To Win Her Trust

by Mackenzie Crowne

  With the weekend behind them, Tuck was scheduled for a four PM photo shoot his agent had set up. That worked for CC. She desperately needed some time to think. Though she’d enjoyed herself more than expected, the time spent with Tuck’s family left her unsettled.

  She waved good-bye from her front door and went inside as he drove off. Ignoring the blinking light on her answering machine, she trudged upstairs to her bedroom. Walter pounced onto the bed as she dropped her bag to the floor. She flopped down beside him and ran her fingers over his thick neck.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  I think I may have busted my snout on that screen door.

  She grinned and rolled onto her back. God, what a disaster. She’d been so embarrassed she wanted to sink into the floor until Tuck’s mother explained they were on their sixth screen since moving in. His father suggested they start buying them in bulk. Tuck found the entire situation hilarious, as did the rest of the family.

  What would it be like to be a permanent part of that group of looney, loving people and not just a temporary, though welcome, interloper?

  She tossed a wrist over her eyes. “Dangerous thinking, CC.”

  “What is?”

  She dropped her arm to her side and stared at Kris in the doorway. “I didn’t know you were home.”

  Her cousin strolled into the room. “Obviously. Move over, mutt.” She shoved Walter aside and stretched out on her side, facing CC. “I assume you’re talking to yourself over the test stud.”

  She winced. “Not a good sign, huh?”

  Head propped in her palm, Kris shrugged. “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “On whether or not I need to give you more condoms.”

  She laughed. Despite living together, they didn’t see each other every day, thanks to Kris’s busy work and social schedule. And with the chaos after the Yankees game, then leaving for Boston, they hadn’t had a chance to talk. It would have driven her cousin crazy not knowing what happened the other night.

  “Actually, I still have the ones you gave me.”

  A low groan rumbled in Kris’s chest.

  “Tuck had his own stash. Who knew?” She giggled and tried to dodge the punch to her arm but failed.

  “You’re such a bitch!” Kris sprang up and sat with her shoulders slouched, her legs crossed beneath her. “Details. Don’t leave me hanging.”

  She rolled off the bed to her feet and scooped up her bag. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

  “You don’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”

  Crap, that wasn’t good. Hoping to head off the line of questioning, she changed the subject. “Did Mom get to the airport okay?”

  Sly to her ways, her cousin smirked. “I delivered her there personally. She’s at home, safe and sound in the world of plastic surgeons and out-of-work actors. One of her kooky friends invited her to a crystal cleansing ceremony last night, whatever that means. She was all excited. Now spill it. How’d the weekend go?”

  Clutching the bag to her chest, she fought off the sudden urge to cry. “It was wonderful.”

  “Then why the long face?”

  “I screwed up, Kris.” She spun and stalked to her dresser. Slipping the bag to the top, she began unpacking.

  “Screwed up how?”

  CC turned in time to see her cousin’s eyes nearly bulge from their sockets.

  “Oh, shit. I thought you said Tuck had his own condoms.”

  “He did and we used them. Quite a few, in fact.”

  Kris’s bangs ruffled with her released breath. “Don’t scare me like that.” Her shoulders sagged with relief. “If you haven’t had unprotected sex, what’s the problem?”

  She slid her eyes shut and slumped back against the dresser. “I’m in love with him.”

  “Well, duh.”

  Her eyes popped open. “What’s that supposed to mean? This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. Some best friend you are. Instead of tossing me a bag of sex supplies, you should have talked me out of going.”

  “Like I could have. Face it, kiddo, you were toast long before you talked yourself into that booty call.”

  She crossed to the bed and fell forward, flat on her face. With her mouth mashed into the comforter, her voice was muffled. “God, I’m such an idiot. How could I have let this happen?”

  “You don’t let love happen. It either does or doesn’t. You don’t have a say in it.”

  She turned her head to glare. “What are you all of a sudden? The Love Guru?”

  A smirk. “I read it in a fortune cookie last week.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she groaned.

  A gentle hand rubbed her back. “What about him? Does he feel the same?”

  “I have no idea. I mean, guys don’t normally take a woman to meet their family if they don’t have feelings, right? But this is Tuck we’re talking about. He has a reputation for changing women more often than most men change their underwear.” Kris snickered and CC shook her head. “I just don’t know.”

  “Have you tried asking him?”

  She rolled up onto her elbows. “Are you insane? I couldn’t.”

  “Why not? It can’t be any worse than going over to his place and asking him to pop your cherry.”

  “I did not!” A coughing laugh gurgled up and out.

  Kris shrugged a slender shoulder. “When a virgin shows up at a guy’s apartment in the middle of the night with a bag of condoms, it amounts to the same thing.”

  Okay, that was probably true. She pushed herself up until she was sitting. What did it matter, anyway? He’d be leaving for training camp at the end of the week, and that would be that.

  “We made a bargain, Kris. Three weeks and we both walk away. In a week, our deal will come to an end.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, kiddo.” A serene smile settled on Kris’s lips as she stood and walked to the door. She paused and looked back. “And when that doesn’t work, renegotiate.”

  * * * *

  CC gripped the pen and formed his name in big block letters. TUCK. She resisted the juvenile urge to draw a sappy heart beside his name and sat back, staring at the notepad as if it were a snake about to strike. All in all, she should be satisfied. Her birthday promise expired on Sunday, the day before Tuck started training camp, and the list of fears she’d overcome far outweighed those she hadn’t. Unfortunately, the remaining items were biggies. Looking at them gave her heartburn and that last one made her want to throw up.

  She slashed her pen across the paper, scratching out one of the three. Though she trusted Tuck, she simply couldn’t do as he suggested. She couldn’t open herself up to Curt again. Whatever was behind his sudden interest, he’d just have to be disappointed. She’d made too much progress, worked too hard at breaking through her self-imposed barriers, to watch her fragile sense of freedom crumble away over a man who’d cared more for his career than he ever did his child.

  She glared at the last two items and gnawed on her lip. Maybe it was a massive psychological rationalization, but the need to clear the list and proclaim herself healed, before the deadline of her agreement with Tuck came to an end, burned like a bonfire in her belly. Regardless of her feelings for him, his belief in her and his dogged, sometimes bullying assistance in her quest, were gifts she couldn’t repay. The least she could do was see the job through.

  With their time together rapidly coming to an end, and his departure for training camp looming, telling him she loved him was the more urgent of the two, but her heart cringed at the prospect. As terrifying as agreeing to the Arts Council show was, it didn’t come anywhere close to the thought of baring her soul to a man who’d made it clear from the beginning permanence wasn’t in his vocabulary.

  Ronald’s request she enter Yearning into the Art Council’s show rankled her since she’d insisted from the beginning she wasn’t interested, but after everything else she’d accomplished, cowering from the challenge smacked of cowardice. She’d never be truly fre
e unless she tackled this last hurtle, and though Tuck didn’t know it, this one she’d face solely for him.

  Her palms broke out in a sweat, and she glared at her cell phone. Geez. She’d survived being filmed with her tongue stuck down Tuck’s throat in front of millions of people. How bad could a few dozen art snobs be?

  Before she could chicken out, she picked up the phone. Ronald answered on the second ring.

  “CC, I was planning to call you in the morning.”

  She wiped a sweaty palm on the thigh of her jeans. “I guess I saved you the trouble then.”

  He hesitated when she didn’t continue. “Have you made a decision?”

  Eyes squeezed shut, she plunged ahead. “I’ll do your show.”

  The heavy breath he released sounded in her ear. “Oh, CC. Thank you. You won’t be sorry.”

  “I’d better not be, and before you get all worked up, I have a few conditions.”

  “Like?”

  “First, I remain anonymous. No names. I’ll show up and give the council their hour, but in any introductions made, I want to be introduced as Yearning’s creator.”

  “CC—”

  “Yes, I know. It’s stupid, but I have my reasons.”

  He sighed. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “You’ll do exactly what I’m asking for or I’ll walk. How do you think that’ll look on the agency’s resume?”

  “Okay.” An edge of frustration colored his reply, but it was the best he was going to get. “And two?”

  She fought to keep her voice from trembling. She was wrong. Agreeing to throw herself into the public eye, for any reason, sent her heartbeat into convulsions. “You said you’d be there for me. I expect you to honor that promise. As far as I’m concerned, this is your show, not mine. I’ll shake hands. I’ll even make small talk if I have to, but I expect you to control the situation. I’m not interested in getting caught up in a circus.”

  Chapter 24

  CC hefted the small wooden box from the closet and crossed to her workbench, where Tuck leaned his ass against the edge with one booted foot crossed over the other.

  He propped his hands on the bench beside his hips. “What are you doing?”

  She removed the box’s lid and rested it against the bench leg on the floor. “I’m packing up a piece for delivery.”

  He watched in silence as she crossed the room to take Yearning from the top shelf. When she returned to place the sculpture into the box, he slanted his upper body toward hers for a better view. “Nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  Studying the clean lines of the delicate form, she couldn’t help but agree. Her fingertip traced over the woman’s reaching hand and she sighed. Each sculpture held a little piece of her heart, but this one was more. It had come from her soul. Though she hadn’t understood as she bent over her workspace the morning she met Tuck and shape had emerged in the twisting wire, the sculpture was a self-portrait. A soul-deep cry for what could be.

  As if she’d spoken aloud, Tuck straightened at her side. “Does it bother you? Letting it go?”

  She whipped her head around to look at him, but if there was a deeper meaning in his question, it didn’t show. Simply curiosity was all she found.

  She looked away. “A little.” She’d given Ronald her word, and she wouldn’t back out now but, in truth, she regretted seeing the piece go. She shrugged and gave her pat answer. “But art is meant to be shared.”

  Tuck smiled as she twisted open the tie on a bag of Styrofoam peanuts. “I’m sure the new owner appreciates the sentiment.”

  She poured a waterfall of packing peanuts into the box and dipped her hand inside to spread it around. “It doesn’t have a new owner.” She added more peanuts and kept her eyes on what she was doing. “Yet. I agreed to do the Art Council’s show.”

  When he said nothing, she turned her head and met his gaze.

  A small smile softened his face. “Another fear put to rest, huh? Good for you. I’m proud of you.”

  She jammed her shaking hand into the box. “Don’t be. I’m scared to death.”

  “But you’re doing it anyway. That’s what counts.”

  “Maybe. Unless I puke on Ronald’s dress shoes.”

  Tuck slumped back against the bench with a grin.

  She bent to retrieve the wooden lid from the floor, while reaching for her power drill. Tucked beneath the power tool, her fears list skittered across the surface of the bench. He twisted his upper body, picked up the sheet of paper, and scanned her handwriting. “What’s this?”

  The drill clattered to the bench top, and she snatched the paper from his fingers. “Just some doodling.” She folded the sheet in quarters and jammed it into the front pocket of her jeans, but from the way his mouth tweaked in a pleased smile, he’d had enough time to ascertain the contents.

  Thank God I refrained from adding that stupid heart.

  “When’s the show?”

  Apparently, he wasn’t going to make an issue of seeing his name on her doodle list. That so worked for her. A ragged breath shuddered in her chest. “Friday night.”

  “Are you going to invite me?”

  Shit. She hadn’t thought that far. Training camp started on Monday, which meant he’d be gone by Sunday night at the latest. She didn’t want to miss a moment of the three days they had left, but after their Yankee stadium fiasco, his appearance at the show would only cause problems.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  Disappointment clouded his eyes. “Because someone might make the connection between us? I’m not sure artsy types spend a lot of time at Yankee stadium or watching ESPN.”

  “I did.”

  “Only because I dragged you there.”

  When she opened her mouth to make a further argument, he held up his hand.

  “The thing is, I leave for Syracuse on Sunday.”

  Oh God. She wanted to slap her hands over her ears and chant la la la so she wouldn’t have to hear him say, it’s been fun, but now it’s time to move on. Not yet, her heart cried. They had several more days left in their agreement and damn it, she wanted them.

  Instead of stomping her foot like a spoiled little girl, she nodded. “I know.”

  He slid his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans. “I’ve got this team thing tomorrow, but after that I planned on locking you away in my condo and not letting you go until it was time to leave.”

  “You did?” Relief made her legs go weak. She clutched at the edge of the bench.

  He nodded, pulled his fingers from his pockets, then immediately shoved them back in again. “And speaking of my leaving, we need to talk about our…arrangement.”

  Her heart sunk almost as quickly as her gaze dropped to the floor.

  “I think we should renegotiate.”

  “What?” Her head snapped up, and she stared at him wide-eyed. Geez, was Kris psychic too? She mentally slapped the stray thought aside and clamped down on a slightly hysterical grin by flattening her lips. If he wanted to renegotiate, that meant he wanted more time. A good sign.

  He tugged his hands from his pockets once more only to shove them through his hair.

  Why, he’s nervous. A really good sign.

  “I know we were both firm on the three week limit, but I want more.”

  Oh, so do I. So do I. Her heart leaped, and her sudden loss of breath had nothing to do with panic. Could it be Gracie was right? Had he lost his heart as well? Her eyes slid shut in sweet wonder.

  He cleared his throat, and when her lashes fluttered open, she was surprised by the hard slant of his face. He shook his head. “Look, it’s no big deal, I just thought if you weren’t seeing anyone when I got back, and I’m not seeing anyone, we could get together.” He picked up a stray piece of wire from the bench and twisted it in his fingers. “You know, for old time’s sake.”

  He dropped the wire, and it pinged to the bench, the same way her heart fell to the floor.

  Oh, God. Tears prickled
behind her eyes and she turned, blinking them away. “Sure. For old time’s sake.”

  So much for thinking he wanted more time with her. Why bother taking their agreement into the realm of a relationship, when friends with benefits was so much more convenient? But casual sex with a man who moved on to yet another woman every couple of weeks would never work for her.

  Her list crinkled in her pocket, and she pulled it out. She held the folded paper up over her shoulder so he could see, but didn’t open it and didn’t look his way. “I made a list of everything I wanted to accomplish through our…arrangement. As you probably saw, I hit every goal but one.”

  The scrape of his boots on hardwood reached her as he shifted his feet. “Your father?”

  Not even close, you dipshit. She tossed the list to the bench and picked up the wooden top for the crate. “Yeah.”

  “Are going to see him?”

  “No.” She fit the top to the box and scooped up the drill.

  “I think you should. What your father did to you was unforgiveable, but this is about you, not him. You’ll regret not finishing it down the road.”

  “Yeah, well, life is full of regrets.” The whine of the drill pierced the air, and using more force than was necessary, she sealed the crate. Gritting her teeth, she buried screws into the corners while she imagined staking all four of his limbs to the wall. When she finished, the silence was deafening.

  “Are we still on for dinner?”

  Surprised by the question, she turned. Though his face had lost some of its tension, his eyes didn’t quite hold their usual warmth. Actually, she shouldn’t be surprised he intended to continue along with the status quo. From the beginning he’d had one agenda. Obviously, that hadn’t changed.