Three years earlier, she’d thought she was in love with Jordan Larabee. Only later, after he’d reunited with Molly, did she understand that her feelings for him were linked with her almost despairing desire for a husband.
“Do you love me?” She wasn’t sure what made her blurt out the question when she was fully aware of the answer.
Zane didn’t hesitate. “I figured you would ask me about that, and it’s a fair question. One that deserves an answer. But frankly, I don’t know what to tell you.”
Lesley appreciated what it had cost him to be honest, however painful it was for her to hear. It would be a simple matter to justify her response if Zane were to confess an undying need for her. But he hadn’t mentioned his feelings, almost as if they were of little importance.
“I know little of love, little of softness,” he added. “I enjoy your company, and for me that’s enough. As for the physical aspect of our relationship…well, that speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”
“It’s true we seem to be sexually compatible, but that isn’t love.”
“Not entirely,” he was quick to agree.
“My mother loves cats, but my dad is more of a dog person.” she said, thinking off the top of her head, and wondering if she could define her needs to Zane. “Several years ago Dad bought her a calico, which Mom promptly named Whiskers. My mother was crazy over that silly cat. She lavished Whiskers with attention and love. Then Whiskers developed leukemia and had to be put to sleep. My dad was the one who went to the vet’s office with Mom. When she wept, he held her and comforted her. That’s love, Zane.”
“You want me to buy you a cat?”
“No.” Men could be so obtuse. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m not looking for some deep, heart-wrenching confession of undying love from you. Love isn’t glamorous. Sometimes it isn’t even pretty. It’s holding my hand at a movie. It’s helping me to the bathroom when I’m sick. It’s reminding me to wear a sweater when it’s cold outside.”
He studied her, as if the concept were foreign to him. She could tell that he was doing his best to understand.
“You want me to be with you all the time?”
“No.” It was all she could do to keep from groaning with frustration. “Love embraces without restricting. I would never change who you are. I want to encourage you to do the things you want, and at the same time count on your emotional support for my own endeavors.”
Leaning forward, he braced his elbows against his knees and was silent for several long moments. “I don’t know that I can do all the things you’re asking.”
Her heart fell.
“But,” he added thoughtfully, “it wouldn’t be because I don’t care about you. I’d need help, is all. To me, love is a decision. I could love you or I couldn’t, depending on any number of factors. If we married and produced a child…”
“Children.”
He didn’t contradict her, but she noticed he didn’t amend his statement, either. “…All the things you’re saying would fall naturally into place, wouldn’t they?”
“Perhaps.” Lesley remained confused. She was excited and at the same time frightened. Zane was offering her a chance for the kind of life she’d always yearned for, but he was quick to point out his own limitations in the husband department.
“Would you mind kissing me?” she asked.
Always before, when he’d brought her into his arms, their kisses had been hot and hungry, their need urgent, the kisses both compulsive and explosive.
Now, the gentleness with which his mouth claimed hers were her undoing. His lips, moist and tender, slid over hers in an unhurried exercise, coaxing a response from her.
When the kiss ended, she planted her hand over her heart and kept her eyes closed.
“The loving would be very good between us,” he said in what she was sure was an effort to sway her decision. “Very good.”
Lesley couldn’t doubt him. Rarely had she felt more physically compatible with a man. But there was far more to marriage than the physical aspects of their relationship, yet at the same time Zane was right not to discount their attraction for each other.
“You said earlier that love isn’t passion,” he reminded her.
Too weak from his kisses to answer verbally, she nodded.
“But it has its place. Marry me, Lesley, and give us both what we want.” He nudged her head aside and dropped soft kisses along the underside of her jaw.
Goose bumps skittered across her skin as he deftly used his tongue to excite her, licking at her senses, eating away at her doubts. When he was touching her like this, it was too hard to think.
“I…I don’t know what to do,” she admitted with a soft moan.
“You don’t have to answer me right away. Mull it over. Mull it over long and hard. But when you’ve made your decision, be certain, because there’ll be no going back for either of us.”
Zane was convinced he’d blundered this proposal. He wasn’t the kind of man who pussyfooted around a subject. He’d invited Lesley to come sailing with him for the sole purpose of asking her to be his wife. It had seemed simple enough when he’d come up with the idea, but when the time came, he found himself wavering, and not for the more obvious reasons.
Lesley wanted children; she’d told him so herself. Zane wanted an heir. The importance of a child hadn’t hit him until he fully contemplated his own demise. As a soldier for hire, he’d faced death with each assignment. He was good at what he did—very good—-and he knew it. But he was not invincible. When he waged war, he went into battle knowing the odds. He didn’t make mistakes.
Call it vanity. Call it ego. Call him a fool. But for the first time in his life, Zane owned a part of his family’s history. He possessed a small piece of himself to hand down to the next generation. Since moving to Sleepy Valley, he found it vital to know that when he left this life, a part of himself would live on.
The house had played a role in his decision to propose to Lesley. She loved the place almost as much as he did. Her appreciation and deep regard for his grandparents’ home had shown in her ideas for the renovation. She’d captured the very essence of his home and her designs had brought out the natural beauty in each and every room.
But it was more than that.
Zane recalled how she’d instinctively located the viewpoint that had meant so much to his grandmother. Before he’d told her, she’d been intuitively drawn to the one spot on the entire estate that held special meaning.
After being with Lesley, Zane felt as if God, in His almighty wisdom, had offered one last chance. He’d sent a beautiful, magnificent woman into Zane’s life at the eleventh hour. Zane believed Lesley was his destiny.
Yet, when the moment came to propose, his throat had closed up and his tongue had felt three times its normal size. What he had assumed would be easy became difficult.
The reason was simple. Marriage to him would be grossly unfair to Lesley. If he died in the confrontation with Schuyler—and he fully anticipated that with his physical limitations he would—then Lesley would be left to rear their child alone. True, he’d leave her a wealthy widow, but she’d been the first one to point out that financial security wasn’t everything.
If he did manage to survive, she’d be saddled with an ugly beast of a husband. With his leg in as bad a shape as it was, he would always be crippled. No amount of cosmetic surgery would make him the husband she deserved.
Lesley left soon after they docked the sailboat, promising that she would have an answer for him within the next couple of days.
Zane watched her drive away. He had two minds in the matter. He wanted her, more now that when he’d originally come up with the idea. At the same time, he realized he was being completely selfish.
So what else was new.
First thing the following morning, Candy phoned in sick to the feed store. But it wasn’t a flu bug that afflicted her. No, her malady was one of the heart. Every time she thought about the scandalous way she’d behav
ed with Carl Saks, her cheeks burned with mortification. Her first inclination had been to blame Carl for what happened. But her conscience refused to let her forget that she’d been a willing participant in the exchange.
A thick lump formed in her throat and the emotion that thickened her throat made it nearly impossible to breathe. She dressed in an old pair of threadbare jeans and an ugly T-shirt that was ready for the rag bin. Her choice of wardrobe was a good indication of her state of mind.
She had to stop thinking about what had happened and get on with her life. With a determined effort, she made herself a cup of tea and popped a piece of bread into the toaster. As she waited for the tea bag to steep, she realized that was what she’d been doing all night: steeping her mind with regrets.
How could she have been so stupid as to let her relationship with Carl dissolve to this level? She found it difficult to answer her own question. She didn’t know how she would ever be able to look the man in the face again. Carl nothing—she found she couldn’t look at herself in a mirror and not experience a sick kind of dread.
That matter of seeing Carl again was simply solved. She wouldn’t. She would sever him from her life as quickly and as cleanly as she could.
The tea and toast helped revive her physically, and she felt a little better. Well enough to consider stopping off and checking on the store. She was about to do just that when the doorbell chimed. Her mistake was answering the door without first checking to see who was on the other side.
Carl.
Candy attempted to slam the door closed, but his foot prevented her from doing so.
“What’s the matter, Candy?” he asked, and his mouth formed a dark, sardonic twist. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you weren’t pleased to see me.”
“Leave me alone,” she cried, and pressed the full weight of her body against the door in an effort to escape him. She should have known better. Her valiant struggle did nothing.
“We need to sort this out,” Carl insisted.
“I have nothing more to say to you.” The bravado she’d managed with him earlier was gone. She glared at him, but was mortified when all she could muster was a humiliating bout of tears. Her eyes filled with moisture and his figure blurred. “Leave me alone, or I’ll be forced to call the authorities.”
To embarrass her further, Carl chuckled and called her bluff. “No you won’t, and we both know why.”
She squared her shoulders, but kept her eyes trained away from his face. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Invite me in.”
The man had nerve—she’d say that for him. “Not on your life.”
“Fine, if that’s what you want. I’ll stand out here on your front porch and half the neighborhood will hear how we were so hot for each other, we practically burned down Zane’s guest house.”
Mortified, Candy reached for Carl’s elbow and jerked him inside her living room. “All right,” she cried in frustration. “Say whatever it is you have to say and then get out.”
“Aren’t you going to do the polite thing and ask me if I want any coffee first?”
She ground her teeth. “No.”
He looked around at the compact living room and glanced toward the kitchen. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“Carl, please, don’t make this any more awkward than it already is.” She hated the soft desperation she heard in her voice and bit her lower lip.
Without waiting for her to suggest he make himself comfortable, Carl sat down on her sofa. He reclined, making himself at home, and propped his ankle on his knee as though he had all the time in the world.
Reluctantly, Candy claimed a seat across from him, sitting so close to the end of the cushion, she was in danger of falling butt first onto the carpet.
Since she had little choice in the matter, she’d listen to what he had to say, cut her losses and pray to the highest heavenly authority that she’d never see the man again.
The tension in the silence that followed was palpable.
“How are you?” Carl asked gently. Carl Saks was a lot of things, but gentle wasn’t one of them. To the best of her knowledge, it was the first time he’d ever treated anyone with tenderness.
“I stopped off at the store and they said you’d phoned in sick,” he elaborated.
“I’m hunky-dory. What do you think?” she returned flippantly, not willing to be taken in by this gentle side of him.
“I was pretty rough with you. I never intended—”
“Please,” she cried and covered her face with both hands. “Don’t talk about it.”
“That’s exactly why I’m here….”
“Don’t you understand?” she shouted, glaring at him. “It should never have happened…I don’t know why it did. I’ve never…I’m not like that…I’m not on the Pill.” She stopped because her throat became thick with tears and it was impossible for her to speak coherently.
The silence was punctuated with her efforts to breath normally and hide her distress.
Candy whipped the hair out of her face. “I don’t want to see you again. We’re not good for each other…we seem to bring out the worst in one another.”
“I disagree.”
“Please, Carl.” The desperation was back in spades. “I won’t ever ask anything more of you.”
“Why don’t you want to see me again?”
It actually sounded as though she’d hurt his feelings.
“We’re bad for each other. We have this love-hate relationship.” She counted off the reasons on her finger. “Tell me, exactly where will our relationship go from here?” Tears marked tracks down the side of her face and she swiped them away with the back of her hand.
“It seems to me we’ve got the perfect relationship.”
“Perfect?” She couldn’t believe her ears.
“Sure. We already know we’re compatible physically.”
“What you’re saying is that we can just cut to the chase and do away with everything else.”
“Yes.” He sounded jubilant, excited and happy all in one.
Candy reached for the decorator pillow at the end of the sofa and hurled it at him. He caught it easily between his hands and seemed at a complete loss when she dissolved into sobs.
Her anger revived her enough to leap to her feet and point the way to the door. “Get out of my house.”
“Why?” He seemed sincerely shocked by her response.
“I don’t want sex with you.”
The edge of his mouth lifted upward in a slow, easy smile. “I bet I can prove otherwise.”
If she’d had something convenient, she would have thrown that at him, too, but she was running out of pillows and patience. “Didn’t you hear anything I just said? What kind of woman do you think I am? Please, Carl…just go.” She buried her face in her hands and refused to look at him.
“You’re overreacting.”
“Please,” she pleaded, willing him to leave.
“We can sort this out.”
“There’s nothing more to say.” She glanced up at him, hoping he would realize that she was at the end of her rope.
After a tense moment, he stood and walked all the way to her front door. Abruptly he turned around to face her. “What about if we started dating?”
She groaned. Didn’t the man know the definition of the word no?
“We could make a fresh start.” He closed the distance between them. He studied her, his eyes dark and probing. “It’s not a bad idea, you know.”
She reached for a tissue inside her pants pocket and loudly blew her nose. “What about, you know…what happened?”
“We’ll put the incident behind us.”
Candy didn’t know if starting over would be possible now, but she teetered, tempted more than she thought possible by the prospect. It was difficult to refuse him when he was this gentle. She could deal with his anger—and in fact thrived on it. But she had no defense against this side of him.
“You can sen
d me away,” he continued, “and I’d go because that was what you wanted. But at some point we’d run into each other again, and it’d be the way it always is between us.”
Undecided, Candy nibbled on her lower lip.
“Sparks would fly and soon we’d be spatting over one thing or another.”
He was beginning to make sense and that was a dangerous sign.
“Before we knew it, we’d end up falling into the same trap as before, so hot for each other that we’d—”
“I get the picture,” she said bluntly. Still Candy hesitated, unsure if what he said made sense or if she wanted to believe him so badly that she was willing to agree to any terms.
“Hello, Candy Hoffman,” he said, and offered her his hand. “I understand you own and operate the local feed store. I’m Carl Saks.”
She studied his open hand as if that would tell her what she needed to know. It was worth a shot, she decided, then squared her shoulders and slipped her hand inside of his. “Hello, Carl.”
They studied each other for several moments, and a tentative smile touched Carl’s mouth. “I hope you won’t think I’m being too forward if I invite you to dinner with me on such short acquaintance.”
“Dinner?”
“I understand that Bluebeard’s serves up a fine prime rib and all the trimmings.”
“When?” Of all the questions she should have asked, “when” was probably the one least important.
“Tomorrow night…Why wait? What about tonight.”
“Tomorrow,” she agreed.
His smile was full-blown now. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
“I’ll be ready.” She’d never been the blushing, reticent type, but she felt that way now. Unsure of herself, of Carl, yet yearning for the opportunity to start again.
“You won’t regret this,” he promised, and then as if to seal their agreement, he leaned forward and kissed her with a hunger that hurled her senses straight into outer space.
A day passed and Zane didn’t hear from Lesley. Her decision on whether to marry him wouldn’t be easy, he realized, but he hoped he’d persuaded her.
Not until after she’d left did he remember they hadn’t kissed, except briefly the one time when she’d asked it of him. To not influence her with the strong physical attraction they shared hadn’t been a conscious decision, but it’d been a wise one.
Just Married Page 9
