STORM: A Standalone Romance (10 page)

              Cara's mouth fell open at the comment, but before she could fire back with an insult of her own, Melinda was gone. Now that the confrontation was over, she sat down hard on the bedspread, staring into empty space. Finally, she allowed herself to run a shaky hand through her still-damp hair. The movement reminded her of how Simon had stroked her hair similarly, less than an hour before, in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

              He cared for her. She knew that now. Melinda was either trying to blackmail her, or make a parting, baseless threat against her, and she would be damned if she would allow that viper (in a house frock!) to shake her confidence in her blooming relationship with Simon.

              Cara packed her things hastily, listening all the while for the telltale wail of the ambulance siren. When it finally came, she vowed, she would follow it in the tow. She would have the truck driver deposit her at the hospital, and she would tell Simon everything that had just transpired.

              But before that, she would kiss him. She would fold herself in his arms. And maybe, just maybe, she would find the words to express her feelings.

Within the hour, the mansion where she had spent the last few days was far behind her. The rain had finally let up, allowing Cara frequent and unfiltered glances over her shoulder as she watched Simon's vast estate recede in the distance. She was riding shotgun in the tow truck; the ambulance had come and gone without her knowing, unfortunately. Her own driver had been kind enough to offer to drop her at the hospital.

              The town just north of Simon's estate hadn't even registered as a dot on her GPS. She had passed through it without stopping on her way home to New Haven. Now, the driver pulled up outside the hospital, and Cara let herself down from the cab. The hospital was a squat building with a single floor—she doubted it even had wings. She gazed at it uncertainly, and the wind picked up. An unexpected gust blew her hair out from underneath her hood. The sky above was overcast. It looked like it was going to rain again.

              She was getting sick to death of rain.

              "Thank you," she told the driver, reaching for her wallet to tip him. The man put up his hand to stop her.

              "Everything's paid for, ma'am. You just come on by the shop in about an hour or so and we'll get you squared away. Hope your friend's doing all right," he added. Cara nodded, her throat feeling tight. Simon had paid for her tow. The first thing she was going to do upon seeing him again was thank him.

              The driver tipped his hat and rolled the window back up. As he pulled away, Cara turned back to the building and squared her shoulders resolutely. She hadn't been inside many hospitals before in her life—aside from the foreboding sky overhead, it didn't seem like it would be so bad.

              She entered through the automatic doors and approached the woman at the desk. "I'm here to see Simon Banning?" she said tentatively. "He's expecting me."

              The woman flipped through several charts on her desk, before opening a program on her computer and squinting. Cara's pulse sped up anxiously, and she drummed her fingers on the counter. What could be taking so long? Hadn't Simon told them she would be by to see him? She couldn't imagine he would have any other visitors.

              Just when she was beginning to suspect he might have been checked in underneath another name, the receptionist gave her head a shake as if to clear it.

              "Oh, there he is. Yes. It looks like there's a note in here saying you might stop by."

             
Might?

              Cara tried to ignore the ominous feeling that was starting to creep up on her as the nurse pointed her down the hallway to the right and gave her directions. She was barely able to retain them; she just nodded once as if she understood, before starting down the hall. Everything would be fine once she saw Simon again. Once she had reassured herself that he was in good hands—and decidedly
not
Melinda's—she would get his contact info, and…then what? Head home? She didn't like the idea of a separation so soon in their relationship, but there seemed no help for it. Her family was expecting her, and Simon had already declined her invitation to go home with her.

              But things had changed quite a bit between them since last night, Cara reminded herself as she pulled open the door at the end of the hall. Maybe Simon had changed his mind about accompanying her, after all. She tried not to smile too hopefully as she entered the patient room.

              Simon was lying on the bed, and Cara's heart sped up immediately when she saw him. He had been washed clean of mud and forced into a papery gown, but his leg was wrapped and elevated, and his color looked a lot better—in contrast to the tense expression on his face. Cara felt relief floor her instantly at the sight of him safe and sound. She crossed to his bedside without fully registering the look he gave her when he glanced up.

              "Simon!" she said as she pulled up a chair and sat down. "How is it? How are you feeling?" She indicated his leg before reaching for his hand.

              Something startling happened then: Simon pulled his hand away, and Cara was left to blink stupidly at the empty spot on the bed it had previously occupied. Oh well, maybe he just didn't feel up for it… She tried to convince herself of that as she soldiered on. "The tow came and got me. They managed to pull your car out, too, or at least, they were pulling it out when I left. I wanted to thank you for loaning me…"

              "I haven't loaned you anything," Simon cut her off abruptly. "I paid for the tow. Let's say no more about it."

              "Oh." Cara furrowed her brow and gazed at him, perplexed. He hadn't made eye contact with her since she entered the room; he was currently looking off toward the door, as if half-expecting (or hoping) for one of the nurses to come in and interrupt them. "I'm… Thank you. Are you sure you're feeling okay?" she demanded. She could feel some of her old, straightforward personality starting to bleed through, and fought it back as best she could. Simon was safe and dry, but he looked miserable: his angular face was pulled into a deep frown, as if it were being dragged down by fishhooks. He
looked
to be in pain, and Cara wasn't going to stand for it. "Did they give you painkillers? Ibuprofen? Do you need something stronger?"

              "What I need," Simon enunciated through his teeth, "is for you to tell me the truth, Cara."

              Cara sat back as if he had struck her. She had been starting to suspect that he was a bad mood, but not on account of
her.
What the hell had she done, besides pull him out from beneath a tree, drag him to safety, and initiate what would have doubtlessly
not
been a doctor-recommended session of lovemaking?

              Cara crossed her arms. "All right. I'm not a real blond." If he was going to be cryptic, then she was going to play hardball until he just came out with it. "Any other truths you'd like to hear?"

              "Melinda told me what you are." Simon finally raised his eyes to her, and Cara felt a chill through her as his words sank in. "And why you are here. Several of the servants were able to corroborate her story."

              "She told you that I'm a journalism student?" Cara asked. "I've never lied to you about that. I told you I was a student. You just never asked me what I studied."

              "And you didn't think that was an important enough detail to tell me?" Simon returned immediately. It was at that moment that Cara realized he had been planning this conversation in advance; he already knew every question he wanted to ask her, and seemed to anticipate the defensiveness of her responses ahead of time. What all had Melinda told him? "You didn't think it might be relevant for me to know?"

              "How should I know?" Cara bristled. "Is this because of what you told me in the cave? Do you really think I care about your history, Simon, outside of the direct effect it's had on you? Do you think I might…
what? …Use
you for my final project? Is that what Melinda told you?"

              "I think that I have no way of knowing if you're a student," Simon said coldly. "All I know is that my housekeeper, whom I have employed for years and trust with my life, has informed me that you approached her for an interview while I was being
loaded into an ambulance.
She said you knew precisely who I was all along, and that you were only pretending obliviousness to my situation. She suspects that you were somehow alerted to my address and broke down outside the property on purpose. If that was your plan all along, then you knew I would have no choice but to take you in."

              Cara was out of her chair in an instant. Despite the voice telling her in the back of her brain to calm down, to take deep breaths and not react to Simon's accusations, she couldn't help but feel her temper provoked by his words. "And you're just going to believe this load of bullshit?" she exclaimed. "After all we've been through? After we…"

              "See, I've been thinking about that," Simon interjected again. She could tell by his strained tone of voice that he was just as furious as she was, but he was keeping himself in far better control—what was most heartbreaking was the expression on his face. Even if she was being wrongly accused, Cara couldn't stand the thought that she might be indirectly responsible for the tightened, betrayed look he wore. It was starting to look permanent already. "Plenty of people know what I told you already, or at least have access to that information. But there is no one who has ever been in your particular position—or should I say,
positions?"

              "How dare you?" Cara was trembling all over with barely suppressed rage, and she could see that Simon was clenching the bedspread in an effort to fight back similar tremors. "You were just as complicit in that as I was. I thought we—" Her throat constricted, and she had a hard time swallowing the lump back down. She had never imagined that Simon Banning, no matter how infuriatingly clever she found him, would be capable of saying the things he just had. She had never thought him capable of
believing
the tripe that he was repeating back to her, but here they were. She had never felt so incredibly distant from someone she was currently sharing the same room with.

              "…But I see now that it doesn't matter what I say or think," she said. She stared very hard at the floor, trying to keep tears of frustration back. Simon said nothing; he had turned his head away again. "So I'm going home now. Thank you for the tow, and for housing me. I wish I could say it was nice to have met you."

             
I wish I could say a lot of things.

              Cara strode to the door and pulled it open. "And you know that housekeeper you trust with your life?" she said, without turning back to him. "Maybe you should trust the girl who
actually
saved your life."

              Cara closed the door behind her and walked back down the hallway, determined to get herself as far away as possible from the man she had almost made the mistake of falling in love with.

Visibility was terrible, but it wasn't raining—at least, not outside the cabin of Cara's car.

              She cried as she drove: hot, streaming tears that coursed down her face and fell into her lap unchecked. She tried to concentrate on driving, tried to focus on keeping both hands on the steering wheel as she let her feelings overwhelm her at last. She was just thankful to have escaped the hospital room, to have escaped Simon, before she gave herself over to complete and total misery.

              How could she have let this happen? How could
he?
Even if it had all come to an end anyway—and she would have fought for what they had together—how could they let it conclude like that, on a ridiculously hurtful note of complete misunderstanding?

              "Fuck you, Simon," Cara muttered aloud to the empty car, finally raising her arm long enough to scrub futilely at the wasted tears that painted the entire front of her face. "Fuck you, you asshole. Like I care about your trust issues. If you respected what I had to say, you would have given me the floor… You would have listened to me."

              Despite her words, a part of Cara grudgingly understood where the man must have been coming from. He had only known her for a few days, and while their connection had felt deep and formidable, it was also still fragile—of course he would have trusted Melinda's word over hers, especially if the former was backed by members of his staff who had no insight into what was really going on.

              She shouldn't have made herself vulnerable to him so soon. What had seemed like an exciting tryst, and something that it was clear neither of them had ever engaged in before, had been twisted and used against her. She wished she could banish the memory of Simon's arms wrapped around her, of his kiss, as easily as the man himself had apparently been able to. As it stood now, Cara felt completely used, and just as carelessly tossed aside. She could only hope that her time with Simon hadn't ruined her for any future relationships.

              But she didn't
want
another relationship. She wanted Simon Banning. Even now she wanted him—would things between them have gone any differently if Cara had silenced his accusations with a kiss? If she had crawled onto the bed and ripped open that stupid robe and
made
him listen to the way he made her blood sing? How could he deny the truth then?

              But she couldn't bear to think about it now. She had left Simon far back down the road behind her, and good riddance. His final words to her still stung. If he had meant them, then he deserved the company of that viper in a house frock.

#

Returning home was bittersweet for Cara. She made the rounds, hugging every member of her family more than once; she hugged her dog, Indie, almost nonstop, before one of her older brothers extracted her from the blissful old Blue Heeler.

              "Cara!" John laughed. "If you hug him any more, I'm going to have to call the animal cops on you for rampant abuse!"

              "Bad breakup?" her other brother, Steven, guessed. Cara's face flooded with color, but at least it didn't flood with tears. Her flush of agreement went virtually unnoticed as the Langfords continued to drink and embrace and laugh about their year. As soon as she was able, Cara slipped away to her room—with Indie in tow, obviously.

              She unpacked her bags as the dog dozed on her bed. Nothing was apparently amiss, which was good—it meant that nothing had been stolen while strange hands were pawing through her things. She set out her camera and its accompanying equipment, and stacked her notebooks in a neat pile. She tried not to look at it with any undue resentment or blame. It wasn't her dream that had gotten her into this mess, after all, but her dream in the manipulative clutches of someone else.

              She realized then, sitting on the floor of her tiny childhood room, that she hadn't given up on Simon. Not yet. Maybe he never wanted to see her again, but he didn't deserve to suffer at Melinda's hands—and he would, sooner or later. Cara was certain of it. The woman was biding her time until the opportunity to make a load of money at his expense came along, and if opportunity didn't come again, Cara knew that she would make one herself. She needed to warn Simon…somehow.

              But she was completely out of ideas. Cara picked up her phone impulsively, like she usually did when she had hit a dead end, and saw that an unfamiliar number had called her. All thoughts of saving Simon flew from her mind as she hit the redial and frantically raised it to her ear.

              "Cara Langford?" a semi-familiar voice inquired on the other end. Cara nodded, and was immediately disappointed with an introduction. "We towed your vehicle earlier today, ma'am. Just wanted to make sure that everything is still functioning properly now that it's been fixed."

              "Yes, thank you." Despite her disappointed expectation that the voice on the other line might belong to someone else, Cara raised the receiver closer to her mouth urgently. "And…sir? Sorry to trouble you, but I was hoping you could get a message to the man who paid for my tow. His name is Simon Banning," she said quickly. The truck driver grunted his acknowledgement of the name on the other end. "He's still in the hospital. It's actually right across the street from you."

              "I'll have to stop in on him anyway to have him sign a few forms," the man conceded. "Anything in particular you would like me to say?"

              "Yes." Cara narrowed her eyes resolutely. "I want you to give him my address at school. If you don't mind writing it down." After a moment's hunt for pen and paper, the driver complied. "And please tell him that he needs to hire another housekeeper. This part is incredibly important."

              "What happened to the old one?" the driver asked curiously.

              "She lied on her résumé," Cara said severely. "Please remind him of that part."

              Once she had satisfied herself that the driver would do as she requested, Cara hung up her phone. She put herself to bed early, pulling on her cotton pajamas and climbing beneath the covers beside Indie. Her old mattress was stiff and familiar, and she tried to take to it as easily as she once had—but within an hour of turning off her light, she was tossing and turning with the memory of the sumptuous bed she had shared only the night before. She pressed her hand to the empty place beside her and tried not to think about how cold the sheets felt beneath her fingers. She fell asleep confused, angry, and filled with inexpressible longing.

              When she awoke in the middle of the night, it was to a dark silhouette standing in her doorway. Cara sat up at once and scrubbed her eyes, wondering if it was one of the family who had accidentally wandered into her room. She cast her hands around for her bedside lamp, but the lightbulb wouldn't activate when she flipped the switch. Indie was strangely nowhere to be found.

              "Look, I've had a rough day," Cara explained. "I really need to sleep now. I promise I'll be more involved tomorrow—"

              The figure crossed to her bed. Surprised to find that it wasn't a member of her family after all, Cara moved back against the headboard as the man joined her; the bed creaked beneath his additional weight as he settled on top of her. Her breath was coming very short now, but she managed to get his name out in a strangled, disbelieving whisper:

              "Simon?"