Читать книгу Bombshell For The Black Sheep - Джанис Мейнард, Janice Maynard - Страница 13

Four

Hartley felt like a sailboat with a broken mast. He was home to stay. His time away had always been temporary. But his siblings hadn’t known that, because he hadn’t told them.

He’d left Charleston in order to be a hero. To fix things. And he’d succeeded in part. All the answers to all the questions had been found, thanks to his extended visit in Europe. Ironically, those answers were too dangerous and painful to explain to Jonathan and Mazie.

Had it all been worth it? Or had he ruined his relationships for nothing? On the day after his father’s funeral, he found himself going in circles, or at the very least, becalmed.

What was he going to do with himself? If Jonathan wasn’t keen or willing to have him back at Tarleton Shipping, Hartley was lost.

His enormous home adjacent to the world-class golf resort was not him. Never had been. At least that was one thing he could change. He spent the day taking care of small maintenance issues, and then called a Realtor and set up an appointment for the following morning.

He was going to sell his house. Immediately.

Maybe he would rent something in Fiona’s neighborhood while he figured out his next step. She couldn’t help him revamp his life—that was up to him—but sharing her bed would keep him sane. If she allowed it.

By the time four thirty rolled around, he was hot and sweaty but feeling pretty damn good about himself. He jumped in the shower, humming with more enthusiasm than expertise. With the prospect of seeing Fiona tonight, he had plenty of reasons to be upbeat.

His life had taken some unexpected turns, but he would get himself back on course. His siblings were all he had. Fiona was an alluring distraction from his painful family situation. Maybe it was wrong to pursue her. Maybe it was cowardly. Because if he used her and walked away again, he knew in his gut the damage would be permanent.

It would be smarter and kinder to stay away.

Even so, at ten till six, he pulled up in front of her charming home, grabbed the gifts he had brought and locked the car. He thought he saw the edge of a curtain twitch, but maybe not.

When he knocked, she answered almost immediately. “Hi, Hartley. You’re right on time.” She was wearing a daffodil-yellow sundress that bared her shoulders and emphasized her modest breasts.

He kissed her cheek. “These are for you.”

She glanced at the label of his three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine and raised an eyebrow. “A little over-the-top for homemade spaghetti, don’t you think? What if we save it for a special occasion? I made iced tea. And there’s beer in the fridge...the kind you like.”

He was ridiculously pleased that she remembered his preferences. A tiny detail, but a good sign...he hoped. “Sounds like a plan,” he said. “Shall I put the flowers in water?” He’d brought her yellow and white roses, a summery bouquet that suited her home and her personality.

“Yes...thanks. You’ll find a vase underneath the sink.”

The conversation was stilted for two people who had seen each other naked. He wanted to say to hell with dinner and take her straight to the bedroom. “Did you have a good day painting?”

She whirled around, her eyes wide. “Why do you ask that?”

He cocked his head. “You told me you’re starting a big new project.”

“Oh.” She flushed, her gaze skating away from his. “It was fine. Beginnings are always hard.”

“Are you okay, Fee?” Now that he thought about it, she seemed pale...and nervous. She hadn’t been this skittish the first afternoon they met. At that endless wedding rehearsal.

“Of course I’m okay.” Her voice was muffled, because she had stuck her head and shoulders halfway into the fridge.

He glanced at the stove. “Do I need to turn off the heat? The spaghetti is boiling over.”

“Oh, damn.” She whirled around and rescued the pasta just in time.

He put his hands on her shoulders. “Fiona. Take a breath.”

She shrugged out of his grip and put her hands to her cheeks. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m a little nervous about having you here.”

There it was again. That raw honesty. He winced. “I can go. If that’s what you want.”

They stared at each other across the small kitchen. “No,” she said at last. “I don’t want you to go.”

Thank God. He reached for her hand and linked his fingers with hers. “I swear I’ll be on my best behavior.”

At last, she smiled at him. It was wobbly, but it was a smile. “I find that highly unlikely.” She rested her head against his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here. Really, Hartley. I am.”

His hands trembled with the urge to touch her. Coming here was wrong. He knew it. But he couldn’t walk away from her a third time. Even if all they had was sexual chemistry, he wanted to erase his past transgressions. He needed to prove he could be trusted.

“Well, that makes two of us,” he said heartily. “Now, tell me how I can help with dinner...”

Fiona was embarrassed and relieved at the same time. Hartley had taken her behavior in stride, it seemed. They consumed the simple meal and shared innocuous conversation without incident. Though she felt as if her secret was written on her face, she was clearly overreacting. There was no way for him to know the truth.

She had to get a grip.

“Let’s go to the living room,” she said when they had cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher side by side. “If you’re going to bare your soul, I want a comfy spot.”

Hartley followed her, chuckling. “I never promised that.”

She curled up on a chair that was only big enough for one. No point in tempting fate. “You don’t have to do this,” she said.

Hartley shrugged. “You’re the perfect listener. A disinterested bystander.”

Fiona’s heart sank. That wasn’t what she wanted to hear at all. Hartley hadn’t come to her tonight as a trusted confidante. She was about to be his therapist or his shrink. The distinction was painful.

She swallowed her hurt pride and reminded herself that Hartley wasn’t her Prince Charming. Never would be. “Start at the beginning,” she said.

Now he was the one to look uncomfortable. Maybe he hadn’t rehearsed what he was going to say. “Well...”

“I’ll refresh your memory,” she offered helpfully. “After the wedding, I invited you here to my house. We both knew what was going to happen. It happened three times that night, and when I woke up, you were gone.”

“Geez, Fiona. You make it sound so sleazy.” He paced restlessly.

“How would you describe it?”

“I had airline reservations for the morning after the wedding. I was supposed to be on a flight out of Charleston at 7 a.m. You were a complication I never expected. I didn’t know how to explain.”

“Ah.”

“It’s true,” he said.

She stared at him soberly. “Where were you going?”

“London first. I met with a private investigator who used to work for Interpol.”

Fiona wrinkled her nose. “I think you’ve left out some pertinent details. Why would you need a PI?”

Hartley hunched his shoulders, his expression bleak. “Two days before the wedding, I received a blackmail note.”

“Seriously?” Her skepticism was warranted, surely.

“The letter threatened to go public with a painful Tarleton family secret if I didn’t give the blackmailer a million dollars.”

“Hartley. This sounds like a spy novel.”

“What you don’t know is that my mother has been living in an inpatient mental health facility in Vermont since my siblings and I were preteens. A few people in Charleston know the truth, but not many.”

“So you decided to do what?”

“My father’s health was failing. Jonathan had been working his ass off at Tarleton Shipping, trying to keep the business afloat. My sister spent her adolescence without a mother. Our family has suffered more than our share of hard times. I didn’t want the gossip.”