Almost Forever (30 page)

He felt irritated at her suddenly, for pulling back, for trying to avoid what was going to happen eventually anyway.

“I told you.” His voice was harder, perhaps, than it should have been. “Because I want you.”

Her mouth had no trace of softness about it now. “Just like that.” She flicked a hand in the air. “Out of nowhere. Because you want me.”

He looked down at his shoes and then back up at her. “You want me, too.”

“Don't change the subject.”

“This
is
the subject. I want you. You want me. It's simple, if you'll only—”

“It is not.” She tossed an indignant glance heavenward and then glared at him once more. “It's impossible.”

“No.”

“Good Lord, Clay. We have to
work
together.”

“I am very well aware of that.”

“You could have fooled me. What's gotten into you?”

You!
he wanted to shout at her.
You and your black hair and your wide brown eyes and your scent like flowers and ripe summer fruit.

But he didn't say that. He said, “I want us to be married.”

She stared. “Excuse me?”

“I said, I want to marry you. Right away.”

She took another step back from him. “Clay, this is ridiculous. It would never work.”

“Oh, yes it will. It will work out just fine.”

“Clay.” She pitched her voice low, but its intensity made it sound like a shout. “I'm
pregnant,
Clay. And it's not your baby.”

“I know. That's one of the reasons, probably the most important reason. For the sake of the baby.”

Andie shook her head.

Clay nodded.

She backed away, up the street. “I…this is impossible. I can't talk about this now.”

“When, then?”

“Don't do this.”

“When?”

She glared at him. “I just…right this minute, I
hate
you, Clay Barrett.” She sounded very much as she had when they were kids.

Clay was firm, he did not revert to childish taunts. “But you want me. And you'll marry me.”

“Not now. I can't think about this now.”

“Fine. Tonight, then. We'll talk about it more tonight.”

“Oh, God. Tonight.”

“Eight o'clock.”

“Where?”

“I'll come to your place.” No way he was going to tell her to come to his. In the state she was in, she might not show up.

“I can't…”

“Say you'll be there, Andie. Just say that.”

“All right.” She gave a little frustrated moan. “Oh, how can you do this to me? Everything was worked out. It was all going just fine.”

“Say it.”

“Damn you.”

“Say it.”

“I'll be there.” And then she turned and ran up the street, all the way to her mother's house.

 

Andie moved through the rest of her birthday party in a daze, trying to smile and be gracious as the guest of honor, when all she wanted to do was go home.

Go home to her apartment and close all the blinds and sit on her bed and hug her tattered old teddy bear that she'd had since she was a baby.

Clay had
kissed
her.

A real kiss. A man-and-woman kiss.

It wasn't possible.

But it was true.

And, Lord forgive her, she had
liked
it. Liked it more than any kiss she'd ever had in her life.

And then, after that incredible, unforgivable kiss, he'd told her he wanted to marry her.

Marry her.

All her life she'd thought that her watchful, cautious cousin was like a sleeping volcano. Now and then she'd wondered what it would be like if he woke up some day and started spewing fire.

Well, now she knew.

She'd been licked by the flames, swallowed by the heat. It couldn't be true. But it was. Just as Clay had said. She
wanted
him.

It was just a little eerie, actually. Because when she'd blown out the candles on her cake, she'd wished for a good man to stand beside her.

And then, not half an hour later, Clay had asked her to marry him.

Weird. Very weird.

And impossible. Even if Clay
was
a good man. Even if, as
he'd so blankly pointed out, she desired him, nothing could come of it. Nothing but trouble.

There was her job to consider, a job she needed and loved. For a woman to desire her boss rarely led to anything but heartache and the unemployment line. And worse than the way her job was suddenly in jeopardy, there was the truth about the baby's father. She could never tell Clay the truth about Jeff. It would kill Clay to know that his best friend was the one.

And Andie knew very well that the family was involved in this. She could read them all like the open books they were. Andie was pregnant and Clay was single and reliable and only related to Andie by adoption.

How perfect,
they were all thinking,
Clay and Andie can get married and everything will be fine.
Andie was also reasonably certain, judging by a few oblique remarks her mother had made, that they'd even tried to convince themselves that Clay was the baby's father.

Which was ridiculous, if they'd only open their eyes. If Clay had been the baby's father, he would have married her in a minute. If she'd refused him, he would have bullied and prodded, reasoned and pleaded. He would have kept after her relentlessly until she gave in. Clay was like that. He always faced his duty and did the right thing.

And now, with a little subtle goading from the family, Clay had decided that the right thing would be for him to marry her anyway—even though the baby
wasn't
his.

Oh, she could gladly strangle each and every one of her loving relatives.

Oh, go on with him, honey,
her mother had said when Clay had made that strange request that she walk him to his car. As if Andie hadn't seen the gleam in her mother's eyes.

It was too crazy. And impossible, just as she'd tried to tell Clay.

But Clay wouldn't listen to her.

That was always the problem. Clay had never listened to her. Once he decided what he thought was right, he acted on it. And everyone else just had to go along.

Well, Andie had never gone along. And she was not going to go along now.

Tonight, when he came to see her, she would be better prepared. They would have a real discussion of this, like the two adults they were now. Somehow, without revealing the awful truth about Jeff, she would make her pigheaded cousin see reason.

And then, please God, they would go back to the way things had been before.

W
hen Andie opened her door to Clay that night, her eyes were deep and serious. She wore neither lipstick nor a smile.

She stepped back to let him in. When he moved past her, he didn't miss the care she took not to allow her body to touch his.

“You can hang your coat there.” She indicated a row of pegs by the door.

Clay hung his coat and followed her into her small living room.

“Can I get you something?”

“No, thanks.”

“Sit down.” She gestured at the couch.

He sat where she'd pointed. Andie perched on a chair several feet away.

Clay had his arguments all lined up in his head. But he could see she wanted to speak first. He allowed that.

“Clay, I…I'm sorry about the, um, harsh things I said this
afternoon. I didn't mean them. Not all of them, anyway. I
don't
hate you. Not really.”

“I know that.”

She forced a weak smile. “It was just that you shocked me. That kiss. And then saying you wanted to marry me, out of nowhere like that.”

“I understand.”

One of her slim hands had found a loose thread on the chair arm. Clay watched as she tugged at it, then realized what she was doing and let the thread go.

She spoke again. “I've thought about what you said this afternoon. I really have.”

“And?” His stupid heart was in his throat. He swallowed it down.

“And, well, I really don't see how it could work.”

Clay gave himself a moment to let her careful refusal sink in. He didn't like it, didn't like the way it made his chest feel tight and his stomach knot up. But it didn't matter. She would marry him in the end. It was what he wanted and it was the right thing. Whatever it took, he would make it happen.

“Why not?” He was proud of how unconcerned he sounded.

She drew in a long breath. “Oh, Clay. Come on. It has to be obvious.”

“Fine. Then state the obvious. Please.”

“Well.” She gave a little nervous cough. “Okay. If you insist.”

“I do.”

“First, and most important, we aren't in love.”

He looked at her for a long time. “Love.”

“Yes. Love.”

He considered for a moment, framing his argument. Then he spoke. “Of course there's love between us, Andie. We're family, you and me. We work together and we do it damn well. We can build a good life, help each other,
be
there for each
other. And we can give your baby two parents to see it all the way to adulthood. That's all the love there needs to be.”

Andie wasn't convinced. “No, Clay. That's not enough.”

“What else is there?”

She looked away, then back. “You know.”

“Tell me.”

“Fine. I will.” She pulled herself straighter in her chair. “There's a special kind of love that should be there, between a man and a woman when they decide to marry. It's not there with us. You say you love me. But you're not
in
love with me. Are you?”

He tried to contain his impatience, but it was there in his voice when he spoke. “This is a word game, Andie. Nothing more.”

“It's not. I want to be in love with the man I marry.”

“You'll have love. The only kind that matters.”

“It's not enough.”

There was a silence, a heated one. She watched him with grim hostility. And her breathing was agitated. Clay thought that he could make this a hell of a lot easier on both of them if he just got up and went over to her and pulled her into his arms. If he did it slowly, she might accept him.

Or he could give in and tell her in so many words that he was in love with her.

Why not, he thought? Why not just say the words she wanted to hear? He cared for her and was willing to do just about anything to see that she was safe and well provided for.

But somehow, those words just wouldn't come. Because in the sense that she meant
in love,
he would be telling a bald-faced lie. There was simply no such thing as the love she thought she wanted. Love like that was just a pretty word for a natural biological urge.

“Clay, please understand.” Her soft voice tried to soothe him.

He only bristled more. “Understand what?”

“Don't be angry.”

“I'm not.”

“Oh, Clay. If I could only make you see. I've made a lot of mistakes. I know I have. But I've also learned a lot. And I really believe that a very special kind of love is important, between a man and a woman, when they begin a life together.”

He decided to leave the issue of love alone for right then, since it seemed to be getting them nowhere. “Okay. And what else?”

“What do you mean?”

“What other issues and questions? What else is bothering you?”

“Well, I…I believe there should be honesty, Clay. That honesty between a man and a wife is second only to love.”

He regarded her coolly. “Honesty.”

“Clay, don't—”

“You're saying you don't think we're being honest with each other. Am I right?”

“Well, I…”

“Say what you mean to say, Andie. Who's lying and what about?”

“It's not a lie. Not really. It's just…about the baby's father.” She looked down at her lap and her misery was painful to see.

Clay felt a twinge of guilt again, as he did every time this subject came up around her. He knew the truth, after all. Her closely guarded secret, to him, was no secret at all. He reminded her, “The man is out of your life, isn't he?”

“Yes.”

“And out of the baby's life, too?”

“Yes.”

“How big is the chance that later, sometime in the future, he'll change his mind?”

She gave him the answer he knew she would give. “Not big. Very small, actually.”

“Then why borrow trouble? I'm willing to accept your word about this. The baby will be
our
baby.”

Andie stared up at him, a strange expression on her face, hopeful and disbelieving at once. “You would do that? Claim the baby as yours?”

“Yes.”

She looked as though she might cry. “Oh, Clay.”

“So marry me.”

He waited, his heart in his throat. For a moment he actually thought he had convinced her.

But then she sighed and looked at her lap again. “No. I just can't. I know you can't understand that. But it's the way it is. I can't tell you about the baby's father. And I could never marry a man who didn't know the truth. To start out with something like that between us would doom it all right from the first.”

Clay studied her bent head. He thought of Jeff, who was dead to him now. And he thought of how he'd sworn to himself that Andie would never have to learn that he knew about Jeff.

He still saw no real reason to tell her the truth. Jeff was the past. And the past would fade to nothing in time. There was no point at all in dwelling on it, in bringing up all the pain and digging around in it for the sake of some noble concept like
honesty.

What they needed to do was let it go. He saw that clearly. And she would see it soon enough, he was certain.

He stood. “Look. Andie.”

Her head shot up. She stared at him, her eyes wide and wary.

He took a step toward her.

She leaned back in her seat. “I don't think you should…”

“What?”

“I, um…”

He stood over her. “Andie.” He reached down and took her
hand. She let him do that, though her apprehension was plain in every line of her slender body.

He gave a tug. She slowly stood. He backed away a little, in order to give her just enough space that she wouldn't feel she had to cut and run.

She swallowed. “What?”

He felt tenderly toward her suddenly. He knew what she was experiencing. Consciousness of him as a man.

It was a strange, disorienting feeling, he knew. They'd been certain things to each other for almost twenty years. But now they were finding that what they shared was like one of those drawings with an invisible figure hidden within it. You could look for years and never see the hidden figure, but once you saw it, you couldn't
un
see it. From that moment on, it would always be there.

Gently he whispered, “I won't accept a no.”

Her expression became earnest. “You'll have to. It's the only answer, Clay. I'm sorry. Please understand. We have to go back to the way things were.”

He shook his head. “We can't do that.”

“But we have to.”

“We can't.”

“Why not?”

“If you insist on saying no, you'll see why not.”

“I think we can.”

Because he couldn't stop himself, he touched the side of her face with his hand. Her skin was like the petal of a rose. He wanted her mouth again, to taste her mouth.

“Please don't, Clay.”

He dropped his hand. Then he turned away. He took the few steps to the sliding glass door that opened onto her minuscule patio. In the window glass, he saw his own shadowed reflection and that of the room behind him.

He was pushing too fast, he knew. He wanted things settled. And he wanted her. Soon.

She was over two months along. And he was greedy for her.

He knew it was crude and thoughtless of him to feel that way, and he certainly would never tell
her
that. But it was an imperative for him. He wanted to lay a real claim to her, and if they waited too long, the pregnancy could interfere. The thought of having to wait until after the baby came to make love to her set his nerves on edge.

Still, she was not going to tell him yes tonight—that much was painfully clear. He would do them both a service to back off for a while.

She needed to learn firsthand, from day-to-day experience, just what he meant when he said they couldn't go back. Let them work side by side in the office for a few days with this new awareness between them. She'd see soon enough that unsatisfied desire could scrape her nerves raw.

He turned to face her. “Look. I guess there isn't much more to say at this point. Let's leave it for now. You know where I stand on this. I want to marry you. I think we'll be good together as husband and wife. So you think about my offer.”

“Clay.” She made a small, frustrated sound. “I said no. I meant it. I'm not going to marry you.”

“Fine. But there's no law that says you can't change your mind.”

“I
won't
change my mind.”

“We're talking in circles here.”

“Because you won't face the truth.” She was glaring at him now, her fists clenched in impotent anger at her sides.

He had the most ridiculous flash of memory at that moment. He saw her at twelve or thirteen, outraged at some imagined injustice he'd done her, her fists clenched at her sides and her face scrunched up in a glare, looking almost
exactly as she did right now. Whatever they'd been fighting over, he remembered she'd ended up shouting at him. And he'd shouted right back.

It occurred to him right then that if he didn't get out of there, they would end up yelling at each other like a couple of kids. Either that or he would drag her into his arms and shut her up by covering her mouth with his own. Neither option would be likely to further his case in the long run. He'd better get out of there.

He marched toward her. She cringed back, probably afraid he was going to grab her and do something unforgivable—like kiss her. He couldn't resist tossing her a superior smirk as he strode right by her and out to the little cubicle where his coat was hanging. He grabbed the coat off the hook.

“Good night,” he called, triumphantly aloof as he went out the door.

 

Monday morning at the office, Clay was careful to be strictly professional. He was going to have to wait Andie out. And he was ready for that. They would go on as before, until she realized he was right: they
couldn't
go on as before.

Andie saw his point right away.

But there was no way she was going to admit it to Clay.

And besides, it seemed that they
should
have been able to go on as before. Nothing, really, was any different than it had ever been.

And yet everything had changed in a thousand tiny, irrevocable ways.

Andie was so terribly
aware
of Clay now. And that new awareness affected everything. Clay's mere presence in her place of business messed up her concentration. Even when he was down the hall with his door closed, her silly mind would wander to thoughts of him. All the time now, she'd find herself
staring into space with a half-finished letter on the computer screen in front of her, listening with every fiber of her being for the sound of Clay's door being pulled back, for the soft thud of his footfalls as he came out into the hall.

His voice set off alarms inside her. And the sight of him could make her weak.

Clay was a handsome man. She'd always known that. But to Andie, Clay's good looks had been nothing but a fact, like his brown hair and green eyes, his high forehead and his straight nose. She'd never thought twice about them. Not even back in high school, when her girlfriends were always swooning over him.

“Sweet Mother Mary, Clay Barrett's got everything,” her best friend Ruth Ann used to sigh. “He's smart, he plays sports, and he's got that dangerous look in his eye.” Ruth Ann would give a little shiver. “All that control. That's the thing about Clay Barrett. Just the idea of breaking through all that control.”

Andie would groan. “Oh, please…”

“Plus he has A-1 fantabulous buns.”

“Pass the onion dip, will you?”

“How can you do that? Ask for the onion dip when we're discussing Clay Barrett's buns?”

“It's easy. Pass the onion dip.”

“I don't think you're normal, Andrea McCreary.”