Chayton (24 page)

“We don't have to go inside,” he said again, picking up the conversation from this morning as if still at breakfast.

Kate gripped his hand and tore her gaze off the house as the limousine came to a stop at the gate. “I have to at some point.”

“Not really. Hire people to come in and clean it out. Sell it.”

Kate gasped. “Chayton, I can't. It was my mother's. She loved this house. And I grew up here.”

“Yes, your
mother's
house. You can't even call it your own, because it doesn't, and never will, feel like yours. How devastated will you be to go inside and see bloodstains on the carpet that the cleaning people couldn't get out? How well will you ever sleep here again? You'll live with those nightmares the rest of your life, Kate.” It wouldn't help with her guilt, either, he thought. He knew by the way she tilted her gaze away, then down, that he'd hit on at least a few hard truths.

“I'm still afraid to go inside, if I'm honest. But I feel like I have to. Like I owe it to the people who died there.”

“The only way you're going to put this behind you, darling, is to move on. You've said your goodbyes at their graveside. It's only going to wreck you to stay here, to force yourself to live within the walls where people you've loved died.” He stroked a thumb across the delicate ridge of her knuckles. The startled glance she shot him made Chayton realize he'd thrown in an endearment into the mix. He couldn't tell if she was upset or affected.

Glancing away, Kate looked out the window toward the house. Her brows furrowed while she nibbled the inside of her lip. Chayton waited her out, taking guesses at the turmoil rolling around in her mind.

He knew none of it was easy.

“I guess we can go to Manhattan. I have...I have a place there,” she finally said.

“Are you sure that's where you want to go?” For one reason or another—gut instinct, his brethren in the Elite would say—he thought she didn't want to go. He thought he sensed hesitation and confusion.

“If I'm being totally honest? No. I don't want to go there, either.” A fresh flicker of distressed crossed her face. Her eyes.

Chayton reached over to depress the intercom button, speaking to the limousine driver without looking away from Kate. “Turn us around and head back toward the city.” Once the driver reversed and got them on the road, Chayton said, “Why don't you come back to my house?”

“Because, Chayton, I don't know what's going on with us.” She held tighter to his hand, as if she was afraid he might pull away.

This was the conversation he knew they'd both been avoiding. Without releasing her hand, he said, “I don't either. But I know I don't want you to stay here, or stay anywhere else where you're not comfortable. You seem comfortable enough at my house, and I don't mind if you stay there as long as you need to.”

“That's not good enough. It's just not good enough,” she whispered.

“Tell me what you want then.” He gave her an opening. She had the opportunity to say whatever she wanted to say.

“I...” Kate paused, searching his eyes. “I want to go back to the hotel in Singapore. I want to be waiting in the lounge for a drink and have you sit down next to me and start up a conversation. Or maybe get my dress stuck in the elevator door while you gallantly work to free it. Perhaps I would even ask you to slow dance on a whim to music in the lobby or compare hair products if I got a little too tipsy.”

Abruptly, Chayton laughed. He'd been so caught up in what she was saying—as well as what she
wasn't—
that he hadn't seen that last quip coming. The amusement faded down to a pleasant hum in his mind while he refocused on her wants. What she was trying to say was that not only did she want to go back to the beginning, she wanted to meet him under circumstances that wouldn't have left them in such awkward and precarious positions. To have met under more normal circumstances so that they might have had a shot at a real relationship, not something fake and contrived.

“I would have liked any and all of those scenarios, and now, of course, I'm wondering just
how
much you like my hair. More than you've ever let on, I think,” he said, taking a guess. With his other hand, he reached over to smudge the pad of his thumb across the tremble on her lips that kept trying to become a smile. Struck by sudden inspiration, he whispered, “In another week or two, whenever you feel ready, would you like to go on a date with me, Kate Fairchild?”

. . .

Dear Julia,

I know it's been a while since we've talked. Thank god you're my best friend, because I know it means you'll forgive me for not returning the many messages I'm sure are waiting on my voicemail. I decided to write you this letter to both let you know what's going on and to hopefully work some things out in my head.

Things got crazy after mom's death. Anton (and you know what he'd been doing to me the whole time) turned up the heat. I had to leave the state (the whole country, actually) and go on the run. I never told you, or anyone, that I thought he was involved in my mother's death. It made me afraid for my own life, especially when he outright told me he would drug me and drag me to the alter, just to get his hands on mom's fortune.

I wound up in Singapore and to make a long story short—I met a man. I broke into his hotel room because I thought Anton's men were about to grab me, and wound up attacking Chayton (that's his name, he's part Native American) with a hanger.

It sounds crazy. The story gets a lot crazier. I'll fill you in on all the teeny-tiny details once we get together, but suffice to say that Chayton got me out of some pretty dire scrapes and helped me when I needed it most. You might have heard I got married—it's the truth. He suggested it back in the beginning and I went for it, thinking it would dissuade Anton from pursing me further. So we got married, and I wore a real dress and everything. Did you see any of the photos on the internet? I wasn't sure if you'd be paying attention to that, considering I'd up and disappeared.

Anyway. We're still married. I know you've heard about the massacre at mom's house, so I know you understand why I decided I couldn't go back there again. Chayton was instrumental in that decision and invited me back to Montana (that's where I am right now) to stay with him.

For the first week, he let me do my thing, let me recover at my own pace. Didn't pressure me for company. In the second week, he started inviting me to lunch and dinner downstairs, just casual nothings, but it helped me get into a better frame of mind. Our glances linger longer, and the touches he skims along my arms are more intimate than the ones before. I can feel the chemistry heating up between us again (it doesn't take much) and tonight, the first day of my third week here, we're going out on a date.

A real date.

He asked me to go on one before we left New York and now it's finally here. I've got a slinky black dress on and low heels, something modest but sexy. I put my hair up because I wanted to look more formal for our official 'first date'.

Isn't that insane? I'm going on a first date with my husband.

And this date is important. It's when I'm going to tell him how I really feel. I'm going to tell him that I'm crazy about him and that I don't want to go live in Manhattan again. I'm nervous because he hasn't said anything about the marriage, not really, nothing concrete or serious, and I don't know if he feels the same about me. In my most neurotic moments I think he does, because why would he go to all this trouble? Why would he handle me with such care, yet give me scorching hot looks and let me stay here as long as I want?

I'm counting on him feeling the same.

I need him to feel the same.

Julia—I'm pregnant. And he doesn't know.

I can hear you now, screeching at the letter. “Why haven't you told him, Kate, are you nuts?!” But then you'll stop, hesitate, and smile. Because you know me well enough to know that I don't want him to want me just for the baby. I want him to want me for me. Somewhere along the line, that became incredibly important.

So, tonight I'm going to tell him how I feel.

I don't know what I'll do if he says he doesn't feel the same.

Will call soon,

Love you,

Me

Kate stared at her slightly slanted handwriting, tapping the end of the pen against her desk. The letter could certainly have been written more coherently, she thought, as she read it again. Julia wouldn't care or mind, though, so Kate left it alone. There were too many details to write down, which just meant she needed to make time to fly Julia to Montana for a sit down luncheon.

Folding the letter in thirds, she slid it into an envelope and put it in the top drawer of her desk.

Tomorrow, come hell or high water, she would send it.

Since she meant to tell Chayton about the baby before anyone else, she figured she had about three days to find the right time to confess. The letter might reach Julia any time after that.

Standing up from the chair, she checked her reflection in the mirror, turning this way and that. The black dress, with a hint of sparkle throughout the material, accentuated her collarbones and the length of her legs. With a hem just past her knee, it was as modest as she'd told Julia it was, yet the cloth fit snug enough to her hips and bust to give the affair a dash of sexiness.

A knock at the door drew her away from the mirror.

This was it. Chayton stood on the other side, ready to take her on their first real date.

Picking up a small, matching clutch, Kate crossed to the door and opened it. Dressed in a black pin-striped suit with white and plum colored accents, Chayton looked devastating. He'd tied his hair back at the nape as usual, offsetting the sharp line of his jaw and the startling blue of his eyes.

“Hi.” Kate couldn't believe that was the first word out of her mouth.

“Hello. You look stunning. Are you ready?” he asked with a twitch of mirth on his lips.

“Yes. And you look quite handsome,” she added, stepping into the hall. A hint of cologne, masculine and seductive, added to Chayton's appeal.

“Thank you.” He closed the door and offered his elbow.

Kate accepted with a slide of her fingers under the crook of his arm. Everything tonight felt different, though she couldn't tell if it was knowing that it was an official date or the fine clothes...or what. She detected something like mischief in Chayton's gaze, along with secrets he'd yet to tell.

“What?” she asked as he escorted her down the stairs, through the hallways and out the front door to a waiting limousine.

“I can almost hear you thinking, that's what. Like you're dying to ask me a question—or many questions.” He handed her into the back seat and followed suit, settling on the plush leather.

Kate smiled, studying Chayton while the driver took care of the door and went around to slide into the front seat. “Well, I
am
curious what you've got up your sleeve. What kind of restaurant we might be eating at--”

“Who says we're going out to eat? I said a date, not dinner.” He arched a brow, eyes gleaming with ill concealed humor.

“I...well...we...” Kate clamped her lips closed. Indeed. Chayton hadn't mentioned a thing about dinner, she'd just assumed that's where they were going. “What if I'm hungry?” she asked with an impertinent grin.

He laughed a quiet laugh. “Maybe I'll consider feeding you at some point. If you ask nicely.”

“There is another kind of sustenance you could give me.” Kate couldn't believe the words came out of her mouth. Instead of treading lightly for their 'date', she was jumping in with both feet.

“Oh really? Please, by all means, tell me what you want, Kate.”

“When you sound like that, I--”

“Sound like what?”

“Like you do when we're in bed.” Kate had heard that tone several times in Hawaii. She didn't realize how much she adored it until now.

“I'll remember that you like it,” he said in the same voice. “Now then, what was it you wanted? We were interrupted.”

“
You
interrupted us,” she said with a low laugh. “But since you're asking, then I guess it's safe to say that a kiss would hold me over for, oh, about an hour. Maybe two.”

Chayton leaned across the seat and brushed a light kiss across her lips. He whispered there when he was done. “Cheap date,” he said, clearly teasing.

Kate caught Chayton by the nape, laughing, and pulled him down for a
real
kiss. One that tangled their tongues and let her languish in his taste. The gentle hum of the limousine as it purred down the road to some unknown destination faded from Kate's world when Chayton rumbled. He did it twice more before she let him come up for air.

Dazed by the intimate kiss, Kate released his neck and touched her fingertips to her lips. Chayton remained close, looming into her space.

“I'd call that getting the evening off to a good start,” he said.

“With luck, it'll only get better from here.” Kate almost didn't recognize the brazen wench she'd become. And it felt good, she realized, to just let go and be herself. Without looking over her shoulder every two seconds, without worry over what tomorrow would bring.

Chayton said, “I promise it will.”

He was starting to think he'd made the right decision to give Kate space. The way she opened up to him tonight, like a hothouse flower unfurling for the first time, felt good. It felt right. Biding his time over the last three weeks had been a test of his will and patience and now he was reaping the rewards. She seemed less inhibited, less traumatized, and all her wounds—as well as his—had healed.

Chayton thought more than just the physical had healed. Her mind, her spirit, needed the break.

Leading her from the limousine to the stairs of the plane, Chayton escorted her up and into the jet, grinning despite himself at her reaction to the elaborate set up he'd planned more than a week in advance.

The entire sitting area had been transformed into a luxurious, romantic scene of sensual ambiance. He'd gone for a 'diamond and satin' theme: the seats had been draped in white satin covers, a new chandelier full of crystal teardrops and beading hung from the ceiling, crystal flutes decorated a new, white and gold table. Instead of warm earth tones, a white and sparkling diamond world awaited. The touch of color he'd added came from numerous floral arrangements all in a pale shade of pink. Fine white netting separated the sitting area from the rest of the plane, giving them a semblance of privacy.