by Mary Campisi
“You’ll do fine.”
By noon Rourke had a two page list for Maxine and a ten-point strategy to bridge the fourteen year gap with Kate. He’d once been called a brilliant strategist by Forbes, and Money said he had the brains to lead the next industrial revolution. But this was Kate and suddenly, uncertainty plagued him. Kate, the woman, wasn’t as easily swayed by him as Kate, the girl, had been.
When the front door tinkled someone’s arrival, Rourke reached for his wallet. “How much do you need now, Abigail?”
“It’s Abbie, isn’t it?”
He jerked his head up. “Kate. Hello.” She wore jeans that molded her hips and a semi-fitted pink T-shirt. Years had passed, but he still remembered every inch of skin underneath those clothes.
“I met your niece this morning.” She moved toward him, a half smile skittering across her lips.
He’d tasted those lips. Full. Inviting. Rourke cleared his throat and stuffed his wallet in his back pocket. “She’s interesting, isn’t she?” For once he was grateful he could talk about his niece, the instant libido blaster. “Not that I understand a damn thing she says or does.”
“She’s a typical teenager.” Kate stood across the desk, less than two feet away, the scent of her perfume teasing his senses. At eighteen, it had been hyacinth. He’d never heard of the flower before but she’d shown him one in the neighbor’s garden. The next night, he’d picked every one and brought them to her. “Hyacinth?” he asked.
“What?”
“Your perfume. Hyacinth?”
She blushed. “Yes.”
They stared at one another a second too long and he knew she’d never forgotten him. It was in the blue of her eyes, the flush of her cheeks, the wetness of her parted lips. Did she realize they weren’t finished, that maybe they’d never be finished, no matter how much they fought it?
“Rourke?” It was a soft plea of uncertainty.
“Yes?”
“Don’t do this. Please.” Her eyes glittered with tears and a hint of fear.
“I can’t help it,” he said softly. “Neither can you.”
She stepped back and clutched her middle. “We can’t do this.”
“It’s too late, Kate.” He kept his voice gentle. “It’s always been too late. We’re going to have to finish this thing between us, you realize that don’t you?”
“Maybe if you just leave…”
He shook his head and stood. “It won’t work. You know that.”
“Clay—”
“You were never his.” He moved toward her. “Not since that night at the lake. I want to get to know you again.” He closed the distance between them, lifted a hand and traced her jaw with his fingers.
“We live in different worlds now. Perhaps we always did.” She blinked hard and leaned her face into his hand. “You’ve been all over the world. I’ve never even been to Disneyland.”
“I’ll take you there.”
“You know what I mean.”
He cupped her chin and tilted her face to his. “All I know is that traveling the world can’t erase what we shared.” He lowered his mouth to hers and murmured, “It can’t even dim the memory.”
When their mouths met, she whimpered. Rourke eased his arms around her waist, careful not to frighten her, but it was Kate who urged his mouth open, Kate who plunged her tongue inside with desperate need. She was the one who thrust her arms around his neck, pressed her breasts and hips against him.
“Rourke,” she breathed into his mouth.
He wanted her with the ferocity of the young man he’d been at eighteen. Without reserve. Without a past. Without a dead husband between them. This was what he’d been waiting for all these years. He slid his hand along her spine. This—
The jingle of his office door slashed through the intimate moment. “Rourke?” Abbie’s voice drifted to them. “You here?”
Kate tried to jerk away but Rourke grabbed her wrist. “Nothing happened. Understand? Pull yourself together.” The pain of regret splashed across her face as she opened her mouth to speak. “Nothing,” he repeated under his breath. Then he released her and moved to the other side of the desk where he sank into a chair just as Abbie bounced in the doorway. “Hey! Hi, Mrs. Maden. What are you doing here?”
“I—”
“She had some documents she wanted me to look over,” Rourke interjected, flipping over a clipped pack of papers. Damn Kate, she wouldn’t even look at him.
Abbie scrunched her nose and glanced from one to the other. “Didn’t you two know each other in high school or something?”
“Yes, we did.” Look at me, Kate.
“Long time ago, huh?” Abbie let out a squeak of laughter and added, “Very long time.”
“Funny.” He dug in his wallet and fished out a ten dollar bill. “Here. Go get lunch.”
Abbie snatched the bill and stuffed it in her shorts pocket. “Thanks.” She turned to Kate. “Julia said she had some chores to do, but do you think she could go to Subway with me?”
“If her work’s done, she’s welcome to go. I’ll walk with you.” Kate darted a glance in the direction of Rourke’s forehead. “Nice to see you again. Thanks for looking at the papers.”
“Right.” If Abbie hadn’t intruded he’d have been looking at a lot more than her papers. And he still would. Soon.
Chapter 9
“You know that was a very bad time in my life, Katie and I would just as soon not dredge up the past.”—Georgeanne Redmond
“What is he doing here?” Georgeanne Redmond tried to hide the agitation in her voice but it clung to her like cigarette smoke.
Kate shrugged and placed a tuna on rye alongside a kosher spear and a scoop of German potato salad. “He said he’s here for his niece.” She handed her mother the plate and sat down.
“You spoke to him?” Oxygen seeped from the room in big gusts, rendering speech and thought nearly impossible.
“He came to the shop. I really had no choice.”
Georgeanne forked a hunk of potato salad and said, “He’s after something, I know it. That man’s never done anything for the pure sake of doing. There’s always been a motive.”
Kate looked up from her sandwich and frowned. “Mom, you don’t even know him.”
“I know what I read.” And what I remember.
“He’ll be gone soon.”
He better be. “Don’t forget the pain he brought you, Katie. If Clay hadn’t been there for you, what would have happened? Can you imagine the disgrace?” She didn’t mention how or why Clay happened to be waiting with a proposal or her part in it.
“Mom, how could it have been any worse than having you almost thrown in prison for running over his mother?”
There it was again, slapped right back in her face. “That woman lunged into the road, I swear on a stack of bibles before Our Lord, Jesus Christ. Judge Conroy believed me, too, you know he did.”
“But they flew Mrs. Flannigan back to Chicago which left the town talking about you.”
Georgeanne rubbed her leg and scrunched her eyes shut. “You know that was a very bad time in my life, and I would just as soon not dredge up the past.” Oh how she wished she’d timed her drink so she could have had it before Katie showed up. A good jolt of Smirnoff’s would have done the trick.
“You brought it up, Mom. I’m just saying Rourke Flannigan is here to give his niece a slice of fresh air. That’s all.”
Now why did Katie look away when she said that? Something was up; she could feel it in the flesh between her screws and plate. The man bore watching and Georgeanne Redmond was just the woman to do it. She’d gotten rid of him once before, she could do it again. Nobody was going to hurt her Katie.
***
“You are not to go near that guy again, do you hear me?”
Kate didn’t respond. She fingered the stone on the fireplace in the bedroom of the model and said, “His niece says he has a floor-to-ceiling fireplace in his fifth bedroom.”
“So?”
&n
bsp; “We talked about building one.” She didn’t mention the heart-shaped tub.
“Teenagers say a lot of things they don’t mean. If the world cried over every misspent emotion of a teenager, we’d have another ocean.”
Kate couldn’t expect someone whose fiancé skipped out on her three days before the ceremony to understand about love. Angie had been hurt once, and she’d vowed never to let anyone get close again. “It was real, Angie. It wasn’t melodrama.”
“Okay, so it was real. It was also fourteen years ago. What do you think Mr. GQ has been doing all this time? I’ll clue you in. He hasn’t been sitting home Saturday nights mooning over the fireplace you were planning to build together or getting the exact shade of purple for his turret.”
“I know.”
“The guy’s a player and he’s hell bent on playing you again.”
“It won’t happen.”
“Good.” Angie put her arm around Kate’s shoulder. “He’ll leave, you know. Just like before.”
“He told me he was coming back.”
“Of course he’d say that now.”
“And the phone call—”
“Kate. Stop it. The guy disappears for months and then supposedly calls you? I’m glad Clay answered, if Rourke even called. He wasn’t calling to propose, he just wanted to get laid again.”
“Angie, don’t.”
“Sorry. The truth isn’t always gentle.” She softened her voice and asked, “What do you think Mr. Princeton would have said if you’d told him you were carrying his baby?”
“I don’t know.” The wondering had plagued her for years.
“I do. He would have vaporized. Men like Rourke Flannigan do not get caught in traps. They set them.”
“You’re probably right.”
“And what about Clay? Not many men would feed their wife ice chips while she delivered another man’s baby.”
“I know.” Guilt ripped through her. “He always deserved better than I could give him.”
“You had a good life together.” Angie touched her arm. “You were happy. Weren’t you?”
Kate looked away. “Of course.”
“Then don’t upset your whole world for this guy. He isn’t worth it.”
Kate nodded as a slow ache seeped through her. Angie was right. Rourke would only hurt her again and then he’d leave.
“Kate? Are you listening?”
The ache shifted to a burn as the truth surfaced. There was no protection from Rourke Flannigan. “The only time I really felt alive was when I was with him.”
“Are you willing to risk Julia for that feeling?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you better come up with a way to control yourself because he doesn’t strike me as a man who likes to lose, even if he doesn’t want the prize.”
Kate thought about Angie’s words the rest of the day as she cut strips of carpeting for the house she was working on. It was a rich wheat-flecked Berber. Did Rourke have Berber like this in his home? And why did he have a heart-shaped tub in his bathroom?
***
Maxine Simmons did not arrive a moment too soon. Rourke wasn’t used to a child, let alone a teenager who questioned every time he breathed. Not that Maxine had any idea how to respond to a thirteen year old, but the woman had estrogen pumping through her body, and that was a start.
Besides, he missed Maxine’s stingy smiles and superior organizational skills. The woman could give lectures on maximizing time and minimizing waste. How would she parlay that into looking after his niece?
“I got you a desk,” he said, eager to get her situated so she could work her organizational voodoo. “Try out this chair, not our usual, but the best Office Max had to offer.”
She pushed her cat-eye glasses up her thin nose and perused the entire room. “Thank you, sir.” It was hardly the penthouse of RF Renovations but she didn’t seem to mind. “I’m very anxious to get to work, Mr. Flannigan.” She set her suitcase behind the desk and turned toward the computer.
“Don’t you want to go to the Manor first, freshen up maybe?” See the second half of your job?
She touched her cheeks, patted her curly hair in place and smoothed her skirt. “No, sir. I rested on the plane.”
“Oh. Well then.” Abbie was probably running around with Julia Maden. He’d yet to meet the girl and wasn’t looking forward to the product of Kate and Clay’s union smacking him in the face.
He was almost grateful when the front door jingled open, signaling another disruption to an already unproductive morning. He was even more pleased to see the disruption was Kate. “Hi,” he said, trying to keep his voice non-committal. Maxine followed his gaze and tilted her head just so as she processed Kate’s entry.
“Rourke,” Kate began, “I need—” her gaze swung to Maxine. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were busy.”
“Kate, this is Maxine, my secretary.”
Kate forced a smile and extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Maxine.”
“Likewise.” Maxine hesitated a second, preparing to formalize the introduction with a Miss or Mrs., but Rourke had conveniently left it off, leaving Maxine no choice but to finish with a feeble, “Kate.”
“Maxine flew in from Chicago to help me.”
“Oh?” Kate cleared her throat and turned to him. “How long are you staying?”
He shrugged, avoiding both women’s curious stares. “I haven’t decided.”
This made Maxine cough and sputter like a tea kettle. For God’s sake, what did she have in Chicago anyway? A cat? A fish? The dog she had died last year and Rourke only knew about that because she’d come to work with bloodshot eyes. It wasn’t as though she had a family there. Not even a mother or father. Did she? He made a note to find out.
“How can I help you, Kate?” God, you look wonderful.
She lifted a large packet of papers from a shopping bag. “I met with a lawyer yesterday and I don’t really understand all the ramifications, but he thinks we have a strong case.”
“I’ll help you.”
She gave him a hesitant smile. “Thank you. Do you want me to leave these with you?”
“That would be fine.” He felt like a fifth grader with a cheat sheet. He was helping Kate, he reminded himself. There were too many swindlers out there and she was too innocent to tell one from the other.
Kate pushed back a tangle of dark hair and said, “He’s going to call me tomorrow to discuss how I want to proceed.”
“I’ll review this today and get back with you. You’ll be home tonight?” A chance to see where she’d spent her days and nights with another man.
“Yes.” She licked her bottom lip. “Seven-thirty?”
He nodded, but he was thinking of those lips and what they could do to him. Delicious, wicked, wonderful things.
“Thank you. Nice meeting you, Maxine.” Her gaze shifted back to Rourke and she said in a half shy, uncertain voice, “I’ll see you tonight.”
He watched her leave, the sway of her hips pulling him back years to hot nights of unfulfilled passion and desperate promises.
“Would you like me to organize that file?”
Maxine stripped his fantasies with her clipped efficiency. “What? Oh, sure. Get this in order and then let me see it.”
Kate had the softest skin he’d ever felt. He wanted to touch her again, worship her naked body…
“Mr. Flannigan?”
Bury himself deep inside her …
“Sir?”
Make her forget there was ever anybody else…
“Sir!”
He swung around to find Maxine staring at him, a confused look pinching her face. “What is it? You look like you’re about to be sick.”
She held the file out to him. “This—this—”
“Yes?”
“This is you.” She pointed to the name of his holding company.
“Kate doesn’t know that.”
“You’re going to give her advice on how t
o go about suing you?”
“I’m going to look over the documents and see what the lawyer has told her,” he corrected. “Then, I’m going to advise her to settle.”
“But Mr. Flannigan—”
“It was an accident, Maxine. The lawyer is probably some ambulance chaser looking to take advantage of a widow with a child. I won’t let that happen,” he paused, then added, “to Kate, or to me.”
Her small mouth pinched together like a crepe.
“You disapprove.” Maxine had a way of making her opinion known without saying a word.
“It’s not my business to approve or disapprove, sir.” She slid into the secretary chair and swiveled around to face the computer.
“I’m not going to take advantage of her.” He scratched the back of his neck and spoke to her ramrod tweed back. Hadn’t he told her to dress casual? “We knew each other years ago.” What a pathetic understatement.
She opened the folder and began perusing its contents. “I gathered that, sir.”
“You did?” He moved to the side of the desk so he could see her face. “How?”
She turned her bird-like neck toward him and said matter-of-factly, “It was the way you said her name.”
“Kate? What did I say?”
She shifted in her chair, clearly uncomfortable with the line of questioning. “Your voice shifted a few decibels lower. Soft. Gentle.” She shot him a quick look. “There’s nothing soft or gentle about you, Mr. Flannigan.”