Slow Hands (22 page)

“He’s not
our
butler. He’s yo—” Clare stopped short of blowing the entire charade, and then was sorry she’d caught her mistake in time. A part of her wanted to confess everything and get it over with.

Ellie leaned against the door facing and gave Clare a mock frown. “Cousin dear, is there something you want to tell me? You’ve obviously been holding out on me. Of course, you’ve always been a lousy pen pal. If your letters had been any more vague, they’d have been transparent.”

“At least I wrote,” Clare said sweetly.

“Two points,” Ellie acknowledged with a grin, and
put two strokes on an imaginary scoreboard. “But I did send a Christmas card and a birthday present last year.”

“Ladies,” Sam said, his tone amused. “I’d love to stay and referee. But this is Saturday morning, and I’m going to be late for a class. Ellie, I wouldn’t want to shock you by getting out of bed naked, so if you could give us a few minutes alone?”

“For you—Sam, was it?—I’d give just about anything.” Then Ellie pointed a finger at Clare. “I’ll give
you
five minutes to get downstairs and start spilling your guts. Any longer, and I’ll have to assume you need rescuing from this Nordic stranger.”

Ellie’s bright, cheerful laughter echoed down the hall as she left them alone. For a moment Clare almost saw the humor of the situation. At least until she saw the look on Sam’s face, a look that warned her to tread carefully.

“This isn’t finished, Clare. Settle the past with your cousin and figure out what you want. When Ellie leaves, I want an answer.”

It wasn’t until Sam left that Clare realized he hadn’t shown the slightest interest in tall, blond, healthy Ellie. He hadn’t stared, stammered, or drooled.

“Ellie?” Rubbing her hands against her jeans, Clare looked into the empty living room. “Where are you?”

“In the kitchen,” Ellie called out. “William’s making iced tea.” As Clare entered the room, Ellie said, “He makes ice cubes out of tea. That way the melting ice doesn’t water down the tea! Oh, of course, you know that,” she said with a sheepish grin. “He works for you.”

“He doesn’t work for me,” Clare snapped, suddenly unwilling to lie in front of William. “He works for Sam.
This is Sam’s house. These are Sam’s antiques. Even the damned ice cubes belong to Sam. I live in a condominium with comfortable furniture that’s old, but not by any stretch of the imagination antique! I borrowed all of this”—Clare waved a hand—“to impress you.”

“What?” Ellie tilted her head in confusion. “Slow down! You’ve lost me.”

“She said she was a guest in this house,” William clarified forcefully. “Do you want some tea or not?”

“Yes, please,” Ellie whispered as she sat down at the kitchen table. Obligingly, William banged a glass of tea down in front of her. Ellie’s fingers slid around the glass in a reflexive action as she continued to stare at Clare. “None of this is yours? But your letters, and Mama said—”

“What she wanted to believe,” Clare interrupted. “And what I let her believe.” Turning to William, who didn’t seem the least horrified by what he’d heard, Clare said, “My mouth’s suddenly dry. Could I have some of that tea?”

“Only if you promise to drink it somewhere else,” William grumbled. “I don’t want the two of you cluttering up my kitchen all day while you figure out your life history. I got things to do besides listen to your problems.” William handed her the tea and hustled her out of the kitchen along with Ellie, who sputtered disapproval.

“Lord, Clare. I can’t believe you put up with that behavior from a servant. The way he acts, you’d think he owned the place. He ought to be fired.”

“You can’t fire family,” Clare said as she entered the living room. She curled up in the corner of the sofa before adding, “But Sam and I have considered killing him. Listen, I’m sorry about this morning and the misunderstanding.
William wasn’t aware of—didn’t know that—”

“You were sleeping with Sam?” Ellie finished helpfully as she sat down. “Good, I’d hate to think the old guy knew everything. While I waited for you, he looked at me with that judgmental expression. I was trying to figure out if I came up short in his opinion. I’m pretty sure I did.”

Clare looked skeptical. “Ellie Jordan worried about making a good impression?”

“Sure, doesn’t everybody?”

“Not Ellie Jordan. I didn’t think you worried about anything.” Clare pulled a magazine closer to the edge of the cherry coffee table and set her tea glass on it. “Least of all people’s impressions of you.”

Widening her eyes in disbelief, Ellie said, “What rock have you been living under? My whole life has been a struggle to make a good impression. I grew up in the house with quiet, well-mannered
Clare
, who never did anything wrong. The perfect child, invisible and undemanding.”

“You were afraid of being compared to me?” Clare asked, doubt heavily coloring her words. “I don’t believe you.”

“Believe me.” Ellie kicked off her soft leather flats and tucked her feet beneath her. Suddenly she asked, “Do you know why I wanted to come and see you?”

“Not a clue,” Clare admitted warily.

For the first time, the laughter that always sparkled in Ellie’s eyes dimmed, and she poked at the ice in her glass with a pink manicured nail. “I wanted to see if you were still as good at controlling your life. To see if you were happier than me.”

“To see if I was happier?” Clare echoed.

“I figured you had to be.” Ellie shrugged. “I always envied you. You didn’t have to be the bone Mama and Daddy fought over. No one expected you to choose between them. You could do whatever you wanted and no one bothered you. Sometimes I wish they’d gone ahead with the divorce.”

“They were going to get divorced?” With a few short sentences Ellie had rewritten history, making Clare doubt her naive conclusions about her place in the family. Had she mistaken their preoccupation with a disintegrating marriage for disinterest in her?

“Now it’s too late for divorce,” Ellie continued. “They don’t like each other, but neither of them has the courage to walk away. Christmas is the worst. You’re lucky. You don’t have to go.”

“Too late for a divorce?”

Ellie’s head snapped up, and she stared at Clare. “What is wrong with you? Stop repeating everything I say in that stunned tone. None of this is exactly shocking news.”

A shiver raced over Clare as she whispered, “Maybe not to you, but I didn’t know any of this.”

“You didn’t know! Come on, Clare. Your parents loved each other. Couldn’t you see the difference between mine and yours?”

“Obviously not,” Clare answered, her mind racing through years of memories, re-evaluating those memories.

Ellie’s expression shifted from disbelief to stunned acceptance. “Maybe you couldn’t. You were only seven when you came to live with us. By the time you were old
enough to know what was going on, they stopped talking about divorce, but nothing was ever really the same.”

For the first time, Clare realized that growing up had been just as difficult for her cousin. Her parents hadn’t died, but her life hadn’t been any happier. “Poor Ellie.”

“Right. Poor Ellie. Poor little rich girl. Every time I hear those words I want to scream, because it’s true. I run like hell from any man who might be serious. I’m scared to death of marriage. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be happy. How about you? Did you escape the curse? Are you happy, Clare?” she asked softly. “Is your life under control?”

Clare turned off the Spitfire’s ignition and stared up at Sam’s house, sorry that Ellie’s visit was over. In thirty-six hours they’d taken a second look at their childhoods and managed to forge a relationship. As crazy as it seemed, Ellie was suddenly family, someone to be missed. And now that her cousin was safely on a plane, it was time to start living in the real world again.

Sam’s house wasn’t hers. She had to go back to the condo, back to life before Sam and William. Resigned to that fact, Clare got out of the car and walked to the house. When she pushed open the back door, she found William rummaging in the pantry and up to his elbows in canned goods. Laughing, she announced her arrival, “Hey, I’m home.”

He looked up briefly and said, “I hope you remembered to tip the porter. That woman has more luggage than a department store.”

“Her name is
Ellie.
” Clare tossed her purse on the
table. “What on earth are you doing in there? Alphabetizing?”

William straightened and slowly turned to look at her. “Before you came in here to waste my time, I was figuring out what we need from the grocery.”

Properly chastised but grinning, Clare reached for the pad and pencil on the table. “You tell me what you want, and I’ll make a list.”

When William left for the store a half hour later, Clare realized she wasn’t acting like someone on the verge of leaving. In fact, she’d added Kitty Litter and cat food to the list without thinking. A part of her wanted to believe she wasn’t leaving, that Sam loved
her
and not the idea of
changing
her. The other part kept waiting for the shoe to drop, for the silver lining to develop a tear. She hadn’t taken a risk with her emotions in so long, she was afraid she’d forgotten how.

And until one part or the other won the tug-of-war, she was stuck on the fence, trapped by doubts. Why couldn’t she believe in his love? What was holding her back? What was missing?

For a long time she sat staring at the pad in front of her, drawing doodles with the pencil and trying to make up her mind about Sam. As she thought, she divided the paper down the middle and labeled the left side with the word
for
and the right side with the word
against.
Across the top she wrote
Loving Sam.

After an hour of soul-searching she was no closer to an answer. Clare gave up and went searching for Sam instead. She found him sprawled across her bed, taking a nap with Slick. Even sleeping he was sexy. He lay on his back, one foot tucked under the opposite knee, and one
arm flung over his eyes. Slick nestled in the crook of his other arm.

Quietly, Clare wrapped her arms around the bedpost and leaned her cheek against the cool, smooth wood. She couldn’t come to terms with her feelings for Sam, but neither could she deny the quickening of her pulse when she looked at the bed and remembered. Just the thought of his hand moving down her belly sent heat cascading through her.

“Ellie gone?” Sam asked huskily, and adjusted his arm to cradle his head.

“Yes. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Sam grinned wickedly. “You could wake the dead. Come here. I’ve missed you.” Sam shoved the cat off the bed and reached for her. Clare hesitated only a moment.

Clare tucked the sheet around her and let her eyes adjust to the dimness caused by twilight. She heard the purr of a zipper as Sam settled a pair of jeans on his hips. When he turned, she asked, “Where are you going?”

“Kitchen raid. I heard William come in a while ago. I’ll go whip up a snack.” Sam leaned over her and kissed her long and hard. “When I get back, we’re going to have that talk.”

Sam left the room and allowed himself to hope she’d come to terms with her past enough to admit the possibility of a future. She settled her differences with Ellie, which meant she was opening up. Smiling, Sam took the stairs two at a time.

Wine and cheese might be clichéd as a lover’s feast, but it was quick and easy. So Sam grabbed a tray from the cabinet, slid it onto the table, and arranged his indoor
picnic. In his hurry to get back to Clare, he scooped the tray off the table and knocked a pad onto the floor.

Muttering a curse, he set the tray back down. By the time he’d retrieved the pad, thoughts of an intimate conversation with Clare were gone. He tore the top sheet from the pad and stared at the list in his hand, a list that reduced human emotion to neatly penciled words. Words neatly penciled in Clare’s handwriting.

Anger began to boil in the pit of Sam’s stomach. She didn’t trust him any more now than she did the day he met her. He told her he loved her, for God’s sake! That wasn’t something he said to make idle conversation. The hole in his life that had been shrinking suddenly opened wide and threatened to swallow him.

The title at the top of the page made him angrier than anything else on the list. He didn’t care whether or not William was a plus
and
a minus. He didn’t care that he got high marks because animals and children liked him. What he did care about was that she could write
Loving Sam
across the top of the page and then deliberately dissect the emotion.

Wine and cheese forgotten, Sam left the kitchen and walked slowly back upstairs to find Clare dressed and making the bed. Her bright smile faded as he held out the list and narrowed his eyes. Raw emotion resonated in his voice as he asked, “Do you trust anyone? I don’t think so. You don’t need a man, Clare. You need a boomerang, something you can’t ever lose.”

Stung by the anger in his voice and surprised at his reaction to her list, Clare retreated behind the control that had kept her safe for so long. She put up the wall that kept her from being hurt. Her defenses urged her to strike first, to reject him before he could finish rejecting
her. Returning his volcanic gaze with an icy one, she said, “I never promised to change. That was your idea. You gambled. Gambles don’t always pay off.”

Crumpling the list, Sam said, “Are you so afraid of losing that you’ve forgotten how to feel instead of think? For God’s sake, Clare! You made a list! You reduced your deepest emotions to logic.”

“I make lists,” she said quietly, unwilling to apologize for or explain the insecurity that resulted in the list. Defensively, she lifted her chin. “It’s a habit.”

“Habits won’t wrap up your heart and keep you warm, Clare. Take a chance for once in your life.”

Clare couldn’t say anything. The man in front of her bore no resemblance to the casual man of the past few weeks. This man was angry, and she wasn’t sure how to handle him. Even more important, she wasn’t sure how to handle herself.

If love was supposed to be an inescapable conclusion, something felt in the soul, then why did she feel so uncertain of everything? Sam wanted her to give in to the fireworks, skyrockets, and the three words that would change her safe, secure life forever. She couldn’t believe in them, couldn’t take the risk, not when she thought that Sam was in love only with the idea of creating love.