Just Hold Me: Carrington Cousins

by Summers, Amy

  Just Hold Me

  Carrington Cousins

  Amy Summers

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

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  Also by Amy Summers

  The Carringtons Chronicles

  About the Author

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  Chapter 1

  Thawn knew who he was the minute he appeared, long and lean as a racehorse, on the steps of the large trailer home. She pulled her down jacket closer against the cold, sea-driven wind and turned away, pretending to study the raw cliff face beside her.

  But she stared at the scarred surface blindly, still seeing the man walking toward her with all the suppressed energy of a coiled bullwhip powering his stride. Her heart began to pound a drumbeat against her ribs. He was coming out to see what she was doing on his property, and she was ready to tell him. But she hadn't realized who he was when she’d signed up for this job.

  The permit application had said Raphael Armstrong. If she'd read the name aloud, she'd have realized it was Rafe Armstrong. She'd seen in the paper only a few days before that he'd completed production on his latest film.

  Funny how she still couldn't resist reading about that glittery Hollywood world she'd put behind her so desperately.

  It was a world difficult to ignore. Every time she opened a magazine or turned on the news, there was a column or news spot about it. And now one of its leading members was bearing down on her as steadily as the ocean wind was chilling her to the bone.

  By the time the scrunch of his Western boots on the crushed rocks was audible above the crashing of the surf, she was ready. She turned, hoping he wouldn’t recognize her dressed in a heavy hoodie out here on this windy beach.

  "Mr. Armstrong?" she asked coolly, clutching her clipboard against her chest to avoid having to shake his hand.

  But he had no interest in greeting her politely. His gray eyes were as cold as steel and cloudy as the overcast sky.

  "You can get off my land right now," he ordered, his voice low and taut with menace--despite the fact that she had every right to be there.

  Thawn felt a quiver of apprehension slide between her shoulder blades.

  "You reporters—so called journalists-- are like leeches," he went on, ice in his eyes, "always after blood. That may be considered part of the game when I'm working, but this is my home, and you're not welcome.”

  Oh brother, Thawn thought, knowing she should be amused instead of terrified. What an ego!

  She paused for a moment, running a quick glance over the muscular man, taking in the breadth of his shoulders beneath the off-white fisherman's sweater and the lean length of his legs in the well-worn jeans.

  "I'm not a reporter," she said aloud, working hard to come across as cool and collected. "Believe me, I haven't the slightest interest in your home or your private life."

  The tension was only slightly relieved. His face lost its anger, but the smoky eyes were still watchful and wary beneath the long, dark brown brows.

  "You look familiar," he accused, as though that were something she ought to be ashamed of.

  She shook her head, not replying directly.

  "Then what do you want?" he asked shortly.

  She tilted her head back. "I believe you've applied for a permit to build on this land," she said slowly, not lowering her eyes though the sharpness of his steel-gray gaze did pierce her self-confidence. “You won't get that permit without an environmental impact report. I'm here to start one up."

  "Oh." He had the grace to attempt a smile, but the warmth didn't quite reach his icy eyes. "I see. You work for Earth and Sea Resources, then. You must be the T. Carrington I was told to expect."

  Nodding, she began to walk along the foot of the sea cliff. He followed a few paces behind her. She glanced up at the yellow and violet wildflowers that were spilling down from the soil above like tiny heralds of spring.

  "From the plans you submitted to us, I see you hope to build right up on that rise," she said, raising her voice to be heard above the rhythmic roar of the surf smashing on the dark, jagged rocks of the shore. "Is that correct?"

  "Hope?" There was a thread of amusement in his voice. "Are my plans really considered so feeble as that down at the planning office?"

  She turned to look at him. His eyes were warm now, and he was regarding her with an expression that said he found her attractive. He'd decided she had no connection with show business or the press; so he could react to her as any red-blooded man would. He didn't recognize her at all. He really didn't remember seeing her at those wild Hollywood parties where he’d always been dragging some beautiful starlet on his arm, and she’d been with Mark Lund, a rising young assistant producer who looked on Rafe Armstrong as his shining idol.

  But that had been long ago, over a year now. It had been another life, one she wanted to forget. Just thinking of Mark still made her tense and feel just slightly sick to her stomach.

  "Your plans won't be considered by Vista County at all unless they have a favorable environmental impact report attached," she countered, still cool and distant. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage Rafe Armstrong.

  "That'll be mostly a formality, won’t it?" he said smoothly.

  She quirked a sarcastic eyebrow at him. "Not quite," she murmured, turning to walk up the crumbling opening in the cliff face toward where he planned to build.

  What a guy, huh? She couldn’t resist a little inner chortling. As a producer-director with a string of major and very successful films to his credit, he was used to getting his way with the people he worked with. He was going to find out it was a different story here. This was the real world, not Hollywood.

  "The terrace will go right here."

  She jumped as his hand curled about her upper arm, directing her slightly to the left. She hadn't realized he was standing so close behind her.

  "It’ll extend all around this side of the house. It's a perfect place to have evening meals in the summer."

  Thawn stood on the make-believe terrace and looked out over the wind-tossed waves of the silver sea. Today the landscape was a study in gray and silver, but in summer it would more likely be blue.

  The view would be spectacular. The lot was extensive and isolated, a piece of the California coast more than two hundred miles north of Los Angeles and two hundred miles south of San Francisco, along a stretch of land where there wasn't much private ownership. It was an area where only the lucky few could still attempt to build—only the billionaires.

  Thawn glanced at the man beside her. His attention was also fixed on the sea, but he turned back to her and smiled.

  She felt a strange sensation in her chest, a quiver, as if something had flipped over. It surprised her, and she widened her eyes for just an instant. Then she looked quickly away, but he must have seen her expression because his hand tightened on her arm.

  She didn't know what was wrong with her. She never reacted so intensely to a man's casual touch and look. His smile had startled her, that was all. As she recalled the other times she'd seen him, she couldn't remember ever having seen him smile.

  And now he was touching her. He had to know that wasn’t the way things went out here in the real world.

  “Excuse me,” she said
firmly, glancing at his fingers on her arm.

  “Oh,” he said as he quickly withdrew his hand. “Sorry. I get carried away talking about this house I’m planning. I’m obsessed with it.”

  She gave him a fleeting smile that wasn’t all that friendly and moved further away from him, but he went on as though he didn’t notice.

  "The entrance to the house will be here," he said, walking over to kick a line in the dust with his boot. "With a huge skylight above the living room."

  He went on and she watched him. What was it about him that fascinated her? She'd noticed before how heads turned whenever he walked by, but she had always had difficulty pinpointing the reason.

  He wasn't particularly handsome. His tall, slender form had a strength that didn't depend on bulky musculature, and his movements had a certain grace. There was nothing the least bit effeminate about him, but he had a sureness of action, a confidence in aim, that made him nice to watch. His face was slightly long and just a bit angular, with piercing eyes and a wide, slashing mouth. His dark brown hair, thick and curling about his ears, was badly in need of cutting, and it formed a fitting frame for his striking gray eyes. Except for his eyes, there wasn't much about him that was special.

  But he exuded a magnetism that was hard to resist. She watched him pace off the walls of the structure, not listening to what he was saying but examining him as though hoping to find his secret.

  "The study will be large, with doors opening onto the terrace."

  Was that where he planned to screen his films for his friends? "Is there a special reason for such a large study?" she asked innocently. "Do you have something in mind for it?"

  She could just see him snuggled up late at night with some gorgeous starlet on his lap. Show business people were all alike -- shiny and exotic at first glance, but poisonous to the touch. "It looks big enough to be a theater," she commented.

  He turned sharp eyes on her again, and for a brief instant she was afraid he'd recognized her. She would have to be more careful.

  "Are you sure we've never met before?" he asked softly. "There's something about you—"

  "I'm going to be spending some time here for the next few days," she cut in hurriedly, gazing out over his land. "My job is to make a recommendation to the county as to whether your house can be built without harm to the area, whether it will fit into the landscape, or provide a menace and an eyesore."

  She glanced toward him. "I'll be going over the Geological Survey maps of this area, looking for faults, landslides, and other geologic features that might have bearing upon your building plans. I'll also be searching for evidence of animal and plant life that might be disturbed."

  He narrowed his eyes, amusement glimmering behind the thick black lashes. "We don't want to scare any bunnies, do we?" he asked sarcastically.

  She refused to smile at his joke. Didn't he understand that this was serious?

  "Bunnies can take care of themselves. We want to ensure that no endangered species are threatened, that native California flora is not destroyed to make way for weeds."

  He nodded slowly, his eyes missing nothing. "And just what are your qualifications for this job?" he asked. "What makes you an expert?"

  Oh boy, here we go, she thought with a touch of panic. But she held it back. He was challenging her and she could meet that challenge. Just as long as she didn’t lose her nerve.

  "I graduated from a good university with a degree in environmental studies. My background includes plenty of geology and biology, as well as a bit of engineering. I spent two years as a teaching assistant, another four as a biologist with Los Angeles County. I've been working here along the coast for nine months."

  Her eyes flashed with annoyance. He just downright bugged her. "I think I can handle this job, Mr. Armstrong."

  He shot her a crooked smile. "I have no doubt about that." His gaze slid along the line of her cheek. "No doubt at all." Then his eyes met hers again. "But tell me, environmental lady, is there a non-bureaucratic name I can call you by?"

  She hesitated. "Thawn Carrington,” she said at last. There was no way he would know it.

  His gaze darkened. "Thawn Carrington." He rolled the sound of it over his tongue. "No, the name's not familiar. But that face..." He shook his head. "I’ve got a feeling…”

  She looked up quickly. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get on with this."

  She didn’t have to worry. No one had ever bothered to introduce her to him. Every party she and Mark had attended where she'd seen the man had been a huge bash with hundreds of people. Mark had been so eager to get the great man's ear that he'd forgotten all about the woman trailing along behind him.

  She remembered how Rafe would lean back in his chair like a king while the hopefuls—the Marks of that world—gathered around, adoration shining from their faces. If Rafe spoke to one of them, it was like handing a rare jewel to a beggar.

  "Did you hear what he said?" Mark would ask for days afterward. "He said he saw my documentary on public television. He said I seemed to have a flair for interpreting data dramatically.”

  "He also said the camera work was mediocre," she would remind him, but he wouldn't hear her.

  "If I could just get him to look at that experimental piece I made in film school, he'd understand my use of symbolism to express multilayers of consciousness." Mark's eyes would shine with longing. "Then he'd see how in tune my methods are with his. I'd work as a gofer just to get a chance on one of his films."

  With all that adulation oozing around him, why would he have bothered to notice a quiet woman hanging around at the edge of the crowd? No, he wouldn’t remember her. But he wouldn’t leave her alone, either.

  "I'll just tag along and watch if you don't mind," he said.

  She sighed. Whatever.

  She made her way through the low, seaside plants, filling out her charts as she went, noting the composition of the vegetation, comparing the rock types she found to those shown in the Geological Survey map she carried, looking for clues to animal life.

  Every detail found a place in her charts. Each piece of information was a part of the jigsaw puzzle she would put together to get a full picture of the lot.

  Though she tried to keep her mind on her work, Mark's face surfaced from her memories—his sunny, handsome face; his sparkling blue eyes; his curly blond hair. He'd looked more like a movie star than an assistant producer. And when he'd shown an interest in her, she'd felt on top of the world.

  "Well, what do you think, Thawn Carrington?" Rafe's deep voice startled her, and she jumped guiltily, realizing that she'd been dreaming instead of paying attention to her job. "Am I going to pass?"

  Deliberately she tapped the tip of her pencil against the clipboard. "It isn't you I’m judging here, Mr. Armstrong," she said firmly. "It's your plan of development."

  "And?" he went on insistently, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "How does it look so far?"

  Tilting her head back so that the sea breeze grazed her cheeks, she gazed out over his land. 'There are quite a few indications of trouble," she said smoothly. "Quite a few little rough spots we'll have to investigate."

  He frowned. "Such as?" His voice was ominously quiet.

  "Such as..." She turned to face him boldly. "Such as the access road to get onto your site. As far as I can see, it will have to be cut through that stand of cypress. The commission takes a very dim view of cutting down trees along this part of the coast."

  He shrugged carelessly. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of an agreement about that."

  "We’ll see. But there's also public access. What provisions have you made for access to your beach?"

  "Providing public access has just been struck down by the courts, Miss Carrington," he retorted. "I do read the papers, you know."

  She shook her head. "The law itself hasn't been struck down. There's every reason to believe that you may have to provide access in the future."

  His eyes had turned cold. "Let's leave that to the futur
e, then," he purred.

  She went over some other sore spots and he grew more and more annoyed as she pointed them out.

  "Are you planning to live here?" she asked at last. "Will this be your principal residence?"

  His stare was curious. "Only time will tell," he answered suavely. Then he gazed out over the restless sea. "My profession involves a lot of high pressure. I need a place like this where I can get away from….everything."

  Appetites and ambition were the two drives that pumped energy into the film world. The more she'd learned, the more horrified she'd been, until finally she'd known it was a world she couldn't live in.

  "But just why do you need this house, Mr. Armstrong?" she persisted, even though she knew she was poking a bear with a stick. "Don't you already have a house somewhere? Why do you have to take another bit of this precious coastline for your own personal use?"

  His wide mouth was pulled straight and taut in annoyance. "I see," he growled. "So it's a bit of bias I'll have to deal with, is it?"

  "Bias has nothing to do with it," she argued, though she knew he had a point. "It's your land legally. But I do think you ought to consider the moral implications of what you decide to do with it."

  She lifted her chin defiantly and met his steely gaze. He did scare her in some deep, emotional way and she knew she had to tread carefully. So why was she still poking at him? "Meanwhile I'll be checking into the possible problems with your permit."

  Then, to her surprise, his anger evaporated all at once and amusement took its place. He threw back his dark head and laughed.

  "You're a fighter, Thawn Carrington, and I like a good scrap now and then." His eyes were crinkling with good humor, but there was still a spark of wariness in them. "Just as long as you fight fair," he added softly.