Fallen Angel (11 page)

How in the world could she tell him that she’d learned her father’s skill with explosives?  And how could she tell him that she hadn’t been just an observer, but an active participant in the mercenary’s world of violence and destruction? What man would want a woman capable of such things?

She raised her chin. He paused in front of her, relieved her of the mug she gripped with both hands, and then drew her into his arms.

She shook like a willow battered by a hard wind as he held her and stroked her back with his hands. Several moments passed, moments during which she struggled to comprehend his intentions and his reaction to what she’d begun to reveal.

Thomas released her and stepped back. "I don’t understand all the implications of what you’ve just told me, but the one thing I can’t get past right now is my gut instinct that you somehow feel responsible for the choices your parents made."

She shook her head, denial instantaneous. "Not true."

"Don’t lie to me. There’s no need," Thomas insisted.

Geneva balked at that. "I am responsible for myself and no one else!"

Thomas gave her a speculative look. "Then why are you so upset right now?"

She hedged, too ashamed to do anything else. "I don’t like to discuss the past. It bothers me."

"That’s not an answer, Geneva."

"It’s the only answer I’m willing to provide at the moment," she countered, her defenses lining up around her like armed sentries.

His gaze narrowed as he studied her. "What are you afraid of?"

Her belligerence evaporated. "Myself," she whispered hollowly.

"What do you mean?"

"I don’t know." Her hands fell to her sides. She walked away from him.

Thomas followed, forcing her to turn around and look at him. "Don’t push me away. Help me to understand what’s going on inside your head right now."

"I can’t. I thought I could, but I can’t. I’m sorry."

"Geneva, this is crazy. Talk to me."

Anger and frustration detonated inside her. "Don’t do this to me!" she cried. "You don’t really want to know the truth, Thomas."

His lawyerly calm absent, he shouted, "I want you, damn it! I want all of you. The good, the bad, the happiness, and the pain. Why won’t you believe me?"

She desperately wanted to believe him, but she feared the heartbreak that would follow if he decided to he’d made an error in judgment. "Please leave." Tears filled her eyes as she said the words. And they spilled down her cheeks as she watched him honor her request.

Thomas gave himself an entire day to calm down before he considered his next move with Geneva. He then gave her an additional seventy–two hours to regroup before he showed up unannounced at her home.

He spotted her at the living room window when he pulled into the circular driveway in front of the chalet. He paused at the front door, waiting for her to respond to his presence. He knew she might decide to ignore him. He hoped she wouldn’t, but he reminded himself not for the first time that she was the most stubborn woman he’d ever met.

Geneva pulled open the door, her expression guarded as she looked up at him. Clad in a heavy sweater, jeans, and fluffy slippers, and with her golden hair tumbling across her shoulders and down her back, she looked more like a college coed than a successful businesswoman.

"Peace offering," Thomas carefully finger–spelled, displaying both his effort to supplement his signing ability and a bottle of vintage wine for her inspection.

Her eyes flared wide with surprise at his finger–spelling attempt, but she didn’t say anything for a long moment. She noticed the plump snowflakes that swirled around him as he stood there. Some of the damp flakes clung to his hair and clothing, and the crisp, below–zero temperature gave his face a ruddy look.

"I wasn’t expecting you," she finally signed.

And I sure as hell wasn’t expecting you, Geneva Talmadge,
he thought,
but now that I’ve found you, I’m not leaving.

"This isn’t a good time, Thomas," she said. "Perhaps you should…"

"Will there ever be a good time?" he asked.

She started to respond, seemed to reconsider, and then simply stepped aside and motioned him indoors with an elegant sweep of her hand.

Thomas silently thanked the impulse that prompted her grudging hospitality. After handing her the wine bottle, he shed his heavy jacket and boots.

Geneva remained silent as she led the way to the kitchen. Her silence persisted as she placed the wine bottle on the countertop. Once she located a cork remover and two long–stemmed goblets for the wine, she stepped back.

Thomas felt her wary gaze as he uncorked the white wine and poured it. He congratulated himself on his restraint, because all he really wanted to do was draw her into his arms and indulge himself with the taste and fragrance of this woman. Instead, he handed her a half–filled wineglass, followed her to the table in the nook adjacent to the kitchen, and settled into a chair opposite her.

"How are you?"

Polite conversation. It’s a start, he reminded himself. "Busy with work. Like you, I imagine."

She nodded, then took a sip of wine. "Very nice."

"I own the winery. This particular blend of grapes is one of my favorites."

"Are you hungry? I can fix you a sandwich or a bowl of soup."

"Not necessary. I’ve already had supper. Rose is single–handedly making up for all the years I’ve been away."

"She’s happy to have you home, and she enjoys spoiling the people she loves."

"I’ve picked up a few pounds, courtesy of her home cooking. I’m having to spend more time in the gym to stay even."

"I had the same problem when we first became friends."

Thomas relaxed a little. "How’d you solve it?"

"Simple. Smaller portions." She smiled.

"Sneaky," he said with an answering grin.

"Intelligent," she countered. "I didn’t want to have to buy a whole new wardrobe, and there was no way I’d risk offending Rose."

A sudden movement drew his attention. Thomas shifted his gaze to the view of the backyard visible from the wall of glass behind Geneva. A family of foxes, each one seemingly oblivious to the motion sensors that sent bright light spilling across the landscape, cavorted around the base of a snow–dusted tree stump.

As he watched them, Thomas reflected on how much he’d missed Geneva in recent days. The absence of her smile had begun to remind him of an absent sun on a summer day.

"Those little guys visit almost every night," she remarked when she noticed the activity that had drawn his gaze. "They’re like the Three Stooges."

Thomas looked back at her. "I’d forgotten sights like that. I’d forgotten a lot of things, I guess." He shoved his fingers through his short–cropped dark hair.

"You seem a bit distracted tonight."

"Maybe a little," he conceded. "I’ve spent most of the day wrestling with how to handle a new case."

"You have more than one client now. That’s wonderful."

"I have a half dozen clients," he told her, signing effortlessly.

Geneva briefly pondered his announcement. "You’ve become very proficient at signing in recent weeks."

"I’m highly motivated."

Glancing away, she absently smoothed a single fingertip up and down the stem of her wineglass.

Thomas waited for her to look at him before speaking. "It’s important to me to be able to communicate with you, Geneva. If I hadn’t known how to sign because of my mother, I would have enrolled in a class."

She sank back in her chair. "I don’t know that you should bother."

"I think you’re worth the effort, or don’t you agree?"

"Thank you," she said, not really answering him and looking a little dazed by his bluntness. "I’m glad about your clients, Thomas. It appears that you’ll be able to eat this winter."

He chuckled. Even without his new clients, he could afford to feed himself and the entire population of Cedar Grove for the next hundred years. "So it seems."

"Are they challenging? The cases, I mean."

"More than I expected them to be, but I’m on the opposite side of the legal fence these days. It takes some getting used to."

"I don’t understand. It seems logical to assume that you’d be able to anticipate the tactics of your adversaries, so you’ll have an edge in court."

"I don’t doubt my abilities. It’s the people. I’m representing real people for a change. Average people who actually need me."

"I assumed you always had."

"Not really. I handled a series of major corporate cases, and people counted only in a statistical sense with most of the legal work I’ve done. This feels more…" He paused, searching for the right word.

"Personal?" Geneva finger–spelled.

Thomas nodded, pleased that she understood. He remembered the manner in which his parents had often completed each other’s sentences and thoughts. He’d never experienced that degree of closeness with a woman, not even his ex–wife. It was then that he realized that being with Geneva was his only hope of ever finding the inner peace he’d searched for in vain during the last several years. Without her, his decision to make a new start would end up a hollow victory.

"Very personal, and far more important. This is the kind of law my father practiced. It’s the kind of law I’d originally planned to practice."

"And now you are," she reminded him.

"Better late than never." His voice sounded harsh, and he wondered if he’d ever get beyond his conviction that he’d wasted far too many years on meaningless causes.

"From what Rose has told me, you’ve been involved in some very high–profile cases involving the corporate world. Cases that involved a great deal of money."

"Yes."

"I have to admit that what she described often sounded somewhat cold–blooded to me."

"It was.
I
was," he admitted. "The ultimate chess player orchestrating a high–stakes game. With tens of millions of dollars at stake in that kind of litigation, I had no other choice."

"I find it difficult to believe that you’ve ever been cold–blooded. You’re a very… passionate and intense man when you set your sights on a goal."

"I know." He studied her briefly. "I’ve destroyed the hopes of a lot of people over the years."

"Because you won most of your cases? Because you did your job well?"

He nodded.

"Let go of the guilt, Thomas. You can’t change what’s already happened."

"Words of wisdom?"

Geneva shook her head. "Hardly. Just advice from a friend, that’s all."

"What would happen if I suggested that you follow your own advice?"

She paused for a few seconds before answering him. "Believe it or not, that’s what I’m trying to do."

"Is that why you asked me to leave the other night?"

"I was frightened," she said. "Very frightened."

"Of me?"

"Of course not!" she exclaimed.

"Geneva…"

She searched his face before conceding, "A little, maybe."

"Why?"

"Because I know who and what I am, and you don’t."

"I’m unshockable at this point in my life, or haven’t you figured that out yet?"

A sad smile lifted the edges of her lips. "I wish I could believe that."

"Try, Geneva, for both our sakes," he urged.

"I’m not willing to be a notch on your bedpost, Thomas. I know all about your conquests."

Her sudden and deliberate shift in conversation amused him, but only to a point. "You’re dwelling on my past history."

"Am I? Do you remember that old cliché about leopards and their spots?"

"You’re trying to manufacture a smoke screen. I know, because I’ve done it often enough in court, so I grasp the mechanics of the process, Geneva. I just don’t understand your motives, although I’d like to."

She shook her head. "There’s really no point in having this conversation."

He watched her get up from her chair, pole–axed when he saw the stubborn resignation in her face. She must truly believe what she’d just said to him, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. There was every point in pursuing their conversation. Every point.

Thomas snagged her hand as she attempted to walk past him. "Don’t run away from me, Geneva. Not this time."

After reading his lips, she glanced down at his hand before lifting her gaze to his face.

He released her. Reluctantly.

She put some space between them before she turned to look at him. "Running isn’t necessary in my own home."

He surged to his feet, but he didn’t approach her. He sensed the futility of touching her right now. "I care about you, damn it!"

"And I care about you." She spoke softly, her voice an erotic caress, her features filled with regret. "But that doesn’t change some basic facts about my life."

"Facts you refuse to share."

She remained silent.

"Then let’s try another approach."

"What do you mean?"

"A straight–forward affair."

She stared at him.

"At least it would be honest, especially if we define the terms at the outset. Perhaps we’ll even manage to de–mystify our attraction to one another, not to mention taking some of the edge off the desire we both feel. Then, maybe you’ll be a little more rational."

Shocked, Geneva repeated, "Rational? Are you completely nuts?"

"I don’t think so. If anything, I’m sorry I didn’t think of this the other night. It’s the perfect solution."

"I can’t…"

He lifted a hand to stop her. "Before you discard my suggestion out of hand, listen to what I’m actually proposing. We’re both intelligent people, so why be stupid enough to ignore a potential solution to our problem? Neither one of us is involved in another relationship, so no one is negatively impacted by any choices we might make. We’re both in excellent health, so we don’t pose a danger to each other. The sexual tension between us is volatile. Simply put, I want you and you want me. There’s no way to get around that little reality, so let’s damn well do something about it."

She stood there, and she didn’t say a word. She couldn’t, so she didn’t bother to try.

Her stunned silence prompted an admission that surprised even Thomas. "Rose was right. I have known a lot of women. They all knew the score where I was concerned. The sex was good. Hell, sometimes it was great. But those relationships were little more than an emotional vacuum, and I finally stopped having them a few years ago because they were dissatisfying. I didn’t like how empty I felt after they ended. I want more. I need a hell of a lot more, especially at this point in my life."