by Brenda Novak
“How long has it been since you picked up someone at a bar?” she asked, turning from the window as Herb’s office disappeared from view.
“I’ve never picked anyone up in a bar. Why?” he replied.
The town fell away behind them, shrinking to a tiny pinprick of light she could see in her side mirror before winking out altogether. “This is a first for me, too.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “We didn’t meet in a bar. I took you out to eat last night, remember?”
“Still.”
“It’s not the same,” he said.
“A one-night stand is a one-night stand,” she insisted.
“Not exactly. Consider the differences.” He ticked them off on the fingers of one hand. “I work for a man you know and respect, and he’s done an extensive background check on me.”
“He doesn’t know anything about the past ten years,” she grumbled.
“Believe me, he knows enough not to worry. Besides, we’ve been together all day. That has to equal at least five cursory dates.”
“Which means what?”
“We’re not total strangers.”
“It’s only been about thirty hours since we met!”
“During which time we’ve shown admirable restraint.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “You’re kidding.”
“Not completely,” he said.
She got the impression he was trying to put her at ease, but she wasn’t sure that was possible. The slight margarita buzz she’d felt at the Honky Tonk was gone, so there was nothing to take the edge off her nerves. And Carter had just rested his hand on her leg.
CHAPTER NINE
THE REMOTE CABIN Carter had rented was nestled in the middle of a forest. It was small but cozy, with two bedrooms, a loft, a living room, a kitchen area and one bath, and it smelled of fresh cut wood, a stack of which was piled in the corner by the fireplace. With dated furniture and only a few simple decorations, the cabin appeared to be a typical vacation rental. Except for the moving boxes that cluttered almost every room. Because they were open and partially ransacked, it looked as though Carter had unpacked only what was absolutely necessary for day to day living—as if he wasn’t really moving in so much as holding over.
While he built a fire, Liz stood on a large rug in the middle of the living-room floor, trying to remember just how long it had been since Carter had arrived in town. Two weeks? Three?
“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asked. The fire had begun to flicker and burn, but it wasn’t yet throwing off heat.
“That’d be great.” She hoped another drink would help warm her. As sunny as the spring had been, it could still get chilly in the mountains—downright cold at night. The trepidation she felt over what she was about to do probably didn’t help.
But the kitchen didn’t appear to be stocked. “Are you sure you have wine?” she asked, eyeing the empty countertops.
“There’s a bottle in the fridge.” He started going through boxes. “Glasses might be more of a problem.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, but he’d already pulled two wineglasses out of a box beneath the breakfast bar, as if he’d known where they were all along, rinsed them out and filled them with a light chardonnay.
“What kind of music do you like?” he asked, as he handed her a glass.
“Pop, hip-hop, R & B, classical.”
His stereo was one item he’d unpacked. It sat on an end table beside an extensive CD collection.
“Wow, you really like music,” she remarked as he put on Sheryl Crow.
“Music and photography,” he replied.
She didn’t see any photographs on the walls, or set out on the empty side tables. But he’d had a camera in the car, and it had looked like an expensive one.
He pulled a few candles from another box, arranged them along the edge of the counter and lit them. Then he flicked off the lights.
Liz felt better in the semi darkness, less exposed, which was probably Carter’s goal. He turned up the music just loud enough that they’d have to raise their voices to speak, relieving her of the need to make conversation. Along with the cabin and surrounding mountains, the candles and music combined to create an ambience Liz found almost intoxicating even without the wine. The boxes, which reminded her that he was only a temporary addition to the community and that she had no business being with him, seemed to disappear, leaving only the sensory input for which she was so hungry.
“Do you see it?” he asked, and she realized that he was now standing very close. His arm brushed hers, sending a tingle through her as he pointed at something beyond the window.
“What?” she replied.
“The moon, reflected on the water.”
“There’s a lake nearby?”
“A large pond. Right there.” He turned her head a few inches to the right and she finally saw the water.
“It’s lovely.”
“I could almost get used to living here,” he said, his voice a promising sound in her ear.
She opened her mouth to ask him why he ruled that out as a possibility. He could stay anywhere he wanted, couldn’t he? But he’d lifted her hair and started kissing the nape of her neck, causing her to catch her breath. He must have set down his wine, because he wasn’t holding it when both hands slipped around her waist and coaxed her to lean into him.
Liz closed her eyes and let her head rest on his shoulder as his lips grazed her skin, lighter than the brush of a butterfly’s wings. His mouth moved to the line of her jaw and a moment later he flicked his tongue inside her ear, alternately using his teeth to tug gently at the earlobe.
Within moments, she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to remain standing.
She wanted to do something about her wineglass, but Carter didn’t give her a chance. He was too focused on exploring, cautiously discovering all the places that made her gasp.
Liz had thought the initial contact would be awkward. She couldn’t imagine how they’d touch each other without feeling painfully self-conscious. But her inhibitions were burning away as quickly as the paper he’d used to light the fire. She felt her hesitation being sucked up the chimney and blown down the mountain by the wind outside. She was still fully clothed, but that only made the craving for real contact stronger.
The sensations bombarding her as Carter familiarized himself with her body swept Liz into a euphoric state she hadn’t known for ages. Gone were the worries that had nagged her for so long, the painful memories, the knowledge that she’d have to deal with her father tomorrow, along with a myriad of other concerns. There was only Sheryl Crow, crooning in the background, filling her head with voice and song and beat; the cool cabin air swirling against her suddenly feverish skin; the flickering of the fire and the candlelight, causing the shadows to dance all around her in glorious celebration.
And there was Carter lifting her skirt, sliding her panties over to one side, and taking his exploration to a far more intimate level.
When Liz cried out, Carter froze, steadying her with one arm around her waist. “That’s it,” he murmured approvingly.
Finally taking her wineglass, he set it aside. Then he pressed her down onto the couch, where he gave her a roguish grin, spread her knees and bent in front of her.
BIRDS TWITTERING in the trees roused Liz. Slowly she opened her eyes, feeling languid, content, heavy-limbed. The sheet that covered her slipped easily over her bare skin as she moved, but Carter, still asleep beside her, slung out an arm to keep her in place, as if he was afraid she’d leave before he was ready to let her go. They’d made love several times and had planned to do so again. That was why he’d carried her into the bedroom. But by then they’d been too exhausted to act on the desire. Resting for what Liz thought would only be a moment, they’d fallen asleep and—
Coming to her senses, Liz bolted upright. What time was it? The vanilla scent of the candles still lingered in the air, bringing back steamy, sensual memories she wanted to ex
amine more closely. But later. For now, fear overrode everything else.
Clearly they’d overslept. The sun drifted through the uncurtained window, revealing another room full of boxes. It had to be well past dawn.
Carter groaned and rolled the other way when she got up and pulled the sheet along with her. She needed to find the clock she’d noticed on the nightstand several hours earlier. But it was gone. Where?
Searching the floor, she finally found it where they must’ve knocked it. The glowing numerals read seven-thirty. Damn! She’d told her father they’d play tennis at seven.
“Carter, I need to get out of here,” she said.
He mumbled something incomprehensible, his face far younger in repose.
Instead of touching him, she jiggled the bed. “Carter, you have to take me to get my car.”
“It’s still early,” he muttered, lifting his head and squinting at her, his hair tousled. “You said we don’t have to be at the shop until eight.”
She righted the alarm. “That doesn’t mean I can stay all morning.”
“Why not? Your kids are with Keith.”
“There’s still my father. He’ll be wondering where the heck I am.”
“Can’t you call him and tell him you’re with me?”
She hiked the sheet up higher. “Are you joking?”
“You’re right. Bad idea. He won’t be happy to hear it.”
“He’s not the only one,” she said. “I have enough to worry about without risking a backlash.”
He lifted himself onto his elbow, and she tried not to notice what a beautiful specimen he made, lying there completely nude. Maybe she shouldn’t have taken the sheet—but then she’d be naked. “What kind of problem could there be?” he asked with a scowl.
“This isn’t the big city. You can’t sleep with someone and expect people not to talk about it. And if word gets back to Keith…Well, if he’s the one who vandalized the shop, I don’t need to provoke him.”
“I thought you didn’t believe it was him.”
“I’m not sure. It could be Mary. Or it could be someone else. But…just in case, you know?” The sheet dragged along the floor as Liz went into the living room to gather her clothes, which seemed to be strewn, along with Carter’s, throughout the cabin. Additional memories bombarded her—she actually blushed at some of them—and then she told herself simply to concentrate on getting home. “Keith might be angry enough to say something to my children,” she called out in the direction of the bedroom. “Use it to make me look bad.”
“I’d have to break his jaw if he did that,” Carter yelled.
“I’d probably hit him, too. But that wouldn’t fix the damage. It’s better not to give him any ammunition. Especially since what happened last night will never happen again.”
Carter didn’t answer. Liz imagined he was getting up and trying to pull on some clothes. She was trying to do the same. But she couldn’t find her panties. Reluctant to ask him where they might be—after all, he was the one who’d been holding them last—she pulled on her skirt, her bra and her shirt before continuing her search in earnest. It was much easier to move when she didn’t have to worry about holding up that darn sheet.
When she found only her shoes on the floor, she began to peek into the open boxes nearest the sofa. She discovered even more CDs—unbelievable—and a tripod, along with some other camera equipment. A second box contained books. “Are you coming?” she called, hoping to hurry him along.
“I’m considering it.” The floor creaked as he came out of the bedroom, wearing only a pair of boxer briefs. Traipsing into the kitchen, he took some orange juice from the refrigerator and poured himself a glass. Then he held the carton up to her.
She kept her eyes well above the impressive contours revealed by his underwear. “No thanks. I’m in a bit of a hurry, in case you can’t tell.”
His lips pursed as he considered her. “I guess it’s taking me a little longer to shift gears. We’re already at the part where we pretend we were never naked together, right?”
Liz cleared her throat and averted her gaze. “That was the agreement.”
“And you think we’re really going to be able to do that?”
The skepticism in his voice troubled her, but they had agreed to a plan in order to avoid future problems, and she didn’t see any reason not to stick to it. Maybe moving on as if they didn’t know each other quite so intimately would require some acting ability and a lot of self-discipline, but she couldn’t let herself be drawn into a full-blown affair. “Why not?”
No response. After draining his glass of juice, he returned to the bedroom, and Liz went back to checking boxes. She didn’t find the black lacy panties she was searching for, but a picture frame caught her eye. Thinking it might contain an example of Carter’s photography, she picked it up and then sank onto the sofa. It wasn’t a snapshot of a beautiful river, a sunset or a still wood, as she’d expected. It was a wedding photograph of a stunning blonde, wearing an elegant white dress and veil. Carter stood beside her in a black tuxedo.
“Let’s go,” he said from behind her.
Liz quickly shoved the photograph back into the box and stood. He hadn’t gone to a lot of trouble to get ready, but at least he was dressed. He wore a pair of torn jeans, a clean T-shirt and a ball cap.
Carter’s gaze dropped to the edge of the frame, which glinted in the sunlight, before rising to her face. He didn’t speak for a long moment. When he did, he didn’t mention it. “Ready?”
Nodding, Liz hurried out ahead of him. She had no idea where her panties had gone, but she no longer wanted to look for them. What she’d just found had knocked her off balance. She’d thought she had Carter pegged. She’d thought he was a tough guy who’d never give enough of himself to enter into a deep, fully committed relationship. But after their night together, she had to admit that sex with him hadn’t been nearly as detached as she’d expected. And from his expression in that photograph, he’d not only been married at some point, he’d been deeply in love.
So where was his wife? And why hadn’t he spoken of her?
ON THE RIDE BACK TO TOWN, Liz barely spoke, and Carter said even less. She studied him through her lowered eyelashes, wondering how the woman she’d seen in that photograph fit into his life, and how he could be so warm and responsive while making love when he was normally standoffish and aloof. But she couldn’t allow herself to get tangled up in all the contradictions that made Carter Hudson who he was. He wasn’t what she needed or wanted. He’d hurt her in the end, if only because he was hurting so badly himself.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, adjusting his speed as they passed Herb’s real-estate office on the edge of town.
“That you’re an incredible lover,” she said honestly.
His eyebrows went up, as if her candid response surprised him. “And yet you won’t be returning to my cabin.”
“No.”
“Because…”
The Arctic Flyer ice cream parlor came up on her left. “I don’t want to get attached to you.”
He didn’t argue. He drove several more blocks before she directed him to the neighborhood where she’d parked her car.
Liz sank low in her seat, hoping no one would spot them together. If she could get out of Carter’s car without being seen disheveled and wearing the outfit she’d had on the night before at the Honky Tonk, she could continue with her life as if nothing had happened.
As he pulled in behind her Toyota, she put her hand on the door handle.
He caught her wrist. “I hear what you’re saying about getting attached,” he said, “but there’s always the other school of thought.”
She glanced nervously at the houses surrounding them, afraid someone she knew might come out to retrieve a newspaper or leave for work. Fortunately, no one stirred. “Which one is that?”
“Taking advantage of something while it lasts.”
She clung even tighter to the keys she’d dug out of her
purse, worried that her father would be up and know she wasn’t at home. “We got away with it once,” she said. “Why invite trouble by asking for more? I’ll see you at the shop later, okay?”
“I’ll be there.”
“I appreciate it.” She felt as if she should say something else. Carter had been an unlikely savior in several regards. But she didn’t know how to express her gratitude for his help at the shop when it was all jumbled up in what had passed between them overnight. “I owe you for your help,” she said.
“You heard the senator. I’m on salary, but there’s not a lot to do until we get the office up and running,” he replied. “I think he’s glad to be rid of me for a while, so don’t worry about it.”
She smiled. “Thanks.” She started to close the door, but he leaned over and stopped it midway. “Liz?”
“What?” she asked from the curb.
“Last night was good. Better than good,” he said, and closed the door.
LIZ COULD SMELL COFFEE. Her father was up, and she had no idea what she’d say to him. She wanted him to approve of her again. At last. She’d wanted that since her mother had died. So why couldn’t she have hooked up with Carter after her father left town? Or come home last night instead of falling asleep?
And yet those early morning hours with Carter had been arguably her favorite part of the whole experience. Especially when he’d smoothed the hair off her face and kissed her cheek. Who would’ve thought he could be so tender?
“Hungry?” her father called.
Evidently, he’d heard the door. “Not really.” She forced one foot in front of the other until she reached the kitchen.
Dressed in a pair of running shorts, a tank top and tennis shoes, he turned from the stove, holding a spatula. Two eggs popped and spit in her new frying pan. “I went to rouse you for our game this morning.” He eyed her smudged makeup and tousled hair, her wrinkled clothes. “Where have you been?”
“Nowhere important,” she said.
