William used the same electrical outlet as his charger and set the machine beside his phone, but he didn’t turn it on. Instead, he poured her a stiff drink, diluting it slightly with a bit of soda water. He carried it to the sofa where she’d chosen to sit.
“Thank you.” Her hand trembled slightly as she took the glass. “I hate to ask another favor of you, but, I promise, this one is strictly for bluffing purposes.”
He returned to the rocker. “I beg your pardon?”
“As I told Grandpa, I’d like to leave this with you for safekeeping tonight, but in the morning, I plan to make a couple of copies. One to send home with you, and one for my lawyer.”
He nodded his approval.
“In your case, I’ll tell Bruce that if anything happens to me, you will release the tape to Entertainment Tonight or some other TV news outlet. The bad publicity would ruin him, even if a court decided he had nothing to do with my death.”
She stumbled over the word, proving to William she wasn’t handling this threat with as much aplomb she wanted him to believe. He lifted his glass. “Drink up. It’s not every day someone gets a death threat. I remember Cooper telling me about his mother’s bookie threatening to take out a contract on him. Very unnerving, to say the least.”
She took a large gulp, then made a face as it traveled down her gullet. “Good,” she said breathlessly.
“Miranda and Hailey didn’t hear any of this, did they?”
“No. Heavens, no. The language is…well, R-rated to say the least. That I could handle, but when he started talking about wanting to see me dead…”
Her attempted smile didn’t erase the worry lines across her brow, but it did make him want to try to fix the cause. But that would mean getting more involved than he already was, and hadn’t he decided that was a bad idea?
“I would be happy to provide some threat of leverage if you think it will help, but let’s not overlook the facts here—this man threatened your life. Your lawyer needs to get a restraining order in place as soon as possible, not to mention notifying the police.”
She settled against the puffy cushions of the sofa with a weighty sigh, drawing her knees to her chest. “That’s what Cal said, too.”
Unfortunately, William knew all too well that a restraining order only worked if the person gave a damn. Bianca had had several in place against Ocho. He’d still killed her. “Do you think you’ll be safe at Cal’s tonight? You could bring the girls here, or I could drive you to a hotel in Deadwood. As long as you don’t put the charge on your credit card or use your cell phone to call him, he won’t be able to find you.”
Daria closed her eyes and rested her chin on her knees. She didn’t know what it was about William’s voice that calmed her badly shaken nerves so completely. Maybe his thoughtful, dispassionate delivery, or that unflappable British composure that seemed to say “Fear not, dear lady, all shall be well.”
“Moving the girls won’t be necessary. They’re sound asleep and I’m fairly certain I’m going to be able to sleep, too. Thanks to you,” she added softly.
“Me? But I haven’t done anything.”
“You listened. You didn’t try to downplay how serious this is. And most of all, you believed me. Without even listening to the tape, you trusted that I wasn’t overreacting. You have no idea how much that means to a person who has had someone second-guess her every single decision for most of her married life.”
She reached for her drink and took a small sip. “I couldn’t buy a set of drinking glasses without worrying about what Bruce would say.” Will he hate these? Will he make me take them back four or five times until he finally goes out and buys something else? She hated the subtle way he’d robbed her of her self-confidence.
“That’s a sad fact to admit to a relative stranger, isn’t it?” Daria asked. “Are you wondering how I manage to walk upright without a backbone?”
He shook his head. “No. Of course not. It’s infinitely clear that your ex-husband has control issues. I once worked under a senior editor at a large publishing house in New York. This guy so frequently reversed his subordinates’ decisions we were left wondering if that was the only reason we’d been hired—to provide an array of people for this egomaniac to humiliate and torture on a daily basis.”
Daria recalled reading a popular chick-lit book on the subject. “I bet you didn’t stick around twelve years, did you? You quit after a few weeks and found some place else to work.”
“Eleven months later I left to become my own boss. But I didn’t have any children with this man, so it was a bit easier.”
She bit on her lip to keep from laughing. She liked his droll sense of humor. She was comfortable with him in a way she couldn’t remember being around any man for a long time. So long, in fact, it was depressing to think about.
“I should go. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or you, but I feel a lot less panicky than I did when I first got here. Grandpa looked so upset and worried when he played that tape for me, I almost asked you to fly us somewhere else. Anywhere. The last thing I want is for Bruce’s poison to spill over on Cal.”
“From my observations, limited though they are, your grandfather is pretty resilient. I flew Morgan here not long after Libby’s grandmother’s funeral, and I had a very nice chat with Cal in his garden. He seemed at peace with Mary’s passing.” He paused, thinking. “Actually, I think he may have mentioned you. Not by name, of course, but he said he had a granddaughter who was going through a rough time and how much he admired her for standing up for herself and her children.”
Daria was touched. It was hard not to feel like a failure when you were digging yourself out of a deep hole of your own making.
“So,” she said, sitting upright. “Enough of my personal soap opera. You’re returning to L.A. tomorrow, as planned?”
William got up and walked to the cabinet where he’d poured her drink. His lean, refined physique was something she doubted she’d ever get tired of looking at. “Yes. I heard from Lucas earlier. He’s much improved. He asked me to relay his regards to you and your daughters.”
She looked at her watch. She should go and try to sleep, but even after the whiskey she felt too wired to doze off. “That’s nice.”
“Can I fix you another?” His lips compressed in a line. “Probably not, since you’re driving. Sorry.”
“How ’bout something hot? I’d forgotten how cold it is around here in winter. Does Libby have herbal tea?”
His laugh was genuine and inclusive. “Based on the number of boxes in her cupboard, I’d speculate she owns stock in several companies. Come, name your poison.” He grabbed her hand and led her into the adjoining room.
She looked at her hand in his, surprised that she hadn’t jerked back automatically. A learned reaction from being pulled places she didn’t want to go by someone who would squeeze her hand until she gave in.
William let go to fling open a pair of cupboard doors, then he bowed. “Your pick, m’lady.”
She lifted her gaze to the proffered selections and burst out laughing. “Morning sickness.”
“I beg your pardon?”
His expression was so baffled, sweet and funny she wanted to kiss him. Instead, she coughed into her fist, ordering herself to sober up. “I tried a bunch of these same brands when I was pregnant with Hailey. I swear I had morning sickness from the moment of conception ’til the day of her birth.”
She reached out and selected a variety she’d never tried. “Hmm. Sit back and relax,” she said, reading the label. “Definitely what I need to do at the moment.”
He removed an individual bag from the box then returned it to her. “Please, take it. With my compliments. I’ll replace it for Libby before she returns home.”
“Are you always this generous?”
“Yes. Especially with other people’s things.”
What she liked best about his sense of humor was that it wasn’t loud, flamboyant or demanding of a response. She found the natura
l give and take between them so easy and refreshing she almost commented on it. Instead, she asked, “Does Libby know if she’s having a boy or a girl?”
“The last thing she told me was that the young hippopotamus she was carrying was definitely one of the two.”
She snickered softly as she took a seat at the table and watched his methodical preparations. Even in an unfamiliar kitchen he moved with an elegant sort of confidence. “How’s your dad?”
The sugar bowl in his hand slipped from his fingers and fell onto its side on the table. They both reached out to keep it from spilling. “Slippery devil,” he muttered before pivoting quickly to return to the stove. “I was on the phone with my uncle right before you arrived.”
“I hope things work out, but either way, it’s your call. I hope it didn’t sound like I was judging or criticizing your choice on the plane today. That was just my guilt speaking.”
He turned to face her. “Your guilt? What do you have to feel guilty about?”
“I was a coward. I chose to keep the peace and avoid a fight rather than do what my heart told me to do.”
“How specifically?”
“I didn’t make it to my mother’s side before she died. But my mistakes have no bearing whatsoever on your decision whether or not to see your father. I’m sorry I said anything.”
He carried two mugs to the table and sat across from her. “When the mortal end is in sight, there’s never a shortage of guilt and remorse to go around. Would anything have changed if you’d gotten to her bedside beforehand?”
“Not for Mom, probably. But it might have helped rebuild my relationship with my father. He felt lost and abandoned, which made him vulnerable to the first opportunistic woman who came along to fill the void my mother’s passing left.”
He seemed to think seriously about what she said. “I think most people tend to romanticize their parents’ relationship, and have difficulty picturing them as men and women with lives that don’t intersect with ours. Maybe my parents did me a favor by shattering that illusion early on.”
He stirred his cup. “Did you ever see Dr. Zhivago?”
“Of course. It was one of my mother’s favorites.”
“I was pretty young the first time I saw it. Our housekeeper-slash-nanny took me. I was absolutely convinced that my parents were those tragic, forever lovers kept apart by distance and circumstance, not choice.”
She sighed wistfully. “The heartbreak. Matched only by the ice.”
He nodded. “But a few months later, I found my mother kissing some stranger behind a Red Cross field tent in the middle of the desert. He was a doctor, but he wasn’t Omar Sharif.”
“Oh,” she groaned. “That must have been terrible. Did you talk to her about what you saw? Maybe it wasn’t what you thought.”
His sardonic sneer told her no. She also guessed the subject was closed, and he was sorry he’d even mentioned it.
She polished off the last of her tea and stood. “Speaking of ice and cold, I should probably get back to Grandpa’s. I don’t want him to worry.”
“Would you like me to ride along and walk back? The exercise would do me good,” he said, following her to the door.
“No, no, that’s okay. The car has snow tires. I’ll be fine.”
He reached down to open the door for her but stopped with his hand on the knob. Their faces were only a few inches apart. She should have stepped backward. She could have. But she didn’t.
“I’m glad you came here tonight, Daria. I like you. I enjoy talking with you. You’re the most honest, self-attuned, real person I’ve met in a long time.”
“What about Libby?”
“She’s spoken for.”
And I’m not, she thought with a bright, glittery burst of joy. I’m free. Available. Sorta.
She looked at his lips. His perfect, masculine, desirable lips. “You know the baggage we brought with us on your plane is only part of the package, right?”
William put his arms around her and carefully eased her closer, as if expecting her to bolt. Which she should have. Would have, if she’d been listening to the sensible advice she’d read in a dozen or so women’s magazines over the past few months. But those writers’ voices were drowned out by the girlish thrill of sharing a first kiss with the handsomest man she’d ever known.
And why the heck shouldn’t I? He’s flying away in the morning. I’ll probably never see him again. If not now, when?
Her last justification—a popular slogan adopted by several politicians she knew—made her smile. William seemed to take that as a yes. With one hand he lifted her chin as he slowly lowered his head.
His lips were soft and warm, gentle but persistent, coaxing her to respond. She couldn’t not. Hormones, pheromones, whatevermones flooded her desert-dry senses. She not only kissed him back, she leaned into him, pressing close enough to feel every button on his shirt, the well-formed shape of his chest, and the ribs, sinew and muscle under his skin.
She opened her mouth and touched her tongue to his. It felt bold, impulsive and gratifying beyond words. He tasted like the honey he’d added to his tea. He tasted new and novel and very, very good.
His tongue made tentative inquiries at first, but quickly left politeness behind and explored her mouth as only a stranger would. A stranger. That’s what he was.
She jerked back with a gasp. “Oh! That was so not supposed to happen.” She swallowed hard, still tasting his sweetness. “In fact, it didn’t happen. It was a dream. Dreams aren’t real.”
He placed both hands on her shoulders, more to steady her than hold her in place. “I’ve been working in Hollywood for half my adult life, and believe me, I know the difference between make-believe and reality. That kiss was real.”
She turned sideways to dislodge his hands. “I’ve never even been to Hollywood.”
He seemed amused by her non sequitur. “I also have a fair knowledge of timing, and this was not well-scripted. For that I apologize. Not for the kiss, mind you. That was quite lovely, and I shall treasure it always.”
She couldn’t decide if he was being gallant or joking around. That was the problem with kissing a stranger, she decided, as he escorted her to her grandfather’s old sedan—you have no barometer to go by.
“Sleep well, Daria,” he said, dropping a friendly peck near the corner of her lips. “I’ll run the tape back to you in the morning unless you need me before then. You have my number.”
He remained standing in the driveway the entire time she backed up and slowly maneuvered her way between the snowbanks. He was still there when she turned onto the street and stepped on the gas. The guy didn’t have a jacket on. That made him either crazy or inured to the cold weather.
Her bet was on the former. After all, he’d kissed her, hadn’t he? A not-quite-divorced divorcée with two kids, no alimony, no job, no nothing.
The man was interesting. Intriguing. Sexy as hell, and a great kisser. But he was right about their timing. It sucked big time, as Miranda would have said. And that’s all there was to it.
WILLIAM WAITED until the red orbs of her car’s taillights were completely out of sight before he returned to the house. He wasn’t a skier or winter sports fanatic, but ever since his snowball fight with Daria’s daughters today, he’d decided he liked winter. His internal thermostat seemed set at who-gives-a-damn high.
“Maybe I’ll walk into town and have a pint at the local pub,” he said to himself. He remembered accompanying Shane to a joint on Main Street, although that had been in summer. He had no idea if the place remained open during the winter months or not. He vaguely remembered Jenna telling him a lot of businesses closed in the off-season.
He dashed into the house to grab his coat and phone.
“Coop,” he said a moment later. “Do me a favor and ask your wife if the local pub stays open year-round.”
“Sure. No problem. But I left you better booze than you’ll find there,” Cooper told him. “Oh, wait. Are you taking Daria out
for a drink? Way to go, old man. Libby says she’s pretty and—” A sudden grunt ended his comment.
Libby’s elbow to her husband’s solar plexus, William guessed with a grin.
“Hi, William. It’s Libby. I talked to Cal an hour or so ago. He was going to bed. How’s Daria?”
“Fine. She stopped by a few minutes ago. She has some valid concerns about her safety and wanted to discuss her options.”
“William, I want to apologize. I had no idea Bruce was such a jerk. I shouldn’t have asked you to get involved, especially after what you went through with Bianca.”
A shiver of cold penetrated his euphoria. “That was a long time ago, Libby. Daria’s been separated almost six months. She’s made a clean break. And she was smart enough to put half a continent between her and that miserable excuse for a man before drawing her final line in the sand, so to speak.”
Libby didn’t reply right away. “William, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak quite so passionately about anything. Is there a chance you’re falling for her?”
The heel of his shoe slipped on a patch of ice and he nearly went down. Cursing softly, he apologized. “Sorry. Black ice. I’d better hang up and pay attention to what I’m doing before I slip and break something.”
“You didn’t answer my question, but fine, it’s none of my business. But, William, promise me you’ll be careful. And I don’t just mean on your walk into town.”
He assured her he would, then pocketed his phone. He’d avoided her question because, in all honesty, he wasn’t ready to talk about how he felt. This jumble of sensations was too new, too novel. Energized. Hypersensitive to a relative stranger’s slightest change of expression. Mesmerized by every little thing about her when she was close by. Dazzled and delighted by her daughters. Fearful for her. Sympathetic one moment, furious on her behalf the next.
And let’s not forget passionate, he acknowledged. That kiss was definitely the most intriguing, compelling, stay-in-his-mind-forever sort of kiss he could recall experiencing. It was in a class all its own. And it made him think of all the other sorts of things he’d like to do with her.
The Good Provider Page 11
