Hiding Out At The Circle C

by Jill Shalvis

  It was the last thing he expected of her—a personal diary. The most recent entry was dated days ago, a day he remembered all too well. Their trip to the library. The day he'd held her in his arms as she'd cried in grief and fear. He read her words.

  I can't stop myself from thinking about Cam, can't seem to stop myself from dreaming about what it would be like to make love with him.

  Cam's mouth fell open. Utterly incapable of stopping now, he read on.

  Since I can't imagine he'd really want to be with me, I guess I'd have to seduce him. Ha! As if I'd even know how. I'd probably start with candles.

  Cam groaned out loud.

  In my fantasy, I'd have the sort of body that would make a grown man beg, so that when I took off my clothes, the gentle light would flicker over my body. I'd be so beautiful, he wouldn't be able to turn away. We'd step into a hot, deep tub and he'd lose himself in me. I wish—

  The writing stopped abruptly. Dazed, Cam lifted his head and stared at her rumpled bed. She wanted him. She'd fantasized about him. He could almost see the candlelight flickering over her body, see her dripping wet from the tub, feel himself sinking into her… God. If he'd ever been more turned-on, he couldn't remember.

  Then he looked up and went still. Haley stood in the doorway. Her dark hair framed her lovely face, the flowered dress she still wore dipped enticingly low in front. He could imagine lifting her up, carrying her into the bathroom and fulfilling her fantasy. That her bathroom had a shower, not a tub, and that there wasn't a candle in the place wouldn't have stopped him.

  But her expression did.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice low and controlled. Only the way she gripped her hands told him she was upset.

  "I … ah…" He'd lost track of that when all the blood had drained from his head, rushing to his lap.

  Her eyes narrowed on what he held, then widened as she took it all in; him sitting on her bed, holding the journal she'd written. "That's mine."

  "I'm sorry." He stood just as she grabbed the pad of paper from his hands. "I—"

  "Oh, my God," she whispered, staring down at the opened pad. Her face reddened, but still she met his gaze evenly. "You read this."

  He nodded, watching as she closed her eyes in misery and mortification. "No," he said, reaching for her. "Don't do that. I'm sorry I invaded your privacy, but—"

  She jerked back, covering her cheeks with her hands. "You're sorry?" She choked out a laugh. "You read my most private thoughts, thoughts I can never get back, and you're sorry?"

  Turning from him, she plopped down on the edge of the bed, then dropped her head into her hands. "Go away," she said quite clearly. "Just go away."

  He sank to his knees before her and gently pried her hands from her still-red face. "I'm very sorry if I embarrassed and hurt you. That's the last thing I wanted to do."

  "You should have thought of that first. Before you read my things."

  He felt like the lowest form of life. "I know."

  "You keep butting into my life," she said in amazement. "I don't know why, but you do. I don't like it." She shook her head. "And to think I'd gone looking for you, wanting…"

  He leaped on that—anything to change the subject. "Wanting what?"

  "Never mind now." She lifted that stubborn chin. "You ask impossible questions, dig where you shouldn't be digging, and now this!"

  "If I'm pushing where I said I wouldn't, then I'm sorry for that, too. But I'm worried sick about you. You're holding your head like it hurts so much it's going to fall off. You've given yourself ulcers. You need sleeping pills. And you've lost weight." He surged to his feet. "Yeah, I'm going to push now. I told you I wouldn't, but I can't hold back the concern, and dammit, I won't be sorry for that."

  She'd gone completely still. "I can't believe how much you care."

  At the moment, he couldn't, either.

  "I'd come looking for you to tell you I … didn't mean it before. I don't want you to stay out of my life. I trust you, Cam. And I've never said that before, to anyone." She bit her lip at his stunned silence. "I just wanted you to know."

  He gave her a little smile. "It means more than you could know to hear you say that." He just barely resisted the urge to add, finally. But he couldn't think beyond the journal. "Haley, about what you wrote…"

  She made a little sound of protest and closed her eyes. "Don't remind me."

  Again, he hunkered down before her. "It was thrilling to know you felt that way. That I wasn't the only one."

  "You told me you wouldn't do this thing between us. That you couldn't."

  "You know why I said that," he said gently.

  "It wasn't meant for you to see." Haley tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling. This was, without a doubt, the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to her.

  He squeezed her hands, ran his thumbs over her knuckles. His gaze heated, holding hers. "When I read your words, something happened to me. Then I saw you standing there watching me and I could have devoured you alive. God, Haley, I've been dying to know what it would be like to be with you since that night we danced in the rain. You felt so good, wrapped around me—"

  "Stop it," she said quickly, his words making her heart tattoo against her chest. She dropped her spinning head to their joined hands. "This is very embarrassing, you have to know that."

  "Because you're as attracted to me as I am to you?" He loosened their hands to frame her face, lifting it. "That's one of those silly-girl things, isn't it? Wanting to keep it a secret?"

  "Stop it," she said miserably, rolling her eyes when he smiled. "This isn't funny."

  "No," he agreed. "But then, neither is the fact that I want you more than I've wanted anyone since Lorraine died. I didn't think I could want again, but I do. And I'm glad, so glad. You've opened me up, brought me back to the living. I want so much, Haley. And I want it with you."

  What exactly did that wonderful man see in her? And could she see enough in herself to even give it a chance? "You've read my innermost thoughts. I'm not sure how to deal with that."

  He rose and sat next to her, his weight dipping the bed down a little. His hands rested on either side of her hips. "It was wrong for me to read what you'd written and I apologize for that. But when you ran off, I got worried."

  "So you just came on in? Didn't it occur to you I wanted to be alone?"

  "I was worried," he repeated. "When I flipped on the light, I saw the yellow paper in the trash. My name just sort of stuck out at me. I shouldn't have, but I read it. I know it makes you uncomfortable and I understand that you are a woman who doesn't easily share herself. What I don't understand is why."

  Now she had to look away. This was uncharted territory for her. Just as everything else with this man had been. "I've told you. I'm sort of a loner. I always have been. I like it that way."

  "I don't believe that."

  "It's true." She gave a little laugh that even to her own ears sounded high and nervous. Just sitting close to him did that to her, but now she had the added disadvantage of Cam knowing exactly how badly she'd wanted him. "I don't get along well with others," she said uneasily. "Just ask any of the teachers I've had over the years."

  "Maybe no one gave you a chance."

  That was just close enough to the truth to have her taking a deep breath.

  "I hate to see you hurting so." He touched her, his fingers brushing over her forehead. "And I hate to think I had a hand in causing that headache."

  She took a deep breath and spoke the honest truth. "It's gone." Facing him on her bed, where she'd lain dreaming about him so often, seemed a bit unreal. She caught sight of her journal lying on the floor near where Max was sprawled out, asleep.

  "No," he murmured, touching her face until she turned it back to him. "Don't relive it. You'll make me feel bad again."

  She lifted an eyebrow, but caught his smile. "You don't strike me as a man who would brood for long."

  "Only when it comes to you."
r />   With a sudden restless movement, she stood, brushed past his tough, rangy body and went toward the window. The rain had come; she could hear it hitting the earth, smell it in the air. "I meant what I said before. I trust you. I trust you with the real me. But you don't really know that woman."

  "I'd like to."

  She could see him in the reflection of the window, still sitting on her bed, watching her.

  She took a deep breath and a big mental step when she moved back to him and took his hand. "I'm not a regular type of person, Cam. I'm … different. I don't even know who my father is. All my mother would say was that he was unsuitable."

  "That doesn't matter to me."

  "When I was two, I recited the past presidents of the United States, their political parties and the dates they served office."

  "Impressive," he said dryly, trying to picture the uncaring woman he'd talked to tonight on the phone caring for a vulnerable, brilliant two-year-old Haley.

  "Not to my mother. She told me how unladylike too much knowledge was, and demanded I forget what I'd learned."

  "When you were two?" When she nodded, he said softly, "Oh, Haley. Darlin', I'm sorry."

  "By the age of five I had read every book in the house and had mastered Spanish from an English-Spanish dictionary I found at the library in school."

  Pride for her shot through him. "A child prodigy. I'd think your mother would have been proud."

  "No," Haley said wistfully. "I was an odd little thing. Often sick, always weak. I never wanted to play with other kids. I read every spare second of the day and that embarrassed her, too. A Whitfield lady was to make her place in society, not lose herself from reality."

  She looked around at the small, comfy room, with the soft, light from the lamp, the beautiful homemade quilt. Homey. So different from the rooms she'd had over the years. She could so easily get used to this life here, but she was afraid it wasn't meant to be.

  "What did she do with you?" Cam wanted to know.

  She hated his pity, but was determined now. She wanted him to understand. Everything. "At first, she'd send me to my room to keep me out of sight." Where she'd hidden away, reading for hours. "But eventually she shipped me off to boarding school."

  "When you were five?" He looked horrified.

  "At least the teachers recognized immediately I wasn't like the other kids, so I was sent to a special school with other supposedly 'gifted' children. But what they really were was a sad little group that no one understood, or wanted to understand. All they wanted was to find out what we could be taught, how much we could learn."

  Cam made a sound of regret and sympathy, one that, instead of making her cringe, somehow made her feel better. "I hated it."

  "Pretty different from my childhood," he said lightly. "My parents tried not to expect too much from us. Of course, they had three wild, out-of-control boys. They were just thankful we didn't destroy the house on a daily basis."

  She smiled a little, and found it felt good. "My mother didn't have that worry. I'm an only child. She enjoyed the freedom of having me away at school. She could continue her social obligations untethered. So I stayed in boarding schools and the path was set."

  "Were you unhappy that whole time?"

  No one had ever thought about her happiness. No one except Cam. "At first. I got sick a lot. Stomachaches, headaches, that sort of thing. Stress, they determined. So they lightened my load. But school was all that mattered to me at that time, so I got worse."

  "Did you go home?"

  "No."

  He'd gone still, except for his eyes, which searched hers. "I have to tell you, Haley. I don't think I like your mother very much."

  She laughed a little. "You know what? I don't like her, either."

  "What happened when you got out of school?"

  "I finished high school when I was ten. I got my first college degree at twelve. My second at fourteen. By the time I was sixteen, I had my doctorate."

  He stared at her, obviously stunned. "At sixteen?"

  "Yeah." She smiled, pleased by how much better talking had made her feel. Then, because he looked so cute flustered, and because she felt so light, she giggled. "I have a quick learning curve. School was all I knew, Cam. So I just kept going. And going and going…"

  Cam gave her a little smile, but his eyes were filled with anger and compassion, and she found that felt good, too. "Even the Energizer bunny gets a new battery occasionally."

  Some of her humor faded. This was the tough part. She'd told no one. "By the time I was twenty, I suffered from insomnia, chronic stomach trouble, exhaustion and was so near a mental breakdown, I could have reached out and touched it."

  His mouth tightened, his expression turned grim. "Couldn't anyone see what this was costing you?"

  "There was no one to see."

  "No one close to you?"

  "No."

  "No friends?"

  "Just acquaintances."

  His disbelief was plain. "You're gorgeous, Haley. You must have been fighting the guys off at every turn."

  That made her laugh again. "Hardly." She wrapped her arms around herself, dropped her gaze. "For some reason, you look at me with rose-colored glasses. The truth is, I never had to fight off a single man. I think I turned them off because of…"

  "Your brain?" He grinned, then sobered. "I can't believe that no one ever saw you for what you are."

  "What? A nerd?"

  "An intelligent, strong-willed woman—as lovely on the inside as out."

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  "What happened between you and your mother after you grew up?"

  "Not much. I did try, but I knew what a disappointment I was to her, which didn't help my self-esteem." To her horror, she could feel the tears build. "Inside, I was so desperate. Even after all those years, I found myself still wanting her love, her attention. But she just couldn't give it."

  "No wonder you were a loner. You'd been brought up that way from the start."

  "Maybe. It definitely made it difficult for me to get along with others. Especially men. I— I never— Well." She smiled nervously. "Let's just say men were, and still are, a complete mystery."

  He sighed and pulled her close. "Your mother is an idiot, Haley. And so are all the men that passed you over—" He stopped. "A complete mystery," he repeated slowly, looking shell-shocked. "You mean you've never—"

  "No," she said shakily, pulling away. She needed distance for this—lots of it. "I've never been with a man before. Pretty pathetic, huh?"

  Those amazing dark eyes caressed her. "No. It will mean all the more for you this way. And me."

  "You don't understand," she said, flustered by the way he was looking at her. "I think I'm what they call … 'repressed.' You know, 'frigid.'"

  A laugh escaped him, but it died quickly enough when she didn't crack a smile. Cupping her shoulders, he turned her toward him. "The woman who can kiss me senseless—the same woman who wrote about wanting to seduce me so that I couldn't even remember where I was … that's the woman you think is repressed? Frigid?" He started to smile again, then read the truth that must have been in her eyes, and straightened. "My God, you're serious. Haley, darlin', you're one of the most sensual women I've ever met. I mean it," he insisted when she scoffed. "I watch you cleaning the house in Nellie's clothes, wearing that clingy thing under your pale blouse. Drives me crazy."

  "The camisole?" she asked in surprise. It was plain white and very comfortable. It was also all she had. But just when had he been trying to see beneath her clothes?

  "Yeah." His voice was soft and unbearably husky. "The camisole. When you stand in the living room dusting, the sun shines in from the picture window and the blouse turns sheer. It's heaven."

  Her lips curved, even as embarrassment dictated some sort of indignation should be shown. "Ever thought about looking away?"

  "No." He grinned and flicked a finger lightly over her heated cheeks. "Then I see you hugging my jacket close against you
and I imagine it's me keeping you warm instead. I have to admit, I've never been envious of an item of clothing before."

  She just stared at him. "You're making this up."

  His hand ran down her side, squeezed her waist. His hungry gaze followed the movement. "You may try to hide it, but you have a hot little body I can't seem to get out of my head."

  Thinking was difficult whenever he looked at her like that, with passion and promise, but she had to try to get back on track. "My life has been tied up in my studies. I've never taken the time for anything else."

  "Because it was easier not to."

  "Maybe." She shrugged, and his other hand shifted to her waist, as well. "Things changed when I went to work."

  "Changed how?"

  She took a deep breath. "Well, work was good. Great, actually. Fulfilling and all that. But the pressure was rugged, the work very intense and the schedule always grueling. My health … suffered. I—"

  "Wait." He frowned. "What do you mean, 'suffered'?"

  It still hurt, still embarrassed her, to admit this last weakness. "We were under a lot of pressure, there were so many secrets, which are just starting to make sense, but then all I knew was that I had to work. Insanely, around the clock. I lost a little weight, was feeling tired all the time." She shrugged again and backed from his touch. "Then we made that discovery, one that would have revolutionized the way we handle earthquakes." Unable to sit, she bounced up and paced the room while he watched with serious eyes. She stopped before the small dresser with the round mirror above it. Her face, wan and wretched, stared back at her. Visions of the lives her undersea system had destroyed wavered in front of her. Her fault? No. She knew that now, accepted it. But it had been her creation that had started it. "People died, Cam. I blamed myself for those deaths."

  "No. Darlin'—"

  "Wait. Let me finish, or I'll never be able to get it out. In South America, after I found out, everything suddenly felt like such an effort."

  Tension filled the air, thickened it.

  "What do you mean, Haley, by everything?" His voice seemed muted, strangled.