“You meant most of it.”
She shrugged. “Some of it.”
“Marla, why didn’t you wait that day?”
Her shoulders sagged. “Wait where? On the side of the road? Carson, I wasn’t allowed past the gates at your house.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about an eight-foot wall. A ten-foot medieval iron gate and a guard. I’m talking about standing there listening to this guard tell me no one gets through the gates unless they are on your list of approved visitors. I knew my name wasn’t on that list.”
“For God’s sake, I have to take security precautions to protect my home, my business, my staff, even myself. I don’t have any choice.” He shook his head. “But one phone call would have taken care of everything.”
She glanced at the television again, avoiding eye contact with Carson. The pitcher was back on the mound. Calm and focused. “When I saw the wall and gates, everything changed. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure anymore.”
He frowned and his tone grew sharp. “You weren’t sure about what?”
“About you and who you really were. And I wasn’t sure about me and what I should do. Instead of feeling right, it just felt all wrong,” she admitted and that was the truth. “So, I went home and a few weeks later, I decided to marry Ben.”
Carson looked as if she had stuck a shotgun to his chest and pulled the trigger. His blue eyes narrowed and she was certain he was about to make another blistering remark about her and Ben. But he held himself in check.
He strode over to the bar, took another cold beer out of the small fridge, and plopped down on the sofa. “You should get packed,” he remarked without looking at her. He tapped the TV remote control and the sound of the cheering baseball fans filled the room.
She didn’t look back as she left the room. She rushed to the other side of the penthouse and into the guest room. With her breath coming in gasps, she slid open the glass door leading to the lanai.
Outside, the humid air greeted her. It would be raining soon, but that hadn’t stopped a group of kids from playing volleyball. Peals of laughter and shouting came from the group. Happy sounds.
A tear dripped down her cheek as she gripped the railing to still her shaking hands. She had been so careful for so long, but she was beginning to unravel. In the distance, a flash of lightning danced across the dark clouds hovering over the ocean.
She stepped back inside and pulled her phone from her pocket. She tapped on a short video of Sophie and her best friend, Anna Grace, playing in the park. They were running from the swings to the slides, giggling and squealing. Marla gently touched the screen.
I love you so much, my angel. You’re all that matters to me.
She opened the closet door and withdrew her suitcase.
Chapter 14
Carson stared at the television screen. The drone of the ballgame faded as his memory took him to another time and place. A time when he was young, barely twenty years old, and he had been in love so deep, it hurt.
It was a summer evening on his grandfather’s ranch in Texas and there was nothing in nature more beautiful than the sunset over Broken Bow Canyon. The dying sun painted the ridges a deep red and the boulders a dark gold. The sky was lit with purple, violet, pink, navy, and a hint of yellow.
On horseback, he and Angela had ridden to the canyon overlook. He dismounted first. Then he went to her horse and she slid off the animal into his arms. Angela was a dark-eyed Italian beauty with cascading black hair and a body meant for pleasure. She was hypnotic and for three months, he had been captivated by the new tennis instructor at the country club.
“I love you,” she said between heated kisses. “I love you so much.”
He loved her, too. More than anything else in the world. Barely a man, he had already decided he wanted to spend his life with her. In the midst of a beautiful sunset and slow lovemaking, he had said, “Marry me.”
The memory of that moment faded, replaced by a completely different scene. A hotel room filled with surveillance equipment and cops. Two local detectives. Two detectives from Chicago. An FBI agent and the assistant district attorney, Jim Heller, who was a friend of Carson’s father.
Heller had escorted him into the room. He had no idea why he was there. But he had known something was wrong when his father had hugged him and told him to go with Heller.
The cops were all sitting back, watching the monitor screens that showed a live feed from hidden cameras planted in a hotel room down the hall from where they were.
He had been startled to see Angela on the screen. She was sitting in a chair by the window, wearing a dark dress and tapping her fingers impatiently on the chair arm. The heavy window curtains were drawn, blocking out the sun and darkening the room.
A man in jeans and a leather jacket sat on the bed. He appeared to be working a crossword puzzle. A third man stood in the shadows.
Heller opened a folding chair. “Have a seat,” he told Carson. “Her real name is Tessa Lombard. Not Angela Rossi. She’s not from Italy either. She’s from Chicago. The guy sitting on the bed is her husband. The two of them are in the extortion business.”
Carson sat in the chair, staring at the monitors. He was certain none of this was real. Heller handed him a stack of photographs. “Tessa has gone by several different names. Occupations. Hair color. She’s actually twenty-seven and most of her targets have been married professional men. Simple blackmail plots with small payoffs. Fifty thousand. Hundred thousand. Then she and her husband disappear and lay low awhile.
“Then they met Charlie O. He’s a coyote, meaning he smuggles illegal aliens across the border and he’s looking to expand into guns and drugs. They’ve become partners, but to cut a deal with the Colombian mafia, they need a lot of cash. That’s where you come in. They’ve asked Gerald for five million in exchange for your life.”
The photos had fallen from Carson’s hand. One of the detectives, a tall black man, said, “We’re on.” All the officers went into alert mode. They were on radios and phones talking to other units, preparing for the sting and the arrest. Carson wanted to tell them that Angela could not be part of this. Not willingly.
Then he saw his father on the screen. He walked into the hotel room, carrying a briefcase. The men in the room with Angela ordered his father to spread his arms and legs for a search.
“Heller.” Carson rose out of the chair. “Do something.”
Heller pushed him back down in the chair. “It’s okay. Gerald wanted you to be here. He wanted you to see this. He’s been a part of it all along. Ever since I found out she had targeted you. We’ve had our surveillance teams in place for six weeks.”
“Jesus,” Carson whispered as he watched the scene unfold. His father had only brought half the money. Angry words were exchanged and threats made.
Angela had stepped up to his father and tapped her finger on his chest. “Listen, you get the rest of the money. You got five days. If you don’t have it in five days, you’ll never see your son again. I’ll tell him I’m not happy here. I’ll tell him I want the two of us to go away together and you know he won’t refuse. You know he is in love and he’ll do whatever I ask. Whatever I want. You’ll never find his body.”
She leaned in close to his father. “Your boy will be fed to the wolves.”
With his heart shattered, Carson had left the hotel, forever haunted by her callous words.
For ten years, he carried the scars of a lesson learned the hard way. He had never been gullible or stupid again when it came to a woman. Every time he met a woman, there had been a current of wariness beneath his surface. Always a question in the back of his mind.
What was she really after? A rich guy she could someday feed to the wolves?
Then he had met Marla. Maybe ten years was a long time to be guarded every time a woman kissed him.
No, he hadn’t mentioned the California mansion with the gates and guard, the apartment in New York, the townhouse in London, o
r the villa near Rome. He hadn’t said he thought nothing of picking up a thousand dollar tab at a five-star restaurant, or that he donated millions to charities around the world. He hadn’t told her that his company was global and that it encompassed oil and transportation as well as architecture.
Granted, it was a shitty thing—the pretense of it. But it was the first time he’d felt anything real in years. It was the first time he’d allowed himself to love without vigilance and it had been amazing. She was amazing. But, deep inside, he had his doubts. It was just too good to be true.
That’s what he told himself when he left Royal Oaks and when he was stopped at a gas station and deleted her number. He didn’t look back.
She was right. He deleted more than the number. He deleted her. That was how Carson Blackwell protected himself, and he had felt his actions were justified the day he saw her wedding picture in the paper. It had been like seeing Angela in that hotel room. A hard punch in the gut. A bitter taste in the mouth. A deep pain in the chest.
But, now, things had changed.
She’d come to his house before she married. She had sought him out. She had not forgotten him. She wanted to see him again. Those words sang through his heart. If she had only stayed, everything would be different today.
He turned off the television, sat up, and braced his hands on his knees.
He had never worried about female companionship. Women made themselves available for whenever he wanted them. His money was like a magnet that had dozens of them clinging to it. Yet his fortune had caused the one woman he wanted to turn and run. Talk about ironic.
As rain pecked on the skylights overhead, he pushed to his feet.
“It just felt all wrong,” she had said.
He had to fix this mess.
He walked into the living room. Marla stood by the glass wall, watching the rain whip against the palms and bougainvillea as she chatted on her phone. One large suitcase and a smaller bag on top of it were propped beside the sofa.
He stopped to admire her backside. She had great legs and hips that filled out her black shorts perfectly. He liked whatever she’d done to her hair.
The way the uneven layers curled around her neck and shoulders was flirty. And the cologne was new, too. Unlike the quiet scent she frequently wore, this one was a dark, rich exotic scent that whispered of pleasure at midnight. He wondered if he could convince her to wear it all the time.
“Y’all be careful on the road,” she was telling the person on the phone. Her Southern accent reminded him of Royal Oaks and his mother’s family. “Okay. Listen, I’ll call when I land at LAX.”
“No,” he said and she wheeled around, eyes wide with surprise. “You’re not leaving.”
Her surprised look became a frown. Okay, there’d be a fight ahead. He’d allowed for that. In fact, he had realized she was extremely sexy when she was pissed off.
“I need to talk to you,” he said pointedly, being the rich asshole with the ego problem.
She stuck up her middle finger and he laughed. She spoke into the phone. “Tell Daddy that I’ve bought him a Hawaiian shirt, and I’m expecting him to wear it and not hide it under the bed.” She laughed. “Yeah. Okay. Love you. Bye.”
Her good humor vanished as she stuck the phone in her pocket. “There is no point in talking. There’s nothing left to say.”
“I love your cologne, sweetheart.”
Her green eyes fired up. “Do you?”
“I do.” He grinned. “It smells so much better than that bland stuff you usually wear.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
“Does my opinion matter?”
“I don’t care whether you like the cologne or not.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I didn’t buy it. A bottle of it was in the complimentary bag of stuff they gave me at the salon. I’m just hoping it fades before it stifles everyone on the plane.”
“You’re not planning on flying commercial, are you?” He couldn’t resist.
She didn’t reply, but she was having thoughts of ripping off his head, he could see that in her expression. He grinned. “Go ahead and say it.”
She let out an indignant huff and reached for the pullout handle of her rolling suitcase. He clamped his hand over hers, relishing the feel of her warm flesh until she pulled her hand free.
“You know, there’s a storm coming in,” he told her. “All the flights will be grounded this afternoon.”
She held his gaze for a moment, and the defiance in her eyes softened. “Carson, you wanted me to go. And that’s actually a good idea. It’s very sensible. I should go.”
“No, I wasn’t being sensible. I was being an asshole. But now, well, everything has changed.” Hope had blossomed in his heart.
“Nothing has changed.”
He cupped her face with his hands, and he ran his thumbs over the curve of her cheeks. “You came to my house,” he said. “You came to me.”
Nothing else mattered.
She shook her head in protest. “That was a long time ago.”
“Maybe. But it means everything now.”
Her bottom lip trembled. “What could it possibly mean now?”
It meant he had not spent years pining for a woman who had always been in love with someone else. “It means if I had seen you that day, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. It means I don’t intend to blow a second chance.”
All the color emptied from her face. She looked as if she’d just received a death sentence. Her lips moved like she wanted to say something, but no words came out. A couple of beats of awkward silence passed between them.
“I want you to stay.” He stroked her cheek with his knuckles.
“Do you?” she whispered, her voice filled with hope and uncertainty.
He wanted to take away the uncertainty.
“I want you to stay, but if only you want to stay. That’s the one condition, Marla.”
He wanted her to stay because she wanted to be with him, and not because she felt forced to stay.
“No more pretending for Truman and Julia. No more deals,” he said. “The rest of the week is for us. Who knows? I might be the smart choice,” he added with what he hoped was a heart-melting grin. A guy has to try.
He waited. She gazed at him with such longing that he found it difficult not to reach for her. He kept waiting for her decision and waiting . . .
“Take your time,” he remarked, trying not to sound too annoyed, but every second she hesitated was pure torture. “Do I need to get down on my knees? Would you like me to beg?”
A sudden smile brought life back into her face. “Yes, I would.”
“For real?” There were times when he needed to keep his mouth shut.
“Just a minute.” She backed up and aimed her phone at him. “Okay. Now.”
His face folded into a frown. “You’re not gonna take a picture of me on my knees.”
“I’m thinking I can blackmail you with it.”
“Marla.”
“You’re not on your knees yet.” She grinned.
“You haven’t said you were going to stay.”
“Well, you haven’t begged yet.”
He looked at the floor. “Can we make a deal?”
“A deal? Oh, hell no.” She put her hand on her hip. “Do you know what it means when a Southern girl says that?”
“I’m gonna do it. Let me get over by the sofa.”
“What? By the sofa?” Her brows flew up. “Are you going to have to, like, hold on to the sofa?”
“Listen, Miss Fifty Pushups, not everybody trains policewomen.” He hadn’t been to the gym in a couple of months. Obviously that was going to have to change if he wanted to keep up with her.
“Wait.” She pocketed her phone and spread her hands. “Don’t get down on your knees. It’s okay. I’m good with you begging on your feet.”
“I’m doing this. My manhood’s in question now.” He lowered himself until his knees were nestled in the ca
rpet. “See, I beg you to stay, my darling, in my humble abode and spend the week in my arms and rock my world.”
“Crazy.” She laughed. Then her smile became pensive. “Do you remember the old window air conditioner in the carriage house?” she asked. “How it rattled like a freight train? And that creaky antique bed? It’s a wonder it held up.”
He remembered the rattling air conditioner and the creaking bed. He also remembered the moonlight spilling across her naked body as she rode him. He remembered her sweaty body, soft and smooth on the outside. Hot and slick on the inside. The recollection perked him and his dick up.
He looked at her from beneath his dark brows. “Is that a yes or a trip down memory lane?”
She sighed as if he were some sort of forbidden treat she couldn’t resist. She nodded. “Okay,” she said like she’d make the concession of a lifetime. “Do you need some help getting up?”
“I think I can manage.” With a groan, he was on his feet. “The bed here is much sturdier than the one in the carriage house,” he assured her. “You can show me your fifty pushups.”
She wasn’t listening. Her attention was directed outside where the palm trees bowed in the wind. “The storm is getting a lot stronger. Right now, we need to be sensible,” she said in a serious tone.
He walked up behind her and roped his arms around her waist. Pulling her close, he asked, “When were we ever sensible?”
“Never.”
With her back settled against his chest he pressed a kiss against the side of her throat as he inhaled the provocative fragrance she wore. For the first time in a long time, he felt like a rich man.
I was made for loving you.
Chapter 15
Sheets of wind-driven rain pounded against the skylights above the bed in the master suite. Marla returned Carson’s greedy kiss as they dropped onto the mattress, naked. She pulled her mouth from his, her lips already swollen from their vigorous kisses.
One Week in Your Arms Page 13
