A Seductive Proposal (23 page)

He’d pulled it off. Carly had helped of course, but then his instincts had told him that she would be valuable from the beginning. She knew people and her warm disposition created trust and the kind of trust she engendered in Eve had seen the deal through.

He watched Carly as she stood on the drive. She waved a farewell to Eve, her back to him.

She had done this. She had forged a friendship with Eve, gained her trust and brought the deal home. He owed her so much.

Her speech this morning, however, had fired up all that heavy construction equipment, again. Diesel engines chuffed and smoked. He rubbed his chest and winced. And he was still ticked off that in this way she’d ruined the last part of their time together.

On the other hand, guilt had started to weigh him down. He’d used Carly to get this deal done and now she believed she was in love with him.

He had only one real consolation—he would make her a wealthy woman. At least he could do that much for her. The contract his lawyer had drawn up for the purchase of her winery was set at eight million, more than he’d originally offered. But dammit, she’d earned it, every penny. He would just have to help her see that he hadn’t meant to hurt her in any of his dealings over the past month.

She smiled as she mounted the steps and but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do more than nod at her.

Time to complete the deal.

“Come back to the kitchen,” he said. “I have something for you.”

She looked up at him. “What’s going on?” A new smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Her brown eyes sparkled. She seemed so hopeful.

Another twinge of guilt snagged him, but he shook it off. “You’ll see.”

He had won. He wanted her to see him in that light, as a man who always achieved his goals.

Once in the now-deserted kitchen, he pulled his briefcase from the cupboard below the island counter. He popped the lid then withdrew two sets of papers.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“The set of documents on the right is a formal offer for the board-and-care property. My attorney and Mr. Simm’s have agreed on a price.”

A small frown drew her brows together. “I don’t understand. Mr. Simms and I already have an agreement.”

“Well, I’ve made him a better offer unless…” he gestured to the documents on the left, “…you accept my terms for the purchase of the winery. I decided to increase the figure to eight million because the truth is, you’ve earned it. This is your choice, of course, but given how you feel about the widows’ home, we both know what decision you’ll make.”

“Let me understand,” she began, but her complexion began to pale, “If I don’t sell you the winery, you intend to buy the widows’ home out from under me?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

Her brow knotted and pain sliced through her beautiful brown eyes. “Oh, Quint, no.”

The disappointment he saw in her eyes hit him in his gut. His victory began to feel less sweet.

“I’ll speak to Mr. Simms. He’ll—”

“I’ll outbid you every time. The man’s ready, as you said, to move to Missouri.”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. As though—”

“As though what?” he snapped. “I told you from the beginning, I’d do whatever it took. Didn’t you believe me?”

“Yes, but I didn’t imagine you’d do something like this.” She slid her gaze around the kitchen. “What if I won’t sell the winery?”

“You know my answer.”

“Tell me anyway. I need to hear you say it.”

“I’ll evict the women, tear down the structure and build condos. It’s all in there to the last detail. Take your time reading it if you want.”

Only as she shifted her brown eyes to him, only as he saw that instead of admiring his cunning she looked like he had just burnt her house to the ground did he begin to understand he’d erred. He glanced at the documents and frowned. He looked back at her. He got a sick feeling in his gut but his habits ran deep. He couldn’t go back now.

She said, “I need to understand one thing here—did you give Grace Hartley that twenty-five grand in order to work me up to this moment?”

He paused, but just for a second since there was no point in prevaricating. “In part, yes. The high quality of her work made the decision easier, but the real goal was to make certain you stayed close to me. I had to find your weakness in order to make the winery sale happen.”

“And what about that trip to Phoenix? Was that the same thing? You hunted around for a way to get me back into bed and once you found it you laid it on thick?”

He frowned. “It wasn’t like that. I loved being with you and I wanted you to know everything about me. Carly, tell me you know I loved being with you.”

He wanted to smooth out the furrow between her brows.

“Then why are you doing this?” she asked.

“Because I told you from the beginning that I don’t do long-term relationships.”

She nodded. That was a good thing. Maybe.

“You just need some perspective,” he stated.

She lowered her gaze from his but she still frowned. “I guess I do.”

He let go of a sigh of relief. He could give her that. He could give her perspective.

He set about explaining the brilliance of his strategy. He was good at explanations and he spoke at length about how he had never deceived her, how he had from the first made it clear he meant to get her winery no matter the cost, how he felt she owed him a lot of respect for his sportsmanship and for the fact that he’d been more than generous in the price he’d set for the purchase of her property.

He talked and talked.

On some level he wanted her to admire him for how clever he’d been and to acknowledge that from the beginning he’d been straightforward about his goals.

She stared down at the documents, her eyes wide and unblinking.

She was upset and mistaken. He placed his hand on her arm and began again. He launched into his certain knowledge that her belief that love existed between them was completely erroneous. But this line of reasoning caused his chest to seize so he reverted to his original arguments, which involved more detailed references to his sense of fair play and honor.

Unfortunately, though her frown had disappeared, her expression had grown quite blank. He couldn’t tell whether she heard a word he said.

* * * * * * * * *

Carly lost the ability to see color. Everything around her, all the beauty of Sylvie’s décor turned varying shades of gray.

Silence entombed her as well. She could see Quint’s mouth move. Maybe he spoke. She didn’t know.

Choose.

A home for impoverished widows or her family’s legacy?

Choose.

My God, how had she gotten so far down this road without even the smallest understanding of how impossible this situation was, that Quint’s broken nature could never be repaired? She had been right about him from the beginning.

She felt utterly foolish.

As she turned to face the windows, even the blue sky seemed to be an odd charcoal in hue. She moved toward the sliding glass doors that overlooked the wood deck and the vineyard beyond. The ripening grapes had the appearance of lead.

There was no choice to be made where her winery was concerned, not really. But then Quint knew that. Hence, his legendary reputation in the world of business.

And when had she told him about the widows’ home? Oh, that’s right, when she’d grown so comfortable with him on the way back from Phoenix. When was that? Oh, yeah, when she’d accepted that she’d fallen in love with him.

She believed in society, in helping others, in being of use, in creating jobs, in service, and in good works. Quint did as well, but his generous nature could never extend to her or to any woman.

She would feel angry soon and desolate but not right now. Right now she couldn’t since she’d become a mere shadow, her vision tuned only to shades of gray, her hearing gone.

A heavy hand settled on her shoulder. She turned to look up into pale
gray
eyes. She shifted out from beneath the weight of the man’s hand. She turned away from the window and the vineyard. She moved back to the granite island. She picked up the pen and signed her name in all the various places the real estate industry required in order to give up her winery. The man’s assistant had included helpful little flags. How nice.

Quint continued to talk. She knew this because she could feel the rumbles of his voice against her back as she worked her way through the pages. She felt his hand on her shoulder again and once more sidled away.

She left the island and the kitchen. She went into the hall. She walked all the way upstairs and found her purse and her keys. She looked at the bed, the rumpled sheets. She smelled the mixture of scents, earth and citrus, the ones that had given her so much pleasure but now made her nauseous.

She left the bedroom and, how odd, she started to run. She ran down the stairs. She hurried down the hall toward the front door but she kept running into the man. He caught her and held her locked in his arms but she stared at his chest. He spoke many, many more words. He must not have realized that she could no longer hear.

Finally, he took her chin and forced her to look again into his dull gray eyes.

Her ears opened.

“Stay,” the man said. “Talk to me. I don’t want to leave things like this.”

She shook her head. She heard herself respond, “What for?” But her voice sounded a thousand miles away.

He blinked. His lips parted. He scowled. He released her.

She stepped around him then moved to the front door. She reached out and put her hand on the knob. She opened the door. She crossed the porch, walked down the steps then sprinted to her Acura. She hopped in, started the engine and drove.

She drove down the dusty road back to Sedona, through Uptown then headed up the back door to Flagstaff. She drove and drove. She only stopped to buy gas. She ignored the summons of her cell. She ignored the grind of her stomach. She drove until she reached the Grand Canyon. She got out of her car and walked and walked until she could look down into the vastness of the deep, deep hole.

Silence returned. How silent the canyon was. The biggest surprise, the silence. The sheer size of the gorge sucked down all the noise, an empty crater that allowed no sound to escape.

Silence was good.

Silence was the only thing she could tolerate right now.

* * * * * * * * *

Quint sat on the sofa in the family room. He faced the painting of the Grand Canyon that had cost a small fortune. Eve had liked it very much so as a staging piece, therefore, it had paid for itself.

He picked up his cell and punched in the number that belonged to Carly. How many times had he dialed that number over the past several hours? Ten times? A hundred? She would have to pick up some time.

He needed to talk to her. He needed her to acknowledge that he had been consistent in his word and actions from the first. He needed to hear her say that she thought he’d played a fair game. Mostly, he needed not to feel like a total bastard.

But this was just business. He should feel exhilarated and he did. He had a fine portfolio to add to his investment business and he would soon own a winery.

He had tried packing but his suitcase lay open on top of the rumpled sheets. He kept thinking how they’d made love last night. She’d giggled, delighted, savored. God, how he loved how she enjoyed his body. She kissed him everywhere,
everywhere.
Like him, she couldn’t seem to get enough.

Now it was over, just like that. The breakfast he’d savored not long ago turned to sour mush in his stomach.

He hadn’t expected to feel like this. His thigh muscles twitched. He needed a good hard workout at the gym. Yes, that’s what he should do. He should get up, head back to Phoenix then go straight to his gym. He’d work every muscle until his body cramped and complained.

Yet he sat. He sat and stared at the painting. He still held the cell-phone so, without even looking at the numbers, he punched Carly’s.

No answer.

No surprise.

He didn’t get why he just sat there and why the view of the Grand Canyon gripped him. Somehow that canyon seemed familiar. He recognized it. Of course he recognized it. He’d been there many times. He’d hiked down to the bottom at least twice.

He punched Carly’s number again.

Nothing.

A
vast
nothing. A huge hole of nothing.

He took in a breath and heard a strange echo in his chest.

His head snapped back.

He remembered all those times he’d felt like huge earth-moving machinery had been digging around from one side of his rib cage to the next.

Oh, Damn. Now he knew why.

Carly had done this to him and Brad had been right after all.

He had a hole in his chest the size of the Grand Canyon, that’s why he kept staring at the painting. And there was only one person on earth who could fill it.

Carly.

God help him. What the hell had he done?

* * * * * * * * *

Carly’s world returned to living color and full-blown hearing, but it had taken several days.

She sat in her office. She stared at the fifth extravagant flower arrangement that took up at least half her desk but which looked more like it belonged in a funeral parlor than anywhere else.

How fitting.

She took the card and without paying the smallest attention to the scribbled words, dropped it in the trash. She’d take the flowers over to the Sedona Widows Board-and-Care Home at the end of the day, just like she had all the others.

“Hey.”

The deep masculine voice broke over her from across the room. She looked up and saw Quint first, then Tina waving to her frantically from behind him.

A string of profanities ran through Carly’s head. She pressed her hands to her eyes, not because her sight had faded back to gray again but because she feared Quint might see all the residual puffiness and redness. She so didn’t want him to know she suffered. Honest to God, she’d rather die.

She took a deep breath, removed her hands and stood.

“You won’t return my calls,” he stated, moving in just like a mountain lion, like he had from the first, like he owned the room. He turned and shut the door on the fury that was Tina.