“Fletcher.” She forced words out through a constricted throat “I don't believe you've been completely honest with me.”
“I've always been honest with you.”
“You swore it wouldn't disrupt our relationship if either of us had an affair.”
“You've had affairs here and there. Did I ever object? No. But this is more than an affair, Laura, even if you haven't slept with him in fifteen years. Can't you see that?”
She
did
see it. And it frightened her. The passionate unhappiness in Fletcher's voice frightened her, too. She felt as if all her security, all her comfortable assumptions, were collapsing around her like a house of cards. “You said you felt only friendship for me.”
Silence stretched tautly between them.
“Maybe I haven't been completely honest with myself about you,” he said in a tight, pained whisper.
She understood then what he was feeling, and her heart bled for him. She'd suffered the same kind of pain. And because she cared so much about himâloved him, in a wayâshe was tempted to say anything, promise him anything, to make him feel better. But she couldn't, because
false hope would only end up hurting him more. She didn't love him the way he deserved to be loved.
And for the first time, after years of struggling to reconcile the caring and warmth of a close relationship with the seeming coldness of goodbye, she clearly understood the dynamics of a one-sided love.
She finally understood how Cort must have felt when he'd left her.
Â
CORT TRIED TO BIDE his time by opening the mail, but soon gave up. He couldn't focus on any one piece long enough to make sense of it. He considered taking a quick swim, just to work off the excess energy, but the memories awaiting him at the pool were too fresh and evocative for him to handle. Besides, if something was wrong, as Laura had suspected when Fletcher first called, he wanted to be immediately available for her.
What in the hell were they talking about for this long, anyway? Glancing at his watch as he paced across his bedroom, he realized that almost an hour had passed since she'd closed herself up in the guest bedroom.
He struggled to keep his mind open and his attitude reasonable. Fletcher was, after all, her business partner. They probably had a lot to discuss. Cort's flare of annoyance at the interruption had been selfish and illogical. He actually should be grateful for the interruption, considering the fact that his desire for Laura had pushed him beyond the boundaries of caution. His self-control had worn too thin. He should be damn glad that Fletcher had called.
But he wasn't.
He saw no sense in hiding from the truthâhe resented Fletcher's relationship with her, his influence over her and , the fact that he had pulled her away from Cort's arms. Fletcher's role in her life would only expand in scope and
importance, while Cort's would be virtually over when she left his house.
He felt wronged, yet he knew that no one had wronged him. He felt abandoned, yet she was still here, and responsive to him. He felt sick with jealousy over a guy who had probably never kissed her, probably never held her, and certainly never made love to her. A guy who cowered behind the role of friend.
But that guy had a future with her. He would share profoundly intimate moments and lifelong ties with her.
Cort paced, plowed his fingers through his hair and cursed. He wanted her with a soul-deep craving that grew worse day by day. He'd been telling himself it was the same old sexual obsession he'd fallen victim to years ago, just a physical reaction to her beauty. But how could that account for it, when his sexual release last night had left him feeling empty and deprived? The warmth and laughter they'd shared today had touched him far more deeply. Yet the warmth and laughter had somehow heightened his need for her kiss, her touch, her body.
If he didn't make love to her soon, he just might die.
He was caught in a vicious cycle. Trapped.
He had to talk to her about it
. He had to tell her how he felt, as confused and desperate as it might sound. Steffie and Tamika's warningsâand Laura's own insistence that she felt nothing for him but sexual desireâhad stopped him long enough. The situation called for honesty. Complete, unabridged honesty.
And there was no time like the present. Relieved in some part by the decision itself, he crossed the hall and raised his fist to rap on the door. He found it slightly ajar. “Laura?”
She didn't answer.
Wondering if she'd slipped out without him noticing, he
pushed the door open. He found her sitting in the window seat, gazing out the large bay window, her legs folded beneath her. The late-afternoon sun cast long shadows over the gardens below and turned her hair to molten gold.
“Laura?” He ambled closer and realized from her pale, somber face that something was wrong. Very wrong. His heart lurched, and he sat on the window seat beside her. “Laura, what happened?”
It took a while, but her gaze eventually met his. “Our plans have changed.” Her eyes looked darker than usual and redrimmed. Almost...mournful. “Mine and Fletcher's”
Cort stared at her, too stunned to fully process the information; too wary of jumping to false conclusions to formulate any at all. “Which plans?”
She looked away from him again and stared out through the window. “We won't be merging our businesses, or working together. Or...having a baby.”
The news, which he'd been hoping for, praying for, had hit too suddenly for him to grasp. “Why?”
Color warmed her face, and she glanced down at her tightly clasped hands. “Because you were right. He hasn't been completely honest about his feelings for me. He wants...” her voice shook, so she resorted to a whisper “...more than I can give.”
A heavy silence settled around them while she marshaled her self-control and he struggled to understand exactly what had happened. “He told you this?”
“In his own way.”
Foreboding curled through him.
Her desolate gaze appealed to his for understanding, or maybe comfort. “I...I can't reciprocate his feelings, but I do care about him. Very much. Too much to keep hurting
him. I think it's better for both of us to...to go our separate ways.”
Cort stared at her with such a volatile mix of emotions he couldn't find his voice to comment. The relief of having his rival gone from the picture was grotesquely overshadowed by a grim, inescapable truth. She'd axed the guy from her life
because he'd fallen in love with her.
And he'd made the mistake, the fatal error, of telling her so.
9
H
E NEEDED TO GET them the hell out of the house. He needed distractionânoise, people, music, food. He also needed to talk to her, to understand what she was feeling and thinking. And to hold her in his arms, at least for a while tonight. The safest, surest way to do all those things was over dinner and, afterward, on some intimate little dance floor.
“I'm taking you out tonight” He didn't bother to ask. He knew she wouldn't want to go.
He was rightâshe didn't She said she preferred to work on wall-covering selections. As a second line of defense, she added that she'd brought nothing to wear for an evening out.
Cort called an upscale neighborhood boutique, and within an hour, the store had delivered a selection of cocktail dresses. Laura was stunned by the delivery, awed by the styles and intimidated by the prices. “I can't afford any of these, and I won't have you buying me clothes.”
“Pick one, or I'll buy them all. Better yet, try them on, and
I'll
pick one.”
She'd been too despondent to oppose him for long. He chose a dress of soft, black chiffon that molded to her hips and swirled in semisheer layers around her thighs, and left her long, shapely back virtually bare. She wore high heels, and small diamonds in her ears. She'd caught her thick,
lustrous hair behind one ear with a decorative comb, but otherwise left her golden tresses flowing and free.
She looked elegant. Sexy. Impossibly beautiful.
And sad.
He took her to Thea's place, a small midtown restaurant and piano bar. Thea herself wasn't there when they arrived but her smiling, vivacious granddaughter Helena led them to Cort's usual table in a secluded, gardenlike setting. Savory aromas of roasted meat, garlic, lemon and olives scented the air.
Nothing soothed a troubled soul quite like a fine Greek meal, a bottle of ouzo, and soft music, to Cort's way of thinking. Laura preferred wine to the strong, anise-flavored liqueur, so he filled her glass with fragrant Chardonnay.
“I have no idea what most of these dishes are,” she remarked, studying the menu. “It's all Greek to me.”
He smiled at the joke. At least she
was
trying to lighten the mood. He ordered a selection of his favorites for her to tryâyuvetsi, a lamb dish with a delectable tomato sauce; moussaka, a layering of eggplant, beef and potatoes; souvlaki, delicately seasoned pork; grilled garlic shrimp; salads with Kalamata olives, hot peppers and feta cheese; and warm, fresh bread.
The food, as always, was excellent. Laura exclaimed a number of times in earnest appreciation, and surprised him by actually eating a fair portion. But he had only to look in her eyes to know that her heart was heavy.
When the dishes were cleared away, he leaned forward, rested his forearms on the table and held her hands warmly in his. “Thank you for coming out with me tonight. I thought it would do us both good to get away.”
She gave him a slight, rueful smile. “I'm sorry. I know I'm not very good company.”
You're the only company I want.
He couldn't say that, though. She might take it as a casual compliment, or she might realize how much he meant it. And then he would be cut out of her life, as Fletcher had been. “Just talk to me, Laura.”
She stared at him, as if too mired in her misery to know where to begin. He suspected that her sorrow over Fletcher hurt her nearly as much as her ruined plans for having a baby.
He would give her time to broach the subject of her foiled parenthood plan if and when she was ready. The subject of Fletcher, however, needed to be dealt with immediately. “You're feeling bad about Fletcher, aren't you?” he prompted.
“Of course. I hurt him. And our friendship will never be the same.”
“The same as what?”
“The same as...well, as I thought it had been for all those years. But I guess I'd been seeing only one side of it” A puzzled frown gathered in her eyes. “You knew the truth before I did. How?”
He shook his head, at a loss for an answer. How to explain his ultrasensitive awareness of other men's interest in her? And the possessiveness that gripped him whenever he detected it. Right now, for instance, half the men in the place had eyes for her. He was fine with that, as long as they kept a respectful distance...and their fantasies remained just fantasies. “A hunch, I guess.”
“I'm sorry I didn't believe you sooner.” She closed her eyes and whispered with anguish, “I hate to think of what could have happened if I'd kept that appointment. If I had...” she paused, her lips briefly compressed “...conceived his baby.”
Cort hated to think of it, too.
“I would have made Fletcher miserable,” she said. “He was already so upset with me.”
“Why?”
A blush slowly rose in her face. “He thought that weâthat you and I...” She hesitated, as if unsure of how to word it
“âare having an affair?”
“Not exactly. He seemed to believe me when I said we aren't sleeping together. I felt he had the right to be assured of that particular fact, in light of our parenting plan.”
Cort tensed at the idea that she'd been obliged to share any information at all about their intimate relationship with Fletcher. He wanted no other man to have that personal claim on her. He wanted his sexual bond with her to be no one else's business; to be held sacred by one and all. Inviolate.
Let no man put asunder.
“Then why was he upset? ”
“He thinks that I...” she glanced away from him, then returned with an uneasy gaze “...that I'm in love with you.”
Cort went very still, every system in his body slowing to a near halt. “And how did you respond to that?”
“I told him he was mistaken.”
He tried very hard not to take it personally. But it wasn't easy. The confusion, the need, the restless torment swelled into a painful pressure within his chest. She wasn't in love with him. No news there. Yet it hurt to hear her say it.
The silence between them grew too tense, and he forced himself to relinquish her hands. The contact had become too much for him. Then again, not enough. He wanted to sweep her out of the chair, take her home to his bed and make love to her until she needed him as much as he needed her.
But she would leave him if she knew the feelings raging inside of him, so he said and did nothing.
Laura wrapped her fingers around her wineglass and stared into its shimmery pale depths, relieved that Cort had let go of her hands. His warm touch and probing gaze were playing tricks with her heart again. She could so easily believe that he felt more for her than sexual attraction, or concern, or friendship. But she'd allowed herself to fall victim to the same seductive delusion fifteen years ago. She couldn't tolerate the heartbreak again. She wasn't sure if she could survive it this time.
Feeling the need to change the subject, she said with perhaps a little too much formality, “I suppose we should discuss the business ramifications of mine and Fletcher's breakup. Since we won't be combining our businesses or incorporating. I'm assuming you'll withdraw your investment offer.”
His dark blue gaze played across her face, somehow reminding her of the hot, sweet intimacies they'd shared last night; reminding her that it wasn't all business between them. “I'll tailor my offer to fit the new circumstances.” His tone was as formal as hers. “I'll call Fletcher tomorrow, or whenever you feel that I should, and adjust the amount and the terms of our agreement. And you and I can discuss my investment in
your
business at your convenience.”
Relief washed through her. Hurting Fletcher emotionally had been bad enough, but depriving him of the financial backing that meant so much to him had weighed heavily on her conscience. At least he would still have the opportunity to expand his business.
She, on the other hand, wasn't too sure about accepting Cort's money. Her defense system fairly screamed at her to finish the decorating job and get the hell out of his life.
“Ah, Cortland! Helena told me you were here.” A tall, handsome woman appeared at their table, beaming a welcoming smile at Cort. Touches of silver gleamed in her well-coiffed dark hair, and rubies glimmered at her wrists, ears and throat. “It's been months since you've been in.”
“Thea.” Cort rose from his chair, hugged her and introduced her to Laura as the owner of the best
kouzzina
in Atlanta.
Laura complimented her on the food and the elegant decor, then cocked a curious eyebrow at Cort.
â³Cortland
?
â³
“Thea's the only one who gets away with that,” he warned, “and only because I have no choice. She saved my life. It would be rude of me to kill her.”
Thea laughed and pressed him back down into his seat with an affectionate hand on his broad shoulder. “I didn't save his life,” she told Laura. “I helped him fill out paperwork and tutored him with his history lessons.”
“She helped me pass my test for citizenship when I was just a punk off the street. And she gave me a job when no one else would. Believe me, Thea...you saved my life.”
“Bah! You paid me back many times over.” She turned a shining gaze to Laura. “Three years ago, my husband was sick, and our old restaurant was falling down around me. Between repair bills and medical bills, I couldn't even afford to hire help to keep the business open. Next thing I know, Cort comes back to the old neighborhood for a visit and buys us this place.”
“I didn't buy you this place, Thea. I invested in your business. There's a difference. I'm making more and more money from it every day.”
“Praise be to God.” To Laura, she said, “He's always had a good heart, even when he was a punk.” With a wink and smile, she said, “Have dessert. It's on me. The baklava was baked fresh today.” She turned to leave their table,
halted, then faced Cort again. Her expression, Laura noticed, had inexplicably sobered. “By the way, Anatole was here for dinner a few weeks ago. He said that if I see you, I should send his regards.”
Although Cort's expression didn't actually change, Laura sensed tension stealing over him. “If you see him again,” he replied pleasantly enough, “please don't send him mine.”
Thea's eyes flashed with approval. With another smile for Laura, she caught their waiter on his way past the table and asked him to bring coffee and dessert. She then glided off to greet other customers.
Laura realized how little she really knew about Cort and all the years he'd spent without her. “Who's Anatole?”
“A man I used to work for.” The tension remained visible in the taut planes and angles of his rugged face. Though he looked strikingly elegant in a dark Brioni suit, ivory shirt and silk gray tie, she sensed a raw, savage power now leashed at the ready.
What, she wondered, had incited his tension? Laura felt that he was closing her out, as he did every time his past was mentioned. “You asked me to open up to you, Cort, and I have. Now it's your turn to talk to me. Tell me about Anatole.”
He stared at her for a long, tense, assessing moment. “Okay.” His tone, quiet yet harsh, sent a shiver up her arms. “Anatole owned a number of businesses in the neighborhood where Steffie and I rented a room when we were kids. When I got off work from my job at Thea's, I stole cars for Anatole. And ran numbers. Collected overdue debts for his loan sharks and bookies.”
Laura tried not to flinch or show her shock and dismay. She hadn't known! Wouldn't have believed it if he himself hadn't told her. Her blood curdled at the thought of the
danger and corruption he'd faced...and at such a young, vulnerable age.
The hardness in his eyes and jaw grew more pronounced. “You understand now how naive you were back in our Hays Street days, don't you, Laura? You looked at me with such admiration and trust, as if I could do no wrong.” He let out a harsh breath. “I felt like a damn fraud.”
A cry of protest broke from her. “You did what you had to do to keep you and Steffie alive. Call me naive, but I can't hold that against you. Steffie told me how your father died when you were both so young, and how little money there was, and that your mother couldn't qualify for citizenship. And then, for her to be snatched away from you without warning...”
“It was very hard on Steffie.” He said it as if he himself had not been affected. But dark, pain-filled memories lurked in his hooded gaze, whether he wanted her to see them or not. “It might not have been as much of a shock if we had grown up on the streets,” he continued almost reluctantly, as if she'd somehow compelled him. “But my mother had worked as a housekeeper for a wealthy family for a few years, and we'd gotten used to a fairly decent life. She lost that job suddenlyâthe lady of the house was displeased by something. We never knew what. The only place my mother could find work was in a rough, inner-city neighborhood. That's where the INS agents caught her in a raid.”