Unbreak My Heart

by Teresa Hill

  Allie scrambled to her feet, all the pleasure she'd found in that kiss simply disappearing, overpowered by the feeling that she'd made a mistake. A terrible mistake.

  "What did you say?"

  "I know who you are, Allie. I was going to say that once, before your sister left, she asked me to watch out for you, and I doubt this was what she had in mind."

  "I doubt it was." She wasn't sure she believed him, either. Not about what he was saying now. Maybe not what he'd told her last night. That he and her sister were never more than friends.

  "Allie, I never kissed your sister like that."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I never wanted to."

  He got to his feet and came to the edge of the porch where she stood. With him towering over her this way, Allie felt anew the differences between the two of them. He was so much bigger, so much stronger, so much more powerful than she was. But she wasn't afraid of him. Not exactly. She was afraid of the connection between them, the strength of her reaction to him. That so easily, he could hurt her.

  He pulled her close and placed one quick, breath-robbing kiss on her lips again.

  "God, Allie." He sounded as frustrated and confused as she felt. "This is the last thing either one of us needs right now."

  She just stood there staring at him. No one had ever kissed her quite like that. Like he wanted to devour her whole in the next instant. Like he was fighting the impulse even now. Still... he'd called her Megan.

  She cleared her throat, tried to find a no-nonsense tone. "I need to know about you and Megan."

  "She lived next door. I'd known her my whole life, Allie. We were friends."

  "You know something," she insisted. "Something about the reason she ran away."

  Allie watched carefully. It happened so fast, she almost missed it. But for a second, the warm, charming man was gone. In his place was Stephen Whittaker, real estate tycoon, all steely determination and rock-hard resolve. She wondered how many other sides of him there were, sides that she hadn't yet seen. She wondered which, if any of them, were real.

  "I wish I knew," he said, and just like that, Mr. Kind and Considerate was back.

  "No," she insisted. "You know something."

  "I don't think anyone but Megan knew for sure why she ran away, and as far as I know, she didn't tell anybody."

  "You must have heard things...." She tried. "Anything..."

  "I heard every rumor in the world about Megan. I couldn't remember half of them, if I tried, and what would be the point anyway? It was nothing but gossip."

  "I have to find out," Allie insisted. "I have to know. This was my family, the only one I ever had. It literally fell apart, and I don't even know why. I can't live with all the questions any longer, Stephen."

  "Can you live with the answers?" he asked. "You don't know what you're going to find, and I'm sorry, Allie, but it's not going to change a thing. Nothing's going to bring your family back."

  "I'll know," she said. "Finally, I'll know."

  "And if the truth hurts?"

  "I've been hurting for years and too much of a coward to insist on knowing what happened."

  "Maybe you were just protecting yourself. Maybe you were being smart and trying not to be hurt anymore."

  "No. That's not it," she said. "Are you really going to try to talk me out of this?"

  "No, I'm going to try to help you."

  "I changed your mind? Just like that?"

  He swore softly and shook his head, but he started talking to her again, too.

  "Megan never told me she was going to rim away," he said, a touch of steel in his voice. "She never told me why. I don't know what else I can say to you, Allie, except that if you want, I'll ask some questions, see what I can find out."

  "I can do it." She was right here, after all. This was the reason she came.

  "I know people," he pointed out. "They'll talk to me."

  "I'll get them to talk to me."

  "All right." He gave in. "Whatever you want."

  They stood, too close for comfort, their words a bit too terse, the force of emotion behind them seeming to echo in the sudden silence. She found that it was difficult to be this close to him now. She wanted so much, and yet she was scared. She'd always been so scared. And confused. He confused her terribly.

  But there was something in his eyes, his beautiful, dark eyes, that drew her to him, despite everything else. Something that had her swaying on her feet, her body moving almost imperceptibly closer to his and then drawing back again.

  So this was it, she thought. For the first time in her life, she began to understand the true power of attraction between a man and a woman. She'd never been so torn, never wanted a man so badly even though she suspected, in the end, he would hurt her.

  Stephen reached for her, his hand lingering on her cheek, so softly, so gently, making her think again of his kiss. The first, soft, sweet one, the long, slow, hungry one, the last, hard, fast one.

  "You are so like her," he whispered.

  There, she thought, pain arching through her. She knew it. He was thinking of Megan. "How?" she said. "How am I like her?"

  "You're scared. You're hurting. You're all alone, and it's hard to see you here, feeling the way she felt, and not think of her. And not wish that..."

  "What? What do you wish?"

  "That everything had turned out differently for her. Allie, if I asked you to go back to Connecticut? To drop this..."

  "I can t."

  "All right." Obviously unhappy with that, he let his hands fall to his side and stepped away. "I'm not sure where that kiss came from. I should apologize for that, too. I don't make a habit of taking advantage of women that way."

  "I'm not Megan," she said, because she hadn't felt taken advantage of in the least, just hurt thinking he was kissing her and remembering her sister. She'd tried for years to take her sister's place with her mother and failed miserably. She certainly wasn't going to do that for a man.

  "I know who you are." He took her chin in hand, tilted her face up to his, watching her intently with dark, glittering eyes. "I know it doesn't make a lot of sense for me to find it nearly impossible to stand here beside you and not touch you. When we haven't seen each other for fifteen years and you've been back all of a day. What can I say, Allie? I want to touch you. To kiss you."

  "Oh." She sighed, wishing she could just accept that, wishing she could forget that he'd called her Megan, that he might be looking at her and seeing her sister. Most of all, she wished she hadn't felt so much when he touched her.

  "Try not to dislike me so much, Allie." His mouth was so close to hers that she felt his breath brush past her cheeks, her lips, before he gave in and kissed her once again, softly, so softly. "Try to trust me. Just a little."

  More confused than ever, she promised nothing.

  "Are you sure you're all right here?" he asked. "Don't be afraid of me. If anything happens... If you need me, for anything, I'll help you, Allie."

  And then he was gone.

  She lay on the sofa that night trying not to think about the kisses and remember instead that once more, he really hadn't told her anything about Megan. He'd given her a hint that their feelings might have been stronger than friendship, and Allie thought at one point Megan ended up crying in his arms. But that was it. He seemed to have a gift for seeming so open, like he was telling her his deepest, darkest secrets, which made her want to trust him even more, when he really hadn't told her anything at all.

  She would think of Megan, she decided. If she was ever tempted to fall into Stephen Whittaker's arms again, she'd remember how much it hurt to believe he was holding her, kissing her, while thinking of her sister.

  It wasn't until later, alone in the darkness, that she remembered what he'd said there at the end. If anything happens...

  Why would he say that?

  What did he think was going to happen to her here?

  Chapter 4

  Stephen was up before dawn, standing o
n the back porch of his parents' home, sipping his first cup of coffee and staring at the Bennett house. He didn't think he'd ever fumbled a situation quite as badly as the one last night with Allie.

  He wasn't supposed to like her. She wasn't supposed to be so damned vulnerable, so absolutely alone, and he hadn't expected to feel so rotten about lying to her. But he did. He never planned to kiss her or to have his hands all over her, either, and he'd certainly done those things, as well.

  She just kept surprising him, and he didn't like it. A simple conversation with her was like ripping a vein open, pouring out his heart, something he just didn't do with any woman.

  That first night, all he'd intended was to keep her from feeling so alone, but she'd been so surprised by the idea that anyone else might feel the same way. What could he do? He'd told her he did and in the time since then figured out it was likely true. He'd just have to deal with it, after he dealt with her.

  A nagging little voice inside told him she'd feel even more alone, more isolated, once she knew the truth about him. And she'd have nowhere to turn.

  Everyone she had in the world was gone. He felt like even more of a louse than before.

  The phone rang. Stephen picked it up knowing who it was—his father calling from a boat somewhere in the Mediterranean. They wasted no time on preliminaries.

  "She's there?" his father demanded.

  "Yes."

  "You saw her."

  "Of course. I told you I would."

  "Did you find out what she wants?"

  "I'm not sure she knows herself at this point."

  His father laughed. "That should make it easier for you to help her come to the right decision."

  "And what would that be?" Stephen asked. "The right decision?"

  "She doesn't have any business being here."

  "She owns a home here now."

  "Not for long. Not if we have anything to say about it. And I hope she doesn't intend to do anything but dispose of the house. The mess with her sister is ancient history."

  Stephen said nothing. He was finding that the past wasn't so very far away anymore, especially not once he saw Allie.

  "You said you'd take care of this for me, Stephen," his father said.

  "I will."

  He'd offered, actually. He'd deliberately insinuated himself into the midst of this situation, thinking he could handle things just fine. He always handled things.

  "The best thing for that little girl would be to go back to where she came from," his father said.

  Stephen had told Allie that; his conscience was clear on that point. Nothing would bring Megan Bennett back to life. Once Allie figured that out, he intended to make it easy for her to go.

  "Did you make her an offer?" his father asked.

  "Not yet. I thought I'd let her come to the decision to sell the house first, then make the offer."

  "Stephen—"

  "I bought and sold more than forty million dollars worth of real estate last year, Dad. I know what I'm doing."

  "Still, why not help her along?" his father insisted. "Get her out of town a little faster. Whatever it takes."

  Stephen bit back a curse. Whatever it takes? He suspected that would be his father's motto going into this situation. Stephen was ready to do whatever it took, as well, to keep his father from handling this in his own typically heavy-handed way.

  "She's not going to stay in that house, Dad. She couldn't, even if she wanted to. Inheritance taxes will wipe out most all the cash her father left her. Even though the house is mortgage-free, the maintenance, the utilities, and the property taxes would be too much for her."

  "You know that for certain?"

  "Of course, I do. When I set out to buy a piece of property, I make it a priority to know who I'm dealing with and what assets that person has at his or her disposal," he said. "This woman hasn't had a paying job since before her mother died. She has a little in savings and a stack of medical bills of her mother's. Nothing that's going to allow her to stay in that house for long."

  "Still, she's a woman. Women are sentimental, illogical—"

  "She happens to be an accountant," he countered. "She knows she can't keep that house."

  "Stephen—"

  "I told you I'd take care of it, and I will."

  "All right. In the meantime, stick close. I want to know what she's doing, who she's talking to, what she knows. All of that," his father said. "Turn on the charm, boy. It shouldn't be hard for you."

  Stephen swore softly and got off the phone. When he and his father started thinking alike, he was in serious trouble. But the truth of his words couldn't be ignored. It would likely be very easy to find out what he needed to know when the woman in question was right next door. When she was all alone and very, very sad, and in need of someone in whom to confide.

  She seemed surprised and pleased by the smallest of compliments that first night over dinner, seemed genuinely flattered and a bit shy. Before last night, he would have said it would be easy to talk to her, to flirt with her in the mildest of ways. To get her to open up to him as she decided what to do with the house, which fell perfectly into his father's request.

  But it felt too personal now. He'd held her in his arms while she cried her eyes out. He began to realize the price she would pay simply for being here, for asking all those really hard questions about why her family fell apart. And he didn't like being the person standing between her and the answers she sought, even if he still believed she was likely better off not knowing.

  He didn't like being attracted to her and knowing he shouldn't do anything about it. He hadn't quite figured out how he was going to stick close to her and not touch her again.

  Stephen swore softly in the dark solitude of the morning. He should go back over there today because the quicker he wrapped this up, the better it would be for everyone, including her. He'd back up, he told himself. Start over. Surely he could charm her, without ever getting that close to her. Surely he could be with her and scarcely lay a hand on her.

  He just had to get her to trust him and to leave. Before anything happened to her here.

  * * *

  Allie woke abruptly, pulled from sleep, by what she didn't know.

  She lay absolutely still and listened. In her bleary, half-awake state she could swear she heard the sound of footsteps. Carefully, she worked to separate the sounds of her own pounding heart and labored breathing from the rest of the sounds around her.

  There was something... Above her. On the second floor? The third?

  It could be nothing but a mouse. Anything could have gotten in, she told herself. Anyone. It would be just her luck that the house sat here empty and undisturbed for two and a half years, and someone would pick the week she came back to break in.

  She threw back the makeshift covers and padded into the hallway, turning on lights as she went. Upstairs, nothing moved, except a bit of dust floating on a ray of sunshine.

  Dust didn't move by itself, did it?

  She tried to fight off the sense of dread she felt at the thought of walking up those stairs and into any of the bedrooms.

  She put her foot on the first step, had a death-grip on the banister. Her heart was thundering, drowning out everything else, and she felt feverish one minute, cold and clammy the next.

  She couldn't go up there, she realized. She just couldn't.

  Allie sat down instead on the bottom step, and then scooted down onto the floor. She was such a coward she just sat there until she realized that the noises overhead had ceased. She didn't have to go up there. Not yet.

  She walked back into the family room, where she'd slept. Last night she'd been unnerved by the big, tall windows facing the backyard, bordered by a solid line of trees and vegetation. The house backed up to the creek that flowed into the river just past Stephen's house, and on the other side of the creek was an equally tall, thick stand of trees. No one lived back there. No one could see in the windows. But as she lay there trying to go to sleep, she
felt as if she were being watched. As if someone was waiting to see what she would do. If she would run away in the middle of the night or if she would stick it out and finally find the answers she sought.

  She'd double-checked all the locks on all of the doors and windows. One window in the family room had been unlatched. Of course, it could have been that way for years, but it left her feeling even more uneasy.

  The moon had been out, shining through the trees in the backyard, casting all sorts of intriguing shadows through the room. There was a bit of wind, and every now and then she heard something thump up against the house, probably just a tree that needed pruning. Nothing more. She'd told herself quite firmly that she'd be fine in the morning, in the bright light of day, and what had she gotten? Footsteps.

  Allie raked a hand through her hair and resolved to do better from here on out. To be calmer, more logical, and not so on-edge. She had to make a plan and stick to it. Even if it was merely to search the house room by room, starting with the first floor, packing and sorting as she went. It all had to be done. If there was something here—some clue as to what happened to them all, she would find it eventually. She wasn't leaving until she did. Maybe when the first floor was done, she'd find the courage to walk up those stairs and start on the second.

  She felt calmer, more determined. Heading through the back hall toward the kitchen, she discovered the little piano tucked into the alcove under the grand staircase. She and Megan had spent hours here. Flipping back the lid, ignoring the cloud of dust rising from the keys, she softly played a scale, finding the instrument badly out of tune, the off-key notes echoing through the house.

  Closing her eyes, she thought she could see her sister here, sitting on the piano bench. Her long brownish-blonde hair hanging down her back, her thin arms stretched out toward the keys, fingers spread wide to reach the notes of the last chords. She was smaller than Allie remembered, thinner, more delicate, looking as if a stiff breeze could pick her up and carry her away.

  Allie sensed something in the memory that suddenly turned so vivid, something waiting for her. She looked at Megan's hands moving across the keyboard. Her hands were so small, her arms so pale. She'd lost weight, Allie remembered, realizing this must have happened that summer, right before Megan left. Allie had noticed her sister losing weight.