In Your Wildest Dreams (39 page)

"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Sorry you love him? How insane is that?
But she was—terribly, horribly sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen.

He stayed quiet another long, tense moment during which her throat threatened to close up, cut off her air. Her heart beat too hard and her muscles ached from going tense.

"I can't," he whispered softly. He still didn't look at her. Still held his head down, shaking it now. "I can't handle that."

Her voice trembled. "Why? Is it so awful?"

Another long stretch of quiet—only chirping insects, a day coming to life, heat setting in.

"I can't
..
. love anybody but her," he wrenched out.

It was like a blow to her gut. After all this, all they'd shared, it was still Becky. Once more, Stephanie was reminded that this was nothing to him, that she was no more than an incidental speck on his shoe. Or maybe more than that, maybe a good lay, some pleasant laughs— she knew he wouldn't deny either. But the distinction meant less than nothing put up against the hard, cold fact that he had no love in his heart for anyone but his dead wife.

Taking a deep breath, she put herself on autopilot, propelling herself into the house.
Have to get out of here, have to get out of here.
And she had to do it fast. She didn't want him to see her cry.

Since when did she
cry,
for God's sake? Over Tina, yes—a lot. It was worry. But she was usually so strong— a strong, in-control executive, the sort of woman people cleared a path for and worked hard to please. When had she quit being that woman?

She hadn't missed that part of herself, but at the moment it held great appeal.
Be strong now,
she lectured as she snatched up the small carry-on bag she'd brought. She dug inside, retrieving
sensible
white cotton panties, which she yanked up under the T-shirt, then hurried into her bra, khaki shorts, and a pullover.

She reached for her purse next to the bag, digging inside for keys. Damn it, where were they?

"Stephanie."

She stopped searching, glanced up. Oh God, he was beautiful. She felt it all through her. And couldn't look at him anymore, so dropped her gaze.
Love.
Why had she so foolishly flung
love
out between them when she'd known it wouldn't stand a chance?

"I'm sorry I can't..." he said. She sensed more than saw him shaking his head, looking lost. It came through in his voice.

"It's all right. My fault. I'm leaving."

At last, the keys were in her hand.
Stay strong. Stay strong. Do not cry.

She grabbed up her bag, now empty but for a makeup case and deodorant, not bothering to zip it, certainly not bothering to look for the sexy apparel she'd greeted him in. She wouldn't need it anymore. She started toward the front door—but his hand fell onto her wrist, stopping her.

Just that—his touch—was almost enough to drive her to those dreaded tears. When the hell had she gotten in so deep here? When had she let herself fall in love?
You
don't let yourself, it just happens.
She knew that, had always instinctively known it even when it hadn't been a part of her life. And God knew if she'd had any control over it, she'd have stopped it. She drew in her breath, still didn't look up at him, just waited to hear whatever he had to say.

"I'm really sorry."

He owed her nothing, she knew that. But his words were too damn simple to mean anything. Every intimate act they'd ever engaged in together came rushing back over her—empty now.

"So am I," she said a little harsher than she'd intended, jerking past him.

Tunnel vision led her out to the gravel drive overhung with Spanish moss and tall trees that kept the area dark and shaded, even now. She trudged past his truck, praying she correctly remembered where she'd hidden her car. His footsteps crunched in the gravel behind her.
Why are you following me ? Just let me leave.

She didn't stop until she located the car, nestled behind a dense enclave of towering cypress, Jake still on her heels. She struggled to find the unlock button on the rental's key chain, finally hearing the click.

"Listen," he said.

She opened the door, tossed her bag and purse toward the passenger seat.

"I wanna keep lookin' for Tina, wanna find her for you."

God, she hadn't even thought about that. It made her raise her eyes, but the shock of seeing his—so sexy and brown and no longer hers to look into—made her draw her gaze away just as quickly and climb into the car.

"But I need you to promise me you still won't do anything stupid while I'm lookin', okay? It's still just as dangerous, and I won't be able to bear it if I have to worry you're puttin' yourself at risk."

"Why?" she shot at him through the open car door.

Their gazes met and locked. She didn't look away this time because she knew the answer.
He cared for her. He had to care.
She'd felt it in his touch, his kisses. It
had
been more than sex. If it was only sex, why would he worry so much that he wouldn't be able to bear it?

He only sighed, looked down. "Promise me."

Her
lips
trembled with indignation. "I'm a little too mortified right now to promise you anything."

"I don't want you to be mortified."

"Too late."

He closed his eyes, again ran his hands back through his hair. Met her gaze once more. Such dark, beautiful eyes. The memory of how they shone on her when they were making love was enough to paralyze her. Because now he only looked lost—and aggravated.

"I'm sorry, Stephanie, okay?" he bit out through clenched teeth. "I just can't have that kind of a relationship with you."

"I think you already were." Bold of her, and maybe she was humiliating herself all the more if he truly saw her as only a romp, a wild woman.

"No!" he shot back, his gaze glittering with anger, his voice harsher than she'd ever heard it. "It wasn't that! I'm sorry if I let you think it was ! "

Oh. So she'd been wrong. She'd been nothing to him. "Okay," she said. "My goddamn mistake." She closed the door, jammed the key in the ignition, and haphazardly backed out onto the unpaved road next to where he stood. She pressed the gas pedal hard, throwing gravel, not giving a damn if any of it hit him. She hated him. She hated him for his tenderness. She hated him for his sexiness. She hated him for every sweet word he'd ever said, every warm kiss he'd ever given her, every moment they'd looked so long and hard into each other's eyes. She hated him. Because she loved him.

Now that the tears could come, they did, hard and fast, so much that she could barely drive for trying to wipe them away, but she never slowed down. She wanted to get as far away from Jake Broussard as she could.

Jake hammered a nail into the kitchen floor, watching until it was embedded in the two-by-four. After, he picked up another nail, and another. He hammered 'til his arm ached, and then he hammered some more.

Hammer long enough, though, he discovered, and thoughts started sneaking in. That wasn't his usual experience^—usually hammering and sawing and drilling kept thoughts and feelings at bay.

Goddamn it, why did she have to say that? Those three horrible little words. Words he just couldn't hear. Why didn't she get that? He'd told her about Becky—he'd somehow thought she'd grasped that what he'd had with Becky he simply couldn't have with anyone else.

Ever?
That he wasn't sure about—at least not lately. But he knew he couldn't have it now. There was still too damn much guilt—it ran through his veins daily. Even if Stephanie
was
particularly skilled at making him forget.

But that, too, sent a whole new guilt thundering through him. When he'd been making love to Stephanie, he'd forgotten all about Becky.
She dies in your place and you forget her?
He couldn't do it. He could never forsake her.

And he surely couldn't betray her by falling in love with someone else.

Things would have been just fine if Stephanie hadn't come sneaking out here, turning him inside out with the sweetest seduction he'd ever known. He hadn't even thought of resisting—but he sure as hell should have.

He'd come out here for solace, peace—and space. Time and distance. But she'd closed the distance before he could even blink, and then, then—she'd announced that she loved him.

His stomach wrenched and he closed his eyes, fighting back a hundred different demons, all coming at him with spears of guilt and regret, love and hate, hope and despair, and everything in between. Where the hell was St. Michael when you needed him?

For that matter, where the hell had he been when
Becky
needed him?

He glanced down at the tattoo peeking from beneath his sleeve. St. Michael was on his arm—nowhere else. Protection was just an illusion.

In a few short moments, he'd gone so very backwards. Already, he felt the familiar emptiness returning. Didn't care if he ate. Never wanted to leave the bayou again. Just wanted to stay here, alone, hammering nails, until the day he died.

Chapter 22

As
she peered into the mirror above Jake's dresser, Shondra thought life had been pretty damn fine the last day or so. "Check me out, Scruff," she said to the pooch, who stood at her side, seeming to smile up at her. She bent to pet the dog's head, then looked back to the mirror, liking what she saw.

A whole day on her own—not spent cowering or sleeping—had added to her confidence. After Jake had left last night, she'd ordered another pizza, tried on her new clothes—which had fit!—and she'd opened the present from Stephanie. The panties were simple, but real good quality, she could tell.

This morning, she'd gotten up, put on her new miniskirt and Abercrombie T-shirt, and walked to the little market around the corner with the rest of the money from Jake's dresser in her pocket. She'd toted home a bag full of groceries—and two cans of dog food. Scruff liked people food just fine, but she thought Jake would appreciate it if she tried to wean him off it.

After that, she'd microwaved leftover pizza for lunch,

gathered up her old clothes and a few of Jake's—which he'd left littering the bedroom floor—and taken them to the laundry room. Mrs. LaFourche wasn't hogging the washers today and one was free. Then she'd run herself a bath, where she'd used the fancy body wash from Stephanie. And somewhere along the way she'd started thinking,
lean do this. lean handle life on my own.
She missed Jake, but maybe it was good he was gone right now—it gave her a chance to try this out. Being an adult, buying groceries, having an apartment.

Afterward, she'd gotten dressed for job hunting— pleased that Stephanie had picked out a serious-looking skirt, like women on TV wore "to work." She wished she had a little makeup, but Mama and Grandma Maisy always said she had a pretty enough complexion without, so for once, she decided to believe them.

Taking a last look at the new adult her, she bent to take Scruff's furry face between her hands. "Wish me luck. It'd be off the hook if I could get a job before Jake gets back." She wanted to make him proud.

Locking up a few minutes later, she set out to find her future. High-class stores and shops, that's where she was gonna apply. Jewelry stores, boutiques, fancy antique shops, and art galleries—the Quarter was full of them, all crammed in between cheaper places that fell a lot further down on her list.

Her first stop was a small antique store. It was packed to the brim—she could tell even through the windows— but it looked like expensive stuff, so she went in. An older white lady with hair the color of the pearls circling her thick neck clasped her hands atop the glass counter between them and smiled. "What can I help you with?"

Shondra swallowed, nervous, then forced a smile and

gave the line she'd been practicing in her head. "I'm lookin' for a job, ma'am. Do you have any positions of employment open?"

The woman tilted her head in such a way that Shondra knew the answer before she gave it. "No, honey, I work here all by myself."

"Maybe you could use some help," she suggested. "I'd work real cheap."

The old lady smiled indulgently. "I'm sorry, but good luck. You have a pretty smile and I'm sure someone will have a nice job for you."

She tried to keep hope afloat as the little bell on the door chimed her exit back out into the heat. She felt sure if the woman had had a job to give, she'd have let her have it. An hour later, though, she'd lost track of how many times she'd been turned down—by jewelers, florists, boutique clerks, even a guy who sold nothing but semiprecious rocks. But she was determined to keep trying. She wanted to show Jake he hadn't been wrong to help her.