Seven-Year Seduction (5 page)

She looked down at the specks of pink cooked into fluffy clouds of yellow egg. “Yes, well, technically ham isn't red meat, and while I wouldn't normally eat it, I thought it would be rude to turn down your offer of breakfast. Besides, it's not much and there are other, healthier things in here, like onions and peppers.”

“Excellent job of justifying.”

She shot him a cheeky twist of her lips. “Thank you.” He didn't need to know just how well versed she was at the justification game.

“You're welcome to go running after you eat, if you want. Burn off all those nasty calories.”

“I just might.” But a sidelong glance out the kitchen window told her she wouldn't want to. The day was looking decidedly overcast, and the wind was whipping the leaves around on the trees.

“Actually…” Connor stopped to clear his throat.

He stared down at the table rather than meet her gaze, and a slick, uncomfortable sensation snaked over Beth's skin.

“I was kind of hoping we could talk after breakfast.”

Her heart kicked up its pace, sending the blood racing through her veins, and the slick feeling turned to a cool clamminess.

Honestly, she had no idea why Connor was so de
termined to speak with her. He'd tried to drag her off last night at the reception so they could talk, and now he was making a second attempt to get her to listen to whatever he had to say.

The queasiness in her stomach, though, told her she didn't want to hear it. Or maybe she was just afraid that he'd bring up the past, tearing open a wound long ago healed over.

After all, what else did they have to discuss? They hadn't seen each other, except briefly, in the last seven years.

She swallowed hard, taking a minute to get her thoughts and jumbled emotions in order before forcing herself to respond. “What do we have to talk about?”

He tossed his crumpled-up napkin on top of his now-empty plate and pushed them away from him. Crossing his arms in front of him on the table, he lifted his head and met her eyes with his own, which looked like two chips of brittle brown ice.

His voice rang low but clear as he drawled, “That night.”

The words drove into her like bullets and for a moment, she couldn't breathe, even though she'd known exactly what was coming.

Why did he have to bring it up? Why now, after all these years? Why at all?

It had been a mistake, but it had happened. She'd gotten on with her life, and so, obviously, had he.

“What night?” she asked, playing dumb while her brain struggled to regain its equilibrium.

“You know what night, Beth. We both do. That night after the football game, in my truck.”

She laughed lightly, doing her best to act nonchalant while her insides continued to quake. “Goodness, why would you bring that up after all these years? It was aeons ago. I would have thought you'd forgotten all about it. I certainly had.”

A beat passed while he seemed to absorb her comment, and then his gaze grew shuttered, his mouth thinning into a flat, pale line.

“I'm sorry to hear that. It's something I think about all the time.”

She didn't know what to do with that piece of information. Be flattered, angry, curious?

At the moment, she mostly felt cold. He thought about that night all the time, but he hadn't thought enough of her, or of what had passed between them, to pick up the phone and call her afterward. The next day, the next week…she'd have taken anything, any small sign that he was still interested in her.

Even a face-to-face meeting where he sat her down and told her he wasn't interested and didn't want to see her again would have been better than nothing. But he hadn't even had the courtesy to do that, so instead they'd spent nearly a decade flitting around each other, avoiding, pretending, denying anything had ever happened between them.

And now…well, she had no interest in allowing him to bring all those stinging memories and emotions bubbling to the surface again. He'd had his chance to make peace seven years ago; she wasn't willing to give him a fresh opportunity now.

Falling back on her day-to-day, all-business per
sona, she pushed her chair away from the table and stood, her posture yardstick straight, her movements quick and precise.

“Why are you bringing this up after so long?” she asked, carrying her empty plate and glass to the sink. Then she backtracked and did the same with his dishes.

He turned in his seat to face her, the wood creaking beneath his weight, and propped one arm on the table. “Because we never discussed it before, and it's obviously putting a strain on our relationship.”

“We don't have a relationship,” she said with a sharp bark of laughter.

For once, she was almost finding this situation amusing. It was the height of irony that Connor suddenly seemed so determined to discuss the state of affairs between them when she'd spent every single one of her teenage years praying for Connor to play a larger part in her life.

“Sure we do, Beth.”

She was leaning back against the counter by the sink, her arms up, the heels of her hands propped along the sharp edge at her waistline. When he rose to his feet and stalked toward her, her fingers tightened reflexively on the cool Formica, but she refused to move, refused to flinch or in any other way reveal her discomfort.

Her entire stay in this house with him was going to be an exercise in discomfort, so she might as well get used to it right now and learn to school her features, reactions and body language.

“Everyone in this world has a relationship with everyone else, from married couples to the cashiers and
customers down at the Qwik Fill. You're my best friend's sister, practically family—of course we have a relationship. I wasn't implying we were any more intimately involved than that.”

“Good,” was the best response she could come up with. Her lungs refused to expand and deflate normally, his nearness sucking all the oxygen out of the air around them.

“But we were once, weren't we?” he murmured in a low voice.

The metal edge of the countertop dug into the soft cushion of her palms and she concentrated on that sharp throb of sensation to block the flood of memories threatening to spill into her brain. She would not go back to that time. She wouldn't open herself up to that again, especially with him.

He was standing less than a foot away, his tall form towering over her. A faded forest-green T-shirt clung to the smooth, firm expanse of his chest, partially covered by an open blue-and-white-plaid flannel work shirt.

So informal, so blue collar… Considering the well-dressed businessmen and celebrities she worked with on a daily basis, it amazed her that she could still find his taste in clothing attractive.

After catching her breath and feeling steady enough to answer, she told him, “Once, Connor, a very long time ago. Don't make more of it than it was.”

“I won't, if you won't, but that doesn't explain why you've been avoiding me all these years.”

“I
haven't been avoiding you.”

Her voice was firm, but the slight flicker in her gaze told him she was lying. Not that he needed the added assurance. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that when one person entered a room and another either made an excuse to leave or simply slipped away unnoticed, something was going on.

Not that he blamed her. He'd acted like an ass all those years ago. Yes, he'd been twenty-six and thought he was grown-up and mature, but he'd handled the entire situation badly.

To start, he'd taken advantage of a twenty-one-year-old Beth. His hormones had gotten the better of him and he'd given in to raging, long-repressed desires that
would have been better off remaining repressed. He wasn't sure he could ever forgive himself for that. It ate at him like a wasting disease.

Then what had he done? He'd dropped her off at her house and never spoken to her again. Well, not never, but barely. He hadn't phoned her the next day to see if she was okay, or swung by to talk to her about how their having sex might have changed things between them.

No, he'd taken the coward's way out and stayed away until he knew she was back at school. And then he'd continued skulking around with his tail tucked under, content to keep his mouth shut on the topic for as long as she was.

But that plan had backfired on him, hadn't it? Not discussing it hadn't made the situation go away or allowed their relationship to settle back to normal. Instead, it had turned the incident into a boil that festered and grew not only ugly, but painful.

They'd drifted apart when they used to be so close. They avoided each other, when they used to seek one another out. They couldn't even make eye contact without one or the other of them quickly looking away. And there were no more smiles, no more teasing, no more inside childhood jokes.

He hated that. He hated that his overactive libido and lack of control had caused Beth to throw up a barrier between them as thick and tall as the Great Wall of China.

And once again, he wasn't making great strides at setting things right.

What was it about Beth that put all of his senses on high alert and made him want to push, prod, draw her out?

For better or worse, he wanted to get her to react. Yell at him, scream at him, slap him silly. Cry, laugh, or throw herself into his arms. At this point, he'd take just about anything. Any sign that she wasn't as indifferent toward him as she claimed.

“No?” he put in, in response to her assertion. “What would you call seven years of circling each other like opposing magnets?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Sure you do. It used to be that I'd come over and you'd race downstairs to see me. You'd beg me to stay and watch a movie or drive you to the store for the latest teen magazine. And then there was that night in my truck. After that, any time I came over while you were home, you made yourself scarce. You even moved all the way out to California so you'd have an excuse not to visit very often.”

She gave a small huff of laughter that never reached her eyes. “That's ridiculous. I moved to California because I wanted to be an entertainment lawyer, and that's the entertainment capital of the world.”

“Did you?” He took a single step closer with the question. “Or did you decide to become an entertainment attorney because it was the one type of law you couldn't practice here at home?”

This time, she didn't laugh. She didn't even scoff at his accusation.

Her arms fell from where they'd been propped against the edge of the counter and took up stiff resi
dence across her chest. Little did she know the gesture lifted her breasts and caused the airy silk of her white blouse to separate just above her cleavage, allowing him a clear view of full, fleshy hills and the deep, shadowed valley between.

The sight made his mouth go dry, but he didn't look for long, for fear she'd catch him staring.

“I'm good at what I do, Connor, and I like living in L.A. Not that I have to justify anything to you.”

She was right, of course, but that didn't keep him from being curious.

“Now, if you're finished bringing up incidents from the past that have no relevance to the present and giving me the third degree, I think it's about time we establish some ground rules for however long we'll be forced to stay here together.”

“Ground rules, huh?” He crossed his arms, mimicking her defensive stance, even though he was fighting back amusement. “What do you have in mind?”

“For one thing, I get first dibs on the bathroom in the morning.”

“How do you figure?”

“It's my brother's house, and I'm the girl,” she remarked, deadpan.

He had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from hooting with laughter.

“You're the girl? Is that a defense that would stand up in court?”

“I don't spend a lot of time in court, so I wouldn't know, but the fact remains that women need more time in the bathroom in the mornings.”

Having lived with Lori for the past three years, that was something he knew quite well. “I agree, but there's one small problem with your plan.”

“What?”

“I was up a good hour earlier than you were this morning. Do you expect me to wait to use the john just because you're supposed to get first dibs?”

Her lips turned down in a frown, her nose wrinkling only slightly at his frank terminology.

“Fine. If you're up before I am, then you can use the bathroom. But as soon as I'm awake, my needs take precedence.”

“Deal. Anything else?”

“Meals. You cooked breakfast this morning, and I appreciate it. It was very good, thank you. But don't feel that you have to do the same every morning, or for any other meals. And don't expect me to cook, either. I say it's every man for himself. If one of us cooks and wants to invite the other to share the meal, fine. But neither of us should expect the other to feed them.”

“Fine. How about takeout? Do we confer with each other before calling for pizza or Chinese, or do we treat it like a covert mission?”

“Very funny,” she smirked. “That's your call. It might be polite to let each other know if we're calling out for food, but it isn't required.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

Several seconds ticked by while she considered, and then she shook her head. “I can't think of anything more at the moment, but we can tack on new rules as they come up.”

“Fine by me.” He let his arms slip down and planted his hands halfway inside his front jeans pockets.

“So who does the dishes?” he wanted to know, tilting his head toward the dirty ones in the sink behind her.

“You do,” she said without batting an eyelash, then turned on her heel and sashayed out of the kitchen.

Connor watched her go, enjoying the sassy, well-dressed view. As soon as she disappeared around the corner, he chuckled, turning to the sink and running water for the dishes he was apparently expected to clean for as long as they were staying in the same house together.

 

Since she was going to be stuck in Crystal Springs for a few days, anyway, Beth decided to call some of her old friends and touch base. Most of her high-school girlfriends had drifted away, but there were still a few she kept in touch with, a few still living in town.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but she'd nearly let them slip away, too. The occasional phone call when she wasn't working late, or a quickly scrawled note that she then asked her assistant to mail was about the extent of her contact with Jackie and Gail these past few years. And more often than not, those instances were prompted only by a friendly, if nosy, reminder from her mother.

Thankfully, neither of her friends seemed to hold it against her. Both were as giddy and upbeat as ever when she called, and wasted no time in talking her into going out with them to the Longneck, Crystal Springs's local watering hole, on Wednesday night.

She hadn't been out just for fun in years, probably since she'd moved to L.A. There were bars and clubs aplenty out there, of course, but it seemed that any time she got the chance to frequent them, it was for business purposes. Wooing prospective, high-profile clients or meeting with current, equally high-profile ones at a place of their choosing.

The only problem was that she needed a ride. Jackie worked part-time as a receptionist at a local medical clinic and was the mother of four, two still in diapers. Beth knew from previous conversations with her friend that their family's only car was a mess of toys, fast-food containers and diaper-bag supplies. So even if Jackie's husband hadn't needed the car that evening, she was in no hurry to ride around in a vehicle that smelled like sour milk and old French fries.

And Gail, who was married with no children, worked until seven in the evening. She'd insisted it was no problem to swing by and pick up both Jackie and Beth after she'd run home for a shower and change of clothes, but that would have meant not meeting at the Longneck until nine, which would keep them there probably well past midnight, which was too late for Jackie to be away from her kids.

All in all, it would just be easier for Beth to find her own ride.

She thought about renting a car, since it wasn't a bad idea to have transportation of her own while she was home. But the nearest car-rental agency was in the next big town over, forty-five minutes away. So whatever she decided, she'd still need a ride.

It pained her to do it, but she would have to ask Connor to drive her into town Wednesday night. After the way they'd parted company this morning, that would be about as much fun as hanging cinder blocks from her eyelids.

Leaving the office, she headed for the kitchen, thinking she might find him there. But the kitchen was empty, clean breakfast dishes propped and drying in the drainer beside the sink.

She smiled at that, remembering how she'd left them for him. It had been a truly beautiful moment…the flash of stunned disbelief that crossed his face and the fact that she'd been able to get in the last word of their highly charged exchange.

Too bad she was about to lose the upper hand by groveling for a ride into town.

She checked the living room next, and then the dining room, but the whole downstairs was empty. Maybe he was in Nick's room, which he was using as his own.

He'd better not be asleep or in any form of undress. She'd wait to ask him about the ride, if that was the case.

Climbing the stairs, she walked down the short hallway and tapped on her brother's open bedroom door. From what she could see, the bed was made, the blinds on the single window were open, and the only sign of Connor's residence was an open duffel on the floor by the dresser. He'd apparently gone home to his own house at some point to collect a few personal items and changes of clothes.

“Connor?” she called out when he didn't respond to her knock.

She was turning, planning to go back downstairs and see if his truck was even in the driveway, when she heard his muffled voice.

“Connor?”

“Yeah, in here,” he repeated more loudly.

It sounded as if he was in Nick's old room—the one he'd occupied all through childhood, until their parents had moved to an apartment in a residential village across town. Karen had moved in with him then, and they'd taken over the master bedroom.

She turned the knob and pushed open the door, not knowing what to expect.

Connor stood on the far side of the room, holding a large cardboard box with Nick's Trophies written on the side in black Magic Marker. He dropped the box on a pile of others and turned to face her as she stepped into the room.

“Hi,” he said, wiping his hands on the side of his pants.

“Hi. What are you doing in here?”

“Do you know if Nick and Karen have any plans for this room?” he asked, neatly avoiding her question.

She glanced around, taking in the plain, fawn-colored walls, complete with pinpricks from where Nick had tacked up dozens of posters, and the thread-bare gray carpeting that had been there when her parents moved in more than thirty-five years before.

“No, I have no idea. Why?”

“Because it would make a great nursery, don't you think?”

His comment caught her off guard. The room had
been used for storage for so long, and had belonged to a teenage boy for a decade before that. It might be smarter to burn it down and start from scratch.

“I don't know, it looks a little grimy in here.” She wrinkled her nose. “And it smells.”

Connor chuckled. “Nick's sweaty old gym socks, no doubt. But that should be easy enough to take care of. Seriously,” he said, shifting to stand by her side, shoulder to shoulder, facing the room. “Pull up the carpeting, slap on a fresh coat of paint, stick some pastel curtains on the windows, and fill the room with baby furniture… I'd say they'd have themselves a nursery.”

He turned his head, meeting her gaze. “Wouldn't it be a great welcome-home present for them?”

“And who's going to do all this marvelous redecorating?” she wanted to know.

His mouth curved upward in a cocky grin. “You forget who you're talking to, sweetheart. Your brother and I are partners in our own contracting company, and we work the jobs ourselves ninety-five percent of the time, right along with our crews. I can have the floor stripped and refinished in no time. And how long could it take to paint four small walls?”

He nudged her in the ribs with his elbow. “Come on, have some faith. What do you say?”

Her brother and new sister-in-law would be delighted, she had no doubt about that. They would need a nursery eventually, anyway, and this way they wouldn't have to do any of the work.

With a small shrug, she said, “Do whatever you want. I'm sure Nick and Karen will appreciate it.”

She started to turn, only to have Connor grab her arm, holding her in place. The warmth of his wide, full fingertips soaked straight through the silk of her blouse, heating her skin and thinning her blood.