Her clear blue eyes dulled, in a way he recognized all too well. She took the piece of cookie from the table, but only ate the crumbs that stuck to her fingers.
He wasn’t the only one with acting chops.
After a long moment, she stood up from the table and headed for the stairs. “If you grab your bags, I’ll show you to your room.”
“I’m fine on the couch.”
“You might be, but I’m getting up early, and from what I’ve heard you’ve turned nocturnal. I don’t want to tip-toe around the house in the middle of the day worrying about waking you up.”
The insult hit him just fine. At least she cared enough to bother. Ty lugged his bag up the front staircase and found the light burning at the far end of the hall. Following the oriental runner, he made his way to the last door on the right. It wasn’t lost on him that the bedroom was the furthest point in the house from hers.
He lingered in the doorway, and watched Carrie replace the linens on the bed. Her robe had loosened around her, giving him a decent flash of her breasts. A silver cross on a thin chain slipped out, sticking in her damp strawberry locks.
“Carrie Ann, I want you to go dry your hair. It isn’t right to run around this drafty house with a wet head. You’ll catch your death.”
“Didn’t I just finish telling you I don’t need your two cents?”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine, get pneumonia.”
While Carrie fussed with the bathroom towels, he walked around the room, checking out the accommodations. Carrie was a stickler for detail, and he remembered when she’d conceived the place that she wanted each room to have a theme. This must have been the music room. A music box, with a tiny ballerina on top, sat on the dresser, and the ceiling border had black and white dancing silhouettes in mid-pirouette. Even the desk had a glass inlay with yellowed sheet music displayed underneath. He smiled when he saw the title. Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer.” He used to play it for her all the time on the downstairs piano.
The sleigh bed, large and soft, was almost a replica of Carrie’s, with intricate designs carved on the oak headboard. He ran his hand over the velvet comforter. It was thick and rich, and the deep burgundy color seemed to suit her personality. Warm. Inviting. Soft.
Perfect.
A framed black and white photo of a young ballerina mid leap hung on the wall beside the window. He walked to it and smiled. “This was always one of my favorite pictures of you.”
She stepped out of the bathroom and squinted across the room at the picture. “Thanks. That was from when I was in ‘The Nutcracker.’ I think it has the New York City Ballet emblem at the bottom of the picture.”
“I know. It used to be downstairs by the piano.”
“I thought it worked better up here.” She shrugged. “I put some of our publicity pictures downstairs instead. The guests really like them.”
“Really? I didn’t see them.”
“I took a lot of them down to dust. Not a small project by the way, there’s a lot of them.”
“You don’t have to remind me. I moaned and groaned through every single one.”
“You know, I never understood why you didn’t like them,” she said, walking around the bed toward him. “I thought it was fun getting all dressed up and having our pictures taken. Easier than memorizing lines and blocking.”
“Dressed up? Undressed is more like it. It took all my self-control not to break the freakin’ camera.” He looked down at her, remembering how they used to doll her up in negligees and paint her with makeup. He preferred her natural. Pure. Just like this. With a slow and careful step, he went to her. The light cast gold highlights in her hair, her eyes the lightest shade of blue. “You’re beautiful, Carrie Ann, you know that?”
The question didn’t warrant an answer, and he didn’t wait for one. Instead he closed the distance between them, and slowly brought his mouth to hers.
Her cherry lips were as soft as he’d remembered. She tasted sweet, like the finest wine he ever sampled, and the rush it brought to him was just as intoxicating. He cupped her face, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb. Desire teased him, taunted him, urged him to search her mouth with his tongue, but when he felt her push against his chest, he reluctantly broke the kiss and covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.
Her back was to him now, and her shoulders hunched over in a shrug. “It’s okay.”
“Carrie-”
“Okay, I guess that’s it,” she said and moved around him toward the bathroom. “Towels are on the sink, and you know where everything else is.”
“Carrie-”
“And if you need an extra blanket, closet at the end of the hall.”
“Carrie Ann.” She had to still know that when he used her full name he meant business. Not in a menacing kind of way, but one that indicated he needed to be heard. She had a way of shutting others out, and in the past he’d mostly let her have her way. He reserved his battles for times when it really mattered, like insisting she eat when she hadn’t in days, or times like this when he’d done something stupid and needed her to know he was sorry.
He sat down on the bed and shook his head. “That was inappropriate. I promise you it won’t happen again. It’s just been a long day and all. And seeing you…”
“I understand.”
The words were obligatory. He could see confusion in her eyes, and maybe a little sadness that he felt himself.
He wished the smile back.
“What about tomorrow?”
She raised her brow. “What do you mean ‘tomorrow’?”
“I figured besides that barn roof, you could find something to keep me occupied. A walk in the woods or ice skating on the pond.”
“Hmmm. I don’t know about that,” she said. “From what I’ve heard recently, this place might be a little low-key for you. No exotic dancers or blackjack tables for a good hundred miles.”
She said it with the disgust of any good, little, Irish-Catholic girl, and he felt the dutiful shame. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
Mercifully, she slid out the door. The scent of fresh lilacs lingered in her place, and the warmth of the space dispersed to a chill. He sat on the bed and stared at the door, her taste still on his lips.
***
Harvey Tillman tossed his piece of shit camera into the empty passenger seat. You get what you fucking pay for. What he really needed on an assignment like this was one of those high-powered lens jobs that all the good paparazzi sported. But east L.A pawn shops weren’t known for their high-tech equipment, and he told Layla he had the scratch to invest in this gig. So far he had gotten by just fine. He got his ass to New York, even took some choice shots of the duo in the diner. Not bad for a guy whose only experience in a job like this was advice he got in city lockup, from a psycho who set his girlfriend’s beauty salon on fire.
But Tillman was a bullshit artist, and, thankfully, Layla was as stupid as she was crazy. The perfect combination, in his opinion, to make a hell of a lot of money and get crazy laid. But the money and the perks were only half of it. He had his own agenda, and if all went to plan...
He squinted through the darkness, at the glow in the upstairs window. They were in there. Probably doing it. He closed his eyes, picturing Ty on top of her, giving it to her good. Harvey loved small women, and Carrie Ann was as sexy as they came. Petite, but built in all the right places. She was probably tight, too. He could tell. He imagined himself slipping in to her. Jesus, did Hollister know how to pick his women.
He opened one eye and again looked up at the window. Not a damn thing to see. He wished he could figure a way to plant a camera in there. Like the ones they used on those news shows, like “How to Nail a Nanny” or some shit like that. Christ, a freaking sex tape of Ty and Carrie. That would really blow Layla’s mind, and he’d bet his piece of shit camera that she’d be more than happy to show her gratitude. Her and Marcy both.
The bedroom light turned off just as flurries dotted his w
indshield. Fucking figured. The place was winter hell, and he’d head back to the city if he wasn’t driving a decade old Dodge Shadow with bald tires and half a muffler. Nah, he was better off camping out right here in his car. There had to be a parking lot around where no one would hassle him. Maybe across the way at the ski resort. He could get a few hours shut eye and probably pick up some coffee there, too.
He checked his watched then looked into the darkness in front of him. The wind whistled around his car, blowing clouds of snow across the pavement. The plow had just gone through minutes ago, and the cops would be on him if they figured him for a disabled car on the side of the road. But before he did anything, he’d have to check in. Staying on the boss’s good side was the key to his success. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and pushed two on the speed dial.
Chapter Four
Carrie rolled away from the morning sun, pouring through her bedroom window. Yesterday, when she was inspired to take down the Venetian blinds to dust, she didn’t think she’d have the sun to contend with. It was November in the North Country after all. The job probably would have been a whole lot easier if she had just left the stupid things up in the first place. But that’s how most of her life went. A search and discover mission all her own, that sometimes taught her lessons the hard way.
Ty Hollister case in point.
Last night she tossed and turned, her bed feeling larger than usual. Lonely. More than once she had closed her eyes and imagined Ty lying beside her. Holding her, touching her. Dragging his lips down the nape of her neck, kissing her softly on the mouth...
A muffled sound of an ax striking wood snapped her out of her thoughts. Blinking back tears, she went to the window. Ty stood in the middle of the yard over a pile of wood, dressed in jeans, work boots, and a tan Carhartt jacket. God, he was handsome. Big and solid, but soft and gentle. At least that’s what she remembered. Back then they were inseparable. Friends first, then much later lovers, secretly holding tight to each other while the wild ride of fame tossed them about. No one had a clue about their relationship. Not even Earl, and especially not her parents. They were already mad that she’d left the New York City Ballet to work on “Undercover Heat.” And for people who considered eight o’clock network television pornographic, they would never have understood her relationship with a poor southern boy, who in their eyes could never measure up to their perfect daughter.
Ty was thrilled when she told him she was pregnant, and she was too, until the fear overtook her. It would affect the show, expose their relationship, and no way would Archbishop award a high-up position to a man with a notoriously, illegitimate grandchild.
Somehow, her terror had manifested in a strange sort of contest of how little she could eat, and how much weight she could lose. A game she played casually as a dancer, but at five months pregnant mastered. She didn’t recall the tumble down the stairs, but she imagined the physical pain was far less than the emotional agony that followed. Pulling through it was no small feat, but she came out okay. Even through her mother’s death, she managed. Yes, Carrie Ann Langley was a new person, and this one didn’t need Ty Hollister in her life. In a few weeks, a month tops, she wouldn’t ever have to lay eyes on him again.
“You want me to get a towel to mop up the drool?”
Carrie clutched her chest and spun around. Lizzie stared back at her in the doorway. Her arms folded as if she was angry, but the smirk told her Lizzie was more amused than anything else. “Shut up, Lizzie.”
“What? My sister is gawking at the Sexiest Man Alive four years running, and I can’t make a joke?”
Lizzie wasn’t naturally funny. Carrie was actually the family comedian, not a hard fought title, considering the stoics her parents had been, but a quality she was proud of none the less. This was Lizzie’s attempt to let her know she was here for her, and Carrie appreciated the gesture.
“So I’m sure you didn’t miss me when I slipped out of here last night.” Lizzie came up next to her and leaned on the windowsill. “That was pretty gutsy of him to drive all the way up here. Did he say anything to you? I mean, about why he’s here?”
Carrie ran her hands down her arms, feeling the chill from the window through her white cotton gown. “Not really.” She shrugged. “Just small talk. Earl probably sent him. Make sure I don’t jump ship on this whole publicity thing.”
“Are you thinking of doing that?”
Carrie looked across the way at the dilapidated roof on the East barn. When her mother got sick, most of her savings from the show went for her care. Of course, she didn’t regret spending it. She just wished she had a little left. “I can’t. The money is too good to pass up.”
“I guess you have to make the best of it then.” Lizzie’s lips bent into a smirk, and her eyes twinkled with laughter. “You didn’t ‘make the best of it’ last night did you?”
“Lizzie! Of course not!” Carrie made a point of staring at her, before waiting a beat and turning away. She learned that from Ty when they were running lines once. It was his “how-dare-you-question-my-conviction” look. She had tweaked it and kept it for her own.
“I had to ask. It’s not like you to sleep past eight.”
Carrie looked at her watch, but realized she hadn’t put it on yet. “Past eight? Wow, I must have been tired.”
“Well I hope you’re rested now, because I’m leaving at noon. Russ is coming home, and I want to spend some quiet time with him while I still can.”
Carrie didn’t reply, her gaze fixed on Ty. His agile body, the soft grunt he made when the ax struck the wood. She breathed deep to steady herself. The man could be jumping around like a monkey, and she bet he’d still be sexy doing it.
“Please don’t tell me you require a chaperone.”
“Of course not,” Carrie answered, too quickly for even her ears, then pulled the curtain closed. “Listen, I thought I’d run into town, before the snow starts again. You need anything? Maybe some sparkling grape juice for your little tryst.” She winked. “Russ is probably going to be very happy to see you.”
“Don’t you worry about me, baby sister. You keep your mind on your own dramas. That guy out there is red hot, and if he gets too close, he’ll burn you like he did before.” Lizzie squeezed her shoulder, her face softened to a motherly smile. “By the way. Daddy is due home in a few days. I don’t know how long Ty’s staying, but if he sees him-”
“I know,” Carrie said, the thought of last night’s kiss passing through her brain. “Don’t worry. It won’t be an issue.”
The loud crack startled them both as a large log tumbled to the ground. Ty picked up another and set it up, positioning his ax over his shoulder, and took a swing.
“Tell you what,” Lizzie said, heading out the door. “I’ll make a list of things we need in town, but before that, we should take him some water. He’s been at that wood pile since I got here an hour and a half ago. He’s probably parched.”
“I’ll do it,” Carrie called after her. She pulled on a flannel shirt and overalls and hastily threw her hair up in a pony tail. When she was down stairs ten minutes later, Lizzie had a thermos of ice water waiting.
“You should ask him about breakfast, too,” Lizzie said. “I have a batch of peanut butter cookies in the oven if he wants some.”
“I’ll let him know.” Not bothering with a jacket, Carrie pulled on her gloves and jogged out the door with the thermos tucked under her arm.
***
Ty picked up another log and set it up on the stump. With one swift swing, it split in half and tumbled into the snow in a cloud of powder.
Lizzie seemed impressed when she pulled in at six thirty, and he was already shoveling the walk. Truth was he actually missed this kind of work. Funny, because when it meant his survival, it felt like torture. After his father died in the Kentucky coal mines, and before his mother passed, he supported her by working as a farm hand outside Birmingham, Alabama. He was at a Mall hardware store buying pliers when a talent scout
discovered him at age 23. A year later, he landed the role of Jax on “Undercover Heat.” A year after that he won his first Emmy.
He always thought having loads of money would make life cake, but so far it had done nothing but complicate it. Someone always wanted a piece of the pie. He missed the simple existence, where people were genuine and time passed slowly. Like the time he’d spent here at Whisper Grove. Some of his happiest memories were just laying on the porch swing, watching the grass grow, with Carrie asleep in his arms.
“Ty?”
He stopped mid swing, her soft voice stealing his strength. When he set the ax down, she stepped closer, her delicate stature barely denting the fresh snow. “Carrie Ann, how long have you been standing there without a jacket?” His thick Southern accent startled him. He noticed it last night too. Where the hell did that come from all of a sudden?
“Not long, I just didn’t want to interrupt you. You seemed to be on a roll.” She pointed to the pile of freshly split wood. “You really got through that cord in a hurry.”
“Yeah well, I could use the upper body workout.” Her hair looked even redder against the white landscape; the breeze blew strands across her pale face. He brushed one aside, and tucked it behind her ear. He wished his hand wasn’t gloved, so he could feel her skin. “That for me?”
“Huh?”
He nodded toward the thermos tucked under her arm.
“Oh yeah. It’s ice water. Lizzie thought you might like it.”
He unscrewed the cap and took a long gulp. When he was done, he smiled down at her. “Did you have a good night sleep?”
“Sure, I love a cool night.”
He remembered. Ten degrees outside, she’d crack a window. “It was still dark when I got up. I was careful not to make too much noise stumbling around.”
“Wow, when was the last time you saw a sunrise?”
“I see it all the time. Usually I haven’t been to bed yet, though.”
The porch door swung open, and Lizzie appeared. From fifty feet away, Ty saw the panic on her face. “Carrie! We’re out of chocolate chips.”
Undercover Heat Page 5
