"The arrangements are practical."
"The arrangements make me obsolete in your life."
"There are other things—"
"Like what? You stated once that I would help you entertain, but you've already made it clear that you will take care of everything in that department, too. You've planned a party, but rather than let me feel useful in some small way, you've already arranged for a local service to plan everything from the menu to the invitations. You've even chosen what clothes I should wear!"
She took a deep breath, then bit her lip. She
hadn't lost her temper like that in ages. But then, she supposed she was past due.
"I was married to a man like that once before, Ross. He planned my life and my daily activities from the moment I woke up until I went to bed at night. He decided what I would wear, what I would eat and what friends I would have."
Her throat grew tight with emotions. "I won't live like that again, do you hear me? When I divorced Elliot, I swore that I would never allow another man that kind of power in my life. I swore that I would never marry at all."
Ross's eyes glittered. "If you were so dead set against sharing your life with another man, why did you agree to the proposition at all? Why did you agree to marry me?"
She swept her hand wide. "Look around you, look at the car you drive, the house you live in, the company you keep? How could I possibly compete against that?"
"Compete?"
"You threatened to take my children away!"
The muscle in his jaw jumped. "I never would have gone to such lengths."
"Are you so sure? You're a man who's accustomed to getting what you want—regardless of the methods."
"I'd hardly go that far."
"Be honest with yourself, Ross. Would you really have given Zoe up without a fight? Any fight that was necessary."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.
"I think I have my answer," she whispered, hurt, even though she had already suspected as much. "Do you really think I would have stood a chance against that kind of determination?"
When he remained silent, she closed the distance between them, pointing an accusing finger in his direction.
"Before we go any further in this relationship, I want the record set straight. I will be an equal partner or I'll file for divorce."
Ross's eyes narrowed. Then he glanced at the walls behind her. "There will be no divorce." Then, gesturing to the pale-pink color, he said softly, "Do whatever you want. It looks nice." Then he turned and made his way back to the kitchen. "Just let me know if you plan on knocking down any walls. As for the party, check with the people I hired and make any changes you feel necessary. I was merely trying to give you some time to adjust to our arrangement before I made any demands on your time. After tonight, I'll delegate more of the details to you."
Cara stood with her mouth open, the fight draining out of her. She had been ready for a confron-
tation, and now it appeared she wasn't going to get one.
So why did she feel so disappointed?
What had she hoped he would do? Argue with her?
Yes.
With a sinking sensation, she realized that she craved his attention so much that she was willing to argue with him in order to get it. Was she that needy? That wanton? Was she so hungry for his touch? His attention?
Yes.
The thought was humbling as much as it was troubling. She'd prided herself on moving past a point where she felt she had to have a man in her life in order to feel complete.
But it wasn't just any man that would do....
With a sinking heart she realized that she wanted Ross and no one else. She wanted his heart as well as his attention.
Sighing, she realized that she might be asking for the moon. Ross was willing to share his home and his life with her. But his heart?
She shied away from even thinking about that. Tomorrow she would call the caterer and the party organizer and take charge of Ross's soiree. By the time she finished, he would see that she didn't in-
tend to be a mere figurehead in their relationship. She would make him need her.
Turning, Cara took a deep breath and viewed the painter's progress.
Ross hadn't balked at her alterations, so the time had come to move full steam ahead. She would see if the decorator could hire some additional help to expand the scope of the remodeling. She wanted everything to be perfect when the guests arrived.
Nevertheless, she couldn't entirely still the little voice that whispered to her that her motives had less to do with making the castle a home and more to do with making Ross acknowledge that she was an integral part of his life. She wasn't an employee or a live-in nanny.
She was his wife.
"Irs beautiful. Absolutely beautiful."
Cara carefully studied the expressions of her friends from the Mom Squad, looking for any sign of reserve. "You really think so?"
Polly grinned. "I can't believe the transformation you've made with a little paint and wallpa-per.
"Not to mention a few feminine touches," Grace added.
Cara turned to Bettina. ' 'Any cosmic vibrations worth noting?"
"Mmm. The cosmic vibrations have been very busy during our tour." But Bettina wasn't looking at the house, she was studying Cara. "How are things going with Ross and you?"
Cara shifted uncomfortably, then motioned for her friends to take a seat. She had ended their tour at the sunroom next to the kitchen. The intimate niche had only needed a few minor changes in Cara's estimation. She'd painted the walls a soft buttery-yellow, added even more plants and potted flowers, topped the chairs with chintz cushions and framed the window with a chintz swag looped over an antique curtain rod with huge carved finials.
Once her friends were seated, she began pouring tea from a delicate antique chintz ware tea set that had belonged to Cara's mother.
"Things are fine."
Polly snorted. "Now tell us what the situation is really like."
Cara grimaced. "Complicated."
"Has he said anything about all of the remodeling you've done?" Grace asked.
"The most I've been able to get out of him is that things look 'fine.'"
The women began helping themselves to the finger sandwiches and pastries that Stibbs had elegantly arranged on a silver server.
"So he hasn't objected to the complete over-
haul?" Bettina inquired after taking a sip of herbal tea.
Cara idly stirred her own cup. "The first night we had a small...confrontation."
The women exchanged knowing glances.
"Actually, I should probably clarify that I exploded and started telling him that I wasn't his first wife and he should stop comparing me to her." She took a breath at the memory, then continued. "Since then, he's been rather...distant."
Her friends watched her with open concern.
"How are the children?" Grace finally asked.
"They're doing much better. They're beginning to play with one another. Occasionally we even find that they've sneaked into a single room to sleep for the night. It's so cute to find them all sprawled together on the same bed."
"So Ross is the major problem on your road to bliss," Bettina offered.
Cara bit her lip and nodded.
"And it bothers you that you simply...coexist," Bettina continued.
"Yes." The word was small and infinitely telling, even to her own ears.
Grace took her hand. "Have you fallen in love with him?"
"No, of course not. I simply need to feel... needed and—" She stopped, her throat grow-
ing tight with tears. When she caught her friends' concerned looks, she had to admit the truth to herself.
She had fallen in love with her own husband.
And her worst fear was that he couldn't—or wouldn't—love her back.
Cara dressed carefully for the party the following night, knowing that the evening was an important one. Not only would her efforts as a ho
stess be scrutinized, but she was also about to be introduced to Ross's friends and colleagues.
As his wife.
From deep in the house Cara heard the doorbell ring. A quick glance at the clock on her bedside table assured her that it was early for guests to be arriving, so someone must be incredibly early.
She had to admit that, as much as she'd dreaded the party, she was actually looking forward to it. She'd made sure that Ross's guest list was augmented with a few invitees of her own. Grace, Polly and Bettina would be there, as well as Dr. Egstrom and his wife.
Cara had prepared carefully for the event. She'd delegated the painting to the decorator, then had enlisted Stibbs's help in planning the perfect party.
It hadn't been at all surprising to her that he had a flair for entertaining. Nor did it particularly sur-
prise her that Ross had never known that fact. He'd always turned such events over to a professional party planner, assuming that Stibbs wouldn't want to work past his normal hours.
But Stibbs had been delighted. Before Cara quite knew what had happened, he'd arranged for a string quartet, called the caterers and the decorators.
And tonight would be perfect.
Crossing to the windows, Cara drew aside the curtain and gasped. In the late shadows the back terrace glittered like a fairyland. Tiny lights twinkled from every bush and tree. The pool was afloat with votive candles. Flowers and clinging vines graced the tables and every possible niche.
Surely Ross would have to be impressed.
Cara's stomach flip-flopped with nerves. She'd spent the morning with the twins, playing games and baking cookies. Then she'd turned the children over to Melba so that Cara could spend the rest of the day preparing for the party.
Turning, Cara gazed at her reflection in the full-length mirror, barely recognizing herself. It had been so long since she'd dressed in anything but "mom attire."
At Grace's suggestion she'd gone to a spa for the works—manicure, pedicure, facial and a complete makeover. Her hair had been trimmed and
feathered away from her face in a manner that was both dramatic and waifish. Her eyes and bone structure had been highlighted with a careful application of makeup, and her dress...
She had to give Polly credit for the dress. The two of them had gone shopping earlier that week. And while Cara had been leaning toward a simple black sheath, Polly had talked her into buying a gown that was a shocking scarlet.
Cara smoothed the fabric, twisting this way and that. From the front the dress gave an illusion of demureness with a bateau neckline and a bias cut that clung to her figure before swirling around her feet. But from the rear...
Twisting, she grinned when she caught sight of the expanse of bare flesh. The dress had a drape of fabric that rested low on her hips, while above, there was nothing but a naked expanse of skin.
Perhaps she shouldn't have been so bold, but she'd always had a flare for the dramatic—one that Elliot had never allowed her to express. So when Polly had insisted that the black sheath was too predictable for the evening, Cara had hesitated, wondering if the red dress might help her prove to Ross that she wasn't nearly as biddable as he'd thought she might be. Nor was she prepared to blend into the woodwork.
A soft tap disturbed her musings, and Cara's
heart leaped. Without being told, she knew who waited on the other side of the panels. And she also knew that the moment Ross saw her, the die would be cast. Either he would be dismayed by her audacity...
Or maybe, just maybe, he would finally see her as a woman who was more than just a mother.
Chapter Thirteen
"Cara, are you ready? Our guests are beginning to arrive."
Our guests. The inclusive pronoun gave Cara the impetus she needed to cross the room and open the door.
"Yes, I'm ready."
For long minutes she was greeted with silence as Ross's gaze slid from her waifish haircut to the tips of her toes.
"You look beautiful."
His eyes had grown dark and heated. The way he stared at her made her feel as if she was the only woman on earth.
"Thank you."
Ross was devastating, as well. He had dressed in a tuxedo, and she wondered idly if it was the same tuxedo he'd worn the night she'd met him.
So much had changed since their first encounter— and not just with their marriage and the children. Cara felt as if she were a different person. Stronger in so many ways and yet still so weak where Ross was concerned. So needy.
She shivered beneath his regard, soaking up the blatant desire than radiated from his gaze.
"So beautiful," he murmured again.
A frisson of delight sped down her spine, and she felt her pulse skip a beat. For a moment there were no ghosts between them, only pure, honest regard....
As well as a heady, unspoken awareness.
From far below, the doorbell rang again.
"Shouldn't we go down?" she prompted softly.
Ross's lips lifted in a smile, and she was shaken to her toes with the effect it had in softening his features. She was suddenly aware of the fact that she was seeing that smile more and more often. Could she dare to think that she was making a difference in his life? That she was helping him to forget the past and be happy?
Another peal of the doorbell caused his smile to fade into a grimace.
"It seems we won't be given any more time to ourselves." Ross offered her his arm. "Shall we?"
Nodding, she allowed him to escort her down the hall.
"The house and the grounds are beautiful. You've obviously been hard at work, Cara."
His praise warmed her as much as his earlier regard. "Thanks. Everyone has been working hard."
"But I'd bet you did the lion's share." She felt his gaze upon her again as Ross continued, "Yet you still found time to tend to the children and see to my comfort as well."
Ross stopped her short of the staircase so that they were still hidden from prying eyes.
"I never meant to hurt you by excluding you from the preparations. I merely thought—"
She placed her fingers over his lips. "I know."
Ross smiled. "If I'd known that you would be such a stupendous hostess, I never would have dreamed of interfering." His tone softened, becoming low and intimate. "I seem to discover something new about you every day." He touched her cheek, then stroked the line of her jaw. "You never cease to surprise me."
She grimaced. "I doubt there are many surprises left. I'm really a simple person."
Ross shook his head. "No, you're a complex mix—wife, mother, girl next door." His hand touched her back and he grew suddenly still. "Turnaround."
She felt herself flushing, knowing that he'd been
so intent on studying the front of her gown that he hadn't noticed there was no back to speak of.
Holding the slight train out of the way, she pivoted on her toe, slowly, tantilizingly. Then she looked up to see his reaction.
Ross's eyes flared with an instantaneous passion.
"What have you done?"
She shook her head in confusion, wondering if she'd offended him by being so bold in front of his guests.
But Ross merely slipped his hand around her waist, his fingers dipping beneath the edge of the satin drape.
"I've got hours before I'll have you alone again," he whispered. "Hours and hours."
Then he leaned down to kiss her, softly at first, then more and more intimately until both of them were gasping for breath. When he finally drew free, there was no doubt in her mind that he approved of her choice in attire.
"You'll need to add seductress to your list of qualifications," he whispered against her ear.
Cara gasped at the flurry of sensation inspired by his breath caressing her hair.
"I'm no seductress," she said softly as his hand spread wide, moving in slow circles against her back.
"You are in that dress."
She rested her hands at his waist when her knees threatened to buc
kle.
"If we didn't have guests downstairs," Ross said with patent regret, "I wouldn't let you out of my arms." He leaned toward her again, his lips grazing her hair, her cheek, her throat.
Her hands slid around his waist to draw him even closer. He'd been avoiding her ever since Nancy's picture had disappeared from his night-stand. But the hunger of his embrace, the firm pressure of his lips pressing against her own left her in no doubt that he'd been thinking about her.
Wanting her.
"The party," she whispered, hearing the murmur of voices floating up the staircase.
Ross pulled her tightly against him, tucking her head beneath his chin. "Just say the word and I'll send them all home."
Even though she knew the option was impractical, Cara was tempted. But she didn't give in to her baser yearnings. Instead, she stepped away, smoothing the fabric of her dress.
"We can't do that." She was stunned by the hunger evident in her own voice.
Ross touched her lips with his thumb, then took a deep, shuddering breath.
"I suppose not. You've gone to too much trouble to make the evening perfect."
But as his hand slid to the hollow of her back, and he ushered her to the stairs, he leaned close to whisper in her ear, "There's always later."
As the first of the guests began to offer their goodbyes, Ross felt a deep satisfaction warm him from within. The evening had been a rousing success from beginning to end. His associates had been impressed by the preparations and bowled over by Cara's charm. She'd been the perfect asset to Ross, making newcomers feel welcome and old friends feel cherished. She'd laughed when confronted with the latest stories about the twins that were being bandied about on the news and in the tabloids, then she'd skillfully guided the conversation to other topics. She'd been so at ease and captivating, Ross was sure that most of the people who attended would soon be spreading the word that the Giffords had a love match.
Through it all Ross had soon discovered that he no longer cared what his associates thought or the media reported. His one and only concern lay in what Cara was thinking and feeling.
Twins times two! Page 13
