The Fiancée Fiasco (10 page)

"Incredible," Roseanne breathed, and to her surprise, it was.

"The stars, outer space—they've always held a fascination for me." Win started to move down the outdoor path toward the next display. "When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut."

Roseanne stepped along by his side. "But when you got older you got more interested in the science behind moving an astronaut into space."

"That's right." He gave her a peculiar look. "How'd you know?"

She shrugged. "An astronaut has to be firmly rooted in the practical, physical world. Thinking isn't as important as acting. You're a thinker, and your roots are in a few dozen worlds besides the mere physical."

Win continued to look at her. "You seem to have made a close analysis of my character."

Roseanne's gaze wandered away from him, out over the green lawn. "That's my job. If I'm going to be your fiancée then I have to understand something about you, don't I?"

"To do your job."

"That's right."

"And for no other reason."

Roseanne gave him a narrow-eyed look. "What other reason could there be?"

"Oh, I don't know." He pursed his lips musingly. "Maybe you're subject to a little natural human curiosity."

"Hmph, in that case I might suspect you of the same natural human curiosity about me."

He smiled. "You could be right about that."

"I could?" The concept he might have such interest surprised her. Meanwhile they came to a stop before an early Titan. She grinned. "I bet I can guess at your analysis of my character."

Win put his foot up on a bench and leaned his forearms on that knee. "Can you, now?"

"Sure." Her grin broadened. "You find me pushy, aggressive, and willful."

He inclined his head. "Maybe. But that's only after a superficial examination."

"You think there's more?" She was a very simple person. What you saw was what you got.

"Let's say I'm still studying the issue." Above his smile, his gaze was steady. As if he were at that moment studying.

"Take my advice." Roseanne wanted to deflect his focused gaze. "Don't waste your time."

"Oh, I've only got eight and a half more days. It couldn't be any great loss of time." Win straightened, taking his foot off the bench. "'Sides, I've already come to some conclusions."

"Have you, now?"

"Yes, ma'am. Shall we continue with the tour?"

There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Clearly Win intended to keep the result of his analysis a secret. Or maybe he was hoping Roseanne would beg him to tell her.

In a blue moon.

"Yes, by all means, let's see the rest of the displays." She smiled blithely, as though she'd already forgotten the subject of their conversation.

But she hadn't forgotten. Dammit, she did wonder what Winthrop Carruthers thought of her, beyond the fact that she was pushy, aggressive, and willful. Personally, she didn't know of anything more.

~~~

They spent the rest of the afternoon at the Space Center, took in a movie that evening, and then went out for a casual dinner. To Roseanne, Win seemed like a boy let out of school for the holidays. When she asked, he couldn't recall how long it had been since he'd taken a vacation.

"Win, you really ought to be more conscientious about taking time off of work," she scolded.

They were waiting for their dinner in a family-style steak house. Roseanne interrupted her scold to order an eight-ounce T-bone. Win opted for fish.

"You're ordering fish?" Roseanne queried once the waitress had left. "In the middle of Texas?"

"The channel comes up from the gulf all the way to Houston," Win defended himself, then made a face. "'Sides, it's doctor's orders."

"There now. That's just what I mean. Leisure time is as important as diet for a healthy heart and blood pressure."

He shot her a strange look. "I suppose you're right. It's just—"

Roseanne unfolded her napkin. "It's just—what?"

Win lifted a shoulder and picked up the salt shaker. "Never mind. Not your problem."

Roseanne paused in the act of spreading the napkin across her lap. He was right. It
wasn't
her problem. Just because she was playing his fiancée didn't mean she should nose her way into everything. "Sorry." She shook her head. "Didn't mean to pry."

"Heck." Scowling, Win set the shalt shaker back in its place. "You can't pry if it's no secret. All I mean is what's the point of a vacation if...I'd be going by myself?"

Roseanne stared at him. The admission laid him wide open. Oh, she knew Win supposedly hadn't dated in the last four years. But there was something different about the fact when he sat there and confessed it out loud to her. Her first instinct was to respect that confession, to be careful not to hurt him.

"Vacations are for relaxing," she said after a moment's thought. "You can relax by yourself, can't you?"

Win's gaze grew searching. "Do you? Take vacations alone?"

"Sure. All the time." Every time, in fact. For Roseanne to plan as much as a week in a man's company spoke of far too much commitment.

"But," Win pointed out, "you don't
stay
alone, do you?"

"I— Well, no," Roseanne admitted, flustered by the shrewdness of his observation. "I usually meet some people along the way."

"People," Win repeated, testing the word out. "You mean men."

"Really Win, you could at least use the singular. Man. Not even I can handle more than one at a time."

His smile was brief. "And then what happens? When the vacation is over? Do you still see the guy?"

Uh, well, no. Not usually." Never, was more like it. But there was something in Win's tone, subtly critical, that kept her from admitting as much. "Really, these holiday companions—well, it's all very casual. Light, you know. No big, heavy emotions involved, just simple companionship."

"Just friends?" Win suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Roseanne emitted a delicate cough, enough to tell him it was none of his damn business. The truth was she had rarely—only twice—allowed a man close enough to share physical intimacy. And those two occasions had been long ago, before she'd gotten wise to the dangers such intimacy posed: dangers of emotional involvement, of sharing too much, of needing more than was safe. Or the biggest danger of all: falling in love.

"I think," she enunciated clearly, "we've about exhausted this subject."

"Hell." Win grinned. "Just when it was gettin' interesting, too."

Roseanne raised a brow. "I suppose you'd appreciate my asking about
your
love life?"

Win grunted. "Wonder what's holding up our meal?" He turned in his seat to glance toward the kitchen.

Point, Roseanne decided, well taken. She didn't expect any more problems from his quarter for the rest of the evening and she was right.

Almost.

The air was still warm that evening when Win pulled his Cadillac into the garage by the side of his house. Roseanne, busy gathering together her purse, sweater, and scattered purchases of the day, didn't notice that Win had come around to her side of the car to open the door for her.

She looked up, surprised. Did men still open car doors for women? So far, she'd been too quick out of the vehicle to have given Win a chance at the old-fashioned practice.

But now he reached forth a hand to help her from the car.

She looked at his hand, a little alarmed. Such a gesture was so...dismayingly likable. Reluctantly then, she put her hand in his.

Gently, he pulled her from the car.

She came to a standing position in front of him. One of her hands clutched her things, the other was still held in his.

"Before we go inside I want to tell you how much I enjoyed today." His voice was low, quiet, painfully sincere. "It's been a long while since I've had such a good time."

"I told you, Win, you need a vacation." She wished he wouldn't talk like that. She wished the expression on his face didn't mean what she was afraid it meant.

"Maybe I do," he agreed with her.

She had a moment of relief when his gaze strayed from her face. Perhaps he wasn't going to do this, after all. Then she saw his lips twitch and his free hand rose to brush something from her hair.

The gesture was completely chaste—and oh, so sweet. Something very strange happened inside her. Something that felt a lot like...falling.

"Maybe a vacation's not what I need." His eyes fell to rest on hers again. In the dim light they were more intense than usual. "Maybe I just need..."

His voice trailed off and Roseanne simply stood there, stupidly staring into those mesmerizing eyes. Down at the bottom of wherever she'd fallen, she wasn't thinking, not at all, or she would have moved to avoid him as he bent his head and touched his lips to hers. It was a gentle kiss, a short one, an exploratory foray to gauge the enemy's reaction.

The enemy heard a rather impressive array of alarms and sirens, all warning a hasty retreat. But how could she go anywhere? Such a delicious heat suddenly warmed her through. In another minute she wouldn't be the enemy any more; she'd be a willing captive.

But the battle ended before it got started. Winthrop was a Texas gentleman after all. He pulled away before she went from comfortably warm to overheated. He opened his eyes. With them he did a quick scan of her face. Whatever he read there put a light hint of regret in his voice.

"That was just a thank you," he told her. "Just like last night. That's all."

Roseanne silently nodded. Fine. She didn't mind playing it that way. It was the only way, in fact, she wanted to play it. Just to be sure, though, she needed to stake some boundaries. Alarm bells were still ringing. In a crisp tone, she said, "You're very welcome. In the future, however, it would be best for you to confine your communications with me to a purely verbal level."

Winthrop's sad smile was nearly her undoing. But Roseanne steeled herself against it. She had a job to do here. She wasn't about to get sidetracked by some admittedly heavy-duty electricity. Any movement in that direction was headed toward disaster. Carruthers was the opposite of everything Roseanne looked for in a man, starting with divorced and ending with... Ending with the fact she was feeling way too much attraction here. More than she usually felt toward a man. Almost out of control.

And he was the enemy.

"Yes, ma'am. Purely verbal. I'll do that." Averting his eyes, Win turned away from her and made for the house door.

Wishing she didn't feel as though she'd slipped a sharp knife between his ribs, Roseanne dragged her heels after him. It was strange that a wistful pang of disappointment caught beneath her own ribs. As if maybe she'd just closed a door she'd rather have kept open.

Inside, after bidding her an extremely polite good night, Win repaired to his bedroom. Roseanne did the same. But she didn't go to bed. Instead she stood brooding at her window.

What was going on here? How could she have felt anything—and so much—from one measly kiss? And what was this lingering sense she'd maybe done the wrong thing?

Roseanne shook her head. Even if Win didn't have a terrible track record, she'd have called a halt to proceedings which involved far too much...emotion. Safe was better than sorry and a girl could never, ever be too safe.

Roseanne had learned that lesson the day her father hadn't come home. At eleven years of age she'd discovered what it was like to have your whole world fall in on you. She'd found out that love was a word, a game, an impossibility for a man. There were no ties—romantic, familial, legal or moral—that could bind a man who didn't consider himself bound. And because of that Roseanne made sure not to trust any of those illusory bonds. But most of all she made sure not to trust any man.

~~~

Roseanne didn't see Win before he left for work the next morning. Considering he'd probably left the house before six a.m., this was not particularly surprising.

She ate breakfast in peace. The housekeeper, thankfully, did not appear. Roseanne's bowl of cornflakes, a far less satisfying affair than Win's pancakes, nevertheless provided sufficient sustenance for her to think about work.

Installing herself in her host's study, Roseanne set about significantly increasing his phone bill. There were a number of cases she had to check on, clients to call, opposing counsel to annoy. When all that was done, she admitted she ought to check in with her boss, George.

"You going to tell me what you're up to yet?" George wanted to know.

"I'm up to getting your problem client back in the fold," Roseanne returned. "You don't need to worry about the details of how."

"All right, all right." George chuckled. "I trust you, Roseanne. And so, apparently, does Win." A note of some surprise crept into his voice.

Roseanne's forehead felt tight. "Any reason why he shouldn't?"

"None that I know of." George's tone was cheery, yet with a certain reservation, Roseanne thought. It made her wonder what her boss thought of her morals. True, she'd deliberately created a reputation for herself as a shrewd and calculating litigator, ruthless in the courtroom.

But that didn't mean she was completely without scruples. She'd promised Win to get a job done, and damned if she wouldn't do it for him. He had nothing to fear from her. She'd take good care of him.

Roseanne stated her next thought aloud. "The better question is whether or not I can trust Win."

George's response was instantaneous. "With your life."

Roseanne wondered about that statement after they'd rung off.
With your life
? How could George possibly have such faith?

Easy, she decided, staring at the phone. George was a trusting fool. In fact, he'd been bitten many times for his trust—once even by Win himself.

~~~

Roseanne came back from a late afternoon walk—it was just too hot to go out during the day—to find Win already home, busy in the kitchen putting away groceries.

He looked up quickly as she came through the door. For an instant she caught an impression of relief on his features.

Gee, Roseanne thought, it had seemed like a safe enough neighborhood to her, idyllic in fact. But then, maybe Win imagined the awful humidity might have done her in. That had been a distinct possibility as the shimmering heat had risen from some of those wide, asphalt streets.