Читать книгу Can't Fight This Feeling - Christie Ridgway - Страница 10
ОглавлениеBRETT RESISTED THE urge to watch Angelica walk off and instead turned to his truck, parked just a few feet away. Apology made, apology accepted and that should be enough to put her from his mind forever.
The breeze picked up as he fumbled with his keys. Autumn was doing its thing in the mountains. Warm sun, cool air, both energizing, and he should be looking forward to a day of vigorous outdoor work. Instead, he felt as if a weight was tugging him down.
We’ll likely never see each other again.
It had nothing to do with that.
The door unlocked, he jerked it open. The tall pile of paperwork he’d forgotten he’d set on the driver’s seat when he had exited the car began to slide off the cracked vinyl. He lunged for it, just as a rough, rogue gust caught at the sheets and sent them swirling. They flew about in the air, some behind the truck, some above the truck, some somersaulting like tumbleweeds along the asphalt in every direction as the wind blew.
He swore out loud and tried corralling the mass by stomping on the sheets near his feet and trapping others against his body. No way was he going to collect them all, he thought on a groan, snatching another that flew past his head. This was going to be a bookkeeping disaster.
Then, he glimpsed a figure in the periphery of his vision. He turned his head to see Angelica dashing about the scene, gathering up the errant documents. He allowed himself one second—okay, two—to admire her upturned ass when she bent over, then he continued on with his own search and seizure.
Several minutes later, the crisis seemed to have passed. When he turned in a 360, he couldn’t see any more fleeing papers. Angelica came toward him, her hair messy and her cheeks flushed, a mass of invoices and handwritten notes clasped against her chest. “I think we might have gotten them all.”
His own arms were full. “A good portion, anyway.” With his toe, he pushed on the lever that folded the driver’s seat forward and then stowed what he held on the narrow rear seat. Turning to Angelica, he said, “Let me take those.”
“I’ve got it.” She shuffled forward. “You stand behind me and block the wind while I set them down.”
He pivoted and she half turned to sidestep into the narrow space he created between his body and the truck. The wind picked up again, tossing her hair so it slid across his face in a silky caress. It smelled amazing and he instinctively moved closer, blocking the breeze and also blocking her in.
She set down her stack, then moved back, her behind meeting his groin. At the contact, she froze.
He told himself not to bury his face in her hair. He told himself not to slide an arm around her waist and pull her closer.
So he didn’t do either of those things.
But he also didn’t step away. Which meant that when she spun around, they were face-to-face. Chest to chest. If he bent his head, they’d be mouth to mouth.
They stared at each other and all he could think about was how damn beautiful she was. It was the face of a heartbreaker, with fine-grained, golden-tinted skin and large eyes framed by sooty lashes. The lush mouth was maddening.
Tempting.
She put her hand over his heart, attempting to push him back.
The thrust didn’t rock him. He covered her fingers with his, then frowned at how chilled they were. “You’re cold.”
“A little,” she admitted. This time, when she shoved at him, he retreated, though he still had her hand.
“Let me buy you a hot chocolate,” he said. Her cool skin, that killer face... It compelled him to offer her warmth. Sweetness.
She hesitated.
Her reluctance twisted something inside him. Did she consider him not good enough for her? He let go her hand. “You can still have a nice life,” he muttered. “Just after the damn drink.”
Then he ground his back teeth, instantly regretting his harsh tone. Why the hell was he like this around her? She put up his hackles. Made him feel prickly and irritable.
He was never the most genial of fellows, but he was actually considered by some women to be charming. No charm for her, though. No wonder she didn’t want to spend another minute around him.
“Never mind,” he said, making to climb into the truck. “Sorry.”
This time it was she who grabbed his elbow. “I’d like that. The hot chocolate.”
He blew out his breath, waiting a long moment to see if she’d change her mind. When she continued to stand there, he shut the vehicle’s door and pointed toward the corner. “Oscar’s Coffee.”
Inside the small shop were picnic tables painted a soft yellow. Brett directed her to one as he went to retrieve the beverages. He said yes to whipped cream and dark chocolate shavings without asking her.
Her gaze brightened when he put the oversize ceramic mug with its peak of fluffy stuff in front of her. “Yay. You got me the extras.”
“I don’t believe for a second you’re one of those women who denies herself. I’ve smelled the cookies you bake.”
She eyed his beverage, which was exactly the same as hers. “And here I expected you to order a cup of dark and bitter brew for yourself.”
“I like my sweets, too.”
“But not my cookies.”
He refused to squirm on the bench. For months every instinct had warned him against getting “cookies” close. Those instincts were still clamoring at him even now, but she must have entranced him with those warm, melted-chocolate eyes.
Her hands surrounding the cup, she delicately sipped her drink. Then she set it down and licked at the cream on the top of her lip.
He told himself the little action didn’t make him hard, but that was a lie. Clearing his throat, he attempted to think of something else. “Fund-raisers, huh?”
She glanced up.
“You told Mac about the one for the historical society.”
“Oh. Right.” Lifting her cup, she delicately blew on the liquid surface she’d revealed with her last sip.
Her pursed lips didn’t do anything to ease his tight muscles. “You learn how to do that in school?” he asked.
“Plan fund-raisers?” At his nod, she shook her head. “I was actually an international finance major in college. I had the mistaken idea that studying the subject might win my father’s approval and that he’d then bring me into his business.”
Somewhere along the line, Brett had learned her father was a well-known and wildly successful hedge-fund manager, whatever the hell that was. “But he dashed your hopes?”
“All for the best,” she said, waving a hand and directing her gaze back to her drink. “I’m not suited for that kind of risk, and it turns out I like to keep myself busy with more tangible activities.”
“I have a degree in landscape architecture,” he heard himself say. “But I can’t stand being cooped up in an office for so much of the day, sitting at a desk. So I don’t design landscapes as much as put my hands on them.”
She looked up, her eyes widening. “Oh.”
His voice turned dry. “Not quite the uneducated country bumpkin you thought, huh, uptown girl?”
Her brows slammed together. “It wasn’t that. I was surprised you managed to share three sentences about yourself.”
God, there he went again. If he could manage it, he’d kick his own ass. “I—”
“And that we might actually have something in common.”
That shut him up. All he’d been doing since the moment he’d caught sight of her the very first time was telling himself they were opposites in every—wrong—way. He’d used that thought as a wedge, a shield, an impenetrable wall that prevented him from eating her cookies, from asking her out to dinner and from doing what he really, ultimately wanted—taking her into his bed.
He rubbed his hand over his hair, aware she was studying him. Suppressing the urge to touch his scars, he wondered what she thought of them. What she’d think if she knew that he liked them as a reminder of important lessons learned.
“So...” she said now, a thread of amusement in her voice. “That’s quite a filing system you have.”
Glancing up, he enjoyed the way her small smile curved her lips. “You’d think six years in the army would have drilled organization into my marrow, but the minute I got out, I went back to sloppy paperwork.”
“You were in the service?”
“Tenth Army Mountain Division.”
“Mountain,” she said. “That must have significance.”
“It was formed during World War II for warfare in the Alps. The civilian ski patrol was used for recruiting purposes, and they found soldiers on the slopes and in ski clubs all over the States. Those same soldiers developed skiing as a vacation industry after the war.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Now you do.” He sipped at his chocolate. “Our grandfathers came back and laid out the ski runs and designed the lifts and operated the ski schools that this area became known for. So when mountain kids join up, the Tenth is tradition.”
“Where were you stationed?”
“Fort Drum, New York. But I spent time in Florida and a year in Afghanistan.” Just saying the word brought the whop-whop sound of choppers into his head, the taste of red dust to his tongue, the pungent scent and the oily feel of blood onto his skin. Pushing it from his mind, he rubbed his hand over his hair and switched subjects. “When my time was up, I was ready to come home.”
“No career as a military man for you?”
He shook his head. “I wanted to get away for a while, save some money. But my life is here in my mountains with my family. So I started my business, thus giving birth to my really lousy filing system.”
“You can get help for that, you know.”
“Yeah. And I’ll have to hire someone and a crew eventually, after I sweat out a bit more of my restlessness and start soliciting design work. Maybe next year.”
“Until then, paper chaos.”
He shrugged. “I had a part-timer working in my office at the end of the summer. But then high school started and she’s much too busy for me now.”
At her raised brow, he added a little more. “Kid’s a whiz with just about everything. She’s my sister Shay’s stepdaughter-to-be.”
“Your sister’s getting married?”
“Two out of the three of them. Both Shay and Poppy.”
She opened her mouth, but he pointed at it before she could get a word out. “Don’t ask me a damn thing about the weddings. I make it my job not to absorb a word they say about them.”
“You don’t approve?”
“The men they’re marrying, Ryan and Jace, are great. It’s the constant chatter about dresses, rehearsals and seating arrangements that make me want to bash my brains in with a shovel.”
“Something else we have in common. I’m not a big fan of weddings, either.”
Okay, now she surprised him.
“Don’t look so shocked. Not every woman dreams of that big day. Between them, my parents have been married seven times. For all but the first, of course, I’ve been standing by in something itchy or ugly, pretending I believe they’ll have a happy-ever-after.”
“Seven divorces then?”
“Six. My mother’s still married to her current, though I doubt they’ll last.” She gave a little shrug.
The small, indifferent gesture felt like a punch to the gut. For some reason he’d assumed she was like his little sister Poppy, who walked through life with stars in her eyes. She wore her open heart and her belief in happy endings right there on her sleeve.
But Angelica had a more jaded view and it wasn’t sitting well with him. Just as he’d felt compelled to chase away her chilled hands with hot chocolate, now he wanted to gather her up and soothe those old hurts he sensed.
It was a damn dangerous urge, because going soft for a woman was a sure way to get himself crushed.
Had that T-shirt.
Brett looked down at the table. Their cups were drained, meaning it was time to move on and move her out of his life. He hitched back his chair and she immediately took the hint and rose from her own. He stood, too, and they were close enough that if he had all the time in the world he could count each one of her luxurious lashes.
We’ll likely never see each other again.
With that in mind, maybe he could kiss her.
His hand drifted toward her. He snagged an errant lock of hair with his forefinger and brushed it away from her cheek. Her color heightened and he saw her fight a shiver—and lose.
Hell. He closed his eyes a moment, willing himself to keep still. But her visceral response to his touch only made him want more...more access to her hair, her skin, her body. More opportunities to watch her react to his hands on her, his mouth on hers...
Opening his eyes, he saw she was staring at his shirt buttons, hard. Her fingers were curled into fists and as he watched, she swallowed. “Time to go,” she said.
Neither of them moved. That weight was back, anchoring him to the floor, slowing his heartbeat to a funeral dirge. “Yeah.”
“Yeah.” She edged back, now far enough away that it would take effort to claim that kiss he shouldn’t be thinking of. Smart girl.
He cleared his throat. “That ghastly pile of paperwork is waiting for me.”
She glanced up. Their gazes caught. “You know, maybe I could...” Her voice trailed off.
The sentence didn’t need to be finished for him to understand the half-spoken offer. And why she’d stopped herself. Unless they went separate ways, their certain collision wouldn’t end pretty. Yes, a very smart girl.
“No,” he said. “You’re not suited for that kind of risk, either.”
Brett might as well have been saying those words about himself.
* * *
ANGELICA WALKED WITH Glory from the parking lot to the headquarters, and museum, of the Mountain Historical Society. It was a stucco bungalow seated among tall pines and partnered by the blacktop parking area made bumpy by roots that had caused deep ruts and sudden swells. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be very much fun this evening,” she warned her friend. “I should have stayed home.”
The darkness was barely alleviated by a lone dim light on a tall pole, but she didn’t need to see Glory’s face to know the other woman sympathized. “Another call from the lawyers?”
“Yes. Any day now, they say, the word will get out.” While she had nothing to do with her father’s perfidy, she still felt terrible about it. And, to be honest, felt terrible for herself. Terribly alone. She sighed.
Glory linked arms with her. “It’s good for you to do something besides mope. You need more work and making contacts is the right way to find it. You’ll get better acquainted with people and then who knows what might come up?”
Though the auction wrap-up meeting was open to the general membership, Angelica didn’t expect many besides the committee members would bother to attend. It looked as though she was right. When she gazed about the conference table, the only one there who hadn’t been directly involved was Vaughn Elliott—whose grandfather had donated his mountain home’s contents to the group.
They’d made over a million dollars from the silent sales.
Angelica stared as the committee chair, Ruth Nagel, made the announcement. The older woman could hardly contain her excitement. “I think Piney is our good luck charm!”
They all glanced through the open doorway to the lobby, where a seven-foot stuffed bear loomed over the welcome desk. It had been part of the Elliott estate, but they’d unanimously decided to keep it as the society’s mascot of sorts.
“Maybe we should be grateful to Angelica, too,” Glory put in. “It was she who curated the items, providing context and provenance whenever possible.”
Ruth beamed and toasted her with her foam cup of terrible coffee. “Thank you, Angelica.”
She waved the gratitude away, though she did appreciate it. Glory had cajoled her onto the committee early in their friendship and she’d enjoyed the work she’d put in. It had been interesting to catalog the historical items, everything from exquisite furniture to antique sets of golf clubs to a beautiful world globe inlaid with abalone shell.
“Maybe we should contact the buyers and get them to write up testimonials we can put in next year’s program,” Vaughn Elliott said. About thirty, he was tall and golden-haired and maybe with a trust fund or something because Angelica didn’t get the impression he worked for a living. “I’d be happy to take that on if you’d give me the list of names.”
“Can’t do it,” Ruth said. “That’s confidential info...something the lawyers insisted upon. Anyway, next year we won’t be having an auction—just a big black-tie event. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Vaughn nodded, seeming satisfied. “I’m sure my grandfather, wherever he is, is thrilled by the value of his gift.”
There was little more to cover. Each of them made promises to write up their thoughts and ideas for improvements for the coming year’s committee. “Though we would love all of you to continue,” Ruth said. When several people murmured an assent, her gaze zeroed in on Angelica. “Please say you’ll be helping again.”
She hedged. “I’m not sure of my long-term plans.” But under the circumstances staying in the mountains would suit her best. She had familiarity, a friend or two, and it would keep her hidden away from the financial media. “But right now I’m still able to work my weekly shifts.” The tasks weren’t rigorous, but helping with the database and creating packets for new members was a good way to keep busy.
Short minutes later, the meeting adjourned. Vaughn walked her and Glory to their cars. “I still think the members would like to hear from the auction winners,” he said, sounding a bit peeved. “Ruth is too worried about keeping that list sacrosanct. Any way you can get your hands on it?”
“Nope,” Glory answered, digging through her purse. “I think only the executive board or maybe just the president has access.”
Angelica didn’t say that she, actually, did know the password to all the files and thus had access. When updating the member roster, she’d noticed the other list was in the same directory.
Vaughn wandered off to his own car, a pricey SUV that looked like an overmuscled panther. Angelica frowned at her little convertible, wondering if she could trade it for something more practical for winter in the mountains and if doing so would require any cash outlay.
“Ready?” Glory said. “We agreed on Mr. Frank’s, right?”
“That was your idea. I told you I wasn’t sure.”
“C’mon,” Glory cajoled. “It’s ladies’ night. The drinks are really cheap.”
“I don’t know. In my mood I might get sloppy drunk and make a fool of myself.”
“No, you won’t.” Glory snatched Angelica’s purse from her hand and fished out her keys, too. “Because you have a higher purpose.”
“What’s that?” She eyed her friend. “Tonight, getting sloppy drunk might be the higher purpose.”
Glory grabbed Angelica’s hand and slapped her keys into her palm. “What did I already tell you? Once you get more acquainted with people, who knows what might come up?”
Angelica had to admit it was at least some kind of plan. She had a life to form for herself. Hunkering down in her room at the Bluebird with its clunky television and four available channels was no way to network. So, on a sigh, she turned to her car and, once behind the wheel, followed Glory to the restaurant they’d agreed upon, just outside of the village of Blue Arrow Lake.
“This is a locals’ hangout,” Glory said as they approached the door of Mr. Frank’s. “Red vinyl booths, bar straight out of the 1950s. No blenders on the premises...so you have to take your hard booze on the rocks or not at all. No trendy cocktail orders. Got it?”
Angelica held open the heavily carved door for her friend. “I’ll resist my urge to ask for a mango-kale daiquiri.”
“Still,” Glory said, taking her by the arm to lead her toward the dimly lit but clearly crowded lounge, “it’s very popular on ladies’ night. Everybody will be here... We’ll make sure you meet at least some of them.”
They found stools on the short end of the L-shaped bar. A heavyset man in white shirtsleeves and a red vest slapped napkin squares in front of them. He glared at Glory. “I remember what you asked for last time and the answer is still no. I won’t make anything with the ridiculous name of—of—” His face turned red and he broke off. “You’re getting a beer.”
She winked at Angelica and leaned close to whisper. “I invent names of drinks just to embarrass him—last time it was ‘climax on a cloud.’ He’s an old friend of my dad’s.”
“You?” the bartender growled at Angelica.
She folded her hands on the bar like a perfect student. “Chardonnay, please.”
He shot her a glance of approval before going about fulfilling their orders. “You new around here?” he asked, placing the generous pour in front of her.
Glory spoke before she could. “This is my friend Angelica Rodriguez. She’s seeking work, if you hear of anyone who needs help. She’s part-time at the store and I can give her a glowing recommendation.”
He ran an assessing gaze over Angelica. “Has a flatlander look about her.”
Angelica bit her lip. She knew the word was synonymous with other to the people who lived full-time in the mountains.
“Yep,” Glory said, waving a hand. “But she’s up the hill now and wants to stay that way.”
Angelica busied herself with her wine as an excuse not to watch the man’s reaction. Too much was at stake.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” the bartender said, and she glanced up. He winked at her. “I can pass the word.”
“Thank you.” Angelica decided she’d leave him a huge tip, no matter the slim state of her wallet. “I appreciate your kindness.”
He double tapped the bar with the flat of his hand and then turned to obey the summons of another customer. Glory glanced around the crowd, not bothering to pretend she wasn’t checking out the clientele. “Like I said, it’s popular here on ladies’ night.”
Angelica made a more surreptitious examination. There was warm laughter and a convivial, community feel with people grouped mostly in threes and fives and sixes. Because of that, a couple huddled close in a cozy booth caught her eye. The man was turned from her so she only saw his expertly cut black hair and wide shoulders. All his attention was focused on the slender blonde beside him who was obviously in full-on flirt. A little smile playing on her lips, she was gazing up at him through her lashes.
The big diamond engagement ring on her left finger flashed in the light from the candle on their table. A sudden pang of envy made Angelica rub at the spot over her heart. She hadn’t lied to Brett. Weddings didn’t make her go spontaneously squishy. Still, looking at those two, so wrapped up in each other...it was lovely. So lovely she felt the sting of tears in her eyes.
Quickly, she looked away, embarrassed by the effect they had on her. Loneliness was to blame, she decided. Uncertainty. The fact that her foundation had swept away from beneath her feet.
“Ugh,” Glory said, turning from her perusal of the bar to hunch around her beer.
“What?”
“My dad’s here.” She grabbed Angelica’s elbow. “Don’t look! He’ll see us and come over.”
Angelica laughed because she liked Glory’s dad. He was solid and friendly and had never cheated a soul—you knew it by looking at him. “What’s the matter? Does he know you stayed out past curfew last night?”
“I wish,” Glory grumbled. Her lack of a love life was the subject of much lamenting. “There’s nobody to get naughty with. By the time I was twenty, I’d dated every decent boy in the area. And every smart girl around here knows to keep her distance from flatlanders.”
“Glory, you didn’t stay away from me,” Angelica pointed out.
“I know. We just hit it off from the first. But it’s also different because you’re another woman.”
“Still—”
“We’ve had this argument before,” her friend said, cutting in. “It comes down to this. Unless a man lives permanently in the mountains, I’m not risking heartbreak by even giving him the time of day. I’m this generation’s face of Hallett Hardware, which means I’ll be behind the register until the day I give the keys to my son or daughter. No sense falling for some dude whose life is a long distance away.”
Angelica sighed, but could hardly blame her friend for her practical outlook. When her dad had retired, only-child Glory had been given the reins to the store. It was expected she would hold them until she passed them on.
If Angelica had a place like this where she belonged, among people she’d known all her life, who watched out for her and who’d have her back no matter what—well, she’d be careful not to jeopardize that either by falling for the wrong person.
That kind of stability was what she wanted. What she’d always wanted. Close family. Trustworthy friends. A place where she could sink her roots deep.
Glancing over her shoulder, she cast another look at the happy couple. Some people had it easy. They found their partner and their place without effort. Those two had probably recognized each other by matching glows and then gracefully—and gratefully—given in to the inevitable.
Her body seized as a familiar figure strode up to the couple’s table.
Brett Walker interrupted the pair’s intimate conversation without hesitation. He lightly cuffed the back of the man’s head and when he shifted, leaned around the other guy to buss the blonde on the cheek. She bounced on her seat and pointed at a free space on the curved banquette.
When he slipped onto the cushion, Angelica told herself to look away. But her gaze refused to budge because he was actually smiling at the woman, a real smile, a free smile, that looked relaxed and warm. Everything he wasn’t in Angelica’s presence.
Then the blonde made a gesture toward the bar and it was clear what would happen next. Brett would make his way there to pick up a drink and he’d see Angelica and...
She didn’t know what would happen. She only knew she had to get away before he caught sight of her.
Murmuring something about the ladies’ room to Glory, she slid off her stool and scurried in what she hoped was the right direction. A doorway led her to a darkened hall that didn’t lead to restrooms, but instead a solid door with a sign that read Emergency Exit Only. Alarm Will Sound When Opened.
She approached it anyway, with some vague idea of hiding in the shadows there until...sometime when she felt it was safe enough to return to the bar.
Behind her back, a man called her name. “Angelica?”
Her eyes closed. Of course Brett had seen her escape. “Um...yeah?”
The rug muffled his footsteps, but she sensed his approach. The hairs on the back of her neck jumped to attention. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Can’t a woman have a little alone time?” she snapped out, without turning toward him.
She didn’t need to see him to sense the rising of one of his eyebrows. “Hiding by the back door?”
With a shrug, she tried to indicate nonchalance instead of idiocy.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, his voice low.
“Of course not!” She glanced over her shoulder to see him rub his palm over his hair, his expression frustrated. “Why’d you follow me?”
“I—”
“Never mind. I’m leaving.” But she did nothing more than turn to face him.
“What are you doing here, anyway? This doesn’t seem your kind of place.”
She was supposed to be networking, she remembered. Making contacts in hopes of finding another job. Because she was without family, without a home, without more than a few dollars to her name.
Suddenly, it was too much. Overwhelmed by her situation, overstimulated by the presence of the man she’d been attracted to for months, she felt another upwelling of those useless tears. Angry at her herself, she dashed them away with the edge of her hand.
“Angelica.” Then he was close. Closer than when they’d been saying goodbye at the coffee place the other day. Closer than ever before. She felt his breath on her temple and his body heat made her own skin prickle.
His fingers gripped her chin to tilt her face to his. Then he groaned, the sound frustrated. Resigned.
“This is a bad idea,” he murmured.
And before she could agree, because having his hands on her was terrible, he kissed her.
His lips were hard, his tongue insistent. She opened for him—there seemed no alternative—and he swept inside in the same way he swept away all her sensible thoughts. Her fingers clutched his biceps and they swelled under her touch.
His head tilted, and the kiss went deeper. Her tongue slid along his, and they both shuddered. He crowded her until she stepped back, her shoulder blades to the wall. That didn’t stop him, he just kept pressing into her and instead of being nervous of his big, masculine frame surrounding her smaller one, she only felt...turned on.
And, strangely safe.
One arm curled around his neck and she tilted her hips, the jut of his sex against her belly. His hands clutched at her hair and he pushed into her, harder, and then...
He tore his mouth from hers. Stepped back.
“Bad idea,” he muttered again, and was gone.
Angelica sagged against the wall, struggling to bring her breathing under control. Her fingers shook when she brought them to her lips, which felt both bruised and scorched.
A hysterical giggle tried to climb up her throat. She thought of what she and Brett had done. What Glory had said.
Once you get more acquainted with people, who knows what might come up?
A little one-on-one with Brett Walker was probably not what her friend had in mind.
