Chapter Seven #2
The phone on his desk rang. Cathy stood up. “I’ll let you take that,” she said, and walked out of the room.
He picked up the receiver and dealt with the call. Then he sat alone in the office and thought about what he should do next. Cathy had seen his face and she hadn’t been disgusted. Perhaps now they could spend some time together.
The spark of pleasure he felt at the thought was different from desire, he told himself. Safer. He was only interested in being her friend…in helping her get her life back together. Nothing more. Friendship was allowed. That was how he’d set the rules.
He rose to his feet and crossed to the window.
The grounds were beautiful in the spring afternoon.
Flowers bloomed, the bright colors contrasting with the green leaves and lawn.
The house was a showplace. He hadn’t much cared when they bought it, but Evelyn had been excited about the purchase.
The huge mansion had been a far cry from the double-wide trailer where she’d grown up.
He would have given her the moon, if he could have.
Because he couldn’t give her the one thing she’d wanted from him.
He’d tried to be a good husband. Spending time with her had been easy.
After all, she’d been his best friend. But that wasn’t enough.
Affection, even love. They couldn’t make up for the simple truth—he’d never wanted her the way a husband was supposed to want his wife.
He closed his eyes, but it was too late to stop the memories.
They flowed into his mind, as inescapable as the tide.
Flashes of them growing up together. The way they’d always studied for tests together, first in high school, then in college.
He smiled faintly, remembering his outrage when she’d done a little better.
Not enough to make a difference, but a couple of questions here, a couple there.
She’d been smart, and he’d respected that.
His smile faded. Maybe his mistake had been in trying to get around his family’s wishes.
A couple of years after he’d graduated from college and joined the family firm, his parents had picked out a young woman for him to marry.
Someone suitable. At least in their minds.
He’d rebelled. His lone rebellion in an otherwise agreeable existence.
He’d wanted to marry for love. Barring that, he’d wanted to marry someone he could respect. On a whim, he’d proposed to Evelyn.
The second she’d accepted, he’d known. The truth, carefully concealed until that moment, had brightened her eyes until the light had nearly blinded him.
He didn’t know when she’d first fallen in love with him, when the bonds of friendship had become something else for her.
Something more romantic. He’d known instantly that marrying her was going to be a mistake, but it was too late.
He wouldn’t have hurt Evelyn for the world.
Instead, he’d killed her.
The pain began behind his eyes and moved through his head. There was no physical cause, he knew. It was guilt. Oh, he hadn’t been driving the car, nor had he actually caused the accident. He’d done worse. He’d betrayed her.
“Don’t go there,” he said aloud, but it was far too late.
He saw them on their wedding day; Evelyn’s happiness had surrounded her with a nearly visible glow.
He felt her body under his later that night.
She’d been sweet and pretty and had all the right curves, but he’d never wanted her.
The first time had been difficult for him, and it had never gotten better.
He’d made love—enough, he’d thought, but he’d been wrong about that, too.
She’d sensed his disinterest and over the years it had destroyed her self-confidence.
While she’d talked of children, he’d tried to think of ways to tell her it wasn’t going to last. It couldn’t.
He couldn’t give her what she deserved. But to let her go meant losing his best friend.
He didn’t know what life would be like without her.
Everything had been destroyed anyway that last night. That damn night. His hands curled into fists as the self-loathing filled him. He’d had too much to drink. It wasn’t an excuse—he knew that. But it was all he had.
He remembered standing alone in a corner of the party. One of his client’s wives had come over to him. The woman—he couldn’t even remember her name—had been attractive and obviously interested. Stone had felt a spark of response.
He’d known it was wrong and stupid and beneath him. Yet he’d let her lead him into the back room, and when she’d kissed him, he’d kissed her back.
He remembered thinking all he wanted was to feel a flash of passion.
He had no intention of bedding the woman.
No matter how bad things were with Evelyn, he wouldn’t have done that to her.
The kiss had been mildly pleasant, not memorable, except it had shown him it was time to come clean with his feelings.
He was playing his best friend for a fool.
She deserved better than that, and better than him.
He’d put his hands on the other woman’s shoulders. His intent had been to push her away. Then he’d heard it. The gasp of surprise. He’d looked up and seen Evelyn standing in the doorway, staring at him.
She’d been so pretty that night. Her silky blond hair pulled back into a chignon.
The sleeveless black dress had shown off her curves perfectly.
Curves he couldn’t make himself want. She’d stared at him as if she’d never seen him before.
Perhaps she never had. He’d never betrayed her before except perhaps when he’d proposed on a whim.
He’d destroyed her. He knew that now. If they hadn’t been arguing on the drive back, they probably wouldn’t have gotten into the accident. If only…He had a thousand of them. All useless after the fact.
“Evelyn,” he said aloud. “I’m sorry.”
But the apology merely faded into the silence of the room. It was too late for that. Evelyn was gone, and all the apologies in the world weren’t going to bring her back.
* * *
“Mr. Ward wondered if you would care to join him for dinner tonight,” Ula said.
Cathy looked up from the book she’d been reading. She was in the library on the first floor of the house. For a second, she just stared at the housekeeper as her mind absorbed the words. “Stone wants to have dinner with me?” The last word came out as a squeak.
The older woman smiled. “That’s what he said. About seven, if that’s convenient.”
Convenient? As if she had a social calendar that was close to full? “Sure, no problem.”
“I’ll let him know. Seven o’clock. In the dining room.”
Ula left as quietly as she’d come. Cathy stared after her. She’d been nervous about what had happened when she’d barged in on him. She hadn’t been thinking, and he would have had every right to be annoyed with her. But if the invitation was anything to go by, he’d forgiven her.
“Dinner. With Stone!”
She put her book on the table by the leather wing chair, then stood up. They were going to eat dinner together. Just like a real date!
“Don’t start that,” she murmured to herself. “He’s being kind. This isn’t a date.”
She knew it wasn’t, but as her entire dating experience had come from living vicariously through the experiences of other people, either on television or in books, she figured it wouldn’t be such an awful thing if she pretended. As long as he never knew.
She glanced at her wristwatch. It was nearly six.
She wanted to take a shower and get dressed.
Now, what was she going to wear? One of Stone’s staff members had gone to her house and brought back most of her clothes.
She didn’t have much that classified as appropriate attire for dining with a millionaire.
There was that green dress, she thought as she slowly climbed the stairs.
Her knee was better, but at the end of the day it often ached.
When she got to her room, she moved to the closet and looked at her meager selection. Unfortunately the shopping fairies hadn’t brought her anything wonderful. The green dress was still her best bet, she thought. However, it was tight and it pulled at the waist and around her behind.
“We’ll be sitting down,” she mumbled. “Maybe he won’t notice.”
She stared at the dress, knowing it was that or a frumpy skirt and blouse, both of which had been old and out of style three years ago.
She sighed, then stripped off her shirt and new jeans. She unzipped the dress and dropped it over her head.
As she went to the mirror, she tugged at the waist. To her astonishment, it was loose. She could actually pull a little fabric away from her skin.
She drew in a deep breath. Her rib cage expanded, but didn’t press against the bodice. Cautiously, barely daring to hope, she turned and stared at her profile. The dress hung smoothly off her hips and the small of her back. There was no bunching, no snugness.
“It fits!”
She grinned at her reflection. All the low-fat food and exercise had been worth it! She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself as she spun in a circle.
“Mr. Stone Ward, here I come.”
* * *
An hour later, Cathy entered the dining room. Ula had set the large table with two place settings, next to each other at the far end. Fine crystal and glass glowed. There were candles but little other lighting.
For a single heartbeat, Cathy allowed herself to believe this was the romantic dinner she’d fantasized about in her shower. Maybe Stone had been swept away by her transformation and he’d—
Get over it, she thought, and firmly squashed the thought.
The light was dim because Stone was nervous about his scars.
For no other reason. She reminded herself that her imagination was allowed free rein only when she was alone, but when she was with Stone—especially now that they were going to be in the light instead of in the protective cover of shadow—she had better keep her mind on reality.
She wouldn’t want to embarrass him, or herself.
“Good evening.”
She spun toward the sound and found him standing in the entrance to the dining room. He’d replaced his more casual shirt and jeans with a dress shirt and slacks. She was grateful that she’d thought to change into a dress, and even more grateful that it fit her well.
“Hi.” Butterflies took up residence in her tummy. It was the new circumstances, she told herself, hoping the soft-shoe show they were performing against her rib cage would be a short one.
He walked toward the table and held out one of the chairs. It took her a second to realize he meant for her to sit in it. She swallowed hard. She’d seen men do that in the movies, but she hadn’t known anyone did that in real life.
By the time he poured her a glass of wine, she didn’t know if she was going to shriek with delight or just quietly swoon. Neither sounded appealing, so she followed his lead and when he raised his glass to her, she did the same.
“To friends,” he said.
“Friends,” she echoed, and took a sip. The white wine was tart but smooth, and she liked the way it made her tongue tingle.
She’d had wine before. It had always been served at the answering service’s holiday party.
But she knew that whatever Stone had in his home was very different from the boxed liquid she’d had in the past.
Ula brought the first course—a salad with cut-up fresh vegetables. By now Cathy was used to the flavor of the fat-free dressing the housekeeper served. She gave the woman a smile, then picked up her fork.
As she chewed, she looked around the oversize room. There were two chandeliers, a buffet against the opposite wall and a built-in china cabinet at the far end of the room. Beneath her feet was an Oriental carpet that probably cost more than she’d made in the past three years combined.
“You’re looking serious about something,” Stone said. “Want to share your thoughts?”
She finished chewing, then spoke. “I’m a little out of my element here,” she confessed. “Sometimes I feel as if I’ve gotten caught up in one of those glitzy made-for-television movies or something. I’m just plain Cathy Eldridge, from North Hollywood. What on earth am I doing in your world?”
“You’re recovering from your accident.”
She looked at him. He’d seated her so she faced his right side. She couldn’t see his scars. Knowing they were there wasn’t enough of a distraction. He was still too good-looking by far.
“I don’t belong here.”
“Of course you do. You’re my guest.” His voice had a note of finality, as if the issue had been resolved.
“It’s not that simple,” she told him. “I still don’t understand why you’re doing this. Why aren’t you furious with me?” She took a sip of wine, hoping the alcohol would give her courage. “I lied to you.”
“We’ve been over this, and I told you it doesn’t matter. I understand.” He leaned toward her. “I mean that, Cathy. I do understand. More than anyone. You think I haven’t wished I could hide behind a mask? In a way, I do that every day. This house is my refuge, but it’s also my prison.”
“It doesn’t have to be. Yes, you have scars, but they’re not so terrible. I’m not kidding. I expected them to be much worse. A few people would stare, but they’d get over it. I wish you wouldn’t lock yourself up here. It’s not healthy.”
“No, but this salad is.” He speared a mushroom.
“You’re trying to change the subject.”
“I’m doing more than trying. Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “Just accept that you’re here. I’m glad I could help.”
“You have. You’ve been wonderful.”
He must have heard something in her voice because his gaze sharpened. He stared at her.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t make me more than I am. The reason I hide away is that I’m little more than a beast.”
“Don’t say that. You’re not. You’re gentle and kind and—”
He placed his hand on hers, but the gesture wasn’t romantic or even friendly. He meant it as a warning.
“I’m many things, but I’m neither gentle nor kind.” He motioned to his face. “These aren’t the only scars. You would do well to remember that. I can be dangerous. If you forget that, you do so at your own risk.”