Dare She Kiss & Tell?

by Aimee Carson

  His face was so rigid she feared it would crack. “I came to find you because I missed you.”

  The stinging tears grew sharp, and her every breath felt heavy, as if she were breathing against a thick mask. “I came here to find some answers,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Because I love yo—”

  “Don’t.” He bit out the word so sharply it startled a nearby guest, and he stepped closer, towering over her, his voice low. “Don’t say it,” he ground out.

  Heart pounding, she froze, trying to find her voice again. “Hunter, I didn’t learn a thing. I told you. I wanted to know the truth, and since you wouldn’t tell me—”

  “You want to hear what happened? Okay,” he said, crossing his arms, his face hardly the picture of acceptance. “On the record, so you can use it to your heart’s content and impress your boss with your in-depth knowledge.”

  Carly’s soul curled up tighter, bled a little harder.

  Hunter either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “I was used by a woman until she got what she wanted and left. I don’t know if Mandy hooked up with me with that intention or not. I suspect my job simply pricked her interest and she decided to see where it led. But ultimately the story was more important than our relationship.”

  Despite her own pain, she hated the blank look on his face. “I’m sorry.”

  Hunter went on, ignoring her attempt at offering sympathy. “She wrote an article that revealed protected information about a cybercrime ring affiliated with the mob in Chicago. Information only our department knew. I’d been working on the case for two years, and I suspect she used a friend of mine from work—an FBI consultant—as her source. All I know is that it wasn’t me,” he said. Defeat joined forces with the anger in his voice and his lips twisted wryly, his bitter humor black. “But you can’t prove a negative. And while a lack of evidence protects you from charges, it doesn’t protect you from your colleagues’ opinions.” Hunter raked a hand through his hair, leaving it spiked on the top. “So I could have stayed and kept my job with restricted access, but I’d lost my zest for the work. Making money in a consulting business seemed the better option.”

  Her heart ached for him—the honorable man being accused. “I am not going to use the story,” she said.

  He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Or maybe you need a little more blood and guts to really impact the reader?” He hiked a brow loaded with bitterness. “Like how devastating it was to be used by a woman I loved. How humiliating it was to be accused of putting the case I’d bled for at risk. The FBI was more than just a job. It was my life.” He turned and headed for the bank of elevators.

  Carly followed him. “I told you, I’m not printing a word.”

  Clearly unmoved by her words, he glanced down at her as he kept walking. “You forget I know how badly you want to prove to your father you’ve earned your stripes back.” Reaching the elevators, he stepped inside one, turning to hold the doors open with his hands—blocking her entry. “So try this on for size, Carly,” he said, looming over her. “You are a remarkable woman, but you should be less concerned about your father’s opinion of you and more about your own. You can’t earn your dad’s respect until you grow up, act like an adult and develop a little respect for yourself.” His gaze was relentless. “And that includes refraining from hopping from one loser’s bed to the next.”

  Her hand connected with his cheek with a loud slap, but the sting in her palm was nothing compared to the pain in her heart. The words had landed too close to home. The last sliver of hope shriveled and died, and her words rasped out, heavy with a furious sarcasm. “As opposed to someone like you,” she said, holding his gaze. “Well, here’s a newsflash for you, Mr. Philips. You don’t hold a monopoly on fidelity, bravery or integrity.” Livid, frustrated he was taking the wounds from his past out on her, she bit out, “One judgmental man in my life is enough, so you can take your paternalistic attitude and go to hell.”

  His expression didn’t ease. “That’s not a problem,” he said. “Because I expect more from the woman I love.”

  Carly’s heart soared even as the floor dropped out from beneath her stomach, the twin sensations leaving her sick. The sting in her eyes grew sharper, because the horrible part was she knew it was true. She’d felt the emotion when he’d clung to her in the hotel room. Hunter did love her. But she also realized why that news didn’t bring the happiness she’d always dreamed it would.

  Because there were all kinds of love. The unrequited kind, that often left one bitter. The kind that was reciprocated, sure and strong, which made a person feel invincible. And then there was the kind that was returned but wasn’t mature enough to last, stunted by the shadows of the past.

  And that was what she had with Hunter.

  “I expected more from the man I love,” she said. Hunter’s expression remained walled up as she went on. “I need a man who’ll stick by my side. Who has faith in me.” She fisted her hands at her side. “I need someone who believes in me.”

  His voice was dangerously soft. “Unfortunately,” he said as he straightened up to push the elevator button, “that man isn’t me.”

  Stricken, Carly stared at Hunter’s over you expression as the elevator door closed, cutting off the excruciating view.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “LIFE sucks.” Carly flopped back onto the plush comforter of the king size bed in the hotel room, staring up at the ceiling.

  Abby shot her a sympathetic look. “I don’t think Hunter meant the things that he said, Carly.”

  Carly dragged the back of her hand across her eyes, impatient with herself. She was tired of being madder than hell. And she was equally fatigued from feeling as if Hunter had whipped out a gun and blasted a shot at her chest at close range, leaving her bleeding in the wake of his retreat. Since he’d packed up and left, gallantly paying the bill for an extra day—as if she’d want to stay and gamble her money when she’d already lost her heart—she’d fought back the urge to hunt him down. To knock that dumb metaphorical white hat off of his head, stomping on it until it was good and flat.

  The exhaustive flip-flopping of her emotions had left her wrung out and empty.

  Abby sat on the bed beside Carly. “Look at it this way,” Abby said. She placed a comforting hand on Carly’s shoulder and crinkled her brow, the jet-black pigtails shifting in response. “He wouldn’t have been so upset about finding you talking to his old colleague if he didn’t really care about you.”

  Care? He’d said he loved her. For years she’d dreamed of hearing those words from someone she loved in return, but she’d never imagined that the moment could bring such agony.

  “I don’t know,” Carly said. Which was true. She didn’t know anything anymore.

  “Well …” The doubt on her friend’s face was hardly encouraging. “He decked that guy for the comment he made about you.” Her overly bright smile looked forced, and it was painful to watch. “That has to mean something.”

  “It means he found an excuse to do what he’s probably wanted to do for years, using my supposed honor as an excuse.” Carly rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in her arms. Her voice was muffled, which made going on easier—because the next set of words were the hardest she’d ever formed. “Except he doesn’t see me as honorable.”

  “You love him,” Abby said softly.

  Spoken out loud, the words doubled Carly’s misery, and the weight of the monstrous entity was a burden that threatened to drown her.

  Carly turned her head on her arms, looking up at Abby. “You said it yourself. These things rarely work out.”

  “Sometimes they do,” Abby said. “You just have to believe that they will.”

  With monumental effort, Carly briefly pushed aside her pain and stared up at her friend. She wasn’t sure which was harder: enduring the expected pessimism while lost in a mire of hopeless misery, or the bud of hope that was now emanating from her friend’s face. “Since when have you been a love convert?” />
  Guilt flickered through Abby’s eyes. “Since I got married.”

  The words lingered in the air and gradually seeped into Carly’s consciousness, her eyelids slowly stretching wide as the news settled deeper. It took a moment for the rest of her body to respond. When it did, she shot up, kneeling on the bed. “Married?”

  “Pete and I visited a chapel on the strip yesterday,” she said with a smile. “Elvis officiated.”

  Blinking hard, Carly tried to reconcile the pessimistic, down-on-relationships woman she knew with the glowing, almost upbeat woman in front of her. Happiness for her deserving friend and sadness for herself combined to overwhelm her, and she leaned forward, gathering Abby in a fierce hug. “I’m so pleased for you,” she said, her throat clogged with emotion. Carly closed her eyes, resisting the urge to burst into tears. This would hardly be the I’m-happy-for-you moment her friend must have envisioned.

  Abby held her tight. “One day I’ll return the sentiment.”

  Carly didn’t have the heart to rain on her friend’s newfound joy, so she said nothing. The words that wanted to form were all negative. She had no clue how to tell her boss the truth about Hunter without losing her job. She had no idea how to heal the rift with her father, especially now that she’d screwed up again. And, worse, she was sure she’d never recover from loving Hunter. Though the word “recover” was probably better suited to catastrophic events.

  Well, as far as Carly was concerned, love ranked right up there with floods, hurricanes and other natural disasters.

  Abby pulled back, holding Carly’s arms. “What are you going to do now?”

  Carly knew her colleague was referring to more than just Hunter, and she pressed her lips together, potential answers swirling in her brain. Run away? Leave everything behind and start all over again? It was tempting, but it hadn’t helped her three years ago when she’d come limping back home. And it hardly seemed the best solution now.

  Gathering her resolve, she met her newly married friend’s gaze with as much confidence as she could muster. “I’m going back to fix what I can.” She blew out a shaky breath. “Starting with my dad.”

  Carly turned into the long, oak-tree-lined driveway of her childhood home, half wishing it would extend forever and she could avoid what waited for her at the end. She could just drive on indefinitely, enjoying the sunshine and the song on the radio, pretending her life was okay. Moving toward the moment of truth, or one of them anyway, but without having to actually face her father.

  Nice try, Carly.

  She was exhausted from the trip home and missing Hunter like she’d never thought possible. No easy-breezy forty-eight hour recovery this time. Honestly, she wasn’t sure forty-eight years would lessen the pain. But it was time to tell her father what had happened. She hadn’t just screwed up again—would probably get fired again—this time she’d also lost the one man she’d ever loved in the process. So…not only had she managed to repeat past mistakes, she’d gone and topped her previous efforts.

  What father wouldn’t be proud of such an accomplishment?

  Carly’s lips twisted at the grim irony as she parked in the drive and stared up at the massive colonial house, hoping to find a little courage in the view. It hadn’t always been associated with unpleasant memories. Her childhood had been as happy as it could be, given she’d been minus a mother and her tiny two-person family was all she’d ever known. They’d muddled through contentedly enough until she’d hit puberty. But she could no longer afford to be the resentful adolescent who’d felt inadequate and misunderstood, and it was time to let the hurt go. Time for her to stop stubbornly waiting for her father to apologize and take the first step toward reconciliation.

  Because it was either forgive him for letting her down or give up on their relationship forever.

  She briefly pressed her lids together, seeking a happier place, and then exited, closing the car door with a determined thunk—praying her resolve was strong enough to withstand the next few minutes. Losing her newfound sense of inner peace at the first test was hardly the new and improved, more mature Carly she was striving to be.

  A few minutes later she found her father under the back brick portico, standing next to one of the giant pillars that faced the Atlantic. He looked as if he’d aged since last week. And, despite her obstinate refusal to move on, she wasn’t getting any younger either.

  “Dad,” she said, and then hesitated, at a loss what to say next.

  He turned, and she braced, waiting for one of the subtle sarcastic slurs he always tossed in her direction. Or maybe she was the one who fired first, in an effort to beat him to it. Perhaps they’d taken turns. She couldn’t remember. Either way, it always ended with one of them, or both, too angry to continue the conversation.

  Two stubborn people stuck in the same behavioral pattern for years. In retrospect, given all she’d lost, it seemed petty and pointless.

  His face was closed off and hardly welcoming. “Hello, kitten.”

  The stupid tears that lived just a heartbeat away bubbled to the surface, but she blinked them back. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. He simply turned and leaned a shoulder against the column, staring out over the Atlantic, while Carly struggled to find the right words.

  It was a full minute before he said, “I was just thinking about that time you disguised yourself as a waitress at a party I threw for the mayor.” He turned to study her. “How old were you? Sixteen? Seventeen?”

  It wasn’t the conversation she’d planned on having, and she certainly didn’t relish the thought of rehashing old arguments. Dealing with the current ones seemed ambitious enough.

  “Fifteen,” she said. “You were so angry you grounded me for a month.”

  He shot her a sharp look. “I didn’t have much choice.”

  “A month is forever to a fifteen-year-old.”

  “The mayor complained that you were stalking him at the gala.”

  She chewed on her lower lip before responding. “That wasn’t entirely accurate,” she said, debating the wisdom of sharing the truth. Carly shifted on her feet. “I was actually trying to question his wife about his mistress.”

  Her father’s heavy eyebrows shot up in surprise as he let out a faintly amused scoff. “You never told me that.”

  She gave a small shrug. “I thought it best you didn’t know.”

  “No wonder the mayor was so livid,” he mused.

  A pause followed, and Carly wasn’t sure if he was amused by her stunt, impressed with her teenage chutzpah or annoyed by the memories of raising a frustratingly independent adolescent. And the closer she’d grown to adulthood, the more her father had been unhappy with his daughter’s choices. Now that she was grown up, it seemed nothing she ever did measured up in his eyes. It was a bitter pill that sat in her stomach, refusing to dissolve.

  His brow dug deep furrows. “Why are you here, Carly?”

  “I need—” Her throat clamped hard, blocking the rest of her words, but she forced her feet to carry her closer to her father. She scanned the turquoise waters of the Atlantic. The late afternoon sun was sparkling on the surface and the salty breeze was balmy. The cold weather that had arrived when she’d first met Hunter had finally passed and moved on. Much like Hunter himself. Pain pierced her. His absence was like an empty chair at a crowded table, a constant reminder he’d walked away. But he’d been right. It was past time to deal with her father as an adult.

  “I don’t want to fight with you anymore,” she said. She drew in a breath. “I know raising me wasn’t easy.”

  A small frown slipped up his face and he looked uncomfortable with the topic—or maybe he was simply suspicious of her intentions. It was several seconds before he responded. “I run a multi-billion dollar company with hundreds of people on the payroll,” he said, his voice a mixture of exasperation and defeat. “But I never knew how to handle you.”

  “I’m not a staff member to be managed, Dad,” she said. “I’m your daughter.”
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  He sent her an aggravated look. “Employees are easier.”

  “Yes, because you can simply dictate what you want.” Carly sighed and crossed her arms. “People in real relationships don’t respond well to the method.”

  He stared at her for what felt like forever, and then shook his head, looking a hundred years older than he should. “I’m sure your mother would have done a better job,” he said, his face haggard.

  The sting of tears returned. “I’m sorry I was a difficult teen.”

  “It’s just …” He blew out a breath and rubbed a hand across his forehead, leaving the wild eyebrows in even more disarray. He caught her gaze with an almost urgent intensity. “I won’t be around forever,” he said, his voice firm yet sincere. “And one of these days your choices are going to get you into real trouble.”

  A dull ache thumped, and Carly pressed her fingers to her temples, hoping to ease the sudden pounding. “Okay,” she went on reluctantly. “You were right. Thomas was using me.” She dropped her hands to her side. “But I didn’t love him,” she said. That fact had been made abundantly clear when she fell in love with Hunter.

  The constant free-falling feeling returned and fear froze her chest, making its work difficult. For a moment she could scarcely breathe.

  Damn. Love didn’t just hurt. It paralyzed.

  “I know,” he said.

  Surprise drew her brows together in confusion, but her father went on with a small wave of his hand.

  “Oh, I didn’t believe that you’d slept with the senator for the story any more than I believed the rumor you’d fallen in love with him and let your emotions cloud your objectivity. I knew better. And in some ways …” he shook his head with a grim look “…I almost wished the latter was true.”

  Shocked, she stared at him, her mouth gaping as she tried to make sense of the words. “I don’t understand.”

  He heaved out another heavy breath. “At least then you would have risked your career for something more than a fascination for a man just because he’d been labeled an individualist.”