If necessary, she would postpone her appointment at the clinic yet again. She was hoping, though, that she could find answers to her questions and put to rest her doubts during this trip to Atlanta.
You realize what you’re contemplating, don’t you? she asked herself. Sex. With Cort! He would be the logical partner to help her explore her repressed sexuality. Her “inner woman” took on a life of its own whenever he was around. She obviously had to draw that passionate inner woman to the surface where she could face her. Understand her. Find a comfortable way to live with her.
She had no doubt at all that her inner woman would lead her to Cort’s bed. The idea both terrified and titillated her.
It also presented a problem, she suddenly realized. Perhaps an insurmountable problem. In preparing for motherhood, she’d cleansed her body of all contraceptives. As her chart clearly indicated, she was approaching her most fertile time of the month.
She couldn’t risk getting pregnant by the wrong man! Nothing would be worse than that!
By the time the plane landed, Laura was feeling torn, apprehensive, ruthlessly repressed and dangerously obsessed with thoughts of making love to Cort.
Not a good mind-set for the first day on the job.
AFTER A HELLACIOUS NIGHT of imagining the worst about Fletcher and Laura’s nocturnal activities, Cort rose early on Tuesday feeling tense, impatient and unwilling to wait for Laura to arrive at his house, as they’d planned.
He needed to see her again, and soon. No sense wasting the hour it would take for her to rent a car and drive across town. A call to the airlines provided him with her flight number, and he sped all the way to the airport.
Would she be there, or had she changed her mind?
He parked near the curb, paid a security guard a healthy sum to keep an eye on his open-topped car and strode into the terminal, his eyes peeled as he searched the crowd. With a crazy kick of his heart, he spotted her in baggage claim. Relief slowed him to a standstill. He needed a moment to relax the uncomfortable tautness in his muscles and jaw. To regain the nonchalance he’d somehow lost. To drink in the sight of her.
She stood waiting for her luggage to appear on the moving carousel, her coat draped over her arm. She wore a taupe sweater dress that dung to a few choice curves, yet draped with subdued elegance over others. The hemline reached below her knees. Her high heels accentuated the shapeliness of her long, slender calves, making him hunger to see more of her legs. It had been too damn long since he’d seen them...or felt them wrapped around him.
A familiar longing tightened his loins. She always seemed to have that effect on him.
She turned her head to smile at a child standing beside her, and Cort noticed that her honey-blond hair glistened in a soft, loose twist—the kind that might tumble down in a silken rush at the removal of a single hairpin. Small gold studs glinted at her ears, drawing his gaze to the clean, elegant lines of her jaw and throat. He’d kissed her there at least a thousand times.
She laughed at something the child said, her face radiant with gentle amusement. Cort had never seen her looking more beautiful. He’d never felt such a strong possessiveness; a need to let the world know that she belonged to him.
Belonged to him. Except she didn’t.
She leaned to reach for a large leather suitcase moving toward her on the conveyor belt. He crossed the short distance, stepped in behind her, hooked his hand into the handle of the suitcase and swung it from the carousel.
“Oh,” she cried, her wide brown eyes watching the suitcase. “Excuse me, sir, but that’s—” Her protest died when her gaze reached his face. “Cort,” she breathed.
She looked flustered at the sight of him. Or maybe just surprised. The subtle rise of color in her cheeks, the parting of her lips, the lingering sweep of her gaze across his face—none of it necessarily meant that she felt the same pull of emotion that he did at seeing her again.
The last time they’d been alone, she’d said she hated him.
“I. . .I didn’t expect you to be here.” She managed a small smile and nervously raked a wayward tendril of her hair back with her fingers. “I thought we’d agreed that I’d rent a car.”
“I didn’t see any sense in that when I have a few you can choose from.”
She hesitated, as if searching for a reason to argue. An excuse not to go with him.
It took every ounce of his willpower not to pull her into his arms and kiss some sense into her—or out of her. He hadn’t lost his mind entirely, though. He was fully aware that one wrong move could send her running back to Fletcher.
Anxiety cut through his chest. Had they set their parenting plan into action? Could she, even now, be carrying Fletcher’s baby? Cort shoved the bothersome questions to the back of his mind. She was with him now, in his world, and at the moment, nothing else mattered but keeping her here. “Is this all of your luggage?”
“The rest is there.” She gestured toward another large suitcase, a boxed crate and an overnight bag. “I’ve brought a few catalogs to show you. And software. Fabric, paint and carpet samples.”
“Good.” He had to touch her, or some internal organ of his would burst with the pressure of resisting. So he gestured to a skycap to handle the crate and luggage, settled a hand at her waist, near the small of her back, and steered her through the crowd.
He reluctantly let go of her as she presented her baggage-claim tickets to a guard at the door, who checked the numbers and waved them through. Silently they trekked along a busy sidewalk, into the fresh, balmy Georgia breeze.
She lifted her face to the bright morning sun. “The weather’s so beautiful. Feels more like May than late November.”
“Let’s hope it lasts. In Atlanta, you never know. Next week might be in the eighties, or we could have snow.”
“That’s true. We never knew what kind of weather to expect for Thanksgiving or Christmas.”
He’d almost forgotten that she’d grown up in an Atlanta suburb. Casually he caught hold of her arm and guided her toward his car. “Why did you leave Georgia?” he asked her, curious.
“Grad school. I guess the thing that appealed the most to me about attending an out-of-state university was all the mileage between my parents and me.”
He didn’t doubt that. He remembered how upset she’d always been by her parents’ occasional visits—usually prompted by their decision to divorce, which never bore fruit At least, not while he’d known her. “Do your parents still live here?”
“No. In Florida. My mother hates the heat and mosquitoes, so my father bought a condo near the Everglades.” A sardonic sparkle lit her eyes. “She gets back at him by spending too much money and flirting with the neighbors.”
Nothing much had changed on the home front. “How did Fletcher wind up in Memphis?”
“He stopped by to visit me during one spring break and liked the place so much, he decided to live there.”
Liked the place so much. Cort gritted his teeth. She could have been on a frozen tundra and the guy would have decided to live there. “Did he have a problem with you coming here—” his voice grew unavoidably huskier “—staying with me?”
Laura turned a searching glance on him. Why, she wondered, was he asking? Had he noticed something in Fletcher’s demeanor before they’d left Steffie’s, or was he simply trying to further his contention that Fletcher felt more for her than friendship?
“Of course he didn’t mind,” she replied. “He’s thrilled.” Not exactly a lie. He had been thrilled at the prospect of all that money, but also anxious regarding her stay with Cort. His concern, Laura knew, had been prompted by her hesitation to accept Cort’s offer. Fletcher hadn’t wanted her to feel pressured or put into an awkward position.
Little did he know how awkward that position really was. Her newly realized need to explore her repressed sexuality warred with the defenses she’d built up over the years. The conflict grew more desperate with every glance at Cort, every elusive whiff of his appealing,
masculine scent, every casual touch of his hand. The warm southern sunshine and the smell of Georgia pines didn’t help, either, evoking memories of the love-crazed days they’d spent together.
She couldn’t help seeing him as the intense young man he’d been—the street-toughened loner whose every hard-earned penny went to pay for the house, food and tuition for his kid sister. Looking back, Laura realized he’d carried quite a weight on his young shoulders. She hadn’t fully appreciated that at the time.
Emotion stirred in her heart. A sudden desire to touch him, hold him. A tingling of fear...
He stopped beside a car, nodded to a nearby security guard and unlocked the trunk for the skycap to load her luggage.
Soon they would be alone.
“A convertible,” Laura remarked, glad for the distraction presented by the handsome, gleaming, butter-yellow automobile.
Cort escorted Laura to the passenger door and slanted her a curious glance. Did she know it was a Rolls-Royce Corniche convertible, and a very limited model at that? If so, she gave no sign as she settled into the soft, fragrant leather seat. If she knew, would she enjoy the ride more? Disapprove of the extravagance? Think he was trying to impress her?
Cort realized with a start that he was trying to impress her. To “dazzle her,” as she’d put it. Ensconce her in luxury beyond any she’d ever experienced.
What the hell was wrong with him? He’d moved beyond that stage of his life, when the approval of others had meant something to him. He no longer strove to impress, please or gratify...except to gain a psychological advantage in business. On a personal level, he didn’t give a damn who liked what.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I rode in a convertible? ” A smile of anticipation curved her lips. “Thank goodness it’s warm enough to ride with the top down.”
An irrepressible gladness rose in him. He had pleased her. With a wry, self-deprecating shake of his head, he took his place behind the wheel, guided the Rolls out of the airport, turned away from the expressway and headed down a back road, toward a scenic route.
The wind roared above their heads; the loose tendrils of her hair whipped wildly about her face and she dazzled him with a smile of pure enjoyment.
“Does this mean you don’t hate me anymore?”
″Not at the moment,” she temporized.
He smiled, and they rode in companionable silence for quite a few miles. They stopped at a red light, and he noticed a paperback book wedged in a side pocket of her purse: Preparing For Pregnancy.
Dismay pulsed through him, and the topic he’d been struggling to forget roared to the forefront of his mind. He tried to think of a way to broach the subject. Not an easy thing to do. He couldn’t very well ask, Did you, by any chance, sleep with Fletcher?
Instead, as they waited at the intersection for the light to change, he remarked, “Sorry I couldn’t be more flexible with our starting date. I know you had to cancel your appointment. Were you, uh, able to reschedule?”
After a slight hesitation, she replied, “Don’t worry about the appointment. I’m not.”
He turned in his seat to face her. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why wasn’t she worried about it? Because she’d slept with Fletcher and no longer needed the clinic’s services?
Another possibility occurred to him then; one he preferred to believe. One that he could actually ask her about. “Does that mean you’ve decided against your parenting plan?”
Her cheeks took on a rosy hue. “No, I haven’t decided against it. I only meant that my appointment is not a top concern of mine at the moment So please, forget it.”
A tight, heavy ball formed in his chest. He couldn’t possibly forget it. “Laura...” He struggled to find a delicate way of phrasing the question he had to ask “Is there a chance that you’re...already pregnant?”
“Already pregnant?” She whipped a startled gaze to him. “Of course not. I haven’t been to the clinic at all yet.” Her eyes widened. “Oh! You mean...” Her color heightened. ”No! Fletcher and I have agreed that we wouldn’t...I mean, we feel very strongly that we shouldn’t...well...”
“Good.” Never had a piece of information filled him with such intense relief. He felt almost light-headed with it. “That’s smart. Mixing sex and parenthood...well, it’s...it’s just not a good idea.”
“Oh, I know.” She nodded in agreement.
He firmly shut his mouth and tried not to wince. Had he ever said anything more stupid? The car behind him honked and he realized that the traffic light had changed to green. Turning his gaze back to the road, he said, “What I meant was, sex could really mess up a relationship that’s based on parenthood, just like parenthood could mess up a relationship that’s based on sex.” There. At least that made sense.
“Yes, but can we please change the subject now?” She glared at him in mild exasperation. “I feel uncomfortable talking about this with you.”
Uncomfortable. She felt uncomfortable talking about her pregnancy plans with him, but perfectly at ease making those plans with Fletcher. Perfectly at ease making a baby with Fletcher.
Cort couldn’t stand the thought.
They lapsed into silence as he turned off the side road and drove down a busy stretch of Peachtree Street, past restaurants, nightclubs and congested shopping areas. It wasn’t until they were riding down wide, tree-canopied residential roads that either of them spoke again.
“Cort?” she called over the noise of the wind, peering through the windshield toward the hood ornament. “Is this. . .” she hesitated, her golden eyebrows drawn together ″. . .a Rolls-Royce?”
Glad for the distraction from his thoughts and pleased that she’d finally noticed the car, he nodded. And waited for a comment. None came.
When he glanced at her again, she was gazing at the lush green scenery and the sprawling old mansions, her expression giving no clue as to her reaction. Vaguely disappointed, he reminded himself that she never had been one to pay much attention to cars. Back in their Hays Street days, he’d considered that a blessing. He’d been lucky to own a twelve-year-old clunker with a threadbare interior and a jammed passenger door.
An unpleasant memory surfaced of the cars her other admirers had driven. Porsches, Corvettes, classic sports cars. Rich boys who had known her from her college classes, with their wallets full of cash to take her places he could never afford to take her.
She hadn’t gone with them. She’d spent her free time with him, between his two jobs and her classes. The places they’d gone together hadn’t required a car, or money. Or clothes.
He found himself gripping the steering wheel with unnecessary force as he turned into the elegant, woodsy neighborhood where he lived. He wanted to lavish her with luxuries now. Spoil her so badly that only a very, very rich man could afford her.
But she hadn’t been visibly impressed with his car.
What would she think of his house?
As they motored up the driveway that wound between towering hardwoods and massive magnolias, he tried to see his home through her eyes. Through the widely spaced trees, across a rolling grassy knoll, the white stucco mansion came into view, surrounded by smoothly mounded boxwoods, blooming camellias and lush winter gardens.
He’d bought the place because of the investment value and the serenity of the neighborhood, but mostly because he’d fallen in love with it. The house, the woods, the gardens stirred a vague, restless yearning in him that somehow brought to mind warm, golden feelings from long ago. A need had seized him to share this sense of place, of home, with someone close to his heart.
But he had no one close to his heart...except Steffie, who’d been busy with her job and mired in divorce proceedings at the time he’d bought the place.
Although he was careful not to look directly at Laura as he parked the car in the circular driveway, he surreptitiously watched her. She gazed at the house with patent interest, but remained stoic and silent.
He had no idea how she, a connoiss
eur of architecture and design, would perceive the place. He himself knew little about aesthetics. He recognized a solid investment when he saw one, but what did he know of truly fine things?
Growing up, he’d been exposed to grandeur only through the back stairwells of the houses in which his mother had worked as a housekeeper. That glimpse of elegance had given way to the grimness of shabby apartments and inner-city streets.
He’d had no cultured upbringing, and money couldn’t buy one. The wealthy impressed each other not with the making of the money, but with the spending of it. He was a newcomer at the art.
Maybe he’d made a mistake in describing the house to her. Maybe he’d raised her expectations in a way he didn’t understand.
He led her up the flight of stairs, unlocked the door and gestured for her to precede him. She stepped into the tiled, circular entrance hall and gazed around at the high ceilings, the curved staircase and the ornate archways that led to the main rooms. He hung back, allowing her to take the lead. He could have directed her through the house, pointed out the features that had impressed him, but he didn’t
He shoved his hands into his pockets and followed her. Although he’d been present for the moving of his furniture, he still hadn’t gotten used to the vast emptiness of the place. The echoes of their footsteps added to the disconcerting sense of the unfamiliar.
She took her time looking around. When they had toured through most of the main level, she stopped in the one downstairs room that contained a carpet and piece of furniture—the library, a massive chamber with dark, carved woodwork gracing walls of built-in bookcases. An antique mantel presided over a tiled fireplace. A cream, rose and gold Oriental carpet spread nearly wall-to-wall over the hardwood flooring.
Her gaze traversed the rich landscape of the room, then locked with his. Still, she said nothing. He struggled to keep his patience. Common courtesy required a comment of some kind, damn it. He was very near demanding one.
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