How can they do this to me? Cara Wilder steered her compact car down the oak- and dogwood-lined street, seeking the solace of Aunt Shawn's house with the homing instincts of…well, a homing pigeon. A homing pigeon whose parents had just hit her with the biggest shock of her adult life.
Having survived a childhood of upheaval — moving from air force base to base, enduring her parents' divorce when she was ten, being sent to live with Shawn and Joe — Cara worked hard to keep her life free of change and surprise. But she'd been completely unprepared for her parents' elopement to Tahiti!
It figured. After eighteen years, she'd finally accepted their divorce — and now they'd mysteriously remarried. As far as she'd known, they hadn't even been in the same room together since her USC graduation.
Maybe she should be happy, but it wasn't as though their first hasty marriage had ended so well. Besides, though she wasn't proud to admit it, her initial reaction to any change was panic. Following their startling announcement this morning, Cara had done the unthinkable. She'd called in sick to the Charleston Cranny — her first ever unscheduled absence at the inn she managed.
Parking her car curbside, she studied the stately two-story house that had been her refuge for almost two decades. Though Cara's mother had also moved in with Shawn and Joe Taylor, it had been Aunt Shawn, with countless home-cooked meals and freshly baked brownies, who had helped with homework, dispensed advice and sewed dresses for the occasional high school dance.
Recalling one particular dance, Cara stole a glance at the house to the left of Shawn's where Rick Fields had grown up. Two years Cara's senior, the proverbial boy next door had always been around when Cara had needed a sympathetic ear or smile. He'd gallantly escorted her to her sophomore homecoming when her would-be date had needed an emergency appendectomy. For Rick, who had been between ever-revolving girlfriends at the time, it had just been a simple favor.
For Cara, it had launched the uncontrollable crush that had tormented her until he'd left for college. She hadn't spoken to him in years, but his parents said he moved around too often for anyone to keep in touch with him, anyway.
Unfastening her seat belt, Cara pulled herself back to the present. What she needed now was Aunt Shawn's coffee cake and gentle wisdom. But as she reached for the car door handle, she realized today was Monday.
Her aunt's quilting club met each Monday morning, though Shawn admitted the club focused more on mimosas and gossip than bias binding versus cross-grained. Normally, Cara would never have forgotten the standing appointment, but she'd been desperate for someone to talk to and for some comfort food. Then again, ever since the doctor had ordered a low-sugar, low-cholesterol diet for Uncle Joe, comfort food at Shawn's hadn't been the same.
When you were in crisis, caramel-flavored rice cakes didn't cut it.
I should just go to work. The daily routine of her job would be soothing after —
"Aauggh!" Cara's reactions were normally of the restrained variety, not the "yell your head off" kind, but the loud unexpected knock against her driver's window had temporarily scared the life out of her.
Once her tripled pulse began to decelerate, she glanced up and discovered her second major surprise of the day. Rick Fields, the boy she hadn't seen in years, stood outside her car.
But, yowza, he'd definitely grown up to be all man.
As the woman opened her car door, Rick prepared an apology. He hadn't meant to alarm her. He'd just been concerned about the person sitting in front of the Taylors' as though casing the place.
"Rick?" She swiveled sideways, unfolding denim-clad legs and placing her sandaled feet on the curb. "It's been years."
His brain couldn't quite reconcile the bossy-yet-vulnerable kid he'd known with the beautiful woman who'd just said his name in that husky-sweet voice. "Cara Wilder?"
She still wore her straight black hair long and without bangs, but the once-girlish style framed a woman's face. A face dominated by beguiling azure eyes and a full mouth. She probably hadn't grown any taller since he'd left for college, but her body had definitely changed. Those lush curves —
Rick blinked. Was he honestly having lustful thoughts about a girl who'd once punched him after his basketball wrecked her carefully arranged dollhouse community?
Granted, she'd been seven years old during that visit to her aunt's. A lot had changed since then. Over the years he'd known Cara, she'd continued to need things just so without having them messed up, but she'd quickly outgrown decking people.
Her blue eyes sure packed a punch, though.
Aware that he was staring, Rick shifted his gaze to her aunt's house. "I don't think they're home."
Cara leaned one arm against the steering wheel. "I was just realizing that, which is why I hadn't gotten out of the car."
"Oh. I saw someone sitting here and wasn't sure if they needed assistance. Or if they were scouting the place out for a break-in." He felt suddenly sheepish, realizing he'd never even heard of a break-in here in this sleepy neighborhood.
His knee-jerk suspicion probably stemmed from time spent in cities where muggers were so audacious they'd rob you in broad daylight and take your cab. In New York, losing your taxicab was almost as upsetting as losing your wallet. More, if it was raining.
"I already know where Shawn keeps the good silver and the spare key," Cara teased. "I was just here to chat with her, honest. But I'm surprised to see you! No one told me you were coming for a visit."
He rested his elbow on top of the open car door. "Not visiting, moving back."
"You're kidding. You, the happy wanderer?"
"Yep, buying the place from my parents. Putting down roots."
Her eyes widened as she absorbed the apparently shocking news. Then she muttered, "That's three times already in one day." He had no idea what she meant, but he'd learned years ago that men and women spoke different languages.
"I don't know if Shawn told you, but my folks are moving to a retirement community in Florida," he explained.
They'd informed him of their plans when they called to wish him a happy thirtieth birthday -- a night when he'd allowed a milestone age and a couple of beers to suddenly fill him with questions like "where's my life going?" His parents' news that they were selling the house and his recent restlessness had prompted the spontaneous decision to return to South Carolina. Rick often followed instincts rather than plans.
"Retiring in Florida?" Unaccountably, Cara's voice trembled. "You're so lucky to have normal parents who do normal parent things. I'll bet you don't wake up in the morning to find out that your mom climbed down a ladder in the middle of the night and flew off to Tahiti!"
Now he really had no idea what she was talking about, but the glistening sheen in her baby blues and the waver in her tone did not bode well. Bending his knees, he ducked inside her car. Unless she'd changed drastically while he'd been gone, Cara liked keeping her emotions tightly reined in. He'd only seen her cry a few times. As he had on those infrequent past occasions, he gathered her into his arms.
But holding her had never felt like this before.
Mortified, Cara pulled away — but not before noticing Rick's enticing scent, sandalwood and something less definable. "I am so sorry."
"It was just a couple of tears. Literally. I've never seen anyone stop crying that fast. My shirt's not even wet."
She'd been caught off guard by the welling tears, but had quickly tamped down her emotions. Still…for her this had equaled a full-blown meltdown.
Friendly concern shone in his brown eyes. "You okay?"
Only if "okay" was synonymous with "humiliated." His very friendliness embarrassed her. No doubt he'd always see her as his little buddy Cara from next door. How absurd was it that a schoolgirl crush she should've outgrown years ago had flared to life when he'd held her against him? Against broad shoulders, a hard, muscled chest, strong —
"Cara?"
"What? Oh, sorry. I'm okay." Somehow the fact that it was a sunny April morning, still early enough for the breeze to be chilly, rendered the desire she felt even more inappropriate. As though lust were like hard liquor, and nine-thirty was just too early in the day for a decent person to be having it.
Then again, it must be happy hour somewhere in the world.
With the mental reminder that she didn't drink hard liquor at any time, she reined in her wayward thoughts. Rick might be back — better looking (and smelling) than ever — but she wasn't a teenager anymore. She could control how she felt about him.
He rocked back on his heels, folding his arms across his chest. She dutifully refused to notice the way the material of his green polo shirt stretched across the expanse of muscle.
"So you're all right now?" he asked. At her nod, he grinned. "I don't mean to pry, but all I caught was something about ladders and Tahiti. My curiosity's killing me."
She was surprised that she was able to laugh. "My parents eloped over the weekend."
"With each other?"
"Yep. Eighteen years after their divorce and, bam, they disappear to Tahiti."
No doubt it sounded crazy to Rick. His parents had been married for forty years and had lived in the same house for almost thirty. Cara truly envied him his stable family. Well…his parents, anyway. She wasn't sure she'd want his older brother, Stephen, Mr. Competitive Overachiever. But Rick had always been too laid back to let Stephen bother him.
"Cara, can I ask a dumb question? Aren't you happy your parents are back together? I thought that's what kids dreamed of."
What "kids" dreamed of. She ignored the urge to pull him into the back seat to demonstrate she was a woman now.
"I'm still too stunned. I didn't even know they were talking! Dad moved to Charleston when he retired from the service — to be close to me, he'd said. I would have felt poleaxed to find out he and mom were having dinner, much less…" Not wanting to dwell on what her honeymooning parents might currently be having, she trailed off, gesturing vaguely.
Had the decision to remarry been as rushed as their original marriage? Cara and her father shared discipline and a common regard for order. But her mother was most politely described as a "free spirit." The first whirlwind courtship and marriage had been based more on her mom's reaction to how the young lieutenant had looked in his uniform than on sound long-term planning.
"What if it doesn't work this time, either?" Cara couldn't help wondering aloud.
"You want to come inside and talk? I might not have any answers, but I can offer you a glass of good old-fashioned Southern iced tea."
"You mean, sweetened to within an inch of its life?"
"Is there any other kind?" He grinned. "Come on, you can be the first babe I bring back to my new bachelor pad."
She told herself that his flirtatious tone and playful wink didn't mean anything. But a ray of heat still threatened to melt her when he took her hand and helped her from the car. As soon as she could do so without being abrupt, she pulled away and followed him across the freshly mowed green lawn.
Rick opened his front door, and Cara gasped. No wonder he'd been worried about criminals casing her aunt's house — it looked as though someone had broken in here and vandalized the place!
Cara stared around the Fields' living room. The familiar decorative touches Rick's mom had employed in the reduced-scale, antebellum-style home were still present, but displaced. Needlepoints that had adorned the walls were piled on the couch, and the leafy green plants that had brightened various rooms were now brown and lumped together on the living room floor. As though they'd been rounded up for execution.
Superimposed over the room's original state were the additions of new furniture, DVDs strewn across one corner of the carpet and a half-unpacked box of dishes, whose contents sat on top of the entertainment center rather than in their proper place in the kitchen.
Rick cleared his throat. "I guess this place looks like it was decorated in Early Bachelorhood Slob. You're probably more a Danish Modern girl."
Cara tried to find something reassuring to say — like, "Oh, this isn't so bad." But she doubted she could fit a lie that big through her mouth. "What's with the plants?"
"I'm not used to taking care of anything, even rhododendrons, so I forget to water them. I thought maybe if I grouped them all together like this, instead of waiting until I noticed each individual one back in some corner…I could revive them by the time my folks get back next Friday, right?"
"Um…" Not a chance in hell. "You can buy new ones and put them in the old pots. There's a nursery Aunt Shawn likes — Fern's Ferns."
"Easy enough to remember. C'mon, there are actual places to sit in the kitchen."
She resisted the urge to walk through the house the same way she watched scary movies — peeking through her fingers as she covered her eyes. "So, your parents come back next Friday?"
"Yep. They have it narrowed down to three or four communities and are down there visiting friends and checking out each place thoroughly. Once Dad negotiates the best deal, they'll sign a lease. Meanwhile, I'm house-sitting. The plan is to pack up their stuff and unpack mine, but the transition has made the place sort of a…"
"Disaster area?" More tactful than "toxic wasteland," she assured herself as she glanced away from a pizza box, empty except for a few wrinkled green olives. Of course, depending on how long ago he'd ordered the pizza, maybe the olives had originally been black.
"I've made some progress," Rick said. "Got my darkroom and studio set up in Stephen's old bedroom suite."
Was she imagining the self-satisfaction in his voice as he admitted his brother's room had been the first thing changed? She'd always been under the impression that Rick wasn't bothered by Stephen's barbs about his underachieving little brother.
As promised, the kitchen was still a suitable habitat for human life-forms. She sat at the round table while Rick poured tea into matching daisy-print glasses.
He took the chair opposite hers. "I opened my kitchen stuff but there's nowhere to put any of it until I box up mom's, and I still don't have all the packing supplies I need. Besides, she has better cooking stuff than I do, and I've kind of enjoyed using it."
"You cook?" Okay, maybe it was a tad insulting that she'd asked that in the same tone she would've used to inquire, "You sprout wings and fly?"
"Yeah, I cook." He grinned. "You can only con your dates into making you dinner so many times."
His dates. She sipped her tea, trying to wash down her irrational resentment with it. It wasn't as though she didn't date. But she doubted polite dinners in Charleston's fabulous restaurants with men whose backgrounds she'd carefully researched compared to the love-life of a freelance photographer who'd lived all over the country and had a smile that should come with a cautionary disclaimer.
"Speaking of dates…" He leaned forward slightly, and her heart began galloping like a racehorse out of the starting gates. "Are you doing anything for dinner?"
Make that a racehorse on illegal speed enhancers. "I, um, I think I'm free, actually."
"Then could I ask you a personal favor?"
Rick's question lingered in the air like expensive perfume. Could I ask you a personal favor?
The more personal the better, as far as Cara was concerned.
"Have dinner with me tonight," he invited. "At your aunt's house."
Ka-plunk — oh, so that's what hopes being dashed sounded like. "Excuse me?"
"Shawn insisted I come over for dinner after I'd had a chance to settle in." Neither of them commented on his lack of settling-in progress. "We agreed on tonight. But I know nothing about quilting or fishing, and I don't want to bore them with stories about me all night."
Didn't want to bore them, or didn't want to scandalize them with his big-city, multidate adventures? The word date mocked her. Had she really thought he was going to ask her out?
"Don't be ridiculous," Cara blurted.
Now it was Rick's turn to ask, "Excuse me?"
"Not you."
He looked over his shoulder toward the hallway, as if checking to see who else she might be talking to.
"I was telling myself not to be ridiculous." Sadly, that part was true. "I thought that, yes, I'd love to join you, but I was afraid it would be bad manners to intrude when they weren't expecting me —"
"Intrude? Your aunt adores you. Even if she didn't, Shawn would welcome escaped convicts to the table if they showed up at dinner time."
"Exactly. Which is why I then told myself not to be ridiculous." She scraped back the kitchen chair and stood, eager to escape before she made an even bigger fool of herself. "So I'll just meet you over there tonight at…?"
"Seven."
"Great. See you then."
Track stars and Olympic hurdlers worldwide would have applauded her speed and dexterity getting to the front door.
Steam trailed behind Cara into the bedroom. She'd abandoned her precise, efficient shower routine in favor of a long hot bath. A decadent way to spend a Monday afternoon, but she figured after her day, she deserved it.
Wearing her bathrobe, she padded to the bureau and opened the top drawer. Her gaze landed on a cinnamon-colored scrap of silk, and her mind drifted toward Rick Fields. Not that her stubborn thoughts had strayed far from him since their reunion that morning. Resolutely, she chose reliable cotton undergarments and shut the drawer.
A blinking light reflected in the bureau mirror caught her attention, and she turned to the answering machine on her nightstand. Two messages. The first, from her friend Lanie at work, checking to make sure Cara was okay. "I figured nothing short of the Plague would cause you to call in sick."
Aunt Shawn was second. "Honey, your mother just called." That was the entire message. Obviously Shawn was now aware of the elopement and knew Cara needed her.
Filled with affection, Cara dialed her aunt's number. Shawn answered immediately, fussing over Cara and theorizing that her parents had learned from their original mistakes and would do better this time. Then Shawn insisted Cara come over for dinner, obviously unaware that she had already planned to do so.
Why didn't Shawn mention that Rick would be there, too? Come to think of it, why had Shawn kept quiet about Rick moving back? Normally her aunt relayed any local breaking news to Cara within the hour.
"Dinner sounds good." Cara felt sneaky for not bringing up Rick herself, but instinct kept her quiet.
"Wear something pretty," her aunt advised. "When I'm blue, looking spiffy perks me right up."
Uh-oh. Shawn was hiding Rick's presence and suggesting Cara dress up? Suddenly it was clear what her aunt was up to: stealth matchmaking.
Cara valued her carefully cultivated self-control, but today Rick had challenged it at every turn. She'd had one undisciplined reaction after another — tears, lust, jealousy. Clearly he was no good for her equilibrium. And on top of that, now she had to deal with her aunt's well-meaning meddling?
An obvious solution sprang to mind. After tonight, Cara wouldn't see Rick. Oh, they might bump into one another if she was at Shawn's, but Cara could minimize those meetings. Charleston had a population of around 100,000 people. How hard could it possibly be to avoid one man?
Though it was nearly midnight, Rick Fields was too restless to sleep. So he packed his mom's dishes in the bubble-wrap he'd picked up that afternoon and mulled over his evening with the Taylors.
From the broiled fish to Cara's demeanor, nothing had been as he'd expected. Shawn Taylor had been famous for her country-fried steak, buttery mashed potatoes and home-style gravy. Rick had accepted her dinner invitation with that meal in mind. The fish had been okay, but the memory of the fat-free brownies served with soy milk ice cream made him wince. Though even the dessert hadn't bothered him as much as the way Cara had avoided his gaze all night.
He knew she had conflicting emotions about her parents' elopement bombshell, but she'd been able to tease around with him that morning. So what had gone wrong tonight? Was she embarrassed he'd seen her crying earlier?
Whatever the reason for her withdrawal, he hadn't been the only one who'd noticed it. Shawn had tried all night to draw Cara into conversation, to get her to talk about the inn she managed or her friend Lanie, who was apparently a great source of entertaining anecdotes. But Cara's responses had been mostly monosyllabic.
Strange how much that bothered him. He hadn't seen Cara in years, so why was he taking her mood tonight so personally?
Because from the minute you spoke to her this morning, it was as if you'd fallen right back into your old friendship, he told himself. Only that wasn't completely true. Their "old friendship" had never included the desire to take her out to the rose-covered gazebo in the Taylors' backyard and kiss her senseless.
Was that why Cara had been distant? Had she somehow discerned his very unbuddy-like desire this morning, and had it made her uncomfortable? The thought was disappointing since, obviously, that meant he couldn't act on his attraction to her.
But they could still renew the friendship he'd always enjoyed. All he had to do was spend plenty of time around her, show that he wouldn't push for anything beyond the platonic. Then things would go back to the comfortable way they'd been. If he got really desperate to prove his point, he could ask her to set him up on a date with one of her friends, like that Lanie person Shawn had mentioned.
"Charleston Cranny." It was only after the words had left her mouth that Cara realized she was snapping at the caller. Softening her tone, she added, "How may I help you?"
"This is Bob from Big Bob's Barbecue," a hearty male voice boomed. "I was calling to confirm my information on that dinner we're catering there."
Ah, yes, the Hamilton-Ashe dinner. Friends and family of Frank Hamilton and Vera Ashe were booked into the hotel starting Thursday, coming in for the weekend wedding. Cara couldn't recall exactly where the ceremony was, but the Friday night rehearsal dinner was being held here at the hotel. Vera Ashe, frantic with last minute bridal details, had been thrilled to give Cara her requirements and then leave everything else up to the accommodating hotel manager.
Lanie often scolded Cara for doing more work than her job actually required — putting in overtime that could be applied toward a social life. But Lanie didn't understand that Cara liked handling all the extra details. She had a compulsive need to personally dot all the i's and cross all the t's. Cara ran a tight ship, operated her hotel like a well-oiled machine. Yep. A structured workplace and clichéd metaphors — those were her strong suits. Besides, the special personal touches were the reason people paid a few more dollars to stay at the Cranny instead of one of the nationally known franchise hotels.
"…and was that pork or beef?" Big Bob wanted to know.
Cara blinked. What had just happened? Her mind never wandered when she was discussing business. "Um, sliced pork."
Her temporary blank out was only because she needed lunch and was light-headed with hunger. Certainly it had nothing to do with Rick Fields being back in town, or the fact that she would have preferred drizzling him with chocolate syrup last night instead of the soy ice cream she'd eaten without actually (thank God for small favors) tasting.
Annoyed with the way her mind refused to concentrate on anything but Rick, Cara heaved a sigh.
"Everything okay?" Lanie Pearce asked.
Cara smiled at the blond concierge. "Absolutely."
"Still upset about your parents?" Lanie was actually a big fan of adventures like running off to Tahiti, but she'd done the best friend thing and been appropriately supportive of Cara's confusion.
"Not upset, just hungry. I was thinking about going to lunch. Wanna join me?"
"At ten a.m.?" The slight concern in Lanie's green eyes blossomed into full-fledged worry. "You don't usually eat until after one."
Right. But there was definitely a good explanation. "Is it only ten? Goodness, we've been so busy this morning that it seemed later."
"Are you kidding? It's been deader this morning than Old Mrs. Henshaw's four late husbands."
Okay, so even a bad explanation was preferable to admitting she was obsessing over the guy she'd had a crush on in high school.
"Wait a minute," Lanie said. "You had dinner with Shawn and Joe last night, didn't you? Is she still experimenting with those health food recipes? Maybe you are starving."
Cara grinned, remembering the sprout casserole Shawn had served the last time Lanie was over for dinner. "We had fish. It was fine. We also, um, had company."
Since Cara was by nature a very honest person and since Lanie knew her so well, it was probably best to just get the truth out. Or at least, a version of the truth that didn't make Cara sound like an infatuated teenager.
"A guy I went to high school with has moved back," Cara elaborated. "I guess seeing him again made me sort of nostalgic, and my mind's been wandering all morning. Thinking about the old days, you know?"
"Oh, sure. I understand. Although I don't think you've been out of school long enough for there to be 'old days.' And you'd better not contradict me, since you're a year younger than I am!" Lanie grinned. "So…a guy, huh? Married?"
"Nope."
"Involved?"
The question knifed through Cara. Did Rick have a girlfriend?
Doubtful. He'd seemed desperate for topics to discuss last night and a girlfriend would probably have come up. Besides, it was difficult to picture him expending the necessary effort to make a long-distance relationship work. He was a good guy — a great guy, in many ways — but he normally took the easy, low-stress route.
"I don't think he's involved."
"A new guy our age in the area and you don't find that out immediately?" Lanie smacked her hand against her forehead. "Have I taught you nothing since I moved here?"
"Sorry. I don't consider him a dating candidate, so it didn't occur to me to ask."
"What's wrong with him? Hideous comb-over? Some bald guys are actually very sexy, but a comb-over —"
The phone on the front desk rang, and Cara lunged for it. All she wanted was to get her mind off Rick Fields. "Charleston Cranny. May I help you?"
"Cara? It's Rick."
"You what?"
Rick winced at Cara's tone. One would think she'd sound happy that he wanted to hire her.
"I want to use your inn to throw my parents a going-away party next weekend," he repeated. "You handle that sort of thing, right?"
"Well, yes, but so do other places in town."
Should he be annoyed or amused? "Do you always try to run off paying customers, or am I special?"
"You're…"
What was she thinking? He wished he could see her face. They'd always been friends, but now he felt as though she wanted to see him as much as she'd want to see an IRS auditor. Although…given Cara's meticulousness, her receipts were probably in such organized order that she'd love to show them off to an internal revenue agent.
Wanting to see her soon and resolve this awkwardness, Rick said, "If I'm going to use your facilities, I should come check the place out. I'll drop by tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow?"
"Around this time." Minus twenty minutes or so — to reduce the risk of her being conveniently absent. If he could just spend time with her alone, he could convince her that all he wanted was to be friends.
Now, if he could only convince himself.
The phone receiver crashed into its cradle with a bit more oomph than strictly necessary.
What just happened there? Cara asked herself. She'd completely lost control of the conversation. Rick had ignored her reasonable suggestion of finding a place that would accommodate more guests, since his parents had lived here so long and knew so many people, and he'd actually ended the call while she'd still been trying to explain that tomorrow wasn't a good time.
"We're friends," he'd told her. "If I have to stand around waiting for you a little bit, that's no problem. Gives me a chance to look around."
Blond, broad-shouldered Rick with his rich brown eyes and killer smile standing around here while she tried to get work done. Yeah, that was a dandy idea.
Rick's being here was a bad plan, yet seemed inevitable, while her plan to avoid him was a good one, but seemed not so much to be working. Cara was used to plans that worked. She liked them. She needed them.
Pawn him off on Lanie, an inner voice suggested. Lanie was just as capable of showing Rick around and answering his questions, plus delegating authority would help Cara regain charge of the situation.
Glancing across the small lobby to watch Lanie give directions to some guests, Cara thought about how pretty her blond, adventurous friend was. Cara's need to reclaim order warred with something more primal — something that possibly began with a J and definitely had green eyes.
"Um, Ms. Wilder?"
Cara snapped her gaze away from Lanie. A frowning young woman from the housekeeping staff stood across from the desk. Wringing her hands, Cara noticed. That couldn't be a good sign.
"What can I do for you, Mandy?"
"I went to clean a room on the fourth floor, and there was a huge puddle of water. And it seemed to be coming from up on the fifth floor. So I went up there to make sure no one had let their bathtub spill over, but it's worse than that. I think a pipe broke."
Cara's left eye began to twitch. Must not scream. Must not scream. "Th-thank you for letting me know, Mandy."
Of course there was a broken pipe.
Because when it rained it poured…or in her case, leaked through the ceiling and ruined thick white carpeting.
Wednesday morning brought both good and bad news for Cara. The good news was that the carpet guys were expected at the same time Rick was due, so she had an excuse to call and ask him to reschedule. The bad news was there was no answer at his house. She'd try again later; maybe he was just in the shower.
She groaned aloud at the sudden mental image.
Lanie approached the desk, carrying two cups of coffee, her expression sympathetic. "It'll be okay. The plumber assured us the pipe problem is solved, and as soon as the ceiling and carpet are taken care of, we can rent both rooms again. We weren't booked to capacity this weekend anyway."
Cara didn't correct her friend's assumption that it was the leak upsetting her. After all, she was the inn's manager. The pipe should be bothering her more than the idea of seeing Rick.
"Lanie, can I ask your opinion on something?"
"Girlfriend, I've got opinions to spare. Fire away."
"Do I look all right?"
"Gorgeous. Red's perfect for you. And, hey, you're finally wearing those shoes I made you buy! Trying to impress the carpet guys?"
"Only if it gets us a discount," Cara said dryly.
She'd debated wearing the silk sundress, telling herself it was too casual for work. But she'd fixed that with a lightweight blazer and dressy heels a bit higher than she normally wore. It wasn't that she wanted to look nice for Rick so much as she feared she'd gone too far in the other direction at dinner Monday night. Maybe her stark attire and nonresponsive attitude had challenged his masculine ego. If he felt he had something to prove, it might be difficult to avoid him.
At least, that's what she'd told herself this morning when she'd knocked seven minutes off her daily treadmill time to put curlers in her hair and select the perfect shade of lipstick. She'd conveniently ignored the fact that Rick was too laid back to try to prove anything to anyone.
"Helloooo, handsome," Lanie suddenly drawled.
At Lanie's unexpected words and obvious female appreciation for whoever had just walked in, Cara's pulse skyrocketed. Was Rick early? But when she glanced at the glass entrance doors, she saw…Rick's brother, Stephen?
An attorney in Columbia, Stephen made regular dutiful-son visits. Cara had seen him several times over the past few years. He'd even hinted once that they should compare day-planners, find a mutually agreeable time when she was free from her managerial schedule and he from his law practice so they could go out.
The suggestion had left her decidedly unenthused. She supposed most siblings had rivalry — hence the well-known term — but the way he'd treated Rick had always annoyed her. Plus, though Stephen was attractive enough, he had nothing on his younger brother. Stephen's sandy hair wasn't the sun-kissed blond of Rick's, and his blue eyes lacked the warmth of his brother's chocolatey gaze.
"You really think he's that good-looking?" Cara asked her friend.
"Great bod, eyes so blue I can tell their color from here. What's not to like?"
"The three-piece suit? Stephen seems a little, I don't know, stuffy for you."
"I could fix — wait! Stephen? You know him? Tell me this isn't your old high school buddy."
"His brother, actually."
But Stephen was nearly at the desk, so they should probably stop dissecting his appearance, not to mention his stuffiness and what Lanie could do to cure it.
"Cara Wilder, good to see you again." He had a great voice, a very smooth baritone. But Cara never heard it without feeling like he was about to try to sell her something. Or make An Important Speech.
Admonishing herself to be nice, that Shawn had raised her with better manners, Cara smiled. "This is a pleasant surprise."
"Well, when Rick called last night about our parents' party, I decided to actually use one of my vacation days! He shouldn't have to do all the work." In other words, Stephen wasn't about to let his brother either botch things up or take all the credit if things went well.
"That's —" But the rest of Cara's words were drowned out by the blaring fire alarm.
Despite the clearly posted evacuation plans, most people headed pell-mell for the front doors at the sound of the fire alarm, Cara's staff included. Two weeks ago a hotel across town had burned — not a single injury was sustained in the insurance-motivated arson, but the newspaper pictures had been frightening. Apparently people remembered those photos.
Lanie asked, "Did we have a drill scheduled?"
"Nope." Cara rounded the desk, trailed by Lanie and Stephen. Based on past history, this was an alarm malfunction rather than an emergency, but better safe than sorry. "Lanie, you go outside and keep everyone calm, I'll — oof."
A child making a beeline for the front door crashed into Cara. Time slowed as she wobbled. Probably, if she hadn't been wearing the darn high heels, she wouldn't have fallen. But she was. And she did.
Her ankle gave out, crumpling sideways at an unnatural angle while her body toppled. Despite the pain that arrowed up her leg, she was more concerned with the poor, scared youngster who'd bumped her. Then again, the woman chasing after him, booming, "Christopher James, I oughtta tan your hide," made Cara suspect it wasn't fire the kid feared.
The boy — Christopher James, apparently — stopped at the front doors as though unsure where to go from there. The woman who'd been running after him drew up next to Cara, who felt very nonmanagerial in her sprawled position on the hardwood floor.
"Need a hand up?" Stephen offered.
Since she wasn't yet sure she could stand once they got her vertical, she stalled. "Just let me catch my breath."
The woman grimaced apologetically. "I am so, so sorry. About the fall and the alarm. His class took a trip to the fire station, and he's been just fascinated — Christopher, no video games for a month. A year! Possibly the rest of your life."
Christopher sighed, looking relieved he was at least going to have a life. "Sorry I knocked you over, ma'am."
Cara started to reply but had the breath knocked out of her all over again when Rick Fields appeared behind the kid.
Well, she'd wanted to appear less unapproachable. Sitting in the floor of the lobby, her skirt riding up and her ankle swelling, should do the trick.
Rick shifted Cara's weight in his arms so he could unlock his front door. He would've taken her to her own house, but his was close to the hospital, and he didn't completely trust her current ability to give directions. They'd sat in the emergency room waiting area long past the time when most people ate lunch, and probably due to her empty stomach, the painkiller had hit her pretty hard.
Her ankle wasn't broken; she just had to keep it elevated for the rest of the day. For tomorrow she'd been instructed to keep it wrapped, take prescribed anti-inflammatories and work from a chair rather than stand behind the front counter.
"Here we are," he said against the top of her head. Why did her citrus-scented shampoo have to smell so alluring? It wasn't enough that all her soft warmth was cradled against him, or that if he peeked down — which he most certainly would not — he'd get an incredible glimpse of cleavage?
He kicked the door shut behind him. "I'm going to get you settled on the couch, then fix us something to eat."
"'Kay," she murmured into his chest. "You smell good."
So do you. He lowered her to the couch. She leaned back, but didn't remove her arms from around him, which left them in an awkward position. Awkward because he desperately wanted to kiss her.
"Wasn't like I imagined," she remarked absently. "No running around and screaming code blue, or…what's that other thing? Like on ER."
He had no idea, but if he didn't get away from her soon, he was going to require medical attention. Sliding his hands over hers, he pried her fingers from their clasped position behind his neck. Her hands trailed down to his collarbone.
"Stat!" She beamed. "That's the other thing they say on ER…been some really cute doctors on that show…but none as cute as you."
Then she cupped his face. And Cara Wilder kissed him.
At the first sweetly seductive touch of Cara's lips, all of Rick's mental synapses short-circuited. He did the only thing he could — kissed her back. Thoroughly. Both greedy and grateful, he eagerly explored her mouth even as he told himself to slow down and savor this unexpected gift. But he'd known her for eighteen years and was kissing her for the first time; could they really go any slower?
He threaded his hands in her soft, jet-black hair and angled his head to deepen their kiss. But unfortunately his own thoughts haunted him. Eighteen years he'd known her. And had she ever acted impulsively? Ever given him reason to believe she wanted to make out with him on his mom's living room sofa?
Guilt flooded him, and he drew back. Sure, technically she'd started it, but he knew Cara well enough to know this wasn't in character for her…no matter how much he wished it were.
Nice, Fields. You always take advantage of women on painkillers?
He owed her a huge apology.
He'd set out to prove to her that he just wanted a platonic friendship, and here he was practically seducing her in the living room where half the neighborhood might see! Recalling the day they'd met two decades ago and how she'd punched him in the stomach, he told himself he'd be damn lucky if she didn't slug him for this, too.
"Cara, I — that never should have happened."
Rick held his breath; he'd admitted that he shouldn't have kissed her. Now all he could do was wait to see if she ever spoke to him again.
"Never should have happened?" she echoed.
He stood, nodding.
She blinked her blue eyes, and sharp regret replaced the passion-induced (or more likely, painkiller-induced) haze.
"I'll just go make us some sandwiches," he offered. Maybe he could wash his down with hemlock.
"Why don't you call Shawn's instead? If she or Uncle Joe are home, I can stay with them. You've done enough already."
"Need anything, dear?" Shawn called through the door of Cara's childhood bedroom.
A time machine. But could she really willingly erase that amazing kiss? Recalling Rick's horrified expression as he'd pushed her away, Cara nodded to herself. Yep.
"I'm just gonna rest until dinner, Aunt Shawn."
Retreating footsteps sounded in the hall, leaving Cara alone with her regret.
She wished she could blame the meds the doctor had persuaded her to take. Normally she skipped anything that made her feel fuzzy and not quite in control, but while she might have been a little giddy, it wasn't as though she hadn't known what she was doing when she'd kissed Rick. She'd just wanted it so badly, she'd reached for him before she could stop herself.
Happy now? she asked her inner rebel. Oh, sure, for a blissful few seconds, Rick had kissed her back. Probably out of habit. But not even instinct and the incredible chemistry between them, assuming he'd even felt that, had kept him from ending the kiss.
Friday. A clean slate, Cara told herself as she leaned back in the padded chair behind the hotel counter. An opportunity to regain control of her life. She'd survived her parents' elopement, Rick's return and an unprecedented string of hotel disasters — if two counted as a string. Surely she could weather the simple mistake of kissing Rick.
You'd darn well better, she told herself, because he'll be here in — she checked her watch — ten minutes.
He'd called last night to check on her and had casually mentioned dropping by to discuss the party since they'd never actually gotten around to that. Cara had been shocked. She'd assumed he would want a different location…and an events planner who wouldn't launch herself at him like a circus performer fired from a cannon.
Lanie strolled over, finished lining up theater tickets for guests and still waiting on restaurants to open for lunch in order to set up dinner reservations. "How's the foot?"
"Not bad." It's my common sense and ego that were irreparably fractured. "But maybe when Rick gets here, you should be the one to show him ar —"
"Oh, no! Find someone else. You stuck me with that cretin of a brother of his yesterday while you took the afternoon off to flirt with cute male orderlies."
"Cretin? When I left it was 'hello, handsome.'"
"Yeah, well, now it's 'don't let the door hit you on the butt on your way out.' He talked about himself nonstop. At first I thought it was to impress me, but then wondered if it's just because he thinks he's all that. When he finally deigned to ask about me and learned I don't have my degree yet…well, he never said anything specific, but he seemed so condescending. Like someone who only has a two-year degree and is working on her bachelor's couldn't possibly understand the life of a high-and-mighty attorney."
Cara clucked her tongue sympathetically.
"He wants you to call him, though," Lanie said. "I'm not sure the hotel met with His Royal Pain's approval. He wanted to know what assurances we could give that there would be no plumbing problems and said he didn't know what kind of name Cranny was. I told him nook was taken."
Cara angrily dialed the cell number on the pewter-colored business card Lanie handed her. When Stephen answered, she explained she was returning his call because she understood he had concerns about the accommodations. Just you name one, she silently dared him.
But he surprised her with, "Actually, I wanted to ask you out to dinner. Tonight, if you're free?"
As she processed the invitation, Rick Fields walked through the front door. Her lips tingled at the memory of his kiss. A kiss that would never be repeated — and she needed to take drastic steps to prove that to both herself and Rick.
"Tonight works for me, Stephen."
"You're kidding me, right?" Rick's steely tone and clenched jaw suggested she'd better be kidding.
Cara swallowed, nervously drumming her fingers on the desk between them. She'd thought he'd be happy, relieved. After all, her dating another man was evidence that she viewed that kiss the same way Rick did — a mistake that shouldn't, wouldn't, be repeated. "Well, no, I was serious. Stephen and I are having dinner."
"Let me get this straight; yesterday you're making a move on me, and tonight you're going on a date with my brother?"
Hmm. Put that way, it did sound a bit tawdry. "Not a date exactly," she backpedaled. "Just a friendly dinner. We'll probably talk more about the party for your parents and the hotel facilities."
"That's what you and I have been doing this morning," Rick pointed out. "And we didn't have to go out to dinner to do it."
"But you know how busy Stephen is."
"Yes, I'm aware of how very important his partnership is at the law firm. Lucky me to do this silly freelance work that allows me such a roomy schedule."
Though it was difficult to talk around the foot she had stuck in her mouth, she blurted, "I don't even think it's gonna be just Stephen and I. I, um, was planning to invite my friend, Lanie, too. In fact…why don't you join us? You and Lanie might really hit it off."
"You want to set me up on a date with your friend?" At first, his rigid posture suggested that her passing him onto a friend after kissing him was even worse than her dating his brother. But then he paused, took a deep breath. "You know what? That would be perfect. I was thinking of asking you to do that anyway."
"You wanted me to hook you up with Lanie?" Her jaw dropped open, which she seriously doubted was attractive, but she couldn't seem to stop gaping. Was Rick merely trying to save face, the way she'd been attempting with just about every other word that came out of her mouth, or was he interested in Lanie?
Then again, why wouldn't a guy be interested in Lanie?
She pasted a smile across her face. "Terrific. I'll have Stephen call you with the time and place details, and I'll let you know what I find out from caterers and deejays about your parents' party."
After he'd gone, all Cara wanted to do was bury her face in her arms and sob on top of her desk blotter. Instead, she called Lanie over to the desk.
"What's up?" her friend wanted to know.
"You're still free tonight, right?"
"Yeah. Did you change your mind about me pulling some evening hours?"
"Not exactly." Cara inhaled. "You know how you're always after to me to be more spontaneous? And also saying I should keep my eyes open for any guys you might be interested in?"
"I guess so," Lanie said slowly, her gaze narrowed in suspicion.
"Well, good news! I've arranged a double date for us."
"Really? That's not like you."
Neither is practically anything else I've done all week, she thought. Maybe she was coming down with something and just needed some kind of shot. "I know, but you've inspired me to change."
"So who are we going out with?"
"Um, the Fields brothers," Cara replied, very glad for the barrier of the desk between them. Although Lanie could always walk around the desk to strangle her.
"What? I know I said Stephen was good-looking, and he is, but I thought you understood we don't get along."
"Right. Which is why Stephen is my date…sort of. And Rick is yours." Sort of. In fact, the more sort of, the better.
Lanie steepled her fingers under her chin. "Rick? That guy who swept you into his arms and carried you out of the hotel yesterday?"
"Only because I couldn't stand on my own."
"Uh-huh. Cara, do you really think this is a good idea?"
"It'll be…wonderful." Maybe it would be. Stranger things had happened. She just couldn't think of any off the top of her head.
Cara was on the worst double date in the history of Western Civilization.
Possibly since the Bronze Age…before that, well, they'd probably been too preoccupied with survival and saber-toothed tigers to worry about strained silences, veiled hostility and sexual tension you could cut with the butter knife. Of course, the butter knife was otherwise occupied, since slicing and eating the sourdough bread while they waited was the one thing that relieved the conversational tension.
Glancing sideways at her escort, Cara debated whether she was annoyed with Stephen or sympathized with him. He had taken her unexpected announcement that dinner would be a foursome pretty well, but the long silences while they waited for their table and once they'd been seated obviously disconcerted him. Unfortunately, Stephen's solution had been to talk — at length — about Stephen. Though legal drama made decent books and TV shows, no one was all that interested in his exciting work as a tax attorney.
And though Cara doubted he did it on purpose, he was condescending to Lanie, as if she couldn't understand his anecdotes since she was the only one present without a four-year college diploma. Cara didn't understand three-quarters of what the guy said, but requesting clarification would only prolong the already tiresome subject.
Still the hostility emanating from Lanie didn't bother Cara as much as the emotions Rick was projecting. When Stephen had taken Cara's coat, Rick's angry gaze had been almost possessive. Was he jealous? Impossible. But his manner did leave her feeling irrationally guilty.
The sommelier approached, a tall man with a mustache and a French accent, and asked if anyone wanted to hear the wine list. He received four immediate affirmatives — anything to kill another few minutes.
Rick requested a glass of merlot, though Cara thought he muttered something about skipping the glass and just having the bottle. Then Lanie ordered her wine in perfect French and went on to chat with the wine steward. Possibly discussing the man's family, possibly finding out whether there was a back door she could escape from through the kitchen.
After the man departed, Stephen smiled at Lanie. "You speak the language beautifully." He posed a question in his own flawless French. At least, it sounded flawless to Cara, whose French classes in college resulted in the only C marring her GPA. And she'd been darn grateful to get that!
Lanie shook her head in response to whatever Stephen had asked. "I spent a summer in France. It's what you call actual world experience versus book learning."
Stephen narrowed his eyes, but the waiter arriving to take their entrée orders postponed the exchange.
Afterward, Stephen launched into a detailed story of a legal battle in which he'd triumphed concluding, "So wouldn't you agree, Lanie, that book leaning can sometimes be very lucrative?" He sipped his water, waiting for her to no doubt concede.
Instead, she blinked, looking disoriented. "Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry, my mind wandered. I'm afraid I was entertaining myself by seeing how many of the positions I could name from the Kama Sutra."
Water shot out Stephen's nose, and he made choked, coughing noises. Cara wondered if she should clap him on the back. Rick's lips twitched as he obviously tried to suppress a laugh at his older brother's expense.
She caught Rick's eye, and they shared a smile that made her toes curl. This was the man she should be dating. Only he hadn't asked, and probably never would.
But that was probably for the best. When Rick was around, her actions grew more unpredictable, her emotions more passionate. Frankly, it alarmed her, tilted her well-ordered world slightly off its axis.
A shrill ringing interrupted her thoughts, and Cara gratefully grabbed her cell phone. "Cara Wilder."
"Ms. Wilder? This is Vera Ashe." The bride-to-be sounded teary as she explained how they'd just returned to the hotel from their wedding rehearsal and found that Big Bob's Barbecue had provided 25 meals, not the necessary 52.
Cara's heart sank. Obviously someone at Bob's had transposed the numbers, but if she'd been paying attention when he'd confirmed everything earlier in the week instead of mooning over Rick… At the rate she was going, they'd have to change the name of the inn to Flood, Fire and Famine.
"I hate to leave," Cara fibbed, "but there's been an emergency with the Hamilton-Ashe rehearsal dinner. I've got to go." She was already dialing her phone to order more food, which she would pay for herself and personally deliver to the hungry guests.
Stephen pushed his chair back, preparing to stand.
"I don't want to ruin your evening," Cara insisted. "You said you had to get back to Columbia tonight, and you haven't even had dinner yet. You should stay."
"But I'm your ride."
"I could take her," Rick interjected quickly. Very quickly.
Conflicting emotions fluttered in her stomach. Being alone with him was both tempting and daunting. The Hamilton-Ashe party needed her, but he was Lanie's date.
As though thinking the same thing, Rick turned to Lanie, "I don't want to be unchivalrous and leave you, but I don't want you to have to miss dinner, either. Stephen, if it's okay with Lanie, could you —"
"It's fine with me," Lanie answered.
At first, Cara thought her friend was just being cooperative in a difficult situation, but then she took a second look at the challenging gleam in Lanie's green eyes. Her friend had something to prove, Cara realized, thinking about the French display and the outrageous Kama Sutra remark.
Not even glancing at his brother, Stephen agreed, "Fine with me, too." Clearly he'd accepted Lanie's unspoken challenge.
Well, isn't that something, Cara thought, intrigued by Lanie and Stephen's absorption with each other. Rick and Cara could've left already, and the other two might not have even noticed.
"You ready?" Rick asked, reminding Cara that she had more pressing concerns than her friend's love-life.
To be alone with him? No. "Absolutely," she replied, telling herself that a little discomfort on her part was necessary to save the Hamilton-Ashe dinner. And stifling her emotions to perform necessary tasks was something Cara had down to an art form.
Exhausted, but satisfied in having done her job, Cara plopped down in a padded chair in the hotel's employee lounge. Rick sat across from her, setting a white paper bag on the table between them.
"What's that?" she asked, having been too busy to notice the bag before.
"Dinner. I know it's not from a five-star place like the restaurant we left, but —"
Her rumbling stomach overrode his words. "Trust me, I'm not picky."
"Well, I grabbed us these at that third barbecue place." He pulled out foil-wrapped sandwiches and small containers of coleslaw.
It had turned out that the fastest way to help the Hamilton-Ashe party was to call in orders to three places en route and make successive pick-ups, rather than waiting around for one already busy restaurant to fill 27 orders during a Friday night dinner hour. Rick had been wonderful about the whole thing. He'd dropped her off at the second place to pay for the food while he'd driven across the street to the third to pick up the order. And apparently buy them dinner as well. She silently blessed him for his thoughtfulness.
"Thanks for all your help tonight," she told him.
He shrugged. "No big deal."
That's what he'd always said about his favors over the years. But to her they were a very big deal.
She dug some change out of her purse and got a couple of cold sodas out of the vending machine, then she and Rick polished off their food in companionable silence. When they were finished, he shot her a mischievous grin and stuck his hand back into the bag.
"It's no fat-free brownie with soy ice cream," he teased, "but…" He presented two individually wrapped slices of pecan pie.
Her mouth watered. "A man after my own heart."
"What if I were?" His smile disappeared, and his gaze locked with hers. "After your heart, I mean."
The heart in question kicked into double-time, but she couldn't find her voice.
"I probably shouldn't say anything," he continued, "but after tonight…seeing you with Stephen. The thought of you with another guy…"
Heat and happiness exploded inside her like fireworks. "I thought you just saw me as a buddy."
"A buddy?" His laugh sounded strangled. "Cara, I want you."
Rick held his breath, uncertain how to proceed, but unable to take his words back. He'd admitted he wanted her. Now it was her move.
Cara leaned across the table, grabbed the tie he'd worn in deference to the restaurant's dress code, and melded her lips to his. Nice move, he thought.
Her passion surprised him, even though he knew from her kiss the other day that she wasn't as reserved as she appeared. Despite outward appearances that she might be a woman who disliked getting her hair mussed during sex, her only reaction to his running his fingers through the silky cascade was a moan of approval as she squirmed to get closer. Not that she could with a table between them.
Between kisses, he gasped, "We…should go. My place?"
She pulled back, blue eyes mischievous, revealing a side he loved about her. Not that he wasn't crazy about her other sides already. "I could get us a room. I know the hotel manager."
He laughed, and she scooped the unopened pecan pies back into the bag and headed for the doorway. He was more than happy to follow. After a quick stop at the front desk, where she signed herself into a room and grabbed a set of keys, they dashed across the lobby. Cara tried not to obviously rush, but he noticed her impatient expression and the spring in her step, despite her limp.
The elevator doors opened with a ding, and they stepped inside, clasping hands and lacing their fingers together.
Unfortunately, there was another couple, an older pair, already in the elevator. Rick seriously doubted Cara wanted to be kissed in front of an audience. But standing so close to her heightened all his senses.
The summery citrus-scented smell of her soap and shampoo made him think of sweet, tangy oranges and the taste of Cara's mouth. Her hand in his reminded him of how soft her skin was and how much of her body he still had left to explore. The little sigh that escaped through her parted lips made him wonder what she'd sound like — Couldn't this stupid elevator go any faster?
Once the elevator stilled, Rick's blood pressure began to normalize. Tightening his hold on Cara's hand, he barreled into the hallway, only to immediately realize he didn't know where to go.
Her smile was both sympathetic and seductive. "This way."
In seconds they were locked inside room 302. Not that they'd actually made it very far into the room, but for the moment, they both seemed content to lean against the door, kissing with mutual abandon. Rick couldn't remember ever feeling this way — the sensation of knowing a woman so well, yet not knowing her. A passion that was all-consuming, yet still allowed for flashes of humor and amusement.
His fingers worked at the buttons that ran down the front of her dress. Any worry that he might be moving too fast was alleviated by the way she'd untucked his shirt and unbuckled his belt.
Having reached the buttons at her waist, he leaned back to study the sensual picture she made. Hair tousled, lips rosy and swollen, wearing a half-unbuttoned dress with the material gaping open to reveal a stunning body. His gaze traced over the curves of her breasts, covered only by a light blue demi-bra, down over her flat stomach and delicate navel to —
"They don't match," Cara suddenly blurted, using one hand to pull the material at her abdomen closed.
"What?"
"I just realized I wore the bra from the blue set and the bottoms from —"
"Honey, I don't care if you mixed plaid and polka dots." Whatever she was wearing, she wouldn't be for long.
But he was touched by her worry over his reaction and by her being mismatched at all. Cool, controlled Cara Wilder gave the impression of always being perfectly coordinated in everything. He thought about his own habits and lifestyle, so different from hers. If she secretly clashed underneath her clothes, it gave him hope that they were more alike than they might seem on the surface.
"Sorry," she muttered. "It's just that I've more or less fantasized about this moment for twelve years and —"
"Twelve years?" As much as it surprised him, her admission humbled him. Cara had wanted him? All this time? "Then we'd better make this good."
Cara couldn't believe what was happening — she was going to make love with Rick Fields. And she'd admitted to him that her feelings hadn't been of the "just friends" variety since they were teenagers!
She should be embarrassed or shy, but all she could think was…yes! Her sexual experience was extremely limited. She didn't like the necessary give and take of sex because she was uncomfortable relinquishing control of her body, her reactions.
But with Rick, everything felt right.
Moving slowly backward, she led him to the center of the room and the king-size bed that dominated it. She stepped out of her shoes and continued to back up until her knees hit the foot of the bed. He kicked off his own shoes, then leaned her down on the comforter.
Together, they worked free of the rest of their clothes, pausing to kiss and caress and smile. Who knew he'd be ticklish in certain spots? Who could have guessed that his rapt gaze over her naked body would make her want to grin, make her want to stretch like a cat in a sunbeam? There was nothing self-conscious in her reaction, no wanting to cover up or hurry this along. Not that she wasn't looking forward to what was ahead, but each moment brought its own satisfaction that promised an even greater, earth-shattering, soul deep satisfaction once he was inside her.
After paying adoring homage to both her breasts, touching her damp center and increasing her already intense desire, he quickly dealt with a condom and entered her. Cara couldn't imagine that any two people had ever fit together more perfectly.
They moved in an erotic sequence of give and take that left her uncharacteristically liberated. Her moans, her expression, the way she shivered when he moved his hips like that… How strangely glorious to just react for once, surrendering to each new impulse and sensation until finally she erupted into delicate spasms. Her body clenched around his, and he joined her, murmuring her name in the sexiest tone she'd ever heard.
Making love with Rick had definitely been worth the wait.
Cara blinked, half-wondering if the hotel room would vanish, proving to be nothing more than the most vivid dream she'd ever had. Nope. The early morning light still spilled through the hotel room window, and she and Rick were still cuddled against each other in the king-size bed.
What a night.
After they'd made love the first time, they'd eaten their temporarily forgotten desserts. Rick had joked that they needed to keep their strength up. She'd never be able to taste the nutty-rich sweetness of pecan pie again without remembering how Rick fed her each delectable bite as they sprawled across the bed, wearing nothing but sheets. Once dessert was finished, they'd indulged in a long, leisurely bath together and made love again before falling into deep, contented slumber.
Certainly not what she'd expected when she'd left her house yesterday evening on a casual date with Rick's brother.
Cara bit her lip, and angled her body away from the warmth of Rick's. No, this hadn't been what she'd expected at all. Hadn't she, just last night, told herself it would probably be best if Rick didn't return her feelings? Their personalities were so different. She didn't do this kind of thing casually, but did he? Did he envision them having a future, and if so, where?
Sure, he'd moved back to Charleston…for now. But his track record was that of a carefree wanderer. After her childhood years moving from base to base, she didn't care to ever take up a nomadic lifestyle again. Even if they stayed in Charleston —
"Morning, gorgeous." Rick's sleepy drawl completed her morning in a way that not even that first cup of coffee could. He sat up in the bed, hugging her. "Last night was amazing. And it meant the world to me, Cara."
His admission spread through her, warm and liquid. He didn't sound like a man who thought they were having a casual fling, she was relieved to note. As he kissed the back of her neck, her doubts and second thoughts fluttered away like dandelion fluff scattered by the wind. But how long would they stay away?
Cara felt silly for making Rick leave the room separately, but she didn't want to be caught sneaking downstairs with an attractive guy, both of them wearing the clothes they'd had on the night before. Although she supposed there were worse scenarios — being caught sneaking downstairs with an unattractive guy…
Before leaving, he'd kissed her breathless and made her promise to come over for dinner. He wanted to cook for her and finalize the details for his parents' party. And maybe, he'd suggested wickedly, do a few other things as well.
After a safe interval, Cara prepared to go downstairs, straightening her dress and smoothing her ponytail. She wanted to look respectable, not like someone who'd spent the night…doing what she'd spent the night doing.
Unfortunately, the first person she encountered in the lobby was Lanie.
"Cara!" The concierge crossed the hardwood floor, her green eyes widening. "So, how did it go with…the Hamilton-Ashe party?"
"Um, great. I think despite my goof-up, their overall satisfaction has been protected."
Lanie raised an eyebrow. "You look pretty satisfied yourself this morning."
"That's b-because I take such pride in my work." Definitely time to change the subject. "What about your evening? How'd it go with Stephen?"
"Wonderful." Adventurous, daring Lanie actually blushed. "He kissed me good-night and asked me to be his date at his parents' party on Friday."
"Really?" Cara had noticed the sparks between her friend and ex-neighbor, of course, but she hadn't expected things to progress so quickly. "When I left the restaurant, you guys looked like you might try to shish kebab each other." Or something.
"He's great once you get past the sharp edges. And you know what they say about opposites attracting."
Yeah. And she had firsthand knowledge of the phenomenon. Unfortunately, she'd also watched her disciplined father and flighty mother and knew that while opposites might attract, they didn't always stay together. Then again, her parents had rediscovered love after eighteen years apart…could she take hope from that?
"Okay." Cara, sitting cross-legged on Rick's living room floor, glanced at her checklist on the spiral notepad. "That just about does it. Music? Check. Catering? Check. Balloons and flowers supplied by Fern's Ferns. And you and Stephen took care of the guest list?"
There hadn't been time to print or mail invitations, but the two brothers had contacted all their parents' friends and family.
Rick nodded. "Nothing for you to worry about." He slid across the floor, away from the sofa he'd been leaning on and close enough to take the yellow pad from Cara's hands. "You deserve a break now."
"I do?"
"Absolutely. You know what they say about all work and no play.…"
"Hey! Are you calling me dull?"
"Um…I think I hear the phone ringing." His grin showed he was only teasing.
"Speaking of work, you haven't said what your plans are." She held her breath, hoping for some assurance that he planned to grow old here in Charleston. "I mean, I know you're a photographer, but…"
"But what?"
"I know you've been busy getting settled, but what exactly are you going to do for a living?"
He shrugged. "This and that. I was doing portraits pretty regularly and there are great places in this town to do sittings. But I take freelance jobs, too. Maybe I can do some stuff for the chamber of commerce, like tourist brochures. It all works out."
"'It all works out'?" she echoed. "That's your career plan?"
He glared. "Look, it's worked for me so far. We don't all have to be like you and Stephen, planning our lives down to what color underwear we have on."
Hurt stung her. So she liked her bras and panties to match — he was going to throw that in her face? "I can't believe you just said that."
"Neither can I." Regret filled his gaze. "I didn't mean it."
"You sure sounded like you did."
"No. You just…I guess living in Stephen's shadow has made me a little touchy about certain things. I'm not like him."
"But I am, aren't I? I actually have more in common with him than you." She stood, forcing herself to acknowledge what she'd subconsciously known. "Eventually, I'd drive you crazy. Or vice versa."
"Cara —"
"I should leave." Leave his house and his life.
The sound of the door closing echoed around him, but Rick still couldn't accept what had just happened. The woman he loved had left him.
He'd had breakups before, but most had been mutual drifting-aparts. Or the relationship had dissolved when he'd moved somewhere new or had been traveling on assignment too long. He'd always accepted these partings with a healthy, philosophical attitude.
Nothing about his current mood was philosophical. He wanted to howl at the moon, crawl into a whisky bottle, punch the wall…go next door and see if he could cry on Shawn's shoulder and get her to make him brownies. The real kind, not those dreadful calorie-free cardboard squares.
Memories flooded him — from Cara's socking him in the stomach the day he'd met her, to last night, when he'd found a peace he'd never imagined while making love to her. Needing to talk to someone, he stood. Cordless phones were great inventions…if you could remember where you'd left them or find them in the packing/unpacking rubble.
I'll bet Cara always puts her phone properly in place, so it's always charged and easy to find.
The thought contained no sarcasm. If anything, he admired her. She was so organized — from her environment to her appearance to her emotions. How had she been able to logically dissect their relationship and calmly walk out, while he sat here feeling like someone had fired a bazooka through his gut?
Was she right? He adored her, but he had so many habits that would annoy her. Was it better to end this now?
Unearthing the phone from a pile of clean clothes on the recliner, he wondered who to call. His guy friends would give the standard "you're better off without her" or "there are other fish in the sea" spiels. Those weren't working this time.
He dialed information and got a number in Florida. Within moments his mom was on the other end.
"How's it going?" she asked. "You haven't burned down my house or anything, have you?"
He laughed. "My house, you mean? Nah, it's in great condition." Or would be by the time she got back, he vowed. Somehow, his preoccupation with Cara this past week had cut into his packing schedule.
"Well, we've been having just the time of our lives down here," she said. "But we'll back as scheduled on Friday."
Good thing, since she and his dad would be guests of honor at the surprise party he'd planned.
"I look forward to seeing you, Mom, but I kind of needed to talk now. If you have a minute."
"For my baby boy? Always."
Nudging aside some clean clothes, he straddled the arm of the recliner and poured out the whole story. Well, not the whole story. This was his mother, after all. More like, he gave her the general idea and included only audience-appropriate specifics.
When he finished, his mother was momentarily silent. "So what are you going to do?"
"What can I do? Isn't there some line about loving someone and letting her go?"
This time, there was no moment of silence. Instead, there was a shocking four-letter word — shocking because he'd never heard his dainty, Southern-belle mother use it.
He actually pulled the receiver away from his ear to gape at it. "Mom!"
"I'm sorry, but sometimes you just frustrate the I-don't-even-know-what out of me. Where did I go wrong with you two? I'm so proud of Stephen. He's bright and successful, always has been. But he can be a real patoot. And you…"
"Have never lived up to Stephen."
"That has nothing to do with it. I'm always telling your ulcer-ridden brother to quit sweating the small stuff. He makes himself, and everyone else, miserable. But you won't even sweat the big stuff. I love you, Ricky; you know that. But sometimes you have to stop being the easygoing good guy and be a little more like your brother — get worked up over something; make a plan! Stop going through life like one of those…what do you call those tumbley plants out in the desert with no direction?"
"Tumbleweeds?"
"Right. Some things are worth fighting for, son.… Is Cara one of them?"
Wow, mothers really were a source of vast wisdom.
"Yeah." The single syllable filled him with resolve. "She's worth it."
Cara knew she should be happy for her friend, but frankly, Cara wasn't sure she was that virtuous a person. Her week had been awful — long, bleak days with no word from Rick — and by Friday she felt like snarling at everyone who crossed her path. Especially Lanie, who'd talked to Stephen on the phone every night this week and was now whistling cheerfully, anticipating being his date this evening.
"What are you wearing to the party?" Lanie wanted to know.
Cara had committed to going with Shawn and Joe. How could she not? She'd known Rick's family for a couple of decades. But she was no more looking forward to it than she'd look forward to having to march through the town square naked. At least naked marching didn't come with the tribulation of figuring out what to wear.
"Not sure yet," she mumbled.
"What do you mean, yet? The party's in a few hours."
"I know that! I've got a calendar right in front of me." She glanced down at the oversize grid on the desk.
She was supposed to be filling in community events, but the numbered squares in front of her seemed meaningless. If she didn't regain her focus, she was doomed to repeat mistakes like that of the Hamilton-Ashe dinner. Of course, parts of that night had been good…blissful, even…
Lanie's voice softened. "You could call him, you know."
"Not a chance." Cara hadn't revealed much, but her friend knew something had gone wrong. The details were no one's business. If Lanie knew more from Stephen, then she kept it to herself.
Not that Rick was likely to have mentioned it. He and his brother had never been that close, and Rick had probably been over the whole thing by Monday morning. She'd never seen him very deeply affected by anything.
Unbidden, a memory surfaced, of his tender, solemn expression. Last night…meant the world to me.
Longing pierced her, but she steadfastly pushed it away. She could manage this. It would just take some self-control and will power, both of which she had. This was a matter of survival. Cara had built a life she loved, a life she was comfortable with, and she wasn't risking her secure, stable world on a man who would no doubt break her heart.
Are you sure it matters anymore? a tiny voice asked. Seems like your heart's already broken.
Not broken. Just…sprained, maybe, like her ankle had been. Given time, her heart would heal.
She just wished it would hurry up, because it was getting harder to remember all the reasons why her decision had been the right one.
Cara sat at her aunt's kitchen table, soothed by the familiar routine of Shawn and Joe preparing to go out. Checking to make sure the iron was off, the stove was off, Joe had his wallet, etc. The predictability of the scene almost calmed Cara's nerves enough to face the night ahead. Almost.
Having conceded by three in the afternoon that she wasn't getting anything done, Cara had left work early, then found herself at a boutique downtown. The proud owner of a little black dress she hadn't budgeted for. But, darn it, if she had to face Rick Fields tonight, she was going to look good.
The doorbell rang, and Shawn called out, "Could you get that, dear?"
Cara dutifully opened the door, then froze. "Mama? Dad?"
Her father engulfed her in a bear hug. "Good to see you, pumpkin! Shawn said we'd be just in time."
Shawn hadn't mentioned that her parents would be back tonight. They'd been gone awhile, but Cara supposed extended vacations were a perk of being retired.
"Just in time?" Cara parroted, glancing from parent to parent, thinking how young they both looked. How happy. "To come to the party?"
"No." Her mother stepped forward for a perfume-scented hug. "To save you from yourself, darling."
Squished between her mom and dad on a love seat in Shawn's living room, Cara debated courses of action. She could legitimately argue that they were late for the party, but did she really want to hurry to the hotel so that she could see the man she was avoiding? Her second option was to stay here, safely away from Rick, and listen to relationship advice from people who'd already been divorced once and had a habit of rushing willy-nilly to the altar.
As her mom extolled the virtues of seizing the day, of Cara marching into that party and declaring her feelings, Cara did a mental eye roll. She'd seized plenty last weekend, and look how well that had turned out.
"Mama, I'm glad you and Dad found each other again, and I appreciate your concern. But I'm not like you."
Cara's father cleared his throat. "No. I'm afraid you're like your idiot old man."
"What?" She turned to look at him. She'd always held her dad in high regard. "Dad, I look up to you. You always taught values and discipline that help overcome life's uncertainties."
Her parents exchanged glances, and she squirmed, suddenly feeling as if she were a kid again.
Her dad's voice was gentle, but firm. "I'm not sure you overcome them so much as try to hide from them, pumpkin. I don't care how well-ordered you are, you can't stop life from happening. It has to be dealt with."
She bristled. "I deal with it!"
But did she? She recalled the surprises of last week and her nauseous anxiety over each and every one of them.
As she pondered this, her father added, "You know why your mom and I didn't last the first time? Me. I couldn't be flexible enough to compromise, even for someone I loved. Took me eighteen years to learn how to bend enough to win her back. Don't let that happen to you, Cara."
Cara rushed into the hotel ballroom, the noise of guests chatting and big band music floating through the speakers just a blurred buzzing to her. All she cared about was finding —
"Cara!" Strong masculine arms encircled her waist, and the beloved scent of sandalwood drifted over her.
Okay, first problem solved.
She spun around. "Rick. I need to talk to you."
He had taken her hand and was already leading her toward the balcony off the ballroom. "Fine. But I get to go first."
They sat on a wrought iron bench outside. Tenderness welled in her as she watched the evening breeze rustle his hair. She wanted to run her fingers through that hair, kiss him, but she had to earn back that right first.
"Cara, I've thought a lot about what you said at my house, and I understand why you said it. But here's the thing. I love you. And you love me, too — don't deny it!"
He loved her! She swallowed. "I don't…deny it, I mean. I mean, I do. Love you."
Surprisingly, he frowned. "That's it? I had this whole presentation planned out."
"Presentation?"
"Sort of. I've been working on it all week, which is why I didn't want to call you yet. Stephen helped me with this five-year life plan, my earnings potential and career goals and —"
She pressed her hand to his mouth. "The only life plan of yours that I'm worried about is whether or not you see me in it."
"Weawwy?" When she removed her hand, he repeated, "Really? You don't think I'm undependable?"
"I've been thinking about that," she told him. "You might organize your life differently than I do, but you've always been someone I could depend on. You were there when I needed a date to the sophomore dance, when I needed to deliver barbecue to hotel guests and dozens of times when I needed someone to talk to. You don't have to change for me. If anything, I should —"
"You hold it right there. I'm crazy about you the way you are, and I'm not sure how I'd feel about a bunch of changes. Although there is one… How do you feel about 'Cara Fields'? Or you could hyphenate —"
Their kiss was long and perfect. But when they finally paused, Cara grinned at him. "I know this great hotel where we can have the wedding reception."
The End