Authors: Amanda Carpenter
This time a smile of genuine amusement appeared on his tough features. “I wouldn’t say that,” he murmured, eyeing her slender form appreciatively. She took in his meaning, even before his next words, and coloured again. “Things seem to look rather nice from my perspective.”
“Er—would you like some coffee?” she asked quickly, making his eyes dance.
But he didn’t attempt to tease her anymore and he answered simply, “Yes, please.”
She busied herself with the coffee maker, glad of the excuse to be doing something. Gabe seated himself at the kitchen table as she worked at the counter. Emma, drat her, was nowhere to be found, she saw as she looked about her.
He started to talk as she worked. He watched her small form move around the kitchen, like a little bird darting from one place to the next. “I came to bring the prints over that you forgot last night.” She nodded, unsurprised. “Also,” he continued, “I wanted to apologise for losing my temper with you like I did. I said some things I shouldn’t have, things I had no right to say.”
Carrie’s hands stilled as she heard the quiet words. Remembering what she was supposed to be doing, she quickly started to move again, but her attention was not on what she did. She spooned too many teaspoons of sugar into her coffee and handed it to Gabe by mistake. She sat down opposite him at the table and sipped her coffee. Ugh! It was as bitter as sin, and she couldn’t take bitter coffee. She watched him lift his cup to his lips and said sharply, “Don’t drink it!”
He stared at her. She said sheepishly, “You like your coffee black, no sugar, right?” He nodded, looking mystified. She finished lamely, “I think I gave my coffee to you by mistake.” He shoved the cup over to her and she tasted it tentatively. Ugh, again! Her expression of disgust was wholly spontaneous, and Gabe got quite a kick from it, by the look on his face. He watched her pour out the cup after shoving the other his way. She stared at his laughing face sourly over the rim of a fresh cup. “Finished laughing at me?”
He was totally unrepentant. “I can’t promise that unless you stop doing things that I find funny,” he retorted, chuckling. “Now, where was I?”
“Apologising,” Carrie answered happily. “And quite nicely, too. But you spoiled everything the next minute, you know. You’ll have to start again.”
“No way,” he told her. Kicking out his legs in a long stretch that reached all the way to her legs, tucked neatly as they were under her chair, he continued, “I only apologise once for something. And I only mean it once.”
“I know, I was only teasing. Really, I have to apologise too. I acted pretty badly, if my memory serves me right,” she sighed. She had always found it quite impossible to hold a grudge against anybody. It wasn’t part of her personality. She pulled at a curl on her forehead and succeeded in making it stick straight out. Trying ineffectually to smooth it down, she glanced at Gabe and found him looking, very hard, right into her eyes. She said suddenly, prompted by something she read there, “I guess I was a little piqued at how you seemed to rebound so quickly and easily from—what I’d thought we’d shared out in the beautiful, starry night. It really was my fault, I think. I said things in a way that I shouldn’t have. I didn’t handle things in a mature manner.”
Her eyes fell away from Gabe’s, and she searched for something to say in the little silence that followed her speech. After a moment, she ventured a glance in Gabe’s direction. She regretted her confession now. The words spoken out loud, in daylight, sounded melodramatic.
Gabe was looking down pensively at his coffee cup. The overhead light in the kitchen threw shadows across his face and outlined the high line of his cheekbones and the strong curve of his jaw. The firm mouth was held crookedly, the well-shaped lips pulled awry. His hands toyed with his cup, twirling it absentmindedly around, the long fingers lean and graceful.
“More coffee?” she asked, noticing his cup was empty. Gabe, startled out of his reverie, looked up quickly, shaking his head. Carrie helped herself to another cup. She turned from the counter and leaned against it, glad of an excuse to put distance between Gabe and herself.
“There must have been a misunderstanding all around,” he spoke at last, turning his head towards her.
She set her cup down too sharply, and feigned a nonchalance that she was nowhere near feeling, for the talk had become uncomfortable. She searched for a way to end an awkward situation.
“Let’s forget the whole thing, shall we?” she offered carefully. She examined her fingernails. One edge of the middle fingernail on her left hand was jagged and she began to worry at it. “Surely it would be better if we put the whole unpleasantness behind us and tried to go on from there?”
A hand closed over Carrie’s two fidgeting ones, covering them both. She watched it with interest, stubbornly refusing to look up.
“Is that what you want?” he asked, giving her hands a little shake. “That’s not what I want. I don’t want to try and forget any part of that night, not even the unpleasant part.” The hand holding her hands moved to her chin and gently forced her to look up. “Don’t you see? We must have felt pretty strongly about something, to react as strongly as we did. It was an important night, and just why it was, I’d like to find out.” He pushed the hair off of her forehead and his hand trailed down the side of her face. It felt like a caress.
“Have dinner with me tonight.” She shook her head, an automatic gesture, and instinctive. The hand on her face stilled. “Why not?” he asked.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She couldn’t think of any reason why she couldn’t tell him, and suddenly she felt a great impatience with herself, an anger at her own slowness. “I…just no,” she said flatly.
“Surely there’s a reason?” His dark eyes probed her face, watching the expression flit across it.
At these words, her eyes fell and she remained silent. She was afraid of his anger, afraid of another unpleasant scene, but for the life of her, she couldn’t articulate a thing.
“Afraid?” His guess was much too accurate. His eyes saw too damn much.
She twisted her chin out of his hold and averted her face. Gabe’s stare never wavered, his stare relentless. “Er—” She sighed shakily and gave in. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Carrie looked down at her hands as she twisted them together. There was a vulnerable curve to the side of her cheek, the part of her face that Gabe could see. She pressed her hands tightly. “Once upon a time, there was a very foolish girl,” she started quietly, not looking up. “She…got hurt pretty badly. It wasn’t that long ago, and it destroyed all the trust that she felt for—someone, and all her respect.” A hand came up to her face again and cupped her cheek gently. It gave her courage to look up, and she smiled at the concern that she saw in those dark eyes. “It hurt her pride, too. Gabe, don’t ask me anymore, I don’t want to talk about it. I’m over that hurt, it’s just that I’m wary, that’s all.”
“Carrie,” he said softly. Her eyes dropped, and he went on quickly, “No, look at me, please.” She did, and his eyes held hers steadily. “I would never, ever, hurt you intentionally. There’s no reason to be afraid of me. Good God, I’d probably strangle anyone who so much as laid a finger on you! Please. Try to learn to trust me, just a little.”
She believed him. Looking into those wonderful eyes, she saw the truth and really believed. A sunny smile broke out over her face, and Gabe caught his breath as he watched it bloom. “Okay,” she said in a rush. “I’m sorry to have been so silly.”
“Don’t. Have dinner with me?”
She nodded, without a murmur, and his black eyes smiled back. “Good,” he said simply. “I’ll pick you up. Seven? Fine. Now, I really have to go and get some work done.” This was accompanied by a flick of the eyes to his wrist watch. “See you tonight.” Quickly he pressed his mouth against hers, a warm, firm pressure, and then he was gone.
Carrie was quite satisfied with her appearance that evening. Her hair was piled up into an elegant knot, high on her head, and her skirt outfit was cool and feminine. The skirt was a pale tan colour, with tiered flounces and very full at the bottom in contrast to a tightly fitted waist. The skirt stopped at mid-calf, showing off her slender legs and feet, which were shod in high-heeled sandals. Her cream blouse was filmy and delicate and very plain. A long white scarf was tied into a loose knot around her neck, the two ends falling almost to her waist, the style copying that of a loosely tied necktie that a man would wear, but the material of the scarf was definitely feminine, shimmering softly.
She had spent a great deal of time on her make-up in the hope that it would help her confidence, and it had. She knew she was looking good. Her eyes appeared quite mysteriously shadowed. Hearing a sound outside, she went to see what it was. Gabe slammed the door of his car and strode towards the house. He was in the same suit he had been in this morning, and Carrie made a shrewd guess, betting he had worked all day. Probably he had just left his office, coming straight here. She saw him loosen his tie as he approached the house.
She grabbed up her purse and headed quickly for the stairs. As she approached the ground floor, she heard her mother answer the door, greeting Gabe pleasantly. His deep voice murmured in reply. The slightest turn of his head had him staring up at Carrie as she rounded the corner on the staircase and came into view. He didn’t appear to hear what Janet was saying to him and he had to apologise to her and ask her to repeat herself. Now Carrie could hear the conversation.
Janet obligingly repeated, “I asked if you would like to stay and have a drink before you two leave.” She looked up, saw Carrie and smiled with pleasure. “Why, darling, you look very pretty tonight.”
Gabe murmured, “Very.” Carrie found herself avoiding his eyes as she thanked her mother. Waiting until she had finished, he asked, “Would you like to stay for a drink before we leave?”
“Oh,” she began, studying his face. There were two fine lines stretched from the sides of his nose to the sides of his mouth that looked more taut than usual. “No, if you would rather, I think we should be going.”
Gabe refused Janet’s offer politely. “We’ll be leaving, then, I think. Thank you anyway, Mrs. Metcalfe. Some other time, perhaps?” She wasn’t sure how she knew, but Carrie was suddenly quite positive that Gabe was exhausted. He opened the front door, said goodbye to Janet, and they were soon walking to his car.
“You’re tired,” she said as she was escorted to her side of the car. “Are you sure you feel like going out?”
He glanced at her, taking off his tie. “To tell the truth, no, I don’t. Would you mind terribly if we went to my place and scratched up a dinner at home?”
“Of course not.”
He started the car and smoothly reversed. Most of the trip was made in silence, although he spoke once.
“Mrs. Hastings has the night off tonight. Do you think you could bear my cooking?” He shot her a smiling look. “I’m haphazard at best.”
“Well, I’m an excellent cook,” she told him. “Sort of. At least I can cook pretty well, and we can be reasonably sure that it’ll be edible. I’ll cook us up something to eat and you can take a shower or something, change into a pair of jeans, and relax.”
“Marvelous,” he sighed. “It would be less trouble to go out, really.”
“No, it wouldn’t. I want to do it, and you need to kick up your feet for a while,” she assured him.
“All right, since I don’t feel like cooking. Actually, I just don’t feel like arguing.”
“Bad day?” She ventured the question.
“Hellish. Everything that could go wrong, did; and everything that couldn’t, did anyway. Except, that is, for our little talk.”“ He smiled.
“At least it’s over now.” As she spoke, the car pulled into the long driveway leading up to Gabe’s house. He parked and switched the engine off.
“Yes, thank God.” He grinned, running his fingers through his hair, rumpling it. Carrie wanted to reach out and smooth it down again, but only coughed and turned away.
The house was dark and silent as they entered the front door. Gabe travelled through several rooms, including the kitchen, and switched on lights. Mrs. Hastings had left him a note, which he read quickly as Carrie came into the kitchen too. She headed to the refrigerator and, opening the door, peered in to see what it held. A quick inventory showed that it held one head of lettuce, two tomatoes, cheese, eggs, sour cream, and few bottles of different sauces. Checking the freezer, she found a package of steaks. She hauled it out.
“Gabe!” she called.
He had moved to the front room, now minus his suit jacket and waistcoat and was pouring himself a drink. He looked around. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist this. Do you want a drink?”
“Why not? How about a dry red wine? Do you have that? I can sip it while I cook.” She held up the package she carried. “How does a nice, thick, juicy steak sound to you?”
“Wonderful! How long do you think it’ll take?” He took a sip of his glass appreciatively. It was full of a honey-coloured liquid and she guessed it was brandy. She shuddered.
“It depends on how you like your steak cooked. These are frozen, so I’ll have to pop them in the microwave for a little bit,” she told him. She switched the package from one hand to the next. The cold was beginning to bite into her hand, making it hurt.
“I’ll eat mine any way except rare. I can’t stand bloody meat.”
“I like mine just a little pink in the middle; is that all right?” she asked.
“Just fine,” he replied, noticing her little dance with the cold package. He told her, “Get that in the microwave, and I’ll be right there with your drink.”
Carrie was just rinsing off her hands when he came into the kitchen with a glass of sparkly wine in one hand and his drink in the other. Gabe sank into a chair after setting down the glasses, the movement eloquent. Carrie watched him with some amusement before turning to the refrigerator and pulling out the lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese. Then, quickly and deftly, she cut up a salad into a large bowl. Gabe watched her hands.
Looking up, she smiled at him. ““If you want, there’s just enough time to go and have a shower before supper. After I set the table, I’m going to nurse my glass of wine and stare off into space, so don’t mind me.”