Home.
Not his home, but home nonetheless. The building offered comfort, the decorating extended a welcome, but it was the small woman beckoning him to follow her that made him feel warm and content for the first time in more years than he wanted to count.
“Your room is this way.”
If he’d thought she’d lead him to the master suite on the left, he was wrong. A shame, really, because he’d noticed the size of the bed in her room. Far too big for one tiny little woman. Instead, she led him toward the family room and then down the hall to the back of the house.
“Looks like Drew is taking the rollout in the workroom. You get the official guest room.”
“Nice enough, but lonely looking.” The room was adequate with a double sized bed, dresser, bedside table, and lamp spilling out a warm pool of light into the otherwise dim room. A large window looked out over the side yard shadowed beneath tall redwoods.
“If you don’t like it, I can call a cab and have it take you to the hotel down the hill.” The cold, un-Jean-like, acerbic tone was back. Easier to think of her as Randi when she used the less friendly attitude. He could fix that.
Court dropped his bag on the bed and caught her shoulders before she could escape. “That would be far more lonely.”
Stiffening her shoulders, she pointed her little nose in the air. “I’m sure the concierge could set you up somehow. The local bar, possibly even a service dedicated to relieving the loneliness of business travelers.”
“I don’t want anyone else, thank you very much.” He spun her in his arms, recapturing her shoulders. “Now that the cat’s out of the bag, what about us?”
“What about us?”
The fathomless eyes gazed up at him, and he forgot the twenty-two year gulf between them. The second chance before them was a gift and not one he’d let be scuppered. She had to understand this very simple fact, right? They had Drew’s blessing. How long before Birdie came around? How long before this woman came around?
“Now that we’re reunited, how do we keep from being apart again?”
Randi slowly blinked at him like a sleepy owl. “Who says we’re reunited? Reacquainted, certainly. Reunited? Not likely, mate.”
“Oh, now she remembers her Brit-speak.”
A hank of hair curled over her eye. Moving slowly, gently he combed it back.
“So soft,” he murmured. “You always had the softest hair, the softest skin, the softest sighs.”
“And a soft, weak center.” The grimace said she remembered typing his four hundred page thesis. “Well, I’m not so weak anymore.” Her eyes hardened, and she shrugged his hands from her shoulders, physically withdrawing even as he saw the emotional gap widening. “I’m tired, and I’m going to bed now. Sleep as late as you like. The day after Thanksgiving is usually a slug day for us.”
Retreat. She needed it for a bit. A chance to think things over and come around. Perhaps she had the right idea. A night to clear the head, so to speak. A chance to allow things to look better in the morning. So he returned to lighthearted banter. “What? You don’t join the masses before sunrise and storm the stores? The newspapers and ads on the telly today made it seem all the thing.”
“Not a chance. Did it once, refuse to do it ever again. I tend to make the gifts I give for Christmas rather than buy them. Sometimes, we travel instead. Birdie and I took my father to Mexico last year.”
“Christmas in Mexico? Away from the home fires?”
Head tilted and eyes narrowed, she gave the impression she felt the answer more than obvious. “What do we have to stay home for? Birdie’s grown and Dad’s alone. Anyhow, bathroom is across the hall. You get to share it with the kids. Towels are on the counter.”
He gave it one last shot, one more chance for her to invite him in. “Where will you be if I need you?”
“On the other side of the house, behind a locked door. Goodnight.”
For a moment, she looked as if she had something else to say, but she turned away, leaving him in the guest room. He wanted to chase after her, but weariness visibly hung on her shoulders. Sounds came from the kitchen, and then lights dimmed. For tonight, he’d let things rest. But tomorrow, well now, that was a whole new day.
Chapter 10
Randi closed her bedroom door, but chose not to lock it. The inner hussy half of her wished Court would ignore her warnings and storm her walls, just as he already had twice today. Third time’s the charm, right? In this case, the old saying might be very true.
Hand to her forehead—as if she could hold in her brains—she closed her eyes and sighed. The drama of the day had gotten to her. Nothing a long soak in hot water followed by several hours of sleep wouldn’t cure.
Still in darkness, she wandered to the bay window in the sitting alcove where she had her desk and computer. Bare feet registered the change from soft deep pile carpet to cool hardwood in the little office area. Out in the spa, Birdie and Drew lounged on opposite sides. Jets stirred up a froth of bubbles, sending ribbons of steam upward, giving the illusion of boiling the occupants. Underwater lights provided an eerie glow. Birdie threw back her head and laughed at something Drew said. The grip around Randi’s heart loosened a bit. Thank God for Drew and what appeared to be his well-balanced personality. Although, he had displayed a lawyer’s ability to ask seemingly innocuous, yet probing, questions. Definitely one to watch, she thought with a smile.
At least those two seemed to have found common ground. Parents who’d screwed up their lives. Mothers who’d screwed up their lives. Good. An ally for Birdie could only be a good start. Drew apparently wouldn’t let her feel embarrassed over the obvious interest they’d been showing, and he seemed recovered from his own interest in her. It hadn’t gone far enough it couldn’t be redirected into a deeper friendship and alliance. If they used common sense, they’d each put down their instant attraction as recognizing a sibling and move forward.
With a stop at her dresser to remove her jewelry and put it away, she moved into the bathroom, shedding clothing as she went. Each piece deposited in the right basket. Dry cleaning and delicates. Light and dark. Bath or shower? The simple decisions seemed insurmountable, but since she didn’t want to mess with wet hair, she dropped the plug and started the tub filling. Cream cleanser took off what little remained of her makeup, pins held her hair up and, with a groan, she slipped into the sunken, tile-lined tub. Close the glass door, flip a lever, and she’d have a shower, but not tonight.
Tonight.
Talk about a way to drain emotions to the nth degree. As much as she needed to think about it, she couldn’t. Her brain had grown numb. Short circuited. Fried. Shut down. She listened to the sound of the water and lazily used her toe to shut off the taps when the level rose high enough.
She must have drifted off because the next thing she knew, her chin dipped into cold water and shivers wracked her frame. Too tired to risk falling asleep again, she drained the tub and vigorously toweled the water away in an attempt to bring warm blood to the surface. She hurried to her bed, burrowing deep into the flannel sheets with the down comforter drawn up around her ears, leaving only her nose sticking out. The digital numbers on the clock glowed green; eleven-thirty-eight. Two hours? No wonder she’d become one of the pickled, the frozen, the foolish.
Thirty minutes later, still shivering, she pulled on a thick terry robe, shoved her feet into shearling slippers, and shuffled into the kitchen where only a dim under-cabinet light illuminated the silent house.
Once the kettle sat on the stovetop to heat, she reached into the cabinet for her favorite mug and a tea suitable for the moment.
Ah, somehow her mug had been pushed to the back, and behind it, a single tin of Earl Grey. The last of what she bought by special order each year. She could taste it now and wondered…
“Ah, so you lied earlier.”
Randi screamed and dropped the tea tin, the crash of it as loud as gunfire in the sleeping house. Grabbing
the first thing in reach, she swung with mug in hand to beat the intruder.
“Whoa! I’m not prepared to die by tea mug.”
Court stood in the dim light, hands raised, chest bare over long flannel bottoms draped around his hips. Hair rumpled and feet bare, her every dream of the last twenty-two years come to life. Only better, because of his perfect physical presence.
“Hand over the mug, slowly now, and no one gets hurt.” With exaggerated care, he reached for the purple mug and removed it from her hand by uncurling the fingers clenched in a death grip around the handle.
Heart beating so hard she feared it might leap from her chest if she didn’t fall over from a heart attack first, she slapped his arm with her free hand. “Don’t. You. EVER. Sneak up on me like that again!”
“All right, but for future note, in what way should I sneak up on you?”
Shaking, as much from cold as fright, she glared at him. So like him to make a joke at a time like this. A pathetic joke. She had to remember moments like this to stay strong against falling for his easy charm.
For in truth, as easy as it would be, going back, picking up a relationship with Court would be exactly the wrong thing to do. Birdie’s reaction earlier tonight had made it very clear. Suddenly, all her plans to move ahead with her life, even the part about just thinking about starting to date again, seemed selfish. How could she even pretend she could think about a relationship with any man right now? She had her daughter to consider, their relationship to repair, before she could even maybe sort of dream of starting a new one. Even with an old love. Especially with an old love. Okay, specifically Court, Birdie’s biological father. Too much baggage, too many old hurts, too many miles down that road. Going back was a bad plan. The wrong plan.
All clear to her now, she shook her head at the research project she’d been about to start. No need for it now. Court could answer Birdie’s questions as the research had been intended to give her a picture of her father. No problem. She had a good start on getting all the details she could ever want. No need to worry about chasing down mysterious family histories in the case of—God forbid—catastrophic illness.
Court set the cup on the counter, one hand still holding her. “You’re quaking. Not just a little trembling, but nearly enough to register on those earthquake monitors, or what is it you Californian’s call them? Richter scales?” The twinkle in his eye gave him away. He knew exactly what he was talking about.
“I’m…c-c-c-cold.” She tried to pull her hand away, and not be charmed by his teasing, but Court stepped closer and tugged her up against him, trapping her icy hands between them, resting on his very warm chest. She had to give him credit for not flinching. “An-an-and you s-c-c-c-cared me.”
Breath choppy, head light, and knees weak, she didn’t fight, but let him snuggle her close. Oh, but he smelled good, warm, and just like…Court. She buried her nose against his lightly stubbled neck, and he pulled her tighter until she felt her body shift into alignment with his, strong arms banding about her securely, comfortingly. Just being held against all that heated male skin nearly made her cry for the cruelty of being alone so long. The months and years of being on her own stretched out in front of her, a future when she couldn’t even possibly start a new relationship. It just hurt too much to think about right now.
His chest expanded on a deep breath, and she felt a rumble from deep inside vibrate against her heart, tempting her with the promise of a future full of hugs just like this. Hadn’t he said they could be together forever? Hadn’t he implied that was exactly what he wanted? Or had he said it outright? She couldn’t remember, but since she couldn’t even think about thinking about such things…
Before her mind could take off on a flight of the imagination and talk her rational side into getting swept up in the fantasy of dreaming about just such a future, he spoke, his voice soft and very close to her ear. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I did make noise, but you were enthralled by the tin of Earl Grey you said you didn’t have.”
“I’m t-t-tired and c-c-cold,” she said through still chattering teeth, refusing to answer his accusation. She had reasons, which she had no intention of sharing with him. Hadn’t she just decided he wasn’t to be an intimate part of her life? Therefore, he didn’t need to know any more about her. Or her ritual of self torture involving Earl Grey tea.
His head dipped over hers. “I see that, I feel it, and your little heart is racing to beat the band. Why are you cold?”
“Fell asleep in the bath.”
“Thinking a cup of hot tea would take the chill away?”
Almost as well as he could just by holding her like this, but that was another thing he didn’t need to know. “Yes.”
“A good start, but I know a better way.”
His hands rubbed up and down her spine as if to stimulate her blood flow. It worked. Very well, in fact. Might not need the tea after all, actually. Damn. Wasn’t she old enough to be immune to this sort of thing? Where was menopause when a woman needed it? A hot flash would come in handy right about now. Another life moment stolen from her by her illness so long ago.
It would be so easy to stay here, to accept his comfort, to start up right where they’d left off in London. The part in the morning. Then she remembered the reception and the utter devastation she’d felt at his betrayal. The pain ripped through her as strong as it had then. “Stop.”
Unable to bear the old feelings, she tried to pull away, but he held her closer.
“Stop what? I just said I know a better way to warm you up, that’s all. Or are you letting your brain get in the way? I’ve told you before not to over-think things.”
Frustrated, and thankful for the darkness hiding the rush of heat to her face, she slapped his chest. “If you’re thinking skin to skin, think again.”
“I look at you, and I remember skin to skin, or at least I think I do. It’s been so long I think I need a refresher.” The quizzical look on his face was amusing, and seductive, and working at the long hidden feelings she’d meant to keep buried deep, but she wouldn’t let him know it. Not if she could in any way help it.
“Funny.”
He so didn’t believe her, because she could hear the smile in his voice when his lips brushed the top of her head. “Which tea do you want? I’ll make it up and bring it to you.”
Suspicion crept in, and she made no attempt to hide it. “Bring it to me where?” She pushed away far enough to look up at him.
Face as innocent as an angel, he spoke slowly and patiently, as if she were a young child. “You go snuggle up in bed, and I’ll bring your tea.”
Randi stared at him for a long moment, then nodded, as all the battle drained out of her in an instant. Why fight? He’d be gone in a few days, possibly as soon as tomorrow, why not take a little comfort, a touch of someone thinking about her? She’d grown used to Wyatt taking care of her, and for just a few moments, she wanted to be pampered again. Just a little bit. Just one mug of tea, what harm could come from that?
Court turned her around and gently shoved her toward the kitchen door. “Flavor?”
She considered her options, then shrugged. “Surprise me.”
A test, and he knew it. He’d once told her an Englishman knew how to send messages just by the tea he picked to serve. Sort of like the language of flowers. Of course she’d never ever heard any reference to such a ritual involving tea, however, Court insisted it existed. Even crossed his heart to prove his sincerity.
After a week together and watching her fascination with all things British, he’d started the game, bringing small samples of different teas and reading off their list of attributes to her. Darjeeling for celebration, English Breakfast for a bright start, oolong, black, Formosa, Ceylon, green, and any odd blend he could find. But Earl Grey had been their constant. They’d explored every variation of the tea until they found the blend she’d enjoyed most, and he’d learned to appreciate it anew with her, or so he’d said. H
ad he mentioned it earlier to test her? Then of course, he’d had to catch her with a tin of it in her hand. Damn the man.
In her bedroom, she started to climb into bed, still wrapped in her robe and slippers, then decided flannel pajamas and socks would be the better choice. The robe offered too little of a barrier between her and the man about to enter her bedroom.
From the kitchen came the soft whistle of her kettle, its boiling protest short-lived. Only a few minutes until Court would join her, she hurried into her deep closet, one of two that opened into the bathroom. Where had those PJs gone? These days, she mostly slept in an old T-shirt of Wyatt’s, so it took digging through several drawers before she found them buried beneath some old sweaters. She’d just shed the robe when Court called from the bedroom.
“Randi? I see the bed, but it’s empty.”
“Just a minute.”
“Where are you?”
“I’ll be out in a minute.” She pulled the top of the mannish pajamas over her head, muffling her words. She’d just bent over, trying to get a leg into the bottoms, when Court appeared at the doorway.
“I didn’t hear… Oh, there you are.”
Startled, she straightened, one leg in, one leg out.
“Oh, no need to bother with those on my account.” Court’s smile produced a surge of heat in her blood completely unrelated to tea. “In fact, I insist you leave them off. A shame to cover your mouth-watering little bum.”
Embarrassed, she laughed. “Little. Right.” Shivering still, she managed to step into the other leg and jerk the bottoms up. “I haven’t had a little bum since I was, oh, little. I said I’d be right out.” Keeping her face turned away, she dug in another drawer until she found a pair of thick slouchy socks.
“I couldn’t hear what you said, so I came looking.”
Well, he certainly was looking. She could damn near feel his gaze trying to see beneath the worn fabric, but the pajamas were too loose to reveal much. A pair she’d purchased for Wyatt, they hadn’t worked for him, so she’d trimmed the arms and legs and hemmed them to fit her while keeping the baggy fit. Perfect for cold, lonely winter nights. Now she’d found them, she’d start wearing them again. Socks in hand, she brushed past Court and marched toward the bed.
Her Foreign Affair Page 13