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Tonight proved the man she remembered, the one she’d loved, was still in there. Somewhere. All she had to do was draw him out.
Her waning hopes rebounded. All wasn’t lost. And to borrow another of Tara’s famous last words, tomorrow was another day.
And this time she wasn’t giving up without a fight.
Five
“Could you hold me? Just for a minute?”
Tara’s quiet question turned the dining room colder than a ship’s freezer. Rand’s muscles froze and his brain screamed, No. Hell no. Don’t fall for her tricks.
But over the past hour of packing her mother’s belongings she’d confused the hell out of him. Had she really been fighting to hide her tears and quivering bottom lip from him, or had she been giving the performance of a lifetime, letting him see just enough bogus pain to suck him in? Because her quiet, solitary grief had been so convincing she’d almost choked him up.
If she was really hurting and not acting, then a simple hug wasn’t too much to ask. From anyone other than him.
But he owed her. She’d busted her butt at the office, doing more work in three days than most assistants could accomplish in three weeks. She hadn’t complained once about the staggering workload involved in getting him up-to-date on the company, the twelve-hour days or the lack of breaks. She’d simply had snacks and drinks sent up from the cafeteria.
He flexed his fingers, knowing what he needed to do, what he ought to do, and dreading it. He opened his arms. Tara fell against him. The soft thud of her body hit him like a freight train. He reluctantly encircled her with his arms. Reminding himself this could be an act to lure him into her trap, he tried hard to stay detached, tried to ignore her scent, her softness, her heat.
But indifference was nearly impossible when he could feel her breaths hitching, could feel the tension in her rigid body as she fought to maintain control. Or faked it.
Warmth seeped through his shirt. Tears. The dampness spread across his chest and her body trembled against his.
He didn’t do crying women.
This was exactly the kind of emotionally charged situation he avoided with his lovers. Normally he’d have been long gone by now. Watching Tara hug a sweater or a book or some other trinket to her chest and then carefully sort each item into boxes had brought back memories he’d rather not revisit. Memories of the Kincaid staff packing away his mother’s possessions after her death.
Rand had wanted to keep his mother’s favorite scarf, the one that smelled like her. His father had ripped it from Rand’s hands with a terse, “What are you, a pansy-boy? Go to your room.”
All Rand had wanted was a tangible memory of his mother. Hell, he’d been fourteen and drowning in the guilt of not being able to keep her from driving. Rand had known his mother was drunk and angry with his father about another woman. He’d known because she’d always ranted to Rand when his father screwed around.
Confidant wasn’t a good role for a kid, and Rand blamed his selfish, immoral ass of a father for putting him in that unenviable position. But Rand hadn’t argued. He’d been terrified his father would find out his role in not preventing his mother’s death and kick him out.
By the time Rand had been allowed out of his room every trace of his mother had been removed from the house. Not even Nadia had been allowed to keep any of their mother’s things.
He stuffed down the memories and sat on the mattress of the mechanical hospital-style bed, pulling Tara between his thighs. Every effort had been made to turn this room into a comfortable bedroom, but not even Tara’s old headboard bolted to the wall could make this anything less than it was. An invalid’s room.
He recognized the furniture from his affair with Tara, and memories flooded him. Memories of hot sex and of the playful bondage games involving that headboard. Memories that made him granite hard.
He shifted, hoping Tara would pull it together and break up the snuggle party. “You okay?”
She nodded and sniffed. And moved closer. Close enough that her hair tickled his chin and her scent filled his lungs. Close enough that her breasts pressed his chest and her mound nudged his inner thigh. Her heat burned him. And turned him on.
He moved to ease the pressure against his growing erection by leaning back on the pillows propped against the headboard and stretching out his leg. But Tara crawled into the bed with him and settled beside him. Her hips and legs aligned with his, and she rested her cheek on his chest. She wiggled even closer, reminding him she’d always been the cuddly type.
She was the only lover he’d ever lingered with, but in limited doses. More was risky.
So was this.
He wanted up. And out. Of this room. Of this house. Of this state.
This wasn’t part of their agreement. He couldn’t trust her.
The hardening flesh beneath his fly reminded him he couldn’t trust himself, either.
“It’s like sa-saying goo-goodbye again,” she whispered brokenly before he could turn his thoughts into action and peel her off. “It’s just so…ha-hard.” The raw pain in her voice sounded genuine.
But then he’d been taken in by Tara’s lies before.
Rand awkwardly patted her back, but said nothing. He didn’t want to encourage any tearful reminiscences.
Tara’s little gasping breaths eventually slowed and the fist on his chest relaxed. The tension eased from her body on a long sigh and she sank like a dead weight on his left shoulder.
Had she fallen asleep?
Oh, hell. Why hadn’t he run the minute she’d turned those big blue wounded eyes on him?
Why hadn’t he gone to bed earlier when she’d told him to instead of insisting she eat?
His arm tingled with pins and needles and started going numb. He stared at the dining room ceiling, at the chandelier hanging on a shortened chain above the bed.
He should wake her or at the very least dump her on her pink sheets and leave her.
But he remained immobile. He’d give her a few more minutes. If she was exhausted, it was because he’d worked her flat out this week. Once she rested she’d have more control over her messy emotions and be less likely to have another meltdown.
If the meltdown was real.
She might be looking for a rich guy to make her future easier, but the contradictions between gold digger, hard worker and a woman who grieved for her mother nagged him like a puzzle with a missing piece.
Minutes ticked past. He didn’t know how many because he couldn’t see his watch and there were no clocks in the room. His lids grew heavy. He rested his chin on her crown and let the flowery scent of her shampoo fill his nostrils with every breath. She still used the same brand. It pissed him off that he recognized it.
Getting caught up in a woman’s Hallmark moments screwed with his detachment.
But he owed Tara tonight. Just tonight. For going above and beyond the call of duty. For giving KCL a year of her life. If she continued at the pace she’d been working, she’d be a bargain—even at the outlandish salary he was paying her.
But he had to make damn sure he didn’t make a fool of himself over her again.
“It’s 5:00 a.m. Why are you up?” Rand growled from the kitchen entry Thursday morning.
Startled, Tara looked up from the newspaper. “Good morning. If you’re determined to get an early start every day, then I might as well join you. We can carpool and conserve gas.”
Judging by his scowl that was the last thing he wanted to hear from her. “You won’t get overtime for going in early.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t ask for it. I made huevos rancheros. Is that still your favorite?”
Not that they’d ever had breakfast together. Rand had never hung around long enough. But he’d mentioned it once. Funny how she’d remembered, but back then she’d hung on his every word.
His jaw shifted. “I told you, no playing house.”
Was he cranky because they’d spent half the night in her mother’s bed? When a bad dream had jolted Tara awake shortly after three she’d been shocked to find herself in Rand’s arms. He’d released her, risen without a word and gone upstairs as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.
“It’s just breakfast, Rand. Eat and drink your coffee and then we can go. I’ll fill you in on the arrangements for tonight’s cocktail and dinner party on the way to the office.”
“I’ll take breakfast to go. You can fill me in later—when you come in at nine.”
“I haven’t come in later than eight one single day this week and you know it.” She couldn’t help pointing out that fact. “But have it your way. The resealable containers are in the cabinet to the left of the dishwasher, and the disposable forks are in the bottom drawer.”
After filling a travel mug with coffee and packing the huevos rancheros, he paused by the table and scowled down at her. “If you think this sharing-and-morning-coffee routine is what I want, you’re mistaken. You’re better off sticking to the sex. At least I enjoyed that.”
The old Tara would have let that comment pass, but the new Tara was turning over a new leaf. She was stronger and bolder now. Strong and bold enough to fight for what she wanted, and last night only reinforced her belief that Rand Kincaid was the man she wanted.
“But you didn’t enjoy it. Why is that?”
His chin snapped up. “Because I couldn’t help wondering if you’d cried out my father’s name when you came the way you did mine.”
She flinched at the unexpected lash of pain. “How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t sleep with Everett.”
“You also claim you lied when you said you loved me and wanted to have my children. Why should I believe you’re not lying now?”
She opened her mouth and closed it again. He had a point. She hated that he believed she’d slept with his father, but nothing she said was going to change Rand’s mind. He had to come to that realization himself. And when he did, he’d realize how selfish she’d been. Her refusal to become Everett’s partner in exchange for top-notch oncologists’ care could very well have cost her mother her life.
Would Rand hate her for being weak? Because she certainly hated herself.
She sighed. “I’m not lying.”
“Truth seems to be a fluctuating commodity with you. I’ll see you at the office. Thanks for the breakfast and coffee. But tomorrow, don’t bother.”
“Any idea which heads will roll?”
Tara turned toward the familiar, raspy female voice. “Hello, Patricia.”
Patricia Pottsmith had been head of human resources when Tara had originally joined KCL seven years ago. She’d been a cutthroat and ambitious manager back then, and her current position as vice president of the Rendezvous line implied that hadn’t changed. She’d moved up the ladder quickly. Tara suspected it was because Patricia didn’t mind who she stepped on.
“How about a little insider info for an old friend? A new broom always sweeps clean. Who is Rand going to fire?”
Tara didn’t bother to point out they had never been friends. “Even if I knew Rand’s plans I wouldn’t reveal confidential information.”
“I hired you and recommended you as Everett’s PA.” Patricia’s haughty tone implied Tara owed her.
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to get what you want from Rand. He’ll be calling in each brand’s management team for meetings starting Monday.”
“Well, at least your job is secure. For as long as Rand’s interest lasts, that is.”
The bottom dropped out of Tara’s stomach. “Excuse me?”
“Sleeping with the boss has its perks. I don’t hold that against you, Tara. I’ve done it myself.”
Tara tried to hide her distress and shock. Distress that she and Rand had become the hot topic. Shock that Patricia might have slept with Everett. Tara wondered again if she’d misjudged her boss. “Do the other executives believe I slept with Rand to get this job?”
Patricia rolled a narrow shoulder. “It’s common knowledge that you never filled out a new application, interviewed or underwent a criminal background check and drug test. HR didn’t hire you. You’ve been wasting away at a backwater small business since you left KCL, and yet you waltz back into one of the most sought after positions in the company—a company that prides itself on promoting from within.”
To know this supposedly confidential information Patricia must have used and abused her HR connections. Tara scanned the group of sixteen men and women—the presidents and vice presidents of each line—who’d gathered in the glitzy private hotel dining room for cocktails and dinner. Their snide appraisals made her want to run.
The joy over an event well-planned and discovery of the perfect cocktail dress in a tiny boutique during a mad lunch-hour shopping dash drained away. Suddenly, her black jersey off-the-shoulder dress felt sleazy instead of subtly sexy. The garment exposed more cleavage than she was used to revealing. Not that the dress was daring by most people’s—or Miami’s—standards, but it was by Tara’s.
She wanted a sweater. Or an overcoat.
And she wished Rand were here. But an international call about a problem at an Italian port had detained him as they were leaving her house. She’d driven herself and he planned to follow as soon as he could.
As if her thoughts had conjured him, Rand strode through the doorway. He wore a black dinner jacket over a white collarless shirt and black, sharply creased pants.
The years in California had been good for him. He’d always been confident, but he seemed even more so now. He dominated the room by simply being here, and it wasn’t because of his position. It was the air of command he radiated. Conversations stalled and heads turned.
He scanned the room and his attention locked on her. He stopped in his tracks. His gaze slowly raked her from head to toe and back. At any other time his heated look would have made her shiver with awareness and pleasure. But not tonight. Not knowing that others thought she’d sold herself to get this job.
Yes, she was sleeping with Rand, but not because of work. It was because she thought they might be perfect life partners not convenient temporary bedmates.
“Excuse me, Patricia.” Tara forced herself to move toward Rand. Her unsteady legs had nothing to do with the obscenely high heels she’d bought to go with the knee-length dress with a longer hem in the back that swished flirtatiously as she walked.
She stopped a circumspect yard away from him. “I’ve had the bartender serve drinks and appetizers. We’re not far behind schedule. You’ll still have time to mingle. All I need is a sign from you when you’re ready for dinner to be served.”
His eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”
Had her tone given away her agitation? She made a conscious effort to blank her face. “They’re waiting to see who you’re going to fire. Let me get your drink.”
He grabbed her elbow. “Tara.”
She tugged but he didn’t release her. His long, warm fingers held tight. She could feel the eyes of the executives on them. “Don’t. Don’t touch me. Not here. Please.”
He frowned at her then shifted to stand between her and their guests, turning his back to the room and blocking her view of the executives and theirs of her. “I’ll ask again. What’s wrong?”
She hesitated, but if Rand was concerned with his credibility as CEO then he needed to know. “They know we’re living together, and they think I slept with you to get this job.”
His lips flattened into a thin line. “You knew sharing an address would cause problems.”
“Yes… No. I didn’t think it through. I didn’t expect…animosity.”
“You want me to move out?” His eyes searched hers.
If she wanted a chance with Rand, it was now or never. This opportunity wouldn’t come again. She’d lived through watching her mother fade more with each passing day. She could handle a little gossip.
Live your life without regrets, Tara.
Lifting her chin, she squared her shoulders. “No.”
“Then you have to suck it up and deal with their attitudes. You and I know the truth. We’re both profiting from this situation.” He waited until she nodded, then faced his employees. “Thank you for coming. I know you have questions. I’ll answer as many of those as I can tonight. But first I want to thank Tara. She’s put her life on hold this year for KCL.
“I recruited her and bribed her to return as part of the transition team because my father always claimed she was the best PA he’d ever had. In four short days, I’ve learned that if anything, he underestimated her worth. Tara has already become an invaluable asset to me. I place a great deal of trust in her opinions.”
