Heart Of Gold (33 page)

He
nodded. There was an awkward silence as she waited for him to go.

“So
I guess you'll be leaving now?” She glanced meaningfully at the zippered
flap.

“What
gave you that idea?”

As she
stared at him in disbelief, he started taking off his jacket and looking around
for a place to sit.

Panic
flared in her chest. She didn't want to spend the rest of the night with him in
her tent. Couldn't possibly. “But I thought you were leaving .. .”

“That
so?”

“But
you were angry and ...”

He shook
some of the rain out of his hair. “I'm going nowhere. Unless you have in
mind a drier, more reasonable place to spend the night? You could end our
misery right now, just by agreeing to come down to the house with me.”

His eyes
were utterly calm, with a vast reserve of determination behind them, and Carter
lost the will to fight. Maybe it was simple exhaustion. Maybe it was the
injury. Maybe she was just sick and tired of being on an emotional tiltawhirl.

“Okay,”
she said in a low, resigned voice. “Suit yourself.”

As her
teeth began to chatter from the cold, she knew she had to get rid of her wet
layers of clothing. Moving cautiously, so as not to bump her hand or
inadvertently touch him in the confined space, she took off her windbreaker and
her soggy fleece.

But that
didn't go far enough. Her jeans were soaked and her T-shirt was a transparent
sheet against her body. She was trying to think of a solution that didn't
involve her changing in front of him when she noticed Nick had fallen still.
She looked over at him and realized why.

His eyes,
hot and piercing, were focused on her nipples, which were peaked and straining
against the wet cotton of her shirt. When she caught what he was looking at,
she flushed and turned away.

Grabbing
a dry sweatshirt, she was about to put it over her head when he spoke in a low
and husky voice.

“Don't
be ridiculous. That's just going to get soaked from your shirt.” He opened
up the tent and the wind rushed in. “Holler when you're done
changing.”

After he
disappeared, the hunger on his face lingered in her mind and she felt heat pool
in her stomach. She was sorely tempted to pull him back inside and press her
lips against his.

But that
just wasn't going to happen, she resolved. If she'd learned anything over the
past twenty-four hours, it was that the cost of having him was too high.

Pushing
aside memories of them making love, Carter began to strip while trying
not to hurt her hand. When the T-shirt was off, she shrugged on a dry one and
reached for the top of her blue jeans.

Button
fly.

Cursing,
she tried to manipulate the fastenings but couldn't make them work. Repeated
attempts yielded no success and, aware that Nick was getting soaked, she
finally gave up and called him back in.

“What's
the matter?” he said, looking at her wet pants.

“Nothing,”
she muttered as she put on the sweatshirt.

“The
last time you said that, you were hiding a bandaged hand.”

Her eyes
flashed at him. “Why are you being so nosy?”

“Because
you're being so-evasive.” He took off his jacket and began to unbutton his
shirt.

“What
are you doing?” Alarm sharpened her voice.

“Getting
out of these clothes. I'm all for protecting your virtue but not at the expense
of getting pneumonia.” He looked over at her as he peeled the shirt from
his body.

Gritting
her teeth, Carter tried to ignore him. She sat on the cot and examined her
fingernails with determination. As she heard his shirt hit the floor in a wet
flap, then the sound of his pants being peeled off his legs, she remembered
every part of his body. The feel of his tight stomach, the way his legs were
hard and strong. It seemed a cruel fate to still be so attracted to him.

“You
got any man-sized clothes around here?”

Now there
was an idea. Getting him covered was really appealing.

She leapt
up from the cot, not caring if she had to wrap him up in the damn sleeping bag.

Going
over to the duffle bags, she pulled out the biggest T-shirt she had and an
oversized Irish knit sweater. Tossing them blindly across the tent, she
rummaged around until she found a pair of pink drawstring hospital scrubs that
she used as pajama bottoms.

When it
seemed safe to, she risked a glance and couldn't help but laugh out loud. He
looked ridiculous. The scrubs, which covered her feet when she wore them, ended
in the middle of his calves. The shirt and sweater, both of which hung loosely
on her, ended north of his belly button. He looked like a bad cross-dresser.

“I
know I'm not a fashion plate,” he said with a half smile. “But at
least I'm dry.”

Carter
covered her laughter with a frown and then sneezed.

“You
sure about those jeans?” he asked.

With
longing, she looked over at some dry khakis just within her reach. As another
shiver wracked her body, she stiffened her resolve and, turning from him, began
to fumble with the fly again.

“You
want help?”

She
jumped. His voice was very close to her ear and she realized he'd come up
behind her.

“No.”
She tried to move away. “Do you mind?”

His brow
arching, he sat down on the cot.

After a
few more failed attempts, and at least one other sneeze, she gave up.

Shoring
her resolve, she confronted him. “Could you ... er—”

“What?”

His
expression seemed disinterested but his eyes told another story. They were
filled with a brooding sensuality.

“Er—could
you ...”

“Take
off your pants?”

Before
she could tell him to forget it, he was standing in front of her and reaching
out his hands. His fingertips brushed against the skin of her stomach as he
released the top button and, when she sucked in her breath, he paused.

“Do
you want me to stop?”

He was so
close to her now, his lips almost on her ear, his body bent over hers.

“Just
hurry up,” she muttered tightly, focusing on the ground.

Nick went
back to work and, with each button, his hands moved lower. The tugging and
pulling was unbelievably erotic, and her lips parted as she let out a ragged
breath.

When he
reached the lowest one, his fingers lingered. He brought his head lower and his
breath brushed over her neck.

"You
make me burn” he whispered, pulling her hips into his. She could feel his arousal,
thick and hot against her.

Her head
fell back.

Lightning
flashed, white and jagged.

When
thunder bellowed in response, the noise broke through the fog in Carter's mind.
She pulled away, stumbling.

“Don't
do that,” she said hoarsely.

Their
eyes met and she thought he was going to fight her. But then he shrugged with
nonchalance. His face closed up and the heat was replaced by disciplined
composure. As he sat down on her cot, he seemed to be in total control of
himself.

Carter,
on the other hand, was feeling a messy tangle of desire, resentment and
self-loathing.

She
turned away from him and began to shrug out of the jeans. When she finally
stepped free and struggled into the khakis, she was afraid to turn around. She
didn't know what to say or where to sit or what to do.

“There's
plenty of room over here, you know.”

Carter
turned to him. His face gave nothing away and, in the end, she joined him,
staying as far away as she could.

They sat
in silence, listening to the raging of the wind and rain.

“How
much longer can this go on?” she asked.

“Well
into the night.”

Under her
lashes, she glanced over at him. His big body was folded up, his arms resting
on his knees, his shoulders wide and straining the sweater. His eyes were
trained ahead of him and, though it appeared that he was staring at nothing in
particular, he had an expression of intense concentration.

Another
bolt of lightning struck close by. She jumped.

When he
spoke in the aftermath of the thunder, his voice was softer than she'd
expected. “You really were going to stay up here all by
yourself, weren't you?”

“Of
course,” she said tightly. “Buddy and Ellie had to be together. I'm
just... me.”

“And
you would have spent all night cleaning this place up. Even with your
hand.”

She
frowned, wondering what he was getting at. “Yes.”

“Would
it ever have occurred to you to ask for help?”

“From
whom?”

There was
a pause and then he said dryly, “Me, for instance.”

She shook
her head. When he let out an irritated noise, she countered, “Can you
blame me?”

His smile
was not cheerful. Silence fell between them but then he laughed softly.

“You're
real tough. At least on the outside.” She heard a thread of something
sounding like respect in his voice.

“Look,
I don't want to talk,” she said roughly. “I'm not capable of making
sense right now.”

Her eyes
lifted to his. She was stunned to find tenderness in them.

As she
looked away, Carter put her head in her hands. “Can you not do that?”

“Do
what?”

“Look
so damn... compassionate.”

He
laughed shortly. “You like my acerbic side better?”

“It's
easier to dislike you that way.”

“I
don't want you to dislike me.”

They were
quiet for a long time. At one point, he shifted positions and she jerked.

“I'm
not going to jump all over you.” Bitterness shortened his words.

When she
glanced at him, he seemed really out of sorts. “You get angry when you
don't get what you want, don't you.”

“You
know anyone who doesn't?”

Carter
shrugged. “Some people are worse than others.”

Out of
the corner of her eye she saw him rubbing his neck. As if some of his tension
had been released, he said in a more even voice, “My sister was much more
even keeled than I ever was. A peacemaker.”

Wistfulness
softened his features, and she was sorely tempted to ask him about the woman.

“Was
she younger or older?”

“Younger.
My mother's last-ditch attempt to get some attention. She stayed in bed the
whole nine months even though she was perfectly healthy. Melina was born by
C-section so Mother got to creep around for a month afterward, dramatizing the
event so much you'd swear she'd been cut in half and left for dead.”

His stark
tone resonated with Carter. It reminded her of the way she talked about her
father. “Did you and Melina get along?”

“She
and Gertie were my saviors growing up. My mother didn't really care for me all
that much, and my father was better at numbers than relating to people. It
would have been very easy for me to pull away from everyone and I think Mel
knew that. She was always careful to be around when I needed her even though I
can't say I repaid the honor adequately. That's one of the reasons why, when
she died, I wanted to take Cort in so badly.”

He
cleared his throat and Carter sensed that he didn't want to talk about his
family anymore. It was hard not to relate.

“My
father came here today,” she blurted out abruptly.

She felt
rather than saw his head turn.

Feeling
vulnerable, she tucked her legs under her. She regretted bringing the subject
up, but at the same time she felt good about it. Like she had somehow taken
control of the situation that had hurt her.

“He
was very different than I remembered. I was surprised to see how much regret he
carries with him.”

“Of
course he's sorry. He loves you.”

“Yeah,
I think maybe he does. I almost feel like it's a good thing he came up.”
She saw surprise and hope flare in Nick's face and she quickly-tacked on,
“But I'm still angry as hell at you for using me.”

Frustration
surged in his voice. “I did not use you.”

“Yes,
you did.”

“For
Chrissakes, Carter, if you and your father end up reconciling that's between
you and him. I'm not going to leverage it to my advantage and I sure as
hell regret I ever contemplated doing that.”

She just
shrugged, trying not to get pulled in.

“God,
I just want to strangle you sometimes,” he muttered.

“I
know what you mean,” she shot back. “I feel exactly the same way
about you a lot of the time.”

They
glared at each other, anger and passion flaring, and she was struck by how
similar they were, both fighters to the end. She thought of how absurd it was
to be arguing in a tent in the middle of a storm when they could be struck by
lightning at any moment.

She
started to laugh. She couldn't help it. And after a moment, he joined her.
Their hilarity mingled, rising up through the tent walls, drifting out into the
storm.

Wiping a
tear away, she mumbled, “You'd almost think we were meant to be
together.”

Nick's
laughter rolled to a stop. “We are meant for each other.”

Her eyes
flew to his. The air between them changed, growing solemn.

“I
meant it when I said I love you. Carter?”

She
looked over to him reluctantly.

“I
wish you and your father happiness. You know that, don't you?” In the
silence that followed, he said, “And I’m sorry that I hurt you. I told him
not to come and, while we were in Vermont, I was trying to find a way to tell
you. I wanted to tell you everything.”

Thunder
tumbled through the air, through the tense silence that followed.

“Doesn't
that mean something to you?” he asked.

She
shrugged. “It doesn't change where we are. Who you are.”

“Why
do you find it so hard to believe I love you?”

“I
don't doubt you think you love me.”