He knew her deepest fantasies and if she stayed a moment more, he would know the truth. Love.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Yes, I am.” She pulled her arm free of his grip and started for the door.
“When are you going to stop worrying about what people think?”
“Look who’s talking.” She turned on him. “You’re so worried about what everybody else thinks that you’ve eaten a huge chunk of cash all because Claude Dixon can’t make up his mind. You’re still eating it.”
His jaw hardened and he frowned. “That’s different. It’s business.”
“Is it?” She focused her attention on him rather than the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her she was making an even bigger mistake by walking away from Dallas. She loved him. That’s all that should matter.
That’s all that would have mattered if she hadn’t been a Merriweather and he hadn’t been a Jericho.
“You know what I think?” She focused on her anger, eager to ignore the truth beating inside her with every beat of her heart. “I think you’ve spent the past ten years busting your butt to change everyone’s mind about you and you’re worried about slipping up. I think you’re afraid that if you tell Claude where to get off, he’ll tell people that you really haven’t changed.”
“Are you crazy? I have changed. I’m not some irresponsible badass.”
“True, but you never were one. Not deep, down inside. A badass wouldn’t have brought apples to old lady Carmichael every afternoon, or help Mrs. Walters do her grocery shopping at the Piggly Wiggly on Saturday mornings while the rest of the kids were watching cartoons or playing Little League.”
“That was penance for all the crazy crap I did.”
“Hardly. Everything you did, everything you pretended to be was just a front for a kind and good and decent kid who wanted everybody to like him.”
“I never gave a shit—”
“You can deny it all you want, but you did care. I saw it in your eyes when I turned you down for the dance. I hurt you, but you covered it up by playing the hateful bully. You don’t do that anymore—cover up who you really are. You finally let everyone see the real you, and they respect that. They like it. They like you.”
“Some do. Some couldn’t care less.” He shook his head. “I’m not really concerned with everyone else. It’s you I’m interested in. You I’ve always been interested in, since the first moment you smiled at me with your mouth full of mayonnaise sandwich.”
The memory fought its way into her head, but she was determined to keep it out, and even more determined to keep the conversation on him. “The town likes you. You’ve found your acceptance and you know it. And now you’re afraid of losing it by pissing off Claude Dixon. You’re bending over backward to please him.”
“Like you bend over backward to please your father?”
“I owe him. He never treated me like I was adopted. He loved me like his own. He always has, despite where I came from.”
“And so you go out of your way to make him forget the fact that you aren’t his flesh and blood.”
That’s exactly what she’d done all these years, but there was just something about hearing the words out loud that sent a wash of shame through her. “You just don’t get it.”
“Oh, I get it, all right. It’s not your father you’re so eager to prove anything to. It’s yourself. You’ve tried so hard to be a Merriweather because you’d rather forget where you came from.”
“That’s not it.”
“I know, baby,” he continued, his voice softer when he caught sight of the tears swimming in her eyes. “I spent most of my life trying to forget who my father was. The thing is, it doesn’t matter who he was or what he did or whether we had a lot of money or a lot to eat.”
The words cut too close to home and Laney shook her head. She’d been fighting her past for too long to admit the truth now. “All that matters is who I am right now,” he told her. “I’m the man who loves you. The man who’s always loved you.”
His confession sent a burst of joy through her unlike anything she’d ever felt before. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to throw herself into his arms and confess her own feelings.
Love.
The truth pushed and pulled inside her, stirring a wealth of emotion—everything from elation to dread to full-blown fear. Because Laney Merriweather wasn’t supposed to love Dallas Jericho. And he wasn’t supposed to love her. She didn’t want him to love her.
No matter how good it felt.
She gathered her control and focused on the anger simmering inside her because Dallas was letting Claude Dixon get the best of him. “Who you are is a man who’s losing a ton of money because he won’t stand up to an impractical customer.” And then she did what she should have done the moment Dallas opened his door that evening.
She walked away.
“THIS ISN’T THE BLACK cherry jubilee.” Claude Dixon, back early from his trip, stood in the foyer early Sunday morning and stared down at the tiled floor.
“No, it’s the citrus.” Laney had been right last night. He was afraid of what people thought about him, just as she was.
How in the world could he expect her to ignore what everyone else thought when he, himself, was so wrapped up in one person’s opinion that he’d sacrificed his own valuable time and money, not to mention his self-respect?
He couldn’t. He had to practice what he preached, starting now.
“But I ordered the black cherry jubilee.”
“You ordered this first.”
“But we don’t want this. Didn’t I make myself clear?”
“Crystal. You want the black cherry jubilee.”
“Exactly. You’ll just have to pull this up and redo it.”
“I’d be happy to, but it’ll cost you.”
“What are you talking about? Your contract promises full customer satisfaction.”
“My contract also states that any changes will add additional charges and time.”
“You’re going to charge me?”
Dallas nodded and suddenly the fear that had been knotting his gut eased. “The price of this tile, plus the new tile and the added labor charges.” He handed over the written estimate. “Just say the word, and the black cherry jubilee is yours.”
Claude took one look at the estimate, saw the additional cost that Dallas had already incurred three times over and swallowed. His expression eased as he glanced down at the citrus tile once again. “Actually, this looks really good.”
Dallas grinned. “At Triple J Construction, we aim to please.”
“I DON’T MEAN TO BUG YOU, but I was in the building, so I thought I’d stop by and see if you’ve filled the position yet.” The voice greeted Laney bright and early Monday morning as she walked into her father’s outer office.
Brigette Summers stood just inside the doorway, her long hair pulled back in a neat bun. She wore another faded dress, this one a washed-out pink with flowers. The tiny white flowers had faded and a small safety pin peeked up at the neckline where the top button was missing.
A memory rushed at Laney and for a split second, she saw a small six-year-old girl wearing a threadbare orange dress, the waistband held together by a large safety pin as she sat on the schoolhouse steps and munched on a piece of banana and half of a mayonnaise sandwich.
“I’m not trying to be a pest or anything, it’s just that this position is perfect for me. I live just four blocks over and can be here on a moment’s notice, or I can stay late. I’m very dedicated. And I brought another résumé—” she held up a sheet of paper “—in case you misplaced mine.”
“I’m afraid I still haven’t made a decision yet, but I’ll be sure to call—” Her words faded as the inside office door opened and her father’s booming voice floated through.
“And this is me with a forty-pound trout.” Judge Marshall Merriweather walked into the outer office followed by two ancient looking men who stared over his sho
ulder at the stack of pictures in his hands. “Hello, dear.” He gave her a bright smile.
“Good morning, Dad, Judge Cyrus and Judge Dandridge.” She nodded at the two men who spared her quick nods before turning their excited gazes back to the pictures.
“You say all the fish are this size?”
“That and bigger.”
“What about trout? Why, they can’t all be this big.”
“Bigger,” her father assured both men. “Just take a look at the rest of these over your morning coffee.” He divided the stack of pictures and handed them over to the two men who quickly said their goodbyes.
“Pencil Cyrus and Dandridge in for lunch today and cancel the brief for the MacIntyre case. I can read it later tonight on my own time.” He must have noticed her raised eyebrows, because a sheepish expression crept over his face. “You were right. I do need to take it easy and I’m realizing that.”
“May I ask what brought about the change of heart?”
He winked. “Baby girl, there’s nothing more exciting than reeling in a twenty-pound pike. I’d forgotten that in the past few years, but this weekend reminded me. Oh,” he added as he glanced down at his planner, “give me three hours for today’s lunch. We’re thinking about going over to the country club for a little golf afterward.”
“Golf? You? On a Monday?”
He didn’t answer. He simply grinned and reached for the résumé in Brigette’s hand. “Very impressive, young lady,” he said before handing it over to Laney. “You look like exactly what the doctor ordered. I’m sure my daughter is anxious to talk to you.”
“Actually I’ve still got a few prospects I need to look at before I make a decision,” Laney said as her father turned to walk back into his office. He didn’t so much as spare Brigette a moment’s scrutiny, as if her appearance didn’t mean a thing to him.
It didn’t.
The realization hit her as she stood there and stared at the neatly typed résumé in her hands. For the first time, she really looked at Brigette. Not at what she wore or the quality of her clothes, but at her qualifications.
Dallas had been right. Laney hadn’t been fighting so hard to convince her father that she was worthy of his name. She’d been trying to convince herself, anxious to forget that poor little girl in the hand-me-down orange dress, to forget the desperation she’d felt day after day when she’d gone to school with nothing and come home to nothing, to forget the hunger that had gnawed at her stomach and the tears that had burned her eyes and the loneliness she’d felt because she’d never been like the other kids. She’d never had a home or a family. She’d never truly belonged.
Even after Judge Merriweather had adopted her, she’d felt different. She’d been different. Not as cultured or as educated or as refined as everyone around her. Laney had been determined to turn things around, to fit in this time, to be a Merriweather so that she didn’t ever have to feel like an outsider again.
Her father didn’t see her as such. He was a man of principle who saw people for who they were. That’s why he’d adopted her in the first place. He’d seen a needy little girl, not her dress or her mussed hair or her scuffed shoes or her pitiful background.
“I know you aren’t ready to make a decision yet, but I’d appreciate it if you would keep me in mind.” Brigette’s voice drew Laney’s attention and she glanced up at the young woman.
“Actually,” Laney said with a smile, “you are just what the doctor ordered. When can you start?”
HER MIGRAINE WAS completely gone.
Laney stood on the corner of Main Street and Biloxi in the heart of downtown Cadillac the following Saturday morning and stared at the endless stream of classic cars cruising by in the parade. There were all shapes and sizes, from a ’59 Edsel to a vintage ’69 Corvette dragster. Her gaze touched each one, searching for the familiar black Mustang. And amazingly, her head didn’t hurt anymore—not when she focused her eyes or concentrated or even worried.
And she was worried.
A full week had gone by and Dallas hadn’t tried to contact her even once. She’d seen him at Eden’s bar and the Piggly Wiggly and last night’s Car Cruise carnival, but he hadn’t once approached her. Much less taunted or teased her. Or tried to seduce her.
His retreat came as no surprise. The night they’d slept together, he’d put himself on the line and declared his feelings, and she’d rejected him. Again.
She closed her eyes and fought against a swell of dread. What if she was too late this time? Sure, his love for her had endured all these years. It had even grown stronger, despite her first rejection. But they’d been kids back then. She’d been immature.
This time, however…
She’d still been immature, still living her life with the same mentality she’d had while growing up. Dallas had not only brought her most erotic fantasies to life, but he’d given her the freedom she’d only dreamed of having. Being with him had made her realize that being different was okay. Yet at the same time, she felt a strange sense of belonging. He made her feel excited and happy and complete.
She belonged with him, and so she’d given up her job in Austin and applied for a prosecutor’s position right here in town. No longer was she going to kill herself doing a job she didn’t enjoy only to drive herself toward an early heart condition like her father. She didn’t want to wait until she was fifty-five to be happy.
Laney wanted her happiness now. She wanted Dallas.
She only hoped that he still wanted her.
Crossing the street, she worked her way through the crowd. Dozens said hello and Laney returned their greeting, but otherwise, she kept her eyes trained on the passing cars. Waiting…Hoping…There.
She spotted him a few cars from the corner. Her heart pounded as the vehicles rolled by. The moment Dallas reached the corner, she drew in a deep breath, said a silent prayer and stepped toward the car.
“Can you spare a ride?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled open the door and slid in next to him.
“What are you doing?”
“Sitting.”
“I mean, what are you doing in here? In my car? With me?”
“I told you. I need a ride.” She twisted in the seat until she was facing him. “I need you.”
His foot still sat on the brake and a burst of horns erupted behind them, but Dallas didn’t budge. His full attention remained fixed on her as a dozen emotions chased across his face. Hope and fear and disbelief.
“What?”
“I need you. You were right about me. I was scared of standing up for myself, of standing out, of not fitting in. I wanted so much to belong, but I never did. It didn’t matter what clothes I wore or who I hung out with or how many country club friends I had, I still didn’t fit in. I’ve never fit in. Until you. You’re the first person who’s ever made me feel a true sense of belonging. You.”
A clamor of horns filled the air, followed by several calls from the onlooking crowd.
“Is everything all right?”
“You folks having car trouble?”
“Engine stalled?”
The voices drew his gaze and he glanced around before his attention fixed on her again. “People are looking at us.”
“I know.” She worked at the top few buttons of her blouse while he watched her with a puzzled expression.
“What are you doing?”
“Showing you my underwear.” She pulled the top edges of the blouse aside and let him glimpse the red Wildchild lingerie she’d purchased her first night back in town. “It’s not purple, but I called Eden and asked if she could put in a rush for a purple thong and a matching bra. In the meantime, this—” she slid another button free “—will have to do.”
“But people are looking at us.”
“That’s the point.”
He caught her hands midway down. “You’re confusing the hell out of me, woman,” he growled, as he started sliding the buttons back into place. “What’s all this about?”
&nb
sp; “I’m not afraid to be myself. I like racy lingerie.”
“I’m glad.”
“And I like you. I…” She searched for her courage. “I don’t want you to be just my very own private fantasy. I want you to be my reality. I want—” Her voice broke then. Please don’t let me be too late. Please.
His hands stalled on her top button as he stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. A breathless moment passed and then he smiled, and all the love he’d professed for her shone in the dark green depths. “Tell me, darlin’. Tell me what you really want.”
“You,” she murmured. “I don’t just like you. I love you. And I’ll go you one better.”
For the first time in her life, Laney Merriweather didn’t worry about who was looking over her shoulder or what they might think of what she was about to do. She cared only about the man in front of her. The man who fulfilled all of her fantasies and then some. The man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Starting right now. “I’ll show you.” And then her lips touched his.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-4004-3
MIDNIGHT FANTASIES
Copyright © 2001 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
MYSTERY LOVER
Copyright © 2001 by Vicki Lewis Thompson
AFTER HOURS
Copyright © 2001 by Stephanie Bond Hauck
SHOW AND TELL
Copyright © 2001 by Kimberly Raye Rangel
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Midnight Fantasies Page 22