Sam leaned heavily against the counter, his hands braced against the edge. “Sean tried to pull a real fast one,” he said in a low voice, swallowing past the burning sensation in the back of his throat. “I never did trust that boy.”
“No,” Lane said. “We never do.” He pushed out a breath. “I’m sorry. Especially for that little girl. Is she going to be okay?”
“Knowing Libby?” Sam said with a tired smile. “Probably. She’s real shaken right now, though.”
“Almost as much as you, I imagine.”
Sam looked over again, saw a shared commiseration in Carly’s father’s eyes, one that nearly pushed him to ask about Carly, what had happened to her. Except something told him if he wanted to know what was going on in her head, it didn’t make much sense to go digging around in anybody else’s. Then Sam realized Lane was alone.
“Ivy didn’t come over?”
A cloud scudded across the older man’s face. “No.” He walked over to load several dishes into the dishwasher. “Guess she changed her mind.” The dishwasher thunked closed; Lane looked around the kitchen, frowning, as if he’d forgotten something, then back at Sam. “Well. Since you’re back…”
“Oh. Yeah. Go on. And thanks.” He managed a tired smile. “Stayin’ with my kids definitely goes beyond the call of neighborliness.”
Lane chuckled. “They’re just boys.”
“My point exactly.”
The older man slipped on his lightweight parka, clamped a hand on Sam’s shoulder for a moment, then let himself out through the back door. Sam tiptoed upstairs to check on his three youngest, all sawing logs, tucking faded action-figure comforters around little flailed limbs and retrieving stuffed toys that had fallen overboard, his heart turning over in his chest for each one.
Back downstairs, he let cats out and dogs in, put on a pot of coffee, then carefully listened at the door to Libby’s room, where he heard the two females talking softly. Half of him felt left out, the other half grateful; he decided he didn’t have the wherewithal to dissect his thoughts any further than that. He poured himself a cup of coffee before finally wandering into his living room, loosening his tie one-handed as he set his mug of coffee on the end table, then collapsed with a soft groan onto the sofa. One booted foot automatically hooked the edge of the coffee table, a habit of his that had driven Jeannie to distraction. A habit he’d done his best to curb in the name of domestic harmony, until his wife’s death rendered his good intentions moot.
One hand lifted to rub his aching eyeballs through his lids. Hell, his gut was churning enough acid to dissolve nails, and his temples threatened an all-out revolt. By rights, he should see Carly home, then hit the hay himself. But in a night that redefined the word “unsatisfying,” he was determined that it was long past time Carly Stewart came clean about a few things. For all their sakes.
“Nice to see I’m not the only person who likes sitting in the dark.” From the doorway, her voice flowed over him, soothing, arousing. Exhausted.
Unmoving, he said, “Jeannie used to swear I was a mole in a previous life.”
“My mother used to say the same thing about me. Please tell me I’m not hallucinating the coffee smell.”
“Nope,” he said, not sure what to make of her apparently not being in any hurry to get home, either. “Help yourself.”
He heard her footsteps recede, the tap-tap of her those delicate high heels on the pine floor, then return; sensed more than saw her settle into the dirt-old recliner that had been his father’s. Then he heard a pair of soft thuds—her shoes falling onto the rug—followed by the groan of the recliner’s mechanism as she let it fall back. Light leaked from the kitchen, two rooms away, mingling with the soft-silver glow of moonlight filtering through the windows. Sam sat forward just enough to tug loose the afghan from the back of the sofa, tossing it over to her.
“Heat doesn’t go on again until morning. You’ll freeze.”
She laughed, the sound not so much soft as worn. Rustling sounds ensued, offset by the muffled squawks of the old recliner, as she tucked the afghan around her legs. “You’re nothing if not gallant. Thanks.”
“Anytime.” He paused, his weight heavy in the sofa cushions, trying to make out her face in the low light. “How’s Lib?”
“Stable. She said to tell you she loves you and she’ll see you in the morning.” He heard her take a sip of coffee. “We talked some more.”
“Yeah. I heard. That you were talking,” he quickly added. “Not what you were saying.” He hesitated, waiting for her to fill in the blank. When she didn’t, he prodded, “So…I take it you were going over what happened?”
A pause. “More or less.”
“I think that’s what’s known as a cagey reply,” Sam said.
No comment.
“Carly,” he said as gently as he knew how, “what happened tonight…am I correct in thinking it brought up a whole bunch of personal issues for you?”
He could barely make out her lifting her mug to her lips, almost hear the quiet clunk of her setting it back on the table next to the chair. “It’s not something I talk about.”
And unless he was sorely mistaken, they were inching closer to a secret cave she’d kept well hidden for a very long time. “I gathered as much.”
“Are you going to bug me to death until I do?”
He thought about it for a moment, then let out a quiet, “No. But I get the feeling there’s something going on inside your head that might help me better understand my daughter.”
Her laugh was thin. Dry. “Nice try. But despite how it might look on the surface, believe me—Libby and I are nothing alike.”
“And if things had gone different for her tonight,” he forced himself to say, “would that still be true? If she…if she hadn’t gotten away.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath. Then: “Yes. It would still be true.”
“Because…” Talk about stabbing blindly. “Because she came to me?”
Another long pause, during which Sam fully expected her to rocket from the chair and hightail it out of there. But when she didn’t, not after five, ten, thirty seconds had passed, he got the feeling somebody was ready to let him peek inside that cave. Whether or not she let him all the way inside, however, remained to be seen.
“Nothing goes beyond these four walls,” he said, encouraging her. “You can trust me on that.”
He heard more shifting, rearranging, before she finally said, “It happened at performing arts camp. I was fourteen. Barely. I got a major crush on a senior in high school, who for some reason returned my interest. I was so dazzled by having this ‘older’ guy wanting to be with me, I had no clue where things were headed. Until one day, he managed to find a way for us to be alone.” The silence seemed to scream between them. “He outweighed me by seventy-five pounds,” she said softly. “I didn’t get away.”
The lack of emotion in her words lanced through Sam more than any outburst would have. “And you never told anybody?”
That got another dry laugh. “A therapist or two. Later. Much later. But at the time, I was so sure it was my fault, that I’d somehow done something to make it happen. And I was sure if Dad found out he’d yank me back home so fast my head would spin. God knew how long it would have been before he’d let me out on my own again, since he hadn’t wanted me to go to begin with. But Mom and I had worn him down—this was my chance for two classes a day, six days a week, my idea of heaven. I wasn’t about to risk losing that. So. I toughed it out. Faked cramps for a couple days, then went back to taking class, focusing all my energies on the one thing I knew I could trust, no matter what.”
“So…this jerk got off scot-free?”
“Yes, basically.” At his grunt of disgust, she said, “I was a kid, Sam. And a hardheaded one at that. And I guess he knew I’d never say anything. In any case, he lost interest, moved on to somebody else. An older girl, another actress.”
“And you didn’t warn her?”
“L
ike she would have listened to an eighth-grader? Besides, from what I gathered—mainly her own big mouth sounding off in the girls’ cabin—she was more than willing to meet Reece halfway. Or rather, all the way. In any case, the minute I’d said anything, the cat would’ve been out of the bag. Not a chance I could take.”
Sam felt like somebody’d fast-frozen his gut. “It makes me sick, thinking of you going through that by yourself.”
“It was a long time ago. Although I still occasionally entertain this fantasy involving Reece’s family jewels and a swarm of fire ants.”
Sam turned his head, barely making out her profile in the dark. “Your father still doesn’t know, does he?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She paused, then said, “I actually worked through most of the earlier mess, about it being my fault and all that. And I was finally able to transfer my inappropriate anger with myself to Reece, where it belonged. The whole fire-ant thing and all that. The guy was a jerk of the first order, end of story. But Dad’s big thing was protecting me, you know? Always has been, always will be, I imagine. It would kill him to find out he was right. That, in his mind, he shouldn’t have let me go, because ultimately, he couldn’t protect me.”
“It could have happened anywhere, Carly,” Sam said quietly. “As hard as it might be for a father to accept, we can’t protect our kids around the clock. I think you’re wrong to keep it from him.”
“I’m sure you do. But, you know, I think I’ve caused the man enough pain for one lifetime. Now that things are finally on somewhat of an even keel, what would be the point of coming clean about something that happened more than twenty years ago, something he couldn’t have done anything about then any more than he could now?” She unfolded herself from the recliner, shedding the afghan like a skin. “It’s late. Mind taking me home?”
“Are you pissed? That I brought up the subject?”
He could tell she was looking at him. “No. Just worn-out. Besides, if I hadn’t wanted to talk about it, I wouldn’t have.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, getting up, as well, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. “That much, I already figured out.”
But during the short drive back to her place, questions still swirled in his brain, the answers to which might—might—help make sense of the enigma that was Carly Stewart. And once in front of her house, Sam cut the engine and shifted in his seat, one wrist on the steering wheel, looking at her. Again, she could have left any time she wanted, it wasn’t as if he was holding her.
But she didn’t.
“What?” she said, one eyebrow arched.
“I’m not sure. Except…all the stuff you led me to believe, about all your…boyfriends. You make that up?”
Carly let out a soft laugh through her nose. “No. Why do you think that?”
“Because, dammit, something doesn’t feel right, here. After what happened, especially, why would you be so…pardon me, but I don’t know how else to say this…indiscriminate?”
“But that’s the thing. I’ve never been indiscriminate.” Her earrings flashed when she twisted back to stare out into the darkness. “I’ve always chosen my partners very, very carefully.”
“How do you figure that?”
Her chest rose with the force of her breath before she returned her gaze to his. “Okay, fine—you want the truth? After Reece, I made a promise to myself that I’d never give another man power over me, or my feelings. That I’d never let emotions cloud my ability to see exactly who he was. Or who I was. I used men for sexual release, my dancing for emotional release. A plan which worked extremely well for a damn long time.”
“So what you’re saying is, you’ve had a lot of sex, but not a whole lot of lovemaking?”
“A blunt way of putting it, but yeah. That pretty much covers it.”
“And this made you happy?”
“It made me safe. And that’s all that mattered.”
“So when was the last time a man kissed you because he actually cared about you?”
“That I know of?” God, her defiance was as substantial as a mirage. And five times more aggravating. “Never.”
“Then it’s high time somebody rectified that,” he said, cupping one hand at the back of her neck to bring their mouths together.
Chapter 12
The kiss was careful, but not at all hesitant, his mouth sure and strong on hers, and she opened to him—oh, boy, did she open to him!—her tongue welcoming his like a long lost friend. Her fingers curled into his shirt, encouraging him closer, as tingles of need shot here, there and everywhere, blasting her emotions—her resolve—to kingdom come. He tasted of strong, sweet coffee, smelled of suede and wood smoke, earthy scents, real scents, and her poor little old self went ballistic, wanting him on a level so deep, so basic, there were no words to describe it.
Sam’s lips left hers, pulling from hers a tiny “oh!” of loss, and he smiled—a slight curve of his mouth, nothing more—and kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue stroking hers as gently as his fingers now stroked her cheek. Rough fingers, real fingers, the fingers of a man who had nothing to prove, whose technique, Carly realized with a pang, had developed through the years with a woman he’d loved with all his heart. The old, familiar ache blossomed between her legs, her nipples greedy, desperate for attention; that she’d become aroused so quickly, so completely, she vaguely tossed off to six months of celibacy, the emotional drain of the evening.
Liar, a voice whispered.
She guided Sam’s hand to her breast, the thin fabric of the dress, her sheer bra, little barrier to his skin on hers. She heard him sigh, a shuddering, soulful sound, heard her own soft moan of despair when he removed his hand. He touched his forehead to hers, shaking his head.
“We can’t do this. Not until you understand it’s not just about sex.”
After a moment, she pulled away, hurt. Aching. “Then we can’t do this at all. Not unless you’re willing to accept it can only be about sex.”
To her surprise, he lifted a hand, brushed back her hair. “Then this probably isn’t a real good time to mention that I’m falling in love with you.”
Her heart lodged in her windpipe. “Why?” she barely got out. “Of all the people…” She turned back around, her vision blurred. “Why?” she asked again.
“I have no idea. Just seems right.”
“Right? How the hell could this possibly be right? Good God, Sam…” When she faced him again, his eyes shone in the moonlight, as calm and steady as the man himself. “This doesn’t make a drop of sense.”
“Can’t argue with you there,” he said, that damned inscrutable smile tugging at his lips. “Corny as it sounds, I never thought I’d feel this strongly about anybody else, ever again. I sure as hell didn’t want to. And you better believe I tried to talk myself out of it, because this doesn’t make sense.” His smile gentled. “Didn’t work. So, I figured I may as well let you know how things looked from over here. Because I can’t see how it could hurt, letting you know you’re loved.”
“Oh, Sam…” She blew out a sigh, thinking, Hurt doesn’t even begin to cover it, buddy, then pushed open the truck door. “You need to get back to the kids,” she said, and he said, “Yeah, I know,” as the wind whipped around the yard, sending a couple of dry twigs skating across the windshield.
She got out of the truck, then turned back, still holding the door open. “I’m so sorry…”
“I wasn’t expecting an echo, Carly,” Sam said softly, releasing the clutch. “I just figured you needed to know that somebody cares. Somebody who doesn’t give a damn about whatever you might have done in your past.”
“But your kids—”
“This isn’t about my kids, dammit. This is about you. About you needing to get used to the idea of being loved, so maybe you’ll stop feeling so empty inside. Because, believe me, I know what that feels like, and it’s a bitch.” He looked out the window. “To be so lonely sometimes, you think y
ou’re gonna go crazy.” When he returned his gaze to hers, one side of his mouth curved up. “So, okay, I guess it’s about me, too. Because I finally realized, as much as I love my kids, it was like I had this empty room in my heart, just sitting there, waiting for somebody to come along and claim it.” When she didn’t say anything—what on earth could she say?—he added, “Now, I have no intention of pestering you about this. I’ve said my piece, and now I’m just going to love you, from near, from far, from wherever, until you get used to the idea. Once you do that…” His shoulders lifted, then dropped. “I suppose we’ll go from there.”
“You’re insane,” she said quietly.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” he said, then put the truck in gear and drove off into the night.
Well. That didn’t go too badly, he didn’t think, other than his being so turned on he was half tempted to go jump in the ice-cold pond, clothes and all. Man, he’d sure opened a can of worms with those kisses. And for all his nobleness about telling her they wouldn’t make love unless and until she realized he wouldn’t do it just for the sex, he hoped to hell she held to her end of the bargain. Because another couple of kisses like that, and it wouldn’t much matter what she said, he’d have them both naked and panting in two seconds flat.
Although you better believe he wasn’t going to tell her that.
The house was quiet when he got back, everybody asleep. He assumed Libby was asleep, anyway, since her light had been out when he pulled around back. He poured himself the last cup of coffee and went back out onto the porch to sit and ponder his foolishness, the moonlight so liquid he half expected the air to ripple if he reached out his hand.
Lane had taken a chance, driving into town to Ivy’s. That she’d be awake, that she’d let him in. All her front lights were still on when he pulled up in front of her house, but he sat in the car for a few minutes, until, through her pulled blinds, he saw her shadow cross the room.
Swept Away Page 18