Angela's Affair (Pacific Waterfront Romances, #13)

by Vanessa Grant

  She slipped the second omelet out of the pan and sat down across from him. “I know a woman who would be good. She’s a very meticulous seamstress, and she could do the Sailing Rags from the patterns I’ve made, but it’s not that simple. I’d need more equipment—at the very least, another commercial sewing machine like the Conserve I’ve got downstairs.” She frowned. “And another surger. A separate cutting table, because I’d have to have a place where she could cut when I’m working on a sail-cover or a dodger.” She shrugged. “It gets complicated. Expensive.”

  “If you’ve got the market, the investment should pay.”

  She covered a piece of toast with marmalade and admitted, “I don’t have the money.”

  He frowned. “Why don’t I send one of my accountants down to go over it with you, and we can work something out?”

  “Work something out?” She shoved a piece of omelet around to the back of her plate. “Are you talking about loaning me money? I thought real estate was your territory.”

  “And investments. I think you’d be a good investment.” He picked up his cup, his eyes suddenly as business-like as his voice.

  “Me? Or Sailing Rags?” She did not want him to answer that, so added hurriedly, “I don’t want to borrow money. It may take longer the way I’m doing it, but I’ll get there without owing anyone a cent.”

  He shrugged. “The offer’s open if you change your mind.”

  She wondered what was going to happen. Dinner tonight, and heaven knew where that would lead. No, she knew exactly where it was going. They would have an affair, and afterwards would be misery. Afterward...she might go away for a while. Get that seamstress in to take her place and go somewhere for the holiday Harvey kept saying she needed.

  “What are your plans for this morning, Angela?”

  She looked up from her plate. He was watching her, his eyes on the mess she was making of her omelet.

  “Are you going out somewhere? Running away again?”

  She sighed. “Running away from you hasn’t done me much good so far.”

  He smiled. “Are you going to work? At the shop?”

  “No. I’ve got the seamstress I told you about in to look after the store today. Barney’s taking the day off, taking Sally and the kids to Seattle for some shopping, so I thought I’d have a rest, too. It’s been a busy week.”

  “Spend the day with me.” He was not smiling.

  She mutilated what was left of the omelet.

  “Angela?”

  “I—Charlotte wants to talk to you this morning. I’m going to be out in the garage—the junk room upstairs in the old carriage house. I’m cleaning it out.”

  He shook his head, his eyes holding hers. “My sister can talk to me any time. I’ll help you with the—”

  “It’s filthy—you’d hate it. Besides, you’ve got to give Charlotte time to—she’s got something to tell you.” She picked up her fork, dangling a piece of omelet. “It’s hard for her, Kent, so try to be understanding.”

  He dropped his knife onto his plate. “So there is a motive behind this weekend invitation.” He looked grim. “What does she want?”

  “She doesn’t want anything.” Angela pushed her plate away abruptly. “She—she’s kind of scared of you, and she wants to...to tell you about something, and it’s hard for her.”

  He leaned forward and took the fork out of her hand. “Do you know what it is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think she has reason to be afraid?”

  She touched his hand. “You can be a very understanding man when you want to be.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t you know I’m the original cold-hearted bastard. I have it on the authority of at least two of the women in my life. You and Charlotte.”

  Was she really one of the women in his life? Her lips parted, then she pressed them closed. “Kent, if I said that to you, I—I have a hot temper. You shouldn’t listen.” She flushed. The women in his life. She took the fork away from him, picked up her plate and headed for the sink with it, throwing back, “Then why don’t you show us both that we’re wrong? Starting with Charlotte this morning.”

  “Are you so sure you’re wrong?”

  She started the water running in the sink. She could feel him close behind her, could even smell the faintly soapy scent from his shower. She had lain in her bed earlier, listening to the sound of the shower, caught in a disturbing fantasy of Kent with the water streaming over his naked body.

  “Yes, I’m sure I was wrong.” The coolness, the indifference he sometimes feigned was just a mask. He was a passionate man. It was the very intensity she sensed in him that frightened her when she thought of letting herself get caught up in him. When she turned back to him, he had a faintly bemused expression in his eyes. She said quietly, “And you do have Charlotte’s eyes.”

  “You’ve got a good imagination. Are you still coming out to dinner with me tonight?”

  “Yes.” She was not going to fight what she felt for him any longer.

  He caught her chin with one hand and she stared at him with eyes wide as his lips came to hers. He brushed his mouth softly on hers, taking her upper lip in a soft, sensual exploration. She could hear her own breathing when he lifted his head. Somewhere in that shattering exploration her eyes had closed. She dragged them open to find him watching her, his own eyes hiding nothing of what he wanted.

  She stepped back, came against the counter. “I think you’re probably the most dangerous thing I’ve run across in years.” Ever.

  He did not stop her when she went out to the garage.

  She turned the light on in the room that had probably been quarters for the carriage driver in Victorian times. It was a mess in here, boxes stacked up without any labels to tell her what was inside. She wasn’t sure when she had decided to attack it, or why, but three days ago she had asked Harvey if she could clear this room out and turn it into an apartment for herself.

  “Angie, you don’t have to move out,” he had protested. “There’s lots of room in this house.”

  She had hugged him quickly, reassuring him. “I know that, Dad. But why shouldn’t you and Charlotte have some privacy? And I’ve been thinking about a place of my own.”

  She didn’t tell him that her thoughts had been about Kent coming, and if Charlotte had her way he would come again and again, visiting. If she wanted to avoid Kent, it might make sense for her to find her own place—that’s what she had been thinking on Friday. But then he had asked her to dinner, and she had undone all her good resolutions by accepting. When had she decided that she was going to go out with him? The decision seemed to have been made for her in some part of her subconscious.

  She pulled out a box, wondering if she had any control at all over her thoughts and her actions. Maybe this cleanup business was a plan of her subconscious, to give herself living quarters where it would not be noticed if Kent came to her in the night.

  Her heart raced, her thoughts too graphic for comfort as she yanked open a box and found it filled with children’s toys. These must have been Barney and Ben’s when they were small. Building blocks. Part of a train set. Harvey would probably want them to go to his grandchildren, Jake and the baby Wendy. The next box was toys, too, and she started a pile along an empty bit of wall for Barney and Sally. Then clothes. She hadn’t realized Anna was so sentimental, but she seemed to have kept every article of clothing her children ever wore. These baby clothes might be good for Wendy. The other things—styles had changed so much since Anna’s children were small that Angela doubted much of this would be any use. She didn’t think Harvey was going to keep much of it, but maybe Barney would want it. Not likely though, Barney really wasn’t the sentimental type.

  She heard footsteps on the stairs, knew it was Kent. He moved more quickly than Harvey, with more purpose, and his step was heavier than Charlotte’s. Angela sat cross-legged on the floor, waiting. He stopped in the doorway, looking around, taking it in. Then he pushed one hand into his
slacks pocket, a sign that he was disturbed.

  “What’s all this?” His voice was ironic, the same cold tones he had used the first time she saw him. He had his mask on.

  Angela waved at the box in front of her crossed legs. “I’m clearing up, deciding what to throw and what to keep.”

  “What is it?” He sounded as if he had never seen a junk room before. “Looks like the inside of one of those thrift shops.”

  “That’s where a lot of this will go. These are things Anna stowed away over the years.”

  “Doesn’t Harvey want to...”

  “He doesn’t want to be bothered with it. I thought I’d clear this out, make a place for myself here.” He was looking at her oddly and she flushed, remembering her own thoughts about her possible motives. “Charlotte and Harvey,” she added quickly. “They don’t need a daughter-in-law hanging around.”

  He looked through the window that faced the house. “Come out with me, Angela.”

  “I told you I would.” She frowned, seeing the tension in his face. “Dinner tonight, remember?”

  “I mean now.” He crossed the littered floor quickly and caught her wrist. “Come on.”

  “Where?” Her wrist was burning where he touched, but for once his touch was almost rough, not seductive or gentle.

  “Out. For a drive.” He shook his head, obviously rattled. “I don’t know—somewhere. Just come, for heaven’s sake! I—damn it, I have to get out of here! If I storm out alone, Charlotte’s going to think I’m upset.”

  She came to her feet too quickly, her hands pressing against his chest. “Charlotte told you?”

  “Yeah. Come on, will you? I need you.”

  He did not mean that, not the way it sounded. She looked at his face and decided. “All right. Will you let me drive that car of yours?”

  “What the hell. Why not?” He laughed shortly.

  She moved away from him suddenly. “No, Kent, you can’t leave. Not now. Of course you’re upset. Why shouldn’t you be.”

  “You know all about this?” He was using that cold voice, but it didn’t fool her.

  “Yes. She told me before I ever met you, and if you go out now, she’ll think you’re rejecting her.”

  “Rejecting her?” He swung around, but the floor was so cluttered there was nowhere to pace. “She’s the one who rejected me.”

  Angela moved to him, touched his chest again. “That’s a pretty harsh judgment of a fifteen year old girl. Did you tell her that?” Poor Charlotte, scared stiff, and Kent shutting his feelings inside with that harsh look on his face.

  “No, of course I didn’t.” She felt his chest expand with tension. “I was trying to take it in, and you’ve no idea how difficult it is. Charlotte’s such a scattered, irresponsible person. I’ve always felt older. How the hell can she be my mother?”

  She put her hands on his arms, stilling his restless movements. “Try to understand her. I know it’s a shock, but despite—she’s always hated the deception. Your mother—grandmother, I mean—would never let her tell you, and for Charlotte, I think it was always easier to run away than face up to unpleasantness.”

  “Yeah.” He closed his eyes. He looked tired.

  “Are you angry?”

  He sighed and grimaced wryly. “How the hell can anyone stay angry at her?”

  Angela smiled. “She’s a charmer, isn’t she.” So was her son, but Kent had all the strengths his mother was lacking. “Did she tell you how it happened, who your father was?”

  “Just that it was someone she was dating.”

  She could feel the muscles of his upper arms hard under her hands. She thought he should know, said quietly, “She was in love, young and...well, she was very young. Her parents didn’t like the boy much. She used to say she was going to a girlfriend’s. Just fifteen, and she didn’t know anything about protecting herself. Afterward—well, when she found out she was pregnant, by then they’d broken up and he was taking out another girl.”

  He cursed, then said grimly, “What did she do?”

  “She was afraid to tell anyone.”

  “I don’t wonder.” He closed his eyes tightly. “My parents—my grandparents, that is—not understanding people.” He moved away, pacing through the litter to the window, then back. “And Charlotte—well, she would have put off telling she was pregnant as long as she could. When she did—Poor Charlotte. My Moth—my grandmother would have torn her up. That’s one lady who has no room for human failing.”

  Angela relaxed a little, feeling the tension leaving Kent. “Why don’t you give me a hand with this mess?”

  He peered into the box she had just opened. “I can think of things I’d rather do.”

  “It’s therapeutic.”

  He laughed and picked out a book from the box. “This one sounds like a real thriller. What are we sorting them into? Knowing you, this apparent chaos will have some sort of order.”

  “That pile over there is for the thrift store. That one’s for Barney. The other two are Harvey—and thrift store.”

  “Do either Harvey or Barney like thrillers?”

  “No. Sailing books for Harvey, though.”

  He dropped the book into the thrift store pile. He went through six or seven more books, asking her about most of them, then he said quietly, “Harvey’s son was your husband. Some of this was his, I’d imagine.”

  Ben. He might as well be a stranger who had died. She sighed. “Put that one in Barney’s pile. He’s a Sherlock Holmes fan. Those cowboy ones you can turf in the thrift store pile. Nobody in the family reads them.”

  “Were they your husband’s?”

  “Ben would have liked to have been born back when gunslingers roamed from town to town, having adventures and riding off into the sunset.”

  Kent turned back from putting three cowboy books on the thrift store pile. She shrugged away the curiosity in his eyes. “My husband was good at riding off into the sunset. He didn’t like responsibilities. That one—the next in that pile—is an old cookbook. Put it aside for Charlotte. She might want to try out some of the recipes.”

  He put it where she indicated, then worked his way through several more cowboy adventures. “I was surprised to see that Charlotte can cook. I’ve never seen her in a kitchen.”

  “She took a course in Paris once.”

  “You know more about her than her own family does. Do people just naturally confide in you, Angela?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, particularly. Jake asks you intimate questions about where babies come from, customers come in and share their problems, and Charlotte tells you her life’s secrets while I...”

  She smiled. “You don’t tell me a lot.”

  “More than I tell anyone else.” He shrugged and hurriedly picked up a handful of books. “What do you do with elementary readers?”

  “Thrift store. Sally’s not going to want that lot. They’d fall apart if Jake touched them.”

  They worked together in silence for what seemed a long time. It was a comfortable silence. Angela looked up once and saw that Kent’s immaculate shirt was covered with smears of dust. She hid a smile and bent to the box.

  From downstairs came Charlotte’s voice. “Angie? Are you up there?”

  “Yes!” she called back. “I’ve roped Kent in, and we’re sorting our way through utter chaos.”

  “Oh! I—” Silence, then, “Do you two want something to drink?”

  Angela looked at Kent pointedly. He must have understood what she wanted him to do, because he called down, “Something long and cold with ice would be lovely!”

  “I’ll get it.” Charlotte’s voice sounded lighter now.

  Kent pulled another box over and started opening it. “What are you smirking about?”

  She wanted to go into his arms, to hug him close. Instead, she stared at his hands and said unsteadily, “That you’re a failure as a cold-hearted bastard.”

  “Hmm.” His lips twitche
d. “Is that why you’re going out with me tonight?”

  “Maybe.”

  “A non-committal answer? That’s not like you, Angela. Blunt and to the point is more like it. That’s one of the things that fascinates me about you.”

  Fascinates? She dropped her eyes, confused. “If this is all decorations, let’s pack it back up and put it in Barney’s pile.” She pulled a tangled mess of Christmas tree lights out of the new box. “Harvey’s got all the decorations he needs in the basement.”

  They dug through the box, took out two regular light bulbs and an extension cord, then re-packed it. Then Kent sucked in a deep breath and said, “I think I’d better go down and talk to her.”

  She nodded, but before he got up he leaned across and slid his fingers into her hair. “Did you know you’ve got a big dust smear right here?” He kissed the tip of her nose. She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. She knew she was smiling, could not seem to stop her response to him. “Shall I start listing your dusty spots?”

  “No, just give me a kiss, for luck.”

  “You’ll do fine. Just remember that she’s scared, too, and it’ll be okay.”

  His nervousness showed in his eyes. “Maybe, but this isn’t the kind of talking I’m accustomed to, so give me the kiss anyway. I need it.”

  She kissed him quickly on the lips.

  “You can do better than that.” His voice was husky.

  Her heart was trying to smash its way through her rib cage. “Not this time,” she whispered.

  “Maybe not,” he agreed, his eyes crinkling although his lips were not smiling. “A real kiss from you is more intimate than making love to other women. I might not make it down the stairs.”

  He turned and left her without waiting for an answer. A good thing, because her heart was thundering and she might have said something really crazy. She heard him whistling tunelessly as he ran down the stairs. She stared at her dusty hands. It was worse than she had imagined. The sexual attraction was shattering enough, way out of her experience, but she was starting to like him. Too much. Her crazy mind was whispering about loving, but no matter how nice he turned out to be under that mask he tried to wear, he was not a man for forever. She had to remember that. She was deranged if she thought she could have an affair with him and walk away whole. He wasn’t Charles or Saul, and it was all too easy to see herself begging him to love her, to take her forever.