A Seductive Proposal (20 page)

The third time, though, she’d asked, “Are you sure? This has been pretty great.”

He’d frowned. He’d kissed her fingers. “If I thought I had anything to give you, I mean really give you, I’d ask you to move to Phoenix. But as much as I love sharing your bed, I have never seen myself as the boyfriend type. Please understand this about me.” Again, he put his lips on her fingers. “Please. I don’t want you to get hurt in this. Tell me you understand what I’m saying.”

“I understand. I don’t want you to feel guilty. You’ve had integrity with me from the first.”

He’d kissed her on the lips after that then he’d made love to her. She’d forced her throat to relax. She reminded herself to savor the moment, because pretty soon, unless she could somehow forge a miracle, there would be no more moments.

But what she didn’t understand was how he could make love to her like this every night,
for hours¸
and yet remain unmoved?

The days melted away under the scorch of the summer heat and the rising humidity, which by the start of the fourth week in July brought the long-awaited monsoon storms pounding the red canyon world in which she lived and now loved.

She strove every day to take as much pleasure as she could from the man in her bed. She worked to keep from letting the advance of days grind her heart into a powder of despair. She wrung every drop of joy from Quint’s company.

More than once, though, after he’d stretched himself out on top of her and worked his magic, he had allowed himself to talk about his life, his work, even offering more details about all the moves his family has made when he was a child, the desperate fears he’d lived with but also the way he’d learned to talk to himself to keep his chin up at each successive school.

She listened to him, soaked up every expression, memorized the blue of his eyes and the sensual shape of his lips. Then she’d respond from her own experiences. How many times did he seem surprised by what she’d say? He would turn to her, his head supported by bent elbow and flat hand as he would respond,
I never looked at it like that before.

But what he did after was even worse, but so sublime. He would ask about her life and listen as she shared. The sharing had become SOP but why didn’t he see that as significant, critical, portentous? Why was he so closed off to the future? To her? To a future with her?

She thought she understood. His childhood had been a hell of poverty, his mother had died early and his father had been a wretched example of domestic chaos and indifference. How could Quint know what was normal, or good, or even necessary? She had called it right in those early days, she’d struck gold but Quint was a vein she couldn’t tap.

The last night before the Napa guests were due to arrive, Carly moved with Quint out to the now complete and beautifully furnished winery house. Nothing had changed for him. He took her to bed and ravished her willing body.

Nothing had changed for Carly either. She woke up at three-thirty, her hour of reckoning, and again soaked her pillow until she fell asleep once more hammered with despair.

She had four days, four lousy days to somehow convince Quint Barron that to let her go would be the sorriest mistake of his life.

The following afternoon, the Napa guests arrived via limousine.

Carly stood beside Quint next to the rust granite island. The chef she had hired for the weekend, simmered a Bolognese sauce on a back burner. Several bottles of Shiraz stood uncorked and waiting.

She cocked her head at the group just rounding the corner, led by the housekeeper hired for the weekend.

She recognized them all from their photos.

The blond beauty, a few years Carly’s senior and married to Gerald Thompson, weaved on her feet even though Paul Frazier supported her.

“I think she might be drunk,” Carly whispered as the group entered the great room.

“Not quite the beginning I’d hoped for,” Quint murmured.

“Why is she holding Paul Frazier’s arm?”

“Well that’s just terrific,” Quint muttered.

Carly shook her head and waited as Quint moved forward to greet his guests. Not surprising, the evening slid all the way downhill from there.

Gerald never stopped drinking his scotch. Paul ignored his wife. Hailey kept a glass of wine going until at least two bottles had been drained. Amanda Dillon developed a monstrous migraine and retired with her husband, Scott, to their bedroom.

The only saving grace for Carly was Eve Frazier who also owned a vineyard. She talked shop with her until she too proclaimed her traveling fatigue and excused herself to hunt down her bed. She didn’t invite her husband to come with her.

Hailey and Gerald said goodnight not long after, which left Paul to sulk. Hailey clung to Gerald’s arm and struggled her way up the stairs.

Though Quint attempted to engage Paul in conversation, he growled about being too tired to make small talk, shoved his hands into his pockets then thumped up the stairs as well.

Carly stared at the empty room, her mouth agape.

Quint shook his head. “Well that was fun,” he whispered, then he laughed.

“Feel like going to bed?” she offered.

“Always.”

* * * * * * * * *

Quint laced his fingers through Carly’s and sighed. He’d begun to spell disaster, Napa. He’d never seen such a butchered group.

As he guided Carly in the direction of the far set of stairs, which led to the master suite, he whispered, “If I’d known Paul was banging Hailey Thompson, I would never have extended the invitation to the Fraziers.”

“Is there no hope?” Carly asked, giving his hand a squeeze.

“The one thing I’ve learned in business—there’s always hope. Chemistry changes from day to day. Issues get resolved or force a crisis.”

She smiled up at him. “I still remember how you said you loved possibilities.”

“Yes, that’s it exactly. So long as they’re here, the deal is full of possibilities.”

* * * * * * * * *

Later, tucked into the well of his body, Carly nuzzled his neck. She remembered what he said about possibilities and tried to keep her heart focused on that thought, that so long as he was in her bed, she had the
possibility
of a future with him.

She whispered, “I wish I could go back and make your childhood better.”

“Hey, no pity,” he said, rubbing her shoulder. “I learned a helluva lot about life. I learned to be tough and I got good at reading people.”

“Yes, you did.”

She touched his beautiful lower lip. He’d already made love to her but she wanted more, so much more. “My dad was an alcoholic, the kind that always thought the world was against him. I worked every day not to adopt his attitudes.”

He turned into her a little more and leaned down to kiss her on the lips. “You did good, then, Carly. Look at all you’ve accomplished.”

“Thank you, but I must say, I feel like peewee baseball next to your major leagues.”

“Don’t ever say that. I would never diminish what you’ve done here in Sedona. Never. I’m proud of you.”

Her heart warmed up about a thousand degrees and her body ten times that. She was naked and slid down his body until the hard ridge of his sex caught between her legs.

He pushed her onto her back. “Did I ever tell you how much I love all the ways you enjoy my body?”

“No,” she said, pouting. She rubbed her breasts against his chest. “Tell me. And when you’re done tell me again.”

He rose up between her legs and slid deep inside. He told her. Then he told her again and again.

* * * * * * * * *

Carly woke up the next morning and stretched. She didn’t care that the Napa weekend had begun with a limp and a crawl since at night she’d share her bed with Quint.

He’d already taken the men golfing and in an hour or so, she’d haul the women across the Verde Valley to the hillside town of Jerome to do a little shopping.

She stayed in bed for a while a frown pinching her brow as she tried to figure out just how to convince Quint that what they had together wasn’t as simple as a fling or even an affair. She felt connected to him, in her bones, yet he never spoke of needing more from her than this remarkable—and in his opinion quite temporary—physical connection.

She tried to piece his childhood together and came up with a bleak picture. He changed schools like most kids changed clothes. His mother died when he was only twelve and his father had married a string of women afterward. He’d been on his own since he was eighteen as had she. Maybe that was part of the connection. They’d both had it rough as kids but his childhood kind of made hers look like a picnic. He’d proven the worth of his character a hundred times over in all that he’d accomplished, at least in business, but his growing up years had left a hole. Was it possible then that he would never be able to truly love?

Except that he did know how to love. All his actions toward her spoke of an ability to love, a decision to love.

He just didn’t know it.

She sighed as she rose to dress for the day. She had only three days left now with which to reach him on this impossible subject.

An hour later, she took the ladies in a comfortable, chauffeur-driven Cadillac across the Verde Valley and up the hill to Jerome, an old mining town turned artist’s colony. The ladies lost themselves in shopping and gallery viewing, though Hailey and Amanda seemed to enjoy themselves a little more than Eve. Eventually, Carly guided Eve to the small corner café that served fresh-squeezed lemonade.

For the next hour, she talked wineries with Eve until Hailey, a little fidgety and wild-eyed, entered the café and asked if they served cocktails.

“No,” Carly said, “but they make lemonade with fresh lemons.”

Her extreme look of disappointment led Carly to suggest the party head back home.

* * * * * * * * *

That evening, as the guests gathered for dinner, Carly served a pitcher of what her bartender called a Sedona Breeze, a mixture of Ketel One, Cointreau, pineapple juice, orange juice and a splash of grenadine.

Hailey had already refilled her glass three times.

Eve sat on a bar stool in the family room and surfaced from her glass. She glanced at the large oil painting adjacent to the bar. “What an exquisite rendition of the Grand Canyon. I love the use of light.”

“I’m glad you like it. It was done by one of our local artists, Andrea Tremonte. Sadly, she passed away about a year and a half ago but it’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

“I would love to own one of these.”

“Unfortunately, the artist’s entire collection has been held up in court. I was lucky enough to acquire this piece because it belonged to a friend of mine whose own collection had become unwieldy.”

“Lucky you.”

“No kidding.”

“Well, keep me informed if her work ever comes back on the market. I’m very interested.”

“I will.”

Eve took another sip and settled into a sigh. She nursed her drink. She had medium brown hair cropped short. She was very pretty, but her lips appeared dull as though she’d been compressing them for hours, or days, maybe months.

Carly glanced at her husband, Paul, who had moved to look out at the vineyard from the large plate glass window across from the kitchen. Half a minute later—no surprise—Hailey joined him. She resisted the urge to look at Eve, to see what she made of this pairing.

Carly’s gaze shifted beyond. Through the window she could see that a storm approached from off the Rim and had whipped the vineyard into a frenzy. Quint and Gerald stood on the deck, watching the storm, both men facing into the wind, their hands shoved into their pants pockets. Carly smiled. Two of a kind. Maybe Quint was right. Maybe there was hope yet even if she couldn’t see a basis for it.

Amanda and Scott sat close together on the sofa flipping through the various local picture and history books she’d gathered for the occasion.

Paul drifted a little closer to Hailey.

Carly couldn’t restrain a second longer. She turned to look at Eve, to see how she registered this not-so-subtle move. Eve scowled and thrust her glass in the bartender’s direction. “To the brim, please.”

So Eve knew.

Carly’s heart sank.

This weekend just got worse and worse.

Eve brought her glass to her mouth again.

Since Hailey returned to ask for a refill as well, Carly nodded to the chef then went outside to bring Gerald and Quint in to dinner. The timing was excellent, since a loud crack of thunder heralded the arrival of the storm.

* * * * * * * * *

“So that’s that?” Carly asked. She lay half on Quint half off, his arm curled around her shoulder.

“Thompson told me flat out he won’t move his business from his present San Francisco investment firm and Scott follows his lead.”

“And Paul?”

“I don’t know. He’s my last hope but I think you already know
why
he came on this trip and anytime I even mention investing he just rolls his eyes and turns away.”

“I have to say, I’m not exactly in love with him.”

Quint chuckled. He turned into her, caught her chin and kissed her. “I want you to know that whatever happens in the next two days, you’ve been pretty spectacular.”

Spectacular enough not to leave for Phoenix in oh, say, two days?

“That’s very sweet,” she said. “But I think I’d like a little proof that you mean that compliment. How ‘bout you
show me
for the next twenty minutes or so what you’re trying to say.”

He growled and rolled on top of her. Carly held his face in her hands. She needed to tell him how she felt, to help him see that what they had here was not the usual experience between couples
at all.
But how? When?

As he slid his tongue in her mouth, however, she forgot all about the future and concentrated in exquisite detail on the present.

* * * * * * * * *