Break Every Rule

by Francis Ray

  “Monday morning.”

  “We can take a drive out there Sunday and pick up everything you need,” he suggested.

  “You don’t have to do that. Just tell me how to get there and I can find it by myself,” she said.

  “I’m sure you could, but the problem would be fitting the pole into your car.”

  She bit her lower lip. She hadn’t thought of that. “I’m sure the salesperson will have some idea.”

  “Yeah. Stick it in the car and hope it makes it to wherever you’re going. In the meantime, you’re watching the fishing pole instead of where you’re going,” he said curtly. “I’m taking you.”

  She laughed, surprising herself again at her easy acceptance of his taking charge. “You’re as bossy as my brother.”

  “I’d like to meet him sometime. Is he in the business sector?” Trent asked.

  “He works for an oil company,” Dominique said, uneasy about telling half-truths to a man who valued honesty so much.

  “You have another call coming in. See you tonight.” He clicked off.

  Dominique clicked over to another call. It was the investment broker from the Lloyds’ party. Minutes later his son was scheduled for Friday afternoon. Hanging up the phone, she smiled. Trent had certainly gotten her business rolling. Just wait until she told him tonight.

  Her smile faded as she realized what she was thinking. What she had done. The first person she had wanted to share news of her business turning around with had been Trent. Not her family, not Janice.

  She could tell herself that the reason was that he was mainly responsible for the increase in her business, but she knew it went deeper than that. Somehow he had managed to do what no other man had done in eight years, make her forget caution and act instinctively.

  Perhaps he had been able to do so because she didn’t have to worry if he liked her for herself or her family’s wealth and connections. To him she was Dominique Everette, a struggling photographer who needed a second chance. And he was determined to help her get it.

  A man who thought of and cared for others without expecting something in return was difficult to dismiss. Add to that Trent’s handsomeness and his knee-weakening smile, and any woman was in trouble. Dominique wasn’t any different. She had been around wealthier, more sophisticated men, but never one who called to her in so many ways.

  But there were other, more dangerous, reasons. She wasn’t going to fool herself. He was attracted to her just as she was attracted to him. Yet, unlike other men in the past, who’d wanted to use her for their own selfish lust, Trent seemed willing to wait. A man who placed a woman’s needs before his own was a rarity in her life’s experiences.

  But for how long?

  Putting away the phone book and her purse, she leaned back in her chair. The question she should be asking herself was how long she could hold out against him and the yearning of her own body.

  The answer wasn’t comforting, and neither was the thought of what she had to do.

  * * *

  Trent leaned back in his chair, a wide grin on his face. Dominique had sounded happy and proud. He was pretty proud of himself the way he had maneuvered his way into taking her to get her props. Maybe after they finished he could take her ri—

  “That grin is even goofier than the one you had this morning, when you came in whistling.”

  Trent rocked forward in his chair and stared at his secretary, Anita Tabor, in the doorway. Of all the people to catch him off guard, Anita was the worst.

  Besides being on his case about finding a woman and getting married, she was an incurable romantic. Her eyes still misted when she found one of the notes her husband invariably left in her purse.

  Anita maintained she intended to keep the romance in her marriage by refusing to grow old. She wore light brown contact lenses and kept her gray hair dyed a startling shade of red that matched her inch-long nails.

  Trent didn’t remember ever seeing her in anything that wasn’t fitted to her mature figure. Today she wore a white rayon blouse with ruffles in the front and a straight burgundy skirt.

  She was the best secretary he had ever had. She got things right the first time and could work independently. He didn’t think anyone could beat her on the word processor. She had a knack for remembering facts and dates, spoke three languages, and her computer skills were almost as good as his.

  He had always been grateful he had let his chief mechanic Herb talk him into interviewing his wife when she had lost her job due to downsizing. Today, Trent wasn’t so sure. Anita had a tenacity for badgering until she got the answer she wanted.

  “Did you need something?”

  Her brightly polished nails clicked against the faux pearls around her neck as she advanced farther into the room. “To see how far you had gotten on that bid. But that can wait.” She placed surprisingly smooth hands on the cluttered desk. “So who is she?”

  “A friend,” he said, leaning over the inch-thick bid proposal for a lucrative contract with the Dallas-Ft. Worth International Airport that was only a third finished.

  “Does this friend have a face and figure to match that siren’s voice of hers?”

  “Anita, don’t you have work to do?” he asked, turning a page without seeing what was written. Instead he saw Dominique as she had been that morning—sensuously alluring, her skin damp with perspiration—he had wanted to press his lips to every tempting inch of her. His chair squeaked as he twisted in his seat.

  “Since you didn’t deny it, she must have. So I guess this means I won’t have to worry about you as much, or try and set you up with some of the women who have been bugging me for an introduction.”

  His head came up. “What?”

  “Thought that might get your attention.” She shook her head of shoulder-length, twisted curls. “Don’t worry. None of them seemed right for you. On the other hand, this Dominique Everette sounded mighty interesting.”

  Trent went back to studying the report. Anita also never forgot a name. “She’s just a friend.”

  “From that grin on your face earlier I’d say you don’t plan on staying ‘just friends,’” Anita said, giving him a broad, knowing smile.

  His head came back up, something hard glittered in his eyes. “Dominique is a lady. I don’t—”

  “Don’t go caveman on me,” she interrupted smoothly. “You know I’ll respect any friend of yours. It’s about time you thought about something other than these trucks.”

  Trent relaxed. “Herb wouldn’t agree with you.”

  A sultry smile played across Anita’s red lips. “You wanna bet?”

  Trent couldn’t keep the smile from his face. Anita was as saucy as they came. “Get to work.”

  “So I don’t guess you’ll be taking any more long hauls in the near future?” she asked.

  “You could say that’s a safe assumption.”

  A frown worked its away across Anita’s faintly lined face. “Watch yourself, Trent. You’ve been out of circulation for a long time. You’re more likely to fall harder and faster, and be a lot more gullible.”

  He gave his secretary a long, disbelieving stare. “You can’t be serious.”

  “It happens all the time. People aren’t as honest and up front as they used to be, and it’s getting worse,” she told him, then nodded her head for emphasis. “So take it slow and easy. You’re the best there is.”

  “You just remember what I said,” Anita said indignantly and walked to the door. “There are no rules these days. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  Watching Anita leave, Trent dismissed her misgivings. No one was going to get hurt. They were two consenting adults. When it was over it was over—even as the thought came to him, he realized it wouldn’t be that easy or that cut-and-dried.

  But for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine turning away from Dominique, or trying to stop whatever forces were hurtling them toward a foregone conclusion.

  * * *

  Several hours later he learned Domin
ique had other ideas. Standing in Janice’s kitchen with a bouquet of flowers in his clutched fist, the happiness he had carried with him all day went from disbelief to anger.

  “Dominique’s in her room with a headache and asked not to be disturbed.” Janice’s usually direct gaze wavered.

  “I see,” he said, his voice stiff.

  “She said to tell you she’d pick up the fishing equipment herself tomorrow,” Janice continued, obviously uncomfortable with the situation.

  “You tried to warn me,” he said, his mouth a narrow line.

  “Trent, I’m sorry.” Janice laid her hand on his tense forearm.

  “Anita did, too. Shows how much I know.” Thrusting the flowers and bottle of vintage champagne into her hands, he swung toward the back kitchen door.

  Janice wheeled around and stalked to Dominique’s bedroom. After a brief knock she entered. Dominique sat on the Victorian windowseat, her arms wrapped around her updrawn knees, staring out the window. “These are for you. Obviously, he thought you two had something to celebrate.”

  Slowly, Dominique turned, her gaze touching the bouquet of pink roses nestled in baby’s breath, the hand-painted, pale pink and white blossoms on the bottle of Perrier-Jouet. The knot that had formed in her throat—when she told Janice earlier she didn’t wish to see Trent again—thickened.

  There was nothing Dominique wanted more than to bury her face in the heady floral fragrance, toast the success of the day with Trent, hear him laugh, laugh with him.

  Too foolish. Too dangerous. Her eyes shut and she turned away.

  Little by little he was scaling her defenses, making her feel things she had thought she’d never experience again. She might have been able to fight the sexual urges, but the urge to share with him her thoughts, her dreams, was what gave her the will to shut him out of her life. He was becoming too important.

  The realization scared her. Need made a person vulnerable. She’d sworn to herself that she’d never be at the mercy of another man.

  “One day you’re going to have to stop running, Dominique,” Janice told her and shut the door softly behind her.

  “I thought I had,” came the soft reply. “I thought I had.”

  * * *

  Seventeen short minutes later Trent strode through his outer office, his face hard, his booted heels crackling like rifle shots against the vinyl flooring. Ninety minutes earlier he had left with a happy wave and a grin on his face. Wisely, no one commented. More than one person looked at Anita, but the angry expression on her face didn’t invite questions.

  Trent slammed his office door, jerked out his desk chair, and flung himself into the seat. His mind was in a tumult.

  What the hell had happened between that morning and this afternoon? She couldn’t have been stringing him along. The thought that she might have sent a shaft of red hot anger through him before he dismissed the idea.

  Something else was going on with Dominique, and he was going to find out what it was. He wasn’t a quitter. He’d learned long ago to fight for what he wanted. He wanted Dominique. He was coming out of the chair when his office door burst open.

  Anita stood poised in the opening. “Haskall jackknifed outside of Richland near Richland Creek.”

  Trent came the rest of the way in one controlled rush, his mind clicking. The day was clear and sunny, the roads good. If Haskall had been hitting the bottle after he swore he had cleaned up—“Status?”

  “Unknown. Haskall was carrying high-end office furniture. The trucker behind him called,” Anita informed Trent, following him out to the driveway.

  “Have Simons follow me with a truck. Don’t call Haskall’s wife until you have some facts to give her.” Jerking open the door of his truck, he climbed in and started the motor.

  “The driver who called said there might be a fuel leak. Richland Creek feeds into Richland-Chambers Lake.” Anita had saved the worst for last.

  Trent said one explicit word before pulling out. Rubber burned. He had thought the day couldn’t possibly get worse. He was wrong.

  * * *

  Dominique couldn’t sleep. After an hour or more of tossing in bed she had given up around one A.M. and gone outside. She should be sound asleep after such a wonderful day.

  She was booked for most of next week, and the football player and his wife had been thrilled with the pictures and ordered extra for both sets of grandparents. She found no joy in either. She had no illusions as to the reason why she had gone outside.

  Over the six-foot cedar fence and blooming pink crepe myrtles, she could see Trent’s dark house. Her slim arms wrapped around her. Her concern for him had mounted with each passing hour.

  She had hurt him, and now he had more problems to deal with. The accident had been on the Ten O’clock News. Briefly Trent had been interviewed, his face grim. The cause of the accident remained unclear, but the threat of hundreds of gallons of diesel fuel leaking into the nearby Richland Creek and then contaminating the lake it fed into had local officials worried.

  The cleanup of Richland-Chambers Lake, if necessary, would be very costly, and would be the sole responsibility of the trucking company. Already contacted in Dallas and watching the situation closely were representatives from the Environmental Protection Agency. Frantically, she had switched the channel, seeking more information, but learned little more.

  She didn’t need to feel Janice’s condemning gaze to know she couldn’t have picked a worse time to push Trent out of her life. Protecting herself didn’t seem all that important at the moment.

  “Trent, why aren’t you home by now?”

  “I am.”

  Dominique spun around. In the half shadows of the light cast by the lamp in the backyard he stood silhouetted. She took two running steps before she realized she had been about to run into his arms.

  Uncertain and uneasy now that he was here, she pulled the long silk kimono up over her bare shoulders. Trent’s dark gaze followed the motion, then lifted to her face. She felt his searing look from fifteen feet away.

  “W-What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

  “Coming to see you.”

  Surprise widened her eyes. “Me?”

  He nodded toward the light in the last window at the back of the house. “I didn’t want to wake Janice.”

  “There are three bedrooms besides Janice’s. How did you know which one?” she asked.

  For a moment, his face harshened, then cleared. “The wallpaper came in the evening before your first arrival. The hanger couldn’t come on such short notice. I volunteered to help. After meeting you the next day, I realized why Janice was so anxious about getting everything ready for the room.”

  “I see.” His statement only made her feel worse. He was one of the most thoughtful men she had ever met.

  “I wish I did. What did I do to upset you?” he asked, taking a step closer. “I’d apologize, but for the life of me I can’t think of a reason, and believe me, I’ve tried.”

  Shame and guilt slumped her shoulders. “Nothing.”

  He took another step. “Then why didn’t you want to see me?”

  She could run, or face the truth. “You make me feel things I don’t want to feel.”

  In the dim light she could feel him studying her closely. “He hurt you badly, didn’t he?”

  He was too perceptive. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “If that’s the way you want it,” he said, taking another step closer. “Why are you out here?”

  “I—I couldn’t sleep until I knew everything was all right,” she told him, wishing she had the courage to add, “that you were all right.”

  “It is now,” he said, and slowly closed the distance between them. His hands lifted, settling gently on her shoulders. He stared down into her wide, uncertain eyes a long time before he slowly, gently, pulled her into his arms.

  Her palms flattened against the hard wall of his wide chest, felt the unsteady beat of his heart, knew hers was equally
unsteady. He seemed to surround her with his masculinity.

  Instead of fear, she felt an inexorable need to press closer. “W—We were worried about you.”

  He rubbed his cheek against her tousled hair, the palm of his hands pressed against her back. “Sorry.”

  She let the pads of her fingertips stroke him absently through his shirt. She tilted her head back to look at at him. “Was it serious?”

  “Could have been worse,” he said, his thumb stroking her shoulder.

  “How much worse?” she asked, barely able to string a sentence together with him touching her.

  He stared down at her beautiful face, saw the worry she didn’t try to hide. He didn’t remember a time he’d wanted to share his thoughts—he did now.

  “The driver wasn’t drunk, as the policeman first thought. He was in acidosis from undiagnosed diabetes. The fuel spill was contained and cleaned up before it reached the creek. And, thanks to all of my trucks being equipped with air ride, the load didn’t sustain any damage.”

  “You’ve been at the scene all this time?” she asked, knowing she should step away but enjoying the heat, the solidness of his body, too much.

  His hand swept away an errant curl from her face before answering, “Most of the time. Then I went to the hospital to see Haskall. They care-flighted him to Baylor here in Dallas. I wanted to check on him and assure his wife about insurance taking care of his bill, and tell her that the accident was not his fault.”

  “Did you think it was?”

  His face hardened for a fraction of a second. “Yes. Haskall had a drinking problem, but he swore to me he had been sober for six months. I gave him the short run to Waco to test him.”

  Dominique felt the chill again. “And if he hadn’t told the truth, and been drinking?”

  Trent’s face hardened. “I would have helped prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law. Drinking and driving don’t mix.”

  “I agree, but something tells me more is involved.”

  “My customers depend on me getting their merchandise there on time and safely, and I depend on my people to be honest and conscientious. Any time one of those factors is in question, the company suffers,” he told her. “I won’t allow that.”