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

by Vanessa Grant

  The thin man muttered, “If Kent pulls one more of these tantrums on me he can find himself another architect.”

  Kent throwing tantrums? Kent? Angela’s hand moved absently to touch one of the earrings she had been wearing ever since Kent put them in her ears. Her fingers toyed with the little golden bird.

  The receptionist and the architect were talking together in low, intense voices. Angela took a deep breath, then stole quietly past them. She reached for the knob to the closed door and opened it, slipping inside.

  Kent was standing at a window overlooking the ocean. She shut the door and leaned against it, her hands flat against the door behind her back. When he swung around, she felt her fingers go into tight fists, nails digging into her palms.

  “Patricia, tell that fool—”

  His voice stopped abruptly. The light from the window turned him into nothing more than a silhouette. He was staring at her, she could tell that much, and that there was a big desk between them. She moved forward—one step, then another. Something on his desk buzzed and he moved, leaned over and pushed the intercom.

  “Yes, Patricia?”

  “Mr. Harmon on line one, returning your call.”

  He snapped, “No calls.”

  The intercom said, “What about your luncheon appointment with the Tredway consortium?”

  “Cancel it.”

  He had not said a word to Angela, but he had not taken his eyes off her either. He came around his desk, walking slowly and deliberately. He was halfway across the carpet before she managed to find her voice.

  “Don’t. Kent...”

  He stopped abruptly. She was not sure what it was in his eyes, but it was something.

  She gulped. “I—I came to...to say something.” She licked her lips and wondered where all the words were that she had practiced on the jet. His tie was askew. She had never seen him looking mussed before. She swallowed and blurted, “My parents want me to come to England.”

  He rammed his hands into his pockets. “Is that what you came to tell me? You’re going away?”

  She shook her head dumbly.

  A muscle jumped along the side of his jaw and the color abruptly left his face. “Are you pregnant?”

  She shook her head. It was a good thing she wasn’t. He looked sick at the thought. What was she doing here? She closed her eyes but even then she could see him standing, waiting. She whispered, “Just now, why did you cancel your lunch?”

  “Angela! Say it, whatever it is, or God help me I’ll shake it out of you!”

  Her eyes flew open and he was glaring at her angrily. He made an angry sound and she met his eyes. Say it. She wasn’t sure if she could. She gulped and whispered, “I—I came because I...because I love you.”

  Everything went still. His body. His face. His eyes, blue gone to black.

  “What did you just say?”

  She had thought she would know from his eyes, but she’d been wrong. “I—I lied when I said I...when I said I didn’t mean it.”

  His mouth opened, but no sound came. “I—Damn it, Angela! If—” He swung away from her, prowled to the window, then spun back to demand, “Why did you run away? Why?”

  She licked her lips and his eyes flashed. Her heart started beating again. “Because—because I love you and—and I wasn’t supposed to say it. It was supposed to be...and you didn’t, and I—”

  “Angela!” She jerked at his shout and his voice dropped abruptly to a whisper. “I didn’t what?”

  “Love me.” She studied his chin, then made herself meet his eyes because if this was it, she didn’t want any doubts left to torment herself with.

  “You—” His voice broke. “Oh, you idiot! Come here.”

  He didn’t wait for her to come, but crossed the few feet between them and pulled her into his arms. She felt the shudder go through his body as he held her close. She pushed her hands against his chest so that she could see his face clearly, his eyes.

  His eyes blazed hot and blue and he ground out, “You crazy fool! How the hell could you not know? It must have been obvious to everyone from here to Port Townsend that I—I’m nuts about you!”

  He loved her. If course he loved her. It was in his eyes, had been in his eyes always. She stretched up on her toes and touched his lips with hers. The harshness left them and he took her mouth with a deep possession that left her clinging.

  When he lifted his head she realized that the ringing in her ears came from somewhere behind him. The intercom. He ignored it, kissed her again, softer, teasing, then possessing.

  When he finally let her lips go, he said harshly, “I’ve been going insane. Two weeks, and I’ve spent most of that time thinking about calling you, going to you. I thought—” He held her close, hard, and said bleakly, “I thought if I could see you, I could make you change your mind. After all, I’ve done it before.”

  “Yes.” She turned her face into his shoulder, felt the hard thud of his heart. “Why didn’t you this time?”

  He threaded his hands up through her hair, drew her head back so that he could look into her eyes. “Because if you really didn’t want to be with me, if I seduced you into it against your will—it wouldn’t be any good, darling. I couldn’t face a life of wondering if you were leaving me every time you were out of my sight.”

  Her heart stopped. “A life?”

  She threaded her fingers through his hair and managed to make it even more of a mess than he had earlier.

  He closed his eyes and she saw his face go bleak and empty. “The night you ran away,” he said in a low, ragged voice. “After we made love, I went to sleep with you in my arms, thinking you were mine forever...and then I woke up alone. God, Angela! I went insane worrying, looking for you, thinking of the things that could have happened to you! Alone in a strange city! Saturday night, all the crazies out drinking! You—I—”

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I was afraid. I—I’d just realized how much I loved you, and—and afterwards—I was afraid you’d wake up and—I thought you wouldn’t want it.”

  He took her face with his hands, whispered, “When I look at you, when I touch you, it’s the only thing in my mind. I wanted to tell you, but somehow...I don’t know why it was so hard. I love you. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.” His voice went hoarse and he said, “Don’t ever forget that, because without you the rest of my life is nothing more than a wasteland.”

  She turned her face to kiss his hand and she felt him tremble, then his arms dropped away from her, leaving her standing alone.

  “Will you stay, Angela? Will you stay with me?”

  She met his eyes, promised, “As long as you want me.”

  “Be sure, Angela.”

  “I’m sure.”

  He stood silently, studying her eyes, reading what was in her heart, not hiding any of his deep love for this woman who had changed his life from emptiness into loving.

  He lifted her hands up to his lips. “Ever since I left you in that bus depot, I’ve been haunted by the things I’d wanted to share with you. I wanted everything. To be able to come to you, wherever you are, and know you would look up and smile when you saw me. To wake with you in my arms, every day. You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to find in my arms when I wake up. I—will you have my children?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Please. Our children.”

  “Oh, yes, darling...ours.” He breathed in the warm scent of her. “You’d have to marry me.”

  “Hmm.” She shivered and smiled. “Soon, I hope?”

  He laughed. She loved the sound of his laughter. “Very soon. We’ll have to find a house for the children. Something out of the city. Port Townsend, if you’d like.”

  She closed her eyes and felt the tears welling up. “I thought—don’t you need to live in the city?”

  “The only thing I need is you.” He moved his lips to kiss away the moisture at her eyes. “With telephones and computers and the Lear, I can easily look after everything fro
m Port Townsend.” He grinned and offered, “Or Alaska, for that matter.”

  “No, Port Townsend will do fine. I—” She would have gone anywhere with him if he had asked.

  She reached up to kiss him but he stopped her, covering her lips with his finger. “That’s dangerous, you know. I keep telling myself I should have some self-control, but every time I kiss you—“

  “I know,” she whispered, moving closer into his arms. “I’m counting on that...kiss me, my love.”

  On the desk, the intercom buzzed.

  Kent took Angela into his arms, his lips telling her of his love with shattering persuasion.

  The office door opened with a quiet whoosh on the carpet.

  “Excuse me, Kent, but—oh! I—”

  He lifted his head, holding Angela tightly in his arms. “Patricia, get out, and lock the door behind you.”

  Angela heard a choked sound, then, “But, what about—shall I cancel the—”

  “Do what you like, just get out.” Kent dropped his eyes to Angela’s and added, “Cancel whatever needs canceling, just leave me alone with the woman I’m going to marry. And—”

  “I’ll—ah—I’ll lock the door.” A click, then the door closing, locked.

  Kent stared down at the woman he loved, his hands moving on her back, caressing, his lips against her mouth as he confessed, “No one’s ever done what you do to me. I warned you what would happen if I kissed you.”

  Her heart was singing. She smiled and pulled him closer, whispering, “Kiss me again, darling. Don’t ever stop.”

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  Page forward for an excerpt from

  WIND SHIFT

  Wind Shift – excerpt

  by Vanessa Grant

  Chapter One

  If she were an artist, Stacey thought she might make a painting of Steven sitting across from her, the panorama of the Pacific­ Ocean through the window behind him.

  “Why the smile?” she asked. He carefully pushed aside his plate of grilled salmon and reached for her hand. His fingers were cool and firm.

  “I was thinking of how you contrast with the ocean,” she said. Steven, with his immaculate ivory shirt and tasteful tie, smoothly brushed brown hair and matching suit. Polished and handsome, warm and dependable. Behind him, the unpredictable ocean, wild and white with the north wind.

  “I’m not a seaman,” he said.

  “No.” It was one of the things she liked about him. “I always know what to expect from you. Not like the angry sea.” The sea had taken her father, and her lover, but there was no way the ocean could take Steven away from her.

  He caressed the back of her hand with his fingers. His hands were smooth, unlike the hands of a fisherman or a sailor. “My brother is the one with a personality like that water out there. He’s the sailor of the family.”

  She had never met his brother, but Steven always frowned when he spoke of him. Stacey turned her hand in his and curled her fingers around his thumb. “It’s a good thing I met you first,” she teased, although she would never give a man like that a chance to get close. Not since Lenny Brannigan went down in a winter storm off Cape Mendocino.

  “I thought you liked the ocean,” said Steven. “You spend half your life on boats.”

  He let her hand free and she speared a breaded scallop with her fork. “Boats at dock-side,” she corrected, popping the scallop into her mouth. “If they sink, I just step off onto the float.”

  She knew he didn’t approve of her spending her days in jeans, crawling around fishing boats. He liked her best dressed in a swirling skirt and a lacy blouse, her dark hair brushed into a cloud on her shoulders, lipstick and eye shadow echoing the blue of her blouse. She added, “I’d spend less time on boats, more in the shop, if Eric weren’t so determined to make my life miserable.”

  “Quit,” he suggested.

  “You said that in your bank-manager’s voice. I love scallops.” They were always good, and every time Steven took her to The Waterfront, she told him so.

  Her eyes passed him, searching for the twin jetties marking the narrow entrance to the Noyo River from the ocean. “There’s a sailboat coming in.”

  He didn’t turn to look. He laid his knife and fork on his plate. She glanced at his face, and froze. Six months. They had been dating steadily, warmly, learning to know each other. Dinners together. Movies. Weekends hiking all through Mendocino County. The first time since Lenny that Stacey had let herself be monopolized by a man.

  “Stacey—” He took her hand again, imprisoning her fork and half a breaded scallop.

  “It’s pretty,” she whispered breathlessly. She swallowed, added, “The sailboat. Single mast, varnished wood. It’s not a fishing boat—a fishing sailboat, I mean, or it would have stabilizers.”

  He murmured tenderly, “You’re prettier than any sailboat.”

  She wasn’t pretty. She had good bones, an oval face with wide-spaced hazel eyes. With make-up she could sometimes look almost beautiful. Without it, she knew she was quite ordinary. She looked back at the sailboat, avoiding his compliment. “It’s custom-built. Wood, I think.”

  He took the fork out of her hand, shook his head at the waitress who was approaching and concentrated his eyes on hers. “Stacey, I think it’s time we made plans.”

  “Plans?” she echoed, staring at his fingers. She turned her hand and he clasped it again. Her hand was darker than his. He spent his life inside, while she crawled all over the waterfront of Fort Bragg and Noyo Village. “This weekend? Are we going hiking at Van Damme park?”

  “I’m not talking about this weekend.”

  She wanted a husband and a family, and Steven Masters came as close to her dream man as she was likely to find. If he asked her to marry him, she was going to say yes. If it wasn’t marriage, he was out of luck. Stacey knew exactly what she wanted. Romance did not matter as much as the other things. Permanence. Security. Forever. Nothing less would do.

  She thought of weddings, and houses, and standing beside Steven at the door to the house she thought they might buy. Welcoming guests. She frowned, because she knew the kind of guests he would invite. Lawyers. Doctors. The mayor. Could she be the kind of wife he needed?

  “Marry me,” he asked, and she swallowed a sudden fear.

  “Steven, dressing up is like play acting for me. It feels good because it’s so different—”

  “What are you talking about?” he demanded with tolerant exasperation.

  “Hey, Stacey!” called out a voice behind her.

  She turned her head at the shout, almost relieved to escape Steven’s proposal. A middle-aged man hurried towards her with a wide seaman’s walk, calling out, “Just the lady I wanted to see!”

  He stopped at their table, the waitress hovering at his elbow. Only in a fishing village like Fort Bragg would a fisherman come to a classy restaurant dressed in his grubby work clothes!

  “Hi, Ed.” She had known him since she was a teenager crewing on her father’s boat. “Have you met Steven Masters?”

  Ed said, “He checked me out when I applied for my boat loan.”

  Steven said, “Join us?” in a cool voice that made Stacey uncomfortable.

  “Naw, I’m meeting someone. But, Stacey, that damned GPS of mine is screwy. Can you get down and have a look at it? Tomorrow? I want to go down to Bodega Bay and get in on the fishing there, but I turned it on this morning and it says I’m thirty miles north of here.”

  Steven’s hands were turning his wine glass in aimless circles, the only sign he gave of impatience as Ed told her his boat was on D float at the mooring basin.

  Ed left, rolling across the dining room behind the waitress, and Stacey wondered if she’d dreamed Steven asking her to marry him. Behind Steven’s shoulder, the sailboat had almost reache
d the green buoy off the end of the jetty. Suddenly, it was caught by the ocean swell, lifted and swung off course. Stacey saw the yellow slash of the helmsman’s foul weather gear. As she watched, the sailor got control of his boat, lining it up for the narrow river entrance.

  Simon touched her hand. “Well, Stacey?”

  They had come for a leisurely dinner. It hadn’t felt like the kind of evening that ended with a proposal. Drinks first, while he talked about a new property development scheme for the south basin. Then salad, while she described Eric’s latest dirty trick. A customer had come in, wanting a mast-top radio antenna checked. Knowing Stacey was terrified of heights, Eric had sent her on the job alone, without the helper they used.

  “If I was six feet tall and had a beard it wouldn’t happen,” she’d told Steven. “If Eric had his way, there’d be a law against a woman radio technician.”

  Now Steven’s fingers tightened as if to pull her eyes away from the sailboat slipping silently between the jetties. “Forget Eric and the job. Marry me.” She stared at him then, and he whispered persuasively, “We’ll buy a big house and turn it into our home. We’ll have children.”

  Children. It was what she wanted, the kind of home that withstood gales and could not be reached by tidal waves, a man she could depend on, children of her own.

  “Steven, isn’t it a bit soon?”

  He had a nice laugh, warm and low and spreading to his eyes. “Is it, Stacey? We’ve been going out for six months.”

  Two or three times every week, except for the times when she was out of town. Too often, he had complained the last time she left.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked gently.

  “About you.” He was a man who would keep her safe, who would never leave her alone and crying.

  He moved impatiently, “Let’s get out of here. I want you alone.”

  In the parking lot, he caught her hand when she moved towards his car. He led her away from the car, down the road to the jetty. She walked ahead of him, attracted by the turbulence of the water at the outer end of the jetty, aware of his tall presence behind her. She thought of going home later and knocking on the door to Nita and Jean-Claude’s private quarters, of telling Nita she was going to marry Steven. Jean-Claude would probably pop up behind Nita and insist she say it over again in French, but she hadn’t been making very fast progress with the language despite his help.