Country Roads (42 page)

“Where is this adventure taking place?” Julia asked, as Paul gunned the ’Vette up the hill leading out of the town.

“You’ll know when we get there.” Without taking his eyes off the road, he reached over and took her hand, twining his fingers with hers and bringing it back to rest on the console between them.

“I guess I’m dressed all right,” Julia said, eyeing his faded jeans and West Virginia University T-shirt with some relief.

This time he glanced sideways, his gaze sliding quickly down her body. An appreciative gleam sparked in his eyes. “Since you insist on wearing clothes, you’re dressed just fine.” His expression turned serious. “Your uncle came to my office.”

“What! I didn’t even tell him your name,” Julia said.

“You didn’t need to. This is Sanctuary.”

Carlos must have weaseled it out of his hired driver. “Does Carlos…what did you talk about?” She couldn’t quite bring herself to ask if her uncle knew they were lovers.

“Yes, he knows we’re together.”

“Oh.” She realized she had tightened her grip on his hand and forced her fingers to relax. “Um, what exactly did he say?” She couldn’t imagine Carlos asking Paul if he was sleeping with her.

“He wanted to know if I was the reason you refused to come home.”

“How did you answer that?”

“It didn’t matter, because it became apparent he already knew.” He threw her a quick glance. “He came because he wanted to put me on notice to behave.”

Julia grimaced. “I’m sorry. It’s none of his business.” Her uncle meant well, but it was humiliating to have him meddle in her love life. She needed to make sure he understood that was as off-limits as her professional life.

“Truth be told, I wanted to meet him.” He gave her hand a light squeeze. “It’s not a bad thing to have someone care so much about you.”

“Just suffocating at times.”

“How did he take being fired?”

“Well, he threatened me with the loss of my reputation and total financial ruin. Neither one worries me.”

“That’s my Julia.” Paul gave her a quick flash of a smile. “Did he admit to lying about showing your work to dealers?”

“He didn’t lie. He just showed it to dealers who couldn’t handle the edgier style.” She sighed. “He didn’t believe in it enough to explore new markets.”

“I’m sorry. I know that was rough on you.” He lifted her hand to give it a gentle kiss. “At least your uncle seems to have accepted
the inevitable, because he wanted to make sure I wrote up an airtight contract between you and Claire.”

Julia groaned.

“Don’t worry, I stuck up for Claire.” Paul slotted the car into a space on the street and turned to her. “You’ve had a hard day, sweetheart. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the inn and rest?”

“Not a chance. Distract me.”

“You got it.”

Julia looked out her window to discover they were parked in front of the Black Bear. She was little disappointed since he’d promised her an adventure.

Her door opened, and Paul pulled her up from the car’s low seat. Slinging his arm around her shoulders, he guided her through the Bear’s front door, past the sparse Wednesday night crowd, to a closed door off the side of the main seating area. He reached forward and threw open the door with a flourish.

The room was small and empty except for a foosball table positioned in the center and a couple of chairs set around a small round table in the far corner.

“I’m going to teach you to play my favorite game,” Paul said.

Excitement raced through Julia. She wanted to be able to share this with him. She walked to the table and put her hands on two of the rods. “Show me what to do.”

For the next hour and a half, he had her practice rod technique, execute carom shots, dance the ball from man to man, and explicate strategy. All the while awareness simmered between them as he stood behind her, his hands over hers on the grips, demonstrating a play. Or he faced her across the table, his hands flashing from grip to grip, his face lit with passion for the game he loved.

As he complimented her on a tricky bank shot, certainty flooded through her like molten steel.

There was no way on earth she was ever leaving this man.

I
NEED A
beer,” Paul said, sending two rods into a blurring spin before he stepped away from the table.

Julia swiped the back of her wrist across her forehead. “This is hard work.”

“You’re a natural. Must be your visual ability. You understand angles better than a lot of experienced players. And you’ve got strong hands.”

“Years of holding palettes and paintbrushes.” Julia braced her hands on the edge of the table and leaned on them. “You’re a tough teacher.”

“I want to make sure you’ve got a firm grasp of the basics.” He opened the door and held up two fingers to someone she couldn’t see. “That way you won’t get into bad habits when I’m not around.”

Julia understood. This was a gift he wanted to give her before she went off to the glitter of international fame.

“You got quiet all of a sudden.” He came up behind her and wound his arms around her waist, nuzzling his lips against the side of her neck.

“My electrolytes are depleted. I need that beer.” His breath blew warm against her skin, sending wavelets of pleasure cascading down her spine. She crossed her arms over his, wanting to stay wrapped in him like this forever.

“I’d say get a room, but you have one.” The waitress gave Julia a wink as she bustled over to the round table and set down two mugs and two bottles. “Lock the door behind me, will ya? The Black Bear is a family bar.” She chuckled as she pulled the door closed.

Paul slid one arm out from under Julia’s and pulled her toward the table. “Let’s get you some electrolytes, otherwise known as Sam Adams.”

Julia let him settle her and himself in the chairs. She grabbed the bottle before he could pour it into a mug and tilted it back for a long, hard swallow of beer, like the cowboys in movies before they slammed through the saloon doors to shoot it out in the street.

She put her bottle down on the table with a
thunk
. “I’m not leaving.”

He’d been lounging back, his chair balanced on two legs, watching her with an admiring gleam in his eyes. Now his chair’s front legs banged onto the floor. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Sometimes you’re such a lawyer,” she said. “I mean I want to stay here with you.”

“We’ve had this conversation already.” His fingertips beat against the table.

“No, we had a different one. Because I didn’t tell you the truth.”

His fingers stilled.

She rotated her beer bottle in her hands, not sure if she should look him in the eye or if it would be better not to see his reaction. She lifted her eyes to his. She could read nothing; his mask was in place. She summoned up the courage to keep watching him. “I love you. Not because you give me great orgasms, but because of who you are. If you make me leave, I’ll be miserable, no matter what city you think I should drag myself off to in the name of my career.”

He surged out of his chair and walked over to the foosball table, smacking the goalie rod so it bounced across the playing surface. “How do I spell this out for you? I don’t want you here.”

She felt as though the rod had slammed into her own chest. “Why not?” She tried to make her voice strong, but failed entirely.

He rounded on her. “Because I can’t leave. How do you think I’ll feel when I can’t go with you to celebrate your opening in Paris or London or wherever? What about traveling to find new inspiration for your art? You’d have to go alone while I’d be back here in Sanctuary, pretending I wasn’t missing you and worrying about you every second of the day.” He paced back and forth in front of her. “You’ll be growing and absorbing new things and I’ll be stagnating here. One day you’ll come home and wonder what the hell you’re doing with this ignorant, unsophisticated hick.”

“That won’t happen,” she whispered.

“The hell it won’t.” He dropped back into his chair.

“Maybe you’re not giving your brother enough credit.”

“What my brother has can’t be fixed. You don’t understand what it’s like to live with an incurable disease.”

How wrong he was about that.

“As long as Eric is here, I am my brother’s keeper.”

“Have you asked Jimmy what he thinks?”

“He got drunk when he thought I might take a job in Washington. That’s all the answer I need.”

“Are you sure that’s why he did it? Maybe he felt guilty about you not taking the job because of him.”

Anger flared in his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She braced herself. “I know what it’s like to have people assume I need to be protected without asking me. Your brother went through a very tough period, and you came home to help him with it. You’re still seeing him as he was then. It might be time for both of you to look at it from a different perspective.”

Couldn’t Paul see how similar he was to Carlos?
No, because she was still withholding an important element of her life from him.

“I’m not your uncle, if that’s what you’re thinking.” It was uncanny how he’d read her mind. “My situation is entirely different.”

She wrestled with herself, trying to summon the courage to tell him about her epilepsy. Every time she began to form the words, her throat closed up. Paul already thought she needed protecting from herself. How much worse would it be if he knew there was a reason for Carlos’s constant concern?

“Will you talk to your brother? If not for your sake, then for mine?” She attempted an appeal to his chivalrous side.

He looked away. “I spoke to his AA sponsor. He painted a pretty bleak picture.” He brought his gaze back to hers and his tone softened. “You need to be realistic about this.”

Panic hit her as she realized he was determined to sacrifice both of them for his brother. She stood up. “Look at Darkside. Everyone gave up on him except Sharon. She knew he just needed someone to believe in him. Maybe your brother needs you to believe in him.”

His face hardened to stone. “Are you accusing me of encouraging my brother to drink?”

“Of course not.” She put her hands out as though to push his question away. She was making a huge mess of this. “I just want to find a way for us to be together.”

“Sometimes life doesn’t give you a way,” Paul said.

“It doesn’t matter that I love you?” She offered her heart once more, hoping he wouldn’t rip it out of her chest.

He dropped his hand into his lap. “You don’t know that.”

“If you’re going to reject me, at least don’t patronize me.” She tried to whip up some anger to give herself the strength to
survive the rest of the conversation. “I’m very clear on my feelings for you.”

“I’m not rejecting you.” She thought she heard a rasp of pain in his voice.

“What do you call it?”

“Self-preservation.”

“Oh, don’t give me that crap.” She couldn’t believe he was back to trying to convince her he was protecting himself, not her. “Just take me back to the inn. I’m too ticked off to talk to you any more tonight.”

The look he gave her killed her rant. It was filled with longing and regret, pain and resignation, and she could swear something that looked like it might be what she hoped for. Then he said, “Sweetheart, we won’t ever talk about this again.”