Borrowed Dreams (Debbie Macomber Classics) (6 page)

“Hi.” Cheerfully, she waved her hand. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop in and see how you were doing. But if this is a bad time, I can come back later.”

“No, of course not. It’s a great time. Come on in.” He stepped aside and ran his hand along the back of his neck.

Carly had to smile at the stunned look on his face. As she stepped inside, she noted that the interior of the apartment was stark. Carpet, furniture, draperies—nothing held the stamp of Brand’s personality or made this home distinctly his. Strangely, Carly understood this. Since Sandra’s death, Brand’s life had been in limbo. He carried on because time had pushed him forcefully into doing so. She imagined that he didn’t even realize how stark his home and his existence had become.

“Actually, your timing couldn’t be better,” he said, as he led the way into the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t as spacious as her own. The living room blended into the kitchen, and the round table was covered with a variety of slips of paper. “I was trying to make heads or tails out of this bookkeeping nonsense. It might as well be Greek to me.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like some help?” Carly volunteered, and laughed at the relief that flooded his face.

“Are you crazy? Does a starving man reject food?” Turning one scratched oak chair around, Brand straddled it, looking somewhat chagrined. “I insist on paying you.”

Mockingly, Carly pushed a ledger aside. “No way. Isn’t helping each other out what friends are for?” His eyes smiled into hers, and she noted the lines that fanned from their corners in deep grooves. The realization that those lines weren’t from laughter was reinforced as she caught sight of a framed picture on the television.
Sandra
. Carly’s heart leaped into her throat.

Brand’s gaze followed hers. “I told you she was beautiful.”

Beautiful
. The word exploded in her mind. Sandra had been far more than that. She was exquisite. Perfect. Carly scooted out of her chair and walked across the room, lifting the picture to examine it more closely. Blond and petite, just as Brand had described. But vibrant. Her blue eyes sparkled with laughter and love. This woman had been cherished and adored, and it was evident in everything about her that she’d returned that love in full measure.

“She was an only child,” Brand explained. “Her father died of a heart attack shortly after we learned that Sandra had leukemia. Her mother went a year after Sandra. I think grief killed her. She simply lost the will to live.”

Carly couldn’t do anything more than nod. She was gripping the picture frame so hard that her fingers ached. She forced herself to relax, replacing the photograph on top of the television.

“There’s another in the bedroom with Shawn and Sara, if you’d like to see that one.”

Carly shook her head emphatically. The way she had reacted to that one picture was enough. Shawn and Sara? Did Brand have children? Certainly he would have explained if the two were his children. He would have mentioned them long before now. No, they were probably a nephew and niece. They had to be. Knowing that Brand had been married had been enough of a blow. Adding children to that would be her undoing.

Carly gave herself a vigorous mental shake. Brand could have ten children and it shouldn’t bother her. She was his friend. They weren’t dating. Saturday had been just another of their “this is not a date” outings. Even her coming to his place today hadn’t been anything more than a friendly gesture.

Coming to stand beside her, Brand lifted the photo from the television. Carly heard him inhale deeply. “I think the time has come to put this away.”

“No.” The word came out sounding as if she’d attempted to swallow and speak at the same time. Carly wanted him to keep the picture out to serve as a reminder that she couldn’t allow her feelings for him to shift beyond the friendship stage.

He ignored her protest, staring at the photo as if he were saying good-bye. A deep frown marred his brow. “I can’t very well bring a woman to my apartment and have a picture of my wife sitting out,” he explained reasonably.

Carly had difficulty swallowing. “I guess you’re right.”

He carried the picture into another room and returned a moment later. Carly was at the table, looking over the accounting books, pretending she knew what she was doing. Her bookkeeping classes had been years ago.

“Is what happened last weekend still bothering you?”

Carly shrugged. “I suppose you’ve guessed that I had a troubled childhood.” Her fingers rotated the pencil in nervous reaction, and she didn’t meet his eyes; instead, she focused her gaze on the light green sheets of the ledger. “The state took me away from my mother when I was five. I don’t remember much about her. I got a letter from her once when I was ten. She was drying out in an alcoholic treatment center and wrote to say that she’d be coming for me soon and that we’d be a real family again. She sent her picture. She wasn’t very pretty.” Carly paused, thinking that the family resemblance between them was strong. Carly wasn’t pretty, either. Not like Sandra.

“What happened?” Brand prompted.

Carly set the pencil on the table and interlaced her fingers. “Nothing. She never came.”

“You must have been devastated.” Brand resumed his position in the chair beside her, his voice gentle, almost tender.

“I suppose I was, but to be truthful, I don’t remember. At age twelve I was sent to the Ruth School for Girls for a time, until another foster home could be found. That was where I met my friend Diana. Since then we’ve been family to each other—the only family either of us needs.” Her voice was slightly defensive.

“But who raised you?”

“A variety of people. Mostly good folks. With all the horror stories I’ve heard in recent years, I realize how fortunate I was in that respect.”

“The art show upset you because you saw yourself in that portrait.” His observation was half question, half statement.

“That picture was me at five. Seeing it was like looking at myself and reliving all that unhappiness.”

Brand reached out and tenderly cupped the underside of her face. Carly’s hands covered his as she closed her eyes and surrendered to the surging tide of emotion.

Brand didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. His comfort was there in his healing touch as he caressed the delicate slope of her neck. His fingertips paused at the hammering pulse at the hollow of her throat before lightly tracing the proud lift of her chin.

“You’re a rare woman, Carly Grieves,” he whispered huskily.

Their eyes met and held. They were two rare souls. The wounded arctic wolf and the emotionally crippled little girl.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his hands roamed from the curve of her neck to her shoulders, cupping them and deliberately, tantalizingly, drawing her mouth to his.

Her lips trembled at the featherlight pressure as his mouth softly caressed hers. This wasn’t a kiss of passion, but one of compassion.

Confused emotions assaulted her. She knew what he was trying to convey, but she didn’t need or want his sympathy. Her hand curved around the side of his face, her fingers curling into the thick hair at his nape. “Brand,” she whispered urgently, the moist tip of her tongue outlining his mouth.

He moaned as he hungrily increased the pressure, his arms half lifting her from the chair
as he claimed her lips with a fierceness that stole her breath—and melted her resistance.

Simultaneously, they stood, their bodies straining against each other as their mouths clung. His tongue probed the hollow of her mouth, meeting hers in dancing movements that sent wave after wave of rapture cascading through her. His hands found her hips and buttocks as he molded her against his unyielding strength. Her senses exploded at the tantalizing scent of tobacco and musk and the taste of his tongue.

The profound need building within Carly was quickly becoming a physical ache. Her hard-won control vanished under the onslaught of his touch. Her cool, calm head—the one that before this had reacted appropriately to every situation—deserted her. Raw desire quivered through her, warming her heart and exposing her soul.

Breaking the contact, Brand’s eyes locked with hers. He seemed to be searching for some answer. Carly could give him none, not understanding the question. Together, their breaths came ragged and sharp as they struggled to regain their composure. Carly fought desperately for her equilibrium and pressed her forehead against the broad expanse of his chest.

“Are friends supposed to kiss like that?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Brand’s arms went around her as he rested his chin against the crown of her head. “Some friends do.” He didn’t sound any more in control of himself than she did.

“I’m … I’m not sure I’m ready for you to be this type of friend.” A rush of cool air caressed her heated flesh, bringing her gradually back to reality. Gently but firmly, she pulled free from his embrace. Suddenly she felt naked and confused. Kissing Brand was like striking the head of a match; their desire for each other overpowered common sense. They’d known each other only a short time and yet she was weak and without will after just a few kisses. Diana wouldn’t believe she was capable of such overwhelming emotion. Carly had trouble believing it herself.

“I’ve frightened you, haven’t I?”

Her arms were folded across her stomach. “Brand, I’m twenty-five years old. I know what to expect when a man kisses me.” Carly knew she sounded angry, but that anger was directed more at herself than at him.

His low laugh surprised her. “I’m glad
you
know about these things, because I feel as shaky as I did the first time I kissed a woman. It’s been over two years since I’ve made love.”

Carly’s hands flew to her ears. She didn’t want to hear this. Not any of it. With brisk
strides, she walked to the other side of the room. Coming here today had been a colossal mistake. One she wouldn’t repeat—ever.

“Gee, look at the time.” She glanced at her gold wristwatch and slapped her hands against her sides. “Time passes quickly when you’re having fun, or so they say.”

“Carly?” he ground out impatiently.

She took a couple steps in retreat until she found herself backed against the front door. She turned, her hands locking around the doorknob in a death grip.

“I’ll talk to you later in the week,” Brand murmured, and just the way he said it told her that their next meeting wouldn’t end with her running out the door like a frightened rabbit.

*  *  *

The phone was ringing when Carly stepped through the door of her apartment. Thinking it might be Brand, she stared at it for several long seconds while she shrugged off her jacket. No, he wouldn’t phone. Not so soon.

“Hello,” she answered, a guarded note in her voice.

“Carly, it’s Diana.”

“Diana!” Carly burst out happily. Rarely had there been a time she’d needed her friend more. “You can’t afford these calls, but thank God you phoned.”

“What’s up? You sound terrible, and it’s not this crummy long-distance echo, either.”

“It’s a long story.” It wasn’t necessary to explain everything to Diana; just hearing her voice had a soothing effect. “Tell me what prompted this sudden urge to hear my voice.”

“I couldn’t stand it another minute.” Diana laughed lightly. “Your letter arrived and I didn’t want to have to write and wait for your reply. Tell me about him.”

Carly’s heart sank. “Do you mean Brand?”

“Is there someone else I don’t know about?”

Stepping over the arm of her sofa, Carly walked across the couch, dragging the telephone line with her as she went. “There’s nothing to tell. We’re only friends.”

“When you show this much enthusiasm for any male, I get excited. Now, what’s this bull about the two of you just being friends? Who are you kidding?”

“Diana …” She exhaled a trembling breath as she sat down. “I don’t know what to think.
Brand’s been married.”

“So? If you remember correctly, I’ve left two husbands in my wake.”

“But this is different. She died of leukemia and it nearly killed him, he loved her so much.”

“Well, sweetie, I hate to say it, but this guy sounds perfect for you. You’re two of a kind. Both of you are walking through life wounded. Has he gotten you into bed yet?”

“Diana!” Carly was outraged. Hot color seeped slowly up her neck.

“I swear, you must be the only twenty-five-year-old virgin left in America.”

“If you don’t stop talking like that, I’m going to hang up,” Carly threatened.

“All right, all right.”

Carly could hear Diana’s restrained laughter. The woman loved to say the most outrageous things just to get a rise out of Carly.

“Take my advice.” Diana’s tone was more serious now. “You can hunt all your life for the perfect male and never find him. He doesn’t exist. And even if by some fluke of nature you find someone who suits you, he’s liable to expect the perfect female. And neither one of us is going to fill those shoes.”

Crossing her legs Indian-style beneath her, Carly managed a weak sigh. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m always right, you know that,” Diana responded, with a small laugh. “Now listen, because I’ve got some serious-type news.”

“What?” Carly straightened at the unusually deep intonation in Diana’s voice.

“Against my better judgment and two miserable failures, Barney has convinced me that we should get married.”

“Diana, that’s wonderful.
You
two are the ones who belong together. This is fantastic.”

“To be honest, I’m rather pleased about it myself. I’m not getting any younger, you know, and I’m ready to face the mommy scene. Barney and I’ve decided to have a family right away. Can you picture me changing diapers and the whole bit?”

“Yes,” Carly returned emphatically. “Yes, I can. You’ll make a wonderful mother.”

“Time will tell,” Diana chuckled. “At least I know what
not
to do.”

“We both do,” Carly agreed. “Have you set the date?”

“Next month, on the fifteenth.”

“But that’s only a little over three weeks away.” Mentally, Carly was chastising Diana and Barney for not getting their act together sooner. This was one wedding she didn’t want to miss. But she could hardly ask for time off now.