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She frowned. “What then?”
“A proposition.”
Confusion replaced anger. “A proposition?” she echoed.
“I love you, Cat.”
Her pulse leapt. The right words. Too late. Oh, Lord, he’d finally used the words she’d waited night after night to hear for the last three years. Slowly she forced her fists to uncurl. “Clay—”
“Hear me out.”
She tried to harden her heart. But how could she when he stood so close? When she inhaled the same untamed scent he’d worn on their wedding day? When he moved his hands so slowly, as if in intentional seduction?
They’d been in the same room less than half an hour and already he’d tossed her emotions into a tumultuous cauldron. She should resist. Should. But a look at his implacable face, hardened jaw and drawn lips convinced her otherwise. “Okay,” she said softly, resignedly. “You’ve still got three minutes.”
“What we had was good.” When the only sounds that filled the room were the distant ringing of a phone and their combined breaths, he finally asked, “What? No argument?”
She shook her head. “What we had was good,” she agreed. “Was, Clay.”
“What happened?”
“Life,” she answered. She’d pondered that same question a hundred, a thousand, no, ten thousand times. Not a night passed that she didn’t sit in the white wicker rocking chair, pushing it with her toe as she asked herself over and over, What went wrong? “We grew in different directions. You’ve got your business. I have the store.”
She took a breath, looking him deeply in the eyes, memorizing his every nuance, wondering if this was the last time they’d ever stand this close...if this was the last time she would ever feel his once-loving arms hold her.
Catherine wasn’t a fool. She’d considered all these things before finally swallowing the past and deciding to move on to the future.
She just hadn’t realized Clay would make the finality so difficult.
“And the store’s enough for you?”
His look demanded honesty, even if his eyes shaded his true feelings. “It is for now,” she said.
“But what about at night? When you climb into bed and it’s cold? Or in the morning, when there’s no one to say hello to? Is it enough then?”
“Your five minutes are up!” Dobson called, pounding on the door.
“Tell him to go away, Cat. Or I will.”
He would. No doubt about it. “I’ll be right out,” Catherine called back.
As suddenly as he’d crossed the room and taken her shoulders in his hands, Clay released her.
Without his support, her shoulders sank forward.
“As I said, I have a proposition for you.” He pivoted and strode to the far end of the room, bracing an outstretched hand on the window frame.
He looked out for long moments, seemingly staring at nothing.
She waited.
Her pulse wasn’t as patient.
At one time she would have gone to him, skimmed her fingers up his spine. His head would have dropped forward and she would have gently worked the tension she instinctively knew resided in his shoulders.
But she could no longer lay claim to that intimacy.
She’d given up that right when she’d tearfully slipped her wedding ring into the bottom of her jewelry box.
After nearly a minute went by, he turned to face her. This time she saw vulnerability in his gaze, raw and naked. The depth of emotion etched in his eyes made her knees weak.
“Now’s not the time to have a deep discussion about what went wrong.”
“A week wouldn’t be long enough,” she whispered, fighting for strength. She smiled...falsely. She knew that it emerged weak. And that it reflected inner feelings she wanted to hide.
Clay plowed his fingers through his hair. “Then give me a month.”
“What?”
“A month, Catherine. Give me a month to prove that we’re meant to be together. A month to show you I’ve changed, that I’ll do anything it takes to have you love me again.”
He asked the impossible. It had taken her so long to find the courage to admit things weren’t and never could be magically repaired.
As for love, she’d never completely stopped loving him. But life had taught her a coldly valuable lesson she didn’t intend to forget: love wasn’t enough.
She shook her head, blinking back tears as she did.
“You don’t mean that,” he said.
Catherine discovered strength, but knew it would vanish if she didn’t draw upon it now. “I do mean no.” She blinked again. Damn, but she didn’t know a slice of pain could sting this badly. “Our relationship is over, Clay.” Shaking, she started toward the door.
When her hand closed around the knob, the quiet threat in Clay’s voice seared her like a whip.
“I’ll sue for half of your store.”
Her head fell forward, resting on the uncaring wooden door.
He couldn’t be that cruel. Yes, she knew his temper was volatile and that he could and would do nearly anything when backed into a corner. But cruelty? Never toward her.
Until now.
She closed her eyes on a fresh wave of anguish.
Owning the store had been the one dream she’d held fast to through the years. As she and Clay had slipped into being strangers under the same roof, opening her own store had taken on more and more meaning.
Right now it was self-supporting, sustaining.
But if Clay sued...
Seconds stretched to eternity.
“Don’t make me do that,” he said.
She swung around. “You don’t have to do anything,” she insisted. “Except give me my freedom.”
“That’s the one thing I won’t do willingly.”
“Damn it.” Breath eased from between her clenched teeth. “Damn you.”
His eyes narrowed fractionally. He balled his right hand into a fist.
“If you want to fight dirty, Clay, then we will.” She dashed her knuckles across tear-filled eyes, repeating a silent litany: I won’t let him make me cry. “I’ll sue for half of Landon Construction.”
“Of course.” He nodded. “But that’ll tie up our money and time for months.”
His implications rushed through her. He didn’t make idle threats. She needed her hands on her capital; she didn’t need to be enmeshed in litigation for months and months. Clay did possess the power to make her life hell. And ruin everything she’d fought to gain.
“You’re impossible.”
“Yep.”
Dropping her damp hand, she quietly said, “Don’t play games.”
“No games.” He raised his left hand. “I’m making you an offer. I’ll leave your shop alone and give you half of Landon Construction—”
“If I give you a month.”
“That’s a hell of an investment, Cat,” Clay said softly. “A few hundred grand, maybe more, free and clear, for thirty days of your time. Catherine’s Den of Antiquity would be the best with that kind of money. And you wouldn’t have to give me a dime. Think about it.”
She allowed the door to take the weight of her shoulders. Lord knew she couldn’t support herself with her thoughts spinning like this.
“Come away with me. We’ll go to the cabin. Get to know each other.” He stared at her intently. “Again.”
She blushed. The way he was looking at her meant he had only one thing on his mind.
“Let’s find out if we’re still good together.” He took a step toward her.
She stood straighter, wishing she had someplace to retreat. Struggling for survival, she said, “Having good sex doesn’t mean anything.”
“Great sex,” Clay corrected.
“Great sex?” she echoed. “It’s been so long—”
“Let’s change that.” With a few strides he demolished the distance separating them.
Thick carpeting muffled his footsteps, but the sound of her thudding heart filled the air.
“Clay,” she breathed as his callused thumb brushed a curled strand of hair from her cheek.
He leaned closer. Then stroked the column of her throat with his thumb and forefinger.
Softly she cursed him.
She was lost.
As he’d known she would be.
Tears threatened again. He eased back up her throat, thumb hovering near the thundering pulse point.
“Give me a month, Cat. Then you can have your freedom.” He touched the pulse point then. “If you still want it.”
He snared her wrists in one hand and drew her a few inches away from the door. With his free hand he began plucking bobby pins from her hair.
The first floated toward the floor.
Followed by the second.
His fingers on her scalp felt so wonderful, so captivating. So enticing.
Catherine issued a reminder to herself to keep her heart hidden from Clay’s purposeful intent. She might never have stopped loving him, but he’d stopped loving her.
He tossed the final bobby pin. It clinked on top of the others.
Never releasing her gaze, he shook her hair, fluffing it.
“Feel better?”
“Yes,” she answered, before realizing how much she’d given away.
“And this suit...” He fingered the top button of her blouse. “Cat, you’re made for flowing dresses and short shorts, not uptight suits.”
“Clay, stop.” Rationally she told herself this was as threatening as his earlier words. And in the end she would be hurt just the same, maybe worse.
But in his usual way he’d trapped her as surely as he had any opponent. No way out existed, except his.
She couldn’t believe she was actually considering accepting his ridiculous proposition. A month in seclusion, at the small Rocky Mountain cabin his father had purchased, the same cabin Clay said he’d intended to use as a retreat. And never had.
Alone.
Clay at his seductive best? She didn’t know if she possessed the wherewithal to resist. “Don’t do this to me, Clay. Please.”
“Don’t do this to us,” he countered.
One of the lawyers pounded on the door again.
Clay clicked the lock into place. Then, before she recovered her equilibrium, he returned to her.
“If you walk away at the end of a month, I’ll give you your damned divorce. And the money. No questions asked.”
