Rekindled (3 page)

“I do,” she agreed. Relieved to be at her car, she fished in her purse for her keys. The sooner she was back at that work, back in the security of her seafront home, the sooner she could turn the past off again. Slipping in behind the wheel, she rolled her window down to let in the cool night air. With escape imminent, she grew bolder, looking up at Ross as he leaned over with his fingers curved on the lowered window. How handsome he was, she mused. She had been powerfully attracted to him then; she still was. “It was nice seeing you, Ross.”

“You won’t change your mind and stay over? I’m at the Wayward Sailor, an inn just down the road. I’m sure they have another vacancy, since the height of the season is past. We could grab a snack somewhere and talk.”

Chloe would have liked nothing better. She knew nothing about the Ross Stephenson who was a successful businessman. Instinct told her that time spent with him would be interesting. It would also be downright dangerous, even devastating.

She sighed. “That would be nice, but I have to get back. I feel wide awake for driving. I’d just as soon put the miles behind me. Besides, I have that appointment.”

Ross considered that for a minute, then held up his hands. In gracious defeat, he stepped back. She put the key in the ignition, pumped the gas pedal, turned the key. There was a click, but nothing happened. She repeated the sequence. It always worked. Granted, her small blue compact had seen better days, but it had always started for her-until, she realized as she turned the key a third time, this afternoon. She had heard the same click then, had run back into the house and brought Lee out to help. They had figured the engine was flooded, had waited and won. The car had started. But Murphy’s Law said that it wasn’t going to start now.

“Trouble?” Ross bent in at the window again.

“Battery, I think.”

He opened the door. “Let me try.”

She slid out. With an ease that belied his awesome length, he folded himself behind the wheel. The front seat was already back to allow for the length of Chloe’s own long legs, and even then he gave a good-natured grimace. She had to smile. Getting in was apparently the easy part. Maneuvering now that he was there was the challenge.

But he managed. When he tried the ignition, though, he had no better luck than Chloe. He listened to that impotent click once, twice, three times. Then he hoisted himself out of the car and looked under the hood.

“You’re right,” he said, straightening. “It’s the battery.” He slammed the hood shut and brushed his palms against one another. “It looks like you’ll have to stay. I don’t see how you’ll get someone to come out at this hour.”

She reached for her bag. “I have triple-A.”

“Chloe.” He sighed softly. “This isn’t a bustling metropolis. By the time-“

“Do you have jumper cables?”

“No.” He patted his pockets. “Not anywhere close by.”

“In your car?”

“It’s a rental.”

Her gaze fell to the pavement. She could rant and rave all she wanted, but it seemed she had little choice. “I suppose Lee could change that early appointment for me,” she murmured quietly, then looked up. “And you think your inn would have a room?”

His gaze was steady. “I’m sure it would.”

Not one to belabor a no-win situation, Chloe sighed. “Lead on, Ross. Lead on.”

Ross led her to a late-model rental car roomy enough for both pairs of long legs to stretch comfortably. Vibes were something else. Chloe sensed that no space would be large enough for the ones that circuited back and forth during the short drive to the inn.

“You flew in just for tonight’s meeting?” she asked, seeking to ease the silence. It was awkward, given the intimacy they had once shared.

“That’s right,” he answered, paying close attention to roads that were now dark and deserted. “From?”

“New York.”

“Do you live there?”

“Occasionally.”

It was an odd answer. When he failed to elaborate, Chloe tried again. “Have you had to come here often?”

“More often than I’d anticipated. This project has created something of a stir.” If the glance he shot her was accusatory, she accepted it as fair game and took no offense. She believed in her cause.

“From what Felix Hart implied, you move around a lot,” she said.

“I always did.”

It was a direct reference to the past. Then, he had been in the Peace Corps on leave for Thanksgiving, the world traveler coming stateside for a visit. There had been an air of excitement about him.

He still had it. His profile was strong, lean, preoccupied in ways that suggested big business in far places. She looked away, focusing on the view outside her window, trying to ignore a silence that she could feel and taste. She was relieved when the Wayward Sailor came into view.

Ross turned to her as soon as the car stopped. His features had softened. His tone was solicitous. “Why don’t you wait here? I’ll make the arrangements and find out where we can get a bite to eat. You are hungry, aren’t you?”

She smiled awkwardly. “I haven’t had anything since lunch.”

“No wonder you’re pale.” He touched her cheek. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

She sat quietly, trying to think of anything but Ross. Just when she was on the verge of declaring defeat, he loped back down the steps of the charmingly ancient house. “Any luck?” she asked when he reached the car.

“There’s good news and bad news.” He was leaning down to talk through the window again.

“Give me the good news first,” Chloe said. She needed that, needed it bad.

He grinned. “The good news is that you have the penthouse.”

She looked up the inn’s facade to the very top, the third floor. Assuming the attic was clean and had a bed, it would do. “The penthouse is fine.” She scrunched up her face. “What’s the bad news?”

He opened the door with a flourish. “The bad news is that no one serves food at this hour. The night manager here says we can raid his refrigerator, though.” He paused, staring down at her for a minute before offering his hand to help her out. “The service won’t be fancy. We’ll be on our own.” The warning note in his voice jarred her. He was remembering the old Chloe. That Chloe had been spoiled. She hadn’t known how to cook, having had everything done for her for the entire eighteen years of her life. But her lifestyle had changed drastically since then.

She rose from the car. “That’s fine. I think we can manage.” Oh, yes, she could certainly manage to put together a meal. She was actually a fine cook now. But it occurred to her that she and Ross would be alone. She wasn’t so sure about managing that.

A frown creased her brow as she entered the inn with Ross by her side. He left his overnight case at the front desk with the night manager, who cheerfully directed them into the kitchen, a decidedly old room into which every modern convenience had been crammed. Chloe made herself at home. Only after she had placed a crock of steaming beef stew, put together from leftovers, and a half-loaf of what appeared to be home-baked bread on the table did she realize that she had done all the work. But it had kept her mind occupied. Ross had been in and out of the room as she worked, finally settling down on a tall stool by a butcher-block counter to watch.

His presence didn’t upset her now as much as it had earlier. She had gotten over the shock, she guessed. Still, she felt vaguely shy when they were actually ready to eat.

“Uh, is there anything else you want?” She skimmed the simple place settings, the two large bowls filled with stew. “A drink?”

He made no move to help himself For old times’ sake, so the liberated woman told herself, she indulged him.

“Milk would be fine.”

He waited while she searched for glasses and filled two. She sat down opposite him. Once several mouthfuls of the thick stew had warmed her stomach, she put her spoon down. Something stuck in her craw.

“I’m not unhappy,” she stated, so softly and apparently unexpectedly that Ross looked perplexed. “You thought I looked unhappy. I’m not.”

He went back to eating, but slowly, thoughtfully. “No, I suppose you’re not, not right now,” he finally said. “But earlier, there was a look in your eyes. It comes and goes. There it is again.”

The sound of his voice had been enough to spark memories. With a barely perceptible shake of her head, she chased them off again. “I do love what I’m doing,” she said.

“Tell me about it. How did you get started?”

“You heard the bare outline tonight.”

“The bare outline. Now I’d like to hear more.” His pause was pregnant with unspoken thoughts. “Why geology?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

He didn’t pull any punches. “Because it’s one of the last fields that someone raised in the style of conspicuous consumption would choose.”

“Maybe that’s why I chose it.”

“Ah.” He smiled. “You were rebelling.”

“Not entirely-“

“Escaping?”

She looked away. “You’re perceptive. But only half right.”

“Go on.”

Chloe tucked a long strand of dark hair behind her ear. “It was actually a simultaneous discovery@scape and excitement. At that period of my life, I needed something that was a total change from everything I’d known before. I spent some time in Newport with friends and fell in love with the ocean there.”

“You found solace?” he asked gently.

She admitted it with a small tilt of her head. “I spent a lot of time on the beach and happened to befriend an old man who felt very strongly about environmental considerations. He affected me deeply.” The memory of Hector Wallaby brought a sad smile to her lips.

“He’s dead?”

“Yes. I miss him. He never knew it, but in spirit at least, he was the founding father of ESE, Inc.”

“Were you in college during the time you knew him?”

Chloe sat straighter. “Uh, no. I … my freshman year was postponed.”

“So you started college late and have still done all this?”

The compliment gave her a boost. She smiled. “Once I decided to go into geology I was in a rush.”

Ross smiled back. Firm lips framed the whitest of teeth, mesmerizing her for the split second until he said, “You worked for Conam Petroleum?”

“Yes. Do you know the company?”

He shook his head. “Only by reputation.” He looked at her sideways, skeptical now. “I’d have thought that if environmental concerns were your focus, the oil companies would be your archenemies.”

She blushed. He made nothing easy, that was for sure. But if he wanted to be honest, she could be honest right back. “I needed the money,” she said and braced herself for the response that was sure to come.

And she wasn’t let down. Ross’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “You needed the money?” He frowned. “Did I miss something here? I was given to think James Macdaniel was-is-mne of the wealthiest men in New Orleans.”

“He is.”

“Then, why … ?”

“Among other things,” she began in self-defense, “it was a matter of pride. I wanted to start my own consulting firm and didn’t want to ask my father for money.” Ross should know how much she had changed. He should know that she was her own woman now.

But his take on the situation was different from hers. “So you sold out to the powers that be for the amount of time it took you to gather the resources to mount a systematic campaign against those same powers?”

Chloe reacted quickly and vehemently. “That’s not true. Not true at all. The work I did for the oil companies involved identifying the most likely spots for oil deposits. Wherever possible, environmental considerations were put first. And you’re a fine one to talk about selling out. I had the impression, when I saw you last, that you were against everything the establishment had to offer.”

Ross leaned back in his chair. “You drew your own conclusions, Chloe. Appearances can be misleading.” His tone was low, his voice and eyes steady.

Chloe was stunned. She stood up and cried, “It was all a charade, then?

The clothes, the beard, even the Peace Corps?” She turned away, disillusioned and heartsick. Head bowed, she grappled with the idea of an attraction based on a lie.

Ross materialized before her. “Did it matter so much?” he asked softly.

When she neither answered nor looked up, he put a finger under her chin and forced it up. Her eyes were dry, but she knew they held pain. She couldn’t hide that, couldn’t even try.

“Did it?” he asked.

Chloe felt a well of emotion, emotion that had lain dormant for years. Ross was so close that the warmth of his body was an intoxicant. She used the power of that to speak. “Yes. It mattered more than you can imagine.”

“But why? The physical attraction between us had nothing to do with outer trappings. As I recall, we shed our clothes pretty fast.” Chloe tried to pull away, he held her chin. “Don’t run from it. There was something between us that you can’t deny. Are you telling me you made love to an image?” His tone was suddenly cooler. “Was it an experiment for you? Was I a tool in your rebellion?” His fingers tightened on her jaw. Reflexively, she held his wrist.

“No. That wasn’t it at all.” She was hurt that he would suggest it. “All you seem to think about is the physical act. Yes, there was a physical attraction. With and without clothes. But for me, at least, there was more involved. There had to be.” Her voice rose. “I was a virgin, for God’s sake.”

Ross must have felt her hurt, because he relaxed his grip. He moved his fingers back to her ear, pushing them through the long strands of her hair with infinite gentleness.

“I know that,” he whispered. His eyes held the same tenderness they had on that night, when he had first introduced her to the art of love. Then, the world had been hers on a string. It certainly wasn’t now, still her heart pounded in her chest the very same way. Now, as then, she was being held by the most appealing man she had ever known. He was a leader, a freethinker. He was boldly gentle, gently bold. He had confidence without arrogance, success without acclaim. He was a man who didn’t mince words. She felt an instinctive respect for him.

Much of this same appeal had beckoned to her on that night. Other details might be forgotten, but not Ross and the force that bound them. It was an unfathomable force, but frightfully powerful. Eleven years ago, it had driven the fact of her innocence from her mind. Now it obliterated all remembrance of what had happened so soon after that night to irrevocably change Chloe’s life and outlook.