If Winter Comes (12 page)

His face clouded in the
dim light. “Maybe. It depends on my support.”

He pulled into a vacant
parking spot right in front of the theater.

“That never happens for
me,” she sighed wistfully.

He half-turned in his
seat. “What?” he asked with a curious smile.

“A vacant parking spot
where I want to go.” She shook her head. “You must be incredibly lucky.”

“I was, until I met
you,” he replied, tongue-in-cheek.

She saw what he was
talking about and felt the color run into her face just as he got out to open
the door for her.

The movie was a dud,
one of its main features being a brief flash of bare flesh and some passionate
love scenes that Carla found frankly embarrassing to watch in mixed company.

“You little puritan,”
he accused gently when the film was finally over and they were leaving the
crowded lobby. “I could see you blushing even in the dark.”

“I’m a country girl,”
she muttered.

“Come out to my farm in
the spring, and let’s see if you blush any less,” he challenged dryly.

“Will you hush?” she
burst out.

He laughed at her, a
pleasant, deep sound. “I’d rather tease you than eat. Ready to go home, little
one?”

No, she thought,
watching him out of the corner of her eye as they walked down the sidewalk
toward the car. I never want to leave you. The thought was incredible and she
could barely believe what her stirred senses were telling her. She got a tight
rein on her emotions, and slid gracefully into the car when he held the door
open for her.

“I am a little tired,”
she admitted, forcing down her disappointment.

“I’ll drop you by your
apartment before I go home for my warm milk and crackers,” he said dryly,
sparing her an amused glance as he started the car and pulled out into the
street.

“If you’re drinking
warm milk,” she observed, “it’s probably spiked.”

He chuckled softly.
“Probably.”

They managed a
companionable silence the rest of the way back to her apartment. It wasn’t
until they went up in the elevator that he broke it.

“Do you like to bowl?”
he asked.

She laughed. “I like to
try,” she admitted. “Most of the time the ball goes down the alley.”

“I’ll teach you,” he
told her. “All it takes is the right technique and a little practice.”

“I’d like that,” she
said, smiling up at him.

He searched her soft
green eyes and scowled as they left the elevator and walked down the carpeted
hall to her door.

“Is something wrong?”
she asked, when they reached her apartment.

He rammed his hands in
his pockets and sighed heavily. “Time,” he said, sketching her face with
restless eyes.

“Time?” she prompted.

“You need to be
spending yours with a younger man,” he said.

“I thought I was,” she
replied, darting a mischievous glance up at him.

He shook his head.
“It’s only a matter of time before someone mistakes me for your father.”

“Only if I wear roller
skates and braid my hair,” she assured him.

He reached out a big
hand and touched her cheek lightly. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Her face went solemn.
“Am I too young for you?” she asked gently. “I know so little…”

“That makes you a
novelty in my life,” he replied. He pulled at a lock of her long, dark hair. “I
know very little of innocence. My wife was far from being a novice when I
married her. And I wouldn’t have married her if Candy hadn’t been on the way.”

“What a lovely name,”
she murmured.

“She was a lovely
little girl,” he replied quietly. His dark eyes clouded.

Her fingers went up to
touch his chiseled mouth. “You’ve never talked about it, have you? Not once.
Not to anyone.”

“You read me very well,
little one,” he told her, catching her soft fingers to press them against the
hard lines of his cheek. “No, I haven’t talked about it. But I think I could,
with you.”

“I’m flattered.”

“It’s not flattery.” He
drew her palm to his mouth, and she felt the warm excitement of his lips
against its softness, running through her like electricity.

She could smell the
clean, tangy scent of his skin as the action brought his dark head closer. She
felt her heart storming against the walls of her chest. He affected her as no
man ever had. Everything about him attracted her; the bigness of him, the dark
masculinity, even the scent of his cologne. She wanted with all her might to
reach up and bring that hard mouth down against her lips.

He looked up and saw
the expression in her face, and something seemed to explode in his dark eyes.

“Don’t tempt me,
honey,” he said in a soft, deep tone. “If I start kissing you right now, there
won’t be any stopping me.”

She flushed. “I
wasn’t…” she protested weakly.

His dark eyes sparkled
wickedly. “Weren’t you?” he teased.

She lowered her eyes to
the heavy rise and fall of his massive chest, hating her inherent shyness.

“Don’t be embarrassed,”
he said gently, and she felt his fingers lightly touching her hair. “Delicious
things happen when I touch you. You’ll never know what it cost me to walk away
from you that day at the farm.”

She smiled at the
carpet. “I felt terrible,” she murmured. “I didn’t sleep for two nights, and I
was sure you hated me.”

“You do inspire violent
emotions, little one,” he said wryly, “but hatred isn’t one of them. Not for
me.” He sighed, leaning his forearms over her slender shoulders. “I knew you
weren’t sophisticated, but that innocence—I thought it was more a pose than
anything else, and I indulged you. But the way you responded to me…”

She lowered her eyes to
the steady rise and fall of his massive chest. “I’ve got a mental block about
sleeping with men,” she admitted quietly. “I believe in forever afters.”

“And probably,
unicorns,” he teased lightly. “I’ll be honest, Carla, I’ve tried marriage and I
find little to recommend it. I enjoy my freedom.”

“And the women that go
with it,” she said with a wry glance.

He looked vaguely
uncomfortable. “Do you want to know something irritating, little girl? I
haven’t had a woman since the night of that cocktail party.”

She flushed at the
frank statement. “Lack of opportunity?” she asked breathlessly.

“Lack of interest,” he
replied. His heavy brows drew together in a scowl. “I want you. No one else.”

“Bryan, I’m sorry…”

He laughed mirthlessly.
“God deliver me from innocence,” he said in a gruff undertone. “It may be gold
floss to fiction writers, but it’s hell on a man’s appetite.”

She felt her temper
catching fire and abruptly she jerked away from him, opening her door. She
stood just inside it, her pale green eyes flaring up as they met his puzzled
glance.

“Let’s just say good-night,
and goodbye, and it’s been fun,” she said tightly. “I’m dreadfully sorry I
leave a bad taste in your mouth, but I want more out of life than one night in
a man’s bed! Good night!”

She slammed the door
and locked it, leaning her hot forehead against it tearfully, feeling its
coolness drain some of the heat away. There was no sound outside in the hall
for several seconds. Then there was a harsh, muffled curse and the sound of
heavy footsteps dying away. Tears welled up and overflowed in her eyes,
dribbling down her cheeks and into the corner of her mouth.

I hate him, she thought
raggedly. Her eyes closed tightly. I hate him so much…

An ache made her chest
feel hollow as the sobs racked her slender body. A picture of his dark,
handsome face floated around in her mind as she went to change clothes. It
haunted her like an attractive, persistent ghost.

She did hate him—she
did! Her even white teeth chewed on her lower lip as she stripped off the dress
and exchanged it for a flowing gold and green patterned caftan. He didn’t care
a jot for her pale dreams of a home and children and a man to share with. He
simply wanted her body—probably because it was the first that had been refused
him.

The tears started
again. She wiped them away with a vicious hand and went back into the living
room. She didn’t normally drink, but there was about two inches of wine in an
old bottle in the cupboard, and she sloshed it into a juice glass and threw it
down her throat. It stung pleasantly, giving her heartburn.

“Story of my life,” she
muttered, “cure’s worse than the ailment.”

She poured a glass of
milk and washed the wine down with that, idly contemplating ways she could get
even with Bryan Moreland. All of them seemed to end with her in his arms.

Her face went hot at
the memory of the last time she’d been there, of a pleasure so intense it hurt.
The touch of his hands, his mouth, the sight of his dark, quiet face above her
with a strange glow in the orange firelight.

“Oh, God, I love you,”
she whispered shakily, her eyes closed as she saw him again and again in her
mind. “I love you so.”

The sound of her own
voice sobered her, especially when she realized with a start what she’d been
muttering. It shocked her so that she didn’t hear the telephone until its third
insistent ring.

Her heart jumped
impatiently as she picked it up, hoping to hear Moreland’s deep, slow voice on
the other end. But it wasn’t him. It was her informer.

“I just wanted to see
what you’d come up with,” Daniel Brown said lightly. “I hadn’t heard anything
from you lately.”

“I’m still working on
it,” she said, aware in her heart that she hadn’t really been working on it
very hard. Part of her was terrified that Bryan Moreland just might be mixed up
in the land deal.

“I know someone who can
get you a copy of those financial records, if that’s the impasse,” he said. “By
tomorrow morning, if you like. I could meet you in that little coffee shop on
the mall.”

“It wouldn’t involve a
break-in, would it, Dan?” she asked quickly. “Our lawyers would frown…”

“I’ve got a girl friend
at city hall,” he interrupted. “She’ll do it for me. Well?”

She swallowed. “I’d
appreciate any help you could get me,” she said finally. She was hurting so
much from the confrontation with Moreland that very little of the conversation
was registering in her mind.

“I hope you’re not
getting too involved with His Honor,” he added suddenly. “He’s in it up to his
thick neck, and I can get proof of that, too.”

Her face went white.
“What kind of proof?” she asked in a voice far calmer than she felt inside.