But Not for Me (Silhouette Special Edition)

by Annette Broadrick

  Impulsively she reached over and patted his hands. “You are very kind to be so protective of me.”

  Her words didn’t seem to help his dejected demeanor. “No, I’m not. It’s not kindness at all!” He pulled his hands away from hers, straightened his spine and said, “I’ve been in love with you since soon after I joined the company, Rachel. I probably fell in love with you at that very first interview. You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a wife. I had hoped that someday you might come to feel the same way about me, but when you never responded to my notes, I decided that I was just fooling myself.”

  Rachel caught her breath and stared at him in appalled shock. “What exactly are you saying, Arthur? What notes are you talking about?”

  His color flashed from pale to bright red and back to pale. His brow was beaded with moisture. “I thought you might find it romantic if I left notes for you from your secret admirer. I figured you’d know who it was right away, but you never acknowledged them.”

  Rachel jumped to her feet, staring at him in horror. “Arthur, are you telling me that you are my stalker? Oh my God! I had no idea!”

  He immediately looked offended. “I am not a stalker, Rachel. All I did was leave messages telling you of my interest in you.”

  “And you came into my apartment!”

  “Just once. I swear. I’d decided to slip the note under your door—to be certain you received it—but when I got there, the door was ajar. The cleaning lady was in the bathroom with her radio on. I know it was stupid of me, but I wanted to surprise you. I just left the note on your dresser so the cleaning lady wouldn’t accidentally toss it in the trash.”

  “And you managed to scare me beyond anything I’d ever experienced! Arthur, do you realize what you’ve done?”

  He blinked. “What? What are you saying?”

  “I went to the police thinking a stalker had come into my apartment! I even went to North Carolina because—”

  She stopped, realizing the results of what had happened. She fell onto the sofa and stared at him with renewed horror, her hands over her mouth.

  His color was back to pasty white…she thought she much preferred his red stage. His eyes looked twice their normal size while he stared at her with panic. “I caused all of that? It was my notes to you? All the talk began about the two of you when you came back from North Carolina. You went because of me?”

  “I went because I was scared, Arthur,” she said slowly and clearly. “Your notes were becoming more and more explicit, as you may recall.”

  His face went red again. This time the color stayed. She wondered how long it could stay that way before he had a stroke. He looked away for a moment before returning his gaze toward her, although he refused to meet her eyes.

  “I know I don’t have a way with words. I’ve always known it. But I wanted you to know how I felt and how much I wanted to…wanted to…”

  “We both know exactly what you wanted to do, Arthur. You made that quite clear.”

  “But I didn’t mean to scare you! I didn’t want you to think of me as some bumbling fool who didn’t know what life was about.”

  She allowed her head to fall against the sofa. “You wanted to be considered sophisticated,” she said dully, seeing the whole picture for the first time.

  He nodded his head vigorously. “Exactly. Oh, Rachel, I am so sorry for frightening you. I had no idea you wouldn’t immediately know the notes were from me.”

  She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to kick and yell and throw a tantrum the likes of which Arthur Simmons had never before witnessed. Instead, she limited her reply to, “The words your secret admirer really don’t give much of a clue, Arthur.”

  He looked woebegone. She saw moisture in his eyes but at the moment could find little sympathy for the man. Because of him she had actually jumped at the chance to marry Brad Phillips, thereby starting her down a long path—well, not all that long, actually—to pain, misery and suffering.

  The pathetic weasel.

  She sat there and stared at him malevolently. He met her stare with a nervous agitation that seemed to border on fear. Did he think she might attack him? Good. If her mother hadn’t raised her to be a lady, she might very well do him bodily harm.

  She closed her eyes in order to erase him from her thoughts. Her thoughts weren’t having any of that and continued to bombard her with all kinds of realizations. One of them caused her eyes to flash open.

  “You didn’t come here to tell me about those notes. You came here to tell me about Brad’s sordid past. Why?” she demanded.

  “I thought that was obvious. I love you. I want the best in life for you. I wouldn’t have chosen Brad Phillips for you, but then I’m not very objective where you’re concerned. I’m the first to admit it. I really thought I could make you happy. I realize now that I was deluding myself. Anyway, I thought that his aggressive behavior might have overwhelmed you, and that he might have taken advantage of you while you were in North Carolina.” His voice rose slightly. “He’s allowed all this talk to go on about you in the office and not once has he come to your defense. I was so angry when one of my accountants repeated something about you that I almost fired him on the spot.”

  He was working himself into a real snit, she decided. There was a lot of that going around these days, it seemed.

  “Brad owes you a great deal more than to allow you to become the butt of office rumors.”

  Rachel closed her eyes again. “He didn’t know about the rumors until yesterday.”

  “Oh. Then perhaps it’s not too late for him to do the right thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “Marry you, of course.”

  “Of course,” she muttered. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Arthur stood and drew her to her feet. “I am so sorry that I had anything to do with causing you a moment’s fright or pain. Can you ever forgive me?”

  The man was distraught, that was obvious. She stared at him in blank despair. She’d made choices each step of the way, each time without having all the facts. She’d barged into Brad’s safe haven and retreat, convinced she knew exactly what he needed and that she could provide it.

  She looked into Arthur’s kind but miserable eyes. She saw that he was truly contrite. Finally, she moved a step closer and placed her hands on his shoulders. “I forgive you, Arthur, but I suggest that you not write any more anonymous notes. And I would advise you not to discuss Brad’s past with anyone else.”

  “Of course I won’t! I don’t divulge secrets, Rachel. You know that. I’ve never told another soul about Brad’s dubious past. I believe the man has managed to redeem himself. Look where he is now.”

  Why did any of this matter to her, anyway? He’d fired her as a wife and as his assistant. If he hadn’t, he might as well do so now. If he thought she would continue to work for him after all the horrible things he’d said to and about her, he was wrong.

  She focused on the man in front of her. “Then let’s keep all of this our secret, okay?”

  He nodded solemnly. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but thank you for it, anyway.” He looked around the room uncertainly. “I need to go and let you get back to whatever it is you’re doing,” he said.

  Before he stepped back she slipped her arms around his neck and fiercely hugged him. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands but eventually placed them gently on her back.

  That’s the way Brad found them when he let himself into her apartment.

  Chapter Twelve

  Arthur leaped away from Rachel as though he’d touched an electric socket. So much for protecting her from their ogre of a boss. She, on the other hand, stayed where she was. She’d forgotten that she’d given Brad a key to her apartment. It had been more symbolic than practical, since there was no reason for him to be there without her.

  She waited for him to launch into another round of accusations. At least he would have more cause today. If she wasn’t already upset from Arthur’s
revelations on top of yesterday’s painful scene, she might find it amusing that her suspicious husband had discovered her in the arms of another man.

  Brad looked terrible. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, his hair stuck out in several directions as though he’d forgotten to comb it after his shower and he was in need of a shave. Given his physical condition and his choice of clothes—where had he found them? she wondered—he could be mistaken for a homeless person.

  He stood in the middle of the room and looked around him at the obvious signs of packing before he focused on Arthur. Brad looked bewildered by Arthur’s presence.

  “Uh…hi, Arthur. Sorry for bursting in like this,” he said. He gave Rachel a quick glance before speaking to Arthur. “I guess I wasn’t thinking about the possibility that Rachel might have company.”

  His tone was apologetic, which surprised both of them.

  Arthur immediately stammered, “Oh! I’m the one who should apologize.” He smiled nervously. “Dropping in unexpectedly this way. I’m sure you’re both very busy.” He’d begun to back to the door with each word until he was flat against it when he finished speaking. “So I’ll…uh…I’ll just, you know, be on my way,” he added weakly, “and I’ll, uh…see you Monday.”

  With that, he jerked the door open and practically ran out of the room.

  The sound of the door slamming filled the silence left by Arthur’s departure.

  Rachel was not ready to face Brad. She was too angry, too hurt, too filled with misery to have to deal with him at the moment.

  Too bad. He was here now, ready or not. From the looks of him, he must have the granddaddy of all hangovers. She’d been around Brad when he wasn’t feeling well. It had never been a pleasant experience even when she’d been capable of coping with him. Today was not one of those days.

  He hadn’t moved since Arthur had left and was growing paler by the moment. She nodded to the chair Arthur had vacated and said, “Sit down before you fall down. I’ll make you some coffee.”

  Brad sat.

  Rachel went into the kitchen, thankful she hadn’t packed the coffeepot and supplies. She concentrated—or tried to—on measuring the coffee and water.

  It really wasn’t fair, she thought. He’d broken her heart, stomped all over her feelings for him, then had the nerve to show up on her doorstep looking like a waif. A hung-over waif, but adorable all the same. Damn him.

  Her problem was that she knew him so well. Over the years she’d gotten to know his every mood, every expression, and at times could come close to reading his mind, which is why she’d been so unprepared for his crushing accusations yesterday. She’d never seen him like that before. She certainly never wanted to see him that way again.

  Now that he was here and sober—suffering, but sober—she had to decide how to deal with the situation. She already knew he was ashamed of yesterday’s behavior and today was contrite. But she couldn’t pretend it had never happened.

  She didn’t know where to go from here. It was the first time in all their time together that his anger and distrust had been turned on her. Regardless of how contrite he might be, she didn’t think she could put herself in a position where she’d be forced to deal with another scene like that at some time in the future.

  Rachel filled a glass with water, picked up a bottle of aspirin tablets and took them to Brad. He was resting his head on the back of the chair with his eyes closed. He opened them when she set the glass and bottle on the table beside him.

  “Thanks,” he murmured, reaching for the pain reliever.

  Rachel turned away without meeting his gaze. She picked up her cold drink and finished it on her way to the kitchen. That’s when she remembered that she had already packed all her dishes. Great. She dug through three boxes before she found one of her large cups.

  After filling it with the extra strong coffee, she carried it into the living room. Brad stood and took the cup from her. She turned and walked across the room to sit on one of the wooden kitchen chairs.

  Brad lowered himself into the chair again and carefully tasted the steaming brew. After a moment he looked at her and said, “Thank you for not throwing me out of here.”

  “Why are you here?”

  He started to speak and stopped. He took another sip of coffee and started to say something…and stopped. Finally, he shrugged and said, “I wanted to stop you from leaving.”

  “I have no choice. I have to be out of the apartment by Monday.” She looked away from him. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him so subdued. In the old days, she would have found out what was bothering him and worked to find a solution.

  Not this time.

  “What are your plans?” he asked politely.

  “They’re still evolving.”

  They sat in silence while he drank his coffee. When his cup was empty, he placed it carefully on the table, then looked up and caught her in his intense gaze.

  “What I did yesterday…what I said…all of it…was inexcusable.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth and she heard the rasp of his chin whiskers rub against his palm. “I know that I acted like an insane man. I made a complete ass of myself.” His eyes darkened. “There is no way I can tell you how sorry I am.”

  Rachel could think of nothing to say in reply. She was sure he spoke the truth.

  Another silence lengthened. Brad got up and wandered over to the window, his hands in his pockets. She wondered if he knew how that particular pose emphasized the shape of his butt.

  She used to have a difficult time not showing her reaction to him in his tight work jeans…and that was before she’d explored the taut muscles beneath them with her own body.

  Not fair at all.

  With his back to her, Brad said, “I don’t remember much about yesterday. Mercifully. Because the things I do remember sicken me…the things I said to you…the way I spoke to you…to you, of all people.”

  “You said what you believed to be true.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I spoke aloud what I was afraid could be true.”

  “I see. You think I’m having an affair with Rich Harmon,” she said in a neutral tone, ignoring her clenched stomach and the tears that kept surfacing.

  He turned, removing his hands from his pockets as he did so. He grabbed the side of the window to steady himself.

  “No,” he said, his jaw stiff. “I do not think you are having an affair…with Harmon or anyone else.”

  “Then I don’t understand what yesterday was all about,” she managed to say.

  He leaned against the wall as though he needed help to stand and studied her. She knew what he saw. A pale woman with no makeup, hair in a ponytail, wearing a dusty T-shirt and faded jeans.

  “Have you ever wondered why, in all the years we’ve worked together, I never showed any personal interest in you? Never asked for a date? Never flirted with you?”

  She thought about that. She’d been so busy hiding any hint of her fantasies about him while she was at work that she hadn’t really noticed. “If I did,” she finally said, “it was only a passing thought. With the hours you worked, you had no time for a social life.”

  “I mean later.”

  “I suppose I thought it was because you knew that office romances are fraught with potential problems.”

  He smiled for the first time since he’d arrived. “It’s because you’re the kind of woman who not only knows the meaning of the word fraught, but can use it in a sentence.”

  She frowned. He’d lost her on that one.

  “I knew from the first day I met you that you were out of my league. You were polished, educated, came from a level of society I’d only viewed from a distance. You were the kind of classy lady destined to marry someone equally polished and educated, who moved in all the right circles. I would never let myself entertain the idea that you might think of me as anything other than your rather rough-edged boss.”

  Rachel stared at him, stunned by his words.

  “You
deserve someone so much better than me. I knew that when I hired you. I knew that when I married you. I knew better than to take advantage of your fears to convince you to marry me. But I did it anyway.”

  He pushed away from the wall and walked back to his chair. Seated, he said, “One of the things I remember from yesterday was you saying that I didn’t trust you.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “That isn’t true. What I thought when I heard that you and Harmon had been seen having lunch in the park was that you had finally faced what a bad bargain you’d made by marrying me. Let’s face it. Rich Harmon is much more in your class than I am.”

  Rachel didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How could he possibly think these things? All these years and she’d had no idea he had such a poor opinion of himself. Her thoughts were flying in all directions, reviewing everything he’d said yesterday through this new filter.

  “I let my fear of losing you push me over the edge yesterday. I’d ask you to forgive me but I don’t deserve your forgiveness. Anyone stupid enough not to realize he’s been in love with you for the past eight years doesn’t deserve you. Tell me what you want, Rachel. If you want a divorce, I won’t stand in your way. If you feel you can no longer work with me, I’ll deal with that as well.”

  So there it was. He’d come over today to ask forgiveness and to offer her freedom if that’s what she wanted.

  She let the tears go. “I don’t want a divorce. I want to kill you for being so stupid. I want to kick you around the block several times. But no, I don’t want to end our marriage.”

  He left his chair and sank down on his haunches next to her. “If you’ll forgive me,” he said, taking her hand with one of his, while he wiped a tear from her cheek with the other, “I promise you that I will never put either of us through this again. I promise never to doubt you, or be suspicious of you or demand explanations or refuse to listen to you.” His voice broke. “If you’ll forgive me, I’ll be the best possible husband I can be.”

  She smiled through her tears. “That’s good. For a minute I thought you were applying for sainthood.”