To Tell the Truth (6 page)

"You shouldn't have let me sleep late," she protested.

Her senses were filled with the intoxicating aroma from his smoothly shaven cheeks and the heady scent of his maleness.

"I had a lot of very important things to do." His mouth explored the hollow of her throat, sending tingles down her spine where his hands were roughly caressing her back and hips. "And—"
he breathed in deeply, dragging his hands from their arousing task to close over her wrists, which were wound tightly around his neck. He pulled them away and forced Andrea to stand free. "If you don't stop trying to seduce me, I'll forget why I came here."

"You didn't come to see me. Andrea teased.

"I didn't intend to see so much of you." His mocking gaze danced pointedly over the short terry robe and the lens length of her legs that it exposed. "Go get some clothes on while I can still think rationally and I'll tell you what we're going to do."

Andrea started for her bedroom loft, pausing near the stairs to smile back at him. "What are we going to do?" she asked. "I mean, I have a sweater and slacks laid out that I intended to wear, but…"

"Just get some clothes on." His smile thinned slightly as a dark fire leaped into his gaze. "And when you're finished with that, you can start packing."

"Packing?" she repeated, turning all the way around to face him, her back to the stairs.

"Yes, packing," Tell answered, walking to her almost with reluctance. He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders as if to ensure that a safe distance was maintained between them. "We're driving back to San Francisco as soon as you're ready. I want you to meet my family and my friends. Mother has invited you to stay with us, so it's all arranged."

"Tell—" Andrea began.

"I don't want you out of my sight," he interrupted firmly. "I wouldn't be able to stand having you in Oregon while I was in San Francisco." He turned her around and pointed her towards the stairs. "Now go and get packing."

"Wait." She resisted his efforts, taking two steps up the stairs before pivoting again. "First there's something I have to tell you."

"Whatever it is—" he shook his dark head patiently "—can wait until we're on our way. It's three hours more or less to drive. We can do plenty of talking on the way."

"No." Andrea was insistent. She would not put off telling him the truth any longer. "I have to explain to you before we go. I should have told you before. I meant to, but—"

"If it's waited this long, it can wait a little longer."

"No, it can't wait. The longer I put it off, the harder it will be to explain so you'll understand."

"Andrea." His patience was thinning. The ring of the telephone pierced the room, and he pivoted sharply toward it. "I'll answer that while you get ready," he stated crisply. "If it's your employer, I'll explain that you're quitting and won't be back."

For a paralyzed instant, Andrea was incapable of reaction; cold fear freezing her legs. When she did race for the telephone, those frozen seconds allowed Tell to reach it first.

"Tell, no!" she cried as he picked up the receiver. "Give me the phone, please!"

His hand covered the mouthpiece. "Go and get dressed and start packing," he ordered, then removed his hand from the receiver. "Hello."

Biting into her lip, she could barely hear the male voice responding on the other end of the wire. It was John, of course. She knew it even though she could hardly hear the voice well enough to recognize it. He was the only one who would call her. It was too late wishing that she had phoned him yesterday. Her frightened gaze became fixed on Tell's face.

"Yes," he said in answer to a question put to him by the caller. "Who's calling please?"

There was a fraction of a second's pause before his gaze, darkening to black, swung slowly to Andrea, piercingly intent and terrifyingly cold. His lean, handsome features turned to impenetrable granite as he held the receiver to her.

"It's your husband." His statement seethed with icy, satirical arrogance.

Her hand clutched the opening of her robe, trying to check the nausea rising within. Despair clouded her eyes as her trembling fingers accepted the receiver. Her lashes fluttered tightly down when Tell spun away, rigid strides carrying him to the window of her room.

Twice Andrea opened her mouth before any sound came out. "Hello."

"Andrea? Is that you? Are you all right?" John's anxious puzzled voice answered her immediately.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she responded, wishing the floor would open and swallow her up.

"I phoned yesterday and left a message. When you didn't call I became worried."

"I…I was out…most of the day," she faltered. Her tongue nervously moistened her tips; her tear-filled gaze turned toward the ceiling as she tried to breathe through the pain in her chest. "It was too late to phone when I came in last night."

"You were out last night?" he repeated.

"Yes."

"With the…uh…man who answered the phone?"

"Yes." Her voice broke. She closed her eyes tightly. A tear slipped from her lashes and she roughly brushed it from her cheek.

There was hesitation on the other end before John spoke. "Did you…Andrea, did you tell him about me yet?"

"No," Andrea swallowed.

"Oh, Andrea," John sighed heavily. "What have you done to yourself this time?"

"I don't know." A brittle, soft laugh accompanied her words. It was either that or cry.

"It's my fault. It's all my fault," he murmured.

"Don't…don't say that," she protested.

John breathed in deeply. "Call me…when you can. I'm sorry, Andie, I didn't mean to spoil anything…"

"Yes, I am, too. Goodbye."

A deadly quiet filled the room after the receiver clicked on the hook. Cowardly wishing she could run rather than face Tell's coldly accusing eyes, Andrea slowly turned to the rigidly erect figure staring out of the window. There was no sound but the beating of her heart.

The distance between them was more than just physical, but her hesitant steps tried to bridge it. The outline of his tightly clenched jaw stopped her a foot or so behind him.

"That's what I wanted to explain to you, Tell," she began nervously. "I…I know it was a terrible shock for you to find out that way and I know I deceived you by not telling you the truth before, but, Tell, I was going to. I know how it must look, but…" Her voice cracked with a checked sob. "Darling, I love you," she pleaded for his understanding. "I love you."

He whirled around, the flat of his hand slashing across her cheek. The force of it sent her reeling backward, the impetus stopped by the hands that reached out to catch her. Remorse flashed instantly across his face before it again became sternly harsh and forbidding. Tell immediately jerked his hands from her shoulders.

"What a fool I am!" he muttered savagely.

Automatically, her hand had covered the smarting pain of her cheek. Now Andrea drew it away, her chin lifting with faint proudness.

"I was the fool, Tell, not you," she said softly but firmly. "All I can do now is ask that you let me explain."

His eyes bored into her and she met them unflinchingly. "Answer me this," Tell commanded arrogantly, "was that man on the phone your husband or not?"

"I am legally married to him," Andrea admitted, "but…"

"Are you separated?"

"Tell, please!" Hopelessly, she tried to stop his questions so she could explain in her own way.

"Are you separated?" he repeated forcefully, black fury blazing in his eyes, letting her see that his temper was held by a very thin thread.

"No!" she acknowledged in frustration.

"And I don't suppose you love him," Tell jeered.

'I'm very fond of him." Nervously she ran her fingers through the sides of her hair. "But I never have actually loved him."

"Then why did you marry him? Is he rich?"

"That's beside the point," Andrea protested helplessly.

"I take it that means 'yes,' doesn't it?" His mouth curved into a bitter cynical line. "Now I understand what you meant when you said you'd never known a man. How could I have been so naîve as to think you were trying to explain that you were a virgin? You were really saying that you had a mouse for a husband, weren't you?"

"Stop it!" she cried. "You don't know what you're saying!"

"Don't!?" Tell sneered. "Only a henpecked husband would let his wife come to a resort by herself. He had to know that every red-blooded male that saw you would make some kind of advance."

"Stop it, Tell!" She placed her hands over her ears to deafen the flow of his sarcasm.

Her left wrist was viciously jerked away. "And don't try to make me believe that you didn't intend to accept some of those advances!" he growled, twisting her hand in front or her face. "You're not even wearing a wedding ring. When did you take it off? After you left his house?"

A sob rasped her throat. "It's being repaired. I lost one of the stones. I swear, it's in the jewelry shop!"

"You disgust me!" Anger vibrated through his huskily controlled voice as he abruptly released her wrist.

"Please. Give me a chance to explain." Her chin quivered uncontrollably.

"It wouldn't make any difference," he said coldly. "If you were divorced and free to marry, I would never want you for my wife. If you could so conveniently forget one husband, you could do the same with me."

"No."

"Here." He reached into his pocket and removed a ring box. "I bought this for you. You might as well have it. It's memento, a trophy"—he added sarcastically—"to show that your hunt wasn't totally unsuccessful."

The lid of the tiny box flipped open as he crushed it into her hand. The rainbow colors of a large diamond solitaire laughed mockingly at her. Andrea closed her eyes against the reflecting brilliance of the exquisitely simple and expensive ring. Weakly, she tried to hand it back to him.

"Keep it, I said!" Tell snapped.

Then his long strides were carrying him to the door. On trembling legs, she hurried after him, grabbing the door before he could close it behind him.

"Please, give me a chance to explain," she pleaded.

"Accept that it's over, Andrea. Nothing you can say is going to change that." A cold smile was carved into the bronze mask. "Maybe you'll have better luck with your next sucker."

The door was yanked free of her hold and slammed shut.

"Tell!" Her fingers closed over the knob, but she didn't attempt to open the door. Sobbing heavily, she leaned against the door, trying to wash away the intense pain with tears.
 

Long minutes went by before Andrea regained any degree of control. He had made it very clear that he didn't want to listen to her, but she loved him too desperately not to try again. Somehow, she had to make him understand. Scrubbing the tears from her cheeks, she forced her faltering left to carry her to the telephone. After taking deep breaths to steady her voice, she contacted the desk.

"Mr. Stafford's room, please," she requested.

"'I'm sorry, Mr. Stafford isn't in," the clerk replied.

"Do…do you know where he is?" She faltered for a second as a knife of despair was plunged into her heart.

"He stopped by the desk a few minutes ago, miss, and asked us to prepare his bill, then he went out."

"I see." She swallowed tightly. "Thank you."

Hanging up the telephone, she realized that Tell had probably guessed she would try again to explain and had deliberately not returned to his room. He probably also had guessed that she would not want to make a scene in the lobby or any other public place. That left only one alternative.

With shaking fingers, she withdrew the lodge stationery from the drawer of a small table. Quickly, she began writing the things that she hadn't been given the chance to tell him. Time was critical if she wanted to be sure he received her note before he left, but Andrea was careful not to leave anything out in her haste.

A frightening amount of time passed before the letter was completed and sealed in an envelope. Racing up the stairs to the bedroom loft, she dressed swiftly and dashed back down the steps and out the door, the precious envelope clutched tightly in her hand.

Short of the lobby, Andrea slowed her pace, dredging deep in her reserves for some measure of poise before approaching the desk. Unconsciously, she held her breath as she walked in, her eyes automatically searching for Tell. He wasn't among the people in the lobby, which meant he had either not returned or had already left the resort.
With fingers crossed, she walked to the front desk.

"Has Mr. Stafford checked out yet?" The brightness of her simple question sounded unnaturally brittle.

"Not yet, miss," was the reply.

With false nonchalance, she placed the envelope on the desk counter, the face bearing Tell's name turned toward the clerk. "When he does, would you see that he gets this note?"

"Be glad to," the man nodded.

The smile on his face indicated that he guessed it was a love letter. He wasn't too far wrong, Andrea thought to herself as she turned away. It did contain her heart. It was all there, unprotected and exposed for Tells examination.