Читать книгу His By Christmas - Teresa Southwick, Teresa Southwick - Страница 11

Chapter Four

“But nothing is going on.”

Pushing back against a statement of fact had put Cal in this predicament in the first place. You’d think he would know better than to keep doing it. Maybe he wasn’t capable of learning, after all.

“Calhoun Hart, you’re a big, fat fibber.” Justine put her spoon down in her empty bowl. Her eyes narrowed on him and made him want to squirm, but he resisted the urge.

“I have no idea what you mean.” He’d been about to say again that there was nothing going on, but decided it was protesting too much. He had to play this just right. “And ‘big, fat fibber’? Really? Is this junior high?”

“And there it is,” she said triumphantly.

“There what is?” He looked around the shadowy interior of the villa. “And how can you see it without the lights?”

“You’re so glib.”

Her tone didn’t make the comment sound like a compliment, but that didn’t stop him from running with it. “That just might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“You tap dance pretty well for a man with a broken leg.” The words were spoken in a pleasant voice, but her eyes were still narrowed on him. “Your behavior is classic.”

“How?”

“It tells me that you’re hiding something.” She held up her hand and started ticking things off on her fingers. “You turned the conversation back on me being ‘junior high.’ Then deflected to electricity. And tap-danced to twisting my words into a compliment. You better start talking, mister.”

“Or what?”

“Now who’s acting all junior high?” she accused him.

He grinned. “Then I’m going for it all the way. You’re not the boss of me.” Since when was being on the hot seat so much fun? The only variable was Justine. “There’s nothing you can do to make me talk.”

“Oh, you’re so wrong about that. There are many, many ways I could bring you to your knees.”

“One comes to mind. Using my crutches for a bonfire on the beach.” He met her gaze and shrugged.

“There’s no reason I have to be that cruel. Or literal.” She tapped her lip. “I can think of a much quicker, much simpler way.”

“What could be easier than commandeering a man’s crutches?”

“I could call your mother.” She smiled slowly and with more than a little wickedness.

“That’s low, Justine.”

“A girl has to do what a girl has to do.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I wonder if there’s cell service during an electrical storm.”

For several moments Cal wasn’t sure that the pounding he heard wasn’t in his ears. His sneaky assistant frowned at her phone and he guessed Mother Nature was giving him a reprieve.

“You can’t call my mom. You don’t have her phone number.”

“Want to bet?”

He was beginning to wish he’d never heard the word bet. Little Miss Serene had a fairly ruthless expression on her face. Not unlike the stubborn set of her mouth when she refused to work overtime. She obviously wasn’t going to let this go.

“All right. You win. There is something.”

“Aha.” She pointed at him. “So you are a big, fat fibber.”

“Prevaricator. My vocabulary has improved since middle school.”

“Then start using your words and tell me what you’re up to. Pronto.”

“Would you mind if I sat on the couch and propped my leg up for this?”

Her eyebrows rose. “Is it a long story?”

“There are some things I need to explain. All to give you context,” he said.

“Well, we can’t go to work until the lights come back on anyway...”

“Good.” That would give him time to figure out how to say this so he wouldn’t drain all the reserves her soul had so recently stored up.

Cal pushed to a standing position and balanced on his right foot while he grabbed the crutches and propped them under his arms. He swung himself over to the huge couch and sank into it, then put the injured leg up and stretched it out.

“Do you want me to bring your plate over?” There was a spark of amusement in her eyes. “Keep up your strength for this?”

“Funny girl.” He’d lost his appetite halfway through. “No. I’ve had enough.”

“How about coffee?”

“Yes. Please,” he added.

She ferried cups, saucers and the insulated pot of coffee to the table then poured refills for both of them. Taking hers, she sat in the club chair beside him and looked expectant. “I’m listening.”

“Okay.” He met her gaze and had the absurd thought that she looked pure and innocent even when threatening to tattle to his mother. Hopefully his confession wouldn’t crush that out of her. “I’m a very competitive guy. Could just be my nature or where I fall in the family birth order.”

“You’re the second son.”

Cal remembered his brother telling him to get over second-son syndrome. “So it’s common knowledge.”

“Hart Energy is a subsidiary of Hart Industries. If one works there, it would be hard not to know.”

“I guess. The thing is, that’s just a fact. It doesn’t convey any of the reality of growing up in Sam Hart’s shadow. We were born nine months apart.”

“Twins the hard way,” she interjected.

“That’s what my mom always says. Anyway, I had the distinction of trying to keep up with him, pretty much right out of the womb. I wanted to do everything he did, including getting my parents’ attention.”

“This is where you own up to acting out.”

He shook his head. “I did my best to be bigger, faster, stronger.”

“Going for bionic?” Her mouth twitched, as if she was holding back a laugh.

“No, only first.”

“Ah.” She nodded her understanding. “And that could never be.”

“I could never be firstborn, but in every other way I needed to win. School. Sports. Girls. We competed for the same ones.”

A shrink would have a field day with the fact that he married a woman who had loved another man first. That man happened to be his brother Sam. Cal shouldn’t have been so surprised and hurt when it didn’t work out, but they said love was blind.

“So, your whole life has been like the second-place car rental company that has to try harder?”

“Yes. We run different companies under the Hart Industries umbrella, and I want him to be successful. I just want my bottom line to be better than his.”

“That’s why you work so hard.”

“Exactly.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “But that still doesn’t explain why you didn’t go home after breaking your leg. In fact, it just makes me more curious.”

“I was getting to that part.” As slowly as possible. He was dreading the expression of disappointment that he knew she would wear. The why of that was a mystery he didn’t have time right now to think about. He took a sip of his lukewarm coffee, then set the cup back on the saucer. “It happened at Sam’s wedding.”

“It?”

“Apparently my family was concerned about the fact that I hadn’t taken a vacation in a while.”

“How long is ‘a while’?”

“Four years.”

“Wow. Long time.” Her eyes widened.

“Then Sam made a crack about my social life.”

“He thinks you’re burning the candle at both ends?” she guessed. “He doesn’t like your girlfriend?”

“I don’t have one. And he—”

“Said something about you not having sex, which got your macho all in a twist. Am I right?” she asked.

“Not about the macho part, but the rest is pretty accurate. How did you know?” And why did she say it straight out without any awkwardness? Maybe because the lights were still out and clouds filled the sky. There was no way he could see whether or not she was blushing. It was one step shy of making love in the dark.

“I know because I have brothers. Two.” She shrugged.

“Okay.” He let out a breath. “His comment touched a nerve and then there’s the classic car—”

“Just a hot minute. If this is you digressing to distract me, you should be warned that it won’t work.”

“That never crossed my mind.” Because he’d already tried that and found out she was too smart to be sidetracked by his charming repartee. “It’s important.”

“Okay, then. Carry on.”

“Our grandfather left Sam his classic Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow, even though I always told him I wanted it. He said it was about Sam being the oldest.” Cal sighed. “I really love that car. But apparently Granddad told Sam that I worked too much to care for the Duchess the way she needed to be cared for. To make a long story short—”

“Too late for that,” she teased.

He laughed. “Sam bet me that I couldn’t stay on this island for a month.”

“By ‘stay’ I assume he meant vacation?”

“That’s not what he said,” Cal stressed. “There was no stipulation about not working.”

“But it was implied. That’s the very definition of vacation,” she insisted. “And yet you brought me here to help you work.”

“I can’t deny that.”

There was the dreaded judgment in her eyes and it was definitely going against him. “That violates the very spirit of the wager. You’re supposed to be here taking a break. Resting and relaxing.”

Very little of either was going on, Cal thought. And it had only gotten worse since Justine showed up. “I honestly had planned to do that. I had a schedule of activities every day. A spreadsheet—”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I had something on the calendar for every day. Parasailing, hang gliding, wave riding, rock climbing—”

Her mouth opened, hinting that she was appalled. “Those aren’t gentle, peaceful or restful. They’re life-threatening.”

“I prefer to think of them as aggressive leisure interests.” She was really putting him on the defensive. “The point is that I broke my leg on the first day and had to cancel everything. And I couldn’t leave the island and lose the bet. Sitting around and doing nothing would have pushed me over the edge.” He shrugged. “I figured that I might as well work.”

“Wow. You would rather work when there’s a beautiful, exciting island just outside the door to this luxury villa and it’s yours to explore?”

“Not when you’re on crutches,” he retorted. “Believe me, I checked. No wave riding or parasailing when you’ve got a cast on your leg.”

“You’ve never heard of plan B?”

“Of course I have. But, like I said, I’m complicated. And nothing fun is cast-friendly.”

There was a gleam in her eyes when she said, “I bet there’s a lot of fun things you can do with that plaster on your leg.”

“I challenge you to come up with a list of activities for a guy in my situation. Until then, don’t judge.”

* * *

It wasn’t long before the lights came back on, the clouds disappeared and paradise was restored. Outside. Inside, Justine went to work, and when not busy doing something for her boss, she researched available activities on this tropical island. At lunchtime they took a break and she was ready with a list. After finishing a delicious meal of grilled fish, delicate rice, salad and the yummiest sugar cookies ever, she figured it was as good a time as any to bring it up.

She was sitting in the club chair beside the cushy sofa where Cal was stretched out. “I’m ready for your challenge,” she said.

“Which one would that be?”

“I think asking the question is a stall technique, but we’ll play this your way.” She opened a file folder containing information she’d printed out. “There are many things to do on this island. Even for a man with limited mobility.”

“Don’t even mention the W-word.”

She was drawing a blank. “I’m sorry. The what now?”

“Wheelchair.”

“Ah.” She nodded her understanding. “You’re thinking limitations. My focus is broader. That’s the difference between us.”

“No. The difference is that my leg is broken. Yours are just fine.” He stopped and that declaration settled in the air between them. “I’m sorry. By ‘fine’ I meant you’re not on crutches.”

“I know what you meant.”

Her leg was fine if you were just talking mobility. It had taken surgeries, time and hard work to regain function, albeit with a slight limp, but the extensive scars would always be a visual reminder of what she’d lost.

“Moving on, then. No wheelchair. Got it.” She scanned her paperwork. “You were right.”

“I’m surprised to hear you admit that.” But he looked puzzled. “What exactly is it that I’m right about?”

“Activities at an island resort heavily favor guests who are not in a cast.”

“Like I said, there’s nothing for me to do and I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. Hence the work. Given my circumstances, that’s not a violation of the spirit of the wager with my brother. It comes under the heading of Circumstances Beyond My Control.”

“Not completely true,” she told him. “I said it favors noninjured people, but there’s plenty to keep the physically challenged occupied.”

“Such as?”

“Massage.” She let that sink in for a moment. “The resort has a lovely menu of them. For example—the Swedish massage using long, fluid strokes to relieve muscle tension and improve circulation. Optimum blood flow will facilitate healing in your leg. And the technique will ease you into relaxation and relieve stress throughout your entire body. That’s not just the spirit of vacation. It’s proactive participation in it.”

She looked up from her notes to gauge his reaction. There was a tight, tense expression on his face that wasn’t exactly disapproval, but something that made her heart skip a beat. It was as if he could think of something else to relieve his body’s tension, and that thought made her blush.

Looking back at her notes, she started talking, anything to fill the silence. “Here’s one you might like. Vibrational massage using specially blended oils that vibrate with the frequency of the seven energy centers of the body to open and revitalize the chakras. This synergistic experience of breathing in each of the powerful aromatic oils, along with light massage, leaves you feeling balanced.”

“Seriously?”

“Balance is good. That’s why one takes a vacation. There’s nothing wrong with working hard, but you need to offset it with play.” She glanced up and saw amusement on his face. “What?”

“You know what they say. Your chakras can’t be opened enough.”

“Okay. Moving on.” She flipped through the research. “Oh, here’s something. Artistic palm arrangement.”

“Basket weaving.”

“Well...yes, but it would be helpful if you weren’t an activity snob. The pictures of what people have done are quite impressive. And you can do it sitting down. All you need are two good hands and a yearning for artistic adventure.”

“I bet thrill seekers from all over the world are just flocking to that one,” he said wryly.

She nodded. “Good to know your chakras might be closed but your mind is completely open to possibilities.”

“I’m glad you noticed.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

What she noticed was the way his smile and the gleam in his eyes warmed a path straight inside her and made her heart beat a little faster. Talk about possibilities. And no scenario in which she indulged them would end well. Look away, she told herself.

“I’ll put you down as a maybe for artistic palm arrangement.” She turned a page. “Now, this sounded like fun.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense.”

She ignored him. “A cooking class specializing in cuisine from the island. As the description says, ‘Extend your vacation by bringing home the palate-pleasing recipes for the foods that enhanced your leisure experience.’”