Promoted to Wife (Destiny Bay) (19 page)

They rode back to the ranch singing “Home on the
Range,” which Rick insisted was his favorite song, even
though Erica kept drowning it out with her own version of the latest pop hit from a TV show she liked. And when Rick pretended to turn his horse to chase her, she shrieked and kneed her animal into a gallop that set the two of them
racing across the meadow.

Terry smiled. It suddenly occurred to her, as the
ranch house came in sight, how like a family they were—
for the moment.

CHAPTER NINE:
 

Learning Navigation
 

“Good morning, Yardley.”

Terry opened her eyes and clutched her covers up under her chin. “Rick?” she muttered groggily.

Dawn had barely begun to break and there he was, standing in the doorway to her little bedroom. He glanced out into the hall, then came in, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he murmured, leaning down to push her hair back away from her eyes. “I just wanted to let you know that you've got the day off. And I've got plans for us.”

“You do?” Slowly her mind began to function. “You mean... ?”

“We've finally got some time to be alone together. I'll give you half an hour to get ready, then we'll leave before the others get up.” He bent to drop a tickling kiss on her cheek. “Twenty-four hours off, lady-butler. Whatever will you do with your time?”

She sat up, pulling her covers with her, suddenly wide-awake. He filled her room, looking clean and fresh and so very male. “Where are we going?” she asked, excited and wary at the same time. He did mean to be with her, didn't he?

“Into Destiny Bay, if that idea pleases you. It can be a romantic town.”

She swallowed, trying to think clearly. “What are we going to do?”

Wincing, he almost laughed. “You're joking.”

She flushed. “I mean, what should I wear...”

His grin was positively lascivious. “Not a thing.”

“Rick!”

“Okay, okay. I suppose decorum must be observed. Wear a summer dress and bring along a bathing suit. Is that good enough?”

A full day with Rick. The possibilities sent a thrill down her spine and she shivered. “Perfect,” she told him with a grin. “Now get out of here so I can get ready.”

Within the hour they were racing over the highway toward the city. “Breakfast at the Lodge, overlooking the ocean,” he told her. “And we'll take it from there.”

The car purred along the road, all sleek, expensive power, and she thought suddenly of how it suited its owner. Money, position, flash—he had it all.

Looking down at the simple blue cotton sundress she'd worn, she sighed. It was a pretty dress. It looked great on her, setting off her blue eyes, her shiny black hair. But it bore no designer label. She'd bought it on sale at a nice department store, and at the time she'd cringed at the price. Someone like Caren would spend as much on a casual tip for someone who'd done her a favor and not think twice about it. That was what Rick was used to.

Her fingers knotted in her lap and she stared straight ahead. The fresh air coming in through the open window was waking her up in a way in which she hadn't been awake for days. She was out of her league. She didn't
belong here. Rick was used to the best in everything.
How could she ever measure up?

They ate on a sun-drenched veranda and she smiled
and laughed along with him. But deep inside, misgivings
were growing.

Rick raised his orange juice in a toast. “To beautiful
butlers,” he said.

Her chin rose along with her own glass. She was feeling a bit prickly. She tried to hide it with a sassy smile. “How about changing that to smart butlers?” she prod
ded.

“That's okay too.” His grin widened. “But it's the
'beautiful' that interests me most right now. You are cer
tainly the most beautiful butler I've ever known.”

As usual, she began to warm to his charm. She cocked
an eyebrow teasingly. “And the smartest,” she asserted.
“You just don't know it yet.”

He chuckled, enjoying her. “Everyone should have a
smart butler like you,” he agreed. “Smart and pretty at
the same time. The butler business will never be the same
again, you know. Everyone will insist on getting what
I've got.”

Ignoring that sort of compliment was too difficult for
Terry. “Are you telling me French maids are going to be passe?” she asked with a wicked smile, waving a fork at
him. “I heard about the maids in your room.”

His face fell and he looked annoyed. “Who told you that?” Waving it away, he took a bite of bacon. “Don’t listen to gossip like that. It all happened during my wild
and impetuous youth.”

“Maids in your room,” she went on knowingly.
“Butlers in your linen closet.” She paused, frowning.
“I'm not surprised you turn down Aunt Julia's pilgrims,”
she said more slowly. “You've got all you need without ever leaving home.”

Much as she tried to hide it, the tinge of bitterness showed through her teasing, and he heard it. Putting down his fork, he leaned forward and took her hand in his.

“Terry,” he began, his voice low and serious. “Enough talk about maids and butlers. Let's forget all that. For today, you're just a woman, I'm just a man. Okay?”

For some crazy reason she had a lump in her throat, but she managed to nod and whisper, “Okay,” and he smiled.

After their meal they walked on the beach, then fed the ducks in the estuary. And all the time, the anticipation grew between them.

He wanted her, and she wanted him. That was what this day was all about. Neither one of them said so out loud, but they both knew it. He was putting it off, trying to think of things to do so as to avoid the appearance of unseemly haste, and she was glad for the time to collect her thoughts, because she was getting scared.

Never before in her life had this step loomed so large. They'd made love before, that one, brief encounter in the night. But that hardly counted now. That was one wild and crazy moment in the heat of passion. This was much more cold-blooded. This time, it was for real. This time, judgments might be made, plans set, evaluations set in motion.

What if she disappointed him? What if she didn't match his dreams? Could she survive seeing disillusionment in his eyes?

He took her out to the marina to see his Dutch-built
yacht. As they walked along the boarded wharf he was hailed half a dozen times. Terry looked around at the
blue canvas, white paint, and hand-rubbed teak of the
boats bobbing along the walkway. Everything looked clean and new and expensive. She glanced at the smiles
that greeted Rick and she knew she was moving in a
very rich crowd. And she was just a servant. What was
she doing here?

“Here it is,” Rick said proudly, helping her aboard
his fifty-foot sailing boat.

She felt more comfortable once they were by themselves. But still there was a new reticence between them.

“How about some champagne to celebrate?” he asked as he showed her into the luxurious stateroom that held
his bed and a small table and chair.

“At this time of the morning?” she responded, turning
around and not sure where to sit.

“It's a special day,” he answered, pulling a bottle from
the little refrigerator in the galley and snagging two
fluted glasses to bring along back to the stateroom.

For some strange reason she couldn't meet his gaze. “I
guess it is at that,” she murmured, watching him pour
out the golden liquid. As she took the glass from him her
hands were trembling, and he noticed.

Putting the bottle down, he covered her hands with his own. His eyes were deep and dark. “What are you afraid
of?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing at all,” she said with forced gaiety. She
raised her glass. “To sunshine,” she toasted irrelevantly.

Rick frowned. “To sunshine,” he echoed, but she
hadn't fooled him. He could see how nervous she was.
What he couldn't figure out was why.

She'd had some experience along these lines and he knew it. Besides their hurried tryst the other night, she'd told him herself about the man she'd lived with. And then there'd been the man on the telephone, the one she'd said “I love you” to.

The corners of his mouth turned down as he remembered overhearing that conversation. But he hadn't seen a sign of another man in her life since. And if there was one ... His eyes narrowed. He meant to blot him out.

“Sit down on the bed,” he told her. She sat gingerly and he took the chair, sitting back and watching her with dark eyes. “Read any good books lately?”

“What?”

He shrugged. “I'm just trying to put you at ease, help you relax. You look like someone waiting in a dentist's office.”

She laughed nervously. He was right. She was tight as a drum.

What, after all, did she know about affairs of this kind? In her whole life there'd only really been one other man, and with him lovemaking had become automatic, a sort of dutiful exercise. She knew it could be much more with Rick—something exciting, longed for. But what if she was wrong?

Rick was used to so much more. He was used to beautiful, sophisticated women, women adept at the game between the sexes. Experienced women.

She didn't feel experienced. She felt like an innocent at
this. And a clumsy one, at that.

What if she disappointed him this time?

“More?” he asked, holding out the bottle of champagne.

“Please,” she answered, her voice hardly above a whisper.

Biting her lip, she turned away, pretending to look out the small porthole, blinking tears from her eyes. She felt lost, inadequate, hopeless. Why was she doing this if it
would only bore him, turn him away in the end?

She stared at the sunlight beating down on the tiny whitecaps of the restless ocean around them. She knew the answer to her question. She was doing this because she had to. What she felt for Rick was so much more than a physical obsession. She needed him. She needed to ex
press her love.

What had happened to her fierce independence? What
had happened to her plans to stand on her own two feet
and show the world she could do it?

They were still there, she insisted silently as she
watched Rick pour still more sparkling wine into her glass. Taking a deep breath, she came to a decision. She was going to treat this just the way Rick would—as a pleasant interlude and nothing more. She would be very
careful not to make too much of it.

Her chin rose. This was playtime for Rick. It could
be playtime for her too. She wouldn't make any demands,
she wouldn't even ask for temporary emotional commit
ment. This was purely a physical recreation and she
would have to make sure it stayed that way.

Rick felt as though he could almost read her mind. One conflicting emotion after another was racing across
her expressive face. She was rapidly working herself up to do something he wasn't going to like at all. It was time to
act.

Terry looked up, alarmed. Suddenly she realized that Rick had risen from his chair and
was taking his clothes off. Panic shot through her.

“Wait a minute,” she blurted out impulsively. “Hold it.”

He didn't even pause, his fingers working on the buttons down the front of his shirt.

Terry swallowed hard. Edging back on her seat, she ran a quick tongue across her lips. She'd had just enough champagne to make her brave. “I'm not sure this is such a good idea after all, Rick.”

One button after another left its hole. His dark chest was emerging. Eyes cool and jaded, his voice, when he spoke, was low and cynical. “I was wondering when we'd get to that,” he muttered.

She sat up a bit straighter. “No, I mean it. Really.” She looked around for something to pick up or touch, anything to keep her occupied in some other pursuit than watching Rick undress. “I mean, the other night was one thing, but doing this, now... it would completely change our relationship and I think it would be best if we gave the step more serious thought. Don't you think we ought to reexamine this?”

He slipped out of his shirt, tossing it behind him without a thought as to where it might land. He began to walk slowly toward where she was sitting. The dull thud of her heartbeat got faster.

“I mean,” she said quickly, “this is just too unreal, it's like something from another age, like a Victorian novel. ...”

He stopped, standing right over her, his legs touching her knees. “I love Victorian novels.” And he snapped open his belt, slid it out, and tossed it away.

Terry's mouth went dry as she stared at the indentation of his navel, just above the waistband of his slacks.

“This sort of thing,” she managed to say breathlessly, “romances between unequal parties, always comes out badly in Victorian novels. One or the other always has to pay.”

“I'm ready to pay, Terry,” he told her, shoving off his shoes and kicking them away. “Whatever the price.”

She stared up at him, eyes wide. “I'm not sure I am,” she whispered. “It's...it's just not right.”

He sat beside her on the bed and reached for her hand. “Why are you bringing this up again? I thought we were going to forget all this.” The sunlight coming through the porthole shimmered across his bare shoulders.

His hand was warm on hers. “It's impossible to forget it,” she maintained, trying to ignore his gorgeous body. “It's silly to pretend we're from the same station, that we're equal....”

He laughed shortly. “Now you really do sound like a Victorian novel.” He touched her hair, then softly kissed her cheek.