She giggled. “Just the bedroom ceiling?”
“And me. I could give my notice. We might just have enough time on the island to let Jenny and Jake do that documentary.”
She pushed back from him. “Lyle, I don’t think I was right to try to get you off the lighthouse. I don’t want to pressure you, and—”
“I’ve been working towards it for the last couple of years, honey. I’ve been putting all my extra money into a helicopter company on Vancouver Island. It’s a small company, but I’ve got enough in it now that I could leave and we could move down there. The fellow I’d be partners with is a single man. He’d take the overnight jobs and I could stay close to home. It’s not far from my parents’ place. You’d like them, and they’d love you. We could find a small place in the country, room to let the kids run. We—”
“Lyle?”
He fell silent, although his hands couldn’t stop their gentle caresses, drawing her closer as they spread on her back.
“Kiss me?” she asked huskily.
He laughed, but he was already moving closer. “There’s a very interested young girl watching from the other side of the room,” he warned her.
She glanced back and saw Robyn’s new friend Marg’ret watching them with an eager smile.
She turned back and slipped her arms around Lyle’s neck. She whispered, “All I asked for is a kiss. The rest is for later. When we’re alone.”
He kissed her.
Then he took her away, where they could be alone.
Turn the page for
Information about the author,
and a sample of Vanessa Grant’s
After All This Time
About the Author
Vanessa Grant
Vanessa Grant’s love affair with writing fiction began during a protracted illness at the age of twelve when she decided to write a novel of her own, sitting up in bed and using the typewriter she’d been given for her birthday. Not a computer, not an electric typewriter, but a then state-of-the-art manual typewriter. The story ground to a halt on page 50 but Vanessa never forgot the excitement of bringing her own characters to life. In her twenties, she wrote three unpublished novels, developing her skills as a writer while living in a remote lighthouse, during what she thinks of as her baby-making, basket-weaving, beach-walking days.
She now has over ten million books sold and has been translated into fifteen languages. She has also written what one critic has described as, “by far the best writing book I’ve ever read.” Writing Romance, published by Self Counsel Press, won the Under the Covers Best Writing Book award, and is currently in its third edition.
Vanessa lives with her husband and their two Australian shepherds on an island in the Pacific Northwest. Connect with Vanessa online through her website at www.vanessagrant.com
AFTER ALL THIS TIME … by Vanessa Grant
Carrie Brooke fell in love with her employer, Charles Kantos, the first time she saw him, but she’d always been careful not to let it show. Now she’d ruined it all, and when she woke up in bed with him the morning after his best friend’s wedding, she knew there was only one thing to do – run.
But Carrie was Kantos Holdings’s best acquisitions specialist and Charles wasn’t letting her quit.
Turn the page to read the first chapter of AFTER ALL THIS TIME
AFTER ALL THIS TIME
Chapter One
All around Carrie the mood was soft, the room drifting. Through wispy dream clouds, her lover's song drew her, melody surging and echoing. Deep inside, his voice pulsed, trembling with desire.
Music for lovers. Dancing for lovers. Breathless. Intimate
She sighed softly and turned… reaching… seeking warmth against soft sleepy flesh… clinging… images… submerging in the dream
Music. The dance. Arms around her.
Charles… holding her close, moving with the dance. Charles… anger… something driven in his eyes… confusion and… Charles… away… everything gone… floating on sensation and loving.
His lips… his mouth… drowning… falling… down and down and his arms, his kiss, the dizzy pulsing… sensation and need and throbbing emotion… her own throat, her voice crying out and he was touching her, loving her … holding… taking… taking him into herself forever
The cry… echoing on heavy night air… sinking, losing all… floating… his arm heavy and warm over her hip… music… fading… silence and intimacy and the world a warm absence
The music had stopped. Even its echo was gone, as if it had never been. No love song rose softly. No words pulsed on the night air
Carrie lay very still. Around her, silently, the night shattered.
Panic spun through her darkness. Silence here, but in the dream
Soft, slow breath against her shoulder. And sensations. An echo of the dream, that warm heaviness on her hip. Deep inside her own sleep-drugged body, she felt the slow shadow of heat from the place she had been.
A man. Breathing. Holding her close
What had she done?
The wedding. The rest had to be a dream, but the wedding her mind gripped desperately for the certainty of concrete memory. Yes. The church. Alex and Sarah, warmly wrapped with happiness. Carrie had watched them with unwilling envy in her heart.
Charles, too, had watched. Then later, at the reception… watching… dancing with No, not with Charles. Charles never danced.
Charles' arms, hands soft and shattering, moving and caressing and possessing. Charles' voice in her ears, his body tangled so closely with hers that It had to be a dream! Of course it was a dream! She would never be so stupid!
She reached desperately for the reassuring image of the person she had learned to be. Carrie Brooke. Sophisticated. Practical. Short, dark hair carefully groomed. Deep brown, intelligent eyes. Clothing designed to project an image of competence and efficiency. Not the kind of woman to make stupid mistakes. As Charles himself had said many times, she was one hell of a smart lady
She opened her eyes. Her own bedroom. Her bed, faint light flowing in from the windows. Slowly, she turned her head towards the warmth.
His face was smooth in sleep. He looked younger without the mask of control that was always there when he was awake. She had never seen him asleep before, blonde hair tousled over his forehead, those penetrating blue eyes hidden by the vulnerability of closed eyelids. There was no tension in him now, only soft intimacy as his body moved against hers to the rhythm of his breathing
Charles. In her bed!
Every detail of her heated sleep was real. His touch, his heated possession, her own voice husky on the breathless night. She closed her eyes tightly, tore them open again. Was he awake? Would he open his eyes and look at her with the blue gone cold and hard? She had seen that look in his eyes before, when he looked at women who demanded too much. It was the same look she had seen one other time, when a very powerful man had tried unsuccessfully to destroy Charles
Inside Carrie, memories flamed.
She had made a very serious mistake. Five years at Charles' side, but the thing she had allowed to happen
When he did wake up, she would have to say some words, but there were no words in her, only panic
Well, Charles, I guess last night was just one of those things. Here's a cup of coffee and here's your clothes. I'll see you at the office Monday morning, and why don't we just forget it happened?
She shuddered, then froze. On her hip, his hand had moved! He was murmuring something against her shoulder, his lips pressed to her softness. She was afraid to move, terrified even to close her eyes. She endured a breathless interval of panic until, slowly, his body drained of consciousness.
None of this was real! It was not possible! Dreams could be vivid, stronger sometimes than reality. Hadn't Charles haunted her sleep for five years? This was nothing new, waking with the feel of him sharp on her consciousness. Ever since that first day, that shocking impact as he walked into the room, that unbelievable sensation of recogn
ition deep inside herself.
All right! So he had a place in her dreams, but not here, lying close against her, holding her while he slept. It was one thing to fantasize Charles as her lover; but complete, raving insanity to let the yearning turn to reality! She had known the risks from that first meeting; had been scrupulously careful to keep her dreams firmly at home. With time, it had became second nature to be cool and impersonal with him. Friendly. Understanding. Efficient
Not, for heavens' sake, emotional! Emotions were the last thing Charles wanted, and she dedicated her life to being what he wanted. Intimacy intimacy was out of the question
But intimacy had raged between them only hours ago. Under the warmth of the down quilt that covered them, Carrie was naked. Charles must be undressed, too, because
Oh, God! Carrie's face flamed with uncomfortable memories. Not a dream, not this time. Any minute now, he would open his eyes and somehow she would have to face him. It might be the darkest hour of the night, but it was impossible to imagine Charles lying trapped in the soft oblivion of sleep for much longer.
She had to get out of here! When he woke, he would remember last night clearly. Carrie shuddered, knowing she could not possibly lay here beside him and watch the emotions chasing across his face. Even fully dressed, with a room between them
Not now, not so soon after the crazy, uninhibited creature from her dreams had walked wantonly into real life
She turned to stare at him. Night time, but city lights from outside showed the outline of his sleeping face. Beyond the bed, she could see the shadow on the carpet that might be her own clothing. She trembled and the memory was covered with a haze of sensation, her clothes falling away at his touch. She remembered other things vividly… drowning in sensation, clinging to his shoulders as he carried her into this room. Staring up, her eyes so wide she could not blink, his face harsh as his eyes blazed down and then she was sinking, going under, and there was no light except her skin seeing, knowing him, burning for him
He would remember it all when he woke. Carrie, her heart and her dreams exposed. Everything, and when his eyes opened, she would see knowledge in them, awareness that she could never erase now
She held her breath as she slid out from under the weight of his arm. His breathing shifted. She held herself motionless, the quilt around her hips. Movement. Then nothing. She stared blindly at the window, afraid to turn and see his eyes
Only that soft, slow breathing. She slipped out of the bed, her nerves crawling, waiting for a sound, a word. Her name, on his lips
He was asleep.
She dressed hurriedly. Pantyhose and bra, the suit from yesterday. Shoes? She remembered, shuddering, and went swiftly out to the hall. Two high heeled pumps, lying where they had fallen. She had been in his arms, her lips buried against the heated flesh of his neck as he lifted her. She had moved in his arms and kicked the pumps off, the wild surge of abandon throbbing deep inside her body
She picked them up now, her throat clenched against the memory. Her purse yes, here, on the kitchen counter. She had dropped it there when they came into her apartment last night. Then that strange conversation in the living room… the tension, and his questions. Then she had said, "Coffee?" and suddenly the insanity had grown between them, flaring abruptly, so much worse than the original madness of inviting him up here into her apartment
She paused at the front door, caught by uncertainty. What if he was awake now? She should go back, try to No. Impossible to face him after this. She closed her eyes, senses stretched. No, nothing. Only silence behind her. She pulled down her coat, winced at the sound of the hangar pulling free, swinging on the rod
Get out, now, before it's too late!
She held her breath until the apartment door closed behind her. She was almost safe now. Only a few more steps, then the wait for the elevator. Once its automatic doors closed, sealing her inside, there would be no chance of Charles' opening her apartment door and trapping her in a nightmare.
Five steps down the corridor, she pushed the button that would summon the elevator to the tenth floor. Then she stood rigid, staring at lighted numbers as the elevator climbed. She had her shoes in one hand, purse in the other, her coat slung over her arm.
She had never never in her life done anything so insane!
She could hear the elevator, a muted whir that she hoped would not penetrate Charles sleep. He must be exhausted, after that flight from overseas, and the wedding, especially after
Every nerve in her body was alert for the sound of her apartment door opening, the sight of a tall, blonde man coming after her. "Please," she whispered. "Let him sleep a little longer." Just a couple of minutes, to let her get out of here!
Abruptly, the elevator doors slid open.
Carrie hurried inside and pushed hard on the button for the underground parking level. Nothing happened. The elevator hung on the tenth floor, motionless, doors open for anyone who might come along. For Charles. She jabbed frantically at the close button. Even then, for a second, nothing happened.
Please! Close quickly before he comes!
The doors slid shut. Carrie sagged back against the mirrored wall of the elevator. What next? The garage. Her car. Where on earth was she going? It did not matter. Anywhere. Just away! And quickly
When the elevator opened on the parking garage, she stepped out onto cold concrete and realized that the only covering on her feet was her pantyhose. Hurriedly, she slipped on shoes and coat, then dug in her purse for car keys
They were not in the little compartment where they should be. What if she had left them back in her apartment? She could not go back! She would go up to the entrance level and have the doorman call her a taxi. She rummaged wildly in another section of her purse, among lipstick and nail polish, while Charles' amused voice echoed in her mind. Just a week ago. Charles, standing beside her in the early morning while she fumbled for the keys to Kantos Holdings
"Carrie, for an impeccably organized person, you've got the damndest habit of putting those keys in a different spot every time."
Forget Charles! After tonight, there was no way he could be part of her life again. She pushed back the pain of loss. No time for that, far too late. She could feel tension crawling across her back, as if he were there behind her, not just the ghost of his voice. Her fingers closed on the metal key ring and she let out a gasp of relief. With trembling hands, she opened the lock of her car door
She slid in and started the engine. Good. Now, drive. Just drive and keep going. She stared at her fingers, clenched hard on the steering wheel
Where?
Where was she going?
Anywhere
No, she couldn't just run, could not disappear without a word. If she did, Charles would worry. If he worried, he would feel responsible. Then, somehow, he would find her, no matter how far she ran. She shuddered at the thought of the conversation they might have when he found her. Because now, he would know everything. After last night, Carrie Brooke was exposed, vulnerable. Running was cowardly, but it made more sense than standing around waiting for the consequences of last night.
Carrie drove out of the underground parking lot, half-expecting daylight outside. She turned onto Burrard Street as she did every morning, but it was not morning. The streets were spooky, dark sky overhead, lighted pavement empty in the brilliance of artificial lighting. At what point in her instinctive flight from the sleeping man in her bed had she decided? When had flight dissolved into the knowledge that there could be no going back? Carrie drove automatically, across the bridge and into the heart of the city. She stopped for the red lights although there was no other car in sight. At one red light, she closed her eyes, waiting for the green. Law abiding, playing by the rules. She had always kept herself safe, until last night. What madness had betrayed her, making her throw everything over in one crazy impulse?
Nausea welled up at the image of Charles coming after her, finding her. Impossible to face him now that he knew how desperately she ached
for his touch, his love
The light turned green. Carrie pressed down on the throttle.
When she came to the tall building in the financial district, she pulled into the drive and pushed the driver's door open. She handed her keys to a startled parking valet
He touched his cap as if he thought it was disarranged. "Miss Brooke? Working overtime? So late?"
"Yes," she agreed tonelessly. "A few things I have to clear up."
In the elevator, she glanced at her watch. Four-thirty in the morning. No wonder the valet had been startled to see her! Or had he been surprised at the way she was dressed? She was wearing yesterday's clothes, the rose-coloured silk suit she had worn to the wedding. That elegant suit had been the first thing she reached for when she dressed in the dark, listening to Charles breathing as she stumbled into clothes.
Inappropriate for running, for travelling. She would buy something else, leave the softly elegant suit in a hotel room somewhere. She could never wear it again now. Carrie bit her lip and made herself focus on the lighted indicator over the doors. How far would she have to go to keep Charles from finding her? He would come after her if he could, would try to cancel last night. She stared at the flickering light that marked her progress up the floors, trying to drown the certainty that Charles would wake soon, regretting.
Seventh floor. Tenth. Fourteenth, because there was no thirteen.
The elevator stopped at sixteen. Carrie stepped out quickly, uneasily aware that she spent her life on the up side of elevators. She lived on the tenth floor of one building, worked on the sixteenth of another. The worst part of it was, Charles was the owner of both buildings. He surrounded her life.
Admit it, she thought grimly as she unlocked the door to Kantos Holdings. Charles Kantos was her life. Or he had been, until now
Island Hearts (Jenny's Turn and Stray Lady) Page 35
