Come Back To Me (24 page)

Micah waved off the question. He twirled the glass of amber-colored liquid.

“Do you trust her?”

“Cara? Shit yeah. She’s smart. She keeps her mouth shut. She watched out for me when nobody else at that damn high school would give me the time of day. She was always one step ahead of the narc assistant principal. She drove him insane for three years. He never figured out how she knew where he would be before he even knew it himself.” John paused. “Trust Cara? I probably trust her more than I’ve ever trusted anyone. Besides, she’s pretty. I always thought she was the prettiest girl—woman—I’d ever seen.”

Micah tossed back his scotch and narrowed his eyes. “There is that,” he agreed. “She is most definitely very, very pretty. Thank you, John. We’re done here.”

John set his empty glass on the desk and rose from the chair.

“Oh, John, by the way, make sure you don’t fuck Cara. Make sure you don’t even think about it.”

John kept his expression blank. “Don’t worry, Mr. Welsh, we’re friends, that’s all we are, just friends.”

“Keep it that way.”

∗    ∗    ∗

When he heard the door close, Micah walked over to the bar and poured himself another drink. He’d get Cara Franklin out of that house as soon as possible. He didn’t trust the little shit around her. Even if John didn’t want her for himself he’d probably pimp her out to one of his ski buddies for an ounce of weed.

Micah took a sip of his scotch and sat down behind his desk. He put his feet up and leaned back in the leather chair, closing his eyes. He’d have to take it slow with this one. If he came on too strong she’d bolt. He could sense it. He’d need to work his way past her defenses, get her to trust him, let her guard down.

Micah felt like rubbing his hands together with glee. The thought of a new conquest excited him. He hadn’t been this interested in a woman since his second wife. He wondered if Donna was still downstairs or if she’d gone off with one of his associates. He picked up the house phone and called down to the bar to ask about her. Jerry said she was still serving drinks in the back. Micah asked Jerry to send her up. He could work off some steam with her.

∗    ∗    ∗

Cara was up early the next morning. By eight o’clock she already had a nine-thirty appointment with a local doctor. She didn’t care who he was or if he was any good, she wanted a prescription for birth control pills. It was a perfect time to start them. Her period had just ended the night before. She didn’t kid herself. Staying out of Micah’s bedroom wasn’t going to be an option. He hadn’t pushed her last night, but she knew exactly where they were headed.

When Cara returned from the drug store she found John sitting in the living room, looking like the proverbial cat that had swallowed the canary.

“What?” She was surprised to see him awake before noon on a day off.

“Go look in your room.”

Cara pushed open the door to her small sun porch. At least a hundred red roses filled the room. John had set the vases everywhere. She threaded her way around the bed.

“My God.”

“Yeah, no shit!” “You made quite an impression on him.”

She drew her finger across one of the velvety petals.

“The man is seriously interested, Cara. If you play this right, you could go places. I mean, really go places.”

“I’m not playing a game, John.”

“Well yeah, I know but, well, you know what I mean. He is really into you. Use it. He’s fucking loaded. He owns two other restaurants in Salt Lake and one in Sun Valley. He’s got three private clubs. Besides he’s got other, uh, investments. You know, other stuff going on.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, Mr. Welsh has a lot of business interests. Here, on the East Coast, in Los Angeles. I don’t really know much about it. But hey, he’s been around long enough that he’s made plenty. He must be, like, thirty-eight or forty or something. Besides, if you get in good with him, then that’s good for me.” John winked at her. “I don’t want to be a waiter the rest of my life.”

Cara lifted one long-stemmed rose from a vase and brushed the flower over her lips. She couldn’t deny that Micah Welsh was a very impressive man, but neither could she lie to herself. He meant nothing to her.

“I need to change clothes John. He’s picking me up at noon.”

“Yeah, okay.” John backed away from the door. “Hey Cara . . .”

She turned towards him.

“Don’t hold out too long. He’s not a patient man.”

Cara frowned, acknowledging John’s words with a slight nod of her head before she closed her door. Who was she kidding? What was she holding out for? She didn’t like her life anyway. If Micah Welsh could reshape it in his image, would that be such a terrible thing?

∗    ∗    ∗

Over the next six months, Cara began to forget that she once painted beautiful pictures. Instead, she allowed her body and her mind to become a blank canvas for Micah. If he said, “Straighten your hair”, she straightened it. If he said, “Wear it natural today”, she curled it with her fingers. He didn’t like the way red looked against her skin so she never wore red. If he bought her a necklace, she put it on. If he preferred her long neck bare, she left it bare of adornment. If Micah wanted her skirts shortened, Cara made a trip to the dressmaker, at his expense, to have them shortened. She let him shape her into his perfect accessory.

She played her part in the bedroom too, putting into practice Rick’s detailed lessons on how to please a man. She knew how to give Micah pleasure and she knew how to leave him wanting more.

Sex made a sound. Cara had no problem faking it. Her only goal was to ignore the self-loathing she felt during and after each and every encounter. She decided life was a trade-off. There were advantages to being with Micah. For one thing, she wasn’t required to make a single decision. He managed her affairs completely and he asked very little of her. Simply that she be his fantasy and do as she was told.

Sometimes Cara felt like a character on a movie screen, flat, two-dimensional, make-believe, as if she was nothing more than a projection of Micah’s imagination. When she allowed herself to think about the situation she found it disconcerting, yet at the same time, she felt peaceful, at rest. For once she lived her life in neutral, content to drift, aimless, unfettered by attachment to anyone or anything.

At long last she was free of sadness, joy, anticipation, fear. She’d let go of memories, good and bad. Her only obligation was to please Micah. Occasionally she noticed him watching her, an odd look in his eyes, as if he wished for something more. Probably love, Cara thought, the one thing she wasn’t able to give him. She had already loved a man, a real man. She would never fall in love again.

∗    ∗    ∗

Micah slipped a possessive hand beneath the strap of Cara’s dress, resting his palm on her naked, perfect shoulder. He moved his fingers in slow motion, subtly caressing the back of her lovely neck. He knew very well he was the envy of every man in the club and his eyes issued a challenge no one dared answer. Cara’s presence had become invaluable. She attracted attention without even realizing that was exactly what he wanted her to do. With a shy toss of her head and one glance from those soft violet eyes, she was able to coax the most reticent of men to do business with him. What man worth his salt could say no to a beautiful woman? Especially one so attentive, articulate and genteel?

They’d caught a late afternoon flight into Los Angeles and he’d brought her to a club he owned in tandem with his nephew, Frederick. It was her first time in L.A., and Micah could feel her innocent astonishment at the lively city with its interminable traffic jams and its unabashedly narcissistic residents.

His associates were eager to know about his new plaything, wondering discreetly when he would share. Micah shared his women when it suited him, when he had something to gain from their liaisons.

When they’d arrived and he’d watched Cara work her way through the room, her sweet hips swaying in the bronze silk dress he’d bought her, her cheeks flushed from the champagne his nephew had poured for her, he’d suddenly realized he didn’t want to share her. He wanted to own her. When he’d motioned to her, she moved to his side without hesitation.

Now he deliberately toyed with her hair. He moved his fingers down her neck, over her shoulder, along her spine, finally resting his hand on her thigh, making sure every man in the room watched. There would be no question as to whom Cara belonged.

He’d moved her into her own town home in Park City, but lately he found himself jealous of every moment she spent there without him. It was one of the reasons he’d brought her with him to Los Angeles. It was either bring her or insist that Jerry watch her again. Jerry had standing orders to keep tabs on her whenever he left town. Jerry had protested that he wasn’t a damn babysitter, that he had too much work to do at the restaurant already, but despite his complaining, the man did as he was told. He grudgingly reported her every move. Other than hiking in the mountains and running an occasional errand, Cara stayed put.

Micah was surprised at how little Cara seemed to expect out of life. At times it bothered him and he wondered, with a vague sense of unease, if he was being set up. In Micah’s opinion, a beautiful woman should expect a lot, should demand a lot. Always gracious, Cara accepted everything he gave her yet she demanded nothing of him. More often than not, she’d just smile one of her rare, enigmatic half-smiles before she’d take him to bed. Only one other thing triggered a tiny alarm bell, for all her seeming inexperience, Cara was the best lover Micah had ever had.

The last time he’d left her alone that little weasel, John, had sneaked by to see her. Jerry mentioned it in an offhand way. Furious, Micah had confronted Cara, demanding to know if John had been there. He’d grabbed her arm, hard, leaving a bruise. Caught off-guard by his overt show of anger, she admitted that she’d seen him. She said John was hoping she could intercede for him, help him get him a better job.

That prick was becoming a constant irritant. Behaving as though Micah owed him,
owed him
, for finding Cara. He kept asking to work in the back. Something would have to be done about him, but not just yet. Not when Micah still had questions about Cara’s feelings. She’d never once said she loved him. He obsessed about it, waiting to hear those words spoken from her lovely mouth.

He’d toyed with the idea of moving her out to his ranch or taking her to his apartment in New York, but he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to give her access to all his secrets. The ranch would be the best option. She’d be isolated there. The club scene in New York was rapidly picking up, demand for cocaine was increasing, and it would be hard to keep her from learning about his backroom business deals.

As far as Cara was concerned, he was a successful entrepreneur, pure and simple. She didn’t seem to look beyond that. He could ask her to marry him, but that would be a big risk, an enormous risk. His previous marriage had nearly ruined him. Fortunately Dominique had seen the error of her ways and she’d been persuaded to keep her mouth shut. His ex-wife was a fucking cunt and Micah didn’t want to have to deal with that shit again.

Cara had withdrawn a bit, grown a little quieter since he’d confronted her about John, despite his apology and two dozen red roses. It wouldn’t do to lose her now. He wondered if he should reconsider a marriage proposal.

Micah watched his nephew approach. He knew the young man wanted to talk business. Cara must have recognized it at the same time he did. She rose in one fluid movement and excused herself, asking for directions to the powder room. Eyes riveted on her face, his nephew obliged, turning to watch her walk away.

“Where the hell did you find her?” He whistled through his teeth. “She’s a beauty.”

Micah growled. “Don’t even think about it.”

The man laughed. “Uncle, I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m happily married and I know which side my bread is buttered on. I’m just pointing out the obvious. You plan to keep this one?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Micah said, irritation making his voice hoarse.

His nephew turned to look at him. “You’ve got it bad,” he said. “Maybe you should make an honest woman of her. My mother would be thrilled if her little brother remarried.”

Micah sipped his scotch. “I had problems the last time.”

“Ah yes, my dear Aunt Dominique. As I recall, Dom was, how shall I put it . . . In your face? Flamboyant? Not like this one. If I’m any judge of women, this one’s a class act.”

A class act
, Micah thought. That was Cara to a tee.

“Is she discreet?”

“The subject hasn’t come up.”

“Does she suspect?”

“Not so far as I can tell.”

“If you plan to keep her around for a while perhaps you should marry her. If she becomes your wife we can minimize our risks. Limit any potential damage. It’s not hard to end a marriage. If worse comes to worse, I mean. Marriage has some definite advantages.”

Micah stared at his glass. “I’ll consider it,” he said. “Now, tell me about this new plan of yours to expand our distribution on the East Coast.”

∗    ∗    ∗

As usual, Cara’s sleep was disturbed. She lay on her side, a hand beneath her cheek, trying to focus on the regular rise and fall of Micah’s chest.

The early hours of the morning were agony for Cara. It was in the dark that she recalled who she was and where she’d come from. In the quiet, she remembered she hadn’t emerged, fully formed, from the top of Micah’s head. In the darkness, Cara fought back tears. James wasn’t beside her and he never would be.

Showing any emotion in front of Micah wasn’t an option. If she was lucky, it would merely make him uncomfortable. If she was unlucky, it would make him angry and he’d demand to know why she was crying. He wouldn’t be happy if he learned the reasons, all the many reasons.

His vicious response to an innocent visit from John had unnerved her. She’d been stunned. Micah had never before laid a hand on her in anger, or even raised his voice to her. How had he known John had dropped by? The only explanation she could come up with was that John had mentioned his visit.