by Lucy Monroe
“Hello, Carlene.”
She turned on her high-heeled boot and gave him a strangely tentative smile. “Hi. I got off work early tonight, and instead of going home I thought I’d bring dinner. To make up for the other night, you know?”
“Look, there’s something I need to tell you.”
She shivered. “Can you tell me inside? It’s freezing out here.”
“Sure.”
She started taking off her coat when they got inside, and innate courtesy had him reaching out to help her. The words he wanted to say stalled in his throat as he became aware of what Carlene was wearing under the coat.
Her boots stopped at her ankles and fishnet covered the rest of her bare legs. Her dress looked more like a shiny Spandex slip. The way she kept tugging on the hem was probably meant to draw his attention to her skimpily clad thighs. The top of the dress was skin-tight and off the shoulder. If she was wearing a bra, it had to be the size of a Band-Aid. Nothing else would fit under the snug fabric.
Her lips curved in a smile that looked a little ragged around the edges. What was going on?
“Like it?” she asked.
What the hell was he supposed to say to that? All he could think of was that if Zoe walked in now, he was a dead man. “Isn’t that a little cold for this time of year?”
She sidled up to him and trailed her fingers down his shirtfront. “It’s my working gear, but I’m counting on you to keep me warm.”
He stepped back hastily, before she could get any more ideas. The thought had him jumpier than a colt in his first batch of snow. “I’ll turn up the heat.”
Her laughter trilled over his stressed nerves, sounding more forced than seductive. “I’m counting on it.” She undid the top button on his flannel shirt with trembling fingers.
Grant stumbled backwards and escaped into the hall. Rejecting a woman’s advances never got any easier. It went right against the strictures his dad had drilled into him about courtesy toward women since Grant had been old enough to notice the difference between the sexes.
He stood staring at the thermostat stupidly, forgetting what he had come into the hall to do—besides get away from Carlene. Taking several deep breaths, he reminded himself that he was a man and in control of the situation.
Yeah. Right.
When it came to women, men were rarely in control.
He walked back into the kitchen and stopped short at the darkness. Carlene had extinguished the lights and lit two candles on the counter. “What the…? I can’t do dinner. I’m sorry. I was just about to leave when you showed up.”
Her smile faltered and then came back, turned up a notch. “Maybe you could put off your errand for a little while?”
“We need to talk.” He started backing up toward the light switch.
Her eyes flared with what looked like hurt at his rejection.
His shoulder hit the wall and he desperately searched for the light switch. His grateful fingers closed over it and he pushed upward. The kitchen flooded with light.
Carlene jumped, her eyes blinking at the bright fluorescent light. Under the bright light of the kitchen she looked tired…and sad.
He hated what he had to say next. “I should never have asked you out in the first place.”
“Are you in a relationship?”
“Not exactly.” Not until Zoe said he was. “But I want to be.”
“Oh.” Her expression was pained. “I’m sorry I misread your signals. The roses…” She sighed. “You know?”
“It’s not your fault.”
She nodded, obviously agreeing with him, and turned to go. That was when the lights went out, quickly followed by the high-pitched whine of the fire alarm.
“Hell.”
“What is that?” Carlene shouted.
“My fire alarm.”
“There’s a fire?”
“No,” he shouted over the alarm. Remembering how the light had gone off on its own, he yelled, “There must be a short in the wires or something.”
The hiss of escaping water put the cap on Grant’s endurance. “Get out of here!” he yelled.
Carlene was already headed for the door. It didn’t save her. The automatic sprinkler system went off and both Carlene and Grant were drenched in seconds. Grant headed for the phone on the counter. If he didn’t call the fire station immediately, he’d have a whole lot more to worry about than a wet floor.
It took two tries to get the receiver, slippery with water, to stay in his hands before he could dial the number. Thankfully, he got through immediately, and explained that his place was not on fire.
Leaving Carlene in the kitchen, where it was warmer, if not drier than outside, since she was soaked to the bone, Grant sloshed outside to find the emergency shut-off switch. After only six tries, he got it to turn off. He stepped back into the house, relieved that the high-pitched wailing had finally stopped.
The blessed silence was interrupted by the sound of another rig coming down his drive.
This time Grant’s insides churned with dread rather than anticipation. It would be Zoe. He had no doubt. When her truck came into view he just stood there, like a man ready to face his executioner. Only he wasn’t ready.
Zoe stopped the truck three feet from Carlene’s car and got out. She glanced briefly at the car, and then at him. Her eyes widened when they took in his waterlogged state. “What happened?”
“Fire alarm.”
Carlene chose that moment to make her appearance in the open doorway. Mascara ran down her face like an athlete’s black line gone amok. Her hair was plastered like wet string against her skull, and she was glaring at him as if he had set off the alarm on purpose.
After the mess he’d made of things, he couldn’t blame her.
A choked exclamation from Zoe had his attention careening away from the woman glaring at him. He turned to face Zoe.
“I didn’t realize that you had company.” Her even tone belied the stricken expression in her eyes. “I came by to tell you Tyler will be out to pick up the parrot sometime tomorrow. At least something good came from yesterday.”
Was she trying to say that the change in their relationship wasn’t good? He wouldn’t accept that. “It’s not what it looks like. I didn’t know she was coming.”
Zoe didn’t say anything. She turned to leave and he chased after her, grabbing her arm. “I mean it, Zoe. I was planning on coming to see you when she showed up.”
He turned back to Carlene and demanded, “Tell her.”
Carlene swiped at her wet hair. “So she’s the one, huh?”
Zoe tried to yank her arm away. “No.”
He blew out a frustrated breath and wouldn’t let go. “Yes.”
Carlene’s gaze met Zoe’s. “He’s telling the truth. I came out tonight on a whim. I felt bad about the way I left last time, and I didn’t realize the two of you had become an item. If it will make you feel any better, he made it clear from the start he wasn’t interested. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I’m sorry.”
Some of the tension drained from Zoe, but she still tugged against his restraining hold. He let go.
She turned and started walking toward her truck again. His insides froze. “Zoe?”
It came out like a plea and he didn’t care.
“Call me when you aren’t otherwise engaged,” she tossed back over her shoulder when she reached the driver’s door. Then she left.
Carlene sighed. “I didn’t mean to cause problems between you two. If I’d known it was like that I wouldn’t have come. I probably shouldn’t have come anyway.”
“We’ll work it out.” He hoped. “I’m sorry if I misled you with my actions.”
She shrugged. “These things happen. But if I were you, I wouldn’t make a habit of giving flowers, especially roses, to one woman when you want another one.”
“I won’t.” But he had no idea if the one he wanted to give flowers to would accept them from him.
CHAPTER TEN
THE
smell of bleach burned Zoe’s nostrils as she finished scrubbing the bathtub and then rinsed it.
She peeled off the bright yellow rubber glove from her right hand and swiped at her forehead. “Whew.”
The cats were hiding somewhere. They knew better than to get in her way when she was in a cleaning frenzy.
She’d already tried venting, but it hadn’t helped. Forty-five minutes of girl-chat with Jenny had only served to fan the outrage Zoe had felt, driving up to Grant’s home and finding him and Carlene in what could only be termed a compromising circumstance. Jenny had reminded her that Grant had caught Zoe and Tyler in a similar situation and it had been innocent.
It hadn’t helped. It wasn’t the same. There was too real a risk that Grant had wanted Carlene there, even if he hadn’t invited her. After all, he’d invited her once before.
The pain in her chest was way too familiar. She’d felt exactly like this four years ago, when Grant had dropped her off at home in order to take that New York model on a romantic evening flight in his plane. She’d cried for two solid hours that night. She refused to cry this time.
The stinging in her eyes had everything to do with the bleach she was using to clean and nothing to do with overactive tear ducts. She took a deep breath and held it, trying to assuage the very physical ache in her chest. It shouldn’t hurt this much. She wasn’t in love with Grant like she had been when she was nineteen.
The air hissed from between her lips as she let it out and drew another quick breath. She wasn’t. Only a total idiot would let herself love a man who had rejected her so completely once already and had given red roses to another woman. Sure, he’d tried to justify it, but the details hadn’t done a thing to explain why he’d asked Carlene out in the first place.
Grant had said their relationship had changed for him, but he’d also grabbed at the first opportunity to back off. He’d been all too willing to follow her principal’s advice and spend less time together. Not a week ago he’d had a rule against kissing her. Why?
And why did thinking about him and Carlene hurt so much? Zoe should be angry, not hurt. After all, it was supposed to be physical for her—a way to get over the desire for Grant that had plagued her since she was sixteen.
Her emotions were not supposed to be involved.
She yanked her glove back on and surveyed the bathroom, looking for something else to clean. The small room sparkled more than it ever had when she’d cleaned it for her mom, when her family had lived in this house.
And she still felt the ache in her heart.
She had already vacuumed every inch of the Pattersons’ home. Even the rooms she had left closed up. She had scrubbed down the counters in the kitchen, the floors, the windows and the mirrors. She pushed herself to do one more thing, to clean the last little nook, hoping that in doing so she would fall exhausted into bed tonight.
Then perhaps she would not lie awake for hours, tormenting herself with thoughts of Grant and Carlene.
Sighing, she peeled off her gloves and sat on the toilet seat. Right. She could work sixteen hours shoveling horse manure and she’d still go to bed and dream about Grant, with the dreams becoming nightmares mixed with memories from four years ago now Carlene had entered them.
The insistent chime of the doorbell penetrated her acidic thoughts. She considered not answering. Maybe whoever it was would go away. She knew it wasn’t Tyler this time, because he’d been with Jenny when Zoe called. Which left Grant.
She’d told him to call her, not come by. She wasn’t up to seeing him.
She tucked her feet up on the toilet seat and locked her arms around her knees, staring at the opening to the hall and willing him to leave. Loud pounding was interspersed with repeated peals from the doorbell. She tried covering her ears, but the sounds penetrated. She glared at the bucket of cleaning supplies, but they weren’t going to help her—unless she planned to get rid of him with a squirt from the ammonia bottle.
She pushed herself up and went to answer the door.
Opening it a crack, she peered out.
She’d been right. It was Grant. “Open the door, Zoe. It’s damn cold out here.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“That’s too bad, because I’m not leaving.” His tone had the implacability of a rock wall. “You might as well open up and let me in.”
The thought of sending him away hurt more than the prospect of talking to him, so she obeyed, and then stood in shocked amazement at the sight before her. She could barely see Grant for all the flowers he held in his arms. He had at least three dozen roses in different shades, a bunch of colorful blooms made into a bouquet cradled in one arm and a potted mini-rosebush clutched in his free hand.
“Do you think I could come in?”
She stepped back and let him inside.
“Where do you want these?”
“Are they for me?” She wasn’t taking anything for granted.
“Who else would they be for?” When she just stared at him, his mouth set in a firm line. “Don’t answer that. Just tell me where to put them.”
She led him into the kitchen. “I’ll look for some containers.”
She found a box of wide-mouth quart-size mason jars with Mrs. Pattersons’ canning supplies. Zoe used them for the roses and the colorful bouquet. Grant went back outside and returned with several more bouquets and potted flowers. She put the mini-rosebush and other live plants on the counter next to the sink. When she was done, and Grant had made one more trip out to his truck, Mrs. Patterson’s kitchen resembled a florist shop.
“What’s this all about, Grant?”
His blue eyes speared her with their intensity. “It’s about giving the right signals. I didn’t want there to be any more confusion.”
“You mean it’s not an apology for me catching you entertaining Carlene dressed like a male fantasy come true?”
He frowned, running his tanned fingers through the thick blackness of his hair. “No. I didn’t invite her over. I know you believe me about that.”
His eyes dared her to disagree with him. She didn’t. The fact she believed he hadn’t invited Carlene over didn’t make the memory of the other woman standing in his doorway wearing fishnet stockings any less painful.
His gaze speared her. “The only fantasy come true for me is you…dressed any way at all…but undressed would be even better.”
Her heart jogged and her betrayer of a body jolted at his words. “Then why did you bring the flowers?”
“Like I said, I wanted to give the right signals.”
“What do you mean by signals?”
“A man shouldn’t give flowers to one woman when he wants another one. It sends mixed signals.”
Zoe looked around the kitchen at the plethora of flowers surrounding her. Warmth spread throughout her insides, but she remained wary. “And does the amount of flowers indicate in any way how much you want a woman?”
His eyes glittered midnight-blue in the fluorescent light and he started toward her. “I don’t know, but I bought out the floral department at the grocery store to be on the safe side. I would have bought out the florist too, but they were closed.”
“So, what happened tonight?” She backed up a step when he would have touched her. “Why did Carlene come over if you didn’t invite her?”
“Mixed signals.”
The roses. “I see. I guess you won’t be giving other women flowers for a while, huh?” At least as long as their affair lasted.
He took another step closer, crowding her. “Right.”
“What set off your sprinkler system?” She avoided meeting his eyes and focused on the yellow roses in the mason jar on the counter opposite.
“I don’t know.”
But they could both guess. Bud. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault, isn’t it?”
He reached out and pressed his big hand to the side of her face, gently turning her head until their gazes met. His expression was as serious as a heartbeat. “It doesn’t ma
tter.”
Her breathing reflex short-circuited and she had to concentrate on sucking air into her lungs. “Of course it matters. Bud probably ate your wiring, and I’m the one who let him out of his cage.”
His thumb brushed down her chin and settled lightly against the pulse in her neck. “I don’t care.”
“But—”
“The only thing I care about is your promise to make love to me.” He leaned down until their breath mingled.
She fought hard to concentrate on what they were saying. “I thought you wanted to back off for a while.”
“I wanted to protect you. It’s an instinct I have a hard time ignoring. But if it means losing you I’ll ignore it—and anything else that could send you away from me.”
“Even gorgeous models from New York?” She couldn’t keep the residual pain from her voice. Her refresher course in that emotion was too recent.
His eyes narrowed while his mouth stopped a centimeter from her own. “What are you talking about?”
She tipped her head back, straining her neck to gain some distance. “It just seems to me that on the two occasions when you and I might have taken our friendship into the realm of the physical, you went for another woman instead.”
“What do you mean by might have? Are you saying you don’t want to make love to me? If you are, then think again. Things have gone too far for us to turn back to our old platonic relationship.”
“That’s what I thought when I was nineteen, but I was wrong then and maybe you’re wrong now.” She wanted to make love with Grant, but some irresistible compulsion was prompting her to rehash old memories and hurts.
“Four years ago neither one of us was ready for this.”
“Well, you certainly weren’t. It would have meant giving up the model.”
Suddenly she found herself sitting on the counter, a plethora of flowers and plants surrounding her, the smell of damp soil and the fragrance of flowers in bloom teasing her senses while Grant made a place for himself between her spread legs. “I didn’t have the model.”
