Carolina Girl

by Patricia Rice

  Stung by his implication that she wanted a return on her investment—like his former girlfriend, presumably—Rory stood up. It was high time she learned to assert herself in personal relationships as well as business ones. “Not casual sex.”

  She wanted sex all right. Her whole body felt cold and empty now that they no longer touched. But she needed more than sex.

  Clay looked suitably startled. Predictably, his confusion turned into a frown. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready for rings and commitments.”

  She probably wasn’t either, because they represented risks she wasn’t ready to take, although a few soft words might have persuaded her differently. But as he’d pointed out, he wasn’t good with words. Or people. And she didn’t have the time or patience to teach him. Not when she was so confused that she hurt inside. “I don’t think either of us knows what we want, so let’s just leave it at that.”

  In confusion at her conflicting emotions, hurting more at his blunt rejection than she thought possible, she shoved past entwining branches in retreat. She hoped she wasn’t scaring any turtles into not procreating just because her own ticking biological clock had started ringing shattering alarms.

  She’d known all along that he just wanted sex. That was why she’d tried to keep this to a business partnership. But she no longer wanted just a business partnership, and it was killing her inside.

  It wasn’t within her abilities to teach him how to do personal relationships. She wasn’t certain how to make them happen either.

  o0o

  Abandoned, Clay didn’t follow. He couldn’t see Aurora well enough in the moonless dark to know where she’d gone, but he sure as hell could feel the emptiness where she had been. The evening was sultry, but he felt cold.

  She didn’t want casual sex. How the hell was he supposed to take that? There wasn’t anything casual about what they’d shared.

  He’d thought they were getting along pretty well. She hadn’t complained about his interfering brothers. She’d had an excellent grasp of the business contract he’d had the lawyer draw up, and she hadn’t objected to his keeping all creative rights to his programs. She didn’t even seem to mind his bad communication skills, until now, at least.

  He’d tried to maintain a businesslike relationship in front of family, although he’d had some difficulty with that lately. It irked him every time she smiled and chatted up another man. That had never bothered him when Diane had done it. Probably because he’d thought the expensive rock on her finger was proof of fidelity.

  He was walking straight into the same open pit again—expecting a career-oriented female to have anything more in mind than the next step on the ladder to success. Maybe she was waiting to see if he was just a rung or the whole ladder. Who the devil knew? Not casual sex sounded like an invitation to commitment to him, and he wasn’t ready to go there.

  So maybe he was falling back into an old pattern of thinking. There was comfort in that. If he took the time to consider how much love Aurora possessed and how little she was like Diane, he’d have to reconsider a lot of things, most of them unflattering to himself. He was hurting too much to go there right now.

  Wounded, he retreated into his shell.

  o0o

  The day after the meeting with the Binghams, Aurora answered the kitchen phone. Cleo’s voice leaped through the receiver, conveying both concern and curiosity. “All right, what have you been feeding Clay?”

  Aurora frowned, glanced at the front room, where Cissy worked alone, and shook her head. “He’s not here to feed. I thought he must be involved in something at your place.”

  In truth, she’d been living in terror since he hadn’t shown up at their door first thing in the morning, as he’d done lately. What if she’d insulted him and he’d gotten mad and caught a plane back to L.A.?

  What if he had only wanted sex, and now he’d lost all interest in her and the company and the swamp and...?

  She known better than to become involved. She had to go back to the city and work. She’d known Clay would—

  “He’s up on the courthouse roof taking the clock apart again.” Cleo interrupted her panic. “I thought maybe you knew what set him off. TJ’s threatening to go up after him.”

  “Oh.” Unwilling to let Clay’s family know the extent of their involvement—if two nights of sex could be called that—Rory tried to keep her voice calm. “I just gave him some food for thought. If TJ’s restless, tell him to threaten a few zoning commissioners. They’ve called a meeting next week in hopes of forcing our hand before we have enough Binghams on our side.”

  Business was something she understood, something that didn’t involve emotional chaos. Maybe she wasn’t any more ready for a relationship than Clay. But a cold terror ate at her heart at the thought of never seeing him again. She hoped the sinking feeling in her middle just had to do with the corporation and the future, not a relationship he obviously didn’t want.

  “As long as I can tell Jared and TJ that Clay’s thinking and not blowing up the clock, I can arrange that. How many people would you like at the meeting?”

  “Jam the house. The Binghams we’ve brought together are refusing to sell to anyone until they’ve had time to examine the issue. If the zoning goes for condos, then the Binghams might be better off selling out.”

  Saying good-bye to Cleo, Aurora hung up.

  “Clay sick?” Cissy called across the room.

  Of her, maybe, but Rory couldn’t say that. Was she too forthright? Too bossy? She probably expected too much. She’d hoped Clay was different, but what would it matter if he was? He had his own agenda, and he’d done everything possible to show her that a relationship wasn’t part of it. She ought to be relieved at his honesty.

  She squeezed the turtle eraser in her pocket and tried not to place any sentiment on the silly gift. He gave her erasers and tomato plants and lobsters instead of romance. That ought to tell her something.

  “He apparently got tired of the business end of the software,” she said with a shrug, “and he’s out pounding nails. Now that “Mysterious” is in the hands of production, there isn’t much he can do here anyway.”

  She would not weep at hopes she’d never allowed herself to have. She’d never believed she had a chance at love and romance like other women.

  Instead, she needed to plan the future she’d expected and not think about the man on the courthouse roof, the one who had the power to change her heart if he’d only open his.

  Picking up the cordless, Aurora wandered back to her bedroom. She was glad they’d had that little discussion yesterday. He’d reminded her that she had more important things to consider besides mooning over a man like a sex-crazed adolescent. She had her own life to live. She didn’t have to sit around waiting for Clay to decide how he wanted to live his.

  Feeling abandoned for no good reason, Aurora opened her address book and began placing calls.

  o0o

  Do you wanna dance? Put your red dress on and be ready to shake your tail feathers. Tonight, tonight. 7 P.M. Be there or be square.

  Be where? What red dress? Her suit? And tail feathers? The man was surely insane. Maybe he’d baked his brains on the roof today. But her stupid heart did another one of its flip-flops of pure joy as she stared at the screen. They didn’t have a relationship. He only wanted sex. But she’d missed him today.

  She hadn’t realized how much she could miss the way Clay listened intently, not interrupting until she’d had time to spew out everything boiling inside her, waiting until she was ready to hear what he had to say. She even missed his skewed perspectives that made her look at things in a new light.

  She missed the heat of desire in his eyes when he looked at her that made her zing even when she was creating financial statements.

  Straining her memory for old songs from the radio, she tapped out, I can dance, but this devil wears a blue dress. Let him figure out where she was wearing it. She was still too relieved at knowing he hadn’t dis
appeared into the ether to care about details or to overanalyze her reaction.

  Did the message mean he was taking her dancing? Did this mean he’d decided to date? Did she want to date? She didn’t know what she wanted, she conceded. She just recognized after his absence today that Clay—in any form—was crucial to her precarious balance right now.

  He was crucial to a lot of things, but she was averse to risk taking, and Clay was a risk wilder than spending a million dollars on hope and pink elephants. Money could be had anywhere, but her heart was irreplaceable.

  That wouldn’t keep her from dancing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone. She’d taken some swing lessons when that had been popular, but she’d never had much of a chance to use them. Would a busy man like Clay have learned swing?

  Tonight! Irritating man. Did he think she ought to drop everything at his whim? She should have told him no, except she couldn’t think of a musical reference.

  She scanned her closet, frantically realizing she had absolutely nothing to wear dancing, especially if she didn’t know where they were going. The blue dress was made for swing, with lots of swirly skirt. She couldn’t think of a single place around here that it was suitable for.

  “You’re slamming drawers and doors like you have a big date.” Mandy appeared in her doorway, watching with curiosity as Aurora threw the blue silk dress aside and tugged out a black one.

  “Where do people go dancing in this town?” Of course, her niece wasn’t old enough to go to bars, so what would she know?

  “They have a deejay at the Monkey on Saturday nights. And they still have shag dances at the harbor pavilion. Old people stuff.”

  She didn’t need to be reminded that she would be over-the-hill shortly. Rory flung an old sundress that was too small for her at Mandy. “If you’re not here to help, go away.”

  “Ooh, it is a big date! With Clay? That rocks. You have to wear something really kick-ass for a guy like that.” Shouldering Rory aside, Mandy investigated the contents of her closet. “This stuff sucks, you know it? Don’t you have anything besides suits?”

  So her whole life was work. So shoot her. “Go away, little girl.” Now she was talking in oldies. She was losing her mind.

  Before she could shove Mandy out of the way, her niece reached in and grabbed a skirt shoved to the back of the closet. “This one! Do you have any halter tops?”

  “To wear with shorts.” Aurora held up the blue-flowered wraparound silk skirt and considered it dubiously. It was the next best thing to a sarong. She didn’t know what had possessed her to buy it in the first place. It was too frivolous for work.

  “Bare bellies are the bomb!” Mandy insisted. “I’ll have something, if you don’t. White or navy would work, don’t you think?”

  “If you’re taking fashion advice from Mandy, my advice is, don’t.” Cissy appeared in the doorway to study the situation. “You have to weigh a hundred pounds and be ten years old to wear the stuff she wears.”

  “Mo-o-ommmm!” Mandy waved the skirt on the hanger. “This is not for ten-year olds. Aunt Rora will look bitchin’. Where’s that white stretchy top Gladys gave you? The one you said is too big?”

  Cissy raised her eyebrows, checked out the skirt, and disappeared to the other half of the trailer. Rory double-checked her closet, praying for something more suitable. She couldn’t wear a sarong and a halter top. She’d look like an Amazon.

  Cissy returned with a silky knit halter top. “You wear this, and his eyes are going to pop out,” she warned.

  “That’s it, that’s the one!” Mandy shouted with glee. “A blue necklace. A choker? Or one of those big pendants with a blue stone? Where’s your jewelry box? Or you can wear my beads.”

  Caught up in the whirlwind of advice, Rory showered, washed her hair, and let her sister and niece dress her as if she were going to the prom. What did she have to lose? The million dollars was already tied up, and if Clay didn’t like prom queens, that was his loss.

  If she repeated that to herself often enough, maybe she’d believe it.

  They pulled her hair into a French braid, created a choker of a string of seed pearls and a fake sapphire from a pair of earrings, found a pair of dangling seed pearl earrings, and Rory produced a pair of strappy low-heeled sandals that wouldn’t require stockings. Casual, yet elegant.

  “Whooeee, Clay won’t know what hit him!” Mandy danced around, inspecting her handiwork, while Cissy propped her hip against the bed, nodding approval.

  “What he thinks doesn’t matter. What the two of you think is more important. Do I look like an idiot? Are people going to fall down laughing when they see me coming?” She felt safe encased in suits, but this outfit revealed all. She eyed her cleavage and exposed navel with skepticism, but it was the way the knit clung to her breasts that had her wishing for a bulky sweater.

  By the time the doorbell rang, Mandy had them laughing and examining Cissy’s closet. Mandy raced to answer the door while Rory tried to steady her nerves. It was just McCloud. She shouldn’t read anything more into this than a night out and maybe a good time.

  They were business partners. It wasn’t as if they’d spoken words of love or commitment. A date. She could handle a date. If that was what it was. Not a business meeting or a farewell. A date.

  Clay was waiting for her in the front room. She’d seen him in here a thousand times, but this time he was a different creature entirely. He’d attempted to force his thick hair into a slicked-back style that any movie star would envy. His blue raw-silk blazer whispered of understated elegance, the stylish uncollared shirt with tiny pleats bespoke Rodeo Drive, and the draping of his linen slacks shouted expensive tailoring. He looked fabulous.

  And stunned. He watched her enter with such awe and delight that Rory thought her head might swell to twice its size. His smile was a wonder to behold.

  “You just walked out of my favorite fantasy,” he murmured as she approached.

  When he held out a small florist’s box containing a tiny blue orchid, Rory forgot her fears and indulged in teenage delight.

  “This is absolutely perfect. I think I love you,” she cried, tucking the orchid into her hair, and swirling around to check her image in a mirror.

  “Partridge Family. That’s a great song,” he murmured insensibly, touching her hair and not the orchid. “That’s exactly how I pictured that flower. Better than I pictured it.”

  So many butterflies fluttered in Rory’s stomach that she was walking on air by the time Clay led her into the soft evening light. She had to pinch herself and remember they were just going dancing.

  And then he opened the door to a sleek, black, antique Jaguar convertible and flipped all her switches.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  On his best day Clay couldn’t put together the kind of sweet words women wanted to hear. Under pressure to do the right thing so Aurora wouldn’t walk out on him, he couldn’t find any words at all.

  He’d entertained the fanciful notion some time ago that the immense commitment the old Jag represented would show her that he wasn’t a fly-by-night kind of guy, but he’d dragged his feet about bringing it out for fear he’d be disillusioned by her reaction. And he’d desperately not wanted to be disillusioned this time.

  Aurora’s astonished silence was worth every bit of the extortionate fees he’d paid to get the car out of storage and transported here. He opened the door for her, and she caressed the exquisitely painted and waxed exterior as if it were a precious antique. Standing close behind her, he inhaled a whiff of gardenia. She’d worn perfume for him.

  She was treating this as a real date, not a business function.

  “The top isn’t automatic,” he warned, testing to be certain she understood this was an old wreck and not a fancy new car. “So if it rains, we’ll get wet.”

  “I could drown in this and die happy.” Climbing in, she ran her fingers lovingly over the polished wood of the dash. “Where did you find it? Doesn’t it belong in a muse
um?”

  Feeling as if he were on pins and needles, he climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. “It’s not that old. I’ve had offers from collectors, but I put it together practically from scrap. I couldn’t give it up.” He could talk about machines, but what he really wanted to understand was the mechanics of relationships. From her responses, he thought maybe he’d passed the first step.

  “You rebuilt this? I knew you tinkered, but I had no idea....”

  Clay didn’t dare tear his gaze from the road to see her expression. Diane had been turned off by the mechanical aspect of his hobby. She thought he should have spent his millions buying cars, not building them. She hadn’t understood the thrill of knowing a machine from the inside out.

  “I like tinkering,” he said defensively when Aurora didn’t complete her comment.

  “This is way more than tinkering.” She reverently stroked the butter-soft leather, and there seemed to be awe in her voice. “Sitting on the courthouse roof playing with the clock is tinkering. This is genius and dedication.”

  Clay relaxed his painful grip on the wheel. He should have known not to let his prior experience color his opinion of Aurora. She had a mind of her own and wasn’t afraid to use it. Or speak it. “It’s going to take genius and dedication to make the courthouse clock work, too. It’s an old-fashioned balance mechanism and someone has replaced one of the balances with an inadequate weight. I’ll have to figure out the mathematics to make it work.”

  “Can you do that?” Awe still tinged her voice, but she was returning to practicality. “I mean, it hardly seems worth your time.”

  He lifted one shoulder casually. He liked that she recognized his time as valuable, even if he spent it sitting on beaches. “Tinkering gives me time to think. I could just test weights until I get it right.”

  “And where did your thinking get you today?”

  Hearing laughter and skepticism in that question, Clay braved a quick look. Aurora was so stunning with that long glowing braid over creamy shoulders and cleavage that—