Warm Hearts (15 page)

“I'll sleep with you tonight.”

He sighed in relief, then abruptly shifted gears. Grabbing the carton of fried rice from the table, he set it in the microwave beside the Moo Shu Beef. “How long?”

“Uh … uh … two minutes?”

He programed in the time, turned on the microwave, then put some very necessary distance between himself and Caroline by walking around the far side of the table and resuming his seat. “Where were we?”

“Kissing.”

He punished her with a scowl. “Before that.”

“Zerberts?” The teasing was a help. Her heartbeat, racing moments earlier when she'd been in his arms, was gradually returning to normal.

He made a rewinding gesture with his hand.

Caroline complied. “Way back then I was complaining about the people at work. But I need a break from ranting and raving. Tell me about you.”

Brendan didn't respond at first. He was trying to gather his wits. From time to time—like now—he caught an overall glimpse of what was happening to him and he was shaken. He couldn't quite believe that Caroline was Caroline and that she was real and that he was suspiciously close to being head over heels in love. The last thought was the most incredible, but he didn't know how else to explain the way his heart seemed to open up and reach for her each time she looked his way.

“Brendan…?”

He blinked once and regained his presence of mind. “You haven't finished telling me about you.”

“I'll finish later.”

“But I need to hear the moral of your story.”

“It'll come.”

“You'd leave me in suspense?”

She nodded. “Have you ever been married?”

He wanted to argue more, because, despite the light-hearted tone he worked so admirably to produce, he really
was
anxious to hear what she had to say. But he understood her curiosity. She had a right to it. Hadn't she just agreed to spend the night with him? Besides, it wouldn't hurt to lay his cards on the table at the start.

“No. I've never married. I came pretty close once, but the relationship died a very vocal and angry death.”

Caroline tossed a glance toward the window and spoke softly. “When I was … fantasizing, I made a list of the reasons why you might still be single.”

“How did you know I was—I mean, before tonight?”

“I don't get involved with married men,” she said, as though the simple statement answered his question.

“You were planning on involvement?”

“Not planning. Fantasizing. I thought that maybe you'd had an early, unhappy marriage and were divorced. Or that you'd been too involved with your career to marry. Or that you'd never found the right woman.” She paused, and her voice gentled all the more. “What happened?”

Before he had a chance to explain, the microwave dinged. She held up a finger, pivoted to remove the containers and set them on the table. Only after she'd doled out first rice, then beef did she give a go-ahead wave with her chopsticks.

Brendan gaped at the mound of food on his plate. “You didn't divvy this up too evenly.”

“I just want a little.”

“Do you want me to talk or eat?”

“Both.”

“That'll be cute.”

“You'll find a way.”

Indeed, he found that by alternating between talking and eating and looking at Caroline, there was less pain in the telling of his story. “Gwen and I met as first-year law students in Boston. She was different from me—very aggressive, very sophisticated—and I found that exciting. As a couple, we worked well. We saw different sides of issues and argued them through until we'd both benefited from the debate. I had imagination, she had technique. We learned from each other.” He took time to eat some, then resumed. “I really thought that was it. We were in love. We'd graduate, get jobs, live happily ever after.”

In her customary role now, Caroline listened intently. Brendan had no idea that her heart was beating faster as she waited for the punch line.

“The trouble probably started in the summer before our third year, when we took jobs that theoretically were apprenticeships for what we'd be doing once we passed the bar. Gwen was interning with a corporate-law firm, I was in the district attorney's office. We'd have good-natured arguments—at least, I thought they were good-natured, though some of them were pretty heated—about private practice versus public service. Gwen felt that the true prestige and the only stability were in private practice. I felt that the real respect and the major challenge were in public service. We each had our own, very different convictions, and they became a constant issue between us. Our arguments went on through that entire third year, and toward the end, heated was a mild word to describe them.” His features wore the memory without grace.

“So you went your own ways after graduation?”

“Oh, yes. I could have accepted Gwen's work—even though she talked like a fat cat—if she could have accepted mine. But she wanted money, and I knew damn well that as a public servant I'd never earn it in the big way she wanted.”

“You were angry.”

“Yeah, I was angry. And hurt. I felt as though she'd rejected me for the pettiest of reasons. Then I realized that the reasons weren't petty at all, and the rejection wasn't one-sided. Gwen and I had totally different value systems. The money issue was just the final straw. In hindsight, I'm amazed that we lasted together as long as we did. I could only guess that it was because we were students and living in that kind of limbo.”

He paused to eat, but his heart wasn't in it. After pushing a piece of beef around his plate, he set down his fork and raised his eyes to hers. “I live well, Caroline—not extravagantly but well. Over the years I've saved and invested, but I've never been impressed with conspicuous consumption. The loft may be modest by some people's standards, but it suits my needs. I choose to live there. Someday I may choose to live elsewhere. If so, great. Likewise, when I take a vacation, I do it the way I want. That may mean staying in a posh Caribbean resort or in a crude ski lodge, but I have the option of choosing and I exercise it.”

Caroline could find no fault with his philosophy, which was similar to her own. Nor could she fault the candor in his eyes, the urgency, the vulnerability. Knowing that he wasn't finished speaking, she remained quiet.

“I guess what I'm trying to say,” he went on, propping his forearms on the table, “is that I don't have all the money in the world, nor do I want it or need it. I love my job. Working for the government gives me rewards far beyond green stuff. Sooner or later, this attorney general will resign or be replaced in the natural transition of power, in which case I'll be looking for a new job. Given my record, it won't be a problem. Don't ask me where I'll look, because I don't know. But I do know that I want to remain in public service.”

Caroline felt admiration and a great deal of pride. “You sound defensive about it. There's no need.”

His eyes were scanners, picking up every nuance of her reaction. “I just wanted you to know.”

“Okay. Now I know.”

Very slowly, his mouth softened from a firm line to a tentative half smile. “Aren't you glad you asked about marriage?”

She nodded. “It taught me more about you.” Her eyes twinkled. “And just for the record, the last vacation I took was a long weekend this past February. I stayed at a farm in Vermont, where I shared a bathroom with eight other guests. We ate family style, sitting around a long table with the couple who owned the farm and their three kids, and we helped pay our keep by doing chores. Mine was to collect fresh eggs from the henhouse.”

“Did you enjoy that?”

“I enjoyed walks in the nearby woods better than collecting eggs, but I'd go back to the farm in a minute. It was relaxing. Restful. A nice change of pace.”

With a suddenness that startled her, Brendan bolted from his chair, rounded the table, scooped her up and carried her to the window seat.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

“Abducting you. You're perfect. You have the right answer for everything.” He lowered himself to one knee on the seat and settled her sideways between his thighs. His arms closed around her, gently locking her in.

“You're abducting me to my own window seat? What kind of an abduction is
that
?”

“You had something else in mind?”

She said nothing, simply slipped her arms around his waist.

He spoke against the top of her head. “Let's go to Maine.”

“Hmm?”

“I said let's go to Maine. We can fly up to Bangor first thing in the morning, rent a car and drive north. There are secluded little cabins for rent along the banks of the Penobscot. It'd be quiet and cool.”

“That's incredible,” she murmured.

“Not necessarily incredible but certainly—”

“No, no.” She raised her head until their eyes met. “I don't mean Maine, but the fact that you suggested it. When I was fantasizing, I pictured us doing something like that. I pictured your sweeping me off somewhere where I'd … be … free of responsibility and guilt.” She sucked in a sudden breath. “Brendan?”

He loved the way she said his name. “Mmm?”

“That's the moral of my story. When you ask me if we're together, and I say ‘yes, but,' that's what I mean.” She responded to the confusion in his eyes by hurrying on. Her own gaze had taken on the same candor, the same urgency and vulnerability she'd seen in his moments before. “If there's one thing I want—no,
need
—in a relationship it's freedom. I'm tired of feeling responsible for people. I'm tired of feeling guilty when I want to do my own thing. I'm so
tired
of the strings and the obligations and the little catches. There are so many hassles in my life. I don't want us to be a hassle.” She paused, and the pleading quality in her voice grew even more so. “Can we do it?”

He was quiet for a minute, pensive as he studied her face. At last he said, “I don't know. I'm not sure any relationship can be as free as that. By definition, a relationship implies some kind of tie.”

“Mutual attraction is a tie, and that's okay.”

“What kind of attraction are we talking—physical or emotional?”

Caroline was in the process of deciding that when his features distracted her. They were honest, open features, inviting honesty and openness in turn. “That's exactly what I want,” she whispered. “Honesty and openness. I want to say only what I want and what I feel. I want you to say only what you want and what you feel. No lies. No little fibs or empty platitudes. No game playing. No bartering with vows and promises.”

“I can buy that—”

“But there's more. I want to be able to lean on you. I want to be able to complain, to let off steam, to ask for sympathy and advice and coddling. I'm tired of being the mother in relationships. I'm tired of being the caretaker. I want to be the one taken care of—” Her voice broke off sharply.

“What's wrong?”

“I don't believe I'm saying all this,” she muttered, averting her eyes. She tried to put some space between them, but Brendan's arms tightened around her.

He could see her embarrassment and touched those telltale spots—her cheeks, her lips, her forehead—with his fingertips. “You're saying what you want. You're being honest and open.”

“I'm being selfish.”

“Maybe you need to be selfish.”

“But I can't expect you to put up with that.”

“Why don't you let me decide what I'll put up with and what I won't? Right now, I'm trying to understand exactly what it is you're saying.”

Her earnest eyes went to his. “I'm saying that I can't promise you anything.”

“You want a straightforward, uncomplicated, pleasure-as-long-as-it-lasts relationship.”

Very slowly, she nodded. “I think that's all I'm capable of right now.”

“Because you're being pulled in so many different directions?”

“And because I feel used up … burned out … drained.”

Brendan didn't have to consider his options. Nor did he have to argue with Caroline about her capabilities. She might tell him that she felt used up, burned out and drained, yet she'd given him more in the past few hours than any woman had given him in years.

“I accept your terms,” he declared.

“You do?”

He nodded. “I don't need a mother. Or a therapist. I can't promise to be a yes-man, because that's not me. I can't lie about my feelings and I don't think you'd want that, anyway. But I won't take advantage of you. I won't expect or demand. I'll be yours to use as you want.”

Caroline wasn't quite sure what to make of his easy compliance. She'd expected some sort of argument. Or was it that she'd hoped for one?

“You … really don't mind?” she asked hesitantly.

“Nope.”

Her skepticism lingered for just a minute longer. In the end, it was destroyed by the very selfishness she'd worried about. She had what she wanted. Brendan Carr—secret friend and neighbor, white knight, lover extraordinaire—had agreed to honor the terms of her fantasy. He was what she needed right now. If he had no complaints, who was she to argue?

“Okay,” she said, smiling. “We're a couple.”

“How about Maine?”

“I still can't believe you've suggested that. When I was fantasizing, I thought of someplace up north where the nights would be cool. Only I imagined we'd drive the whole way.”

He gave a quick shake of the head. “Not enough time. It's a ten-plus-hour drive. We'd have to turn around as soon as we got there and drive right back in order to get to work on Monday. If we fly, we'll have nearly twenty-four hours up there. Do you have anything here tomorrow or Sunday that can't be missed?”