by Day Leclaire
“Is that why you went to stay with my mother? Because you were sick and broken?”
“I didn’t have any other family,” she whispered. “I didn’t have anywhere else to—”
His grip gentled. “You don’t have to justify it. I’m relieved that you felt comfortable going to her.”
“Really?” She searched his expression, seeking reassurance. “I’m surprised you didn’t give her a hard time about taking me in.”
His head jerked as though she’d slapped him. “Was I such a bastard that you think I’d do such a thing to you? I’m relieved to know you had a place. To know you were safe.” Then he asked the one question she dreaded most. “You said you were sick. What was wrong with you?”
“Nothing that a little tender loving care couldn’t cure.”
“Care I didn’t offer you.”
She met his gaze dead-on. “No, you didn’t.”
“That’s going to change.” He waved aside her incipient response. “I know you don’t believe me. Only time will convince you otherwise, and I’m hoping the next few months will do just that.”
There was no point arguing, not when he was right. Only time would give them the proof they needed…proof that they didn’t belong together. “Fair enough.”
“Call the number on the business card, Catherine,” he urged. “They’ve been paid regardless of how much or how little you bring. And all you have to do is point out the things you want transferred. They’ll pack, load and transport, and then reverse the process once they get everything over to my place.”
“Thank you,” she said with in a stiff voice. “That’s very generous of you.”
He frowned. “Don’t. Please, don’t.”
She closed her eyes for an instant. “I’m sorry. We’ve been apart so long, and—” She shook her head in bewilderment. “I don’t know how to handle this.”
“Then I’ll show you how to handle it. It’s easy.” He cupped her face and feathered a kiss across her mouth. It was soft and gentle and drove every ounce of common sense straight out of her head. “See how easy?”
“I still don’t—”
She never completed the sentence. She never even completed the thought. It faded away, forever lost. His mouth returned to hers, and the tenor of the kiss changed, grew more potent. He slipped a small demand into the embrace, urging a response she was helpless to resist. So she didn’t resist. After that it seemed such a small step to go from reluctant response to active participation. To meet his demand and make one of her own. To give. To take. To nudge up the heat ever so slightly.
She felt the tilt, the inner shift from submission to aggression. She slid her arms across his chest and shoved at his suit jacket. She caught the whisper of silk as it slipped away. Not breaking contact, she yanked his tie from its mooring, ripping at the knot until it followed the same path as his jacket. Plucking at the buttons of his shirt, she finally, finally, hit hot, firm flesh.
Heaven help her, but he was built. Her mouth slid from his and traced a pathway along his corded throat and downward. She felt the groan vibrating beneath her lips and smiled. She remembered that sound, the pleasure it gave her to be the cause. To thrill at the knowledge that her touch could drive a man of Gabe’s strength of will to lose total control.
Even now she felt him teetering on the brink and caught herself hovering there as well. She had just enough awareness to realize she had a choice. She could finish what she’d started, or she could pull back. Part of her, the part that longed to feel Gabe’s hands on her again and experience anew that incredible rush when their bodies joined, urged her to continue. But there were too many issues between them for her to give in so quickly and easily.
As though sensing her hesitation, he gave a push of his own. “I’ve missed you, Catherine,” he murmured roughly. He followed the tailored line of her suit, reacquainting himself with familiar territory. Fire splashed in the wake of his touch. “And I’ve missed this.”
She wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. It was now or never. With a reluctant sigh, she pulled back and felt the first tiny shudder of her common sense returning. “You don’t fight fair,” she complained. She gave his chest a final nipping kiss and stepped clear of his embrace. “I guess you think this proves your point.”
“If I could remember what the hell my point was, I’d agree with you. But since every ounce of blood has drained from my head to places lacking brain cells, I don’t think that’s going to happen.” He lifted a sooty eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you remember what my point was?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
He grinned. “Liar.”
She cleared her throat. “It might have been that living together again will be like riding a bicycle. Once we start pedaling, the moves will come back to us.”
“I have to admit, I don’t remember that part of our conversation, but it sounds good to me.” His eyes sharpened, the blue growing more intense. “The business card. The movers. Your doubts.”
She smiled with something approaching affection. “Ah, there he is. Back to business-as-usual.”
His mouth twitched in an answering smile. Not that it kept him from staying on target this time round. “How about this. Have the movers take less than I’m asking and more than you want. Is that a reasonable compromise?”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean yes, you’ll do it?”
She nodded. “I should be there well before dinnertime.”
Satisfaction settled over him. “Perfect. I’ve arranged for something special for tonight.” He tapped the tip of her nose with his index finger. “And no, I didn’t mean anything sexual, so don’t go all indignant on me.”
“Hmm.” She tilted her head to one side and scrutinized him through narrowed eyes. “Despite your assurances, I somehow suspect you’ll get there later, if not sooner.”
“You can count on it.” The promise glittered like sapphires in his gaze and gave the hard angle of his jaw an uncompromising set. “But in this case I was actually talking about dinner.”
“You don’t have to do anything special,” she protested.
He hooked her chin with his knuckle so they were eye-to-eye. “Yes,” he assured her. “I do. I’ll see you about six.”
The rest of the day flew by. Giving in to the inevitable, she phoned the movers. She barely hung up the phone before two burly men arrived on her doorstep. It was almost as easy as shopping on the Internet. They were user-friendly, and all she had to do was point and click. In no time they had far too many of her possessions packed and carted down to their moving truck. Just as Gabe predicted, the other end of the procedure proved equally as painless.
The one uncomfortable moment came when they asked where they should put her clothing. She briefly debated whether to direct them to one of the spare bedrooms, or to Gabe’s master suite. Considering the close call she and Gabe had experienced back at her apartment, it seemed pointless to take a stand she suspected wouldn’t last more than a single night. Even though she knew that nothing would come of their relationship—that nothing could come of it—she might as well enjoy the fantasy while it lasted.
The instant the door closed behind the movers, she finished the few unpacking chores she preferred to see to herself. Then she took a leisurely tour of Gabe’s penthouse suite. It felt peculiar to be back again. Part of her felt right at home, as though she’d never left.
There was the table where she used to sit and keep track of their social calendar and plan the parties that had become her specialty. And in the window seat over there, she and Gabe would curl up together on a quiet Sunday morning over a steaming cup of coffee while they watched the rain pound the city. And over there…How many times had they entertained guests in the living room? Gabe would sit in that enormous chair he’d had specially designed, and she’d squeeze into a corner next to him.
Of course, there were a few changes. A different set of throw pillows were scattered on the sofa. She came across a gorgeous wooden sculpture
that hadn’t been there before. It was of a woman in repose and made her itch to run her fingertips along the graceful, sweeping lines. The drapes were new, as were a pair of planters on either side of the front door.
After delaying the inevitable as long as she could, she gathered her nerve and entered the bedroom, only to discover this room showed the most changes of all. The previous bed and furniture, darkly masculine pieces, had been removed, and Gabe had replaced them with furnishings made with a golden teak heartwood that brought to mind sailing ships from the previous century. Catherine couldn’t help but smile. Nothing could have suited him better, though she couldn’t help but wonder why he’d replaced his previous bedroom set.
To her surprise, the changes brought her a sense of relief, as though all the old, negative energy had been swept clean. Checking her watch, she realized that Gabe would be home in just under an hour and if he’d planned something special for their dinner, maybe she should consider dressing for the occasion.
She took her time primping, finally settling on a casual floor-length sheath in an eye-catching turquoise. For the first time in ages, she left her hair loose and flowing, a tidal wave of springy curls that tumbled down her back in reckless abandon. She touched up her makeup, giving her eyes and mouth a bit more emphasis.
She’d just finished when the doorbell rang, and she went to answer it, fairly certain it was whatever dinner surprise Gabe had arranged. Sure enough, it proved to be a small catering company that she’d used for a few of her events. She greeted the chef by name and showed her and her companion to the kitchen.
“Gabe said we were to get here right at six and serve no later than six-thirty,” Sylvia explained. “It’ll only take a few minutes to unload the appetizers and get them heated. In the meantime, I’ll open the wine and let it breathe while Casey sets the dining room table. She’ll be serving you tonight.”
“Thanks,” Catherine said with a warm smile. “I’ll be in the living room. Gabe should be home any minute.”
Or so she thought. By six-thirty, she’d nibbled her way through any number of appetizers that she was certain should have tasted like ambrosia, but for some reason had the flavor and consistency of sawdust. At a quarter to seven Sylvia appeared in the doorway. “Should I hold dinner a little longer? I’m afraid to wait too long or it’ll be overcooked.”
“Hold off for fifteen more minutes. If he’s not here by then, you can wrap everything up and stash it in the fridge.”
“Oh. Oh, sure. We can do that.”
Catherine flinched at the unmistakable pity in the other woman’s voice. “Thanks, Sylvia. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me.”
Keeping her chin high, she marched to the master suite and gently closed the door. Then she proceeded to remove her belongings and transfer them to one of the guest bedrooms. Why, oh why, had she allowed herself to believe for even one single second that he’d changed? Nothing had changed. Business always came first with Gabe and it always would.
From deep inside the apartment the phone rang. More than anything, she wanted to ignore it. But it would only make matters worse if she allowed the answering machine to take the call so that Sylvia and Casey could overhear whatever excuse Gabe cared to offer for his delay.
She picked up the bedroom extension. “Hello?”
“I’m sorry.” Gabe’s voice rumbled across the line. “This wasn’t how I planned our first night together.”
She held on to her self-control by a shred. “I’m sure it wasn’t.”
“You’re furious, and I don’t blame you. That deal I told you about earlier came to a head. Roxanne managed to get LaRue to the table, and this was the only time he’d agree to.”
“I’ll bet.”
“It’s going to be a while. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
She heard the unspoken question and answered it. “I promised I’d be here, and I will. The rest we’ll negotiate in the morning.”
He swore softly. “This will be the last time.”
She shook her head in disbelief. He still didn’t get it. “You think it will, Gabe. That’s part of the problem. You always think that next time will be different. But it never is, is it?”
She didn’t wait for his response, but hung up. She needed to inform the caterers that their services wouldn’t be required. But first, she needed a moment to herself. A moment to grieve over the death of a tiny blossom of hope that had somehow, at some point when she wasn’t looking, managed to unfurl deep in her heart.
Five
I t was two in the morning before Gabe keyed open the lock to his apartment. Catherine had left a light burning for him, the one by the sculpture of the sleeping woman—a sculpture whose gentle curves and sleek, soft lines reminded him vividly of her. It was why he’d bought the damn thing, even though he suspected it would torment him every time he looked at it. And it did.
Turning off the light, he headed directly for the bedroom, pulling up short when he realized Catherine wasn’t there. For a single, hideous moment, he flashed back on the night she’d left him. His gaze shot to the dresser, half expecting to see another crisp white envelope with his name neatly scripted across the front. Of course, it wasn’t there. Nor was the dresser. Within a week of her departure, memories too painful to bear had him replacing every stick of furniture in the room.
Stripping off his suit jacket and tie, he went in search of Catherine. He found her in the spare bedroom farthest from the master suite. She sat at a small antique desk by the window, her head pillowed in her arms, sound asleep. She wore a long, sweeping silk nightgown in a stunning shade of aqua, covered by a matching robe.
Gabe silently approached and glanced at the papers littering the desk beneath and around her. They were accounting records, he realized, and he tugged free a few of the sheets. As he glanced down the rows and across the columns, a frown knit his brow. Hell, she was skating precariously close to disaster. First thing tomorrow, he’d take a closer look at this and see just how close to the edge she’d come and what it would take to turn it around…assuming that was even possible.
Tossing the pages aside, he circled the desk and gently tipped her out of the chair and into his arms. She stirred within his hold, but didn’t awaken until he reached their bedroom and eased her onto the bed. She stared up at him in confusion, her golden eyes heavy with exhaustion and brimming with vulnerability.
“What…?”
“You fell asleep at your desk.”
He saw the instant her memory snapped back into place, watching with keen regret as her defenses came slamming down. She bolted upright. “What am I doing in your bed? How did I get here?” she demanded.
“You’re in my bed because it’s where you belong,” he explained calmly. “And you got here because I carried you here.”
“Well, you can just carry me back, because I’m not staying.”
He toed off his shoes without saying a word. Then he proceeded to strip. He was one article of clothing away from baring it all when she erupted off the bed.
“You’re not listening, Gabe. I’m not sleeping with you.”
“Then don’t sleep,” he retorted mildly. “But when we go to bed, we’ll be doing it together.”
She shook her head, and her sleep-tangled curls danced in agitation. “You stood me up tonight. You promised me this time would be different and then you stood me up.” The vulnerability he’d seen earlier leaked through her defenses, nearly killing him. “You can’t do that and then expect me to—” She waved a hand in the direction of the bed.
“Just for my own edification, is this how I’m supposed to react when the shoe is on the other foot?” he asked.
That stopped her, if only for a moment. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that your business is as demanding as mine. Most of your events take place in the evening or on the weekend when I’m off work. Having spent the past two years building up your business, you know there are times when the unexpected arises and you have no choice
but to deal with it.”
“Damn you!” She glared at him in frustration. “I’m not in the mood for your brand of logic. You can’t turn this back on me.”
“I’m not trying to. I’m trying to make you see that every once in a while something like this is going to happen. We’d better learn to deal with it starting right here and right now. Tonight was on me, and I’m sorry, Cate. I’m more sorry than you can possibly know. I wanted your homecoming to be special, and instead it was a nightmare. But you tell me how to handle it the next time or how I should react when you’re the one calling with the last-minute emergency.”
He could tell she was at a loss for words. The fire died, leaving behind pain and confusion. “I was looking forward to tonight so much,” she confessed.
The admission hit and hit hard. “So was I.” He stripped off his shorts and tossed back the bedcovers. Then he held out his hand. “Robe.”
When she didn’t immediately comply, he simply took matters into his own hands. He flicked buttons through holes with ruthless efficiency before sweeping it from her shoulders.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Please don’t.”
If she’d used anger against him, or that ice-cold wall of defiance, he might have ignored her request. But he couldn’t resist her when every scrap of defensive armor lay shattered around her and unhappiness coursed from her in palpable waves.
“Okay, sweetheart,” he said in a husky voice. “It’s okay. We’ll just sleep.”
He gathered her close, locking her against him, and his eyes shut at the feel of her body curving into his. This time she didn’t protest when he urged her toward the bed. How long had it been since he’d had her head pillowed on his shoulder and felt those crisp, wayward curls tickle his jaw? How long had he waited to have that silken skin flowing over his, her small, perfect breasts pressed against his side? He’d craved this, just this, for endless, torturous months. Now that he had her back in his arms he could afford to be patient. As much as he wanted to make love to her, this would do until the time was right. He could give her some space while they worked through their issues.