Taming Tess (The St. John Sibling Series) (21 page)

The familiar rumble of Roman's truck pulling into the drive rolled through the house and up her legs.
Her heart gave a little lurch. It would be so easy to marry Roman. Thank goodness she had more of Aunt Honey's sense than her mother's. Honey loved her men but handled her own money.

Tess tapped the tip of her pencil against the sheet of paper
on the desk on which she'd being figuring repair expenses. Her gaze snagged on the stack of unpaid bills piled beside the list. Bills for the water extraction company, ionizing the air at The Castle, the cleaners who laundered the smoke out of
her
drapes,
her
linens, and
her
clothes and on and on. Roman had taken responsibility for all those expenses because he'd thought the fire was his fault. Now they were her responsibility. Only one option remained if she wanted to avoid bankruptcy and retain her pride.

Downstairs, the front door opened and closed.
Desire pinched at Tess' stomach. At least she hoped she had more of Honey's sense.

She could c
ut her losses and sell the house even if it meant a loss and start over with another project. Now all she needed was someone willing to buy a formerly waterlogged Victorian mansion with a sooty attic.

Roman came up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and
kissed the back of her neck. "What are you doing?"

"
Figuring out how to keep from going bankrupt on my first project. Know anyone who wants to buy a big old house with a giant hole in its roof?"

His fingers flexed against her shoulders.
"Yeah, I do."

She wheeled the chair around so quickly that they nearly knocked heads.
"You know someone willing to pay good money for a half burned out, wreck of a house?"

He smiled crookedly down at her.
"Yeah."

"Who is this sucker and point me in his direction."

Roman gripped the arms of the chair and put his face close to hers. "You're already pointed in his direction, and he's not a sucker."

Even though she knew who he was talking about, she stared into his eyes a full
ten seconds before speaking the obvious, and still it came out as a question. "You?"

"I've always wanted The Castle.
You know that, Tess."

She shook her head in disbelief.
"But, it's a wreck."

"
It's not as bad as it seems, especially for a contractor with the resources to repair it."

If t
his was the answer to her prayers, why wasn't she jumping up and down with joy?

For the same reason she wasn't jumping into marriage so she could get her hands on her trust fund.

"You're bailing me out," she said.

"I'm offering to buy The Castle at salvage price.
I get a bargain and you don't lose your shirt on the deal. If that's bailing you out, so what?"

"So this is strictly a business proposition?" she quizzed cautiously.

"That would be one way of putting it," he allowed. "But, there is another option, another proposal I'd like you to consider."

He took her hands in his and went down on one knee.
"Marry me, Tess."

Hope, desire, and happiness exploded through
her. Why then, did she hesitate to answer?

A jumble of thoughts
careened around inside her skull. Marry the man she loved…and give up her independence. Get access to her trust fund…and lose her integrity. She couldn't cook and was a disaster at laundry. Why on earth would Roman St. John want to marry her?

Did it have something to do with the business proposition he'd first offered her?
Harry had had prefaced his marriage proposal with business, too. Though he hadn't offered both propositions in the same conversation--and hadn't been anywhere near as straight forward with either proposal. But the result would be the same. Her blood began to boil.

"I suppose you already have the ring," she managed in a level voice.

"It hasn't been sized yet," he responded enthusiastically and reached into his shirt pocket.

"Tha
t sure I'd say yes, huh?"

He paused without opening the little blue velvet box he held in his hand, his enthusiasm
fading. "Tess, we've had some serious conversation lately. We talked about kids today. That's the sort of thing that makes a man think--"

"That he's found his June Cleaver?"

Frown lines furrowed his brow. "It sounded like we wanted the same things."

"Like babies?"

"Yeah."

"Like filling The Castle with them?"

"Yes."

"Maybe a big playroom in the attic?"

"Yesss," he answered warily.

"And of course that walk-in closet goes back to being a nursery."

He narrowed his eyes as though he was beginning to get her message. "We can compromise--"

She stood, the chair rolling back from her.
"I'm not some damsel in need of rescuing, St. John."

He jerked to his feet.
"I'm not trying to rescue--"

"I'll take option one.
The business deal."

"Dammit, Tess, what are you so angry about?"

She jabbed her chin at him. "I'm angry about men controlling my life."

"I'm not trying to control--"

"The hell you're not! You just told me you want to turn The Castle into one giant nursery."

"I thought you wanted the same thing."

"I bought The Castle as an investment, to remodel and sell. Nowhere in your little proposition did you provide for my plans for the house."

"Okay, so I jumped the gun.
I thought--"

"All the baby talk automatically meant I was willing to subjugate myself to you?"

"No. That's not--"

"You had it all planned out.
You get the girl, the kids, and the house all in one neat deal."

"I t
hought we wanted the same things," he murmured, standing there in front on her, his arms hanging at his sides, the little velvet box dangling between his fingers. She could almost feel sorry for him. But, damn it, she was fighting for her independence here. And independence meant life to her.

"You want The Castle that bad, St. John?
It's yours, at salvage price of course. Put all the nurseries in it you want."

"Tess," he pleaded.

She skirted him for the doorway. "Have the papers drawn up and sent to me at my Chicago address. That's where I'll be."

"You can't mean that, Tess."

"More than anything," she said from the doorway. "And don't even try to come after me."

Tess sipped at her morning latte as she watched the pedestrians hurrying past her sidewalk café table. In the past week, she'd gone to a play, a blues club, and a comedy club. She'd visited Navy Pier, The Museum of Natural Art, and the Shedd Aquarium. She'd eaten deep-dish pizza from her favorite Chicago pizzeria, Italian ice at a neighborhood ethnic fair, and ballpark franks in the cheap seats at a Cubs game. She'd done all her favorite things. But none had cheered her up.

Why?
Why hadn't the fireworks off Navy Pier made her "ooh" and "aah?" Why had the breakers rolling in off Lake Michigan made her feel melancholy? Why, when she'd tossed coins into Buckingham Fountain, hadn't she been able to put her wish into words?

She knew why.

No amount of wishes could guarantee Roman wasn't just like her father or former fiancé. Besides, Roman was a country boy and she a city gal. He wanted a housewife. She wanted a career.

She was in Chicago and he hadn
't come after her.

She scowled into her latte.
What did she expect? Whenever she fingered the car keys on her condo kitchen counter and thought of roads lined with trees instead of concrete streets shadowed by skyscrapers, she'd called her sisters and her mother for a reminder of what marriage did to a woman. A reminder why the dream of a big, old house humming with activity wasn't hers. A reminder why she denied herself the man for whom her heart yearned.

A couple lovers strolled past her sidewalk table, fingers entwined and heads together.
At a neighboring table, two little girls giggled over oatmeal raisin cookies and cocoa while their mother and father beamed at them. At the street corner, an elderly man held up a hand to the oncoming traffic as he helped his wife onto the curb, who hadn't quite finished crossing before the light had changed.

Tess couldn't help but wonder if she was doomed to forever be no more than an observer of
people in love? To be a stranger sitting at a sidewalk café sipping lattes and watching old women smile at their life mates for helping them cross streets. How that smile lit up the old woman's face. How the old man's face softened as he looked into his wife's.

Who would help her cross the street when she was old?
Who would be there for her to smile at…and to smile back at her?

No one
, as long as marriage and loss of independence went hand in hand. That's why she'd played the shrew with Roman. That's why she'd refused his
proposal
even though she loved him. That's why she was clinging to her need to control her own life.

The old couple trundled off down the street arm in arm.
Maybe it was worth giving up a little control to have that.

"Tess Abbot," intoned a familiar voice.
"I heard you were back in town."

She raised her chin toward the man standing beside her table in a dark gray suit, crisp white shirt, and power tie
, the man who'd shown her just how dangerous it could be to relinquish control.

"Hello, Harry," she leveled at her ex-fiancé.

He smiled his dazzle 'em-with-bull smile. "You're looking good, Tess."

She thought about the amount of make-up she'd had to apply to cover the circles under her eyes
sleepless nights had caused. "What do you want, Harry?"

He grunted through his fixed smile.
"Now why would you assume I want something?"

"You never liked this café.
This corner is out of your way. And everything you ever did with and for me, you did because you wanted something."

He dipped his chin,
his smile tightening at its corners. "Cynicism does not become you, Doll."

"I'm not your Doll, Harry.
What do you want?"

"You're going to make me get right to the point, aren't you?"

"If you don't get to the point soon, Harry, you're going to be talking to an empty chair because I have no interest in playing your games ever again." She started to get up.

He put a hand on the back of her chair and leaned over her. "Okay.
Here's the deal. Remember that little project you helped me with?"

"You mean the low income housing design I developed for which you took the credit?" she shot back, refusing to shrink from him.

His lips tightened over a solicitous smile. "We're not going to rehash that now, are we?"

She arched an eyebrow at him.
"You're the one who brought it up."

He sighed and eased back from her.
"I couldn't very well not bring it up when I'm here to offer you a chance to get back in on that project."

She studied her ex-fiancé, noting the intensity with which he watched her, how he held his breath, and the white knuckles of the hand
he seemingly draped casually over the back of her chair. "You're in trouble with the design, aren't you?"

He snorted as though she'd just said the most absurd thing, but the pressure of his fingers telegraphed
agreement through the metal frame of the chair. "I'm offering you a chance to get back on board. That's all."

"In that case, no thank you."
She pushed her chair back from the table and rose, making him release the chair.

"B-but--"

He seemed to catch himself before he said more.
But the damage had been done because Harry never sputtered.

She looked him in the eye.
She could just walk away. She knew he was in trouble. But she wanted him to admit it.

"You stole a perfectly good design from me, Harry.
What could you have possibly done to screw it up?"

He smiled indulgently at her.
"We've been all through this, Tess. You created that design on company time. It belongs to the firm. Nobody stole it from you."

"Swell."
She snatched the disposable coffee cup off the table and headed toward the trash receptacle. "Then take your problems to the firm that owns my design. Take your problems to my father."

"I already did," he rushed out, not sounding at all smug now,
and followed her. "We're both in trouble with it."

She turned to him.
"How
can
you be? That was a simple plan."

He stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets, rocked back on his he
els, and shrugged. "You know the government, always demanding modifications."

"So make them."

He looked down at the toes of his wingtip shoes then peered up at her. It was his contrite boyish look. He'd used it on her before when she'd caught him in the small manipulations, the ones she'd let slide because she knew what it was like to not quite measure up.

"Everything we've tried has been rejected," he said, "and we're running out of time."

A bark of laughter escaped Tess. "Then you're screwed, Harry."

She started off down the sidewalk.

"This doesn't affect just me," he called after her. "It's costing your father big time."

She considered shouting back that h
e and her father could both go jump in Lake Michigan. But, here was her chance to get what she wanted from her father. Recognition as an architect. She'd be a fool to pass it up.

There was something else she sensed she was being a fool about.
But, at the moment she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.

#

It was nearly dark by the time Tess crossed the skyway from the Abbot offices to the parking ramp. It was as close to seeing daylight as she'd gotten in the past five days. But she'd recaptured the integrity of the design that had initially won the government contract for her father's firm while making the necessary cost cuts, and she'd done it all under deadline.

The client still had to approve the final design, but she was confident they would. Most importantly, she was done with it.

Done with the job. Done with Harry. Done with her father…at least on a professional level.

Any latent thoughts she might have had about rejoining her father's firm had vanished after five life-blood sucking days working with him. He'd actually been condescending to her about her coming to her senses and returning home. 
So much for gaining his approval. At least she'd had the satisfaction of seeing the shocked look on his face when she'd told him she'd mail him her consulting bill.

She now knew beyond a doubt she did not need her father's approval
; and she'd found that realization liberating.

She steered her car out of the company parking garage with a relieved lightness. Something else she'd learned in the past five days. She definitely wanted more out of life than to be an architect. She loved the work--the creating, was passionate about it. But even the most creative work in the world couldn't love you back. Not in the way a life-partner could.

She thought of the old couple she had seen the previous week crossing the street together. They'd looked as if they'd spent a lifetime together loving one another. She wanted that, all of that.

The Chicago skyline glided by, the setting sun blazing in the high-rise windows. She loved the city. But she'd come to realize it wasn't enough for her, not without someone with whom to share her life. And she knew exactly who she wanted as her life mate.

What a fool she'd been. A silly, shrewish fool. Roman was nothing like Harry or her father. A week of those two and she'd seen the difference between controlling and supportive.  Harry and her father wanted to take control because they believed she, a woman, incapable. Roman took charge because he was decisive. Her father and Harry had tried to control her. Roman supported her.

Tess smiled. She would go to Roman and apologize for walking away from him--for turning back into the shrew. That last part should bring a smile to his lips. She could almost feel them slanting across hers, could almost feel his arms slipping around her, his hand cradling her head as he kissed her--and forgave her for her own stupidity.

She pulled up in front of her condo building and exited her car, turning it over to the valet. A stiff breeze cut under her suit jacket like a premonition and she shivered. What if Roman wouldn't forgive her? What if he'd come to his senses and realized she wasn't the woman he wanted? She wasn't close to being the domestic goddess he deserved. What would she do then?

"Wish him well and let him go to find the woman he deserves," she murmured as she strode toward the building's double doors.

But that was not going to happen. No way. No how. Roman St. John loved her and she loved him. She was going to fight for him.

End of story.

At least it would be the end of the story once she got back to Pine Mountain and climbed a certain contractor's six-foot plus frame.

The doors swung open before her and she nearly skipped into the condo's lobby. "Thank you, Carlton," she sang to the security guard behind the circular desk who monitored who got through those double doors and who didn't. "How'd your Libby's wrestling match go?"

"She won against a boy who was top in his weight division last year."

She leaned over the desk, caught Carlton by the tie, tugged him close, and gave the guard a kiss on the cheek.

"What's that for?" he asked through a sheepish grin.

"For being a great father."

She practically pirouetted toward the elevators, but Carlton stopped her with, "Oh, Miss Abbott. There's a gentleman waiting to see you."

She turned halfway back to the guard who nodded toward the seating area on the far side of the main entrance. She turned further and saw him rise from one of the
leather club chairs. Roman St. John…in khaki chinos and a blue knit polo shirt the same amazing hue as his eyes.

Her heart skipped a beat. Then surged into an 'I'll do anything if you'll forgive me' cadence as he approached. But, before she could utter a single syllable, he held out a thick, manila envelope.

"I brought you the contract for The Castle."

The sales papers.
That's why he was here. Not for her. For The Castle. He'd figured out he deserved better than a shrew who couldn't cook or wash clothes.

"You could have messengered them," she said more sharply than she intended.

He had stopped barely within reach, the distance like a chasm between them. "And which Pine Mountain messenger service would you have had me use?"

She wanted to rewind the past ten seconds. Wanted to replay what she'd said and how she'd said it. She wanted to take time to analyze the guarded look in his eyes. But she couldn't help but feel she'd run out of time and she couldn't take back the last few seconds any more than she could change the past several weeks.

Maybe this was the way he wanted it--needed it to be. Maybe, in her heart, she too knew this was how it should be. Hadn't she reverted to the shrew when she'd walked out on him…as she had every other time she'd needed to push him away? Maybe this time he needed her to push him away because sometimes parting on friendly terms was just too painful.