Chapter 3
The atmosphere around the table was strained. He supposed that was the usual way in this family. Silence hung heavy and pregnant with discomfort. After the first course, and there were bloody seven of them, the conversation would peter off because no one had a damn thing to say to each other.
The only reason he was here was for his sister's sake and he had a few things to tell them.
He was staying away from Catherine right now, but as soon as this was over, he was going to pursue her.
He had spent a couple of sleepless nights grappling with the situation and had come to a decision.
He was going to ask her to marry him. He smiled grimly at that.
He never thought he would live to see the day when he would abandon his resolves for a woman, especially one he had just met.
But here he was. Thoughts of her consumed him.
He kept reliving the taste and texture of her lips, the feel of her slender curves.
Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured her golden-brown eyes and her lips.
He kept going over her story in his mind.
He wanted her so much that it was becoming ridiculous.
"So, Dean." Martin Collier looked up from the sliver of duck he was slicing into and pinned his son with sharp gray eyes. "I'm surprised you were able to grace us with your presence. As far as I knew, you were jetting off to where? Italy? Spain?"
"I decided to stick around." He was also determined to keep his calm, no matter what. His father had a way of riling people up just for the fun of it.
"And you're not out on the town with the latest flavor of the week." He grinned and looked around the table at the other occupants as if sharing a joke.
Dean's mouth tightened at the derogatory term.
"No." Keeping his voice scrupulously polite and courteous, he continued to eat his meal. "I've been thinking that it's time I take my rightful place in the company."
You could hear a pin drop as the people at the table stared at him in surprise.
"Heh. Heh." Martin lifted his snowy white napkin and dabbed at his mouth. "Well, wonders never cease. What brought this on?"
Lifting a brow at him, Dean picked up his wineglass. "I met someone and I'm going to ask her to marry me."
This time the silence was longer. The minutes ticked by as eating was suspended by everyone but him.
"Well!" This time it was his mother who broke the silence. "Do we know this young woman?"
"No. She doesn't run in our circle. Thank God." He added feelingly.
"When did you meet her?" his father asked.
Swinging his gaze to his father, he sipped before responding. "Two weeks ago."
"I see." Janet Collier folded her napkin into precise squares and nodded to the hovering maid, signaling her to clear the table and bring in the next course. "Where's she from? Who's her family? And is she suitable?"
He had expected those questions and was armed with the answers.
"Suitable for what?"
"To become a Collier of course." His father blustered. "We come from a long line of..."
"Save it, Father." He cut in rudely. "I always find it funny, hilarious even and certainly pathetic that our impeccable line is more important than a good character.
It doesn't matter if there's cheating in the relationship as long as the person is from a so-called good family.
" He pinned the suddenly hapless Charles with a glance, letting him know that he was aware of his extramarital affairs.
"I want to be different. I spent all my life following your examples, you and Mother.
I was disillusioned from the age of ten. "
"What you both did shaped me, shaped us," he nodded at Irene, who had remained frozen.
"I want to prove to myself that marriage is not some damn trap that we enter into because it's bloody convenient.
I met this woman and she fascinates me. She's different and I have a feeling she's going to be the one to save me, save this family. "
"Aren't you pinning a lot on a single person?
" Sarcasm was rife in his father's voice.
"We're who we are and never pretended to be any different.
Your mother and I have been married for almost forty years and we're content with our way of life.
We might see other people, but we respect each other and have no intention of going our separate ways. "
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you with each other?" He rounded on Charles, who was in the process of taking a sip of his wine. "And for that matter, why are you with my sister? You clearly do not love her, you son of a bitch. Why the hell don't you do the decent thing and go your way?"
"Now look..."
"We don't argue at the dinner table, you know that." His mother cut off Charles' protest primly.
"Isn't it funny, Mother?" he asked softly. "You're so correct and proper when it comes to certain etiquettes. But cheating is like breathing to you, isn't it?"
Her eyes flashed. "How dare you speak to me like that! I'm your mother and I deserve respect."
"No, you don't. You lost that when I saw you with your best friend's husband when I was ten years old." He rounded on his father. "And you were in the library with that best friend's husband. I was sick to my stomach that night. It changed my life forever. I was never the same."
"We were just having fun." His father had the grace to look uncomfortable. "We weren't hurting anyone and you should have been in bed."
Dean sent him a scornful look. "That's your takeaway? I was supposed to be in bed?"
"We are good parents," his father began.
"No, dammit! You're lousy parents, who should never have had children. We were left to be brought up by servants." He glared at his father.
"You slept with our nannies, damn you. We shared women. The same nannies who took care of us. When I was thirteen, I was initiated by one of them. We were screwing the same woman. What the hell kind of monster are you?"
"I will not justify my actions to you..."
"Of course not." Shoving from the table, he drained his glass and turned to his sister.
"Remember what I told you the other night.
" His eyes swept around the table. "Irene is terribly unhappy with this bastard you forced her to marry, who is blatantly cheating on her.
" He rounded on Charles, who straightened in his chair.
"I told her to kick you to the curb, because she deserves better, but it's up to her. As for you," he pinned his parents with a heated glance, "I'm doing things my way from now on and to hell with you."
*****
He drove around for a bit as he thought about his next move.
It was a bold one and he was determined not to fail.
He had given her a week to miss him. Was she missing him, though, or had she dismissed him the moment he drove off?
No. Shaking his head, he turned the car around.
Not after what they had shared that night.
He was experienced enough to know when a woman was involved and she had been.
Her responses to his kisses had been innocent, yet passionate.
And it was time to put all his cards on the table. It occurred to him that she might be engaged for the evening. It was a Sunday and he knew she taught Sunday school. But what if she was involved with someone? He never thought to ask that.
Pulling into the driveway, he was relieved to see her vehicle parked there. He had brought her flowers and chocolates. He had no idea what her favorites were, so he had brought her several varieties.
Galahad started barking as soon as he stepped onto the porch.
Before he could knock, the door was swung open and she planted herself right in the middle of the doorway.
Trying to stop the dog from squeezing past her was hopeless.
Galahad had made his choice and came bounding out to greet the caller enthusiastically.
Lifting the bouquet out of harm's way, Dean bent to give the dog a vigorous rub, his eyes meeting the stormy golden-brown ones.
"What are you doing here?"
"Bringing you flowers." Nudging the animal aside, he deliberately stepped around her and closed the door. Galahad mashed himself against Dean's thigh, his tongue lolling out.
"Galahad, go." Catherine snapped her fingers and the dog raced off into the kitchen.
"These are for you." Dean handed her the bouquet when she stood there without moving. "And chocolates. I noticed you like flowers as evidenced by your garden."
"Dean..."
"So, you do remember my name." His voice was teasing as he handed her the flowers. "I wasn't sure, as you did not call."
"I thought we were clear that there wasn't going to be a repeat of this." She sniffed the flowers, unable to help herself.
"You made that decision, not me. You should put those away."
"You're not staying."
"I am." He told her firmly. "I'll be in the living room."
She stood there for a minute, fuming before marching into the kitchen and pulling out vases. It took four to hold the amount of flowers he had brought her. And she could not help but admire the colors. Within minutes, the heady perfume hung around the kitchen.
"I won't let him talk me into anything I have no intention of doing," she whispered to Galahad as he chowed down on his meal. "And you were supposed to be on my side. Some protector you are."
The animal merely spared her a glance before going back to his meal.
Sighing softly, she decided that it was no use avoiding him any longer. Taking a deep breath, she made her way into the living room, ignoring the unsteady beating of her heart.
He was standing by the window, looking out when she walked in.
"You have a lovely view," he remarked quietly.
"Thank you."
He turned then, eyes skimming over her.
"Love the outfit."
Passing a self-conscious hand over the baggy sweats and old t-shirt, she lifted her chin. "I did not expect company."
"That was not a complaint."
"Whatever. Dean, what are you doing here? I thought after you left, you weren't coming back."
"Missed me?"