“She made her choice,” Callaway would say when Amanda began reproaching herself for things she had or hadn't done that might have led to Noelle' death. “You did everything you could, Amanda. You are not to blame for what happened. If anyone is to blame, it was Robert.”
His blunt counsel didn't absolve her guilt. She knew in her heart that she had traded Noelle's life for Callaway's.
When she'd rushed into the McIntyre building, she had wanted, she had hoped—no, she had
prayed—
that the person lying dead wouldn't be Callaway.
Her prayer had been answered. Callaway had lived while Noelle had died, and Amanda would keep her bargain to let him go.
It would be hard. She’d only maintained her sanity the past months because of him.
She couldn't have endured the long weeks without his fortitude and patience. Dividing his time between her and his sister, he'd managed to bring order out of chaos, make sense out of gibberish, and establish calm in the midst of turmoil.
Never in her wildest imaginings would she have suspected Callaway McIntyre of being so strong, nor herself so weak.
With his help she had survived the embarrassment of the media's spotlights. Day by day, he had helped her regain her focus as she became accustomed to a life that would never again hinge on saving Noelle from disasters.
Her dress shop hadn't suffered. There had been a burgeoning crowd of inquisitive customers immediately after the tragedy that had led to an unprecedented profitable quarter. Now curiosity had faded, but business was markedly better than before.
The old saying “any kind of publicity is good publicity” seemed to be true.
After a busy Saturday, Amanda waved goodbye to Melissa and locked up. Soon she'd see Callaway for the first time in several days. He'd pleaded pressing business, but she suspected his neglect was the first sign of boredom with her.
It was bound to happen. She'd been steeling herself.
Going back through the workroom, she stopped at a design her seamstress had finished that morning.
Then she reached for it. No reason to hesitate. She’d known all along she intended wearing the flamboyant outfit herself. When she’d first seen the material, as clear and blue as the Cancun sea, she’d envisioned something cheerful and eye-catching that would flatter her cleavage and show off her hips.
Something wanton and risqué that Callaway would like.
A jumpsuit, she’d decided. She’d cut out the middle from bra line to navel, leaving four wide strips to hold top and bottom together. When she put it on, the bottom clasped her hips snugly while the neckline revealed the cleft of her breasts.
No way to wear a bra with it.
Callaway liked racy clothes.
He also liked fake eyelashes and pastel eyeshadow and dangling earrings so she used them.
Afterward, she looked at herself in the mirror and was satisfied with her made-up face and freshly manicured nails. She pinned up her hair, disengaging only a few curls. She'd give him the pleasure of pulling it down.
He enjoyed taking her hair loose.
Thinking of that made her smile, but her reflection showed the smile fading.
No matter how she tried to please him, no matter how she planned her outfits and her hair and her makeup, the bottom line was that Callaway bored easily.
And the past few days he’d barely called.
I won't try to hold him. I knew all along how it would end. I promised I'd give him up and I will.
She’d keep her promise made that terrible night when she thought she’d lost him forever.
Callaway had lived. Noelle hadn’t, but the rawness was beginning to go away, mostly due to Callaway. He’d been so good afterward, advising, comforting, and being there whenever she needed him. He’d put all his plans on hold, plans made long before she’d entered his life and turned everything topsy-turvy. He’d swept them aside because of what had happened with Noelle and his brother-in-law.
His absence the past week probably meant he was ready to resume his old life.
She couldn't blame him. The past spring and summer had been a nightmare for him and her and too many others. It was time to start forgetting.
So that night she met him at the door with a smile and held up her face for his kiss.
He kissed her, but he seemed preoccupied.
Uh oh
, she thought, schooling her features.
This is it. The old hasn't-it-been-fun, but-we-just-aren’t-right-for-each-other routine
.
She'd always been the one to say it in the past, never wondering how the man on the other end felt.
Now she knew.
No need to put a guilt trip on Callaway. She owed him that much. After forgiving her for Houston, protecting her from jail, proving to her she could love again, she owed him more than she could ever pay back.
“Are those for me?” She indicated the hydrangeas he carried.
“Yeah.” He inspected her approvingly. “They clash with your outfit though.”
“I don't plan on wearing them. Come on in.”
Going to the kitchenette, she arranged the hydrangeas in water while listening to him pace the small living room. When she returned with the filled vase, he stopped and watched her set it down. Okay, she told herself. This is it. There was no way she could spend the night with him, not knowing what was coming in the morning.
Better not to drag things out. Better to cut them short. Like yanking off a Band-Aid.
“Look, Callaway,” she began, at the same moment he said, “Amanda, I...”
Both trailed off and exchanged sheepish smiles.
“You first,” she said.
“No, go ahead.”
“I was going to say that you look tired, and I am for sure. We don't have to go out, we can get something delivered.”
He looked blank. “I wasn't planning on going out.”
She kept her smile fixed. “Fine. We'll stay in. Unless you have something else you'd rather do.”
Suspicion clouded his face. “Did you want to go out?”
She shook her head. A heavy mass settled in her chest. “No.” She couldn't do it. She couldn't say,
It's been nice, sorry it has to end, let's do it again someday
.
She couldn't.
“Good,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Okay.” She put the flowers on a table by the door. An old armoire she’d turned into a computer center stood directly beside it. She braced a hip against it because her legs felt unsteady.
Never let a man dump you. Always make the first move. Always be the one to leave. That way, he's the one hurt, not you
.
Not this time. Callaway would be relieved if she broke it off. He could go away without guilt.
Dismissing a man had always been easy before because she'd never sent away anyone she cared about. This hollow pit in her stomach was unknown territory.
She made her smile bright. “I wanted to talk to you, too, Callaway. Let’s sit down.”
He did, looking more suspicious if that were possible.
He thinks I’m about to lie to him again.
After she sat down in a chair facing him, she studied her hands. “Callaway, I want you to know how much I appreciate what you’ve done the past few months.”
The words came out smoothly. They should. She’d practiced them for weeks, knowing their affair could come to this sooner or later.
She wanted to say the right thing so he’d know she didn’t begrudge him his freedom.
Pleased at her rational voice, she told him how much his support and advice had meant to her after Noelle's death and the subsequent uproar, said that she could never have managed without him. “I can't tell you how much your generosity’s meant to me. I'll never be able to repay you for—”
He cut her off in the middle of a sentence with one short, sharp, obscene word.
She stiffened.
“This sounds like the old brush-off to me, sugah,” he drawled. “I thought we'd got past the point where we were playing games, Scarlet.”
She shot up. “Don't call me Scarlet.”
He stood up, too, more slowly. “Then drop the act, Amanda. Say what you mean. That it’s over, that you're dumping me, is that it?”
He was close to her, his breath mingling with hers, his scent overwhelming her.
“Yes. No.” Was that hurt underneath the annoyance?
Her shoulders sagged. She touched his chest, felt his heat beneath the linen shirt.
It was no good. She could have carried it off once, but not now. Not after mapping his body so intimately, figuring out the workings of his mind as she had, loving him as she did.
“No. I'm just thanking you for being there for me.” She looked up into his face, found him exasperated, glaring, and something else.
Vulnerable. And afraid.
Callaway was never afraid of anything. Suspicious, wary. But not afraid.
When he took her in his arms, she didn't resist. His whisper warmed her ear. “Listen, I've gone over and over us these past weeks and I keep coming up with the same thing. I hate being apart from you, not knowing where you are, what you're doing, what you're saying. I think about you every minute. I've got used to having you to talk to, to laugh with, make love to, and just to be with.”
What was he saying? Amanda held her breath.
He licked his lips. “This past week, it was awful not seeing you every day. I know I'm not much, but I've been working with Claire, helping her get the company straightened out, and, well, she says she needs me, the company needs me. Maybe it’s true. I don’t know, but I’m going to try to help her. Maybe I'm not the type person you want to spend the rest of your life with, Amanda, but I'm changing. I'm trying, and if—”
The first disbelief wore off. “Callaway, what exactly are you trying to say?” She thought she knew, but she wanted to be sure. She needed him to be sure.
When he took a deep breath, she felt his chest rise and fall. “I'm a three-time loser. You could do a lot better than me. I'm thoughtless, I don't always think things out. I'm easily led astray. I've got a temper, too. Sometimes.”
She put her face against his shoulder to hide a smile. “I know all that.” She also knew he was loyal and caring, not to mention tenacious, organized and sometimes terribly naive. “What is this leading up to?”
He pushed her away. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“I think you do.” She was proud how composed she sounded considering her heart was jumping up and down.
He ground his teeth. “I guess I want you to marry me.”
“You guess?” She lifted her brows. “You guess you want me to marry you? Don't you know?”
“Give me a break. I've tried it three times and look at what happened. I don't know if I'll ever be able to make it work.” Panic underscored his admission.
She took his hand and patted it before interlacing her fingers with his. “It'll be all right, Callaway. I promise.”
She wasn't lying. She'd make sure everything would be all right.
There'd be no more traipsing around picking up redheads for Callaway McIntyre, no more dunkings in Paris fountains, and no more throwing huge sums of money away at the gaming tables.
Callaway might not know it, but his lifestyle was about to drastically change.
“You'll have to stop smoking.” She took him and led him to the sofa and sat down close beside him. “And I'll want a pre-nup agreement. My shop’s doing fine and I don't want you interfering in how I’m running it.” She squeezed his thigh.
“Me? Interfering?” Thunderstruck, he realized what she was saying and before she could continue, pressed her down against the sofa, kissing her as if he didn't intend to stop.
She managed to escape for air.
“Does this mean you're going to marry me?” His breath in her ear was heavy.
“I'm willing to discuss it.” Her own breathing was pretty heavy. She put a hand up to her hair, found it intact. “Really, Callaway,” she murmured. “Show a little enthusiasm, can't you? My hair's still up.”
In two seconds it wasn't.
About the Author
Shares a home with her guy and two cats. One likes to read with her, the other likes to watch TV with the guy.
Dislikes cooking, cleaning, gardening and all other domestic chores. So she writes as much as possible to avoid them.
Also Available at MuseItUp Publishing
Heart of Steele
By Adelle Laudan
Romantic Suspense
Can Kara Walker bake her way into the heart of a man of Steele?
Excerpt:
Noah placed his grandfather’s hand on his arm as they made their way down the long hallway leading to the great Zachary Steele’s office. Abe’s flash of anger after the funeral seemed to have taken a lot out of him. He prayed his father wouldn’t spike his anger again, but Noah knew better. His father brought out the fighter in almost everyone he came across.