“No. My grandfather wouldn’t allow it.”
“Why was that his call to make? What about your mother?”
“I guess she agreed.” He shrugged. “When I was a senior in high school, we found out he’d died while living in an artist colony in California.”
“Oh, Wyatt, I’m so sorry.” Her caress on his chest was soothing this time instead of titillating. “Have you ever considered leaving like your father did?”
“No!” He actually recoiled from the thought. “I’m sure it sounds old-fashioned, but I’d never shirk my duty. I’m an only child. It all falls on me.”
“That’s a lot for you to shoulder. You don’t think it’s unfair?”
“I shouldn’t complain.”
“Yes, you should. You’re a gifted artist. That should be nurtured. Especially if it’s what you want. When you’re governor, I seriously doubt anyone is going to let you set up your bench and chainsaw in the official office.”
That surprised a bark of laughter from him.
“Chainsaw? I’m not Leatherface,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes. “People use chainsaws to cut down trees.”
She was so adorable.
“I don’t. I’m not a lumberjack.”
“Okay.” She crossed her arms over her bare chest. “What do you use?”
The action blocked his view of her breasts. Not cool!
He tugged one of her hands and her arms unfolded, like a bow on a gift. Better. “A wood chisel.”
“Fine. Wood chisel. Is that better?” she asked, rolling her eyes.
If only. He wished all his problems could be solved with flirty banter.
“My grandfather wants me to announce that I’ll run for state delegate at the Harvest Ball on Saturday.”
“Isn’t that premature? Don’t you have to declare it to the state or something first?”
“There are forms to fill out, but they aren’t due until March.”
“Then there’s no rush. You don’t have to do anything until you’re ready.”
The way she came to his defense warmed him. “My grandfather is ready.”
She frowned. “Your grandfather sounds like a . . . commanding man.”
“Is that a compliment?” he asked, unused to hearing someone refer to Asher with anything less than deference and awe.
“Not really,” she murmured. “What’s the Harvest Ball?”
“It’s the annual dance we have to mark the end of the festival. It’s usually a lot of fun.”
“Are you going to do it?”
“I don’t have a choice,” he murmured, though for the first time, he wondered how true that statement was.
“Not having a choice. I know that feeling.”
“You do? How?”
Her eyes widened, as if she’d realized she’d spoken aloud. She waved her hand. “Nothing.”
He rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow. “Do you think I’m going to let you get away with that? I bared my soul to you. You’ve got to give me something.”
Her expression softened and she leaned forward and kissed him, running her tongue along his lower lip. “I thought that’s what I spent the past hour doing.”
“Caila . . .”
She straightened and turned her shoulder away from him, the fall of her hair hiding her face from his searching gaze. He smoothed the strands behind her ear and stared at her profile.
“No, baby. Don’t shut me out. What did you mean about not having a choice?”
She continued looking down, her fingers plucking at the fitted white sheet. He stroked a hand down her back and waited.
“I don’t even know where to start.” She shook her head. “There have been two men that I’ve counted on in my life. Daddy and Pop-Pop.”
Wyatt was almost afraid to breathe. She was opening up to him, and if the emotion pulsing through her was any indication, what she was sharing was very important.
“I was a daddy’s girl. We lived in Baltimore and he was a professor at a local college. He was so invested in my future. We used to spend hours in his study talking and planning: What activities I’d pursue. What college I’d go to. What I’d major in. What I’d do with my life. And our plans had worked. I received a scholarship to the top prep school in the state. But before I could start, he died.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “After the funeral, we moved to a small town in rural Maryland to live with my grandfather.”
Damn. “That must’ve been quite a culture shock for you.”
“You have no idea. It was tough. Unlike my mother and sisters, I didn’t want to go, but that didn’t seem to matter to anyone else. My plans weren’t important. What I’d worked for wasn’t important. We had relatives who lived in the city; I could’ve stayed with them. But my grandfather wouldn’t consider it. Said the family had to stay together. And my mother stand up to a man?”
Caila’s tone made it clear that was highly unlikely.
He didn’t miss the striking similarities in their lives. But he didn’t comment on it. He just listened. He had the distinct feeling that she didn’t tell many people what she was choosing to share with him.
“We moved the following week and I had to give up my scholarship. It all happened so fast that I left a lot of my stuff behind, including some of my favorite books and my dream box.”
She was brittle with tension. He was afraid to touch her, afraid she’d shatter into pieces.
“Dream box?”
“It was this little fabric-covered box my dad had given me on my tenth birthday. I would write down my goals and dreams on a piece of paper and put it inside. Every night I’d pick it up and think about my future. It was my way of manifesting the life I wanted, before I even understood what that meant.”
It wasn’t difficult for him to picture a young, intense Caila defining her ambition and willing it to happen. He smiled, the image causing warmth to expand throughout his chest.
“I was so angry with everyone, especially Pop-Pop, and I wanted to hate him. But I couldn’t. He wasn’t an educated man like Daddy. He only had a high school education and he worked with his hands. But he was like my dad in all the ways that mattered. He understood me. He supported me. He taught me so much.”
He could feel the deep affection in her words and wanted to know more about this man she clearly loved.
“Like what?”
“About a month after school started, he picked me up early. I was having a hard time, mainly because I still hadn’t let go of my bitterness over the move. I was in full-on brat mode, but he didn’t say anything, just drove us over to the Sav-Mart. We got two milkshakes and sat at a table near the window. At first, I was quiet, like I couldn’t be bothered.”
She shrugged. “But when he started talking about my dad, I lost it. I let him have it. I told him he didn’t know a thing about Daddy, because if he did, he wouldn’t have taken me from Baltimore. I railed about losing my scholarship and told him everything Daddy and I had planned, which he’d ruined by bringing me to Backwardsville. I was such a little shit.
“He listened to it all and never said a word. When I was done, he leaned forward, looked me in the eye, and told me that was the only time he’d let me get away with disrespecting him. And then he said he didn’t see why I still couldn’t pursue my goals from there. He promised to help me. And he was true to his word. Every week, we’d meet at the Sav-Mart, have a milkshake, and go over my short-term strategic plan.” A slight grin curved her lips. “The weeks when we didn’t have much to discuss, I spent a few hours playing pinball.”
His mouth dropped open and he pointed a finger at her. “I knew it! You were a ringer!”
“You weren’t innocent! You suggested pinball because you assumed I couldn’t play!” Her laughter ended abruptly, and her smile faded.
Dread formed a knot in his stomach. “Caila?”
She started trembling, and when he reached to cover her hand with his, she jerked.
Something bad was com
ing.
She closed her eyes again and whispered, “Pop-Pop died this summer.”
There it was.
Fuck!
“I thought I was fine. That I’d handled it. But I . . . I let it affect my performance at work.”
Her suffering rolled off her in waves, and he felt it physically.
“That’s understandable. You’re still grieving—”
“No.” She shook her head and turned fevered eyes to face him. “I hadn’t talked to him in months! I avoided his calls. It seems so stupid now, but I was angry. He’d gotten on me about missing my sister’s baby shower because of work. I couldn’t understand why he was saying that to me. He knew how I felt about my job. And I thought, if he cares so much about her feelings, then he could talk to her about the Orioles and the latest thing he was working on. Oh God! Why? Why didn’t I call him back? Why didn’t I just apologize . . .”
Her sobs got the best of her and he pulled her into his arms. Her body shuddered violently, and she struggled to catch her breath. He couldn’t stand her pain; the rawness of it was near to breaking him. In that moment he knew he’d do whatever it took to ease her suffering, even if it meant going against everything he believed.
“The man you described loved you to pieces. He knew you were upset. I’m sure he didn’t hold that against you.”
She shook her head, as if she didn’t believe him, and the despair of the gesture shattered him. He tightened his hold.
“I’m sorry,” she said several moments later, grabbing the sheet and wiping the moisture off his chest. “I didn’t know all of that was going to happen.”
He brushed his thumb beneath her eye, capturing a lingering tear. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“With work and this assignment, I . . . I haven’t allowed myself to cry like that. Not even when I found out he’d passed away.”
“Aw, baby . . .” He hated knowing she’d kept all of that pain and sorrow inside. “How do you feel now?”
She exhaled shakily and laughed. “Like a wrung-out rag doll.”
“If you’re a rag doll, you’re the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen.” Unable to resist touching her, he kissed her shoulder and pressed his cheek against her. “It couldn’t have been easy holding on to that. I’m just glad you’ve finally expressed it, and honored you felt you could share it with me.”
“Hey.” She shifted, and when their gazes finally met, he knew he’d lost a bit of his soul to her. “Thank you. Not only for allowing me to use you as a human handkerchief, but for what you did earlier. Our date at the farm. The company, the drinks, and the s’mores. I haven’t enjoyed a relaxing evening like that in a very long time.”
“It was my pleasure. If I could, I’d make sure you took more time to relax. You know”—he traced the fullness of her lips with his finger—“if things were different we could do—”
“Don’t.” She covered his hand with hers. “There’s no use wishing our situation was different. Things are what they are. I’ll go back to my job and you . . . you’ll make a great governor of Virginia.”
“Caila—”
“You will,” she stated emphatically. “You’re a great leader. You’ve already proved it as mayor. You’re a good communicator, you’re fearless, you have vision and integrity. I’d vote for you.”
His cheeks burned, and guilt gave his heart another twist.
Integrity.
Not even close.
But he couldn’t dwell on the shortcomings of his principles. Not now. His time with Caila was limited. He intended to make the most of it.
“Is that how you see me?” he teased. “It sounds like you’re describing a legend.”
She laughed, and his heart leaped in his chest.
“A legend? Please. What you are is a handful.”
He maneuvered until she was beneath him, nestling his hardening cock in the heat at her core.
“Then it’s a good thing you have two hands.”
Wyatt sat in his car after dropping Caila off at Sinclair House. He pressed a contact on his phone.
“Mayor?” Nate picked up on the fourth ring, his voice leaden with sleep. “What time is it?”
“Late or early, depending on your view. Sorry to bother you, but . . . have you talked to Joe?”
Nate yawned. “Not since our meeting with Ms. Harris on Thursday.”
You can still change your mind. You don’t have to do this.
“Give him a call. Tell him we need him to come back a week early.”
“Why?”
“We don’t need the extra time.”
“But your plan is working. She’s been to the football game, the bake sale, the color run. She’s talking to people. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“It’ll have to be enough.”
There was a long pause, then Nate said, “People are talking about the two of you. They say you took her out to Anderson Farm tonight. Are you sure you’re doing what’s best for Bradleton and not letting your feelings for her get in the way?”
No he wasn’t, and that was the fucking problem.
Chapter Seventeen
For the third time in ten minutes, Caila caught herself staring into space. She closed her eyes and smiled.
Admit it, girl. You’re feeling him.
She was. She’d tried to keep it casual, but something had shifted between her and Wyatt a couple of nights ago. She’d told him about Pop-Pop and had felt safe enough to grieve for her grandfather in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to before. And he’d responded with kindness, compassion, and some of the best sex she’d ever had. She was starting to wish they could pursue something beyond her time here.
But those emotions were dangerous. Because while she felt better, like a shroud had been removed from her spirit, she was still keeping her true intentions hidden. Her actions in Bradleton had the potential to destroy his town. And as long as that remained true . . .
Still, nothing said sex-only pals, with no strings attached, like dinner with the family.
She shouldn’t have agreed to it, but when he’d asked, she’d been caught up in the good feelings he’d evoked and unable to say no. She didn’t know what to expect this evening, but she couldn’t deny she was excited to see him.
She was putting the finishing touches on her makeup when her phone rang. Hurrying to where it lay on the table, she saw her assistant’s face and answered it.
“What’s up?” she asked, pressing the speaker button and sitting down on the adjacent chair.
“Why am I looking at the ceiling?” Diane asked.
“Because I’m busy,” Caila said, sliding her foot into a black heel and hooking the strap around her ankle. “You’re working late tonight.”
“I’m leaving soon, but I wanted to wait. In case you needed me.”
A discordant tone in Diane’s voice stopped her. She straightened and grabbed her phone. Hills and valleys dotted the usually smooth space between her assistant’s brows.
Ah, hell. “What’s wrong?”
Diane’s blue eyes softened briefly. “Awww, you look amazing! That can only help.”
“Help what?”
“Ms. Mitchell wants to talk to you in five minutes!”
“Are you kidding?”
“It was ten, but it took me five minutes to get back to my desk. Damn slow elevator.”
Caila’s stomach churned and she bit her lip. “Do you know what she wants?”
“No, but something’s happening with the C-level executives. When she called me up, the atmosphere was more tense than usual. She kept me waiting a long time and when she finally brought me in, she was extremely agitated. She never even looked at me, floating between her cell and her computer. She told me to get you on the line and then she immediately took another call.”
That didn’t sound good.
“Give me one minute before you transfer her.”
Caila sat down at the table, opened her laptop, and engaged her camera. A few seconds late
r, an image of her boss’s face flashed on her screen. Caila inhaled sharply and clicked on the green icon.
“Timeline has changed,” Kendra said, foregoing pleasantries, her dark brown eyes intense. “I’m going to need your report by Tuesday.”
“Tuesday?” Her stomach roiled. “That’s only five days away. Joe isn’t due back until a week from tomorrow.”
“Then find the information some other way.”
“Kendra.” Caila kept her expression neutral but clenched her hands in her lap. “We talked about thi—”
“Someone has the ear of Fogarty and Watson,” Kendra said, referring to the CFO and the general counsel. “And they’ve convinced them to move up the meeting on the national rollout to next week.”
Fuck!
A few months ago, being responsible for the marketing of the new organic makeup line was all she’d wanted. She still wanted it, but it was harder to blithely dismiss the impending fallout when you constantly saw the faces of the people who’d be affected by your actions.
“. . . we realized we could save money and provide better, more comprehensive service, if we combined under one umbrella . . .”
Her conversation with Laura broke free from her subconscious and floated to the fore.
“Do we have to break the contract?”
Kendra sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“No, hear me out,” Caila said, hurrying to make her point when it looked as if her boss would dismiss her out of hand. “What if there’s a way we can make it work? Where we could make it cost-effective to continue using Chro-Make? I can come up with a plan that would work for all—”
“That’s not what the board wants. You’ve been given an assignment. We need the information to successfully argue that it’ll be detrimental for us to stay with Chro-Make. I want that report in my hand so I can highlight how you saved us millions of dollars. It’ll be good to have something to point to when I put your name up for consideration.”
Have something? What about the ten years of her life that she’d given to the company? When she’d worked eighty-hour workweeks and holidays? Was that not enough?
Caila shoveled a hand through her hair, mussing in a second the sleek strands she’d spent half an hour arranging. “I understand.”
Sweet Talkin' Lover EPB Page 21
