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Bombshell For The Black Sheep
Janice Maynard
He should’ve said good-bye after their one night together. Instead he came back… When he disappeared after their last sizzling encounter, Fiona James vowed to forget rebellious billionaire Hartley Tarleton. But now, Hartley’s returned and is determined to turn his searing chemistry with Fiona into something more…except now she’s pregnant…
After their one night together,
there are explosive consequences.
When he disappeared after their last sizzling encounter, artist Fiona James vowed to forget rebellious billionaire Hartley Tarleton. Now Hartley has returned to Charleston to deal with the skeletons in his family’s closet—and maybe turn his searing chemistry with Fiona into more than a one-night thing. But now she’s pregnant with the heir Hartley swore he’d never have!
USA TODAY bestselling author JANICE MAYNARD loved books and writing even as a child. After multiple rejections, she finally sold her first manuscript! Since then, she has written fifty-plus books and novellas. Janice lives in Tennessee with her husband, Charles. They love hiking, travelling and family time.
You can connect with Janice at
www.janicemaynard.com (http://www.janicemaynard.com)
www.Twitter.com/janicemaynard (http://www.Twitter.com/janicemaynard)
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Also by Janice Maynard (#u65a9cba7-6c0a-5646-8ed5-a73741a91e1b)
Christmas in the Billionaire’s Bed
Second Chance with the Billionaire
How to Sleep with the Boss Blame
It On Christmas
A Contract Seduction
Triplets for the Texan
Hot Texas Nights
Million Dollar Baby
On Temporary Terms
His Heir, Her Secret
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Bombshell for the Black Sheep
Janice Maynard
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09270-8
BOMBSHELL FOR THE BLACK SHEEP
В© 2019 Janice Maynard
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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Note to Readers (#u65a9cba7-6c0a-5646-8ed5-a73741a91e1b)
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For Kathy and Patti:
Families are complicated at times—understatement! Thanks so much for being the best sisters ever. Love you both!
Contents
Cover (#u679a680e-ef6b-552a-b28d-6de5459c07c3)
Back Cover Text (#ua10fd4b7-45f1-5805-9ec4-582ca939e4a1)
About the Author (#u466009e3-e7fa-537c-a042-f7bbef92f5a4)
Booklist (#u1a8a8c8d-f3e4-5c59-9ee0-6be6ac2951b5)
Title Page (#u74728950-30d8-5843-807d-aa8728290d8d)
Copyright (#u01626d36-d9a1-5bfe-9890-477b704d5ba0)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#ufd98edc8-41b2-5ed4-87f8-17f09959ce5d)
One (#u6ce62b88-d4e4-58ed-adee-47027bc0d202)
Two (#u262b8366-7424-5ca0-a25c-5f6e1cb6e1fe)
Three (#u0ce8c696-f503-598e-97c9-e403bbae6a60)
Four (#ua6b2086b-60d2-57bf-8229-ad2c3e5fbc68)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
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Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
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Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#u65a9cba7-6c0a-5646-8ed5-a73741a91e1b)
Hartley Tarleton had made a lot of mistakes in his life, but walking away from Fiona James—twice—had to be the dumbest. He’d had his reasons. Extenuating circumstances. Familial obligations. Still, he’d handled things badly. The woman in question was not likely to be in a conciliatory mood. Even worse, here he was—proverbial hat in hand—to ask for a favor.
Despite a host of misgivings, he parked across the street and a few cars down from her neatly kept bungalow-style home. The middle-class Charleston neighborhood had aged gently, preserving the best of the city’s Carolina charm in a price range single people and young families could afford. Fiona was a landscape painter. A very talented one with a quickly burgeoning reputation. Hopefully, her starving-artist years were behind her.
Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Hartley rehearsed his speech. The home and the woman drew him, creating a burning ache in his chest. He’d spent two nights in that house, though not in succession. For reasons he wouldn’t examine too closely, he recalled every detail.
On difficult days this past year, he had calmed himself by remembering the vintage dinette set in Fiona’s tiny breakfast nook. The table was yellow, speckled with gray. He had imagined Fiona, with her naturally curly red hair and wide-set gray-blue eyes, sitting in one of the chairs with the chrome legs, a sketch pad in front of her.
Slowly, he got out of the car and stretched. This momentary procrastination was unlike him. If anything, he erred on the impulsive side. When he was a teenager, people criticized those tendencies as a sign of immaturity. He preferred to think of himself as grabbing the bull by the horns. He liked controlling his own destiny.
A trickle of sweat ran down the center of his back. The day was ridiculously hot and humid. Maybe he had been gone too long. Charleston was his home. Why then, did he feel like an interloper?
His heart hammered in his chest as he crossed the street and walked up the path. He had worried that Fiona might be out and about, but her carefully restored VW Bug sat in the driveway. The car was cotton-candy pink with tiny blue seahorses scattered across the hood. It was a whimsical vehicle, and perfectly suited to the imagination of an artist.
On the porch, he loosened his tie and told himself he wasn’t going to lose it. Grief and a host of other emotions bombarded him. His throat was desert dry. Grimly, he reached out and rang the buzzer.
Fiona heard the doorbell and sighed with relief. She had ordered several hundred dollars’ worth of new paint—oils and acrylics. The overnight rush fee made her cringe, but it was her own fault for not realizing sooner that she didn’t have what she needed to begin a newly commissioned project.
She was wearing a paint-stained T-shirt and ancient jeans with holes in the knees, but the delivery guy had seen her in worse. Her back protested when she sprang to her feet. Sitting in one spot for too long was an occupational hazard. When she was deeply involved in her work, she could paint or draw for hours and never notice the passage of time.
Sprinting through her small house to the front door took a matter of seconds. The only thing that slowed her down was stubbing her toe on the back corner leg of the sofa. Damn, damn, damn. The pain had her hopping on one foot. She had to hurry, because the package required a signature.
She flung open the door, breathless and panting, momentarily dazzled by the bright sunshine. The man standing on her porch was definitely not a delivery man. Nor was he a stranger.
It took her a full five seconds to process the unimaginable.
“Hartley?” Her shock quickly changed to anger. “Oh, heck no.” This man had bruised her ego and maybe even broken her heart.
She slammed the door on instinct. Or she tried to slam the door. One big foot—clad in a size-twelve Italian leather dress shoe—planted itself at the edge of the door frame. The foot’s owner grunted in pain, but he didn’t give up his advantage.
“Please, Fiona. I need your help.”
There it was. Her weakness. Her Achilles’ heel. Growing up in a succession of pleasant but unexceptional foster homes had taught her that becoming indispensable to the family in question secured a roof over her head.
She’d been self-sufficient for over a decade now—ever since she had aged out of the system. She had money in the bank, and her credit rating was unblemished. This perfect little house was almost paid for. Pleasing people was a habit now, not a necessity. A habit she had vowed to break.
But when she actually peeked at Hartley’s face, her resolve wavered. “You look terrible,” she muttered, still with her hand on the door blocking his entrance. Her statement wasn’t entirely correct. Even haggard and with dark smudges of exhaustion beneath his eyes, Hartley Tarleton was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Muscular shoulders, slim hips and a smile that ought to be outlawed on behalf of women everywhere.
They had first met more than a year ago at the wedding of mutual friends, Hartley a groomsman and Fiona his matching attendant. He had escorted her down the aisle during the ceremony. Later that evening, after a raucous reception that involved copious amounts of extremely good wine and plenty of dancing, he had removed her ghastly fuchsia bridesmaid dress...in her very own bedroom. Where she had invited him to join her.
That night, their physical and emotional connection was immediate and seductive—impossible to resist.
When she woke up the following morning, he was gone.
Today, his coffee-colored eyes—so dark as to be almost black—glittered with strong emotion. “Please, Fee.” His voice was hoarse. “Five minutes.”
What was it about this man that tore down every one of her defensive barriers? He’d walked out on her not once, but twice. Was she a masochist? Normally, she didn’t fall for stupid male flattery. But she had actually believed Hartley had been as caught up in the magic of their tantalizing attraction as she’d been.
Sighing at her own spineless behavior, she stepped back and opened the door wider. “Fine. But five minutes. Not six. I’m busy.”
It was a pitiful pretense of disinterest. When he stepped past her, the familiar crisp, fresh scent of his shave gel took her back to a duet of nights she had tried so desperately to forget.
Hartley crossed the room and sprawled on her sofa. She remained standing, arms folded over her chest. The first time they met, he had worn a tuxedo befitting his inclusion in the wedding party. Nine months later when he had shown up on her doorstep without a word of explanation for his long absence, he’d been in faded jeans and a pale yellow cotton shirt with rolled-up sleeves.
Today, his hand-tailored suit screamed money. Despite his almost palpable misery, he looked like a rich man. In other words, not the sort of person Fiona should date. Or sleep with. Or include in any kinds of future plans.
The silence stretched on. Hartley leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed. He was a man who always knew what to say. The kind of guy who could summon a woman’s interest with one mischievous, wicked quirk of his eyebrow.
Now that she had let the big, bad wolf into her house, he was mute.
The uninterrupted, empty silence finally broke her. “What do you want, Hartley?”
The five words were supposed to be inflected with impatience and disinterest. Instead, her voice trembled. She winced inwardly, hoping he hadn’t noticed. If ever there was a time for a woman to seize control of a situation and play the hand on her terms, this was it.
He didn’t deserve her sympathy.
At last, he sat up and faced her, his hands fisted on his thighs. There were hollows in his face that hadn’t been there before. Unmistakable grief. “My father is dead,” he croaked. The expression in his eyes was a combination of childish bewilderment and dull adult acceptance.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Despite her anger, her heart clenched in sympathy. “Was it sudden?”
“Yes. A stroke.”
“Were you in Charleston?” They had discovered at the wedding that they both lived in the beautiful low-country city, but clearly they moved in different circles most of the time.
“No. But it wouldn’t have mattered. He was gone in an instant.”
“I don’t know what to say, except that I’m very sorry, Hartley.”
“He was old but not that old. It never occurred to me I wouldn’t get the chance to say goodbye.”
She wanted to sit down beside him and hug him, but she knew her own limits. It was best to keep a safe distance. Sliding into Hartley Tarleton’s arms made her reasoning skills turn to mush.
His jaw firmed. “I need you to go to the funeral with me. Please.” He stood and faced her. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t so important.” The muscles in his throat flexed as he swallowed. He needed a haircut. When one thick lock fell over his forehead, he brushed it aside impatiently.
She had seen him naked. Had felt the gentle caress of his big, slightly rough hands on every inch of her sensitive skin. That other Hartley made her body sing with pleasure...made her stupid, romantic heart weave daydreams. But she didn’t know him. Not really.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Hartley. We’re nothing to each other. You made that abundantly clear. I don’t want to go with you to the funeral,” she said firmly, trying to sound tough and no-nonsense and not at all like the type of woman who let a man disappear for days and weeks on end with no explanation and then three months ago took him back into her bed...again.
“You don’t understand.” He moved a step in her direction, but she held him off with a palm-out stance.
“No touching,” she said, reading his playbook. She wouldn’t let him soften her up.
He shrugged, his expression harried. “Fine. No touching. But I need you to go to the funeral with me, because I’m scared, dammit. I haven’t seen my brother or sister in over a year. Things have been strained between us. I need a buffer.”
“Charming,” she drawled. “That’s what a woman wants to hear.”
“For God’s sake, don’t be difficult, Fee.”
His scowl would have been comical if his behavior hadn’t been so atrocious. “I’m perfectly reasonable and rational, Mr. Tarleton. You’re the one who seems to have lost your mind.”
He ran a hand across the back of his neck, a shadow crossing his face. “Maybe I have,” he muttered. He paced restlessly, pausing to pick up a nautilus shell a friend had brought her from Australia. It had been sliced—like a hamburger bun—with a fine-gauge jeweler’s saw to reveal the logarithmic spiral inside. Hartley traced the pattern with a fingertip, the gesture almost sensual. “This is beautiful,” he said.
“I just brought it out of my studio. I’ve been working on a series of four watercolors...a galaxy, a hurricane, this perfect shell. The pattern occurs in nature more often than you might think.”
He closed his palm around the opalescent wonder and shot her a look. “And the fourth?”
Her face heated. “Oddly enough, it’s a kind of broccoli... Romanesco.”
For the first time, the tension in his broad shoulders eased visibly, and a trace of his trademark grin lightened his face. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Fiona.”
She bristled. “What does that mean?”
“You’re special. You see the world in a way us mere mortals don’t. I envy you that.”
The quiet sincerity in his voice and the genuine compliment reminded her of all the reasons she had fallen for his charms the first time. And the second. His habitual smile was an inexplicable combination of sweet and sexy. For a man who stood six three in his stocking feet and carried himself like an athlete, the hint of boyish candor caught her off guard again and again.
What could it hurt if she accompanied him to his father’s service? It was an hour of her life, maybe less. She sighed inwardly, already losing the battle. “What day is the funeral?”
Now he definitely looked guilty. “Today.”
She gaped at him. “Today today?”
“In an hour and a half.”
Her temper ramped to a slow boil. “And you seriously thought you could simply waltz in here, demand my cooperation and get what you want?”
“No,” he said forcefully. “No.” The second denial was quieter. “I was hoping, Fee. Just hoping.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, and he didn’t move. She gave him points for that. Everything in her past interactions with him suggested that he could indeed get what he wanted with little more than a kiss. But Hartley didn’t try any funny business. All he did was ask.
Before she could formulate an answer, he grimaced. “I know I owe you explanations for my behavior. If you’ll do me the kindness of standing beside me this afternoon, I swear I’ll tell you whatever you want to know afterward. I won’t run out. Not this time.”
She searched his face for the truth. “Why are things awkward with your siblings? Isn’t your brother your twin? I seem to recall you telling me that. Aren’t twins supposed to be tight?”
“I did something to upset my father and Jonathan, my brother. I was written out of the will. And to be honest, maybe I deserved it. But I love my family. They’re everything to me. I would like to heal the rift...if that’s even possible.”
He could have wheedled. Or flirted. Or even pressured. Instead, he simply stood there. Looking at her. So intently that her nipples tightened beneath the soft cotton of her bra. She hadn’t imagined the physical connection between them. It was as real today as it was the other times he had blasted into her world. As real as the mantel clock that ticked a steady rhythm.
“Okay. I’ll go with you.” A platonic date to a funeral didn’t mean she was capitulating a third time. “I can be ready in half an hour. Will that do?”
He nodded. “Thank you, Fiona.” His gaze was sober. “I appreciate it.”
“Wait for me here. If the doorbell rings, please answer it. I’m expecting some packages.”
Hartley watched her walk away, wishing he could join her in the shower and forget that his life was imploding. It was nothing short of a miracle that she had agreed to go with him. Because of the situation he was in and the looming stress of seeing his family again, he had to slam the lid on all the erotic memories this small house contained.
His gut was in a knot, but the burning dread eased. With Fee beside him, he could get through this afternoon.
Before he could pull out his phone and check his email, a loud knock sounded at the door. The uniformed delivery man on the porch was beaming when Hartley answered the summons, but his smile faded.
“I have some packages,” he said.
Hartley didn’t call him out on the awkward, unnecessary explanation. “I see that,” he said mildly.
The kid, barely twenty at most, tried to peer inside the house. “Fiona needs to sign for this delivery.”
Hartley’s territorial instincts kicked in. “Ms. James is in the shower.”
The young man recognized the veiled rebuke. His face flushed. “You could do it, I suppose.”
“I supposed I could.” Hartley scrawled his name and handed back the electronic clipboard. “I’ll tell her you said hello.”
Three large boxes changed hands. Hartley gave the poor schmuck a terse nod and closed the door firmly. He couldn’t blame the kid for having a crush, but Fiona deserved a man in her life.
The irony of that didn’t escape him. In fact, now that he had Fee in his corner, he could spare a moment to wonder what she had been up to in the weeks and months he had been traveling the world. Was there a man somewhere who would protest Hartley’s current involvement in her life?
His stomach-curling distaste for that thought told him he was more invested than he wanted to admit. It seemed impossible he could be obsessed with a woman he had known for less than a week, collectively. Yet of all the people in his life who could have been persuaded to accompany him to his father’s funeral, Hartley had chosen Fiona.
The momentary peace he experienced deep in his heart told him he had made the right decision.
A lot of things were going to change in the next weeks and months. Even if his brother didn’t trust him and his sister would reproach him for being gone so long, the three of them would have to work together to settle their father’s affairs.
Only Hartley knew how very difficult that was going to be.
A noise in the hall brought his head up. His breath caught in his throat. “Fiona,” he croaked. “You look amazing.”
Her classic black dress was sleeveless and knee length. Sexy black sandals showcased slender legs. She had tried to tame her medium-length hair with two antique tortoiseshell combs. Now fiery curls framed her elfin face. “Is this okay?” she asked. “To be honest, I haven’t been to a funeral in a very long time.” She toyed with the simple pearl earrings that matched the necklace at her throat.
“You’re perfect,” he said.
Two (#u65a9cba7-6c0a-5646-8ed5-a73741a91e1b)
Fiona avoided funerals on a good day. Attending this particular one on the arm of the man who had treated her so shabbily didn’t make sense.
Yet here she was.
Charleston, in all her low-country charm, basked in the summer sun. The city was a unique amalgam of Southern gentility and a lingering painful past. Palm trees and horse-drawn carriages. Elegant secluded courtyards. And everywhere, the patina of old money. Farther out from the city, pockets of poverty existed, but here in the historic district, wealth and social position held sway.
By the time Fiona and Hartley made it to the upscale funeral home in the heart of town, she knew she was in trouble. Hartley had barely spoken a word the entire time, but she was hyperaware of him at her side.
He drove with careless confidence despite the tightness in his jaw and his palpable air of tension.
It was impossible not to think about the other times they had been together. At least it was impossible for her. Presumably, Hartley was too distraught to think about sex.
She was having second and third thoughts about her role this afternoon. “So what do I need to know?” she asked. “I don’t want to say anything I shouldn’t.”
Hartley shot her a sideways glance before spotting an empty spot down the street and parallel parking with ease. “Just follow my lead. My sister will be emotional. For several reasons. She doesn’t know why I’ve been gone.”
“Join the club,” Fiona muttered.
Hartley ignored her sarcasm. “Mazie’s husband is J.B. He’s been a friend of ours since we were kids. He and Mazie reconnected recently and fell in love. And to further confuse you, J.B. is my brother’s best friend.”
“Got it.”
“Jonathan, my twin, had serious brain surgery not too long ago, but he’s made a complete recovery. His wife is Lisette. She’s been working for Tarleton Shipping a long time.”
“And your mother? I haven’t heard you speak of her.” Fiona got out and smoothed her skirt with damp hands. Meeting strangers was not her forte. In this situation, the stakes were much higher than usual. Hartley got out as well and closed his door, resting his arms on the roof of the car as he stared at her. “My mother is not in the picture. The only people you’ll have to deal with today are my siblings and their spouses.”
If his words were meant to reassure her, they failed. Hartley’s air of mystery told her the Tarleton family had more than one skeleton in the closet. Why else would Hartley be so worried about seeing his brother and sister? It was beginning to dawn on Fiona that his brief though startling contact with her was not the only relationship he had abandoned.
They arrived at the funeral home early. Hartley wanted time to speak with his family before the receiving of friends began. When he took Fiona’s hand in his as they mounted the steps to the red-brick and white-columned building, she wasn’t sure he even noticed.
She tugged him to a halt before he opened the door, squeezing his fingers, trying to extend her support. “It’s going to be okay,” she said softly. “Every family goes through this. You’ll make it. You all will.”
His expression was grim. “Death is one thing. Handling the living is something else again.”
His odd words stayed with her for the next half hour, illuminating the awkward family reunion.
Mazie was the first person to spot her brother. She ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck, her face wet with tears. “I swear I shouldn’t forgive you, but I’m so glad you’re here.”
Fiona hung back as Hartley embraced his classically beautiful sister. Mazie’s skin was fairer than her brother’s. And though the family resemblance was strong, her eyes were more golden amber than brown. Her elegance made Fiona feel dowdy in comparison. Mazie wore emeralds that must have cost a fortune.
Hartley reached back and drew Fiona into the small circle. “Mazie, this is my friend, Fiona James. She was kind enough to be my date today.”
Fiona grimaced. “I told him no one needs an escort to a funeral, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Mazie smiled through her tears. “That sounds like Hartley. Wait a minute,” she said. “Fiona James the artist? My husband and I have a couple of your paintings. The Salt Marsh at Sunset. The Bridge at Twilight. I treasure them. You’re incredibly talented.”
“Thank you,” Fiona said. It still startled her to be recognized.
Mazie dried her face with a tissue. “Jonathan is just around the corner. You might as well get this meeting over with.”
Hartley’s gaze darkened. “Is he really going to be okay?”
“Right as rain,” Mazie said. “He didn’t even freak out when Lisette told him she had been keeping you in the loop. Apparently, staring death in the face mellows a man.”
Hartley curled an arm around Fiona’s waist. “Jonathan was misdiagnosed in the beginning, but fortunately, the mistake was caught in time.”
“How scary,” Fiona said.
Mazie nodded. “Terrifying. We thought we were going to lose him.”
They turned down a hallway and more or less ran into the third Tarleton sibling. Jonathan had clearly overheard the end of their conversation.
He lifted a shoulder, his smile laconic. “Apparently, I’m hard to kill.”
The two brothers sized each other up. The tension was painful. They were definitely identical twins. No hiding that. But even an outsider would have no problem telling them apart.
Olive skin. Dark brown eyes. Chestnut hair. Those were the commonalities. Hartley’s hair was longer...untamed...sun-bleached. And he had the look of a man who spent a lot of time outdoors. Jonathan, on the other hand, was GQ handsome. Sculpted jaw. Expensive haircut. Conservative suit.
Two stunningly handsome men in their prime.
Hartley kept an arm around Fiona’s waist. “Hello, Jonathan.”
Mazie made a huffing noise. “For God’s sake. Hug each other.”
The brothers ignored her. At last, Jonathan held out his hand. “Welcome home, Hartley.”
Even without being privy to all the details, Fiona knew this moment was epic. It was written in Jonathan Tarleton’s wary expression and in the rigid set of Hartley’s posture.
“Thank you,” Hartley said quietly. “I’m glad to be back, but not for this reason. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when it happened.”
Mazie spoke up, her tears flowing again. “None of us were. Apparently, he died in his sleep. The housekeeper found him.”
“Hell,” Hartley said quietly. “I knew he wasn’t well, but I honestly thought he would go on forever.”
“So did we.” Jonathan glanced at his watch. “Would you like to see him?”
Fiona felt the shudder that racked Hartley’s body. “Yes,” he said gruffly.
Moments later, the four of them stood around the casket. Gerald Tarleton had been a large man. But in death, he looked old and frail. Fiona knew he had built a far-reaching shipping empire that would now pass on to his children. Again, she wondered about Mrs. Tarleton. Was she dead or alive?
Soon they were joined by J.B. Vaughan and Lisette, Jonathan’s wife. Mazie took care of the introductions. Her husband wrapped her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “No more crying, honey. You’ll give yourself a migraine.” He dabbed his wife’s cheeks with a handkerchief.
Fiona felt a fierce stab of envy. Would any man ever look at her with such naked devotion?
Her stomach curled with tension. Dozens of floral arrangements flanked the casket and filled the walls on either side. The heavy scent of carnations made Fiona feel ill. A cold sweat dampened her brow.
Could she leave? Could she simply run away? This wasn’t her family crisis. Suddenly, she knew she needed a moment to gather her composure. But before she could make a break for it, the funeral home director appeared behind them and intruded with a hushed cough.
“Guests are arriving,” he said, his tone sepulchral. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll escort you to an anteroom. We’ll open the doors, and then I’ll bring you in and arrange the receiving line.”
This was Fiona’s chance. In the transition, she darted down the hall and found the ladies’ room. Once in the stall, she retched and dry-heaved. Oh, God. She felt terrible. Her life was usually placid and peaceful. She liked it that way. Damn Hartley for pulling her into the middle of this mess.
When the crisis passed, she put a cold paper towel on the back of her neck and touched up her makeup. All her life she had never done well with confrontation and stress. Lack of stability in her formative years had left her with issues. Duh.
Her psyche craved calm, the kind of steady, peaceful existence her art gave her. She was happiest when she could lose herself in a creative project. Seeing Hartley again and having to negotiate his family storms made her a nervous wreck.
Still, he said he needed her. That had been enough to coax her into accompanying him during this difficult afternoon. She’d spent too many years ingratiating herself with different foster families to change her personality overnight.
She was independent now. She didn’t have to worry about housing or food or even winning a kind word from a stranger. But the desire to fit in...to be useful...was never far from the surface.
Fortunately, the crowds of visitors had already overtaken the room where the Tarleton family stood to greet friends and business acquaintances. Fiona was able to slip in unnoticed and take her place at Hartley’s side. He gave her a quick intimate glance, but immediately returned his attention to the seemingly endless line of men and women waiting to speak to him.
Fiona smiled and nodded, content to remain in the background. Occasionally, someone questioned Hartley about his long absence from Charleston. Each well-meaning query was deflected with a vague throwaway comment.
The man was a social genius, even if he did have more disappearing acts than Houdini.
At last, it was time to adjourn to the chapel. A couple of songs, some readings and a few words from Jonathan. Finally, it was over.
Fiona couldn’t wait to leave. Her stomach still felt iffy, and her head ached. Before she could plan her exit, Mazie appeared at her side.
The other woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, but she was calm. “A few of our friends have catered a dinner for us out at the beach house. We’ll be headed that way in a few moments. Don’t let Hartley escape.”
“Oh, no,” Fiona said. “This is your family time. I need to go home. It was lovely to meet you.”
Mazie frowned and strong-armed Fiona into a nearby corner. “Please, Fiona. You don’t know all the details.” She paused and grimaced. “To be honest, I don’t even know. But Jonathan and Hartley had a huge falling-out about something, something big. This is the first time they’ve been in the same room in over a year. They have to heal this thing. And we need you to be an impartial bystander.”
“Why?” Fiona asked, searching desperately for a polite way to make her excuses.
Mazie’s eyes filled with tears again, though this time perhaps not for her father’s passing. “I adore my brothers. They’ve been my supporters and protectors my entire life. It kills me to see them so stiff and polite with each other. Please, Fiona,” she said urgently. “Please have dinner with us.”
Hartley walked up to them, overhearing his sister’s invitation. “Of course she’s coming—right, Fee?”
Fiona knew she was trapped. She gnawed her lip. “If you’re sure I won’t be intruding.” She gave Hartley a pointed stare. “But I can’t stay too late. I have a huge project to begin tomorrow, and I want to be in bed at a decent hour.”
His gaze was inscrutable. “Understood.”
Hartley was no more communicative during the drive to the Tarleton home than he had been earlier en route to the funeral. The silence suited Fiona just fine. She leaned her head back against her seat and closed her eyes.
Unfortunately, shutting Hartley out was not so easy. His masculine scent teased her nose. Her fingers itched to cross the divide between them and stroke his thigh. She wanted to help him. She really did. And she wanted to be with him. But her sense of self-preservation warned her to keep her distance.
Instead, she was accompanying him to a meal and a social occasion that was sure to produce strong emotions and any one of a dozen possible outcomes, from uncomfortable silence to vocal recriminations.
If she was lucky, the Tarletons would be on their best behavior. Fiona would be able to return home and would never again answer her door to a tall, handsome lover.
Despite her misgivings, she was eager to see the beach house. Years ago, Gerald Tarleton had built a walled compound on the tip of a barrier island north of Charleston. Fiona knew of the property in general terms, but when Hartley steered the car through the front gates, she was both taken aback and enchanted.
The structure rested on massive stilts, of course. A sweeping staircase led up to the beautiful double-door entrance. Even from the driveway, Fiona could see the intricate stained glass that incorporated sea turtles, dolphins and starfish. As an artist, she was fascinated.
As a woman, she wanted to run far away.
Hartley shut off the engine and pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. “This feels so damned wrong.”
“I’m sorry.” The words were inadequate, but she didn’t know how else to help him.
The early evening light illuminated his drawn expression. “I grew up here,” he said quietly. “After 9/11, our father was paranoid. He barely let us leave the house for the longest time.”
“I can understand that, I suppose. He wanted to protect you.” She gazed up at Hartley’s family home. It was a far cry from the houses where she had been bounced around.
Her longest tenure was twenty-five months—with a family who had taken in four other foster children besides Fiona. When the wife eventually became pregnant with her own biological child, Fiona and her de facto brothers and sisters were reassigned.
Fiona had begged to stay. At thirteen, she was the oldest of the lot and capable of being a help around the house. But the pregnancy was high risk. The doctor said too much stress and chaos would threaten the mother’s health.
Fiona’s personality was quiet and self-abnegating. No chaos anywhere. But the doctor’s orders prevailed.
Fiona’s foster mom had cried and cried. She was too hormonal and stressed out to make a good decision. In the end, it was nobody’s fault, but Fiona had never again invested so much of herself emotionally.
Hartley touched her hand. “Ready to go inside?”
Even that one quick brush of his fingers against her skin sent shivers dancing down her spine. Why did he have this effect on her? “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”
His low laugh held little humor. “My brother and I are civilized people. You don’t have to worry about fistfights.”
“I wasn’t,” she said. “Until now.”
Her attempt at humor took some of the darkness from his face. “C’mon,” he said. “You’ll like the house.”
Fiona’s sandals had spiky heels, so she didn’t protest when Hartley held her elbow as they ascended the stairs. His touch made her knees weak. She had missed him...so very much.
She tried to remember how angry she was about his cavalier treatment of their budding relationship. But the bitterness of his absence winnowed away in the pleasure of having him near again. It was sobering to admit she was perilously close to letting bygones be bygones.
Though it was frustrating not to be able to resist his winsome charm, she liked the woman she was with him. He made her feel sensual and desirable.
Before Hartley was forced to make a decision about letting himself in or ringing the bell, Lisette opened the door and greeted them. Fiona wondered if that was deliberate, so his siblings wouldn’t be in the position of welcoming him back to his own home.
“Everyone is gathered in the dining room,” Lisette said. “The food looks amazing. There’s enough for half a dozen families.”
When the six adults were settled around the table, the housekeeper began setting out the meal on the antique sideboard. The food had come from a top-notch restaurant in the city. Fresh seafood. Ribs. Roasted corn on the cob. The dishes were endless.
The meal and the accompanying conversation progressed in fits and starts. During one awkward pause as wineglasses were being refilled, Hartley leaned in and spoke softly to Fiona. “My siblings are both still relatively new to this marriage gig. Mazie moved in with J.B. after the wedding. Jonathan and Lisette are building their own place.” His warm breath brushed her ear, making her shiver. The arm he curled across the back of her chair hemmed her in intimately.
Jonathan overheard the quiet exchange and lifted an eyebrow. “You’re curiously well-informed for a prodigal son.”
The edge in his voice was apparent.
Hartley shrugged with a lazy smile. “I have my spies.”
Fiona forced herself to wade in. Someone needed to defuse the rising tension. “What will happen to the beach house?”
Three (#u65a9cba7-6c0a-5646-8ed5-a73741a91e1b)
Nobody said a word. As Hartley watched, Fiona’s face turned bright red. There was no way to avoid land mines with this family around the table. To her, it must have seemed like an innocuous question.
Jonathan spoke up, his smile careful but kind. “It’s a little early to be thinking about those decisions. This was our father’s fortress, his safe place. He didn’t ever tell me what he wanted to do with the house when he was gone, and I didn’t ask. I’m sure the lawyers will guide us through probate.”
Suddenly, Hartley had reached his limit. They were all on their best behavior because of the funeral, but one thing was certain. Jonathan wasn’t opening his arms to let Hartley back into the fold. The unspoken message was clear. Hartley had walked away, and true forgiveness was in short supply.
He stood abruptly. “It was good to see you all. Thanks for the meal. I’d like to take Fiona for a walk on the beach, and then we’ll head out.”
Mazie looked stricken. “Are you leaving town again?”
Again, that awkward silence.
Hartley shook his head slowly. “No. I’m back for good.” There was so much he wanted to explain...so many family secrets to unravel. But how could he upend his siblings’ lives for no other reason than to justify his own behavior? It wasn’t fair to anyone. Maybe he would never tell them.
Fiona stood as well. “It was lovely to meet all of you. Sorry it was not under better circumstances.”
Moments later, the ordeal was over.
Outside in the driveway, Hartley looked down at Fiona’s shoes. “You can’t walk in those on the beach.”
“Barefoot is fine.” She slipped off her sandals and tossed them in the car, adding her small clutch purse as well.
Hartley removed his jacket, tie, shoes and socks, feeling as if he were peeling away layers of frustration and grief. He had always loved the beach, and this house in particular. “The ground is rough between here and the gate,” he said. “Get on my back, and I’ll carry you to the sand.”
Fiona looked at him askance. “I can walk.”
He ground his jaw. “It’s a piggyback ride, not foreplay.”
“Don’t get snippy with me, Hartley. I’m not the enemy.”
She was right. He couldn’t let Fiona bear the brunt of his mood. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Climb on.”
He watched as she shimmied her skirt up her thighs. Maybe he was wrong about the foreplay. Fiona’s legs were enough to keep a man awake at night. When she moved behind him, he hitched her up on his back and curled his hands beneath her warm, supple thighs.
Fortunately for his self-control, the path beneath the house and out to the gate was not far. Fee reached around him to disengage the lock, and soon they were at the water’s edge. He let her slide off his back slowly, steadying her with one hand as she stumbled.
There was no moon. The water seemed dark and menacing. But the whoosh and roar of the waves was a familiar lullaby from his childhood.
He tried to empty his mind of all the sorrow and confusion that had consumed him since he heard the news that his father was dead. Gradually, the inexorable pattern of the tide soothed him.
Fiona stood at his side in silence, her presence both a comfort and a niggling frustration. Twice now, he had made love to her and walked away. The first time, he’d had no choice. The second, he’d been reluctant to embroil her in his family drama. Maybe he sensed that he was using Fiona as a crutch. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to let her get inside his head. In both instances, his behavior was logical if not particularly admirable. But what was going to happen moving forward?
If he still wanted to sleep with Fee, and he did, most emphatically, then he needed not only her absolution, but also some notion of what was ahead for him professionally. Anything beyond that was more than he wanted to contemplate right now.
Almost as if she had read his mind, Fiona spoke softly. “What do you do for a living, Hartley? We’ve flirted and slept together, but I don’t really know much about you at all.”
Her question prodded an unseen wound. He cleared his throat. “Well, before I left Charleston for an extended period, I was a full partner in Tarleton Shipping. We were working on a proposal to add a boatbuilding arm...pleasure craft. That whole deal was going to be my baby.”
“And now?”
He shrugged. “I doubt my brother has any interest in working with me after everything that has happened.”
“Because of this mysterious falling-out?”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Jonathan is one of the finest men I’ve ever known. A straight arrow all the way. But as alike as we are physically, our personalities don’t always mesh.”
“Why did you not live at the beach house?”
“I got tired of butting heads with my father over the business. Jonathan had a knack for handling him with kid gloves. Dad and I only yelled at each other. Several years ago I bought an investment property at a premier golf community north of the city. I was the one who would wine and dine clients. Play a few rounds with them on the course. I liked being outdoors, even if golf wasn’t really my thing. But I closed deals and grew the business.”
“Who has done that while you’ve been gone?”
It was a simple question. Not meant to inflict pain. But it hit at the heart of his guilt. “I don’t know.” Fiona hadn’t been the only one he hurt when he’d hared off to Europe. He’d left behind his family and the shipping business and cut all contact. He’d had his reasons. In retrospect, though, he honestly didn’t know if he’d done the right thing.
Fiona moved restlessly. “The beach is lovely, Hartley. I really do need to get home, though.”
“I promised you explanations. It’s late. I don’t suppose I could sleep on your sofa?” He threw it out there hopefully. Fiona’s little house represented the peace and comfort he had lost in this last year.
“No,” she said bluntly. Without another word, she started up the beach toward the gate in the high brick wall.
“Fair enough.” He loped up the incline and scooped her into his arms. It was a tougher slog through the loose sand this way, but he persevered. He needed to hold her.
Fiona didn’t fight him. As soon as they were back at the car, though, she insisted on wriggling out of his embrace. After smoothing her hair and brushing the sand from her feet, she put on her sexy sandals.
Then she stood, hands on her hips, and watched him re-dress. “You don’t owe me explanations. I told you that.”
He rounded the car and cupped her face in his hands. Lightly. Gently. “I want to tell you, Fee. And in the spirit of honesty, I’d like to sleep with you again.”
“Sleep?”
She had him there. “Sex,” he muttered. Even to his own ears, he sounded like a jerk. But he wouldn’t dress it up. He couldn’t offer her anything more. His life was total chaos. Besides, Fiona would demand full-on honesty and intimacy from any man who shared her life for the long haul. That wasn’t him.
Her expression was mutinous. In the glow of the security light, the stubborn tilt to her chin was obvious. “Sex isn’t the answer to all your problems, Hartley.”
“Maybe not, but it would be damned good, and if you’re honest, you’ll agree. I know I messed up. I won’t do that to you again.”
“How can I believe you?” Her low laugh held a hint of dismay. “It’s a painful cliché, but I’m a kid who came through the foster system. Never got adopted. I have a few abandonment issues. Your recent behavior hasn’t helped.”
How many women would have the guts to be so vulnerable? He had a lot to answer for and no clear idea how to fix the messes he had created. “I want to kiss you, Fee,” he muttered. “But I’m trying my damnedest to respect your boundaries.”
Tears glittered in her eyelashes. She sniffed. “Shut up and do it, you aggravating man.”
It was all the invitation he needed. He wanted to snatch her up and take everything she had to give. Instead, he kissed her coaxingly, softly. Trying to tell her without words how much he regretted his missteps.
Fiona made a choked little noise in her throat and finally kissed him back. When her slender arms curled around his neck, he felt as if he had won the lottery. She was soft and perfect against his chest. He lifted her off her feet, desperate to make the kiss last.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “So sorry I hurt you.”
“You’re forgiven. Doesn’t mean I’m a glutton for punishment.” She pushed away from him after a few seconds. Reluctantly, he let her go.
“So, what now?” he asked quietly.
“Nothing. At least not today. Or even tomorrow. Twice,I let you talk your way into my bed like I was a sixteen-year-old girl with her first crush. That was my mistake. I make no guarantees, Hartley. None.”
He rolled his shoulders, realizing ruefully that he had been a little unrealistic about where this evening might lead. Even if he’d been saying all the right things, apparently his libido had jumped ahead to more titillating scenarios. “Understood,” he sighed.
He started the engine and waited for her to climb into the front seat. The ocean breeze had tousled her hair. It stood up around her head like a nimbus, making her a weary goddess...or a naughty nymph.
Which did he want? The angel or the sexy sprite? In his imagination, she was both.
He turned the radio on for the drive back to Charleston. As they pulled away from his father’s home, Hartley glanced in the rearview mirror. Jonathan stood at the top of the stairs, his arms folded across his chest.
Seeing his brother tonight had been surprisingly painful. After all this time, Hartley had been hoping Jonathan might have relented...that he had come to know instinctively that Hartley would never do anything to bring harm to his family.
But apparently, some hurts ran deep. Jonathan wasn’t wiping the slate clean. In fact, he hadn’t made any mention of the future at all. Hartley was on his own.
When they reached Fiona’s street, she gathered her purse and started to climb out as soon as the car rolled to a halt. He took her wrist. “Wait, Fee. Please.”
Her body language was wary. “What?”
“Let me take you to lunch tomorrow. I’ll tell you the whole story, start to finish.” He needed to tell someone. The secrets were gutting him. But his family was off-limits until he decided whether or not the truth would be too damaging. Fiona was a neutral player.
“I have to work tomorrow,” she said.
“Dinner, then?” He was close to begging on his knees.
She hesitated for far too long. “Fine. But if this story is as convoluted as it seems, we should eat at my house. I’ll fix spaghetti.”
“I want to treat you,” he said.
“You can’t spill salacious secrets in the middle of a crowded restaurant. Besides, this isn’t a date, Hartley. You seem to have a need to bare your soul, and I’ve agreed to listen. That’s all.”
“You’re a hard woman.”
“It’s about time, don’t you think?”
“I remember what it’s like to make love to you, Fee. You can’t blame a guy for wanting to re-create the magic.”
“The magic is gone. You killed it.”
Her words were harsh, but she was still sitting in his car. He took that as a good sign. “I love spaghetti,” he said. “What time?”
“Six o’clock. Don’t assume you’ll be able to coax me into letting you spend the night. That’s off the table.”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re cute when you’re busting my balls.”
“Grow up, Hartley. I’m immune to you now.”
I’m immune to you now. Fiona had never told a bigger lie in her life. She slept poorly and woke up the following morning disturbed by the vivid dreams that had plagued her. Being with Hartley again kindled a hunger in her belly that no homemade spaghetti was going to fill. She wanted him. Still. After everything he had done. It was a shocking realization.
Despite her unsettled mood, she was a professional artist. That meant working regular hours even when her muse had taken a hike. Today was a case in point. It was harder than it should have been to concentrate on her new project...three massive panels that would hang in one of the main rooms of Charleston’s visitor center.
Commissions like this one were her bread and butter. They paid the light bill and kept food in the fridge. But they weren’t humdrum. Never that. She poured her heart and soul into every brushstroke.
Because of the size of the canvases, she’d had to buy a special easel that held the work in progress secure. At certain moments, she would have to stand on a ladder to complete the highest portions. Her sketch—the one the city had approved—included historical images all the way from Charleston’s founding up until modern times.
A giant undulating current swept through the center of each panel, propelling the milestones of progress from decade to decade. Included in the visual tellingwere some very painful periods in time. She could see the finished product in her mind. The challenge she faced was being able to successfully translate her vision into reality.
It was her habit to paint for a couple of hours when she first awoke and then take a break for coffee and a light brunch. After that, she would typically labor for another five or six hours and quit for the day. Hard work and determination had brought her to this place in her career. She was conscious that her success was based on a great many things beyond her control, so she was determined to make the most of her current success.
This morning, though, she found herself swamped with inexplicable fatigue and a draining lethargy that forced her to go in search of calories after only forty-five minutes in her studio.
In the kitchen, an unexpected dГ©jГ vu brought her up short. She and Hartley had stood in this very spot and made bacon and eggs amidst much laughter and many hot, hungry kisses.
She put a hand to her chest, trying to still the flutters of anxiety. Hartley wouldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. Her problem was far closer to home. It was her. Fiona. The woman with the deep-seated need for love and acceptance.
Hartley made her happy, but more than that, he made her wish and dream, and that was dangerous.
The fact that she had slept with him twice was no big deal. They’d had fun. Their sexual chemistry was off the charts. He was smart and kind and amusing, and she had never met a more appealing man.
But it was the long view that worried her. Like the deadly undertow out at the beach, Hartley had the power to drag her under...to tear apart the life she had built for herself. She was proud of her independence. She didn’t lean on any man for support.
The danger lay in the fact that without even trying, he made her want to throw caution to the wind. When she was with him—and also when she wasn’t—the smart, careful, cautious side of her brain shut down.
Even now, all she could think about was how much she wanted to share a bed with him again. Naked and wanton. Losing herself in the elemental rush of sexual desire. Hartley made her alive. And she loved it.
But with great joy came the potential for great heartbreak.
With the way she was feeling, it was too much trouble to cook anything. Instead, she opted for cereal and a banana. A cup of hot tea warmed her cold fingers. When she was done with breakfast, she carried a second serving of tea to the living room and curled up on the couch.
Cradling the china cup in her hands, she debated calling off tonight’s dinner. Who was she kidding? If Hartley came over, she would sleep with him. Wouldn’t she? Did she have it in her to say no?
Sitting here alone, it was easy to see all the problems.
The Tarletons were Charleston royalty. They and J.B.’s family, the Vaughans, had endowed libraries and funded hospital wings and sat on the boards of half a dozen philanthropic organizations across the city. Their bloodlines went back to pre–civil war times.
Fiona appreciated her own worth, but she was a pragmatist. Hartley appeared to have the attention span of a moth. He was interested in Fiona at the moment, because his life was in crisis. And because they had shared a couple of encounters that had all the earmarks of a romantic comedy.
Life wasn’t like that, though. In the long run, the chances that he would actually come to love Fiona were slim. Maybe she was his flavor of the month right now, but when the novelty paled, he would be off on another adventure, with another woman, and Fiona might be left with a broken heart if she were foolish enough to fall for him.
Despite all her hashing and rehashing of the facts, she couldn’t bring herself to text him and say don’t come. How pathetic was that? She desperately wanted to see him. And then, of course, there was her curiosity about where he had been all these months.
He had never struck her as a liar. If he had explanations to make today, she had a hunch they would be true. Fantastical maybe, but true.
She finished her tea and stood, only to have the room whirl drunkenly.
With a little gasp, she reached behind her for the arm of the sofa and sat down gingerly. Had she poured bad milk in her cereal? Her stomach flipped and flopped. What was going on?
Five minutes later, she tried again. This time the familiar outlines of her furniture stayed put, but the nausea grew worse. At the last moment, she made a dash for the bathroom and threw up, emptying her stomach again and again until she was so weak she could barely stagger to her bedroom.
She curled up in the center of the mattress, shaking and woozy, and pulled the edge of the comforter over her.
Then it hit her. A possibility that had never once crossed her mind...though it should have. Was she pregnant? She’d had these odd episodes for several weeks now...had written them off as a virus or inner ear trouble or low blood sugar.
Her heart hammered in her chest. Her periods were not regular...never had been. At her gynecologist’s urging, Fiona typically noted them on a paper calendar she kept in the bedside table.
When she thought she could move without barfing, she reached for the drawer, extracted what she needed and stared numbly at the unmarked boxes. Back one month. Then two. Then three. At last, she found it. A brief notation in her own handwriting. She’d had her period about ten days before Hartley last showed up at her house.
Dear Lord.
He’d used protection. Hadn’t even balked at the idea when she told him she wasn’t on the pill. In fact, he’d used protection that night after the wedding, too. He’d been a generous, thoughtful lover.
But no method of birth control was 100 hundred percent. And now that she thought about it, three months ago, they had made love multiple times during the night when they were both half-asleep. Had they messed up? Was there one of those times when his body had claimed hers skin to skin?
Her teeth started to chatter. She couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not until she was sure. He was going to be at her house in a few hours. With a moan of mortification, she buried her face in the pillow.
Yet even as she trembled with fear, excitement and happiness bloomed in her chest. A baby? Was she really pregnant? This could be the future she had always dreamed of...the family she so desperately wanted.
Hartley didn’t have to be involved, but he had to be told.
Four (#u65a9cba7-6c0a-5646-8ed5-a73741a91e1b)
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.”
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