In the crib beside Reese’s bed, Tina was sleeping, holding on to a tiny stuffed bear, and the sound of the baby’s breathing was kind of nice. Like company. But best of all was Abbey, lying beside Reese in the bed. The big dog’s head rested on the child’s chest and she stroked her fingers gently across Abbey’s soft golden hair.
Reese took a deep breath and released it again on a sigh. Lamplight streamed in from the hallway, lying across the floor and the foot of her bed like the yellow brick road. And when that thought came in, it brought with it the thought of wicked witches and scary monkeys and mean wizards and …
Abbey lifted her head and looked, ears pricked, at the open doorway. Reese held her breath. Then Nana was there, smiling, stepping into the room and tsking her tongue as grown-ups did.
“Is a good thing I don’t see a dog on the bed,” she said, petting Abbey as she sat down on the edge of the mattress. Still smiling, Nana glanced at Tina, then turned back to Reese. “Not sleeping?”
She shook her head.
“You want Nana to tell you a story?”
Reese nodded.
“Ah, good.” She reached out and smoothed Reese’s hair back from her forehead. “I tell you a story about a little princess and her golden dog.”
Reese smiled and as Nana’s whispered voice hushed into the room, she closed her eyes and began to dream of grand adventures as she and a brave Abbey saved a kingdom.
When Reese was finally sleeping peacefully, Nana leaned forward, kissed her forehead, then sat back again, giving Abbey an extra pat. “Abbey, you watch over our girl. Sweet thing has too much pain for one so small.”
As Nana left the room, the dog cuddled beside her charge and slept.
* * *
“I think I’m paralyzed.”
Jackson chuckled. “Not a minute or two ago, you weren’t.”
“Oh,” Carla assured him, lying flat on her back and staring blindly at the moonlit ceiling, “it was worth it. But now I’m finished forever.”
The last few hours had been incredible. Her whole body ached from the near gymnastic exertions, yet still hummed with an almost electric pleasure. And something else. Something warm and tender and so beautiful, she felt the ache of it at the backs of her eyes.
Despite her resolve to keep emotions out of this, it had happened. Just as, she was forced to admit, she’d known it would. Her heart was involved and there was just no denying it—at least to herself.
Even as she basked in the wonderfully languid sensation creeping through her body, her mind raced from one dark thought to another. There’d been no mention of love while his hands stroked her skin and his mouth teased her into oblivion. He hadn’t whispered of forever. Hadn’t made promises. There was no talk of tomorrow. He’d kept part of himself locked away from her even while his body lay cradled deep within her own.
Jackson, though lying naked beside her in the moonlight, already had one foot out her door. And it wasn’t just the fact that he was leaving. This went far deeper. She felt it. Maybe this was about his dead wife. Maybe he still loved her. But she couldn’t know for sure because he wouldn’t let her in. He had his heart so firmly packed away, she’d never be able to reach it.
Acknowledging that fact brought a misery so deep, Carla nearly wept.
“Ruined for any other man, eh?” he asked, a knowing gleam in his eyes.
She forced herself to smile in spite of the disquieting thoughts racing through her mind. She wouldn’t let him know just how right he was.
“Don’t sound so proud.” Although he had a right to be. No one else had ever touched her so deeply. Made her feel so much. Made her want to feel even more. There was a magic, a kind of oneness, between them that she hadn’t expected, and she didn’t really know what to do about it.
Because, she realized, there was a word to describe what she was feeling. Love.
And she knew she couldn’t tell Jackson.
Hell, she could hardly force herself to face it. She’d done it. Fallen in love with the one man she shouldn’t have. Damn it. Carla wasn’t sure when it had happened. When she’d taken that one step too many and waltzed blindly from attraction straight into trouble. But there was no going back, now.
She loved his smile, his voice, his touch. She loved his tenderness with his daughter and the way his rare smiles lit up his eyes. She loved that he argued with her, talked with her, and had the ability to kiss her into a coma.
She loved him.
Stupid, she told herself, and fisted one hand on the sheet beneath her. She’d thought this one night would be enough. She’d fooled herself into believing that somehow being with him would ease the ache and satisfy the need. But it hadn’t. All it had done was create a deeper need.
To be loved back.
A need, she knew in her heart, that wouldn’t be met.
Just like before, her mind taunted. When her fiancé had left her to go back to his old girlfriend, Carla had lived through the pain and the humiliation by promising herself she’d never make such a stupid mistake again. Now she’d not only gone and done it; she’d multiplied the problem by caring more for Jackson than she ever had for ol’ what’s his name.
Misery was waiting just around the corner, gleefully rubbing its hands together, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. And she didn’t have a clue as to how to avoid it.
“I don’t know about proud,” he said, shifting to one side, needing a little space. Damn, the connection with her was still humming through him. He’d felt more a part of her than he ever had anyone else. And it was humbling and downright staggering. But damned if he wasn’t thankful for her. For everything she’d shown him and given him over the last few weeks.
Jackson couldn’t give her what she wanted from him. What he instinctively knew she needed right now. But at the least, he could give her this. “No, not proud. Just … grateful.”
Just like that—Misery jumped at her.
He rolled over a bit, putting some distance between them, and a deep, cold chill washed over Carla as what was left of her balloon popped. He was already pulling away from her and they were in the same bed. Any minute now, he’d be bolting for the door.
“Grateful?” She nearly choked on the word. Hell, he hadn’t even let her keep her illusions for long. What was he saying? Had she done him a favor? Was he going to offer her a tip next? Carla squeezed her eyes tightly shut, but it didn’t help. Well, he’d made himself pretty clear, hadn’t he? She might be more than a casual one-night stand, but she was considerably less than the love of his life. Pain rippled in and blended with the anger beginning to churn her stomach into tight knots of discomfort.
This just gets better and better. Or worse and worse.
It was downright humiliating to realize that she didn’t mean a damn thing to him. Grateful? What a hideous word.
Gritting her teeth, she turned her head on the pillow and locked her gaze with his. “Is this where I say, ‘You’re welcome’?”
Surprise etched his features. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what it sounded like.”
He pushed himself up onto one elbow and looked down at her. “Damn it, Carla, I only meant—”
“‘Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am’?” Oh, man, if she weren’t at home, she’d be picking up her clothes, gathering the tattered remnants of her pride, and leaving about now. But then, even if she could run away, his words would come with her. The sad truth that she loved someone who didn’t love her in return would race alongside her, taunting her no matter how far she managed to get.
“You’re putting words in my mouth.”
A strangled laugh shot from her throat. “Trust me, if I was going to do that, I’d do a better job.”
“Carla…”
She groaned as she sat up. Muscles she hadn’t used in far too long screamed out at her. Okay, fine. So she wasn’t paralyzed. Only wounded. Not in body.
In soul.
In heart.
But she wouldn’t le
t him know that. Couldn’t stand the thought of him feeling sorry for her, for God’s sake. She had a little pride left, thanks very much. So she did what any self-respecting Candellano would do when attacked. She fought back.
“You’re right,” she said, swinging her legs to the floor and standing up. Stark naked, she ignored the ripple of gooseflesh that erupted along her spine, and glared at him. “This was a great way to spend an evening. Better than renting a movie, but nothing special.”
“Bullshit.”
She laughed again, and this time the tight sound sliced along her throat like a piece of jagged glass. “Just call me Dr. Carla. Give me your poor, your miserable, your horny. I’ll straighten ’em right out and make ’em fit for civilization again.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He sat straight up and the sheet covering him fell to his lap. Carla’s gaze raked across him, and even as miserable as she felt at the moment, her pulse pounded and her fingers itched to touch his broad, bare chest again. Christ, you’re hopeless. God, she needed air. She couldn’t breathe. She felt as though a giant invisible hand were squeezing her lungs, making it impossible to draw a breath.
Good. Maybe she’d pass out. And when she came to, he’d be gone.
No such luck.
“Talk to me, damn it.”
“Me,” she muttered, shaking her head as she tossed her hands high, then let them slap down against her bare thighs again. “I’m talking about me. And my incredible ability to make the absolutely wrong move at the wrong time. It’s a gift, that’s what it is. A gift.” She folded her arms across her middle and hung on tight. “I swear, if I could figure out how to do it, I’d kick my own ass.”
Oh God, she should have known better. She’d told Stevie that it wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge. Then what does brilliant Carla do? She doesn’t wait to be pushed. She jumps.
Head first.
Jesus, you’d think she’d have better survival skills.
Disgusted with herself and suddenly feeling way too vulnerable, Carla grabbed up her clothes from the floor and tugged them on. With her tank top and jean shorts acting as armor, she felt a little less inclined to run screaming into the darkness. Though that definitely remained an option. Standing in a shaft of silvery moonlight, she turned around to look at him. Man, he looked good. His hair tousled, his naked chest dusted with hair that only moments ago she’d been threading between her fingers, he looked like the poster boy for a Sex Is Good campaign. She swallowed hard and tried to get a grip.
“It’s okay,” she lied, determined to find a way out of this minefield. “I’m a big girl. I knew this was going nowhere. I knew we were just scratching a mutual itch.”
“A mutual—It was more than that, damn it.” He practically leaped off the bed, took a few long steps, and grabbed her upper arms.
“No, it’s not,” she said, hating that it was true. Hating that she loved and he didn’t. She pulled free of his grasp and desperately missed the warmth of his hands on her body. “Can’t be. You’re leaving the end of summer. Nothing’s changed.”
He reached up with both hands and shoved them through his hair. Carla watched the play of muscles across that broad chest, and despite the situation, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and beg him to stay. But she didn’t; it wasn’t her call.
Besides, what would be the point? If she asked him to stay, he’d only go into a long explanation about why he couldn’t. No, thanks.
God, she was cold.
Jackson looked down into her eyes and saw the hurt and the confusion written there, and knew he was responsible. Just as he’d been responsible for the passion and pleasure he’d seen in those dark brown depths only moments ago.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d fucked this up, but he’d done a damn fine job of it.
Her pain echoed inside him and he wanted nothing more than to turn the clock back. To the beginning of the night, when need and passion had driven thoughts of reality out of his head. When he’d allowed himself to believe for a while that there might be more here for him. More than just taking and giving comfort and sweet release. That for once in his whole miserable life, he wouldn’t be at the wrong place at the wrong time.
But it was useless and he knew it. They couldn’t go back. She stood there looking at him through those dark brown eyes of hers and he actually felt her withdrawal. But then, he couldn’t really blame her, could he? He’d done the pulling away first. The moment he’d realized that he didn’t have the right to claim a love that he’d never dreamed of.
He let his hands fall to her shoulders, and just the feel of her skin, soft and warm beneath his touch, made him want her again. But it was more than sexual need. There was an emotional draw that tore at him. One that he’d never expected to find. One that he didn’t know what to do about.
She was right. He would be leaving. Tonight hadn’t changed that. Except in one way—his departure now would be more painful than he wanted to think about.
Was he a selfish bastard? Yes, his child deserved 100 percent of his attention right now. But when the hell was it going to be his turn? Life with Diane had screwed him over so many times, he’d hardly known up from down for years. Now, he’d found Carla, a caring, loving, generous woman, and he had to look away when all he wanted to do was grab her, crush her mouth under his, and toss her back onto the sex-rumpled sheets. He wanted to lose himself in her warmth, her body. He wanted to hold on to her and never let go.
God, I need you, Carla Candellano. “I am grateful,” he said, despite the way she winced at the word.
“Jesus, will you stop saying that?”
She stepped back from him and his hands slid free. Surprising how cold he felt now that he couldn’t touch her. Methodically he grabbed up his clothes and pulled them on in silence. The rustle of fabric sounded out like a scream in the stillness.
Then, taking a few steps past her, he stared out the window at the moonlit darkness beyond the glass. Black silhouettes of trees danced lazily in a soft wind. Across the yard, the puppies lay in a tangled heap of gold. The burble and slap of the water fountain reached him through the closed window. From his left, he heard Carla’s breathing, deep and steady.
Reaching out, he curled his fingers over the windowsill and stared into the reflection of his own eyes in the glass. When he spoke, he didn’t look at her. Couldn’t afford to.
“I came to Chandler for Reese,” he said.
“I know that.”
“She’s my priority.”
“She should be,” Carla said, and he heard the distance in her voice. Probably just as well, he told himself. Better for both of them. But God, how he missed the comfort of her in his arms. The magic of touching her. The warmth of her heart beating against his.
“The thing is,” he continued, and now he chanced a quick glance at her. Those dark curls fell around her pale face. Her brown eyes looked wide and haunted. Her lips, still puffy from his kisses, worried together nervously. And he wanted to grab her. More than anything in his life, he wanted to reach out, drag her close, and wrap his arms around her. He wanted to bury his face in the sweet curve of her neck. He wanted to inhale her scent, that soft, tantalizing mix of woman and flowers. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not again. Jesus, admitting that was killing him. “It stopped being just about Reese a couple weeks ago.”
She bit down on her bottom lip and he winced. Shit. Perfect. He was doing great here.
“See…” He shook his head and looked away from her wounded eyes, back into the glass. Back where he was forced to stare into his own eyes and see the misery there. “I found something here, too. Something I hadn’t counted on. Planned for.” His jaw clenched, he admitted, “I found you. And for the first time in too long a time, I felt … happy.”
“Well, hell,” she muttered thickly, “can’t have that.”
“That’s right,” he snapped, shooting her one quick look. “I can’t have that. I’m not allowed.”
She shook her
head as if she hadn’t heard him right. “Excuse me? You’re not allowed to be happy?”
“Don’t you get it? How in the hell do I let myself be happy when my little girl is trapped inside her own head and it’s all my fault?”
“What?”
He pushed away from the window and reached up to viciously rub one hand across his mouth, almost as if he could wipe away the words he’d just said. But there was no point in that, was there? Ignoring the facts wouldn’t change them. She had to know. Had to know why, no matter what he might feel for her—and he wasn’t about to explore that—he couldn’t act on it.
Not when Reese was still so hurt.
Jackson inhaled sharply, deeply, then started talking again before he could change his mind. “I told you. About the accident. When Diane died and Reese—”
“Yeah,” Carla said quietly. “You told me.”
“Well, there’s more.”
“Tell me.”
Tell her? Why? So she could look at him with the same disgust he gave his reflection every morning when he first faced a mirror? Did he really want to tell her this? Did he want to open this all up? No. But he also needed Carla to understand exactly why he couldn’t stay. Why he couldn’t accept what she offered. What they might have found together. Even though he wanted it more than anything in the world.
“I mean it’s my fault that accident happened. My fault Diane’s dead.” Christ. That was the first time he’d said that out loud. What the Barringtons wouldn’t have given to have heard him say it. His chest ached. Breath strangled in his chest and he felt as though his skin were too tight for his bones. “I’m responsible. It was my fault that my daughter is too far away to find her way back to me.”
“It was an accident,” Carla argued, and it struck him that she was the only person in his life—ever—to try to defend him. And it surprised him just how touched he was by the attempt. As for the accident … everyone else avoided talking about it or, like the Barringtons, was all too eager to lay the blame at his feet.
Finding You Page 23
