by Jane Porter
“You’re fine. You gave the wine a chance to breathe.”
She flashed him a wry smile as she peeled off her coat and dropped it on the back of one of the chairs in the dining room but the coat fell off the chair and she leaned over to grab it, giving him a good look at her butt.
Even in baggy sweatpants she had a great butt.
Suddenly he was distracted, and his body reacted, and he remembered just how sensitive she’d been—
“So what’s going on?” she asked, dropping into one of the chairs at the table. Her thick brown hair was up in a ponytail and she was wearing a white baseball style T-shirt with royal blue sleeves that outlined her breasts and he felt like a kid, fixating on all her curves.
She looked really good. But he hadn’t called her over for a midnight booty call. Although the thought was tempting. It was probably a good thing she didn’t normally dress like this around him.
“Is this what you wear to bed?” he asked, pouring the wine into two oversized goblets.
“It’s just loungewear.”
Loungewear. Somehow that sounded really sexy, too.
He handed her the glass and their fingers accidentally brushed. He grew hard all over again. Maybe it was time he started dating again. Clearly he needed to get laid, and clearly he wasn’t going to be taking Whitney to his bed.
He wouldn’t be taking anyone to his bed when he had a four-year-old sleeping in the bedroom.
Maybe that’s what had hijacked his personal life. Becoming a single father.
“Let’s sit in the living room,” he said. “I’m not a fan of dining rooms at the moment.”
“Ah. Right.” She jumped up from the chair as if burned. “Good point.” She followed him to the pair of couches in the suite’s living area and sat down on the couch adjacent to his. “So what are you going to do about Shane and his story?”
He stretched an arm along the back of the couch and tugged on the cushion’s welting. “I don’t know.” He was quiet a long moment, his gut churning again. “I’m not sure what to do.” He looked at her, wanting her input. Needing her input. “What do you think?”
She studied him, her gaze searching his. “If this were a work issue, I’d be comfortable giving you my opinion, but this is different. This is personal—”
“You’re not my colleague right now. You’re not an ex. You’re my friend. What should I do?”
She sipped her wine and then set the glass on the wooden coffee table. “If you don’t know what you want to do, then wait. Don’t do anything. Sit on making a decision until you’ve had time to consider all options. Eventually you will know what you want to do, and you’ll do it better with a cool head rather than in a moment of anger or panic—”
“I don’t panic,” he scoffed.
She grinned. “Fine. In a moment of anger or passion.” Her smiled faded. “But seriously, you’re a master of control, and you’re unsettled right now because the situation feels out of control, but let’s face it, if you hadn’t gone into the house today you wouldn’t know what Shane was writing. You wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. So you do have time. You can afford to let this play out…develop a strategy. If anyone can be strategic, it’s you, Cormac.”
“We don’t know when the book is coming out,” he said slowly.
“Books take time.”
“If they get released at all.”
She shot him a suspicious glance. “You’re not planning anything diabolical, are you? I wouldn’t be cool with that.”
“It’s not your family.”
“You asked my opinion.”
“Can’t you just tell me what I want to hear?”
“No.”
He laughed shortly and tipped his head back, rubbed his eyes. “I need to get out of this place,” he said quietly. “It’s hard being cooped up in a hotel with a four-year-old.” He exhaled. “I almost lost it with her tonight. She had a meltdown and wouldn’t stop crying. I just kind of wanted to go…”
“Where?”
“Anywhere but here.” He rubbed his eyes again, his gut cramping, his chest hot and tight. “I forgot how much I hate Marietta.”
*
Whitney heard something in Cormac’s voice she’d never heard before. Not just pain, but almost despair. She left her seat to go sit next to him, facing him sideways. “Talk to me.”
“Oh, babe, there’s nothing to say. I just…” he shook his head. “I just really wanted…” His voice drifted away and his jaw tightened, flexing, making all the muscles flex all the way down his neck.
Whitney put a hand on his knee. “Tell me.”
“I wanted to see her.” His deep voice rasped, all but inaudible. He looked away, grinding his teeth, making the tendons and cords in his neck pop all over again. “My mom. I just wanted her to be there.”
He turned his head and looked at her, his gray-green eyes the same color as the sea. “I was fourteen when I last saw her. And I missed her today. I really missed her and I don’t know if it’s being a father, or visiting the ranch, but man, it wasn’t easy growing up there. It wasn’t easy growing up, period.”
Whitney didn’t know who’d moved—him or her—but she was suddenly in his lap, with his big arms around her, and he just held her, holding on for warmth and comfort, and she could feel his need as strong as if it was her own.
And maybe it was her need, too.
Everyone was so alone in this world.
Everyone had to face life and death and love and loss alone. You had others who could walk with you and try to support you but eventually they’d be gone, too.
She covered one of his hands with hers, and his fingers slipped through hers, locking them in.
She felt his heart beating against her back, and the heat of his body everywhere around her and it made her ache.
She still loved this man.
“You’re not really an Ice Man, are you?” she whispered.
His broad chest lifted and fell. She glanced up into his face. He was smiling crookedly. “You are one ruthless woman.”
“I can’t comment on your sensitive side?”
“No.”
She pressed her lips to the curve of his biceps. It’d be so easy to kiss him right now. It’d be so easy to turn just enough to touch her mouth to his…
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go there. Not with him. Not even if she loved him. Just three more weeks until January and she’d be gone. She needed to go. She needed to cut her ties and move on so she could find someone who loved her and protected her…as much as Cormac was always trying to protect Daisy.
Whitney wasn’t jealous of his love for Daisy, but it was a constant reminder that Cormac could love. But he didn’t love her.
“What was she like? Your mom?” Whitney asked. “You’ve never talked about her before.”
Cormac drew a slow breath and then exhaled even more slowly. “I loved her. And all boys love their mom but I really loved her. I thought she was so beautiful—and she was—part-Irish, part-Native American she was like a princess.”
He was silent for so long she realized he was done talking but he hadn’t really answered the questions she wanted to know.
“What happened to her?” she asked after a moment. “How did she die?”
For a minute there was just more silence and then his powerful shoulders shifted wearily. “She took her life. Troy found her.”
Whitney turned in his lap to face him. His eyes were closed. His lips pressed in a line. Pain etched deeply in his hard handsome features.
She lifted a hand to his face, cupping his beard-roughened cheek.
He opened his eyes and looked into hers. “Everyone acted like they were so shocked. Dad. My brothers. They all acted as if her suicide was out of the blue. It wasn’t. We all knew she was unhappy. But no one did anything to help her.”
“You mean like get her counseling?”
“No, like get her out of that house and away from Dad.” Cormac suddenly li
fted Whitney up off his lap and placed her on the couch so he could get up and pace. “I should have done something,” he gritted. “Should have done something for her. I loved her. Adored her. And yet I did nothing.”
Whitney leaned forward. “You were a kid!”
“Fourteen. A freshman in high school, and in my family, that’s practically a man.”
“Well, your family was wrong. A fourteen-year-old is not a man, and I’m not happy you lost your mom, but I’m glad you thought about her today, and I’m glad you missed her and I’m glad you finally have told me about her. I’ve known you for how many years? We dated for how long? And never once in all those years did you ever talk about her. It’s about time.”
Chapter Sixteen
‡
Returning to the Bramble House, Whitney made herself a cup of tea, turned on the gas fireplace, and sat wrapped in a blanket in one of the chintz chairs by the fire, trying to see into the future and not liking what she saw.
Every survival instinct in her screamed danger.
Every survival instinct told her to get out of Dodge while she could.
Marietta was full of folksy small town charm but working in such close proximity to Cormac was clouding her judgment.
He was gorgeous and brilliant and charismatic. She’d never met a sexier, more appealing man in her life. But Cormac had bitten off a lot and he was leaning heavily on her and that would be fine if they were equals…partners…but they weren’t.
He had all the power in this relationship and if she wasn’t very careful, she’d end up crushed. Again.
She wasn’t trying to be dramatic. She didn’t like being dramatic. But she and Cormac didn’t have a very encouraging track record and when the chips were down, Cormac always looked out for his best interests.
Not just once, or twice, but every single time.
Climbing into bed she resolved to be more cautious and if need be, keep Cormac at arm’s length.
Not because she wanted him there, but she had to keep him there. Cormac was her kryptonite.
*
Despite being up past midnight, Whitney arrived promptly at her desk in her Graff office by eight the next morning.
It was going to be a busy day today and she wanted to answer some emails and respond to a crisis surrounding an upcoming issue of Big Sky Bride before meeting Heath and his electricians and cable technicians at the Crookshank Building at ten. They were working with a blueprint of where all the desks would go, but Heath wanted Whitney to double-check the layout and make sure each desk had the right outlets in the right location.
Today was all about work and getting things done. She wasn’t going to be distracted and she wasn’t going to obsess about Cormac and she most definitely wasn’t going to spend more time with him than—
A knock sounded on the closed door and the door abruptly opened. Cormac gave her a wry smile. “Figure I owe you some coffee after keeping you out late last night.”
And just like that all her good intentions fell away.
She was happy to see him. Too happy.
How could danger look so good?
His cheeks were dusky red from being outside in the cold and the color in his cheekbones made his eyes look intensely green this morning.
“Tall nonfat latte, extra foam,” he said, handing her a cup.
“You remember.” She was touched, and then annoyed with herself for being touched. She honestly needed more backbone when it came to him.
*
“I also wanted to thank you for your thoughts last night. You said some wise things.”
“I’m glad. Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
“I’m going to hold off saying anything about Shane and his book until after the holidays. Christmas is just a few weeks away and Trey and McKenna’s first wedding anniversary is on New Year’s Day. They haven’t even been married a year yet, and the news would ruin the holidays for everyone. It doesn’t make sense to do that, not right now.”
“I like your plan.”
“It’s based on your advice.” He smiled faintly. “Were you always this smart?”
She smiled back. “Yes.”
“Why did I let you go again?”
Her smile faded. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe there was another hot girl on your radar—?”
“No.”
“Or maybe you just got scared.”
“Scared?”
She tried to keep her tone light. “Love is something you can’t control. And you need control.”
“Not true. I don’t always need to be in control.”
“Fine. Not always. Just ninety-nine percent of the time.”
*
She might be right again, Cormac thought, leaving her office for his. He was accustomed to having control. He liked having the control. It made him feel more secure.
Funny, but Whitney also made him feel more secure, despite constantly challenging his authority and questioning his decisions.
Maybe it’s because she was so damn good at her job. He trusted her professionally. Respected her immensely. He knew the magazines wouldn’t be the success they were if Whitney hadn’t worked her magic on them.
And just like that he felt a wave of guilt.
She deserved better. She did.
In his office he stripped off his coat and settled down at the desk.
She would have made a great mother for Daisy. He knew that. But he didn’t know how to make it work two years ago. How was he supposed to include Whitney in his and Daisy’s life without making her permanent? How to share Daisy with someone he cared for, but didn’t romantically love? Because that was the real issue. He’d cared for Whitney but he hadn’t loved her, not the way she’d loved him, and it’d been overwhelming…the guilt that he wasn’t where she was, that he couldn’t feel what she felt, that he couldn’t be what she wanted him to be.
She’d never hinted that she wanted a big white wedding and the honeymoon, but what woman didn’t? And he certainly didn’t do romance and weddings, never mind long term. He enjoyed female companionship but had no desire to ever settle down.
His passion was his work. And he was never lonely as there were plenty of women happy to be the flavor of the month…or the week, or day.
Whitney was to have been a flavor-of-something. Purely temporary. No permanence involved. But he’d enjoyed her company so much that they’d continued on, their relationship stretching from days to weeks, and then weeks to months, before reaching the one year milestone. It was the one year milestone (“anniversary” she’d called it) that shook him awake.
If she hadn’t called it an anniversary…
If others hadn’t made their little jabs and jokes and digs…Going to put a ring on it, Cormac? When’s the wedding, Sheenan? You finally going the distance?
But the jabs and digs woke him up. And Whitney’s reference to the one year mark made him think.
Was Whitney silently hoping for more? Was she waiting for a proposal? Was she anticipating their relationship turning into something…more?
He ended it within the week.
And it had been abrupt. He hadn’t known how to break the news to her, and so he’d just told her bluntly that it wasn’t working for him anymore and he’d enjoyed the past year but he was ready to move on.
Ready for someone new.
He winced now, remembering.
He’d been a shit. He had. And he’d level the guy that broke his Daisy’s heart, but back then…
Cormac shook his head, uncomfortable. He wasn’t proud of who he was. He knew he’d made a lot of big mistakes. But Daisy was changing him, softening him…giving him a change of heart.
Or maybe it was a heart.
Was it too late to try again with Whitney? Could he possibly convince her to give him a second chance? Now that they were all in Marietta, could he keep her here long enough to try to win her back?
*
After the meeting with Heath and his sub-contractors at the off
ice building, Whitney pulled Heath aside to let him know that she’d be taking over project management on Cormac’s house on Copper Mountain Lane.
“Cormac beat you to it,” Heath said. “He sent me a text last night that you were handling it now.”
“You’re good with that?”
“I couldn’t be happier. He’s been a bear to work with and I could use a buffer right now and it seems like you know how to handle him.
“He’s just got a lot on his plate.”
“We all do. And we’re all busting our butts to make these two jobs come in on time, but he’s not helping. He and one of my guys just got into it last week and the guy quit. Josie was near tears when Cormac told her to grow a pair.”
Whitney didn’t find it funny but she wasn’t shocked. Cormac could be tough, but it wasn’t usually personal. She hesitated. “Do you need me to talk to him?
“No. But just keep him off the job sites for the rest of the week and let everyone work. And this isn’t personal. Cormac and I go way back, but if we lose any more guys…”
“Got it.”
*
Leaving Marietta, Whitney drove to Paradise Valley to do a walk-through of Cormac’s big new house on her own, making a million notes of everything that needed to be done. The house was actually in great shape. All the important things had been done. It was really a matter of giving the interior some character and love.
With a judicious use of color, the right curtains at the massive windows, and the right rugs on the dark wood floors, the house would immediately come to life. Everything would feel warmer and inviting, and she intended to mix it up, creating a home that had a sense of history and place.
Josie had told Whitney about her favorite antique store in Livingston. The store had the good stuff, genuine antiques, solid, beautifully crafted furniture from the last two centuries, along with carpets, paintings, and more. Nearly everything in the Livingston antique gallery had a tie to Montana history, either traveling here by covered wagon with an early settler, or shipped in by a wealthy copper baron.
Those were the kinds of pieces Whitney wanted to see in Cormac’s house. She wanted the interior to feel as if it were a mix of old and new, family heirlooms side by side with Cormac’s bold art collection. She’d go easy on Native American patterns—that was almost cliché in the modern Montana log cabin—and would focus on antique Persian carpets in teal, crimson, and cream and then she had a very special plan for Daisy’s room, and it would take a bit of finessing, but it was also the room she was most excited about doing.
