth curved into a rueful smile.
"Well, yes, that sort of independence is very important to me. For obvious reasons."
"Yes, obvious." Win leaned his weight against his office chair. "Now a whole pack of things seem obvious. Like why you've been so adamant about keeping me at arm's length." He gave a gruff laugh. "Hell, I must look like a very sorry proposition to you."
Roseanne's heart stopped. "That all depends... Did you desert your wife, Win?"
His gaze dropped. In that instant Roseanne understood that even after the confidences they'd just exchanged, she'd crossed some invisible line. He turned aside while shoving a hand through his hair. "According to most people that's what it was, yes."
"Win." She heard her voice come out pleading as she took a step toward him. "Why did you divorce Sylvia—really?"
He turned to shoot her a deeply pained look. "Don't ask me that. Please."
"Why not—?"
"Please." Right next to her now, he took her face between his hands. He was so close she could feel his lips move as he urgently murmured, "Don't think about what I am. Please. For however long we have left. Don't ask. Just—just kiss me." Then he put his mouth over hers.
At that moment, alone in his office and with his lips desperately searing hers, Roseanne wasn't about to refuse him anything. She let him crush her to him, only dimly remembering he was evading an important question. He was so warm and solid and—and—valuable. She eagerly clung to him, paying kiss for kiss.
Fortunately, the office had cleared out. There was nobody to see the kiss, to make the usual false assumptions.
This was only casual. No big deal.
That's all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Roseanne surveyed the array of cosmetics spread like a waiting army on the counter of the guest bathroom sink. It was an impressive assortment, her daily standards augmented by a panic-stricken sortie during the lunch hour to a department store near Win's office.
Tonight, the Sons of Texas ball, was to be her grand finale, after all. She wanted to look stunning.
Roseanne gazed into the mirror over the sink and grimaced. Who was she kidding? She'd never attain stunning, not even with the new dress Win had bought. Stunning would be impossible for Roseanne under any circumstances, but certainly when Win's ex-wife, Sylvia, was in the room. Now there was a stunning woman.
Not only a stunner, but a woman who still held Win's heart in the palm of her dainty hand.
Sighing, Roseanne opened some eyeshadow. She'd noticed how Win's behavior had grown increasingly abstracted over the course of the day. He was clearly anxious about seeing Sylvia again. By now he probably realized that the Sons of Texas ball would be fraught with romantic memories. Perhaps he'd come to regret deciding to convince his ex their relationship was over. Bringing another woman on his arm tonight would put the last nail in that coffin.
As she smoothed light lavender over her eyelid, Roseanne assured herself that she didn't care what Winthrop Carruthers thought or felt about his ex. He was passing out of her life tomorrow. She was getting on a plane back to Seattle. Once she had that retainer agreement for Covington March signed, he could love whatever woman he pleased.
She hadn't gotten emotionally close to him or anything. No disaster like that. She was still heart-free, wise, and independent. Oh, yeah. If there were butterflies in her stomach now it was only...stage fright. Tonight's ball would be her most public performance yet as Winthrop's fiancée.
The effect of the lavender eyeshadow with the lavender dress resulted in a lavender overload. Wincing, Roseanne reached for the makeup remover. She twisted off the cap and splashed some onto a cotton ball.
As she carefully wiped the lavender from her eyelid, she admitted there had been one dicey moment, though, just this morning. The thick screen normally separating their betrothal charade from reality had dissolved. Even now, simply remembering the moment made the butterflies in her stomach dart about crazily.
Win had found her in bed, still asleep, at six-fifteen. "You've got fifteen minutes, girlie-girl, to hop out of that sack and get yourself fit to be seen," he'd warned. Sitting on the edge of her bed, he'd then asked, "How the hell did you manage to sleep through the alarm? It's set at top volume."
"It is just too early to be conscious," Roseanne had bitterly complained. She tried to snuggle deeper into the covers. "You're a madman. Give me five more minutes."
"Five more minutes, my eyes. I know what you're angling for, and I won't be fooled like I was yesterday. Here—" Win took hold of her shoulder and turned her to face him. "Oh, sweet Lord," he exclaimed. "What did you do to your face?"
"My face?" Reaching up, Roseanne felt a gooey glaze on her nose. "Oh, that," she grumbled, both relieved and embarrassed. How could she have forgotten? This was why she'd slept with her face carefully off the sheets and pillowcase all night. "It's a facial."
"A facial?" Win bent closer, his brows drawing together. "But it smells like..." He stopped and stared down at her. "It smells edible."
"Oh." Roseanne frowned, thinking. "You know, it might be. It's made of yogurt, wheat germ, honey. And a little oatmeal."
"Oatmeal?" A slow smile spread across his face. "It's not only edible, it's breakfast!"
"Hey. What are you doing?"
Win had lowered his face close to hers. "Jus' tryin' a sample." He brushed his tongue by the corner of her mouth, then grinned. "Not bad."
"Winthrop Carruthers, don't you dare eat my facial!" She wasn't sure exactly how to stop him, though. His weight was trapping her under the covers. But she was able to squeeze out a hand and then jab him in a spot she'd discovered between his ribs.
The jab was a success. She'd nailed Win's ticklish spot. He flinched and made a grab for her hand. "Oh, no you don't."
The next minute they were wrestling. While Roseanne hit as many of Win's ticklish spots as she could manage, he found a few of her own.
"Truce, truce!" Win begged, barely able to get the words out through his laughter.
"Thank God," Roseanne gasped. "I was afraid I'd have to give in first."
Their legs were now tangled amid the sheets. Win was poised on his hands above Roseanne's prone upper half. The laughter that had warmed his eyes flickered down to a smoldering fire.
Rather than fright at the message in his gaze, or even an uncomfortable thrill, Roseanne felt a deep and reassuring warmth. In that moment she felt safe and cared for, content and...at home. Yes, more than anything else, she felt at home.
But Win stayed true to their agreement. He didn't press toward what his gaze said he wanted. Slowly, he sat back from her. With an unusually hoarse voice, he asked, "You ready to get up and get dressed now?"
Feeling pretty sure she was more relieved than disappointed, Roseanne lifted her knees and wrapped her arms around them. Even in the moment, she knew it was only a moment. Yet her voice was hoarse, too. "I can be ready in fifteen—provided you clear out of here."
"Oh." Win stood awkwardly and quickly turned. "I'll be waiting for you in the living room."
It had been the last light-hearted moment of the day. For the rest of it, Win had been in his most otherworldly state. He'd barely noticed when Roseanne had switched the car radio from his music to her news on the drive downtown, and he'd worked straight through lunch. On the way home, she'd had to remind him to stop at the cleaners to pick up his tuxedo. He'd come out with the garment in its plastic bag, his face perfectly expressionless.
All day
he'd been thinking about Sylvia. Roseanne was sure of it.
Now she looked in the bathroom mirror and wondered if she shouldn't try green for her eyeshadow. The lightest touch of mint-green. It would be different, an accent to the dark liner she'd already put around her eyes and the pale lavender of her dress.
If she couldn't be beautiful at least she could be unique.
Win was sitting on the living room sofa when Roseanne finally emerged, as dressed and groomed as she was going to get. He'd evidently been waiting for some time. A magazine was propped tiredly in his hands and one ankle was crossed over the opposite knee. All he'd had to do was shower, shave, and pull on his suit.
He looked up as she came into the room. Something flickered behind his eyes.
Roseanne could feel the dress crisp and tight around her, the air cool on her bare shoulders. She'd gone to town on her eyes, making sure they appeared darker and larger than they really were.
Feeling an uncharacteristic pang of nerves under Win's scrutiny, she asked, "Will I do?"
He slowly closed his magazine and set it to one side. "You'll do." In his voice was a touch of the same hoarseness it had held that morning in her bedroom.
As she clasped and unclasped her purse, Roseanne wondered why Win hadn't gotten up from the sofa. Usually he was dreadfully correct about such ceremony. "Uh...Are you ready to go?"
Finally, he rose stiffly to his feet. "You know, we don't have to do this."
She froze. "What are you talking about?"
"We don't have to go to the dance."
Cold fingers speared through her insides. "Of course we have to go. It's the main event."
His gaze averted. "Over the past ten days I bet enough people have gotten the message I'm not going to remarry Sylvia. Showing up at the dance is not a necessity."
The cold fingers inside Roseanne turned to ice. She supposed all day had been leading toward this. He wasn't ready to take this final step, to throw his involvement with another woman in his ex-wife's face.
The Fiancée Fiasco Page 13