by Lisa Jackson
“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 tha
t 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.