"Well? What do you say?"
He waited, holding his breath as if Helga's answer were the most important thing in the world. At last, she put down the knife and turned toward him.
"I say it's an excellent idea, Mr. Baron." She wiped her hands on her apron and lifted Michael into her arms. "And I'd bet your son thinks so, too."
Convincing Lara wasn't quite as easy.
"I am not leaving my son," she said stonily.
"Helga will take good care of him."
"I'm sure she would, if I were foolish enough to agree to spend the weekend with you, in a hotel."
He clasped her rigid shoulders, gently turned her to face him. Her eyes were cold, her expression guarded. He thought about how differently she'd looked at him all those months ago, when she'd awakened in his arms, and he wondered, suddenly, what would have happened if he hadn't launched into that dumb kiss-off speech, if he'd said, instead, Lara, I want to see you again. Finding you, making love with you, has been-has been-
Slade frowned. "You have the wrong idea," he said gruffly. "I'm not asking you to spend the weekend in bed."
A faint wash of pink dusted her cheeks but her gaze was unflinching. "No?"
"No." He let go of her, stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. "The thing is-the thing is, I'm beginning to think I handled this wrong."
Lara eyed him with caution. "What does that mean?"
"It means maybe I, ah, maybe I should have done things differently."
For the first time in days, her mouth softened. A smile eased across it and Slade felt his heart lift in response. He hadn't realized how miserable he'd felt, seeing hatred in his wife's beautiful eyes.
"Are you serious?"
"Yes."
"Oh, Slade." She smiled, really smiled, and his heart didn't just lift, it soared. "Slade, thank you."
He smiled back at her. "You're welcome."
"It won't take me a minute to get ready." She spun away from him, pulled open the closet door. "I don't have very much to pack."
His smile dipped. "I know. I never even gave you the chance to get your things together. That's why I left you those charge cards. You should have-"
"No. I didn't want to take anything from you." She looked at him again. "You won't regret this," she said softly. "I promise."
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "I'm sure I won't."
Lara dumped an armload of things on the bed. "I'm sure Beaufort will take me back. I might even be able to get my house again but if I can't, I'll send you our new address and phone number, and-"
Slade caught her arm and dragged her around so she faced him. "What?"
"Our address. Michael's and mine." Lara smiled. "I have a confession to make, too."
"Do you," he said, his voice flat.
"I was wrong, about Michael not needing you. I can see how much it means to him to have you around." Her smile was brilliant. "You can visit him every weekend, if you like. All you ever have to do is phone and tell me-" She gasped as Slade's hands dug into her flesh. "What's wrong? Why are you looking at me that way?"
"Amazing," he said softly, "how quickly I forgot how cold and manipulative you can be."
Lara's smile faded. "I don't understand."
"No, you sure as hell don't." He let go of her, because, all at once, he didn't trust himself to touch her. He was more angry than he'd ever been in his life. Did she really think he'd let Michael go?
Did she think he'd let her go? a voice inside him whispered, and that only made him more angry. "I'm not dissolving our marriage."
Her face fell. "But but you said-"
"I said, maybe I moved too fast. Maybe I should have given you a few days to adjust to the idea of becoming my wife."
"No." The clothes she'd been holding slipped from her hands and fell to the floor. "No, Slade."
"Yes, Slade," he said, with derision. "That's what I came to tell you, that I could see I'd made a mistake in timing. I want Michael to grow up in a home, not an armed camp. And that's what this house has been, ever since I brought you here."
Lara stared at him. "I must be missing something. You made a mistake in timing. And you think you're going to solve the problem by checking us into a hotel for the weekend?" She laughed in a way that made his gut clench. "You must think I'm an idiot!"
"We're going to spend the weekend getting to know each other, my adoring wife, and settling our differences so we can come home and be decent parents to our son."
"Oh, sure. A little music, a little candlelight-"
"I hate to disappoint you, Sugar, but seduction isn't part of my plan."
"That's it. Your plan." Lara's voice rose as he strode from the room. "Your plan. Your son. Your life. You think you own the world!"
"I own you," he said, turning toward her. The tightly banked fury in his eyes made her catch her breath. "And don't you forget it."
"Never," she said, in a voice filled with venom. "Never, never..." Her words trailed off to a whisper as Slade vanished from sight. "Never," she said brokenly, and buried her face in her hands.
Why did she make him so angry?
Slade gritted his teeth.
Every time he tried to talk sense, Lara twisted his words, wised them back in his face and he ended up saying things he didn't mean. He didn't own her. He couldn't imagine any man "owning" her. She was too fiercely independent for that.
He scowled and stepped harder on the gas, even though the Blazer was already flying.
If he had half a brain, he'd have let her continue her packing. Goodbye and good riddance, he should have said. Just leave my son here and you go on and get out of my fife. The only reason he hadn't done it was because Mike deserved a mother and father. That was why he tolerated his wife's attitude.
He shot a glance across the console. Lara was sitting as for from him as she could get. Well, that was fine. To think she'd figured he was taking her away to seduce her... That was a laugh. She was his kid's mother. Period. End of story. He had no more desire to take her to bed than he had to, to walk on the moon.
What man would want to make love to a wildcat? To take her in his arms, caress her skin. Kiss his way down her body, lick her breasts, her thighs. Open her with his mouth, part her petals as if she were a flower, then kneel between her thighs, lace his fingers through hers and watch her eyes darken with pleasure as he slid deep, deep inside her...
Slade bit back a groan, shifted in his seat and forced his concentration onto the road. If only she'd say something, at least ask where they were going...
But she hadn't said a word since she'd come down the stairs, her expression stony, and marched out to the car. He sighed. It was, he thought unhappily, not a good beginning to the weekend.
Damn-tit, what was going on in that head of hers?
Dammit, Lara thought, what was going on in Slade's head?
He was probably waiting for her to ask him where they were going. Let him wait. She'd burst before she put the question to him.
She thought about it, though, as the miles ticked away. Where were they going? They were flying along the road in a black Blazer-her first clue that he hadn't booked them into a Boston hotel. Well then, she'd figured, they were going to Cape Cod ...but the turnoff for the Cape was long behind them. Now, even the elegant inns and handsome bed and-breakfasts that dotted the Massachusetts shoreline were only memories.
And still, Slade didn't speak.
Lara shot a surreptitious glance at him from under her lashes. Of course, he didn't speak. How could he, when he'd been chiseled in granite? That hard profile, made even harder by the tight-lipped set of his mouth and the defiant angle of his jaw...
Go on, she thought, sit there like a statue.
It didn't matter to her how angry he was. Letting her get her hopes up like that. Letting her think he was freeing her from this ridiculous marriage. Lara frowned, folded her arms and hunched deeper into her seat. Why was he so stubborn? This marriage couldn't work; didn't he see
that? Michael wouldn't have a very happy home if his mother and father despised each other.
There was no sense in pointing that out, though. She knew that. Slade Baron wasn't just arrogant and self centered, he was stubborn as a mule.
He was also the most gorgeous man in the world. And one heck of a terrific kisser.
Lara blinked and sat up straight. Where had that silly thought come from? So he kissed well. Who cared? So he knew how to touch her until she trembled. Who cared about things like that? The only reason he'd gotten so far the other morning was-it was-
It was because she'd wanted him to do it. To do everything. Kiss her mouth. Her throat. Her breasts. She'd wanted him to touch her, to take her, right there on the kitchen counter.
Crazy. Crazy, that's what it was. She'd never wanted to do anything like that, never even thought about it. It was just a good thing Helga had walked in. If she hadn't-if she hadn't...
Heat swept through Lara's blood. She turned her face to the window, and blanked her mind to thought just as Slade turned off the highway, onto a country road.
They were in Maine, now; a sign a while back had said so. The road narrowed, began climbing. At dusk, he pulled to a jarring stop outside a sagging wooden structure. He switched off the engine, got out of the car and came around b where Lara sat, arms folded, eyes straight ahead.
"Are you getting out?" he said brusquely.
She looked past him to the lopsided building, then back at the road. "I'd rather sleep in the car."
"You'd have to," he said dryly. He opened her door. "This is the general store. You want to have something to eat while I buy supplies, fine. You want to sit here and sulk, that's fine, too."
Lara glared at Slade. He glared back.
"Suit yourself."
He was gone for a long time. She sat stiffly in the car, listening to her stomach growl and giving up the idea of a hotel once and for all. Where was he taking her? She'd be damned if she'd ask, not even when he finally reappeared with an enormous box in his arms.
He put the box in the back of the Blazer, then got behind the wheel and dumped a small package in her lap. Lara looked at it as if it might be alive.
"What," she said with disdain, "is that?"
"A roast beef sandwich." He glanced at her as he pulled onto the road. "It wasn't my idea, believe me. Ernie-he owns the place-Ernie spotted you sitting in the car like a martyr
"I am not a martyr. I simply want nothing from you."
"Yeah, well, it's not from me but if you don't want the sandwich, hand it over. There's never been a time since I started coming up here I'd pass up Ernie's roast beef."
Lara looked at Slade. Started coming up where? she wanted to say. Instead she unwrapped the little package, lifted the crusty roll to her lips and took a bite. The snap of horseradish mayonnaise filled her mouth and her stomach almost groaned with gratitude.
"Good?" he said, when she was down to the last bite.
"It's okay." She looked at the crumbs that were all that remained of the sandwich, licked her fingers and shrugged. Why not admit it? He hadn't made the sandwich, he hadn't even bought it for her. "Very good." ,
He nodded and concentrated on the ever-narrowing road. It was better than thinking about the way she'd put her fingers between her lips and sucked each one clean.
The way his wife had sucked her fingers clean.
A shudder rocketed through him. He stepped down on the gas, and the car shot ahead.
The trees grew taller, the encroaching forest more dense. Lara had given up all hope of figuring out where they were going. The only thing she was sure of was that no self respecting hotel would be found in such surroundings. The sun set; stars glittered like jewels caught in the treetops, and still they traveled on.
Finally, when she was beginning to think they were going to drive straight off the edge of the earth, Slade turned down a narrow dirt road that opened into a clearing. His headlights picked out a cabin that looked to be made of as much glass as wood. He shut off the lights, then the engine. Silence, as deep as the forest, closed around the car.
"This is it," he said.
This is what? Lara thought. There was only the house, the night, the woods.. .and the man seated beside her. This stranger who was her husband.
Suddenly it was hard to breathe.
"Where..." She swallowed, then cleared her throat. "Where are we?"
"Lake Arrowpoint." He jerked his head toward the cabin. "I built this place a couple of years ago."
Slade cleared his throat, too. His voice sounded strained, although he couldn't imagine why it should. He certainly hadn't used it much during the last few hours. He got out of the car, went around to Lara's door, opened it and held out his hand but she ignored it, stepped from the car and brushed past him. The dismissiveness of the gesture angered him, probably more than it should have, but there was something decidedly unpleasant about being treated like an un-welcome annoyance by your own wife.
"The ground's uneven," he said, trying for a neutral tone. "And there's some give in that bottom step. I've been meaning to fix it but---"I'm really not interested."
Her words were so curt they were almost cruel. Slade knotted his hands into fists as he watched her climb the fairs to the porch. Her posture was rigid and unforgiving, and suddenly he imagined the three days that lay ahead and bow it would be, just the two of them in this isolated place with nothing but their mutual dislike for company.
He'd been foolish to bring her here. Hell, he thought, as he unloaded the groceries and their carry-alls from the car, he'd been worse than foolish. He'd been stupid. They had things to discuss, yeah, but they could do that else. How could he have made such a misjudgment? He'd never brought a woman here before. He'd known better. A man came to a spot like this with a woman, she had to be special. Someone he wanted to be alone with, not just for a night but for days. For weeks, maybe for the rest of his life...
"Are you going to unlock the door or am I supposed to stand out here all night?"
Lara glared down at Slade from the porch. The moon had risen and she could just make out the look on his face, something halfway between anger and disdain and she thought it was exactly the way she'd look, if someone took that petulant tone with her.
It was just that she couldn't help it.
How dare he bring her to this place? How dare he? A cabin in the middle of no place, isolated, cut off from the world. Would there be running water? Telephones? Electricity? Would there be anything to do for the next few days except suffer Slade's unwanted company?
She turned her back to him, her head high, and jammed her hands into the pockets of her jeans.
He wanted to talk? Okay. Okay, fine. They could talk in Boston. In New York. They could talk in the middle of the damned street, anywhere, anyplace ... but not here. Not in this peaceful, quiet spot where there'd be nothing to look at but Slade, nothing to think about but Slade, nothing to do but wonder how it would feel if Slade loved her, if he'd brought her here because he wanted them to spend the next days and nights in each other's arms...
Lara swung away from the door.
"Take me back to the city!"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Did you hear me, Slade?" She put her hands on her hips and glared at him as he trotted up the steps. "I don't want to stay in this--this godforsaken place."
"It's late," he said brusquely, as he unlocked the door and stepped inside the dark cabin. "You're tired and irritable and so am I. You'll see things differently in the morning."
"I'll see them just the same as I do now. Listen to me! I do not want to stay here. Is that clear enough, or do you want me to say it again?"
Instead of answering, he dumped their bags inside the door and fumbled for the switch. Light blazed on, illuminating a room she knew she might have admired if she hadn't been so furious. The walls were made of hand finished logs; the floor was planked. A long, low sofa stood before a massive fieldstone fireplace.
&
nbsp; "I heard you." Slade put a hand in the small of her back, propelled her forward and shouldered the door closed. "And I'm just heartbroken that you don't care for the accommodations."
Lara swung toward him, her face pale except for two bright spots of color high on her cheeks. "What did you expect, Slade? That one look at your-your deep woods hideaway and I'd decide you weren't such a bad guy after all?" Her chin lifted; her blue eyes snapped with defiance. "I don't like you. You don't like me. And all the talking in the world, about Michael, about our differences, won't change that."
Slade watched her move past him and reach for the door. He could feel something building inside him, a tidal wave of rage that had nothing to do with what she'd said or even with what she'd done to turn his life inside out. It had to do with what had been in the back of his mind for days, and it was time he dealt with it.
"You're right." His voice was low and rough. "Talking. about our son isn't going to help."
"Honesty, at last," Lara said,
Maybe it was the way she said it, in a voice touched with contempt. Maybe it was the way she turned her back to him and reached for the doorknob, as if she were a queen and he were a subject she'd dismissed. Whatever it was, Slade snapped. A growl burst from his throat. He grabbed her by the shoulder, spun her toward him and pushed her back against the wall.
"You want honesty, Sugar? Honesty's what you're gonna get."
Lara looked up into Slade's face. His eyes were the flat gray of thunderclouds before a storm; his mouth might have been chiseled from granite. Fear fluttered its wings in her belly.
"Let go of me," she said quietly.
"Did you ever stop to think that I'm no happier about this than you are? That maybe I had plans for my life, too, and the last thing I wanted was a wife to screw things up?"
"I'm not the one who insisted on this joke of a marriage!"
"No. No, you sure as hell aren't." His mouth twisted. She made a move as if to try to slip loose and he jerked her back into place. "As far as you're concerned, Michael doesn't need a father."
Sandra Marton - Slade Baron’s Bride Page 14