by Various
“And because of that first night, you think you’re better than I am. You always have, and you always will.”
“What if I do?”
“I don’t know why I came back here.”
“Let me guess. You’re in some kind of a jam. You probably need money.”
“I need a decent job.”
“Ha! Dressed like that?”
“Listen to me…please. Just listen.”
“You thought I’d be easy pickin’s, didn’t you? Living out here? Alone? No woman? Well, you were right about one thing, honey. I still want you.”
His voice was so hard and filled with hate, she gasped.
“Look at me,” he said.
Unwillingly, she met his shrewd gaze and instantly felt stripped to the marrow. Oh, dear. She was afraid she was transparent as glass.
“You feel the same way. So, do you want to stand here and argue, or would you rather just cut this nonsense, and go to bed? But don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t about love. It’s about sex. And money. I’ll pay—” He flung her his sexiest, male grin.
Maybe he was a whole lot cuter, but in some ways he was as bad as Nero and The Pope!
But he was her last chance! She clenched her fists and bit her tongue until it bled. Killers, real killers, were after her. She had to focus on why she’d come to see this impossible man she’d once been so foolish to love. Her fury made it hard to remember that besides being an egotistical, macho, oversexed idiot, Westin had a good, dependable, fierce side, too.
Pursuing this particular battle to its conclusion wasn’t smart. After all, she had a plan this time. Somehow she had to convince him to help her get a real job. For once, she had to be smart and stick to her plan.
He broke the silence by laughing at her again. “There’s no reason to play hard to get, honey.
The sooner you go to bed with me, the sooner you get what you really want.”
She lifted her chin. His dark gaze made a connection that was way too powerful.
“So I amuse you?” she whispered. “The man I used to know helped people when they came to him in trouble. He didn’t insult them and laugh at them and try to take advantage of them…sexually—”
“You conniving— Why are you really here? What do you really want?” he growled.
If only he’d stop looking at her like that. Her heart was still pounding. “Like I said, I need a decent job, a place to live,” she persisted.
“Decent?” He wasn’t touching her, but his eyes pulled her erotically.
“Is that so hard to believe?” she whispered.
“Simple ambitions for a woman like you. Used to, you wanted fame and fortune.”
“Was that really so terrible, Phillip?”
“Do you still want to be a country-western star?”
She wasn’t about to admit her dreams to him. In his awful mood, he’d just laugh at her again.
She notched her chin higher. “Would it make you happy to know I’ve had a few hard knocks and learned a few lessons?”
“Then? What do you want?”
In spite of herself, just being near him made her feel a deep aching need.
“You know people. Maybe you could get me on at the Lone Star Country Club. As a singer.
Or even a hostess or a waitress. I need a job.”
“You want a job? I’ll give you a job.”
“I won’t go to bed with you for money! And that’s final!” Her shaky voice probably gave her away. Was it just chemistry that pulled her to him?
“I need a housekeeper,” he stated flatly.
“I don’t believe that’s what you really—”
“Hear me out. You played Cinderella in all those foster homes. You can live here and do the same for me.”
“I don’t think it’s such a good idea—the two of us living here. Not when you just suggested we go to bed in such a sordid—”
“Don’t act like you deserve better. Take it or leave it.”
“You didn’t used to be this hard,” she said softly.
“Maybe I suffered a few hard knocks of my own. I nearly died in the Middle East.”
“Oh, Phillip—” Her voice broke.
“Then I came home to marry the woman I loved. Only she’d run off with another man.”
His gaze stayed on her face for a long, searching moment.
“I didn’t run off with Johnny. It wasn’t that way at all and you know it.”
“No, I don’t know it. How was it, then?”
“You wouldn’t listen then.”
“You were gone. That’s all I know.”
“Yes….” She cleared her throat. “And…and I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“You didn’t— I don’t give a damn about you anymore—understand.”
He looked away and she suddenly realized how profoundly she’d hurt him.
“Oh, Phillip—”
He’d cared too much. That’s why he hadn’t come after her. She’d been so caught up in her own dreams and pain and self-doubt, so sure she’d had to prove herself to him, she hadn’t really thought that someone as tough as he was might be as vulnerable and needy as she was.
Well, it was too late now. He was hard and cold, and so set against her he was treating her as though she was some trashy stranger.
“What really happened to your face?” she whispered.
“I had an accident. I wasn’t wearing a seat belt.”
“You should be more careful.”
“You gonna stay here and take care of me?”
“Not a good idea. I’m beginning to see we weren’t really very good for each other.”
“Yet you’ve come back?”
“Big mistake. I’ll go. Forget I ever came….”
He didn’t try to stop her when she turned to leave. At the door, she picked up her guitar, which felt as heavy as lead. As soon as she stepped off his front porch into the sun, she realized she was in the middle of nowhere. The sun was so hot, it felt about an inch off her bare shoulders. She felt weak and tired, so tired. So helpless and so hopeless.
With her turned ankle, she’d never be able to walk all the way back to town. Juan was nowhere in sight.
“How the hell do you think you’ll get to town?”
She stiffened. No way was she going to beg. “I’ll find Juan. He’ll give me a ride back to town.”
“He’s out back.”
When she headed out to the barn, she saw the buzzards, which meant there had to be a dead animal out in the pasture. Curious, she let herself through a gate to check on whatever was wrong.
The sun on her face and shoulders grew hotter by the minute, so hot she could almost feel her nose blistering. Holding up her hand to shield her face, she didn’t have to walk far before she smelled the stench. Flies hovered above a cow that lay on it side, its belly bloated. Its legs stuck straight out. Black vultures whooshed excitedly around it when she walked up.
Oh, dear. The animal’s eyes were gaping sockets. She was about to call for Phillip when a slip of fluttering white caught her attention. Somebody had nailed a note to the dead carcass.
Big block letters read, “You hurt my family, so now I will hurt yours.”
She screamed. Then the thick smell of the barnyard and the stench of the dead cow combined with the heat and she felt nauseated. The world seemed to spin, and she grew so unsteady on her feet, she was afraid she’d fall.
Somewhere behind her a screen door slammed. Then The Pope and Nero were grabbing at her long hair.
“Phillip,” she whispered groggily. “Save me! Don’t let them—”
“Who, my darling— There’s nobody here!”
“Thank goodness.” Her eyelids felt incredibly heavy as she grabbed a fence railing. The sun burned her face and made her lips feel dry. The sky seemed to blacken. In a halting breath she whispered, “Phillip….”
“I’m here. Right here,” he said huskily.
She shook her head back and forth. “Phillip— Phillip—
No! Phillip doesn’t want me.”
Then she felt strong arms around her and her words were muttered shudderingly against his thick, hard shoulder.
“Don’t be too sure about that, honey,” his gentle voice soothed.
She felt herself being lifted.
“Celeste….”
For a fleeting moment she realized she really was in Phillip’s arms. Only the Phillip who held her now wasn’t the harsh Phillip who despised her. No. This Phillip was the gentle, warrior giant she’d fallen in love with.
A weak smile formed at the edges of her lips as she whispered his name and begged him to save her. Then everything went black.
Chapter 3
When Celeste regained consciousness, she was in Phillip’s bed and he was sitting beside her on the edge of the mattress.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I’ll stay,” she whispered.
“Why?”
“Because I need a job. Any job. And I don’t have anywhere else to go.” Too proud to meet his eyes, she stared guiltily past his dark face until the bright window behind him began to swim. Because I know you’ll help me.
“Don’t cry,” he murmured.
She brushed at her damp eyes. “Who’s crying?”
He handed her his handkerchief.
She dabbed at her eyes. “I’m not crying!”
He laughed and touched her wet cheek with a blunt fingertip.
“I hate it when this happens.” In spite of herself, she smiled at him.
“That’s better,” he whispered, his deep voice gentle. “For the record, I’m going to call the sheriff and get him to investigate the cow killing. I think I know who’s behind this.”
“Who—” She shivered guiltily at the thought of Nero or The Pope.
“This isn’t about you,” Phillip said. “It’s about me and some unfinished business in Central America.”
“Central America?”
“Never mind. Just be careful. Lock the doors when I’m gone and Juan’s not around. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’d never forgive myself if my work endangered you.”
“Your work?”
“Shh.”
She gulped in a deep breath. He was so concerned for her, she felt ashamed she’d left Vegas with a pair of killers after her. Ashamed that all her dreams and hard work had left her worse off than before she’d started. She was touched that he was so selflessly eager to protect her.
There was no way she could confess that she was probably endangering him.
“Thank you, Phillip. I won’t stay long—I swear.”
“Stay as long as you like,” he said.
She yawned and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, he was gone. The shades were drawn and there was a box of clothes on the floor. He must have come in at some point when she’d been asleep. When she got up and knelt to open the box, all the clothes she hadn’t taken with her seven years ago were inside.
He’d kept them…packed them away…all these years. Had he been waiting and hoping she’d come back?
“Oh, Phillip—”
Suddenly she almost hated herself. She was using him as a human shield. Maybe The Pope and Nero had followed her. Maybe they’d killed the cow.
Tell him. He deserves the truth. If you don’t tell him—he’ll be furious.
She pulled a thin white dress out of the box and held it against her body. Memories tugged at her.
They’d driven in to a posh shop in Corpus Christi one afternoon and he’d bought her several outfits shortly before he’d left for the Middle East. He’d liked this particular dress so much, she’d worn it out of the store with the tags still on it. He’d laughed and cut off the tags with his pocketknife. Then they’d driven out to Mustang Island and had gone for a walk on the beach. It had been early spring and the southeasterly breeze had been strong. She’d chased seagulls, her skirts swirling. He’d caught her, and they’d found a secluded spot behind the dunes and made love on their beach towels.
Fingering the tiny buttons, she began to shake as she remembered his fingers fumbling with each pearly stud as he’d undone them one by one. He’d been so clumsy, she’d had to help him.
“Oh, Phillip—” She buried her face in the soft white cloth, wishing it didn’t remind her of how sweet life with Phillip had once been.
“I won’t be staying long. I won’t. I can’t love him. I can’t. I’ll get myself back on track and he’ll never have to know the whole truth. He doesn’t still love me. I can’t hurt him now.”
She put Phillip out of her mind and took a long hot bath and washed her hair. After towel-drying her hair, she slipped into the white dress with the gleaming pearl buttons. It felt so good to be fresh and clean—to be home.
She turned in front of the mirror and the circular skirt floated around her legs. Then she stopped herself.
“This isn’t home. I’m still going to be a star.”
Was she really? Or had she just lived on dreams so long, she didn’t know how to live any other way? Dreams kept her going. They made it possible for her to face the everyday pain and the hassles of life and find them bearable, made it possible for her to hold her head up even with killers tracking her.
She’d put Phillip in danger. Maybe she’d gotten his cow killed. Would she ever be worthy of a man like Phillip?
He thought he’d seen her at her lowest in the bar brawl. He didn’t know. She hadn’t told him near everything about what she’d endured in those foster homes. Never once had she told anybody how often she’d had to change homes because her new “father” had started looking at her wrong. And that had meant she’d had to change schools.
So often had she changed schools, she hadn’t been able to make friends with the good kids, and, of course, she’d fallen behind in her schoolwork. Once she’d even flunked a grade, which had made the kids, at least the ones she’d admired, believe she was stupid.
The spring of her junior year in high school, she’d painted her lips with bright red lipstick and auditioned for the talent show. Only when she’d stood on that stage had the other kids begun to think she was special. When she’d sung for them, she’d felt reborn, as though she was a whole new person. If she hadn’t had that special gift she’d inherited from her mother, she would have stopped believing in herself a long time ago. Every time she remembered standing on that stage behind her mother as a little kid, she knew she couldn’t quit.
The days passed. Before she knew it a whole week had flown by. Not once had Phillip hit on her.
She relaxed a little and began to let herself notice him a little more. She tried hard not to smile at him when he said something. Some part of her wanted to get up first thing and make his coffee. But she didn’t.
Life as his housekeeper soon became routine. The work itself might be the same everywhere, but Phillip’s being around spiced up the most mundane activities. Not that he made any more overt moves.
Still, there were more than a few awkward moments, especially at first, such as when he’d asked her where she wanted to sleep, and she’d eyed his bedroom door, hesitating a second or two before choosing the last bedroom down the hall instead of his, the one they’d once shared.
All he’d said was, “Okay,” but his eyes had grown dark and cold, and the military mask had fallen into place when she’d carried her box of clothes from his bedroom down the hall.
Being a Marine, he tried to run his home the way he might run a military base. Maybe that worked when she wasn’t around, but she wasn’t about to play the grunt to his Lt. Col.
Westin. On the first morning after she’d bathed and slipped into her soft white dress, he’d caught her on the back porch when she was towel-drying her hair and had started off with a long list of orders.
“I want you up at 0600 sharp,” he’d barked.
“This is a home not some Marine camp,” she’d replied.
Laughing at his audacity, she’d saluted him with her left hand. “I never did get those big old
numbers—0600? Translation, please!” She’d wadded his list of chores and stuffed it down the scooped neckline of her soft white dress and into her bra.
“Six a.m. Sharp.”
“You can’t be serious,” she’d said, aware of his silver eyes lingering on her hand between her breasts. “Only lunatics or maniacal Marines get up at such an ungodly hour.”
“You didn’t even read my list—”
“I know how to keep house! You don’t have to tell me what to do!”
“You could have at least read—”
“Didn’t anybody in colonel school ever teach you to delegate?”
“There’s no such thing as colonel school.”
“Maybe there should be.”
She’d made a habit of sleeping through the alarm he set for her every night just as she had made a habit of ignoring the long lists of chores he left on the kitchen table every morning.
Instead, she did what she thought needed doing, which was more than he ever saw. Naturally, there were some resulting fireworks. He had started in on her that first night.
No sooner had they sat down to supper than Phillip had started shooting blunt questions at her, like, “Did you do…?” Then he’d systematically gone down his list, which he knew by heart and she hadn’t bothered to read, unerringly selecting the tasks she’d neglected to do, such as keeping the doors locked all the time, instead of the chores she’d done.
“Did you iron my shirts?”
“In this heat?”
“Why isn’t my bed made?”
“It isn’t? Why, I went in—”
She’d stopped. No way could she admit that when she’d lifted his pillow, she’d thought of him lying there and cupped it against her face to breathe in his tangy, male scent. Then the memories of them together in his bed had flooded her and she’d run.
Blushing, she’d toyed with a strand of her hair. Her tongue seemed to stick itself to the roof of her mouth.
He’d turned a little red, too. “Okay. Okay. Forget the bed.”
“I can if you can.” She’d hardly breathed.
“What about my clothes in the hamper?” he’d growled.
“The…hamper’s in your bedroom, too,” she’d whispered.
“Oh.”
“I—I’ll do them tomorrow…if you’ll bring the hamper to the laundry room.”