The Ties That Bind (15 page)

The only problem had been that, although he sensed he needed to make a change, there had been no clear alternatives. He had been running
Sherilectronics
on automatic pilot for a while and he knew it. That knowledge had been one of the reasons he'd decided to go after the
Carstairs
bid with such relentless effort. It was as if he had to prove to himself that he wasn't really relaxing his grip on his company or his way of life. He could still compete with the best of the Silicon jungle predators and he could still win. Getting the
Carstairs
contract would prove it.

The trouble was, Garth wasn't certain what he would do after he had won the contract.

SHE COULDN'T SLEEP. Shannon tossed and turned on her bed and tried to will herself into unconsciousness. The harder she worked at it, the more elusive sleep became. She caught herself trying to listen for sounds from the next room, but there were none. Apparently Garth wasn't having the same problem she was. For some reason that irritated her.

Everything annoyed her tonight. She was feeling frustrated, angry and apprehensive. The last thing she had expected was Garth showing up on her doorstep suggesting marriage. It seemed to have sent her into a tailspin.

Giving up on trying to get to sleep, Shannon kicked aside the covers and slid her feet into a pair of slippers. Dressed in only her soft flannel nightgown, she went to the door of her room and opened it. There was no sound in the hall and no sign of light under Garth's door. She slipped out of her room and started silently toward the kitchen. A medicinal shot of Garth's whiskey might be what she needed.

The whiskey bottle clinked slightly against the glass as she poured, but there was no sound from the hall, so Shannon decided Garth hadn't been awakened. Picking up the glass, she went into the living room and sat down to sip the potent whiskey. She curled her feet under her and thought about how out of control her life seemed tonight. It had been a long time since she had felt this off balance, and it was all Garth's fault. Perhaps it all would have worked if only he'd been the brooding poet her imagination had insisted he was. Morosely Shannon contemplated the cruel workings of fate and her own impulsiveness. She wasn't sure which was more depressing.

Sometime later she realized the whiskey wasn't lulling her to sleep. Instead it seemed to have set her mind into a chaotic spin. She found herself silently asking questions for which there were no answers. But above the morass of uncertainties, two things seemed suddenly clear. She would not be able to throw Garth out of her life, and she would not marry a man who saw marriage merely as a way of protecting her and himself. The only answer was to continue the weekend affair.

"Mind if I join you?"

Shannon turned her head at the sound of Garth's voice and saw him standing in the shadows. He was barefoot, wearing only the pants he'd had on earlier. His bare shoulders gleamed briefly in the vague light as he went into the kitchen and collected the whiskey bottle and a glass.

"Did I wake you?" Shannon asked uncertainly as he sat down across from her and poured himself a shot.

"No. I haven't been to sleep. Did you decide to come out here and get drunk by yourself?"

"I've heard it's an effective therapy under certain circumstances," she muttered.

"I tried it Sunday night in San Jose after you made it clear you weren't going to answer your phone. It didn't work very well. The effect is quite temporary." Garth put his feet up on the old leather hassock and took a swallow.

"You got drunk Sunday night because of me?" She couldn't imagine Garth that out of control.

"The memory is vague now, but as I recall I just quietly went unconscious. I took a lot of aspirin the next morning."

"At what point did you decide to ask me to marry you?" she couldn't resist asking. "Sunday night or Monday morning?"

"I'm not going to answer that," he informed her. "It's a loaded question."

They sat sipping from their glasses in silence for a long time after that. Neither tried to force a conversation. For some reason the whiskey and the darkness made it easy to stay curled up in her chair. Shannon began to relax. At last she spoke tentatively.

"I've made a decision, Garth."

He waited, saying nothing.

"I'm willing to try continuing the affair. For a while."

He nodded, as if he'd guessed what she was going to say. "It's better than nothing. I'll take what I can get."

She frowned in the darkness. "It will have to be an affair conducted on my terms, Garth. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Her mind began to settle as she heard his quiet agreement. Some of the chaos she had been trying to deal with simmered down to a more manageable mixture of doubts and confusion. "I don't know if it's going to work, Garth."

"I'll make it work." There was pure, unadulterated steel underlying the promise. Then there was more silence from him. "I've never deliberately gotten drunk with a woman. It's an interesting experience."

Shannon tilted her head. "Better than drinking alone?"

"Better than sleeping alone."

"Oh." She shut up, thinking about it.

"Is the decision to continue the affair the only thing you've been contemplating out here?" Garth asked after a moment, helping himself to more whiskey and pouring another shot into Shannon's glass.

"Actually, now that you mention it, one other thing did cross my mind," she said carefully.

"What's that?"

"You said something about having a theory that someone used my tote bag that night at the party because it was so vivid and obvious. An easy reference point for a spy wishing to pass along a stolen document."

"It's just a theory."

Shannon nodded. "Not a bad one, though. I can see it now-the thief tells the would-be purchaser of the document where he's hidden the proposal and later, when no one's looking, the purchaser walks casually into the bedroom and removes it from the tote. Very simple."

"And no one observes the thief or his client exchanging anything or looking suspicious," Garth concluded.

"There's just one thing..."

"What's that?"

"There were two tote bags lying on that bed the night of the party. Mine and the one I gave Bonnie. What if someone made a mistake and slipped the document into the wrong tote?"

"That," said Garth slowly, "would put a very interesting twist on the situation."

IT WAS THE QUIET WAY Garth responded to her question that alarmed Shannon. Trying unsuccessfully to read his face in the shadows, she said quickly, "I didn't mean to imply Bonnie was involved."

"Anything's possible."

"But, Garth, how long has she been working for you?"

"About five years."

"You can't possibly suspect her, then. Surely she's proven herself by now. She's your personal secretary."

Garth was contemplating the label on the bottle of whiskey. "Loyalty is an easily purchased commodity. It can be sold just as easily."

"Maybe it is in your view of the world, but that doesn't mean everyone values it so cheaply," Shannon argued in a despairing tone. She was beginning to realize just how deeply cynical Garth really was. It was frightening. "Besides, I like Bonnie."

Garth shrugged. "She's been a good secretary."

"Don't speak of her as if she's got one foot out the door, damn it. You have no idea whether she's involved in the theft of that stupid bid proposal. I only pointed out the fact that there were two tote bags on the bed Saturday night because I just happened to remember that Bonnie brought one, too. If you're going to suspect anyone, it should still be me. I'm the one you caught with the evidence still in her possession."

Garth slanted her a speculative glance. "You hardly know Bonnie. There's no need to jump to her defense. I haven't accused her of anything yet."

"Well, take my advice and don't make any accusations. If you make her feel she's under suspicion she'll probably quit on the spot. I know I would."

Garth's mouth curved faintly in wry amusement. "You did."

"That's right, I did, didn't I?" Shannon closed her eyes briefly. "Why didn't you let me go, Garth? Why come chasing after me? I can't prove I had nothing to do with that proposal being in my tote. I've got less of an alibi than Bonnie probably has."

"That's not exactly true," Garth said. "Until a few weeks ago you didn't even know me, let alone anything about my business. And last weekend was the first time you'd been to my office or met any of my staff or business associates. Unless everything you've done so far, including introducing yourself on the beach that first time, is part of a very complicated setup, it's highly unlikely you're involved in the theft."

Shannon lifted her lashes and took another sip from her glass. "And I don't look bright enough or sophisticated enough to have arranged a very complicated setup?"

"Shannon..."

"No, that's all right, Garth. I don't want to hear any more of your logic. It's not very good for the ego to know that someone thinks you might be innocent by reason of
naivete
. But what if it was all part of a very subtle plot concocted by me?" she mused. "Perhaps Ed Kenyon hired me a couple of months ago to get close to you. Perhaps I rented this cottage and set up the silk-screen work just to give myself a cover as soon as I found out you'd rented the cottage next door. I can see it all now, Garth. The beautiful complexity of it boggles the mind. Annie and Dan would have had to be in on it, too, of course. And I might have had to bribe Bonnie. Then there was that clever business with the totes the night of the party. My God, if you look at it that way, I'm a genius."

"If you look at it that way, I'm a complete idiot."

"Well, you wouldn't come off looking like the smartest sort of high-tech executive," she agreed.

He leaned forward, capturing her chin in his hand. In the shadows his eyes gleamed. "Well? Am I a complete idiot? Was this all a giant setup? Am I the fly caught in a web that's so intricate I can't even see the outlines of it?"

"What do you think?" Shannon asked breathlessly.

"I think," Garth said, "that if this really is an involved plot you've concocted, I'm out of my league. I might as well give up now." He brushed his mouth against hers, his kiss warm and persuasive.

"But you don't believe me, do you?"

"No," he admitted, not releasing her. "I think I have only myself to blame for letting you get too close to a world you know nothing about and aren't equipped to handle. You got used by someone in that world and it's my fault. I didn't do a good enough job of protecting you."

"Who is it you want to protect, Garth? Me or yourself?"

"I think, in the end, it amounts to the same thing," he said.

"You want a woman with whom you can relax. Someone who can provide you with a temporary weekend escape from your business and all that en "

He smiled a little. "Is that so bad?"

"It's not enough. Not for me."

"I'm offering marriage, Shannon. That should reassure you."

"It's still not enough," she whispered.

"You're fighting both of us, Shannon. It's not just me you're struggling against, it's yourself. You love me, remember?"

"But you don't love me or you wouldn't be offering just a weekend marriage." Very deliberately Shannon put down her glass and got to her feet. "I think I've had enough to drink, Garth. Good night."

He made no move to stop her as she brushed past him and went down the hall to her bedroom. Garth waited until he heard her door close and then he poured a little more whiskey into his glass.

He would give her time. That's what she needed. She'd had an unsettling experience last weekend, and he could hardly blame her for reacting the way she had. She was an artist, he reminded himself. Artists were known for their temperamental behavior. So were women, come to that. The combination of the two was probably dynamite.

Marriage would have been his first choice. He'd reached that decision on Sunday while he'd wandered aimlessly around his home, trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle, but if all he could get from Shannon now was a continuation of the affair, he'd settle for that temporarily. He hadn't been joking when he'd told her he'd take what he could get. He needed Shannon, and he was only now beginning to realize just how much.

Garth finished the last of the whiskey and sat contemplating the darkness. A man had to fight for what he wanted in life. It seemed there was always someone waiting to steal the prize. He'd learned that the hard way. But Garth was accustomed to the battle. He'd fight for Shannon.

THE SMELL OF COFFEE brought Shannon out of a troubled sleep the next morning. She lay still for a moment wondering why she should be able to smell coffee from her own kitchen when she hadn't yet gotten out of bed to make it. Then memory flooded back. She pushed aside the covers and grimly headed for the bathroom.

Half an hour later, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt, she walked into her kitchen, prepared to dig in her heels again if Garth began talking about marriage. She might be naive and not too bright in some ways, but she could be stubborn when she chose. Every woman had some strong points, she told herself.

"Good morning, Garth." She didn't pause as she headed toward the stove to pour the coffee. "Did you finally get to sleep last night?"

He leaned back in the kitchen chair and nodded a slow greeting. "I got a little."

"You look dressed for the office." Critically she scanned his white shirt and slacks. "Going back early today?"

"I have to leave right after breakfast."

"I'm not surprised. You really shouldn't have wasted the trip yesterday."

He let that pass. "I'll be back on Friday."

"Ah, yes. The weekend."

Garth eyed her speculatively. "You're in a lousy mood this morning, do you know that?"

"Temperamental. Artists are very temperamental."

"Correction. 'Frustrated' is the word that describes you this morning," he said blandly. "You're fighting a losing battle, and you know it." Before she could respond he picked up some papers lying beside him on the table. "I see you at least had the sense to wait and talk to me before you signed this."