Undercover Heat (8 page)

“Nothing. It’s just that I remember suffering from dehydration for a good week after you told me you were pregnant. I had no bodily fluids left. I’d touch you, and you’d throw me into bed.”

“Tyler James!” She slapped him on the arm and laughed. Jesus, did he love that sound. A childlike giggle with the deeper timbre of a woman. Used in the right setting, he was
convinced it could be a weapon.

When the moment passed, her face clouded again, and Ty knew her thoughts had shifted. “What is it?”
h
e aske
d, playfully
,
patting her knee.

“I’m sorry I didn’t crave food.”

He pulled into the parking lot, not bothering to kill the engine. “You wait here,
”
he said. “I’ll be right back.”

Ty headed back inside and made his way to the medicine isle. He picked up the familiar bottle and headed up to the register, wondering what the hell Kelly would think of his purchase.

But it wasn’t Kelly at the register. It was Mavis. Her grey bobbed hair just like he remembered, her glasses balanced on the bridge of her nose. Her back still turned to him, enabling a getaway if need be. He considered it,
given what he held in his hand.

He dropped the bottle on the counter, and she scanned it without looking up. He figured he was home free, until he reached in his back pocket. His money clip was back at the house. All he had was a credit card.

Thankfully, he could slide the card himself, and when it asked for his signature he scribbled it fast before snagging his purchase and heading out the door. He hopped back into the car and was about to congratulate himself on his slick getaway, w
hen he realized his fatal flaw.

He left the receipt behind.

It was probably paranoia, or years of getting used to looking over his shoulder, but in
Los Angeles
or
New York
making a purchase like that would be tabloid fodder. He could see the headline now “Ty Hollis
ter and his Secret Love Child.”

But
Middle
Valley
wasn’t
Hollywood
. People weren’t out to get each other. Besides Mavis was a nice person, she wasn’t an opportunist. A gossip, yes, but not vindictive. It would never occur to her to c
all a tabloid or news reporter.

“Ty? Everything okay?”

He looked at Carrie and threw the car into gear. “Of course. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Chapter Five

Carrie set the phone down beside the stove and sighed. Phew, at least that’s over with. She’d been stressing all day about the dinner time check-in with her father. Usually they just chit-chatted about the weather, a funny story about a local parishioner, or tidbits of news from the Archbishop. Not a daily interrogation, but if the subject of
Ty and the press event came up...

If he didn’t ask specifically about Ty, she sure as heck wouldn’t mention him. So if she was guilty of lying by omission then so be it.
It wouldn’t be the first time.

The angry wind rattled the frame on the kitchen window, so she pulled on the crank to tighten the seal. Installing new windows was next on her to-do list, but the barn took priority. Ty had been out there banging away since they came home from the store. Not that his diligence surprised her. What would, however, was if he didn’t come running when he smelled his favorite meal.

She pulled the pot roast from the oven and basted it, taking a deep whiff. Even though eating sometimes was a struggle, cooking was not. She considered it an art. When Lizzie told her Russ was coming home, Carrie insisted on cooking them dinner. She slid it back in the oven. It should be done in an hour. Then she'd pack it up and drive it down the road to them, hopefully before the snow started back up.

Carrie retrieved the strainer from the cabinet and went back to the sink to peel vegetables for the relish dish. She was stuffing the cucumber skins down the garbage disposal, when the door creaked open behind her.

“Something smells good in here,” Ty said from the mudroom, his voice carried on a rush of cold air. “If I didn’t know better I’d say its pot roast.”

Her heart skipped when she heard the thuds of his boots falling to the floor
.
“I hope you’re hungry.”

She heard him rub his hands together before opening the oven door behind her. “That’s one hell of a slab of meat, darlin’. What army are you feeding tonight?”

“Lizzie.”

“Damn, and I was hoping for leftovers.”

She smiled, her attention still fixed on the veggies. “I made two actually. The small one is for you. I thought I’d feed you first, before I took the rest over to Lizzie and Russ.”

“Feed me first? What am I a poodle?” He came up behind her and reached around for a carrot in the strainer. She smelled the snow on his sweatshirt, mingling with his musky aftershave. Her stomach stirred at the familiar scent, her eyes fluttered to a close, and she forced them back open.

He moved about the kitchen, setting the table, stirring the gravy. Things he used to do before. Years ago she loved moments like these. No rehearsed lines, no characters to play. Just the two of them co-existing, operating a
s a real-life, everyday couple.

Except now, things were different. Her lines were rehearsed, even if just in her head, and the space they shared was now clouded with regret. She sliced the carrot hard, taking a hunk of her skin along with the vegetable.

“Damn it!” She dropped the knife into the sink. Ty pushed around her and took her hand in his. “Wh
at’d you do?”

“What does it look like?”

He turned on the water, adjusting the hot and cold knobs. When the temperature satisfied his own hand, he held hers under the stream. “I think you might live, Lexie Love. It
just looks like a flesh wound.”

She rolled her eyes at her character’s name. “Thanks, Jax, you’re my hero.”

“Let me put a bandage on it, so it doesn’t get infected.” He winked at her and opened the cabinet next to him.
She stared at her small fingers held tightly by his large ones. Gentle and kind at times, but also strong and agile. She gulped, remembering the pleasure they conjured.

“You know, I snuck in here earlier for a glass of water, and you were in the other room on the phone.” He smoothed the bandage gently over the wound. “Sounded important.”

“It’s nothing,” she mumbled.

“You didn’t tell him I was here, did you?”

He said it like a statement rather than a question, and somehow the presumption irked her. “You’re not always the first topic of discussion, Ty.”

“When’s he coming home?”

“Tomorrow or
the day after. He’s not sure.”

He nodded like he understood and turned his attention back to her bandaged hand. “Well, I think you won’t have to amputate, but the carrots are a casualty. You bled all over them.”

She looked into the sink at the tainted vegetables. “Sorry.”

“No problem with me. You know I’m a meat and potatoes man.” He picked up the strainer and dumped them into the sink. “How about you sit at the table and look pretty, and I’ll finish up here.”

“Ty-”

“Hush, girl,” he said, pulling the dinner plates from the hutch. “You’ve been putting me up in your house. The least I can do is serve you dinner.”

Carrie sat at the table with a cup of tea, watching Ty move around the kitchen. In minutes, he carved the roast and arranged the fixings on the table. He helped himself to some merlot from the wine closet in the pantry and handed her a glass.

“Looks good.” Ty rubbed his hands together, before sitting down across from her. His smile made it impossible to protest, when he spooned a healthy helping of mashed potatoes and a thick slice of meat on to her plate. If she didn’t have to worry about the camera’s scrutiny over the next few weeks, she’d eat at least some of it. But the power in defying her hunger was far too liberating. If she couldn’t control the hold Ty still had over her, at least she could take heart in resisting a piece of beef.

“Carrie Ann, I’m not trying to boss you around, but I really want you to eat a little of that.”

The yellow pond of butter in the potatoes and the perfectly pink meat looked incredibly appetizing. It made her feel even better when she pushed the plate away. “I can’t.”

He stared at her, bal
ancing his fork in his fingers.

“And I know what you are thinking but it’s not like that. I just want to lose a few pounds before I go in front of the camera, that’s all.”

“No.” He took a sip of wine and shook his head. “Absolutely not. I like you the way you are.”

“I don’t care what you like. I care what I like, and I want to look my best.”

He stabbed a bite of meat, and shoved it in his mouth. His calm was a practiced tactic she remembered well. When her emotions got to her, he always steadied his. Crisis never rattled him. He was always lucid and methodical. At times the strategy frustrated her, and at this
moment she almost resented it.

Her gaze fell on the
Celeb! Magazine
lying at the far end of the long table. Somehow they had ended up with it after their visit to the grocery store. The corner picture showed a dark-haired model in a string bikini, hanging on Ty at some European beach. She bit her lip and regarded Ty sitting across from of her. “You know, Ty, you’re used to sharing the screen with beautiful women. I would think you’d want me to look my best.”

He dragged his napkin across his mouth, and his forehead wrinkled in the center. When he spotted the magazine, he dropped his fork to his plate. “Okay, that’s it. I think we need to clear the air here.”

“Oh yeah, about what?”

He leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. His pursed lips told her he chose his words carefully. “Okay, I know it may be your intention to lose a few pounds, but I don’t trust you can leave it at that.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Oh no? Look at your track record.”

“And don’t you think I’ve learn
ed my lesson?”

“I don’t
know, Carrie Ann. You tell me.”

She wasn’t sure if she was offended by his boorishness or grateful for his patience. She looked down at her plate. The sight of the gravy turned her stomach, so she closed her eyes and took a breath
.

When she felt his hand caress the side of her head, she flinched. “Can I ask you something?”

“What?” she croaked.

“Remember we had our little ritual? Can we do that?” The palm of his hand slipped across her cheek, his thumb brushing her chin. “Please.”

At first the idea of doing something so intimate scared her, and then it angered her that he had the audacity to ask. Confusion swam inside of her. What would a stronger woman do?

If it meant proving she was okay, there was no reason to balk. Her decision made, she lifted her fork, and with painstaking effort took seven bites of each food. Minutes felt like hours as the food stung her mouth, pushing down her throat in a tasteless lump. She felt defeated and weak. Her palms moistened, and her breath thinned. Again, she closed her eyes, this time to steady herself, and when the last bit of food passed her lips she took the glass of wine Ty offered.

When she pushed the plate away, her heartbeat slowed to a gentler pace. She followed Ty’s shadow across the floor, and when he stood next to her, he offered his hand. “Come on,” he whispered, his voice as soft as his touch. She rose and forced one foot in front of the other until she found herself in the great room, with Ty standing beside her in the darkness.

The outbuilding lights across the yard hit Ty at his back. It reminded her of standing on a soundstage, the stillness of the room, the silence collecting around them. In front of them, the gigantic stone fireplace. It was the only one in the house still not equipped with a gas insert, and the sweet scent of smoldering oak swam around them like a spell. The embers little more than a glow, and he released her hand
to add another log to the fire.

When the flames danced to life, he brushed the dirt from his hands and straightened the long mirror above the mantle. He turned back to Carrie, his fingers lingering at the top button of h
er shirt. “You ready for this?”

His breath hit her in the face, a
nd her lips parted in response.

“Open your eyes,” he whispered. “You know the rules.”

He smiled down at her, the firelight twinkled in his azure eyes. She heard each button release with a snap, the sound deafening in her ears. Sliding his hands to her shoulders, he pushed the fabric to the floor. The sudden rush of air brought a hiss to her lips. He chuckled and ran his han
ds over her goose-pimpled skin.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold.”

“You’re scared.” He touched her face, his thumb running down her throat. “Don’t be scared, baby. It’s just me.”

That was precisely the problem
.

Holding her by the hips, he slowly turned her toward the mirror. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but just as they did, they clouded with tears. She turned her head against his chest, grabbing his shirt in her fists. Gently he released her, his long fingers running circles on the nape of her neck. “You’re okay,” he soothed. “Just look at yourself. Tell me what you see.”

She gawked at her own image in the mirror. The white lace bra and panties looked virginal, and considering who was next to her, it seemed silly and embarrassing. Her hair held loosely bound, and tendrils curled around her face. People liked to describe her as a nymph, and while she couldn’t say that she thought it was inaccurate, nothing else really came to mind. She had the hips and breasts of a woman, but on a childlike frame. In
Hollywood
, she wasn’t voluptuous enough, and as a ballerina she was too big. Never just right. And that’s how she wanted things.

“Work in progress,” she mumbled.

His mirrored reflection dropped his head to hers, and he gently kissed her temple. “Come here.”

He led her to the couch and laid down with her in spoon fashion. Her head rested on the inside of his thick arm, her cheek tingled as his breath teased her skin. The heat of the fire hit her face, but d
espite the warmth she shivered.

“Relax.” He brushed his fingers though her hair. “I’m right here.”

They were the exact words she had dreamed of hearing for years after he’d left, but tonight they offered more confusion than comfort.
There had been so many things she’d wanted to say if ever she was given the chance, but at this moment there was only one think she could think of. “Everything is different now,” she whispered. “So different.”

“Hush, darling.’” He pulle
d her closer, his southern draw
thick against her ear. “It’s all over. The past is the past.”

“If I could change things I would. You have to believe me when I say I would never do that to myself twice. I’m stronger now.”

“You were always strong, Carrie.” His fingers splayed against her belly, teasing the edge of her panties.

“Ty really, I mean it.” She rolled over on her back so she could look him in the eyes. “Running this place has been like a weird therapy. I make my own decisions, and live how I want. Plus, I get to take care of people instead of everyone taking care of me. It gives me a sense of control.”

“I’m glad, Carrie.”

She took a deep breath, suddenly realizing she’d let her mouth run off. “Sorry, sometimes I go all pop psychology.”