"Hmm … even before you transformed yourself into Ms. Cool and Competent, even when you were a bookish nerd with no social skills, you never chose avoidance. In fact, under pressure you tended to go the other way." Eyes widening, she slapped a hand to her cheek. "Were you very obnoxious?"
"Insufferably."
"Argumentative?" Julia asked, grimacing as if she dreaded the answer.
"Naturally."
"Oh, dear." Shaking her head, Julia started to laugh and Chantal's own smile grew until it warmed her from the inside out. Oh, but it felt good to share something personal, painfully personal, and to end up laughing about it. Although now she had started it seemed like she had to tell the rest.
"There's more," she said, taking a sobering breath and feeling the warmth of shared laughter and memories begin to chill. "There was this … incident. To cut a long story short, I was trying to impress Quade by impressing his boss and it backfired."
"He wasn't impressed?"
"Understatement."
Julia winced sympathetically.
"I was perfectly justified, though. He had no right to dress me down as he did."
Julia's mouth twitched. "Goes without saying. And you know, this whole story explains a lot."
"About?"
"About why you're like you are with him."
Chantal felt her shoulders stiffen. "How am I?"
"Not yourself, that's for sure. I've never seen you so frazzled, sis. Not since you came back here a fully-fledged lawyer, at any rate. During dinner you didn't sit still long enough—"
"I've had a lousy day, okay? The crowning glory being you dropping an extra dinner guest on me."
"Lousy days have never driven you to drink before."
"I often have a glass of wine with dinner," Chantal defended stubbornly. "You know that."
"A glass, yes, but tonight you could have dispensed with the glass. It only slowed you down."
"Very funny." Chantal pulled a face. She knew she'd only had two glasses – three at most. Because she'd needed to take an edge off her nervous reaction to Quade beside her at the table. His scent, the brush of his knee, the memory of his lips on hers, the pain in his eyes. The whole confusingly complex issue of her feelings for the man.
"Is it so obvious?" she asked, stomach churning. Did she really want to know the answer?
"The fact that you like him?" A telltale blush started to rise in Chantal's throat and her sister clapped her hands with delight. "You're blushing which means you do like him."
Chantal rolled her eyes. "I'm not about to engage in a game of do so, do not."
"You are definitely blushing."
"It's the fire. Plus I've been feeling fluish all day. Not to mention all the hot air you're spurting."
"Pish!" Julia's delighted gaze narrowed slightly. "I've always wondered what kind of man it would take to light your fire."
"I hardly know him."
"And this matters, why?"
"He's…" Chantal paused to weigh her words.
"Hot?" Julia teased, wiggling her eyebrows. "Sexy?"
"Does Zane know you feel this way about another man?"
"It's not working, you won't distract me. He's … what?"
"He's not interested," Chantal supplied finally. Yes, he's hot. Yes, he's sexy. Yes, he kissed me but then he wished it back.
"How do you know? You're hardly an expert on men."
And wasn't that the truth! Heck, before her distant fascination for Quade matured into her first full-scale crush she'd never spared men a thought. But that summer had exposed a gaping hole in her education, a hole she'd spent the next several semesters at university attempting to fill. Interaction Between The Sexes turned out to be the only subject she ever failed.
"Well?" Julia prompted. "How do you know?"
"I asked him to supper … he wasn't interested."
"Perhaps he wasn't hungry."
"And perhaps he isn't interested. He wasn't exactly busting down doors to come here tonight, was he?"
Julia's expression turned contemplative. "Methinks he protested a little too much."
"Yeah, right," Chantal scoffed while something inside leaped to life.
"Hey, I've been watching you two dancing around each other all night. And I don't know what I interrupted in the kitchen earlier, but I know when I'm interrupting."
"You don't think it's completely one-sided? Oh, heck, what am I thinking?" She laughed, but it was a nervous uncertain sound in perfect harmony with everything churning inside her, with every self-doubt and insecurity. "What does it matter? I have no clue how to go about this, what to do, even if I want to—"
Julia leaned forward and touched her arm, stopping her mid-insecurity. "Why is it you relish every challenge work throws your way but you completely wuss out when it comes to men?"
That stopped Chantal for a moment, but only for a moment. Then she answered truthfully. "There's no set procedure, no course I can study."
"Quade would be a master class."
Skillful hands and talented lips, patience and finesse … a premonition of how that class might play out shivered through Chantal. Julia must have seen the reaction and misinterpreted, because her expression softened sympathetically. "Scary, huh?"
"I am not sc—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. You don't do scared, at least not out loud. You also tend to go after what you want."
"This is different. Quade's … difficult."
Julia's brows rose. "And you think a challenge should be easy?"
"Not easy, just doable. I like to think I have some chance of succeeding."
"It's always about success with you, isn't it?"
"Yes. Yes, it is." Chantal expelled a harsh laugh. "Heck, I spent all those years chasing after you and Mitch, trying to measure up, vying for some scrap of our parents' attention."
"There never was enough to go around, was there?"
"Once I realized how to win their affection… I guess it's become habit."
"Well, don't let it become a habit you can't kick." Her sister's tone grew serious, her gaze strong and steady. "You spend way too much time with your work."
"I love my work. It's the only thing I do well and the only place I feel competent, okay?"
"Pish! You do everything well. What about the cooking and the flower arranging and the—"
"I took courses and I practiced and I made myself do well. But with my work … it's not an effort. It is my fun, okay?" Eager to escape, Chantal rose to her feet. "I'm going to make coffee. Would you like anything?"
For a long moment Julia looked mulishly like she wouldn't be deterred, as if she would keep hammering away at her insecurities, attacking the comfort blanket of her work. But in the end she let it go, diverted by the prospect of after-dinner treats. "Do you have cake? Chocolate, preferably? You always have good stuff in your pantry."
"By that, I gather you mean bad stuff."
Julia waved that distinction aside derisively. "Your addiction to junk food is one of your few redeeming qualities. Don't spoil it."
It was a throwaway line, Chantal knew that. She shouldn't have needed to ask… "I have other redeeming features?"
"Well, sure. For a start, there's your complete lack of vanity. You have no idea how stunning you are. Or could be, if you tried a bit harder."
Chantal rolled her eyes.
"Then there's the most important one – you would do anything for your family. I know that. Mitch knows that."
She could have played coy, could have denied it, but Julia had that one right. "Thanks." It was all she could manage through the sudden cloying thickness in her throat.
"You're welcome. Now, how about that cake?"
Shaking her head, Chantal headed for the kitchen door, but a sudden thought brought her up short. "What we've just talked about – everything – could it be under the cone?"
"The cone of silence? Of course." Julia smiled, nostalgically, Chantal thought, as if remembering childhood confidences shared under
their own version of Get Smart's cone of silence. "We haven't done that in a long time, have we? Same as we haven't talked, really talked like this, in ages. Let's do it more often, okay?"
Chantal was too choked up to answer so she simply nodded.
"Oh, and one last thing…"
Hand poised on the kitchen door, Chantal waited.
"I figure it's past time you took on something – or someone – that really challenges you, even scares you more than a little. Something that really is fun." She held up a hand. "Don't say anything, just promise to think about it, okay?"
* * *
"More coffee?" Chantal asked.
Her husky-edged voice and the slow sweep of her dark-eyed gaze cranked Quade's awareness up another notch, but before he had a chance to adjust she was on her feet – again – in full hostess role. He felt his jaw clench.
With the dishes done and the coffee made, they had settled in front of the open fire which should have been all homey and relaxed – would have been all homey and relaxed – if the furniture pieces weren't so strictly aligned, if a few cushions and magazines were tossed on the floor and if Chantal herself would sit still and relax.
Covering his cup with one hand, he unclenched his jaw enough to speak. "Forget the coffee. Find yourself a comfortable spot, park that delectable rear end, and take the rest of the night off," he said, low enough so as not to reach the ears of Julia and Zane, who sat cozily on the lounge talking wedding plans.
She blinked, long black lashes against smooth pale skin, and then her gaze seemed to gravitate toward his lap. Quade's body was quick to respond. Shifting uncomfortably in one of her big leather easy chairs, he told himself the effect was subliminal. A man's reaction to a suggestive glance, he decided, watching a delicate flush stain her cheeks. He swore silently.
Every time he finished convincing himself how snugly she fit the tough career woman stereotype, every time he resolved to leave her to her Kristin-like ambitions, some piece of paradoxical behavior turned his thinking around. Those shy-girl flushes, her concern over his scratched hands, the self-derision over her golf game. Her tentative response to his kiss, as if she didn't quite know what came next.
Hell, he'd come back to Plenty to sort out his life not to complicate it. And from where he sat – from where his body surged just imagining those tight hip-hugging jeans sliding into his lap – Chantal Goodwin represented one king-size complication.
As for her family … his gaze swung to where the other two sat, still immersed in their own conversation. Sometime during the afternoon O'Sullivan had graduated to Zane and Julia had slipped right under his guard. He'd been after a helping hand with his garden not the hand of friendship.
Watching them together filled him with … hell, he didn't know what it was. Some complex mix of envy and anger and regret over what he no longer had, and a hollow sense of loss for what he could never regain. Resolutely, he shoved those thoughts aside. No more self-pity, no more self-castigation, he reminded himself. He had moved past that mawkishness, not to any place concrete but he was working on it. Huffing out a breath, he forced himself to zone into the conversation.
"Did I tell you Mother rang this morning, wanting to know if we've chosen a time for the rehearsal?" Julia's question was directed at Chantal who had chosen to park her delectable rear end on the floor instead of in the vacant chair, or in his lap.
"Have you decided on a night?" she asked back.
Julia pulled a face. "I don't see why we need to practice at all."
"Easy for you to say," Zane muttered. "You're experienced."
"Best if everyone knows where they have to be, and when," Chantal added.
"Which is just fine if everyone could get to a rehearsal!"
"You'll have to ring Mitch and Gavin tomorrow, tie them both down to a definite answer."
Frowning, Quade backed the conversation up a few steps. "You've been married before?"
"Just the once," Julia answered cheerfully. "First time around I was looking for all the wrong things."
Same here. Except he was thinking about his career, about how he'd chosen law for the money and the prestige, and how Kristin had chosen him for the very same reasons. All the wrong reasons. A muscle jumped in his tight jaw, and he felt the touch of Chantal's gaze.
"Perhaps we could talk about something other than weddings," she suggested. To protect his sensibilities? Did she think he needed cosseting?
"Marriage isn't a touchy subject with me," he said shortly.
"It is with Chantal," Julia supplied. "She has very strong opinions on the subject."
"And why wouldn't I? In my job I see too many couples who have vowed to love and cherish tear each other apart over divorce settlements."
She'd spoken evenly, almost with restraint, and Quade couldn't stop himself from playing devil's advocate. "That's the ugly side."
"It's the one I see."
"You don't have to look far to see the other side." His gaze flicked to the happy couple then back again.
"Yes, Julia's about the happiest woman this side of the Great Divide but that doesn't alter history. First time around, she was plain miserable." She glanced apologetically toward her sister before returning her attention to Quade. "And as for our brother Mitch, well, his marriage breakup is damned near killing him."
Quade kept his gaze locked on hers, on eyes that glowed more fiercely than the flames at her back. Because she ached so deeply for her brother, because she felt so intensely for both her siblings. "And what about you, Chantal?" he asked. "Have you vowed to save yourself from all this heartache?"
"Let's just say marriage isn't on my To Do list," she replied with a cynical half smile. It froze almost immediately. "Oh my God, I didn't think…" She shook her head remorsefully. "I'm sorry."
"Why? Because it's not on my To Do list anymore?" And he showed her a true cynic's twisted smile. "No need to apologize. I've moved on."
An awkward pause followed, the silence broken only by the stark crackle of burning firewood, and then by Julia groaning about bladders not structured for two.
In a sudden rush of activity, Zane helped her to her feet, and everyone else followed suit. Julia dashed off to the bathroom, Chantal started gathering coffee cups, and Zane yawned widely. "Time to call it a night. I've got an early start tomorrow. I'll warm up the truck and get the heater going. Coming, man?"
Before he could answer, Chantal cleared her throat. "He'll be along in a minute," she told Zane.
Too surprised to object, he waited through their thank-yous and goodbyes, until Zane had let himself out the front door. Then he waited while she drew a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. He heard the clink of cups touching, as if she had clutched her load more tightly. From where he stood it seemed like she didn't particularly relish whatever she had to say.
"I'm truly sorry about before," she started softly. "I should have thought before I opened my mouth."
"Is that why you kept me here? Is that all you wanted to say?"
"No." She lifted her chin and looked right at him. "Why did you kiss me?"
Shaking his head, he expelled a short wry-sounding laugh. Of all the questions she could have asked, he hadn't expected that one. "Damned if I know."
His gaze slid back to hers, caught and held. The atmosphere seemed to do the same, to catch and hold and wait in tense anticipation for whatever came next. He decided it might as well be the truth, as much as he knew of it.
"I haven't looked sideways at another woman in four years, not when I was with Kristin, and not since."
She moistened her lips. "How long since you broke up?"
"Six months." He rubbed at his jaw. "Six months and I simply haven't been interested. Yet the instant I saw you in my bedroom…"
"You were interested?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Oh, yeah. I can't tell you how many times I've replayed that first encounter. Those satin sheets sliding across the floor. You leaning over the bed. The Creaking mattress."<
br />
"So…" Her gaze drifted to his lips and it might have been his imagination but she seemed to drift closer, too. When he breathed, his senses swam with her scent. "Where does that leave us?"
Before he could do more than think anywhere you'd like, the bathroom door smacked shut. She jumped guiltily. A cup slipped from her grip and thudded to the carpet, and she immediately moved to retrieve it. He stayed her with a hand on her arm. The sound of footsteps signaled Julia's approach and Chantal's question still hung there, suspended in the charged atmosphere, unanswered.
"Do you want there to be an us?" he asked.
"Do you?" she countered.
"Ready to go?" Julia asked coming into the room. For the second time she stopped in her tracks, eyebrows raised as she looked from one to the other. Quade didn't care. When Chantal squirmed he tightened his hold, ignoring her soft hiss of disapproval. He waited until she stilled, until she looked back up at him, eyes spitting her annoyance. And he realized he had no clue how to answer her question.
"I don't know," he said, easing his grip on her arm. He smoothed his fingers down the length of her delicate angora sleeve, so at odds with the fiercely held tension in the arm beneath, then stepped away. "Hell, I can't even make up my mind if I like you or not."
* * *
Chapter 6
«^»
At lunchtime the next day, Chantal admitted defeat. She simply couldn't focus on the papers spread before her on the dining-room table, a fact that confounded, annoyed and frustrated her in equal measures.
This was the Warner case, for Pete's sake, an estate wrangle with as many complicated twists and as much high drama as any soap opera … plus a wronged step-daughter who just happened to be a scrappy fighter. Most days Chantal couldn't find enough hours to spend building Emily Warner's case. It represented everything she loved most about her job.
Today wasn't "most days."
For a start it was the day after Cameron Quade showed her ten seconds of pure lip-to-lip bliss. It was also the day after he'd told her he wasn't sure if he even liked her, and the two events had been playing war games in her brain ever since. She pressed her lingers to a throbbing temple. And as if that weren't enough, there remained the small matter of Julia. Already she had phoned, twice, leaving messages to "call me, immediately."
QUADE: THE IRRESISTIBLE ONE Page 6