Marriage, Maverick Style!

by Christine Rimmer

  Tessa waited, feeling miserable, having to hold herself in place there in the bed, to keep herself from tiptoeing to the bathroom door, from tapping on it gingerly, from promising to do whatever he wanted if only he would let her in.

  He came out on his own a few minutes later and rejoined her in the bed.

  And then he apologized. “I was out of line. I’m sorry. I just... I don’t want to leave you, but my businesses aren’t going to run themselves.”

  She kissed him and stroked the hair at his temples, pressed her palm against his scruff-rough cheek. “I hate that you’re going. I only want to be with you, but I need to take this slower. Please.”

  Reluctantly, he agreed to do it her way.

  In the morning, he checked out of Maverick Manor and they returned to the boardinghouse. He packed up his things there.

  They’d already agreed that he would drive himself to Kalispell where his plane waited. He said goodbye to her grandparents and her sister.

  She followed him out to the Cadillac. He kissed her one last time right there in the parking lot, a long, slow one that she wished might never end.

  Much too soon, he was pulling away and getting behind the wheel. “I’m sending a plane for you next Wednesday. You can stay with me Wednesday night, be fresh for the interview Thursday. Don’t argue with me about it.”

  She gave him a trembling smile. “Thank you.” And then she stood in the bright late-morning sunshine and watched him drive off, her heart aching as though she’d just ripped it in two.

  Chapter Ten

  The next few days were awful. Tessa missed him terribly. Her whole body seemed to ache with longing for him—which, really, was ridiculous. She would be seeing him again in three days, on Wednesday, when he flew her to him in LA.

  And he kept in close touch, carrying on a constant conversation with her via text. Plus, two or three times a day, one or the other of them would find a reason they just had to talk to the other immediately. Then they would play phone tag until whoever couldn’t talk was available—often that would be at night, when his long workday was through. Those calls inevitably ended in really good phone sex.

  She truly was never out of contact with him. But she yearned for him, anyway. And every minute she wasn’t on the phone with him dragged by in slow motion.

  There was another slight problem, too. As of Monday, her period was officially late.

  But she refused to worry over it, reminding herself that it had been late before and always came eventually. And hello! Three condom wrappers plus the morning-after pill. How could she possibly be pregnant? It made no sense.

  It was the excitement, that was all, of being wildly in love, of longing for Carson. Not to mention the upheaval of not really knowing what to do about it all.

  Should she follow her heart to LA, change her life for him—as she’d done for Miles? Or should she stick with one of her earlier plans, which weren’t all that solid, either: stay in Bozeman, or try to make a go of it in Rust Creek Falls?

  Finally, Wednesday morning came. At nine fifteen, she boarded Carson’s plane at the Kalispell airport. When the plane touched down in Santa Monica, he had a car waiting for her. Forty-five minutes later, she was greeted at his front door by his housekeeper, Sharon, who took her suitcase to the master suite and gave her a quick tour of Carson’s gorgeous, modern house, one whole side of which—the one facing the Pacific—was made of glass.

  There was a gym in the basement and an infinity pool beyond the wall of windows—a whole section of which rolled up like a big garage door, making it possible to combine the living room and the massive deck into one beautiful indoor-outdoor room. The kitchen was enormous, all stainless steel and stark white cabinetry, with top-of-the-line appliances.

  Sharon explained that dinner was ready to be popped into the oven and an assortment of cheeses and meats, fresh fruits and crudités, along with fresh-baked bread and several varieties of crackers, were all ready and waiting for her should she feel like a snack.

  If none of those suited, the pantry was full and there was more to choose from in the fridge. Sharon jotted her number on the pad at the end of the counter. “Just in case you need anything that I might be able to help you with. The beach is lovely today,” she added. “Simply take the stairs down at the edge of the deck. Should you need a suit, check the cabinets in the cabana.”

  Then, with a warm smile, Sharon left. She was barely out the door when Tessa’s cell rang.

  It was Carson. “How was your flight?”

  “Smooth.” She pressed a finger to the side of her throat, where her pulse had quickened at the sound of his voice. “The limo driver was there waiting for me when I arrived. I feel thoroughly spoiled. And Sharon is a treasure.”

  “I need to see you.” His voice had gone darker. It burned in her ear.

  Heat flooded her, a lovely heaviness down low made up of longing and delicious anticipation. “Come home, then. I’m right here.”

  He arrived an hour later, swept her into his arms and took her to bed, where they remained for three hours. Then he had to go back to the office for a late meeting. She found a bikini in the cabana and went down to the water for a long stroll along the beach.

  Carson returned a little after seven. They ate the dinner Sharon had prepared for them, and he opened a bottle of very expensive champagne he’d bought to celebrate their reunion.

  She thought of her period that hadn’t come yet and took a pass on the bubbly.

  “You okay?” he asked, watching her much too closely.

  “I’m fine. I...”

  “What?”

  No. Uh-uh. She was not discussing her menstrual cycle now. She rallied with, “Remember how I told you after the night of the moonshine that I would never drink again?”

  He gave her his most patient look. “Tessa, this is a 1996 Krug Clos d’Ambonnay.”

  She took his glass from him and had a sip. “Delicious. Spectacular.” She handed it back. “I’m honored you would open it for me. And that’s all I’m having.”

  He shrugged then and teased, “More for me,” and let it go at that, for which she was grateful.

  They went to bed early, ostensibly so that she could get her beauty sleep. That didn’t happen.

  Not that she cared. His touch not only set her on fire; it pushed back all her worries—about where to go from here, about the real reason she’d turned down his expensive champagne.

  In the morning, he asked her again if something was bothering her. She said she was just nervous, with the interview in a couple of hours. He kissed her, told her she was going to knock their socks off and got her to promise to call him as soon as she left IMI.

  Once she was alone in his big house by the ocean, she took her time getting ready, making sure her hair and makeup were just right. She wore a gray pencil skirt and jacket to match, with a burnt-orange silk blouse underneath for the perfect pop of color. Sky-high taupe heels completed the outfit, a fabulous pair of shoes that still looked amazing five years after she’d bought them at Stuart Weitzman in New York. She’d had her mother get the outfit from her closet in Bozeman and overnight it to her in Rust Creek Falls so she could look her best.

  The driver was waiting in front of the house. He took her straight to the IMI building on Century Park East. The man at the podium by the elevator took her name and sent her to the tenth floor. There, a beautiful receptionist led her to a small conference room.

  Ten minutes later, she sat across from Carson’s associate, Jason Velasco, two other ad executives and the top designer at the firm. After a minimum of cheerful chitchat, it got serious.

  There was praise. They’d seen her work on her website and they were all impressed with her designs from the night of the moonshine. She might have laughed at that if she’d felt at all comfortable.

&nbs
p; But she didn’t feel comfortable, even though they thoroughly surprised her by telling her that Della Storm had a lot of good things to say about her.

  Good things? Della? Really? She wasn’t sure that she believed them. But then she thought about the letter she’d written and mailed last week. Could her apology have actually made a difference to Della?

  Jason Velasco then cleared his throat and tiptoed into a mention of the “difficulties” of Tessa’s last month with Della and the fact that she had been “terminated abruptly.”

  Tessa went with the “personal problems” explanation, keeping it general. There was nothing to be gained by getting specific. When they asked if those problems were resolved, she answered firmly that they were.

  At the end, they thanked her and said they would be in touch. As Jason saw her to the elevator, he told her how much he loved working with Carson, as did everyone at IMI. He asked her to give Carson his best.

  She promised that she would.

  Again the car was waiting for her outside the building. As the driver took her back to Malibu, she stared out the tinted window and tried not to feel too discouraged.

  Carson called when she was halfway there. “I thought you said you’d call me the minute you left IMI.”

  “Sorry. I was thinking about the interview, obsessing on it really.”

  “What happened? Are you okay?” He sounded so worried for her.

  She got busy reassuring him. “I’m fine—I promise you. And I think it went pretty well.”

  “I know they’ll make an offer.”

  They probably would. For his sake. That shouldn’t have depressed her, but it did. She really didn’t want to get a job because she happened to be sleeping with a powerful man. Somehow, that would be almost as bad as throwing over her career for one. “We’ll see.”

  There was a lengthy silence on the line. Then finally he said, “Tessa, won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

  She lied and said, “Nothing,” and hated herself for it. But really, were they going to discuss this now, on the phone?

  No way. It had to wait till later.

  She wasn’t sure exactly when. But not right now.

  He said he would be back at the house by five, and he was taking her out someplace nice to celebrate.

  Celebrate what? she thought. Ugh. Surely she’d become the gloomiest person on the planet. “Can’t wait,” she replied, trying really hard to inject a little enthusiasm.

  At Carson’s house, she changed into the bikini she’d found in the cabana the day before, grabbed a towel, a bottle of sunscreen and a dog-eared paperback she’d taken from the sitting room at her grandma’s boardinghouse and brought along to read on the plane. She swam several laps in the pool, slathered on the sunscreen and stretched out on a chaise with her book.

  After an hour of reading, she wandered back inside for lunch, then put on a beach cover-up and went down the stairs to the sand. She walked for two hours. When she returned to the house, she stretched out on Carson’s California king.

  He woke her right on time, at five, joining her in the bed for a while. That was good. Perfect even. If she could make love to Carson all day and night, she would never have to decide where her life was going.

  Later, they went out to a gorgeous restaurant and ate on a wide deck in the glow of a thousand party lights, with a beautiful view of the ocean. He ordered an excellent cabernet and she had none of it.

  He didn’t ask her why—and he didn’t ask her what was wrong. Apparently, he’d figured out by then that she wasn’t going to tell him.

  That night, she couldn’t sleep. She crept quietly from his enormous bed, pulled on the filmy beach cover-up she’d left in the bathroom and went downstairs.

  The pool deck shone silver in the moonlight. She pushed open the sliding door from the kitchen and went out.

  A while later he found her there, sitting on the edge of the pool, her feet dangling in the water. “Are you ever going to talk to me?” He stood gazing down at her, wearing only a pair of track pants that rode low on his hard hips, the sculpted planes of his chest so beautiful in the moonlight. “Come on.” He held out his hand.

  She took it and let him pull her up into his waiting arms. “I’m sorry I’m such awful company. I just...need a little time. Everything’s happening too fast, that’s all.”

  He kissed her and then gazed down at her, unsmiling, a thousand questions in his eyes. “I can’t make it right if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

  “That’s just it. It’s not your job to make it right. It’s mine. And I...well, what I really need is to go home.”

  Surprisingly, he didn’t argue. “When?”

  “Tomorrow—or rather, today.”

  “I’ll arrange for the plane. Rust Creek Falls or Bozeman?”

  “Rust Creek Falls.”

  “Done. Come back to bed.” He took her hand again and led her toward the glass doors. She followed him willingly up the stairs and climbed back beneath the covers with him, scooting close against him, her back to his broad chest. Really, she loved everything about him—the scent of his skin, the heat of him at her back, the strength in him. The will to win. His limitless confidence in his ability to mold the world to his liking. And his tenderness, too.

  She just...wasn’t ready; that was all. Not ready for the fabulous job he’d arranged for her. Not ready to decide which way her life should go. And definitely not ready to be having his baby.

  Uh-uh. No way was she ready for that. If only her period would come. She would feel so much better about everything.

  He wrapped his arm around her, smoothed her hair.

  Eventually, she slept.

  * * *

  Carson had no damn clue what was going on with her.

  He also didn’t know how to find out what the problem was so they could work through it. She wasn’t the least forthcoming lately. And asking got him nowhere. She’d shut him out.

  The next morning they were careful with each other. He asked her to call him when she heard from IMI. She promised that she would, though she said nothing about when they might see each other again.

  He didn’t bring it up, either. Was he getting a little pissed at her? Oh, yes, he was.

  But he was trying to be patient, an activity at which he’d never especially excelled. He was trying to give her time to come to him with the truth.

  Whatever the hell that was.

  He had a meeting at ten that he couldn’t get out of. Her flight was set for noon, and he’d ordered a car to get her to the airport. He kissed her goodbye and left the house at nine.

  At three that afternoon, he got a text from her. Home safe. Thanks for everything.

  He had to actively resist the urge to throw his phone against the far wall of his office just to watch it shatter.

  She wanted to play it cryptic? He could do that.

  You’re welcome, he texted back.

  And nothing more.

  * * *

  Carson was angry with her. Tessa totally got that. She didn’t blame him, either. She’d been cool and distant and completely uncommunicative, while he’d been charming and attentive and knocked himself out to make her LA visit a good one.

  If only her period would come. As soon as it did, as soon as she knew there was no baby on the way, she would call him. They would work things out.

  But her period didn’t come. And she still had no idea what to say to him. So she didn’t call. Or text. Or email. He returned the favor. There was a large and cold silence between them.

  The weekend went by.

  When Monday finally came, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She went to Kalispell and bought a test, which she took first thing Tuesday morning.

  Positive.

  She stared at the little r
esult window in complete disbelief. How was a positive result even possible? Okay, yes. She could see how it wouldn’t have been wise to count on the condom wrappers they’d found the morning after the night of the moonshine. Not when they’d had no clear memory of what they’d actually done with the condoms themselves. One might have torn. Or maybe they’d been so out of it, they’d unwrapped them and then not bothered to use them.

  Who could ever say?

  But shouldn’t she have been able to count on the morning-after pill, at least?

  A little online research on that subject had her discovering the pill was about 95 percent effective if taken in the first twenty-four hours.

  So, a 5 percent chance of failure.

  Maybe the test had been wrong.

  Wednesday, she took a second test. The result didn’t change. Apparently, she’d somehow managed to fall into that lonely 5 percent.

  Tessa sat at the window of her room at the boardinghouse and stared out over Cedar Street below.

  A baby. She was having Carson’s baby.

  She was terrible with children. As for Carson, he’d made it much too clear that he didn’t want children.

  Where did that leave them?

  Nowhere good.

  She had no idea what to do, how to tell him. As she pondered the impossibility of breaking the big news to him, her phone rang.

  It was Jason Velasco. “Tessa, hello!”

  “Jason.” It came out on a weary sigh.

  “Is this a bad time?”

  Terrible. “No. No, not at all.” Somehow, she pulled it together and managed to inject at least a little enthusiasm. “What a...nice surprise. How are you doing?”

  “Fine, fine.” He told her about the weather in California, about the vacation he had coming up. He and his family were going to Hawaii.

  And then he got down to it. He said he’d wanted to call her personally with IMI’s offer, though human resources would be calling soon, too. The paperwork was on the way, all the terms laid out clearly, in detail.

  He gave her the gist of it. She would be a full-fledged graphic designer, a midlevel position with an excellent salary, a generous benefit package and great potential for advancement.