He did it very slowly, very carefully. Then he slid the tiny backing piece onto the post and she did not move when he pushed it a little too tight, not wanting to tell him that he had hurt her. She remembered what she had thought the first time she saw him, that he was unfeeling about Charlotte, unsympathetic. But he was touching her so gently, his face intent and his fingers almost trembling against her neck and her ear.
“There,” he said when the second earring was secure.
“Do you like them on me?”
He touched her neck with his lips, a soft caress to the white flesh where the little golden bird brushed as she moved her head. “You make them quite beautiful, Angela.”
She whispered, “Thank you,” thinking that she would probably wear them forever.
“How about an ice cream?”
She had put her hand on the side of his neck, had turned her face as he moved his lips from her neck. She wanted him to kiss her on the lips, needed his touch on her. She said softly, “We’re waiting for the ferry.”
“Yeah.” He swallowed and her fingers moved to the place where his Adam’s apple had jerked. “It won’t be here for twenty minutes or so, and...”
She leaned forward to kiss him and he jerked back.
“Lady, if you don’t want your reputation in this town totally destroyed, you’d better get out of this car.”
Her lips parted.
He said, “If you kiss me, I’m not going to be responsible for what happens next.”
She felt excitement crawling through her chest. Her fingers came to rest on his lips. “In broad daylight in the ferry line-up?”
He covered her fingers with his hand and pulled them away from his face. “If you’re counting on my inhibitions to keep you safe, you’re on pretty dangerous ground.” He did not smile at all.
Barney was wrong, she thought with a dizzy certainly. It was more than an affair. She wasn’t the only one who was stumbling around in the clouds.
They left the car parked in the ferry line-up and went for ice cream cones. Outside the confines of the car they managed to talk more easily. She told him about the new order for Sailing Rags. He told her about the waterfront property he had bid on this last week, still upset with himself for losing out to an opposing buyer.
“If I’d bid ten thousand dollars more,” he said, licking a dribble of chocolate ice cream that was trickling down the side of his cone. “It was a sealed bid, and I guessed it wrong.”
She licked her cone and asked, “Can’t you buy it off the fellow who did get the bid?”
He shook his head. “I could, if I wanted it that badly. I wanted that property, but not at that price. It wasn’t worth that much to me.”
She wondered how much she was worth to him, and knew that she must never ask. The ferry came and Kent drove them onto the car deck. He caught her hand as they were going up the stairs to the upper deck on the ferry, and she was finally able to throw caution to the winds. As she had told Barney, it was far too late for her to start trying to keep safe now.
They went out on deck on the ferry, the wind in their faces and the seagulls flying along behind the boat. Kent bent to kiss the place where the tiny golden seagulls brushed her neck and she shivered and whispered, “That old woman beside the rails. She’s staring at us.”
He took both her hands in his. “I don’t think it’s going to make any difference who disapproves, Angela. Your relatives or my relatives, total strangers. I’m taking you home with me.”
Home. It sounded like a place that was theirs, meant for being together. Forever, she thought, and she knew she was losing even that control, the ability to know her dreams were only fantasy.
“Will I meet your mother?” she asked, staring out at the gulls flying, twisting and gliding on the wind currents, hoping for handouts.
He linked his fingers with hers. “Let’s not add complications to what could be a perfect weekend.
Could be. Two days with him.
His apartment was bright and simply decorated, with big windows looking out over Sunset Beach. It was dark when he let her into it. They had stopped for dinner at a quiet restaurant somewhere between the border and the inner city of Vancouver. She didn’t know where, just that there were soft lights and music and she could not even remember what it was she had eaten.
Inside his apartment, she moved to the window, staring out at the skyline, lights streaking over the water.
“English Bay,” he said, coming up behind her. “And that’s Sunset Beach. This area used to be all big old houses, but in the last thirty years the apartment buildings have slowly eaten up the old family houses.
He put his arms around her and she leaned against him, feeling the solidness of his broad chest, his breath tickling her ear. She had taken her jacket off as she crossed the big living room with its thick carpet. Now he took it out of her hand, tossed it over a nearby sofa and pulled her back into his arms, his fingers sliding along the silk covering on her arms.
“I want you,” he murmured, bending to touch her neck with his lips, spreading his hands across her midriff, then sliding up to the curve of her breasts. “Do you know I’ve been aching for you all week? Do you know how much—?”
He broke off as she turned in his arms. She wanted to say she was only his, that she would stay forever if he asked her. That she loved him. She could not say anything, just stared at him with her eyes wide and her heart thundering in her ears.
Chapter Nine
Angela woke in Kent’s arms. The first thing she saw was his face, his eyes deep and blue, watching her. Then, when his lips covered hers, her eyes lost their focus and the wonderful dizziness surged up over her.
She had a vague memory of waking in the night, of Kent lifting her from the soft carpet where they had made love, carrying her through the dark rooms and laying her on a big bed. Then dreamy, slow loving that surged from tenderness to breathlessness.
“What do you want to do today?” he asked now, his voice buried against her throat.
She twisted in his arms and said, “Um...”
He laughed against her throat. “After last night, I don’t think I’m capable.” But when he lifted his head his blue eyes turned almost black and he said raggedly, “I could be wrong, though. Let’s find out.”
Later, she made him breakfast from the meager pickings in his kitchen while he made the coffee.
“You should buy groceries,” she told him. “With a kitchen like this, you don’t need to eat out.”
“Take-out,” he said, watching her as she moved about his kitchen. She had forgotten to bring a housecoat and was wearing one of his shirts. It fell to mid-thigh, but when she moved he was very aware of what was under it. Nothing. He swallowed and told himself he could not spend the whole weekend grabbing her and pulling her back into his bed. “Take-out,” he repeated, determined to have some control over himself. “McDonalds and Kentucky Fried, but I bring it back here to eat.”
She turned from the stove, a frying-pan flipper in one hand and a potholder in the other. “You told me you cooked your own meals here.”
He grinned. “Occasionally. Frozen dinners mostly,” he admitted.
She scowled. “And fast food the rest of the time?” He nodded. “You mean you eat that junk all the time? You can’t do that. All that fried food, and not enough vegetables.”
He could not remember anyone caring what he ate before, and he wondered what he was going to do when she decided that it was over. He hated the thought of joining the others she had discarded, Charles and Saul and heaven knew what other names.
But she had not given herself to any of them. And she did not give herself lightly. So maybe there was a chance for them.
“We could go grocery shopping,” he offered.
“You can’t eat properly for just two days.”
He wondered what she would say if he asked her to stay, and thought he had better watch it or he would be out in the cold with Charles. Hadn’t she made it completely cl
ear that she did not want a serious relationship?
He insisted on doing the dishes, and she said she wanted to see Stanley Park. She even had the nerve to add, “But you can’t go in a suit. Don’t you have any jeans?” He shook his head, smiling, and she said, “Then we should go and get you some.”
They went to a men’s wear store where he often shopped, and he laughed when she told him they could buy the jeans for half the price in a department store. Then she chose an expensive knit shirt that was soft and red, with an open collar she liked because she could just see the beginning of the fair hairs that curled on his chest.
She wanted to buy the shirt for him.
“No,” he said flatly, telling the owner, “Put all this on my account.”
The man nodded and went off to write up the account, giving Angela a look that showed he wondered who she was and how long she would last. Not long, she thought, but if she didn’t get outside and get some air, she might start an argument with Kent right here in this sedate store.
Outside, she took slow, deep breaths of air, trying to tell herself it didn’t matter. But why would he not accept a gift from her? It made her think of Barney saying she would end up living in an apartment Kent had paid for, his kept woman. That scared her silly, because if he asked for that, she might be foolish enough to say yes and it was never going to be enough. She would be back to the same thing again, wanting love to grow into a family, trying to hold onto nothing.
He had suggested marriage once, but he’d been feeling sorry for her. He was never going to ask again. He wanted her. Passion, yes, but how long would that last if he did not love her?
The car was locked. She stood beside it, waiting, wondering if she should not heed the nervous voice that told her it was time to leave, find a bus and get back where she belonged before he sent her away.
He was wearing the red shirt as he came along the sidewalk to the car. And a frown.
“Why did you run off like that?”
“If you can buy me gold earrings, why can’t I buy you that shirt?” Her voice cracked and that made her angry. “What is it? My body, and your gifts?”
He stared down at her, that muscle jumping in his jaw. “Damn it, Angela! I’m not having you buy my clothes! I can afford it a hell of a lot easier than you can.”
She lifted her chin and stared at him. He was carrying a bag that must hold his other clothes. “How much was it?” She heard her own voice and wondered wildly what she was trying to do. But she could not seem to stop the words. “Do you think you can buy me, too, Kent?”
His eyes went cold and hard. “Are you for sale?”
Oh, God. She turned away, stumbling on the curb. Where the hell was there to go? A strange city, a strange country. And the only things were his white, expensive car, and his hand catching at her arm to stop her falling.
“Let go of me!” She hissed the words as if he were her deadly enemy. He released her abruptly.
He opened the door for her, then went around to the driver’s side and started the car. He did not say a word to her and she wondered how all the tenderness could suddenly have exploded into anger. She stared at her hands and they weren’t shaking, not visibly, but she was shivering inside like a coil wound too tight.
She would not have been surprised if he had taken her all the way back to Port Townsend without saying a word, or out to the airport and into that Lear jet and good riddance. She was pretty sure she had messed everything up with that stupid argument and that accusation about trying to buy her. Of all the damned stupid things to say! Are you for sale, he had asked, and she had felt as if he slapped her, hard. She blinked several times and kept the tears from spilling over.
It seemed to take forever, moving through the traffic, stopping more than starting. She stared at a bus in front of them for a long time, then a red sports car driven by a young girl with long, blonde hair.
Then, abruptly, the city gave way to a winding drive and they were speeding through tall trees. He stopped, finally, parking in a smallish parking lot, between a grassy slope and a sea wall. When he turned off the engine, the silence was almost oppressive.
He got out of the car.
In front of the car, she saw people on the sea wall—a woman pushing a baby in a carriage, two boys on roller skates. Kent walked away from the car as if she were not even there, crossing the walk and staring out over the water. She would hardly blame him if he was wondering how quickly he could get rid of her.
He had not shut his door, a crazy detail that was not like him at all. She got out of the car, closed her door and then went around to close his door, too. She was in no hurry to get to him, had no idea what she could say to cancel out being a hot-tempered idiot.
He must have heard her coming, even over the grass. She stopped just before the cement walk of the sea wall. He turned away from the water and watched her come. Two men in shorts jogged past between them.
“I lost my temper,” he said finally. “I didn’t mean what I said.”
She shook her head. It had hurt, but of course he had not meant it. “It was...a stupid argument.”
He wanted to touch her, to somehow erase that hurt look in her eyes. She had tried to give him something, but he had slapped it away. What the hell could he do to change that now? Ask her for the money to pay for the shirt she had wanted to give? “I was wrong about the shirt.” He shrugged uncomfortably, offered, “Next time...”
She looked away from him. “Why didn’t you want me to give—”
“I don’t know.” But he did know. Easy enough to buy things for her; harder to accept a gift. No one had ever given him a spontaneous present before. Only the obligatory offerings under the designer Christmas tree in the cold old house. He pressed his lips together, felt his hands clench into fists at his side and admitted, “I don’t have much practice with relationships.”
Her eyes jerked back to his, wide and green and uncomfortable. He felt a sick premonition. She would leave him. Although he could touch her body and stir her passion, sharing breathless excitement, it would never be enough to hold her. Relationship, he had said, but she was the woman who had been avoiding relationships ever since that bastard walked out on her.
“Is this a relationship?” she whispered.
Oh, God! His heart was beating with impossible dreams; while just the word relationship was enough to panic her. She was staring at his face, must know his thoughts. She could always see right through him, the only person who ever had. His jaw jutted out and he muttered grimly, “It’s what we make of it, isn’t it?”
They stood four feet apart, uncomfortable. He heard his own stilted voice. “Do you still want to see the park?”
“Yes, please.”
Keep it light. Don’t put pressure on her. He knew how it would end. Not happy ever after, together, but himself sitting in a cold office staring out over the city. Alone, as he had always been; but so much more empty after having a taste of loving.
He could not hold her gaze, had to look away, stare at the duck walking along the grass between the parking lot and the sea wall.
Angela knew that she had better smarten up, stop creating awkward situations, or he would be running to get away from her. She gave herself a silent lecture as he locked the car.
Then they were walking up the hill under the trees, not touching.
“Have you done this before?” How could she have asked that? Of all the stupid, foolish questions. Of course he had. She was not the first and she would not be the last.
“You mean Stanley Park?” He turned to her, half-smiling, his face relaxed until he saw the tension in her. Then the lines in his face deepened and he said quietly, “If you mean women in my apartment, then yes. I have.”
Why had she asked?
He said rather grimly, “But I’ve never...” then swallowed what had to be anger and changed whatever he had been about to say. “But I’ve never done this. Wandering around Stanley Park.”
She bit her lip. “Does
that mean I’m different?” She squeezed her eyes closed. “Don’t—please don’t answer that! I—How can you not have wandered around here? If I lived here—” Lord, that was even worse. Next she would be asking if she could move in with him. She gulped and amended it to, “If I worked in those skyscrapers—if I worked there, I’d be over here for lunch every day.”
He caught her hands and pulled her around to face him. “Angela, stop it.”
She stared at his chin, pulled in an unsteady breath and muttered, “I’m no good at this,” and saw his mouth and chin looking grimmer than ever. How the hell could she take it lightly? It did not feel light at all. When she looked at him, her heart stopped and she knew she would never be able to let another man touch her, because Kent would be in her dreams forever.
He turned her hands in his and stared down at her palms. “I’m not sharing this weekend with some other woman. I’m spending it with you. Because I want to.” He looked up then, released her hand and tilted her chin up to make her eyes meet his. “And I would hope that you’re here because you want to be with me.”
She nodded numbly.
“Isn’t that enough, then?”
“Yes. Of course.” She had never before lied to people she cared about, but he was turning everything upside down and the truth would have been impossible.
He frowned. She stepped back from him, stared past him up the hill. A path joining another path. A young boy with his dog. What would he say if she told him she loved him? What if she told him she wanted to live with him, to share with him...forever? He would think she was insane, because she was pretty sure that only last week she had told him the last thing she wanted was to get serious about him.
He held his hand out and she took it. They started up the path. He said casually, “Usually I have business lunches. And business weekends, for that matter. So you’ll have to show me how to behave in a park.”
His leg brushed hers as they climbed the hill. She managed to make her own voice light. “Now that you’re in the right costume, you’ll find it’s easy to waste away a Saturday.”
Angela's Affair (Pacific Waterfront Romances, #13) Page 14
