“Carrie,” he said softly. Her eyes dropped, and he went on quickly, “No, look at me, please.” She did, and his eyes held hers steadily. “I would never, ever, hurt you intentionally. There’s no reason to be afraid of me. Good God, I’d probably strangle anyone who so much as laid a finger on you! Please. Try to learn to trust me, just a little.”
She believed him. Looking into those wonderful eyes, she saw the truth and really believed. A sunny smile broke out over her face, and Gabe caught his breath as he watched it bloom. “Okay,” she said in a rush. “I’m sorry to have been so silly.”
“Don’t. Have dinner with me?”
She nodded, without a murmur, and his black eyes smiled back. “Good,” he said simply. “I’ll pick you up. Seven? Fine. Now, I really have to go and get some work done.” This was accompanied by a flick of the eyes to his wrist watch. “See you tonight.” Quickly he pressed his mouth against hers, a warm, firm pressure, and then he was gone.
Carrie was quite satisfied with her appearance that evening. Her hair was piled up into an elegant knot, high on her head, and her skirt outfit was cool and feminine. The skirt was a pale tan colour, with tiered flounces and very full at the bottom in contrast to a tightly fitted waist. The skirt stopped at mid-calf, showing off her slender legs and feet, which were shod in high-heeled sandals. Her cream blouse was filmy and delicate and very plain. A long white scarf was tied into a loose knot around her neck, the two ends falling almost to her waist, the style copying that of a loosely tied necktie that a man would wear, but the material of the scarf was definitely feminine, shimmering softly.
She had spent a great deal of time on her make-up in the hope that it would help her confidence, and it had. She knew she was looking good. Her eyes appeared quite mysteriously shadowed. Hearing a sound outside, she went to see what it was. Gabe slammed the door of his car and strode towards the house. He was in the same suit he had been in this morning, and Carrie made a shrewd guess, betting he had worked all day. Probably he had just left his office, coming straight here. She saw him loosen his tie as he approached the house.
She grabbed up her purse and headed quickly for the stairs. As she approached the ground floor, she heard her mother answer the door, greeting Gabe pleasantly. His deep voice murmured in reply. The slightest turn of his head had him staring up at Carrie as she rounded the corner on the staircase and came into view. He didn’t appear to hear what Janet was saying to him and he had to apologise to her and ask her to repeat herself. Now Carrie could hear the conversation.
Janet obligingly repeated, “I asked if you would like to stay and have a drink before you two leave.” She looked up, saw Carrie and smiled with pleasure. “Why, darling, you look very pretty tonight.”
Gabe murmured, “Very.” Carrie found herself avoiding his eyes as she thanked her mother. Waiting until she had finished, he asked, “Would you like to stay for a drink before we leave?”
“Oh,” she began, studying his face. There were two fine lines stretched from the sides of his nose to the sides of his mouth that looked more taut than usual. “No, if you would rather, I think we should be going.”
Gabe refused Janet’s offer politely. “We’ll be leaving, then, I think. Thank you anyway, Mrs. Metcalfe. Some other time, perhaps?” She wasn’t sure how she knew, but Carrie was suddenly quite positive that Gabe was exhausted. He opened the front door, said goodbye to Janet, and they were soon walking to his car.
“You’re tired,” she said as she was escorted to her side of the car. “Are you sure you feel like going out?”
He glanced at her, taking off his tie. “To tell the truth, no, I don’t. Would you mind terribly if we went to my place and scratched up a dinner at home?”
“Of course not.”
He started the car and smoothly reversed. Most of the trip was made in silence, although he spoke once.
“Mrs. Hastings has the night off tonight. Do you think you could bear my cooking?” He shot her a smiling look. “I’m haphazard at best.”
“Well, I’m an excellent cook,” she told him. “Sort of. At least I can cook pretty well, and we can be reasonably sure that it’ll be edible. I’ll cook us up something to eat and you can take a shower or something, change into a pair of jeans, and relax.”
“Marvelous,” he sighed. “It would be less trouble to go out, really.”
“No, it wouldn’t. I want to do it, and you need to kick up your feet for a while,” she assured him.
“All right, since I don’t feel like cooking. Actually, I just don’t feel like arguing.”
“Bad day?” She ventured the question.
“Hellish. Everything that could go wrong, did; and everything that couldn’t, did anyway. Except, that is, for our little talk.”“ He smiled.
“At least it’s over now.” As she spoke, the car pulled into the long driveway leading up to Gabe’s house. He parked and switched the engine off.
“Yes, thank God.” He grinned, running his fingers through his hair, rumpling it. Carrie wanted to reach out and smooth it down again, but only coughed and turned away.
The house was dark and silent as they entered the front door. Gabe travelled through several rooms, including the kitchen, and switched on lights. Mrs. Hastings had left him a note, which he read quickly as Carrie came into the kitchen too. She headed to the refrigerator and, opening the door, peered in to see what it held. A quick inventory showed that it held one head of lettuce, two tomatoes, cheese, eggs, sour cream, and few bottles of different sauces. Checking the freezer, she found a package of steaks. She hauled it out.
“Gabe!” she called.
He had moved to the front room, now minus his suit jacket and waistcoat and was pouring himself a drink. He looked around. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist this. Do you want a drink?”
“Why not? How about a dry red wine? Do you have that? I can sip it while I cook.” She held up the package she carried. “How does a nice, thick, juicy steak sound to you?”
“Wonderful! How long do you think it’ll take?” He took a sip of his glass appreciatively. It was full of a honey-coloured liquid and she guessed it was brandy. She shuddered.
“It depends on how you like your steak cooked. These are frozen, so I’ll have to pop them in the microwave for a little bit,” she told him. She switched the package from one hand to the next. The cold was beginning to bite into her hand, making it hurt.
“I’ll eat mine any way except rare. I can’t stand bloody meat.”
“I like mine just a little pink in the middle; is that all right?” she asked.
“Just fine,” he replied, noticing her little dance with the cold package. He told her, “Get that in the microwave, and I’ll be right there with your drink.”
Carrie was just rinsing off her hands when he came into the kitchen with a glass of sparkly wine in one hand and his drink in the other. Gabe sank into a chair after setting down the glasses, the movement eloquent. Carrie watched him with some amusement before turning to the refrigerator and pulling out the lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese. Then, quickly and deftly, she cut up a salad into a large bowl. Gabe watched her hands.
Looking up, she smiled at him. ““If you want, there’s just enough time to go and have a shower before supper. After I set the table, I’m going to nurse my glass of wine and stare off into space, so don’t mind me.”
“Are you sure?” She nodded. Gabe continued, “Well, if you don’t mind, I think I will. Actually, a shower sounds great.” He stood, made as if to go, and the hesitated, swivelling his head back toward Carrie as she finished up the salad, her head bent and her mind concentrating on her work. “You know,” he commented, “you really are terrific.”
She looked startled. “Why, what brought this on?” she asked and grinned at him. Gabe looked very big to her, his dark face highlighted by his sparkling eyes.
He was leaning against the doorpost. “I know a great many women who would be upset at having to cook when they expected an evening out,
” he told her. “And here you are, to all appearance, enjoying yourself. Girl, I think you’re nuts!”
Carrie laughed, and said,” Haven’t you ever heard what fun it is to do something at someone else’s house? If I was cooking at home, I’d be upset! No, that’s not true—I wouldn’t be. You’re tired, and I’m just being obliging, that’s all. Take me out some other time to make up for it.”
He nodded. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. Next time, I promise, it’ll be my treat.” He winked at her and disappeared.
Carrie found a few magazines and brought them to the kitchen after setting two places in the dining room. She then checked the steaks that were sizzling in the pan on the stove. Another five minutes, she decided, would do it. Then she made herself comfortable at the table and started to leaf through the magazines, sipping now and then at her glass of wine, managing to finish it before Gabe came back downstairs.
“Soon she got up to check the steaks, and they were perfect. As she began to dish them onto a serving plate, a noise behind her made her look briefly over her shoulder. Gabe stood in the doorway, his hair damp and brushed neatly, and wearing a starched white shirt that was unbuttoned at the throat and rolled up at the elbows. He had on a pair of faded but clean jeans that stretched tight over thighs and hips. He looked revived, invigorated, and incredibly good. Carrie tried to concentrate on the steaks.
“Can I help with anything?” he asked, coming close and peering over her shoulder. His warm breath fanned her cheek and she could smell the fresh, soapy clean scent that was him, and no cologne. She breathed in deeply before answering.
“You might grab the salad from the refrigerator, and any salad dressings there might be,” she told him as she carried the steaks into the dining room.
He looked into the refrigerator. “Hmm,” he muttered, searching the cubicle. “We have French dressing, bleu cheese, and Italian.” This was called out loud enough so that Carrie could hear him.
“I like bleu cheese,” she called back.
“Bleu cheese for the madam, and the gentleman would like a touch of Italiana, please.” This floated out of the kitchen in an Italian accent. Carrie started to laugh as Gabe came into the dining room precariously balancing the two bottles of salad in one hand while carrying the salad bowl in the other. She quickly went to the rescue and caught the dressings just before he dropped them.
“Thank you, me kind lady.” Gabe’s Italian accent suddenly turned Irish, and Carrie was hard put to it to finish her meal that evening, for all her laughing. The simple meal was excellent, although afterwards, she couldn’t remember what her steak tasted like. She was completely entranced with Gabe—his deep voice, his gleaming smile, the elegant movement of his hands.
He appeared as interested in Carrie as she was in him. She was fully aware of how his eyes followed her every movement and how his face lit up when, after she left to put away the uneaten salad and start some coffee, she came back into the room.
“Would you like to move into the living room for the coffee?” he asked her as they relaxed after the meal. She started to tidy the table up, but he forestalled her. “Leave that. I’ll clean it up later—no, really, I mean it. You’ve done more than enough for tonight.”
“All right, okay, I’m quitting.” She laughed at him from across the table. “Now, can I have my hands back, please?” Gabe had grabbed both of Carrie’s hands as she reached for the plates.
He grinned at her. “I’ll think about it.” Carrie jumped a little as she felt the warm, hard pressure of his fingers begin to stroke the backs of her hands, imprisoned still in his grasp. He, of course, felt her jump and this made him smile even more, but he refrained from saying anything. Instead, he let go of her hands. She felt disappointed.
“I’ll go and check on the coffee,” she said quickly and lightly, and jumped up from the table. As she moved into the kitchen, she heard footsteps from behind and glanced back.
“I’ll help.” Gabe was right behind her. In fact, he was so close that she felt unaccountably nervous.
“No, that’s all right, really. I don’t need any help,” she said, too fast. Then she shut up and told herself crossly how stupid she was sounding.
“You’ll need help with the tray if we’re going into the living room,” he replied calmly as he continued following her nevertheless. “I will carry it in for us.”
She quickly fixed the tray with everything they would need, then followed Gabe into the other room as he carried the tray. He moved, straight to the low table in front of the couch and set it down carefully. “Shall I pour?” she asked quietly. He nodded.
“If you don’t mind.”
“A natural slave, that’s what I am,” laughed Carrie. Gabe watched her with every sign of being fascinated, and she was well aware of the fact. It was a heady feeling, this sensation of mutual attraction between herself and such a handsome male. In fact, it was overpowering, and when she handed him his cup of coffee, she leaned back and deliberately tried to steer the conversation to something that was intelligent and requiring thought. Gabe allowed himself to be drawn into a discussion of photography. Soon they were arguing pleasantly about different viewpoints about various things, then Carrie persuaded him to get out some of his work so that she could look at it. When she saw some of his pictures, she was astounded.
“These are absolutely splendid!” she gasped as she leafed through a few photos. Gabe merely smiled. “Don’t look like that, they really are. I know you aren’t believing me, but I think you’ve got some definite talent for capturing a certain mood. This scene is excellent.” She held up a shot.
“I’m just a good amateur,” Gabe spoke quietly as he settled back comfortably with, a fresh cup of coffee. “You know I can’t hold a candle to your stuff.”
“I don’t agree!” Carrie sat bolt upright on the couch as she prepared to argue vehemently. “I’ve gone to school and studied photography and you haven’t— that’s the only difference between us. Look, see this picture? That is every bit as good as any of the pictures that I’ve shot.”
“You’ve really gotten upset, haven’t you?” asked Gabe with amusement. She started to blush. “No, now don’t go all embarrassed over it, for heaven’s sake! I’m just a little bit surprised, that’s all.” He studied her face. “You’re very serious about all this, aren’t you?”
Carrie refused to look at him, her face taking on a slightly mulish look. She set down her coffee cup and started to stack up his pictures very carefully.
“Carrie,” he said. She looked up then. “Can you see the difference between the two of us? I like this sort of work, and I enjoy spending my free time on it, but you love everything about it. And because of that love, you can achieve a whole different quality than I will ever be able to.” Gabe set down his coffee cup as he spoke.
“What do you love, Gabe?” Carrie stared off into space as she impulsively asked the question. All of a sudden, she was all tensed up as she waited for his answer.
It was a long time in coming. After a bit, he started to speak quietly, almost with a note of surprise in his voice. “I love the way your eyes take on a kind of spark whenever you get excited about anything.” She blinked. It was not what she had expected him to say. She looked down at her hands and relaxed them consciously. They had been all clenched up on her lap. Gabe’s voice sounded closer as he continued, “I love the line of your neck, the curve of your nape.”
His finger followed the delicate curve as he spoke, sending an unexpected shiver down her neck. She jumped, but made no attempt to move away, loving the feel of his warm hand cupped against her neck.
“And do you know what I’d love right now?” he asked as he slid up by her and stared down into her face. She stared back and found she couldn’t look away. His eyes were so large, and the lashes ridiculously long for a man. Her eyes travelled down the line of his cheekbone and the strong curve of his jaw, to his lips. He was speaking again. “What I’d love to do right now is to kiss th
ose soft, soft lips…”
His lips weren’t soft at all as he suddenly descended on her mouth. The feel of his mouth moving so sensuously on hers shocked Carrie into a stillness as she experienced a fierce wave of sexual longing. Her hand felt its way up to his muscled neck, and then her other hand moved to the open collar of his shirt as she began to kiss him back. Gabe sighed deeply; she felt his chest heave with her hand. Then she was gathered up tightly in his strong arms and pulled down on the couch.
When she was released at last, both she and Gabe were breathing heavily, unsteadily. Her hands went up to her hair and began to pull the rest of the pins from its tangled mess, finding the ones he had missed. Her hands were shaking as she dropped them back into her lap, clasping them together.
Gabe stood abruptly after watching her try to tidy her hair, and began to pace the room in long and impatient strides. Carrie, her eyes drawn to the movement, looked his way and found him raking his hair back with one hand, tousling it worse than she had, and he headed over to a small cabinet and poured himself a drink. He stood with both feet wide apart and drank it swiftly down. Her own throat ached when she imagined the burning liquid coursing down his throat. There wasn’t anything said for quite a few minutes.
“I think I’d better take you home now,” he said suddenly, and she glanced up again. She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him, but instead got up quickly and looked about her for her scarf. Gabe found it by the couch, in a crumpled heap.
She took it silently and draped it around her neck without bothering to tie it, then she stared off into space for a moment, her brows drawn together.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Did I bring my purse with me?”
Damaged Trust Page 10
