Fallen Angel (7 page)

Geneva slipped on her heavy parka and leather gloves, tucked the lodge key ring into her pocket, and then made her way outside to join him. She promised herself that their conversation would be about real estate. Nothing else.

He turned at the sound of her footsteps.

Her promise faded when she saw the warmth in his gaze. She wanted him so much, she struggled not to walk straight into his arms. She glimpsed his desire for her, but she saw something else in his gaze, as well. Uncertainty. Vulnerability. Hope. She prayed her own emotions weren’t as apparent.

She slowed to a stop, almost like a doe scenting jeopardy if she chose the wrong path. Geneva smoothed back tendrils of hair trying to escape her French braid. "I understand you’d like a tour of the lodge."

He nodded.

She felt his darkening gaze skim over her. Her entire body reacted to his visual caress. Despite the control she attempted to exert over herself, Geneva trembled.

"You look rested," he said.

Geneva lied. "I slept like a rock, as clichéd as that might sound."

"I didn’t."

She watched him, waiting for him to finish.

"I can’t seem to get you out of my head," Thomas said. "I haven’t been able to since the first time I saw you."

"No one’s ever said anything like that to me before, and I don’t know how to respond."

"The men you’ve known must have been blind and stupid."

"I haven’t known that many men," she reminded him.

"Then I guess some comments don’t require a response," Thomas conceded.

"But you want one, don’t you?"

He smiled. "Eventually, but not yet. I don’t want to rush you."

Careful, she counseled herself. Repartee with a man who tantalized her wasn’t her strong suit. "I’ve never allowed anyone to rush me."

"You’re obviously a woman who knows her own mind."

She countered with the truth. "What I am is a woman who trusts her instincts."

Thomas nodded, but he didn’t speak right away.

Geneva searched his face in the silent moments that followed, and she realized then just how much she needed him to be the man she now believed him to be—a man of honor and integrity. Nicholas had hinted that he was those things and more. So had Rose.

Still, Geneva hesitated. She lacked the experience of her peers, women in their mid–thirties who’d had at least a few relationships, and she felt at a disadvantage. She also felt compelled to proceed with caution, in spite of her clamoring senses.

Thomas observed, "Instincts are powerful resources, but only when they aren’t used self–destructively."

"That’s been my experience, too," Geneva answered, then shifted to the purpose of his visit. "Shall we head over to the lodge now? I’m sure you’re eager to see it."

"Sounds like a plan."

As Thomas drove, Geneva’s gaze lingered on his hands, her imagination producing a seductive image that sent heat rushing into her bloodstream. She saw his palms and long fingers gliding over her skin, molding and shaping her body as he explored it at his leisure, then his fingertips skimming over the curving fullness of her breasts before plucking gently at her nipples.

She shuddered, primitive arousal stunning her senses. No man had ever inspired such sensual thoughts or evoked such need within her. Lost in the eroticism of her thoughts, she jumped when Thomas placed his hand on her knee to regain her attention.

"Easy. You’re wound awfully tight all of a sudden."

She flushed, then felt like a fool. Looking out the window, she realized why he’d stopped his car. "Take the left fork."

He did as she directed, although she noticed that he darted several glances her way as he slowly navigated the narrow lane.

"The lodge is around the next bend in the road," she signed, forcing herself to move beyond the fantasies her mind insisted on producing.

Thomas parked in front of the rustic–looking lodge. A large two–story cedar dwelling with a sloping roof, dusted white from the previous night’s snowfall, the lodge and spacious pine tree studded lot on which it sat reminded her of a Currier and Ives greeting card.

"The photo Nick faxed to me didn’t do this place justice." Thomas pushed open his car door and climbed out, a mix of snow and ice crunching beneath his feet.

Nick?
Geneva shook her head in disbelief. She accepted his hand when he came around to her side of the vehicle and opened her door. "It’s one of the most beautiful homes in the area," she said as they stood side by side. "Nicholas gave the architect who designed it carte blanche."

"How long has it been empty?" Thomas asked as they climbed the steps to the veranda.

"About a year. The former tenants prefer the tropics, and they live in the Caribbean now."

"Nick didn’t mention he’d used the lodge as a rental."

"He didn’t. Jean and Mark had a ninety–nine year lease on the property, but they relinquished it when they left the area."

"What about your place?"

She hesitated, and then said, "I have the same arrangement with Nicholas, since he owns the land. But I have the added option of purchasing the chalet and the land around it at any time. I’m not in a hurry, though. The current arrangement is fine with me."

"Interesting."

"Practical," she pointed out as they stepped inside. "Nicholas maintains absolute control over the land, which benefits all of us."

"So he’s an environmentalist?"

She met his gaze. "He is many things, Thomas."

"So I’ve heard. He’s also very protective of you."

"Yes, he is." Wariness filtered into her when she noticed the speculative expression on his face.

"Why?"

"He just is." She shrugged, the gesture intended as a casual one.

Thomas stopped her from taking more than a few steps into the foyer when he placed his hand on her shoulder and forced her to turn around.

"Why, Geneva? I’m not a fool, so don’t treat me like one. I have the very distinct impression that you and Benteen, and probably several others, have a very complicated history."

"Does it matter?"

"Of course, it matters. My gut tells me it matters a whole hell of a lot. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be upset by my desire to understand."

"I’m not upset," she protested, abruptly closing the door. It slammed shut like a punctuation mark on the past.

"Why all the secrecy, Geneva?"

"Some things don’t concern you or anyone else."

"I don’t agree."

"You’re wrong, so please change the subject."

"If I’m wrong, why are you upset?"

"I’m not upset. How many times do I have to say it? Quit badgering me. You have no right."

"There are a lot of rumors among the local residents about Benteen."

"Gossip."

"That, too," he conceded.

"I don’t indulge in either." The emphatic movement of her graceful hands reinforced her point.

"It is alleged that he was a mercenary before he took up residence in Cedar Grove," Thomas persisted.

"It is
alleged
that there are little creatures from other planets who visit Earth on a nightly basis."

He ignored her sarcasm. "The rumor mill indicates that many of the residents of his property are ex–mercenaries, too."

"Rumors are, by their very definition, unsubstantiated speculation. Nothing more."

"Why be so evasive?"

"I’m not being evasive. I just don’t have anything more to say."

"I suspect that there are a thousand and one things that you’d like to say, because the burden you’re carrying is getting very heavy. Isn’t it?"

Startled by his insight, she stared at him.

"Were you and Benteen lovers? Did he hurt you when he married another woman?"

Unprepared for his questions, Geneva stepped backwards.

"Did he?"

"Of course not!"

"Were you lovers?"

"No!"

"Then what are you to each other?"

"I told you before. We’re friends."

"What about allies? Comrades–in–arms?"

Geneva glared at him.

"Talk to me," he pressed, his signing sharp, commanding.

"Don’t order me around."

"You and Benteen are just friends, and that’s all you’ve ever been?"

"We’ve already covered this topic," she reminded him. "My personal relationships don’t concern you."

"Damn it, of course, they do."

Confused, she demanded, "Why? We hardly even know each other."

"We’ll know each other extremely well before too much more time passes, Geneva."

"You really are presumptuous, aren’t you?"

He shook his head. "No, I’m a realist, just like you, but don’t listen to me, listen to your instincts. What do they tell you?"

"That you’re a relentless, single–minded, self–absorbed, son of a bitch who doesn’t… " Geneva stopped, furious with him for provoking her.

Thomas smiled, seemingly unaffected by what she’d said.

"You’re insane!"

"No, I’m just asking you to trust me."

"I do," she signed with some force.

"It’s about damn time." Thomas moved toward her in long, space–eating strides.

"You’re rushing me."

He stopped. "I really am a son of a bitch when I want something… or someone, so consider yourself warned."

"Do you want a tour of this place or not?" she asked less than graciously.

"Lead the way," he signed in response.

She didn’t move. "I don’t know what to do about you."

He studied her for several silent moments. She shifted uneasily under the force of his penetrating inspection.

Thomas stepped closer, lifted his hand, and briefly stroked her cheek with his fingertips. "Don’t shut me out. You’ve been through too much, and the world is tough to face without a partner. Friends and allies can’t fulfill all your needs. I found that out the hard way, and I suspect you have, as well."

"What do you want from me?" she whispered, suddenly terrified that he understood not just the true extent of her reckless hunger for him, but also the depth of her loneliness in recent years.

"What do you want from
me
?" he countered.

Everything, she realized. Everything, and then some. My God, I must be the insane one.

His gaze narrowed, as if he’d heard her thoughts.

"Please don’t do this to me," she said.

"Don’t care about you? Don’t want you? Don’t make it clear that there’s a fire inside me because of you? Don’t do what, Geneva?"

"Don’t invade my life and turn it upside down on some kind of a lark. I wouldn’t survive it if you did that to me. I’m not like the women you’ve known."

"Thank God for small favors," he muttered.

"What?" she asked, because he hadn’t signed as he’d spoken.

"I’m relieved you’re different."

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "I will not be used."

"You already know that’s not my intention."

She felt herself weakening, felt herself giving in, wanting to trust him, praying he spoke the truth. But much more than her heart was at stake. Lives could be jeopardized if she misstepped.

"What are you thinking right now?" he asked.

"That I want to believe you." As she stood there, Geneva cursed Fate for the secrets she felt compelled to keep out of love, loyalty, and self–preservation.

"You can, but I guess I’ll have to keep proving it to you until you believe me."

"That may not be possible."

"I’ll make it possible," he vowed.

Geneva didn’t say anything more. What could she say? Turning away, she walked the length of the foyer and entered the living room. Thomas followed her.

Despite the fact that she wanted to flee, Geneva remained. She transformed herself into the ultimate real estate agent, describing in detail every aspect of the spacious dwelling as they made their way from room to room.

She treated Thomas like a stranger, simultaneously corralling her emotions. Although he clearly saw through her ploy, Geneva felt grateful that he stopped badgering her. She couldn’t help wondering how long this reprieve would last, and how much longer she could conceal the truth about her past.

Thomas refrained from questioning her any further. He wanted her too much now to risk alienating her. Until Geneva Talmadge, he’d never met a woman he couldn’t walk away from without a moment’s regret.

A part of him resented his response to her, while another part—more instinct than logic—assured him that he would never know any real happiness without her. Having reached the age of forty relatively unscathed by affairs of the heart, he knew in his gut that he’d finally met his match. And his destiny.

Thomas also sensed the futility of questioning her about her friends, that shadowy group of men and women who resided in relative anonymity on the extensive acreage controlled by Nicholas Benteen. Close–mouthed and stubborn enough to stand her ground, Geneva obviously trusted very few people. That reality—ever present—gnawed on his nerves and his pride, but he tried to keep his frustration under wraps.

It would be easy enough for him to use his own far–reaching professional resources to investigate her past. Although biding his time frustrated him, he wanted her to discover that she could confide in him without the risk of betrayal.

He didn’t intend to give up on Geneva. He couldn’t. He wanted this woman in his life, and he promised himself that he would do everything in his power to convince her that she wasn’t some casual conquest on which he’d set his sights.

Thomas respected her loyalty to Benteen and her other friends, even envied it, but whether or not she realized it, Geneva reinforced, rather than dispelled, the rumors he’d heard since returning to Cedar Grove with her wary behavior and secretive attitude. His own past assured him that strife, crisis, and tragedy forged bonds of intense loyalty, not the mundane events of everyday life.

He had a tough time imagining this unique woman in the role of a former mercenary, despite her obvious abilities in the martial arts. And he seriously doubted that she’d ever been a player in that particular world. No. What he suspected was that she’d lived on its fringes, perhaps as some man’s lover or as the daughter of someone once closely associated with Benteen and his people.