by Lisa Jackson
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 ha
rd, 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.”