And anyway, love didn't last. Look at Jeannie and
Eddie. But a career went on forever. It was just a matter of footwork and timing. And perseverence.
The call would come and she knew she wouldn't hesitate. Career came first She would be out of here...soon.
Â
THERE WAS ONLY one way to handle Carrie, Truck decided, and that was to give her what she wantedâwith a catch. And especially since she was so dead set on thinking that her stay in Paradise was only temporary. Some things weren't temporary, like his fierce desire for Carrie every time he thought about her, every time he saw her.
This afternoon had been rough. There'd been too many people around and he'd wound up making banal conversation while he'd been feeling as primitive as a caveman and out of control.
“So, did you ask Carrie to dinner?” Old Man asked him when Truck had got him back home.
“Carrie isn't doing dinner with the locals,” he answered.
Old Man cocked his head. “Is that so?”
“That is most definitely so,” he said, lightening his tone.
“That's too bad.” There was a long pause. “Have you ever asked her?”
Longer pause. “Kind of,” Truck said finally.
Short pause. “I see,” Old Man said.
The problem was, his father saw too much, Truck thought. His father probably knew just how Truck felt about Carrie. And exactly what he meant by
kind of.
Nothing got by Old Man.
Truck sat on the porch and waited for Old Man to fall asleep. He then wheeled his father into his bedroom, gently lifted him out of the wheelchair and put him to
bed. Afterward he went back outside and waited some more. He had learned the value of patience and anticipation. He reined in his imagination. There was plenty of time for that later. For now, he had to take control. Carrie was not going to be allowed to deny what was going on between them.
It had gone too far for that anyway.
Carrie was working intently on her computer when late that night he let himself into her house. Lights were blazing everywhere, and he turned them down as he entered the kitchen, went through the living room and paused at the door to the den.
She still wasn't aware of him. He watched her for a moment, his whole body tensing. He flicked off the overhead light so that only the muted glow of the desk lamp lit the room.
She jumped and pushed backward on her desk chair. “Who's there?”
“Just me.”
She ran her tongue over her lips; the movement arrested him. “It's after midnight.”
“I know.” He pushed her chair back to the desk and the flickering screen.
“What are you doing here?”
He placed his hands on her shoulders and he felt the shuddering excitement building in her. She understood why he was here, he would not have to play games.
He slipped his hands downward to the swell of her breasts and cupped them. All her secrets right here in this one motion of his hands sliding under and around the curve of her breasts, his fingers swirling over and around them, but never touching her nipples.
“You know what I'm doing here.” He could feel her body caving right under his hands. “I'm your phantom
lover, Carrie. I come in the night to lie with you, so you never have to be seen with me, you never have to talk to me, you never have to make a commitment to me.”
He deliberately intensified the swirling motion, coming closer and closer to her hard-peaked nipples. “Is that how you want it, Carrie? In the dark, deep of the night, when prying eyes can't see?”
She arched her breasts into his hands. Her whole body went weak with a swooning excitement. He could do anything with her he wanted. She felt like clay, soft, pliant, rich.
“I want
you
,” she whispered, in thrall to his long fingers stroking her breasts.
Truck cupped her breasts again and urged her out of her chair. “Make yourself ready for me.” No niceties here, but she didn't need that, only the insistent caress of his fingers all over her breasts, and permission to give in to her burning need. “Over the desk.”
He would show her that he was more than a memory, more than a phantom lover that came to her at night, and then, only then would Carrie keep him with her forever.
It was just the right height, and her bottom was canted at exactly the right angle. He kneaded the cushiony curves of her buttocks as he ripped off his jeans. She wanted this as much as he.
Her shuddering breaths aroused him still more. Slowly he pushed himself into her, letting her feel his power, his heat
Carrie could feel only the length and thickness of him, and his huge wicked hands holding her body immobile to receive him. She shimmied against his hips in flagrant anticipation, and he whispered in a husky tone, “Not yet. Don't move. I want more of you.”
How much more?
She caught her breath.
That much more
. She groaned, she threw her head back, moaned loudly as she felt him wholly rooted in her.
Silence. Heat. Swelling tension. Explosive need. Not a movement, not a word. Everything understood by their hot voluptuous joining.
And he waited. He understood so well the virtue of anticipation, of letting her experience the hard thick whole of his maleness inside her, and nurturing her appetite for it. It was enough for now that she wanted him right this minute in the worst way.
And that was how he intended to keep her aroused and hungry and primed for him. It was almost time...he felt it, he heard it in the soft sounds she made at the back of her throat. He grasped her hips, he shifted his stance, and he poised himself for the wild drive to completion. He heard her keening cry as he initiated a short rhythmic thrust that removed him from the depths of her. Again he slowed himself, pulling out and pushing in tirelessly, rhythmically, until she melted around him, begging him for more.
Then he took her, giving in to his volcanic craving for her.
Silence again. There were no words. Carrie lay sprawled across the desk, utterly spent and weak.
She thought he had left her to go to the kitchen. Or maybe he was sitting on the porch. But when she finally dressed herself, shut down the computer and went to look for him, he was nowhere in the house, and she felt a little lost.
...Did you think I got nearly enough of you...?
Her phantom lover...
A smile played around her lips.
He sure was playing it to the hilt.
And here was the good part, she thought. For as long as she remained in Paradise, she could have him and her freedom too.
Â
CARRIE WAS JUST NOT USED to not working. There was something about having a daily routine that made it easier to get things done, and after these initial two weeks, she was feeling a little discomfitted.
Not that she didn't have things to do. Today there was laundry, for one thing, and she needed to check the postoffice box she'd rented. She had some proposals and drawings she needed scanned at the local office-supply store. She needed groceries. And a couple of things at the discount store.
It was just not the kind of thing she was used to doing.
She still hadn't come to terms with itâthe fact she wasn't racing out the door every morning to go to work or to meet some deadline.
And then, she was worried about Jeannie. And what to do about Truck.
But maybe she didn't need to do anything about Truck. He was doing it all himself, and she couldn't argue with the consequences.
A phantom lover...her phantom lover
. Her body twinged at just the thought of it. She dressed in anticipation of it, though. She didn't expect to run into him at the post office.
“Hey, Carrie.” Neutral tone. Nothing in his expression. Lethal looks today, long and lean in black, his hair uncombed, his expression uncomfortably indifferent.
“Truck.” What did she expect? “Come here often?”
“Bills are going out today. What about you?”
Had he really been her phantom lover last night? “I'm just getting my mail. I rented a box.”
Was she looking a little uneasy that he didn't acknowledge
their explosive coupling last night? Good, he thought. And this was just the first step. “I won't keep you then,” he said.
Keep me...!
Carrie couldn't believe how noncommittal he was. “See you.” She turned to the bank of rental boxes and never saw his glimmering smile. Only saw the handful of letters that meant she had been considered and rejected yet again.
Ah well...
She stopped at Bob Verity's store to pick up her papers which she now had on reserve.
“So how's Truck coming with your house?” Bob asked.
“I can flush the toilet and take a shower. That's about all I need right now,” Carrie said, her tone terse. She had to watch that. Bob lived on the other side of the pond. She wondered if he'd seen her and Truck on the roof all those days ago.
Damn it, damn it. No one could've seen anything through those trees unless they were flying low at five hundred feet.
Well, she couldn't undo that, not now. She had to act natural, normal, and just slough it off.
Next she was on to the bank to make a withdrawal and chat with Jeannie. She looked phenomenal today, dressed in one of her old suits, but with the added dash of a new bodysuit, the look-at-me jewelry, the makeup.
“Well, don't you look terrific,” Carrie complimented her.
“Don't you.” Jeannie smiled. “There's something about you and those gold colors. Kind of primitive and dangerous. You feeling like that today, oh mighty huntress?”
“I'm feeling more like roadkill,” Carrie said ruefully.
“I got some more don't-call-us-we'll-call-you letters. So it's back to the drawing board.”
“Well, then, you work hard all week and you'll have the Bean-Hole Bean Festival to look forward to this weekend.”
“Sure,” Carrie murmured distractedly, counting the thin stack of bills Jeannie had handed her.
“I'll call for you Saturday morning.”
“Same time, same place?” Carrie asked.
“Something like that,” Jeannie said, so offhandedly that Carrie pricked up.
“See you then,” she said, wondering if Jeannie weren't using her somehowâas cover? To see Tom in a public place?
Oh
,
Jeannie...
The office-supply store was next on her list, and then it was over to the discount store for some brooms and vacuum-cleaner bags. After she shopped and put everything away, she didn't feel like doing anything much more than sitting on the porch.
It was time for a reality check. She had to seriously consider trying to find a job in Portland. Portland was about forty minutes down the turnpike in good weather. But she'd have to get a car, and maybe a snowplow. She'd have to get the house rewired and winterized, buy sheepskin boots, down coats and comforters, and lay in wood...
But she'd have Truck, she thought. If she decided not to go, if she found work, for as long as she wanted him, she would have Truck. And that was almost enough to make her stay.
8
O
F COURSE that was assuming her
phantom lover
still wanted her. As the week went on, Carrie wasn't so sure. And it wasn't a situation where she could call Truck and ask him outright. But the not knowing was horrible, and the anticipation unbearable. She wondered what it was doing to him. Probably nothing, if he could look her in the eye and act so casually.
Men
...
The nights were the worst, when she restlessly tossed and turned, listening for his footsteps, craving his touch.
This could get very out of hand.
I won't let it.
I have better things to do than pine for him.
Having made that resolution, Carrie began looking around town with new eyes, determined that since she might be staying in Paradise, she'd better start making the best of it. If there wasn't a job out there for her, then maybe it was time to create one for herself.
Paradise and the surrounding towns could really benefit from an influx of new residents and vacationers. Maybe Carrie could come up with an ad campaign to attract new vacationersâand maybe even new businessesâto the area just the way Paradise's chamber of commerce had gone after young professionals.
It felt good to be able to take action, even if the payoff would be way in the future. And to push aside all
thoughts of Truck. And to make some contacts, athough she hadn't made a cold call in years.
Carrie started at the chamber of commerce with Peter Stoddard, whom she'd met in passing at the Grange Hall dance. He was a lawyer who had decided that quality of life was worth far more than the partner track at some prestigious law firm. And he meant to make the most of being a fairly big fish in a small pond.
“I like affecting change from the ground up,” he told Carrie as he greeted her in his office on Main Street. He had a small conversational area set up in one corner, and he gestured for her to take a seat in one of the two leather wing chairs. “It could lead to bigger things.”
She could see it clearlyâPeter was the kind of man who would get involved, who believed in civic participation, and that kind of dedication might well lead right to municipal and ultimately state politics.
“So what can I do for you?” Peter asked.
“I'd like to help the chamber bring more tourists and business investments to the area.”
Carrie felt his interest prick up immediately.
“I always like to hear about generating dollars in town. How?”
Here came the tricky part. “Advertising and promotion.”
“No money for that, Carrie. You know that.”
“The chamber got you here through advertising and promotion,” Carrie pointed out. “I think if the trilake chambers of commerce pooled their resources, they could afford to take on an experienced freelance advertising director who would handle all aspects of the promotion, from art and copy to timing and placement in the proper media, and that would include outside the state too.”
Peter thought about it a moment. “Okay. And this advertising director would be...?”
“Me. I have fifteen years' experience in all areas, on all levels with all manner of clients. I'll leave you a résumé. But what I want you to think about is that this little corner of Maine is one of the best-kept secrets around. It's rural, but not even an hour from Portland, and within driving distance of Boston. You have summer and winter sports, theater, concerts, museums, university and community functions, an arts community, and on top of that, you have inexpensive housing, decent schools and an employment base that's second to none.
“There's an incredible opportunity here for new businesses to come in for no money at all, obtain a willing workforce and all the quality of life that brought you and Tom and others here in the first place. And that was just from some ads in the Portland papers.”
Carrie leaned forward as she saw it all clearly in her mind: what they had to do, where they had to go.
“What if you went farther afield?” she said. “What if you prepared a magazine supplement and got the campaign into every Sunday paper across the country? What if you did a selective mailing to businesses you knew were looking to relocate? What if you contacted everyone who'd gone to camp up here with a promotional piece about the Paradise they knew and loved? What ifâ”
“Whoa,” Peter held up his hands. “Slow down.”
Carrie sat back. “It's such a great idea! We could get the radio station involved, and the newspaperâand then create a Web siteâ”
Peter was shaking his head and laughing. “Okay.”
“What?” She stopped short. She did like a decisive man.
“I said okay. You caught us at the right time. We had some meetings on attracting new businesses just last week. So, write up a proposal. Detail everything, including media expenses, and what you reasonably expect to charge for creating and supervising this campaign. You'll have to do it on a dime, Carrie, if you expect the chamber to approve it. They're serious about improving the economy, so this can't be some New York pie-in-the-sky campaign.”
“I'm a native of Paradise, I know every good thing about it,” she said confidently, then wondered at her certainty. Rather, she knew everything about it from the point of view of a salesperson, not from her heart.
But maybe her heart was beginning to enter into it, she thought after she'd left the meeting with Peter optimistic about her proposal for the first time since she'd come home.
Home...well, well, wellâshe was thinking of it as home...
Carrie stopped in town to pick up some groceries at Verity's store, and as she was backing out on her motorcycle she saw a sign in the hardware-store window:
Help Wanted. Part-time.
Carrie shut down the engine and sat there, biting her lip. No. Yes. She wasn't desperate yet, but her bank balance was diminishing daily, and whatever happened with Peter and the promotion piece, she wouldn't see any money from it for months. And taxes were upcoming, and payment due to Truck for services renderedâ
Oh dear God, can I not stop thinking about Truck?
How bad could it be? Hourly wage. In town. Part-time, so she'd be able to continue working on the project she'd initiated todayâif it worked out. Immediate money, and at this point, anything was better than nothing.
All good reasons for walking into that store and asking for the job, whatever it was.
Carrie knew how to do that. Sometimes you had to seize the moment, just as she had done with Peter Stoddard not a half hour ago.
“Can I help you?” A gangly teenager met her as she walked in the door of the hardware store.
“Um, the sign in the window,” Carrie said. “I'm interested in the job. Is there someone I could speak to?”
“Yeah...Mr. Longford.” He turned and shouted, “Mr. Longford, Mr. Longford,” and a moment later a tall older man came out of the back of the store and motioned her over.
She held out her hand. “I'm Carrie Spencer,” she said, clasping his. “I live over on the Pond.”
“Sure, sure. I knew your mother, come on in, sit down.”
She followed him to a tiny office in the ell of the antique building that housed the store. His desk was crammed with papers, order forms, a computer and printer, and there were file cabinets spilling over, and shelves piled with catalogs.
Suddenly she had second thoughts. What if the call came? What if someone wanted her tomorrow in Boston or Los Angeles?
Fool
. She took a deep breath. “I saw the sign outside. I need an interim position right now, but I honestly couldn't guarantee I wouldn't have to leave tomorrow. So maybe this isn't a good idea...”
“No, no. Sit. Want some coffee? No? Okay. Well, I've been advertising in the papers about a month, and I haven't had any qualified candidates apply for this job. Mainly high-school seniors, but this isn't stuff I'd entrust to them, even with courses in business under their belts.
I'm looking for someone to do the ordering, the bookkeeping, and generally make sense out of a system I've allowed to become very sloppy.”
He sent her a rueful smile. “So-o-o, let's see if we can help each other. The way I understand it, you've been downsized and you've been looking for a similar position, but you haven't yet had much luck.”
Carrie blinked, shocked that he knew so much about her. “How do you know that?”
“Everybody knows.”
The scariest words in the English language, she thought.
“So,” Mr. Longford continued, “let me propose you come in and start ordering the chaos for, oh, seven dollars an hour, mornings, eight to noon every day, that is, if you have the experience to handle it, and if something comes through for you, well, we'll talk about it then.”
“I was a secretary for a lot of years,” Carrie said. “I can handle it.”
“Good. I'd like to hire you. My wife handles payroll. You come in tomorrow first thing, and we'll get started.”
Simple as that. Straightforward, to the point, no convoluted paperwork and interviews.
Carrie stopped off at the bank and told Jeannie.
“Oh good,” Jeannie said. “We can do lunch.”
“I'll have my calculator call yours,” Carrie said, waving at her. “See you.”
She couldn't believe how much better she felt, knowing she had a place to go and something to do.
And then she had the wind knocked out of her when she finally got back to the house. Truck had been there, working in the crawlspace and the bathroom, but he was gone. He hadn't waited for her to come home.
SOMETIMES IT WAS BETTER to be elusive.
That wasn't usually the male position, Truck thought, but he wanted to keep Came off guard and ravenousâfor him...like he was for her. He burned for her all day long, tortured by his memories and fantasies of what he would do once they were together.
Truck didn't know how he had stayed away from her for three days. He should have stayed this afternoon, should have waited for her, but there was time enough tonight. There would be Carrie in her bed, yearning for the phantom lover who would take her in the darkâthere was a fantasy to nourish a man's desire.
Him. Soon.
Loving
her. And calling it something else altogether.
Truck eased his way into her house toward midnight, not quite knowing what to expect. The living room was dark as was the den. But the light was on in the kitchen, and Carrie sat at the counter, papers strewn all around her, sketching away, tensing as she heard his step.
He paused on the threshold and watched as she composed herself before she met his gaze.
“I hope you didn't feel you
had
to come,” Carrie said finally, as if she hadn't been sitting there and yearning for him.
“I hope you didn't feel you had to say that,” he countered, matching her tone. “This is what
you
want. A hot body in the dark and no contact during the day. I'm here. I'm willingâtonight, and any nightâso when you're in the moodâ”
He didn't finish the sentence and she looked up sharply.
“âjust whistle.”
He was on the last porch step when he heard her,
damn her for waiting so long. It was one thing to call a bluff. It was another for her to torture him with it.
Truck took his time reentering the house, sloughing off his shirt, his boots, his socks on the way, and unzipping his jeans right to his root, before he got to the kitchen door.
Her throat had gone dry when he appeared in the doorway, his jeans slung low on his hips and unzipped down to there to tantalize her. He was naked under his jeans, his rigid manhood bulging tight. She felt herself quickening, becoming liquid with excitement This was what a phantom lover was for, only this. She slipped off her chair and went to him.
Truck was sitting with his hip nudged against his chair, one foot hooked on the rung; and the other leg splayed outward in a perfect male poseâand all the more devastating because of the mat of hair that covered his belly and went lower and lower.
And as she watched, he levered himself up and undid the zipper all the way. His jeans slid down his hips and legs with the faintest erotic whisper and he kicked them away.
Carrie couldn't keep her eyes off him. She reached out to grasp him, wanting to feel him, absorb him.
He grabbed her hand before she could touch him, and he drew her in close to him. “Tell me, Carrie. Tell me what.”
“You know what,” she whispered.
“And nothing more,” he murmured.
But dear God, he wanted it to be something more.
He hooked the fingers of his free hand in the waistband of her shorts.