by Diana Palmer
Even as she thought about it, as her fingers touched the cold vinyl of the hard-shelled suitcase, she realized that she couldn’t do it. She thought of Connor here with nobody to help him with the tangle of daily email, or with routine things like where food was on his plate, how many steps he had to walk down to go to the shore of the lake, where Emma led him almost every evening when he was home. Who would sit with him when he had the horrible migraines that plagued him? Who’d tease him and wipe away the broodiness that hallmarked his personality?
She moved her suitcase back into the closet and slowly closed the door. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she cared for him. That had been a huge mistake. But he was the sort of man who attracted women. Not only for his amorous technique—which was formidable—but also for his wit and courtesy and the soft heart he hid from most people.
He cared about the people who worked for him. Marie told her how much he’d done for her family and Barnes’s. He’d done that for other people, as well. He was generous to a fault. He was that way with Emma, too. He’d wanted to buy her things, but she’d refused every attempt. There would inevitably come a time when he’d find her out—hopefully, long after she left him. She didn’t want him to remember that she’d accepted expensive presents from him. It would look as if she had ulterior motives for coming to work for him. Her only motive had been to try and make up just a little for the horrible thing she’d done.
She had nightmares about the boat hitting him. Now that she knew him, had feelings for him, she was tormented by the memories. She should have stopped the boat, gotten out, helped him, apologized, tried to explain. Even if he’d sent the sheriff’s department after her, which he would have had to do since the lake house wasn’t within the city limits, she’d have dealt with the consequences, whatever they were, bravely.
Instead, she’d let him give her a job that she never should have taken under false pretenses.
But look what she’d have missed, she told herself. Quiet evenings by the lake. Breakfast with him every morning. Working together in the office, listening to his deep, velvety voice while he dictated. Easing his headaches with medicine and companionship until he fell asleep. Just being with him. Looking at him. Loving the handsome face and muscular physique that defined the man he was. She never saw the millionaire. She saw the man.
She wandered out to the deck overlooking the lake. There was a flat area between this lake house and Mamie’s place, right on the shore. There was a log there where Emma liked to sit. It was where she’d been sitting that first time, when Connor had found her and railed her out about trespassing. It was near where he’d offered her breakfast later, when he lost his vision. She’d teased him and he’d laughed.
Marie said he hardly ever laughed before Emma came to work for him. It made her proud that she could give him a few light moments in his darkness. She wished she could go back and undo what she’d done.
He’d gone away so suddenly. Was it because of last night? Had it meant something to him, beyond just the physical attraction that was so evident to both of them? Did he regret his behavior because she worked for him? Was he embarrassed? Ashamed?
She laughed. He was never embarrassed, and he would hardly be ashamed. Nothing much had happened. She’d struggled away from him before anything could. But she recalled the sudden hardness of his body. He’d wanted her, badly. Did he think she’d let him touch her for ulterior motives, that she wanted something for being with him? She was horrified that he might think she was pretending to be clueless. She’d told him she was engaged once. Did he think she’d slept with her fiancé as many women did before the wedding?
Her mind flew ahead to his return. How would he act when he came back? She hoped he wouldn’t pursue her, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to resist him. She loved being in his big arms, she loved kissing him. That was unwise for many reasons. She hoped she could get her hormones under control before he came back. Because she absolutely could not let him get close to her. The thought depressed her so much that she skipped lunch and went to wander the lakeshore like a lost soul.
* * *
There were a few emails left that he’d wanted sent, so she took care of those. After that, there wasn’t much to do. She helped Marie in the kitchen. The older woman liked to make exotic dishes and freeze them, for when company came.
Not that there’d been many visitors lately. Connor had been famous for his lake parties when he was sighted, Marie commented a few days later. The house had been alive with light and music and the sound of conversation.
“I guess he knows a lot of important people,” Emma said as she chopped fresh herbs for the omelet Marie was making them for supper. They had light meals since Connor wasn’t in residence. Marie did the cooking, a chore she’d shared with Connor’s chef, Edward, who stayed in France at Connor’s other home on the Riviera. Emma loved omelets, for any meal. This one had lots of herbs, with tiny muffins to accompany it.
Marie heard the wistful note in her voice and glanced at her. “Too many, it seems sometimes. You know, I always felt that he hid in people, in droves of people, to keep from facing his personal demons. The house was full, but he was alone, even then.”
“He told me about his wife,” she confessed.
Marie’s eyebrows lifted. “He did? My goodness, he never speaks of her to anyone, that I know.”
Emma laughed softly. “People tend to confide in me. It’s always been that way.”
“It’s because you listen. You really listen,” Marie emphasized. “Most people want to talk about themselves. They aren’t quiet enough to listen to what other people say to them, they’re thinking ahead to what they want to say next.”
Emma grinned. “I never thought of it that way.”
Marie laughed softly. “Mr. Sinclair’s women don’t listen, they talk,” she said.
Emma groaned inwardly at the reminder of his women. Of course he had women. She’d seen the glittery woman who made soufflés. She’d almost blurted that out to Marie. It would be fatal, if she ever said such a thing to Connor and he made the connection. He’d remember that the woman who’d blinded him had seen the woman at the lake house. She’d almost let that slip to him, the night before he’d left the lake house.
In a way, she was sorry that she’d taken this job so impulsively. Her motives had been noble, at the time, but they would lead her to tragedy if she wasn’t careful. Mamie had told her how dangerous Connor was, how vindictive. Mamie wasn’t the only person he’d hounded relentlessly for crossing him. If even the memory upset Mamie, it must have been very bad.
“All right, dump them in,” Marie cut into her thoughts.
It took Emma a moment before she remembered that she was helping with supper. She tossed the herbs into the bowl where Marie was whisking the eggs.
“How did you come to work for Mr. Sinclair?” Emma asked.
Marie smiled. “My husband died and I had nowhere to go. We’d lived on a poultry farm for years, ever since we first married. When he died, I didn’t want to do the job alone, so the company he worked for wanted to move another family in. I came here, to the lake house, on a whim, because a friend said there was an eccentric millionaire who needed a local cook. I was scared to death of him. You know, I have a thick Southern accent, I’m a countrywoman, all that. He didn’t mind at all, despite his very French and very elegant chef, Edward. Barnes is sort of like me, too—he’s local, so you could never say that the boss was biased toward people who don’t have money.”
Emma laughed as she pictured poor Marie on her first interview. “I was scared of him, too, when I first came here,” she confessed.
“It was only supposed to be for a few months a year, while he was here. But he liked me, so I stay year-round. Usually by myself—” she grinned “—since he takes Barnes with him when he goes overseas. We have temporary people come in to help out
when he throws parties, but there’s just me and Barnes when he’s alone. When he leaves, it’s just me and the telephone, really. It rings constantly when he’s not here. Reporters looking for a confidential story, rivals tracking his movements overseas, business associates trying to track him down. And women.” She groaned. “I didn’t understand why he lived on the Riviera for several months a year. Now I do,” she added wryly.
“What does he do there?” Emma wondered.
“He swims. He sunbathes. He has house parties. Or he did,” she added quietly. “Now—well, I’m not sure.” She turned up the heat on the front ceramic burner of the stove and placed the pan to warm before she added the eggs. “You know, I often thought that he needed people the way some people need alcohol.” Emma knew all too well some people’s need for alcohol. “He doesn’t like his own company.”
“He hasn’t had people here since I came to work for him.”
Marie added eggs to the pan and began to move the mixture to the center as the edges bubbled. “He doesn’t seem to need other people when you’re around, Emma,” came the soft reply. “He’s like a different person with you, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. He’s at peace. Yes,” she added, turning the eggs. “That’s the word I wanted. He’s at peace.”
Emma didn’t say another word. She felt a kind of quiet pride. At least she was of some worth to Connor, even if she was a dead loss as an amorous substitute.
Perhaps that was why he’d gone away. To find a woman who’d do for him what Emma wouldn’t. The thought depressed her beyond words. She finished her supper, made some excuse about a book she wanted to read and went to bed early.
* * *
Emma wandered the shoreline, tapping tall autumn weeds lightly with a twig she’d found. It had been a whole week since Connor had left. She’d done what little work he left her, helped Marie, brooded in his office, haunted the lakeshore where she’d spent so much time with him when they weren’t working. Nothing helped. It was like being separated from an arm or a leg. Funny, how much he’d come to mean to her in the short time she’d worked here.
She wondered if he missed her, then laughed out loud. Sure he missed her. He was probably drowning in attractive brunettes, helping him enjoy whatever casino was nearby wherever he’d gone. He liked glitz and glamour. And she’d heard that conventions were breeding grounds for all sorts of wild behavior.
The thought of that big, muscular body with a woman in a bed drove her crazy. She hated the thought of him with other women.
She told herself for the hundredth time that she was never going to have any permanent place in his life. She worked for him. Yes, he’d kissed her, but he was only curious. He’d said so. He wanted to see how she tasted, and she’d better hope that she tasted like bad medicine, or she was going to be in big trouble very soon.
She stared across the lake, enjoying the cool breeze that ruffled her hair, the nip of autumn giving it a flavor all its own. She closed her eyes and smiled. Such a simple thing, to bring such pleasure.
“Emma! Where the hell are you?”
Her heart jumped. Connor was home! She turned back toward the lake house, running in her joy. “I’m here!” she called back, laughter in her voice.
The man standing on the deck didn’t smile. He stiffened as if a bullet had hit him. He’d gone away to forget that she went to his head like alcohol, that he wanted her with an obsession he’d never felt in his life. And here she was, laughter in her voice, excitement in her steps he could hear clearly as she approached.
She stopped in front of him to catch her breath. But the joy she felt at his return wasn’t shared. He was as cold and unreachable as he’d been the first day she’d talked to him, when he’d chewed her out about speeding in Mamie’s boat. This wasn’t the kind, mischievous, teasing companion of recent weeks.
“Come with me. We have work to do,” he said coldly, and turned back toward the door.
He reached toward a chair that had been moved and almost lost his balance. “Who moved my chair?” he demanded as he stopped in his tracks.
“We have a woman who comes in to do the heavy cleaning—”
“Hell, I know that! I want to know why it wasn’t moved back!” he said curtly.
She drew in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, sir.”
He breathed slowly, deliberately, while he got his temper under control. “Get Barnes,” he said shortly. “I’ll need help to get to the office.”
“Sir, I don’t mind...” she began, putting a soft hand on his arm.
He shook it off violently. Pale eyes looked in her general direction. “Don’t touch me!” he snapped. “Get Barnes! Now!”
She took a deep breath to steady herself. She was shaking from the aggression in his voice. “Yes, sir,” she said. Her voice shook, too. She hated that.
He heard it and his body tensed. He didn’t want to hurt her, but she was getting too close. He couldn’t let her. He had nothing left to give.
* * *
Barnes led Connor to his office. Emma, her face flushed with embarrassment and grief, followed slowly along behind, because he hadn’t told her what to do, now that he was home.
“Thanks,” he told the other man.
“Anytime, sir,” Barnes said politely. He looked at Emma’s disturbed face and grimaced, then tried to smile.
She nodded and didn’t meet his eyes. He went out, closing the door.
“Are you in here, Emma?” Connor snapped as he sat down behind his desk.
“Yes, sir.” She sounded calm again, thank goodness, even though she wasn’t.
“Good. Let’s get to work.”
She might have mentioned that he was just home from a business trip, and wouldn’t he like to get out of the very becoming charcoal pin-striped suit he was wearing with a white shirt and blue tie, and change into something comfortable? But that grizzly bear wouldn’t take kindly to any such personal remark; she knew it at once. She wasn’t risking his temper again.
He dictated letters to two congressmen and a senator. They concerned some upcoming legislation that would, apparently, impact aviation. She didn’t ask questions. She just took dictation.
“I’ll want those printed out on paper for my signature,” he added when he finished. “Half the time they do the same thing I do with email—they just ignore it. It’s harder to ignore a registered letter. That’s how you’ll send them, too. Registered mail. I’ll have Barnes drive them to the post office in town.”
“Yes, sir.”
He got up, drawing in another breath. “Call Mrs. Harris at Bear Lake Florist. I want flowers sent to Ariel Delong in Atlanta.” He gave her the address and the telephone number. “Have them put ‘I have sweet memories’ on the card. Got that?”
Her heart was dying. “Yes, sir.”
“Send her two dozen red roses,” he added.
“Yes, sir.”
He smiled sarcastically. “Had you forgotten that I have women, Emma?” he chided. “The rest of the world moves on, while you sit in your room at night and dream about white picket fences and happily-ever-after.”
She didn’t comment. She thought she might choke on her own words. Besides that, she wasn’t trying to justify her ideals to a man who only ridiculed them.
“Nothing to say?” he persisted.
“Not a thing, sir.”
“I’m taking her nightclubbing tonight,” he added with a sensuous smile. “It’s her birthday. We’ll do the town and then I’ll take her home. Barnes will go with me. I won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon, so get those letters done ASAP.”
“Yes, sir.” She was a parrot. She needed to make a recording of her voice saying that, so she could just hit Play when he asked a question or made a statement.
“She likes to dance,” he said. “So do I.” His face hardened. “
It’s hard to do anything more than a lazy two-step now, of course. I can’t see! I can’t see a damned thing!”
She bit her lip. He wasn’t accusing her; he didn’t know who she was. But the pain was like a knife in her heart. She’d done that to him!
He struggled for composure. “I love Viennese waltzes,” he said. “I danced with a countess in Vienna once, at a ball given by the American consulate. I danced the tango in Argentina with the daughter of a titled count. And now I can’t walk if someone moves a damned chair into a position I don’t remember!” His fist hit the desk so hard that Emma jumped. “I hate being blind! I hate it!”
She swallowed. “Mr. Sinclair,” she said softly, “I’m more sorry than you know, for what happened to you. But you have to go forward. Life doesn’t have a rewind button.”
He leaned heavily on the desk for a minute, a caged lion roaring at his fate. After a minute, he moved away from the desk and slid his hand along the back of a leather chair. “Tell that cleaning woman that if she moves another piece of furniture in this house, and doesn’t move it back, she’s fired.”
“Yes, sir.”
He got almost to the door. “Tell the florist to add a box of chocolates to that order,” he said. “She likes sweets.”
“I will.” The “yes, sir” was wearing thin.
“You don’t dance, do you, Emma?” he chided, turning his head back toward her. “God forbid you should have to get that close to a man! Dancing is sinful, isn’t it? Anything that gives people pleasure is forbidden!”
Actually, she danced quite well. There had been a party that she’d gone to before she took the job with Mamie. Cash Grier, Jacobsville’s police chief, had heard from his wife, Tippy, that Emma couldn’t dance. He took it upon himself to teach her, and he was great at it. Tippy had grinned at her with the new baby boy in her arms, laughing when Emma tripped and said she was going to kill him with her two left feet and go to jail. They’d all laughed. Emma had gone to a party soon afterward, and she’d been the belle of the ball.