by Gina Wilkins
That was something she knew all too well. Gabe wasn’t the only one who’d changed. Could she convince him that he wanted nothing to do with the woman she’d become?
“How long are you planning to hold me here?” she demanded.
“As long as it takes,” he replied, sounding as stubborn as she was. “I want answers, Page. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get them.”
He’d obviously intended the warning to intimidate her. She couldn’t have explained to him- why it made her rather sad, instead.
She was all too aware that there was a high cost involved in being willing to do whatever it took to reach a goal.
She’d been paying the price for two and a half years.
There were times she thought she’d sold her very soul.
4
GABE WISHED he could read Page’s expression. She’d looked so wan and ill when he’d stepped into the room that he’d found himself fighting a wave of contrition for what he’d put her through. He’d been on the verge of apologizing when she’d looked him in the eyes, lifted her chin and all but dared him to have sympathy for her.
She was still pale, but it was obvious that her strength was returning rapidly. He could almost see her mind working behind her wary expression, and he’d bet she was waiting for another chance to escape. He was chagrined at how easy he’d made it for her to do so twice before.
She wouldn’t find it so easy this time.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“I’m the one asking questions now. You’ll have your answers when I’ve gotten mine.”
She sat up very straight, crossed her arms over her chest and looked bored. He could see what the effort cost her.
“You’ll let me leave when you’ve asked your questions?” she asked, her patronizing tone annoying him all over again.
“I think you owe me that much, at least,” he returned bitterly, aware that he hadn’t exactly answered her.
She seemed to realize the same thing. She looked suspicious, but nodded curtly. “Ask your questions.” “Why did you leave me?”
“I changed my mind about wanting to be married. I hoped to avoid an ugly scene when I told you, so I took off while you were gone. It seemed the easiest way out.”
“Who called you just before you left?”
Again there was no hesitation before her answer. “A friend. A male friend.”
“That’s why you decided to leave? You went to another man?”
She didn’t blink. “Yes.”
Fury surged through him at the very thought of his wife with another man. It was all he could do to keep the emotion out of his voice when he asked, “What happened to him?”
She shrugged. “I got tired of him, too. I’m afraid I have a short attention span where men are concerned.”
He focused sharply on her face. Something was definitely fishy about the answers she was giving him. His Page had never been a very good liar—even though she’d improved quite a bit since he’d known her. “Where have you been living during the past two and a half years?”
“Here and there. Sometimes with a man, sometimes alone. I happened to be alone when your hired gun found me in Des Moines.”
He sprawled back in the chair, appearing to make himself more comfortable. He could tell that his hardwon, laid-back response to her deliberately cruel answers was beginning to get to her. A slight frown had appeared between her eyebrows, belying her nonchalant attitude.
“There’ve been lots of men since you left me, have there?” he asked, studiedly casual.
She lifted a hand and waved it in the air. “A few. I haven’t bothered to count them.”
He abruptly switched the line of questioning. “Why did you change your name?”
“There are some unhappy bill collectors looking for Page Shelby. I didn’t want to make it easy for them to find me.”
He couldn’t help but admire her quick mind. She’d yet to even pause before giving him an answer. And he’d bet everything he owned that she had yet to give him an honest one.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked her.
“Nothing,” she replied steadily. “Except boredom. Which is what I’m feeling now, by the way. When will this cross-examination end?”
“As far as I’m concerned, it hasn’t even begun,” he answered. “I’m after the truth. All you’ve given me so far is a bunch of lies.”
He saw her swallow, but she kept her tone impassive. “That’s me. A compulsive liar. Might as well write me off as a mistake and let me leave. It’s not going to get any better.”
“I told you when you could leave. As soon as I’m satisfied with your answers.”
For the first time, he saw anger flash through her dark brown eyes. Eyes that he remembered being a clear, honest blue.
“You have no right to hold me here against my will,” she snapped.
His own simmering temper boiled. “And I suppose you had a right to have me arrested in Des Moines? To try to burn my eyes out in Wichita? Or how about before that? What right did you have to run out on me and leave me to go out of my mind looking for you? Do you have any idea of what you’ve put me through the past two and a half years?”
“I’m sorry about that. But—”
“‘Sorry.”’ He shoved himself to his feet with a humorless laugh. “You’re sorry. Well, that makes it all better, doesn’t it, Page?”
She stood, as well. “Haven’t you gotten the picture yet? It’s over, Gabe. Let me go and get on with your life.”
It was obvious that she’d risen too fast The little color that had returned to her face drained out again.
Gabe caught her arm, steadying her when she swayed. He was standing close enough to catch a faint scent that almost made him groan aloud as old memories assailed him.
Page had changed a great deal since she’d left him, but she still favored strawberry-scented shampoo.
She seemed frozen by his touch, her eyes locked with his, her face strained with more than the aftereffects of Blake’s injection.
“One more question,” Gabe said without releasing her, his voice hoarse. “Did you ever love me?”
For the first time she looked away before she replied. “No,” she whispered. “It was a mistake from the very beginning. I’m sorry.”
Her answer—and the pain that shot through him hearing it—infuriated him. He placed both hands on her shoulders, his grip biting into her skin.
“Stop lying to me, damn it!” he almost shouted in her face. “Can’t you give me even one honest answer?”
“Yes,” she snapped, clutching the front of his shirt in white-knuckled hands. “It’s over, Gabe. That’s an honest answer. Now let me go.”
“I can’t, Page,” he said, hardly recognizing his own voice. “I just can’t. Not yet.”
He felt her hands tremble as they gripped his shirt. “You can’t keep me here,” she whispered.
He was puzzled by her expression. She was most definitely afraid, he decided, studying her closely. Her eyes were dilated, her face bleached of color, her breathing rapid and unsteady. “You don’t really think I’ll hurt you, do you?” he asked.
“You had me kidnapped!”
“You had me arrested,” he retorted. “And then you sprayed liquid fire directly in my eyes. I thought you’d blinded me for life.”
“I knew the spray wouldn’t cause you permanent harm.” She sounded defensive.
“I’m supposed to thank you for your consideration now?”
She sighed and suddenly sagged against him. “This is getting us nowhere,” she murmured. “I’m really tired, Gabe. My head hurts and I’m as weak as a kitten. If I could just lie down for a while longer.”
He loosened his hands on her shoulders. “Well, I suppose you—”
He’d hardly gotten the words out of his mouth before she sprang into action. Her foot shot out, catching him sharply in the shin at the same moment she shoved hard against his chest. He stumbled. She bolted.
<
br /> She didn’t make it to the door.
Gabe had played a little football in high school. The old moves came back to him as though by instinct when he took her down in a flying tackle. She hit the wood floor with an “oomph,” but didn’t waste time regaining her breath before she began to struggle.
Kneeling to straddle her, Gabe caught her flailing hands and pinned her to the floor. He was mad enough that he had to make an effort not to hurt her. He would have liked nothing more at that moment than to turn her over his knee. Unfortunately, she would probably bite him in a particularly sensitive area if he tried it
“Let me go,” she cried, struggling furiously beneath him. “Don’t you understand that I hate you for doing this to me? I don’t love you—I don’t love anyone. I don’t need anyone. I only want to be left alone. Why won’t you go away and leave me alone?”
There was an edge of hysteria to her voice. Gabe listened to that, rather than to her fierce words.
With every moment he spent with her, he became more convinced that she was in serious trouble. And regardless of whatever she felt about him now—and whatever he felt for her—he found that he couldn’t just let her go.
“Face it, Page. I’m not giving up,” he told her, leaning to hold his face very close to hers. “There hasn’t been one day since you left me that I haven’t searched for you. Do you really think that now that I’ve found you, I’m just going to let you brush me off with a crock of lies?”
She’d finally gone still, staring up at him with a mixture of anger and desperation. “You can’t hold me here forever.”
“Once I’ve gotten my answers, you can have me arrested again,” he advised, suddenly weary. “This time you’ll have cause. Charge me with whatever you like. Jail couldn’t be any worse than the hell you’ve already put me through.”
Her eyes were unnaturally bright, though he didn’t see any tears. “It would have been better if we’d never met,” she whispered.
Better for her? Or for him? She hadn’t specified, and Gabe didn’t want to think about it. He had to focus all his energy on the present, on getting the truth out of Page somehow. Something told him it was going to take all his patience and willpower.
“Let me up, Gabe,” she said.
He looked at her suspiciously.
She shook her head against the floor. “I won’t try to run again. Not yet, anyway,” she added candidly. “I haven’t eaten since sometime yesterday and I’m still groggy from whatever it was Blake shot me up with. I know I can’t get away now.”
Gabe was almost amused at her implied warning that she would run again, once she had her strength back.
He was still crouched over her, her wrists in his hands, her face inches from his own. He became suddenly aware of the intimacy of their position.
The memories threatened to swamp him, making his body respond. He pushed the emotions ruthlessly aside as he released her more quickly than he’d in . tended, springing to his feet and backing away from her.
He’d be damned if he’d let his long-deprived body embarrass him in front of her now, when he had the upper hand for the first time—at least temporarily.
“Come into the kitchen,” he said gruffly. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
She stood slowly. He didn’t trust himself to offer her a hand. He motioned for her to lead the way out of the bedroom. He was making it clear that he had no intention of turning his back to her.
She glared at him, but turned and stalked to the door. He followed, staying very close, but he was careful not to touch her again.
THE CABIN was an old hunting and fishing retreat a few miles from Table Rock Lake. It hadn’t yet been opened for the season, so the windows were still boarded and the furnishings were sparse. While waiting for Blake to arrive with Page, Gabe had made a halfhearted attempt to wipe away some of the dust, but the place could still use a good cleaning and airing.
He hoped they wouldn’t be here long enough for that to matter.
Gabe hadn’t asked how Blake had found the cabin, nor exactly how he’d managed to get Page here, other than to reassure himself that she hadn’t been harmed. He had long since formed the impression that Blake was a good man to have on his side, but would make a formidable enemy.
Gabe wasn’t even sure he wanted to know where Blake had developed the skills he’d needed to kidnap Page so competently.
Blake had somehow arranged for the kitchen to be stocked with minimal supplies. Ordering Page to sit at the table, Gabe opened the refrigerator, keeping one wary eye on her. He was relieved when she sat quietly, without appearing to look for a way out.
It was nice while it lasted, he thought wryly, piling food on the counter. He didn’t expect her cooperation to last long.
He took a skillet out of a cabinet, and set it on the gas stove. He found a wood-handled knife in a drawer with some mismatched flatware. He used the knife to chop an onion, finding the blade sharper than he’d expected.
The only meat he could find was sliced for sandwiches. He frowned, then started cutting baked ham into cubes, deciding it would do. He didn’t have a shredder, so he cut cheese into cubes, as well. He was beating eggs in a bowl when it suddenly occurred to him what he was making. An omelet.
His breath caught in his throat. Page had once loved his omelets. He’d made them for her at least once a week during the short time they’d been together. “The Omelet King,” she’d called him—and then she’d always thanked him very fervently for his efforts.
Assaulted by sensual memories of their passionate play, he closed his eyes and tightened his hand around the dented fork. And then he shot a look over his shoulder at Page, who was watching him without expression.
“I guess I should have asked if an omelet’s okay with you,” he said, his voice gruff.
She nodded coolly. “An omelet is fine.”
If she was bothered by nostalgia, she didn’t allow him to see it.
Suddenly angry again, Gabe turned back to his cooking.
“There are plates in that cabinet,” he said, nodding toward the door to his immediate right. “Hand me one, will you?”
She rose and opened the cabinet door, pulling down two dusty, brown stoneware plates. Without a word, she rinsed them, dried them with a paper towel and set one beside Gabe, ready for his use.
He concentrating on folding the omelet, and tried not to let the faint scent of strawberry shampoo get to him while she stood so close by. She didn’t immediately move away, and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.
He went very still.
He’d carelessly left the sharp knife lying on the counter. Page’s hand hovered an inch above it.
There was no way he could reach it before she did.
He set the skillet off the heat, turned very slowly and looked her straight in the eye. Her hand remained above the knife, but her face had gone extremely pale.
Staring at him, she moistened her lips.
He lifted a hand to tap his chest, just left of center. “Here’s my heart,” he said simply. “You might as well finish it off.”
A shudder ran through her. She jerked her hand away from the knife and turned toward the table. “Don’t burn the omelet,” she ordered brusquely. “I’m hungry.”
He exhaled very slowly. “I have never burned an omelet,” he said, and turned his back to her to finish preparing the meal,
THEY ATE IN SILENCE. Page was aware that Gabe watched her throughout the meal, but she kept her eyes trained on her plate. She was still too shaken to look at him.
She had to get away from him. The thought replayed itself in her mind, building in intensity as her desperation mounted. Every minute she spent with him, she could almost feel danger creeping closer.
She could not allow it to reach them. No matter what she had to do.
The omelet was good. His omelets always were. It was the first omelet she’d had since she’d left Austin.
Memories threatened, but she pushed them b
ack. She couldn’t allow herself that weakness now.
Refusing her assistance, Gabe rinsed the dishes and left them in the sink. He poured fresh cups of coffee and nodded toward the living room.
“Let’s drink this in there,” he said.
In silence and dread of what was to come, she followed him out of the kitchen.
Gabe settled on one end of the lumpy-looking brown plaid couch. Ignoring the space beside him, Page perched on the edge of an uncomfortable burnt-orange armchair.
Watching her over the rim of his cup, Gabe sipped his coffee. She waited for him to question her again, but he remained quiet. Either he knew she would continue to lie, or he was trying to wear down her resistance with this unnerving silence. And it was starting to get to her.
As she watched him drink, the glint of gold on his left hand caught her attention, disturbing her even further. Even though she’d recovered from the original shock of seeing him again, she was still surprised to discover that he hadn’t taken the ring off in all this time.
She resisted an urge to lift a hand to the chain at her neck.
She cleared her throat, and the noise sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room. “Don’t you have a business you should be running?” she asked.
He shrugged. “The business can get along without me for a while. I’ve hired competent foremen to supervise while I take some personal time off.”
Foremen. Apparently his fledging construction company had grown since she’d left. There’d been only Gabe and one foreman then. Since Blake was apparently on Gabe’s payroll, as well, the company must be turning a profit.
Page wasn’t surprised that his business had been successful. Gabe could accomplish anything if he put his mind to it.
That thought, of course, only made her more nervous.
She moistened her lips and tried to think of something else to say. She considered asking about his family, but she didn’t want to bring them up now. She’d grown very fond of his mother and sister during the few months she’d known them. Talking about them would only open her up to emotions she couldn’t risk showing.