Читать книгу Christmas at the Cove - Rachel Brimble - Страница 12
ОглавлениеTHE CHRISTIE HOTEL was wonderfully, quintessentially English. As a lifelong lover of all things Agatha Christie, Carrie had fallen in love the moment she walked into the Art Deco lobby earlier that evening. Unable to resist her producer’s habit of people-watching, she’d happily taken the key from the receptionist, dumped her case—after a little squeal of nostalgic satisfaction at the bedroom’s decor—and hurried back downstairs.
Now, as she stood in the hotel’s lobby, she released her held breath on an appreciative sigh. A gorgeous ruby-red carpet stretched out in front of her, leading to the closed beveled-glass, creamy-white doors of the bar at the far end. On either side of her, dual chairs were placed around low tables where people sat and chatted over a glass of wine or brandy. Plinths holding huge floral cascades of every imaginable color boosted the décor, the gilded mirrors reflecting the light in prisms around the vast space.
When her gaze travelled the height and breadth of the gloriously lit Christmas tree in the very center of the lobby, all thoughts of the dreaded task of tracking down Scott momentarily vanished. As she wandered closer, Carrie delighted in the exquisite 1930s ornaments and trinkets overflowing from its branches. She smiled, wishing for a sleek satin evening gown, and strolled toward the bar.
Despite being a habitual single-bottle-of-beer kind of girl, tonight she’d order a dry martini, just for the hell of it.
She slid onto a vacant barstool. The bartender, dressed in a black tuxedo, white dress shirt and bow tie, was young, good-looking and currently serving an elderly couple at the end of the bar. Carrie couldn’t wipe her smile as she stared around the room. The subtle light emanating from old-fashioned lanterns cast the intimate space in a soft amber glow; the dark wood paneling, bar and stools added warmth and security. The open-topped, pristine-white piano in the far corner was the cherry to her visual cake. Heavenly.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
The bartender’s gaze darted in quick time from her face to the V of her sweater, but Carrie shook off the threat of annoyance, determined to wallow in the beauty surrounding her awhile longer. She forced a friendly smile. “Hi. Could I have a dry martini, please?”
His green eyes glinted with flirtation. “Coming right up.”
While he mixed her drink, Carrie swiveled around on her seat, her imagination on perpetual overdrive. Each and every person relaxing in the bar served as a potential character in a future TV project.
“One martini, as requested.”
She dragged her gaze from a man nearing eighty, and the woman on his arm who looked barely out of college, to face the bartender. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He grinned and the glint in his eyes grew brighter.
Carrie lifted the elegant cocktail glass and took a delicate sip. “Mmm...that’s lovely. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. So...” He planted his hands on the bar and leaned closer. “Are you in the Cove visiting family for the holidays?”
She slowly replaced her glass on its coaster as wariness skittered over her skin. The less people knew about her, the easier her escape from Templeton would be. She cleared her throat and concentrated on the olive in her drink. “I’m hoping to catch up with an acquaintance. I don’t plan on being here for Christmas.”
“I see.”
She met his eyes and he lifted an eyebrow, his intense gaze roaming over her face. “Does this acquaintance know you’re here?”
She shook her head. “It’s a surprise.”
“A man, by any chance?”
Is that really any of your business? Carrie nodded. “Uh-huh.”
Disappointment flickered across his face. “Damn, that’s my hopes dashed, then.”
Carrie laughed and wiggled her left hand, showing him her wedding band, hoping the bartender would change the subject. No such luck.
“Ah, okay. Is the person you’re visiting anyone I might know?”
The lighter tone of his voice indicated his cooling flirtation as he wandered a few feet away and took some discarded glasses from the bar to stack in the washer. Feeling suddenly indecisive, Carrie studied his profile as he concentrated on his task. Her intention had been to spend an hour soaking up the nostalgic atmosphere and then head to bed so she was as refreshed as possible in the morning to start her task of finding Scott. However, putting out feelers on who he was today could prove useful.
Deciding this was too good an opportunity to waste, she sipped her drink and contemplated her next move. She guessed the bartender to be in his early twenties, probably five or six years younger than Scott. The likelihood they hung out in the same bar or place was highly probable. She hesitated. Of course, there could be trouble if the bartender saw Scott before Carrie did. Scott’s knowing she was in town and asking questions about him could easily start things off on completely the wrong foot.
She inhaled a long breath and took a leap of faith. “His name’s Scott.”
“Scott who?”
“Walker.”
Interest piqued in his gaze and he gave a slow, knowing smile. “Right.”
A flash of irritation rippled through her and Carrie quickly quashed it. How could she get mad at the implication she was a woman chasing after a past lover if in reality that’s exactly what she was? She lowered her glass. “Do you know him?”
He slammed the washer door and flicked a switch. The muted rush of running water flowed between them. He smiled and stood directly in front of her. “You know, there isn’t a woman this side of Templeton who doesn’t keep tabs on Scott. You’ll have to fight to get to the front of the queue. Not that I’ve known the guy to ever get involved with a married woman.”
Carrie glared. “And neither would I have an affair.”
The barman at least had the decency to blush. “Right. Sorry.”
“I assume you’re telling me our mutual friend likes the ladies...as long as they’re single, right?”
He grinned. “I think it’s more of a case of the ladies liking Scott, but the guy’s only human and he doesn’t turn down a good time.”
Carrie fought a scowl as her stomach knotted with unmistakable disappointment. So Scott was the man she really hoped he wouldn’t be...a man who loved them and left them. A man who most likely hadn’t lingered over their week together as she had. How could she have thought anything other than sex was on his mind during the passionate, frenzied, entirely erotic time they spent together? How could she have been so stupid to even contemplate the possibility there could have been more between them?
She swallowed. “How well do you know him?”
He shrugged. “Well enough.”
“So his reputation precedes him?”
“Something like that.”
Irritation hummed through Carrie as she took another fortifying sip of her martini. So the man who fathered her child was a player. Perfect. Despite giving herself to him on a plate three years ago, a small part of her still wanted to believe she had Scott all wrong and their time together was as much a life-changing moment for him as it was her.
Had she imagined the soft fascination she’d seen in his eyes when he looked at her? Had she really been wrong in assuming there was nowhere else he’d rather be than with her...just as she had felt about him?
Shame infused her and Carrie inhaled a deep breath, dragging up her unending tenacity. Everything would work out for the best. Belle’s beautiful face filled her mind’s eye. It had to.
She studied the bartender as he moved back and forth behind the bar, and narrowed her eyes. She cleared her throat. “So, Scott is still in Templeton?”
He came toward her and planted his hands on the bar. “If we’re talking about Scott Walker with dark hair, works out, has a smile that makes women weak at the damn knees because he’s got that whole miserable, broody thing going on...”
Carrie smiled. “Yep, that sounds like him.”
The bartender grinned. “So, you go in for misery rather than mirth, huh?”
“I’m not in for either right now. I’m in town for a few days, so I thought I’d look him up.” Carrie struggled to retain an aloof facade as her knee bounced out of control against the bar. “It’s been a while since I last saw him.”
He whipped a cloth from the waistband of his trousers and slapped it onto the bar. “Well, I might be reading things wrong here, but from where I’m standing, Scott Walker’s the only guy around here confident enough to let a woman as beautiful as you slip through his fingers, that’s for sure.”
She lowered her eyes. “Maybe.”
“Hey.”
She looked up. “What?”
The bartender’s teasing expression softened. “He’s a good guy. Scott’s just not interested in settling down, and he makes sure he doesn’t ever lead a woman on to think otherwise. He’s one of the good guys.”
Carrie nodded, fighting the urge to spit feathers. This guy actually sounded in awe of a bona fide womanizer.
“Nope. Despite his reluctance to get involved, I’ve never seen Scott treat women with anything but kindness and respect.” He winked. “If it makes you feel better, I’m sure he’ll be more than pleased to see you. I haven’t seen him with a woman for a while. He must be getting kind of lonely.”
The ill-disguised innuendo in his tone set Carrie’s teeth on edge. “Didn’t I just show you my wedding band?”
“Sure, but who wouldn’t want you turning up the week before Christmas, looking pretty enough to decorate their tree?”
Carrie glared. “I’m not here for some grandiose idea of an illicit affair. He’s...a work associate, that’s all.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”
She held his gaze. “Really.”
He studied her for a moment longer before he shrugged. “If you say so.”
Frustration and the need to stick the guy in the eye with a needle hummed through her, so Carrie took a deep breath and glanced around the bar. “So...do you know where I can find the town’s Casanova, by any chance?”
“Where he always is. He’ll be working at the shop tomorrow. I suspect he’ll be there right up to Christmas Eve. He’s a hardworking guy.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “But if he’s a work associate, shouldn’t you already know that?”
Carrie glowered. “Fine, I lied. So, what’s the shop?”
“The garage on Stiller Street. It’s his. He owns it.” He moved along the bar to serve a businessman scowling at a bottle of Scotch behind the bar like it was a mirage in the middle of the desert. “Yes, sir. What can I get you?”
Carrie studied the bartender through narrowed lids. Decorate his tree? Pleased to see me? Well, no doubt she’d soon obliterate Scott Walker’s love-’em-and-leave-’em lifestyle the minute she told him about Belle. It seemed her daughter’s biological father was about as ready to be a daddy as Santa Claus was to go on a diet.
Picking up her glass, Carrie finished the martini in a single gulp and winced against the rush of liquor. The need to flee home pulsed through her but she tamped it down. She had to find Scott or else the perpetual cloak of guilt she wore for keeping Belle a secret from him would never be discarded. How could she face Belle’s inevitable questions about her father in the future without knowing she’d done her utmost to involve him in her life?
At least the bartender’s words had lessened her fear of being as attracted to Scott today as she was when they met. Time and experience had changed Carrie in the last three years and there was little chance of her to succumbing again to a pair of deep blue eyes and a body like brick.
She stood. She’d go to bed and pray for Scott’s disinterest in both her and Belle. That would be the best Christmas present she could ask for. Tomorrow, she’d track down his garage on Stiller Street and face Scott head on. Tell him about Belle and if his attitude was as vile as she suspected it would be, she wouldn’t even have to suggest they find a mutually satisfying way of taking their parenting forward. Belle was her priority and Carrie had no interest in exposing her to some Lothario who had zero interest in being a daddy.
If he didn’t want anything to do with Belle, so be it. She hadn’t returned to Templeton on a witch-hunt.
She placed some cash from her purse onto the bar and left, renewed determination echoing in every click of her high-heeled boots against marble.
* * *
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Scott winced as the wrench he held slipped from his grasp and scraped roughly across the knuckles of his other hand, splitting his skin wide open. “Goddamn it.”
The metal tool clattered to the darkened pit floor and he kicked it against the wall in frustration. It was barely lunchtime and his concentration was shot. Snatching a rag from the car’s engine, he wrapped it around the wound and glared at the underside of the car suspended above him. How the hell was he supposed to get any work done when nothing but a blond-haired woman with the sexiest figure known to man circled his damn mind?
Just like the first time he’d seen Carrie years before, the same lightning struck him immobile. He had no idea what it was about her, or why, but Carrie’s allure was too strong to ignore. All he cared about was his family, yet this woman had the ability to make him think about the life he led before and after her. It was as though she was a pivotal part of his very existence...and he hated it.
If it was her he saw last night, then what? He had plans. Plans that didn’t involve a woman who took his damn heart and then tossed it aside.
Scowling, he braced his good hand on the top of the pit and heaved himself out onto the garage floor. She’d taken his heart, yet he couldn’t ignore the fact his reluctance to get involved meant he hadn’t made any attempt to find Carrie, either. He was equally as guilty of tossing her heart aside...if there was any chance she felt the same way he did.
Yanking open the buttons on his overalls, he shrugged them down to his waist and stalked over to the sink. He removed the rag and washed his injured hand, memories rising in his conscience. He was all too aware of his reputation as a womanizer around town and he’d done little to correct the gossip, not caring what people thought...but now, with the potential that Carrie could be back, the rumors worried him.
He turned off the faucet and replaced the rag with paper towels from the box on the wall. One by one the women he’d dated crept into his mind. None of them had hit the spot in his heart Carrie had, or even come close. So he walked away. Time and again. Did that make him a bad guy? Maybe, maybe not, but as far as Scott was concerned, he never intentionally hurt any of them.
His gut tightened. No? So why date them? Why romance them and sleep with some of them only to bail out in the end? Just like your dad when it comes down to it, aren’t you? Scott squeezed his eyes shut as one particular ex’s face rose up behind his closed lids. He’d run quicker from Amanda Arnold than he had the others. He told himself it was entirely because of Amanda’s trying and demanding personality, but the fact she had a kid too ate at his conscience.
God damn it. Who says I have to want to buy into that crap? He marched across the garage floor, his mind a mess. Was it such a damn crime if he didn’t want to add more family obligation to the mountain he already carried?
Making a snap decision, he grabbed his cell phone. He needed reinforcements. Friends and allies out in the field looking for Carrie. One way or another, he had to know if the girl he’d seen in town last night was really her. If she was, he wanted to know why the hell she was back in Templeton.
He punched in his best friend’s number.
“Hey, man.” Nick Carson yawned loudly. “What’s up?”
Scott pushed his fingers through his too-long hair and wandered around a three-foot circumference. “I need a favor.”
“Uh-oh. You sound pissed.”
“I am.”
“Because...”
“I think she might be back.”
“Who?”
“Her.”
“Her? You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”
“The blonde.”
“The blonde? Nope, still need more.”
Scott halted his pacing and glared. “Her. The blonde. The only woman to ever totally mess with my head. Her.”
A long moment passed before Nick sucked in a breath. “Ooohhh, her.”
Scott scowled. “Didn’t I say that clear enough the first time?”
“Hey, just take a minute, okay?”
“Take a minute?” Scott squeezed his eyes shut. “I haven’t had a single minute of head space since I almost knocked her off her feet in town last night. Jesus, Nick, you’ve got to do something.”
“I’ve got to do something? What does that mean? I never saw the woman.”
Scott stopped pacing. “You’re my friend, aren’t you? You’ve got to help me find her.”
Nick huffed out a laugh. “What’s the matter with you? Even if it was her, you’ve got enough sense to stay the hell away, right?”
Scott opened his eyes and glared toward the open garage door. Dark storm clouds gathered in the distance like an omen. Nick was right, finding her would surely lead to trouble. Trouble he didn’t need...but there was no way in hell he could let this go. He had to know if she was really Carrie. What he’d do about it if she was, he hadn’t figured out yet, but right then, not knowing ate at him from the inside out.
“Scott? Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard you.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“I’m guessing you haven’t spoken to her, so forget her.”
“How could I have spoken to her when I barely saw her?”
“Then what’s the problem here, man? If you haven’t spoken to her—”
“She smelled the same.” Scott closed one eye against the pain of his pitiful feelings.
“What?”
“She smelled the same. Exactly as I remember. Her hair is shorter but just as thick, just as pissing sexy as it was then.”
“You hear yourself, right? This is ridiculous. What is it you want me to do exactly? Come down there and put you in a damn straitjacket?”
“I’ve got plans, Nick. You know I’ve got plans.”
“Damn right I do. Plans that will make you rich after all the blood, sweat and tears you’ve put into that garage. So, what’s the problem?”
“She is. Having her turn up here.”
“I don’t understand. You’re saying if this mystery woman is the one you spent a few nights with, it changes everything? Don’t talk crap, man. This is one woman. A woman who disappeared. Who never called. I’ll be honest with you. I hope to God it isn’t her. She’s a hassle you don’t need.”
“How can either of us know that?” Protectiveness for Carrie burned like a fireball inside Scott’s chest. He clenched the phone. Memories of the way her body felt in his hands, the texture of skin as smooth as silk beneath his lips...
“Because of you. That’s how.” Nick sighed. “You love women, but you’ve never loved a woman like you did her. You fell like a shot, man. Bam! Face down on the floor with no idea how to get the hell back up. You don’t need that again. I’m telling you right now, if it’s her, get on your damn bike and leave the Cove today.”
“Sure. I’ll just run away. Don’t bother telling Mum or my sisters what I’m doing...” The click-clack of high heels yanked Scott’s head up like it was attached by a rubber band to the ceiling. He stared toward the door, his heart picking up speed.
Click, clack. Click, clack.
“Scott? You still there?” Nick’s voice filtered down the line.
Tension rippled through Scott’s body and his heart beat fast. Carrie came through the open door and halted. Their eyes locked.
Scott’s mouth drained dry. “I’ve gotta go.” He snapped the phone closed.
She stepped farther into the garage and closed her umbrella. He might have been mistaken, but he could have sworn her eyes widened as she cast her gaze over his chest. Before his ego could inflate an inch, their eyes met. God, she was beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed but her gaze steady as she clutched her purse at her stomach.
She tilted her chin. “Hello, Scott.”
That voice. He swallowed and crossed his arms, fighting a wince when his elbow knocked his injured hand. “So it was you I saw in town last night.”
She stiffened. “You saw me?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Does it matter?”
Time stood still and he cast his gaze over her face and body before he could stop himself. Desire burned and mixed with the shock pulsating through him. The atmosphere crackled, showing him all too clearly nothing had changed about his hot and crazy sexual attraction to this woman. He still wanted her, would willingly take her against the garage wall right then if she asked him.
She came closer and halted less than five feet away. He curled his hands into fists to stop from reaching for her as her gaze wandered over his face and chest, lingering at his bandaged hand before she met his eyes once more. “I have to talk to you.”
Her soft, husky voice whispered over his senses, raising every hair on his body, making his dick twitch awake as though it’d been dormant for three long years. He purposefully slammed his defenses into place. “Is that so?”
Her eyes flashed with a fire he remembered only too well when they’d been face-to-face at The Coast Inn. “Yes.” She glanced around the garage. “I’m sorry to turn up unannounced like this, but I’m here and we need to talk.”
He stared at her in disbelief as questions, demands and weaknesses hurtled around inside him, battling with the intense sexual frustration storming through his body. “Just like that, you turn up and say, ‘We need to talk’?” He shook his head and turned away from her, lest he get caught in the snare of her wide, impossibly gorgeous eyes. “Go away.”
“No.”
Keeping his back to her, he uncrossed his arms and planted his hands on his hips. He tipped his head back and smiled as insanity rushed his bloodstream. He wanted to grab her, shake her, kiss her and make love to her. God, he wanted to drop to his damn knees in front of her and beg her to tell him where she’d been and now she was back, was she back for good?
“Scott?”
He closed his eyes, barely resisting the urge to cover his ears and block out her voice, achingly laced with the unmistakable sound of a plea. “Whether you want to see me or not, I have to talk to you, and I won’t leave the Cove until you listen to me.”
Her heels clicked closer and his body tensed, waiting for what came next. The dangerous, musky scent of her perfume wafted under his nostrils and he inhaled. She approached the bench beside him and put down a business card. “My number’s on there. I’m staying at the Christie. Call me when you’re ready to talk. It’s important or I wouldn’t have come.”
He glanced at the card. Carrie Jameson. Producer.
She turned and walked away. He let her go, feeling like a smashed-up car after a hurricane, tossed and turned through the air before being spewed crudely across the highway, left to rust and burn.
He picked up the card. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Carrie was back and his libido told him only too clearly there was no way in hell he wouldn’t go to her. How was he supposed to let her leave again when he’d lived the last three years regretting he didn’t stop her the first time?
