by Sandra Field
“Keep your pop psychology—I don’t need it.”
“You don’t need anything. Or anyone. Least of all me,” she said very quietly. Then she turned on her heel and walked away from him.
Her hips swayed in her satin trousers; her back was very straight. He fought down the crazy urge to call her back, to hold her to his heart and describe that sunny afternoon in Chicago, the blood on the sidewalk, the crowds, the police and the sirens. The guilt that had seized him by the throat and never let him go.
No, he thought. No way. You’re a loner, Reece Callahan. And you’d damn well better stay that way. Just because a woman with eyes like a tropical sea and hair like burnished teak thinks you should bare your soul is no reason to do so.
She’d disappeared down the hallway that led to her bedroom. But she’d disappeared from more than his sight, he knew that in his bones. Lauren Courtney was a proud woman. She wouldn’t beg him for anything.
She’d stick to the terms of their bargain because she was also an honorable woman; but on Saturday night she’d vanish from his life just as she’d vanished to her room.
Game over.
Cursing under his breath, Reece headed for his own bedroom; and seven hours later got up after a sleep broken by nightmares in which Clea and Lauren were screaming for help and he was unable to reach either one of them. Feeling as though he’d been beaten over the head with a baseball bat, he staggered to the shower. Half an hour later, clean-shaven, dressed in a navy-blue suit and looking, he hoped, minimally better, he strode into the breakfast room. But Lauren wasn’t alone. There were two people in the room.
Sam Lewis, his protégé and at one time Clea’s boyfriend, was standing at the window looking out. Lauren was at his side, laughing at something Sam had just said; they looked at ease with each other, young and carefree. Reece said sharply, “Sam—what are you doing here?”
Sam turned, a grin still on his narrow, pleasant face which was topped with black curls. “Hi, there, Reece. I was in Vancouver on business, and found out from Maureen that you were here. So I came up to say hello.”
Lauren had also turned. She was wearing tailored cargo pants with a crisp white shirt, her braided hair gleaming in the sun. She said coolly, “Good morning, Reece. Sam and I were just discussing hiking in the mountains for the day.”
Subduing an emotion he refused to label jealousy, Reece said, “Check the grizzly sightings before you go. And take bear spray, Sam.” He sounded like an elderly uncle, he thought irritably, and with a sudden fierce intensity knew he was the one who should be going hiking with Lauren. Not Sam.
He couldn’t go hiking with Lauren. For one thing he had to work all day. For another Lauren wouldn’t go with him. Not after last night. Scowling, he poured himself a cup of coffee and stirred in more cream than was good for him. Sam said easily, “I’ll check with the warden station before we leave. We’ll probably take one of the lifts and hike in the alpine meadows—the view’s incredible up there.”
“Fine,” Reece said briefly. They all sat down at the breakfast table, where Reece ate melon and strawberries that tasted like sawdust and listened as Sam described Whistler’s ski slopes. Lauren looked heartbreakingly beautiful, he thought. With her hair swept back, the purity of her cheekbones and the arch of her brows had the elegant restraint of a medieval portrait.
She hadn’t once met his gaze since he’d sat down. He said flatly, “Lauren, there’s been a change of plan. I’d like you to go with the wives of the Japanese delegation to Pemberton tomorrow morning—they’ll be having brunch at the golf club there. The bus will get back here about three and we’ll leave at five in the ’copter.”
She raised her brows. “Whatever you say. I should explain, Sam, that I’ve been acting as a hostess for Reece the last few days—I’m heading back to Manhattan early next week.”
“I see,” said Sam in the kind of voice that meant he didn’t see at all but was too polite to ask for details.
“If I’m on duty tomorrow,” Lauren went on, “I’d better enjoy my day off today,” and gave Sam the full benefit of her generous smile.
Sam, Reece noticed with a flare of pure rage, looked dazzled. “Maybe I could have a word with you after breakfast, Sam,” he said in a tone of voice that was an order, not a request. “How long are you staying?”
“Tomorrow morning, if that’s okay. I’m flying back to Boston midafternoon to work on the Altech proposal. Which I presume is what you want to talk to me about.”
It wasn’t. Ten minutes later, when Reece had ushered Sam into his office and closed the door, he said abruptly, “I want to make something clear. Under no circumstances are you to tell Lauren about Clea.”
Sam stood a little taller, a new maturity in his thin face. “Clea and I were in love,” he said, “she was one of the most important people in my life. And she’s been dead for five years. Why can’t I tell Lauren about her if I want to?”
“Lauren and I have a business arrangement,” Reece said. “Clea’s death has nothing to do with her.”
“Maybe you should tell her about Clea yourself,” Sam said stringently.
Reece held on hard to his temper. “There’s no need. You heard what she said—she’s going back to Manhattan very soon. And my private life is precisely that—private. So please don’t mention Clea’s name.”
“All right,” Sam said. “Although I think you’re wrong.”
“You’ve changed in the last while,” Reece said slowly.
“Yeah…finally growing up.” Sam grinned. “These negotiations you’ve been having me do…it’s a sink or swim process. So I’ve been studying some Olympic-class types, watching how they manage. You among them.”
Reluctantly Reece smiled; he’d always liked Sam, and with an inner wince of pain remembered how happy he’d been all those years ago with Clea’s choice of partner. Quickly he shifted the conversation to business matters, and twenty minutes later watched through his study window as Sam and Lauren climbed into Sam’s rented car to drive to the ski lift on Blackcomb. What if Lauren fell in love with Sam? How would he feel about that?
Lauren in love with Sam—what difference would it make? He himself had no intention of ever falling in love, certainly not with a woman as contrary and elusive as Lauren Courtney.
Get to work, Reece. You know where you are in the world of business. You’re in control in that world.
So what did that imply? That he was out of control where Lauren was concerned? That he was running away from something?
Swearing under his breath, Reece turned on his computer and took some papers out of his briefcase.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LAUREN enjoyed Sam’s brief visit. After Reece’s inexplicable mood changes, Sam’s straightforward pleasure in her company was a relief. Besides, he had the tact not to ask any questions about herself and Reece, questions she would have found difficult to answer. All the more difficult because as she hiked the high alpine meadows that day, part of her was wishing it was Reece who was with her. Reece, rather than Sam.
Who in the world would choose Reece’s arrogance and emotional coldness over Sam’s sunny nature? No woman in her right mind.
But when Sam took her hand to help her up a ridge, or when he brushed a mosquito from her arm, she felt absolutely nothing. Not the slightest twinge of desire. It had been the same with all the men she’d dated in the months since Sandor. In no way could she compare this with the fire in her blood whenever Reece touched her.
It’d be safe to go to the yacht club with Sam, she thought as she followed him to his car the next morning to say goodbye. Safe, sensible and prudent. Like her life the last four years.
Hugging Sam, she lifted her face as he kissed her on both cheeks. “It was lovely to meet you,” she said sincerely. “Get in touch the next time you’re in New York, won’t you?”
“I will—I spend a fair bit of time there. Be sure you go kayaking while you’re at the yacht club. ’Bye, Lauren.”
Smilin
g, she waved as he drove away, then turned back to the house. Three more days were left in the bargain she’d struck with Reece. Then she could head home. Back to her normal life, with its hard work, its routines and pleasures. Back where she belonged.
Didn’t she?
She opened the door and stepped inside. Reece was standing so close she could have reached out and touched him. He snarled, “On Saturday do you plan to embrace me with the same enthusiasm?”
She said incredulously, “You’re jealous!”
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“I don’t plan to hug you at all.”
“Did you keep to the terms of our bargain, Lauren? Or did you tell him all about Wallace and what a son of a bitch I am?”
“Difficult though it may be for you to believe, we didn’t talk about you at all.”
“So did you kiss him—up there in the mountains when the two of you were alone together?”
Her shoulders sagged, anger deserting her to be replaced by a despair that frightened her with its intensity. “You still think I’m up for grabs by the first man that comes along, don’t you, Reece? You’d rather believe Sandor, a man you’ve never met, than the woman who’s standing right in front of you… You don’t know how I’m longing for the weekend—it can’t come too soon.”
“That’s entirely mutual,” he grated. “The bus will pick you up here in an hour. Be ready at five to leave for the island.” Then he strode away from her down the hall.
Lauren watched him go. The only thing Reece could give her was orders, she thought painfully. It didn’t seem like much.
The last of the tankers traveling through the wide strait between the mainland and Vancouver Island fell behind as the helicopter swept toward a cluster of small islands set like unpolished emeralds in a turquoise sea. A yacht in full sail looked the size of a child’s toy; a group of kayaks floated like matchsticks on the tide. Then Reece began the descent, and through the rounded window Lauren sighted the peaks of the yacht club roof nestled in the trees.
She couldn’t imagine a more exquisite location. If only she were here alone, free to roam to her heart’s content. Making no attempt to hide the defiance in her tone, she spoke into the headset. “Tomorrow morning I’m going kayaking.”
“Not alone, you’re not.”
“Then I’ll just have to find someone to go with me, won’t I? With my reputation, that shouldn’t be difficult.”
“Lay off, Lauren. Unless you want me to land in the woods.”
She bit her lip, unwillingly admiring the interplay of feet and hands as Reece brought the helicopter to the very center of the landing pad. When the rotors had stilled, an attendant came for their luggage and the manager ushered them to the east wing of a building that fitted the landscape seamlessly. He opened a door at the very end of the wing. “The bedroom’s through there, the bathroom’s to your right, and the living room’s set up with a bar and all the amenities. Your client will meet you at the main bar at seven, Mr. Callahan, and dinner’s at eight.”
Lauren scarcely heard the last part of his speech. Bedroom. Wasn’t that what he’d said? Bedroom. In the singular. As he left the room, she marched across the living area, yanked open the two doors and discovered that the first led into a palatial bathroom and the second into a bedroom, furnished with a vast king-size bed. Bedroom and bed, both in the singular. She said furiously, “This isn’t in the bargain, Reece—that we share a bed. How dare you do this to me?”
He said impatiently, “I made the arrangements weeks ago, before I knew you existed. Anyway, that bed’s big enough that we never need come within three feet of each other.”
“I will not sleep with you!”
“Then you can sleep on the sofa.”
He’d gone too far. On top of last week, it was one thing too many. Her fury evaporated and to her utter consternation Lauren, who never cried, burst into tears, noisy and copious tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard she tried. Burying her face in her hands, she stumbled toward the bathroom, desperate for privacy. Then Reece took her by the shoulders, guiding her toward the bed. Striking out at him, she sobbed, “Leave me alone—I can’t bear you to touch me. Oh, God, why did I ever do this?”
Reece thrust her down on the bed, put his arm around her and said in a voice she hadn’t heard him use before, “Don’t cry, Lauren. Please don’t cry.”
“I’ll cry if I want to,” she wept, her breath hiccuping in her throat. “I just can’t take this anymore.”
He pulled her to his chest so that her sobs were muffled against his shirt, his hands rubbing her back and her shoulders, his cheek resting on her hair in a way that, at some far remove, felt altogether perfect; and perhaps it was this that finally brought Lauren’s breathing under control. “I never cry,” she snuffled, “never. Not even Sandor made me cry, or all those horrible newspaper articles. What’s wrong with me?”
“Why don’t you ever cry, Lauren?”
The tears seemed to have unlocked her tongue. “I learned not to. Years ago when Wallace left, my mother wouldn’t allow me to cry for him. And then the older I got, and the more obviously attractive, the more she resented me and wanted me out of the house. Which hurt. A lot. But I was too proud to cry in front of her and somehow I guess I lost the knack.”
“Do you ever see your mother?”
“Oh, sometimes. We’re excruciatingly polite, just as though nothing’s wrong, and it’s so false I hate it. My second stepfather’s very conservative and very dull—just for the record, he believes Sandor, too. Which doesn’t exactly make me warm to him.”
“Any more than you’ve warmed to me.”
“Do you blame me?” she said with a spark of her normal spirit.
“So let me get this straight…you’re sleeping on the sofa tonight,” Reece went on in an odd voice.
“You’re darn right I am. Since you’re not being chivalrous and offering me the bed.”
“I’m not the one with the problem,” Reece said. “Why won’t you share the bed with me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Do I have to spell it out? You know what happened when I kissed you that time—and you think I’m going to sleep within fifteen feet of you? Give me a break.”
“So you want me.”
“I’ve been celibate for four years and you’re not normally this dull-witted.”
“You want me, yet you’re going to spend the night on a sofa that was chosen more for elegance than comfort because you won’t risk us making love. That doesn’t spell promiscuity to me.”
“Wow,” she said. “Imagine that.”
With sudden intensity he took her by the shoulders. “I want to trust you, don’t you see? By God, I want to.”
“Then do it,” she said in exasperation.
“Yeah…just like that.” He hesitated. “Do you really hate my guts?”
“How would I know?”
“There’s no one else to ask,” Reece said dryly.
“I need to blow my nose,” she announced, then tugged free of him and marched to the bathroom. In the gold-edged mirrors she scowled at her reflection, transferring the scowl to Reece as he came to stand beside her. “I look a fright.”
“You do.”
A reluctant smile tipped her mouth. “If I’m to resemble even remotely the seductive hostess of a very rich man, I’ve got some serious work to do on my face. Out, Reece.”
His eyes were smiling into hers in the mirror; his height, the breadth of his shoulders, the strong line of his jaw all entranced her, with an attraction so strong that Lauren was suddenly frightened out of her wits. What would happen if she gave in to it? Wouldn’t she regret it for the rest of her life? She forced herself to look away, leaning into the mirror to wipe a tearstain from her cheek. “Cocktails in twenty minutes,” she said. “We’d better hurry.”
“Do you plan to keep in touch with Sam?”
Her head snapped up. “Yes.”
“But not with me.”
“No.”
/>
The jaw she’d been admiring tightened ominously. “So what’s the difference?”
“Sam’s a goldfish, you’re a shark.”
“You sure know how to make a man feel good,” Reece rasped. Swinging her around to face him, he planted a very angry kiss full on her mouth, then let her go so abruptly that she had to clutch the edge of the polished granite counter for support.
Her fingers gripping the cold stone, she erupted, “You seem to think you can kiss me any time you feel like it, then push me away as if I was nothing but a chunk of wood.”
“You look even more beautiful when you’re angry,” he said with as much emotion as if he really were discussing a chunk of wood. “I’ll go and arrange for a kayak for you tomorrow morning—you’re to be back in time for lunch.”
“I can arrange my own kayak!”
“And you’ll go with a guide—that’s an order.”
Another order. As he strode out of the bathroom, Lauren pulled a hideous face in the mirror. She then got dressed in an orange silk pantsuit and slathered on makeup to hide the marks of her crying jag. So Reece was beginning to trust her. This should have made her happy; and instead only deepened her fear. Why could she take risks with bronze and wood and not with a living, red-blooded man?
If she had the answer to that question, she’d probably be sharing the king-size bed with Reece.
Lauren didn’t share the bed with Reece. After an evening during which she smiled until her jaw ached, she spent a night twisting and turning on the sofa, by four a.m. convinced it had been upholstered by a sadist. It was a relief to get up at six-thirty and head for the dining room for an early breakfast before she went kayaking; but ten minutes later, Reece joined her at her table.
“I decided to go with you,” he said.
She’d been longing for a few hours away from him; as the end of their bargain came nearer, her whole nervous system was winding itself tighter and tighter. Her dismay must have shown in her face. Reece said tersely, “Hating my guts is beginning to seem like a very mild term for the way you feel about me.”