The Calhouns Collection Read online

  Wanting to avoid that line of thought, he reached down to throw the ball for Fred. They both watched as the dog bounded after it, tripped himself up and went sprawling.

  “Not particularly graceful,” Trent mused. He rose and went over to retrieve the ball himself. Scratching the dog’s belly, he glanced over. The first thing he saw was a pair of very slim black heels. Slowly his gaze traveled up a long, shapely pair of legs. With the breath backing up in his lungs, he sat back on his heels.

  There was a sparkle of scarlet, snug and sleek over a curvy feminine form.

  “Lose something?” C.C. asked as his eyes fixed on her face.

  Her lips were curved and red and slick. Trent ran his tongue over his teeth to be certain he hadn’t swallowed it. On unsteady legs, he rose.

  “C.C.?”

  “We were having dinner tonight, weren’t we?”

  “We . . . yes. You look wonderful.”

  “Do you like it?” She turned a circle so that he could see the back of the dress dipped even lower than the front. “I think red’s a cheerful color.” And powerful, she thought, still smiling.

  “It suits you. I’ve never seen you in a dress before.”

  “Impractical when it comes to changing fuel pumps. Are you ready to go?”

  “Go where?”

  Oh, she was going to enjoy this. “To dinner.”

  “Right. Yes.”

  She inclined her head the way Suzanna had showed her and handed him her cape. It was a service he’d performed hundreds of times for dozens of women. But his hands fumbled.

  “Don’t wait up, Aunt Coco.”

  “No, dear.” Behind their retreating backs, she grinned and raised her fists in the air. The moment the front door shut, the three remaining Calhouns exchanged high fives.

  Chapter Nine

  “I’m glad you talked me into going out tonight.” C.C. reached for the door handle before she remembered to let Trent open the car for her.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d still be willing to go.” He closed his hand over hers.

  “Because of the house?” As casually as possible, C.C. slid her hand from under his and lowered herself into the car. “That’s done. I’d rather not talk about it tonight.”

  “All right.” He closed the door, rounded the hood. “Amanda recommended the restaurant.” He had his hands on the keys but continued to stare at her.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No.” Unless you counted his nervous system. After starting the car, he tried again. “I thought you might like dining near the water.”

  “Sounds fine.” His radio was on a classical station. Not her usual style, she thought. But it wasn’t a usual night. C.C. settled back and prepared to enjoy the ride. “Have you heard that rattle again?”

  “What rattle?”

  “The one you asked me to fix yesterday.”

  “Oh, that rattle.” He smiled to himself. “No. It must have been my imagination.” When she crossed her legs, his fingers tightened on the wheel. “You never told me why you decided to be a mechanic.”

  “Because I’m good at it.” She shifted in her seat to face him. He caught a drift of honeysuckle and nearly groaned. “When I was six, I took apart our lawn mower’s engine, to see how it worked. I was hooked. Why did you go into hotels?”

  “It was expected of me.” He stopped, surprised that that had been the first answer out of his mouth. “And I suppose I got good at it.”

  “Do you like it?”

  Had anyone ever asked him that before? he wondered. Had he ever asked himself? “Yes, I guess I do.”

  “Guess?” Her brows lifted into her bangs. “I thought you were sure of everything.”

  He glanced at her again and nearly ran off the road. “Apparently not.”

  When they arrived at the waterfront restaurant, he was used to the transformation. Or thought he was. Then he went around to open the car door for her. She slid out, rose up. They were eye to eye, barely a whisper apart. C.C. held her ground, wondering if he could hear the way her heart was pounding against her ribs.

  “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

  “No, I’m not sure.” No one, he was certain, this impossibly sexy was meant to be resisted. He cupped a hand at the back of her neck. “Let me check.”

  She eased away the instant before his lips brushed hers. “This isn’t a date, remember? Just a friendly dinner.”

  “I’d like to change the rules.”

  “Too late.” She smiled and offered a hand. “I’m hungry.”

  “You’re not the only one,” he murmured, and took her inside.

  He wasn’t sure how to handle her. The smooth moves he’d always taken for granted seemed rusty. The setting was perfect, the little table beside the window with water lapping just outside. As the sun set away in the west, it deepened and tinted the bay. He ordered wine as she picked up her menu and smiled at him.

  Under the table, C.C. gently eased out of her shoes. “I haven’t been here before,” she told him. “It’s very nice.”

  “I can’t guarantee the food will be as exceptional as your aunt’s.”

  “No one cooks like Aunt Coco. She’ll be sorry to see you go. She likes cooking for a man.”

  “Will you?”

  “Will I what?”

  “Be sorry to see me go.”

  C.C. looked down at the menu, trying to concentrate on her choices. The hard fact was, she had none. “Since you’re still here, we’ll have to see. I imagine you have a lot to catch up on in Boston.”

  “Yes, I do. I’ve been thinking that after I do, I may take a vacation. A real one. Bar Harbor might be a good choice.”

  She looked up, then away. “Thousands think so,” she murmured, relieved when the waiter served the wine.

  “If you could go anywhere you liked, where would it be?”

  “That’s a tough question, since I haven’t been anywhere.” She sipped, found the wine as smooth as chilled silk on her tongue. “Somewhere where I could see the sun set on the water, I think. Someplace warm.” She shrugged. “I suppose I should have said Paris or London.”

  “No.” He laid a hand on hers. “Catherine—”

  “Are you ready to order?”

  C.C. glanced quickly at the waiter who hovered beside them. “Yes.” She slid her hand from Trent’s and picked arbitrarily from the menu. Cautious, she kept one hand in her lap as she lifted her wine. The moment they were alone again, she started to speak. “Have you ever seen a whale?”

  “I . . . no.”

  “You’ll be coming back occasionally while you’re—while you’re having The Towers converted. You should take a day and go out on one of the whale-watch boats. The last time I managed it, I saw three humpbacks. You need to dress warmly though. Even in high summer it’s cold once you get out on the Atlantic. It can be a rough ride, but it’s worth it. You might even think about offering some sort of package yourself. You know, a weekend rate with a whale-watch tour included. A lot of the hotels—”

  “Catherine.” He stopped her by closing a hand over her wrist before she could lift her glass again. He could feel the rapid, unsteady beat of her pulse. Not passion this time, he thought. But heartache. “The papers haven’t been signed yet,” he said quietly. “There’s still time to look for other options.”

  “There aren’t any other options.” He cared, she realized as she studied his face. It was in his eyes as they looked into hers. Concern, apology. It made it worse somehow, knowing he cared. “We sell to you now, or The Towers is sold later for taxes. The end result is the same, and there’s a little more dignity doing it this way.”

  “I might be able to help. A loan.”

  She retreated instantly. “We can’t take your money.”

  “If I buy the house from you, you’re taking my money.”

  “That’s different. That’s business. Trent,” she said before he could argue, “I appreciate the fact that you’d offer, especially since I know the only reason yo
u’re here is to buy The Towers.”

  It was, he thought. Or it had been. “The thing is, C.C., I feel like I’m foreclosing on those widows and orphans.”

  She managed a smile. “We’re five strong, self-sufficient women. We don’t blame you—or maybe I do, a little, but at least I know I’m being unfair when I do. My feelings for you don’t make it easy to be fair.”

  “What are your feelings?”

  She let out a little sigh as the waiter served the appetizers and lit the candle between them. “You’re taking the house, you might as well take it all. I’m in love with you. But I’ll get over it.” With her head tilted slightly, she lifted her fork. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

  When he took her hand again, she didn’t pull back, but waited. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said carefully. How well her hand fit into his, he thought, looking down at it. How comforting it was to link his fingers with hers. “I’m just not capable of giving you—of giving anyone—promises of love and fidelity.”

  “That’s sad.” She shook her head as his eyes came back to hers. “You see, I’m only losing a house. I can find another. You’re losing the rest of your life, and you only have one.” She forced her lips to curve as she drew away from him. “Unless, of course, you subscribe to Lilah’s idea that we just keep coming back. This is nice wine,” she commented. “What is it again?”

  “Pouilly Fumé.”

  “I’ll have to remember that.” She began to talk cheerfully as she ate the meal without tasting a thing. By the time coffee was served, she was wound like a top. C.C. knew that she would rather take an engine apart with her fingernails than face another evening such as this.

  To love him so desperately, yet to have to be strong enough, proud enough to pretend she was capable of living without him. To sit, greedily storing each gesture, each word, while pretending it was all so casual and easy.

  She wanted to shout at him, to rage and damn him for stirring her emotions into a frenzy then calmly walking away from the storm. But she could only cling to the cold comfort of pride.

  “Tell me about your home in Boston,” she invited. That would be something, she thought, to be able to picture him in his own home.

  He wasn’t able to take his eyes off her. The way the clusters at her ears shot fire. The way the candlelight flickered dreamily in her eyes. But all through the evening, he had felt as though she had blocked off a part of herself, the most important part of herself. And he might never see the whole woman again.

  “My home?”

  “Yes, where you live.”

  “It’s just a house.” It occurred to him quite suddenly that it didn’t mean a thing to him. An excellent investment, that was all. “It’s only a few minutes from the office.”

  “That’s convenient. Have you lived there long?”

  “About five years. Actually, I bought it from my father when he and his third wife split. They decided to liquidate some assets.”

  “I see.” And she was very much afraid that she did. “Does your mother live in Boston, too?”

  “No. She travels. Being tied down to one place doesn’t agree with her.”

  “Sounds like Great-Aunt Colleen.” C.C. smiled over the rim of her cup. “That’s my father’s aunt, or Bianca’s oldest child.”

  “Bianca,” he mused, and thought again of that moment when he’d felt that soft and soothing warmth over his and C.C.’s joined hands.

  “She lives on cruise ships. Every now and again we get a postcard from some port of call. Aruba or Madagascar. She’s eighty-something, obsessively single and mean as a shark with a hangover. We all live in fear that she might decide to visit.”

  “I didn’t realize you had any relatives living other than Coco and your sisters.” His brows drew together. “She might know something about the necklace.”

  “Great-Aunt Colleen?” Considering it, C.C. pursed her lips. “I doubt it. She was a child when Bianca died, and spent most of her girlhood in boarding schools.” Without thinking, she pulled off her earrings and massaged the tender lobes. Desire spread like brushfire through Trent’s blood. “Anyway, if we could find her—which isn’t likely—and mentioned the whole business, she’d probably come steaming back to hack away at the walls. She doesn’t have any love for The Towers, but she has a great deal for money.”

  “She doesn’t sound like a relative of yours.”

  “Oh, we have a number of oddities in our family closet.” After dropping the earrings into her bag, she leaned an elbow on the table. “Great-Uncle Sean—he was Bianca’s youngest—was shot climbing out of his married paramour’s window. One of his paramours, I should say. He survived, then took off for the West Indies, never to be heard of again. That was sometime during the thirties. Ethan, my grandfather, lost the bulk of the family fortune on cards and horses. Gambling was his weakness, and that’s what killed him. He had a wager that he could sail from Bar Harbor to Newport and back within six days. He made it to Newport, and was heading back ahead of schedule when he ran into a squall and was lost at sea. Which meant he lost his last bet as well.”

  “They sound like an adventurous pair.”

  “They were Calhouns,” C.C. explained, as if that said it all.

  “I’m sorry the St. Jameses don’t have anything to compare with it.”

  “Ah, well. I’ve always wondered if Bianca would have stepped back from that tower window if she’d known how messed up her children would become.” C.C. looked thoughtfully out to where lights played on the dark water. “She must have loved her artist very much.”

  “Or was very unhappy in her marriage.”

  C.C. looked back. “Yes, there is that. Maybe we should head back. It’s getting late.” She started to rise, remembered, then slid her bare foot around the floor beneath the table.

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve lost my shoes.” So much, she thought, for the sophisticated image.

  Trent bent down to look himself and got an eyeful of long, slim leg. “Ah . . .” He cleared his throat and trained his eyes on the floor. “Here you go.” He took both, then straightening, smiled at her. “Put your foot out. I’ll give you a hand.” He watched her as he slipped the shoes onto her feet and remembered that he’d once thought she would never stand for being a Cinderella. He trailed his finger up her instep and caught the flicker in her eyes. The flicker of desire that, no matter what common sense told him, he very much wanted.

  “Have I mentioned that you have truly incredible legs?”

  “No.” She had one hand balled in a fist at her side and struggled to concentrate on it rather than the sensations his touch had spurting through her. “It’s nice of you to notice.”

  “It’s difficult not to. They’re the only ones I’ve known that look sexy in coveralls.”

  Ignoring the thud of her own heart, she leaned toward him. “That reminds me.”

  He could kiss her now, he thought. He had only to shift a mere inch to have his mouth on hers, where he wanted it. “What?”

  “I don’t think your shocks have more than another couple thousand miles on them.” With a smile, she rose. “I’d look into that when you get home.” Pleased with herself, C.C. started out ahead of him.

  When they settled in the car, she congratulated herself. A very successful evening all in all, she thought. Maybe he wasn’t miserable, as she was, but she was damn sure she’d made him uncomfortable a time or two. He’d go back to Boston the next day. . . . She turned to stare out the window until she was certain she could deal with the pain. He’d go back, but he wouldn’t forget her quickly or easily. His last impression of her would be one of a composed, self-contained woman in a sexy red dress. Better, C.C. decided, much better than the picture of a mechanic in coveralls with grease on her hands.

  More important, she’d proven something to herself. She could love, and she could let go.

  She looked up as the car started to climb. She could see the shadowy peaks of the two towers spearing
into the night sky. Trent slowed the car as he looked, as well.

  “The light’s on in Bianca’s tower.”

  “Lilah,” C.C. murmured. “She often sits up there.” She thought of her sister sitting by the window, looking out into the night. “You won’t tear it down, will you?”

  “No.” Understanding more than she knew, he closed his hand over hers. “I promise you it won’t be torn down.”

  The house disappeared as the road curved away, then all but filled the view. They could hear the beat and slap of the sea as they looked at it. Lights were sprinkled on throughout, glowing against the dull gray stone. A slender shadow moved in front of the tower window, stood for a moment, then slid away.

  Inside, Lilah called down the stairs. “They’re back.”

  Four women raced to the windows to peer out.

  “We shouldn’t spy on them,” Suzanna murmured, but moved the curtain aside a bit more.

  “We’re not.” Amanda strained her eyes. “We’re just checking, that’s all. Can you see anything?”

  “They’re still in the car,” Coco complained. “How are we supposed to see what’s going on if they’re going to sit in the car?”

  “We could use our imaginations.” Lilah shook her hair back. “If that man isn’t begging her to go to Boston with him, then he really is a jerk.”

  “To Boston?” Alarmed, Suzanna glanced over. “You don’t think she’d go to Boston, do you?”

  “She’d go to the Ukraine if he had the sense to ask her,” Amanda commented. “Look, they’re getting out.”

  “Maybe if we just cracked a window a little bit, we could hear—”

  “Aunt Coco, that’s ridiculous.” Lilah clucked her tongue.

  “You’re right, of course.” Color tinged Coco’s cheek.

  “Of course I’m right. They’d hear the windows creak if we tried.” Grinning, she pressed her face against the glass. “We’ll just have to read their lips.”

  “This was nice,” C.C. said as she stepped out of the car. “I haven’t been out to dinner in a while.”

  “You had dinner with Finney.”

  She gave him a blank look, then laughed. “Oh, Finney, sure.” The breeze played with her bangs as she smiled. “You’ve got quite a memory.”