Stay (Dunham series #2) (36 page)

Giselle pursed her lips. “Do you resent that?”

His brow wrinkled. “No. Why would I?”

She smiled suddenly and for a second—only a
second—he found her profoundly beautiful and envied Bryce all that
much more for what he had that Eric didn’t. “I see,” she said with
a pleased smile. “So you found joy in the work itself and joy in
working alongside her.”

Eric gulped. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I did, but she
hasn’t asked me to come back. She didn’t really want to talk to me
last night and she hasn’t returned my email. By now she’s probably
knee deep in fresh collard greens.”

Giselle’s mouth tightened a bit. “So your feeling of
irrelevance is because you felt necessary at Whittaker House and
you came back here to find out you’re not as indispensable as you
thought.”

“Yes. Like I’m just marking time until the
election.”

“Hmm.” She pursed her lips. Looked at the floor.
“Are you in love with her?”

“Aw, hell, Giselle, I don’t know. I want to get to
know her better, be with her. The way she acted all week, it was
like she couldn’t decide if she wanted me there or not, and then— I
want the chance, but . . . ” He waved a hand in the air. “I want—
Shit. I don’t know what I want. Just not— Not— This. This
limbo
.”

“What about your career?”

“What about it?”

She looked at him funny, but shook it off with a
sigh and said, “Well, Eric, for right now, either stay here and
meet these people with me or go back to your office. Pick a job, do
it, let things settle for a while. If, in a month or so, you’re
still restless, you can revisit how best to approach the problem. I
would advise you not to make any major decisions for a while and do
not
pressure her. She may need some time and distance to
think. Your choice, naturally.”

He sat for a long moment and let that settle. Then
he sighed and rose. “I’m on county time, so I should go there, I
guess.” He walked around the desk toward the door, then stopped and
looked down at her when she caught his wrist in a light grasp.

“You know very good and well why you don’t resent
not getting laid last week. Think about that. Once you’ve been back
in your life for a while, when you have some distance, you can
afford the luxury of figuring out if it’s something you want to
give up without a fight and how much you’re willing to sacrifice to
have it.”

* * * * *

32: The Brewster School

It was all Vanessa could do Friday night to keep
from crying while she seated and served guests, who all remembered
“that charming young man” from the past two weekends and wondered
at his absence. “He lives in Kansas City,” she explained
repeatedly, graciously, though each repeat

came harder than the last. Two hours before the
kitchen closed, she gave up and caught Vachel.

“I need you to seat and serve for me the rest of the
night, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Vachel’s eyes lit up at the opportunity, and Vanessa
hurt even more. It was selfish, but she was so exhausted and
heartbroken that she was willing to use Vachel’s need to prove
himself to her to escape the constant reminders that Eric wasn’t
there.

With her.

Running Whittaker House.

Building a life together.

Don’t
ever
mistake sex for love because
that’s when girls start getting stupid.

Ten days. It had taken her no time at all to fall in
love with a man she had only met a couple of times under less than
favorable circumstances.

And one Sunday morning in the grass, her secret
place. Her church.

“Stupid stupid stupid.”

They had no history together. Between her crush on a
much older bad boy and Laura’s influence, she had been motivated
enough to approach the prosecutor everyone in the county feared,
terrified, knowing she’d be in a lot of trouble with her mother if
he believed her.

She had never seen that boy again.

She didn’t know what had become of him.

The man who bore his name, though—

The man who had arrived thinking he’d have a fun
week with a woman he wanted to get to know, possibly getting
laid—

The man who had ended up not only
not
having
fun and
not
getting laid but once, who had worked alongside
her all week without complaint—

The man who had asserted his authority amongst her
staff as if he had some—

The man who had looked around to see what needed
done and done it—

She had not known that man.

That man,
that
Eric Cipriani, was a man of
strength and kindness, humor and patience.

You need a general manager, a chief operations
officer.

And she’d had one. For ten days.

She hadn’t known quite what part of Whittaker House
would occupy Eric’s attention all week while she went about doing
what a chef and owner of an inn did, but never would she have
expected him to work like he had.

So exhausted he had no energy for making love, yet
not resenting her for it; getting up at five every morning to start
over again, knowing he probably wouldn’t get laid that day, either;
promising her he’d come back even after a week of backbreaking
labor with no reward.

He would never be back.

This life, while it richly rewarded Vanessa, would
never reward him the same way his career rewarded him, the way
reaching every next goal rewarded him.

And his rewards were two hundred and fifty miles
away from hers.

She dashed tears away with her fingertips.

Once Vachel swaggered into the dining room in his
best kilt and semiformal jacket, Vanessa left. She slogged through
the kitchen and out the back door and across the veranda and down
the steps and up the driveway to the path that would take her to
her secluded cottage.

Vanessa didn’t remember ever being this tired on a
Friday night. She didn’t remember ever having thought about a way
to take the next morning off without having an ulterior business
motive: going shopping in Springfield for clothes or décor or food
or flowers or local wines, or going to shows in Branson to look for
new talent.

On the other hand, she was the boss and answered to
no one.

The always-urgent to-do lists wouldn’t get any more
urgent for waiting a morning and besides, Eric had made such a
significant dent in them that she could afford a morning alone.

She had a teenage kid begging her to let him work
harder, do more for her, learn and grow, feel needed and wanted,
his contributions valued, his intellect challenged. Until Eric had
forced her to see it, Vanessa had never thought Vachel might need
more than a stable home, a warm atmosphere, and a guardian willing
to give him anything he wanted.

She had a clientele who had been gracefully
conditioned—by Eric—to expect that sometimes, just sometimes,
Vanessa would not be available as usual because she, too, needed a
break.

She wondered what it would be like to lie in bed on
a Saturday morning and read, perhaps re-read,
Little Town on the
Prairie
. Or sleep. Or pretend Eric would return any moment.

Cry.

She slogged up the steps to her porch and opened the
door and walked across the floor and climbed the stairs in the
dark.

She unbuttoned, unzipped, and undid.

Vanessa.

Her chest collapsed at the whisper that caressed her
skin like a lover’s touch, and then again when the faintest whiff
of a rich cologne drifted across her nose.

She closed her eyes.

Choked in fear that she was hallucinating.

He wrapped his hand gently around her wrist and
pulled her down to him on the bed, pressed a soft kiss against her
upper arm while his other hand slid under her blouse and caressed
her back.

Neither said a word as she finished undressing with
his help.

Neither said a word when, once she was bare to his
hands, he pulled her down and rolled her over onto her back and
slid his body into hers, now wet simply because he was there.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around his ribs, her
legs around his hips, kept him as close to her as possible with her
heels dug into his buttocks. In the pitch dark, she found his mouth
with hers and they kissed for moments upon moments.

Oh, how
right
he felt, lying in her bed,
being inside her, stepping into her life.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and
drew in a long breath against her skin. Vanessa’s back arched as if
she had no control over her body whatsoever, her only connection
with reality the feel of his hands caressing her body, the weight
of his body on top of hers, the feel of his body so deep inside he
touched her soul.

Slow butterfly kisses, so light, over her jaw, down
her throat, up her neck. She furrowed her fingers through his silky
hair, ran her hands down his nape and over his strong, smooth back.
He sighed at her touch and his body shivered, just a tad.

I love you, Eric.

Be my lover always, Eric.

Stay with me, Eric.

Marry me, Eric.

His hips nudged back against her heels a bit and she
accommodated him so that he could accommodate her.

She had never been touched, loved, with such
reverence. He began to stroke in and out of her at just the right
angle—and she gasped, surprised, when she came so rapidly,
unexpectedly. Immediately. It hit her with the force of a shotgun
blast and she felt him smile against her cheek.

Salt stung her eyes.

Joy.

She had never known
that
.

Until last Sunday.

He touched her tears with his tongue, kissed her
eyelids, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, all while picking up his
pace, thrusting harder and faster.

Joy.

He came with a rough sigh that brushed her damp
skin. Vanessa tightened her hold around his torso, pulled him hard
up into her with her heels again.

Kept him close, as close as possible.

Smiled against his jaw.

And drifted off to sleep.

*

“What’s on tap today? It’s seven o’clock on a
Saturday morning and we’re still in bed. Phone hasn’t rung.
Nobody’s shouting through the window at you.” Eric’s warm whisper
in Vanessa’s ear made her smile. She didn’t want to open her eyes
in case it was just a dream, that her deepest desire hadn’t
actually come true in the night and she’d have to face another day
alone.

“Nothing,” she murmured, her voice hoarse. “I was
going to take this morning off. Not that I’ve informed anyone of
that yet, so I’m surprised no one has come knocking on my
door.”

He started. “A morning off? Why?”

She didn’t want to admit it, not really. It would
put too much of herself in his hands. “I haven’t slept all week.
I’m . . . tired.”

He said nothing for a moment, then, “I missed you,
too.”

“How long will you be here?”

“Today,” he said slowly. “Tomorrow. A huge case got
dropped in my lap late Monday afternoon.”

So I should be in my office right now, working on
it.

He didn’t have to say it. She could feel the tension
in his body, hear the conflict in his voice.

“Did you bring your work with you?”

She felt the bob of his Adam’s apple against her
head. “Yes,” he finally said. “I want to help you, but . . . ” He
paused again. “I just— I needed to see you, to be with you. At
least in the same county.”

And tomorrow evening, she would have to watch him
leave again and she didn’t know if she could stand it.

“What are we going to do, Eric?” she whispered,
hating the catch in her voice. “How does this work?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed.

“I— I don’t want to be friends with benefits,”
Vanessa said, tears stinging her eyes. “I can’t do that with you,
Eric. It would hurt too much. This is— With you— I’ve never
had—”

His hold on her tightened when she didn’t continue.
“I understand.”

“Aunt Vanessa!”

Vanessa closed her eyes at the long-expected bellow
from outside her window, not as grateful as she should have been
that they had been left alone this long. She gathered her breath.
“Gimme a couple of hours!” she bellowed back. “You take care of
things for a while!”

“Really? Cool! Okay!”

The faint sound of footsteps in wet grass got more
faint as Vachel trotted back toward the mansion.

“Taking my advice?”

She shrugged. “Trying.”

“I thought you were going to play hooky this
morning?”

“I was. Then you were here and— But now . . . ” She
sighed.

“Because I have work to do.”

She nodded. “You can use my office. Just having you
here— Getting some sleep . . . ”

“Vanessa?” he whispered. Her breath caught, but she
didn’t know exactly why. “We haven’t used condoms.”

“I’m on the pill.” His body tensed a bit, but she
went on. “I’ve always been careful and I’m going to have to assume
you have.”

“Yeah,” he said absently, then, hesitantly, after a
beat or two, “Um . . . kids?”

“No. At least not in the next couple of years. And I
don’t even want to think about children until we figure out how to
deal with—” She bit the rest off.

“So the default position is that if we didn’t have
those problems, you’d be willing to try a long-term relationship
with me? Maybe . . . ?”

Vanessa blinked, not surprised they’d gotten this
far this fast—they couldn’t afford not to—but surprised at how
comfortable she was with it.

How much she needed it.

“Yes. But we can’t think about it that way because
we do have those problems. And they’re not little ones. This isn’t
just you and me, Eric. I have a partner, a bunch of employees,
dozens of vendors, and two rural towns that depend on me. You have
a county government and a constituency that trusts you, tens of
thousands of people who see you as their philosophical salvation,
and a clientele that’s loyal enough to you, your partners might not
be able to make money without you. I can’t— I can’t . . .
abandon
my life to follow you and you’re too deep in your
own future to get stuck here.”