Weekend Agreement (12 page)

“I suppose so. Wouldn’t it be the ultimate irony if my whole collection and I ended up forgotten in some antiques store?”

She studied the portrait while Daniel studied her. Eyes lifted upward, wispy black tendrils tickling her cheeks. Even from the side, he could make out the perfect shape of her lips. “Not you. You’re far too memorable.”

Realizing he’d spoken aloud, he added hastily, “Now me, that’s another story. I would definitely have a ‘nice frame’ tag.”

As expected, she half-smiled at his self-deprecation. “Maybe we should make a pact then. If I find you hanging on some antiques store wall, I’ll buy you, and you do the same.”

“You must really like picture frames.”

“No, I’m simply a sucker for forgotten souls.”

Forgotten, or lost, thought Daniel. A lump suddenly attached itself to his Adam’s apple, making it impossible to swallow.

“Do we have a deal?” she asked. “I promise I’ll even give you a wall to hang on.”

“Deal.” Such a silly promise to make. Still, the idea that someone would actually care about his memory, even in jest… He stared into her emerald eyes, wanting nothing more than to enfold her in his arms, right there and then.

She held out her hand to secure the agreement. Still locked in her gaze, Daniel curled his fingers around hers. Her touch was warm and delicate.

The air around them hummed. He had the sense of hovering, of standing on the brink. Unable to help himself, Daniel pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. “I was right,” he murmured, his gaze still boring into hers, “you do taste like the sea.”

“Daniel…”

Charlotte’s voice caught in her throat, along with her breath. Her skin burned on the spot where he’d pressed his lips, a heat that coiled deep inside her. There was no mistaking the change in the atmosphere, just as there was no mistaking the blatant desire in Daniel’s hooded gaze. He wanted her. Of that there could be no doubt. The butterflies in her stomach took flight once more, their wings beating rapidly with anticipation.

The photos from Judy’s file danced through her head, reminding her who Daniel Moretti was. Or rather, the Daniel Moretti the world knew. Was that the man staring at her now? The playboy? Or was she seeing the man from the beach? The man she was pretty certain no one had ever seen.

Whether he sensed her hesitancy or felt it himself, Daniel let her hand drop away, leaving her off-balance. What else was new?

“Seems I’m developing a bad habit of making deals with you, Professor,” he said in a gravel-laced voice.

Her insides were still spinning. “Must be my acute business savvy.” She managed a shaky smile.

He studied her, looking for what, she didn’t know. “Must be,” he said finally. With the response came a feeling of awkwardness, like unspoken business. Charlotte embraced it. Every time they shared one of these moments, her insides spun a little more out of control. It was as if they were dancing around an elephant, a big, unspoken, undefined thing that neither of them would acknowledge.

Or, was she dancing alone? Judy’s warnings made her wonder.

Meanwhile, Daniel had returned his attention back to the portrait. “What about her?” he asked suddenly. “Think she’ll sell?”

“Eventually. Someone will take pity on her.”

Daniel nodded. “Maybe someone already has.” He raised his hand and signaled for the store owner.

Chapter Eight

“I can’t believe you. What on earth are you going to do with her?”

The rain was coming down in earnest now, the steady downpour chasing everyone indoors to regroup and dry off. In the soda shop, Charlotte and Daniel managed to squeeze themselves into a corner booth. Or rather, Daniel managed to commandeer one. Around them stood fellow wet patrons, the room awash with laughter and loud conversation.

Daniel set down two paper cups and grinned. “Beats me.” He shook the raindrops from his baseball cap and set it on the tabletop. “Maybe I’ll give her a name and turn her into a member of the family. Great-Great-Aunt Esther. She kind of looks like an Esther, don’t you think?”

“She” was the woman in the portrait, which now sat wrapped in brown paper waiting for delivery to Daniel’s office. “I still can’t believe you bought her,” Charlotte said.

“After our deal, it didn’t seem right leaving her behind.”

Their deal.
The skin on Charlotte’s wrist tingled. She tapped her straw against the table. “Does Great-Great-Aunt Esther have a story?”

“She should, shouldn’t she? You’re the historian. What do you suggest? Make it important, however. She is, after all, a Moretti.”

Charlotte sipped her drink thoughtfully. Taking a page from his mother’s book, was he? Well, she supposed he was entitled after living with all the Ferncliffs. “Well, judging from her clothing, the portrait was taken at the turn of the century. Maybe as late as 1910 or ’15.”

“Then she saw the Great War.”

“World War I? Absolutely. A woman her age would have been active during that time. A Red Cross nurse perhaps.”

Daniel shook his head. “Too common. Remember, think Moretti.”

“A spy?”

“Doesn’t suit her. She’d be more confrontational.”

She chewed her lip, trying to recall what she knew about World War I. “An aviatrix?”

“Yes,” Daniel said, obviously pleased. “She disguised herself as a man so she could fight.”

“But her plan backfired,” Charlotte said, getting the hang of Daniel’s game. A Moretti deserved dramatic history. “Shortly after arriving, she fell in love with the commander of her squadron. He, of course, wanted to protect her and forbade her to fly, leaving her torn between love and duty.”

Daniel nodded and set down his drink. “There was an important battle brewing the next morning. Esther promised her lover that after this one last mission she would retire but, being a Moretti, she couldn’t stay on the ground while her fellow fliers risked their lives. Her sense of duty would not allow it. He argued and begged but Esther wouldn’t—couldn’t—change her mind.”

“Alas, during the battle, Esther’s love–does he have a name?”

“Jack MacNamara,” Daniel supplied. “Esther wasn’t the kind to care about pedigrees.”

Of course not, thought Charlotte. “Well, alas poor Jack, distracted by his worry, got shot down. Esther rushed to save him—” She paused. “Should she be successful?”

“No,” Daniel said. “She arrives too late. There was nothing left but a plume of black smoke.”

Again, she wasn’t surprised. But at least she could give the old girl’s story a romantic flourish. “She never knew, but his last word was her name.”

“Nice touch,” Daniel noted.

“Thank you.”

“Anyway, Aunt Esther was crushed. She dedicated herself to fighting the Germans, determined to shoot down every plane until she was certain the pilot who killed her love perished. She became one of the most decorated pilots of the war and no one else ever discovered her secret identity.”

“And of course, she never married.”

“Never,” Daniel said. “She lived alone. After the war, she never flew again. And when she died, she asked to be buried in France, in the field where her lover’s plane had crashed, in an unmarked grave, like his.”

A stillness settled over their table separating them from the din of the crowd.

“Tragic yet poignant,” Charlotte noted. “Esther would appreciate it.”

Daniel looked up from stirring the ice in his cup. “You think so?”

“Definitely better than ‘Nice Frame.’ You have a bit of the romantic in you, Mr. Moretti.”

Although he tried to look unaffected, a hint of pink appeared on his cheeks. “Last night I was poetic. Now romantic. You must be drinking something stronger than diet cola to draw those kinds of conclusions.”

“You sell yourself short.”

“Yet something else that’s never been said about me,” he responded with a laugh.

“You make it sound like I’m calling you a bad name.”

“Just laying it on a little thick.”

Charlotte sat back. Was that what he thought? “You don’t think I’m being sincere?”

“In my world, ‘sincere’ is a relative term.” Charlotte wasn’t sure if she should be angry or sad. After the day they’d shared, how could he possible believe she was anything but genuine? She watched him poke at his drink with his straw, his thick black lashes shading his eyes. “Must be a real challenge, staying so cynical.”

“Not really.” If he picked up on her sarcasm, he didn’t react. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there. I learned a long time ago to protect myself against the bites.”

“Not everyone is out to get you.”

“More like out to get something from me.”

Would I be family now if I hadn’t become rich and famous?
Last night’s words to Vivian came back full force. They broke her heart to hear then, and they broke her heart again now. To believe your own mother didn’t want…

Charlotte looked at her hands. She knew that pain all to well. “Surely, not everyone,” she murmured. “I don’t…”

“Before you continue, remind me again why you’re here this weekend?”

Charlotte stopped. She had been about to say that she didn’t think his mother was the best measuring stick, but was she any better? He was right–she wanted something from him too.

Although between waking this morning and sharing this soft drink, the farm had vanished from her thoughts.

He deserved to know that. Reaching across the table, she touched his arm. “Today wasn’t about the farm.”

The thick lashes lifted and she saw the surprise swirling in his gaze. “Then what was it?”

Charlotte smiled. “A very nice day with Esther Moretti’s great-great-grandnephew.”

A light akin to longing appeared in his eyes. “Sounds like a very pleasant way to spend the day.”

“It was. A very nice way.”

Daniel nodded, but said nothing. Slowly, sadly, Charlotte watched as doubt overshadowed the light. He didn’t believe her. Years of distrust left him unable to recognize sincerity.

As the inner walls and distance began to build, her own insides filled with incredible sadness and she wondered what it would take to break them down completely.

And why it was suddenly so important for her to be the one to do so.

…

Later that afternoon, Daniel stood and stared out his rain-streaked window. He’d left Charlotte as soon as they arrived at the house, pleading business calls. Downstairs, he could hear the noise of last-minute chaos as the party planners scurried to finish their vision on time. God forbid everything be less than perfect when the people from
High Life
arrived.

Behind him hung his tuxedo, pressed and ready to wear. He was in no rush. His mother would pitch a fit when he failed to attend the pre-party activities. She always did when he refused to cooperate with her plans. Though, he thought with humor, she’d have to temper her tantrum while in front of the press.

Oh well, let her fuss.
He was busy studying the waves and thinking about this afternoon. More specifically, thinking about one sentence from this afternoon.

Such a simple statement, too.
Today wasn’t about the farm.
And yet, he choked up over the words as if he’d heard an hour-long tribute. God, but he wanted to believe Charlotte when she said those words. To think someone wanted…

But how could he when the only reason she was with him in the first place was because she wanted her bloody farm? And then there was that stupid proprietary clause. How could he be certain this wasn’t a ploy on her part to seduce him and get her farm back for free? She’d already charmed him down on the selling price, proving she knew how to use her wiles to her advantage. What made her different from Vivian or his ex, Valerie, or any other woman for that matter?

And why was it that he so badly wanted her to be different?

Damn, but this circular thinking made his stomach churn. This kind of wavering wasn’t like him.
Mind over matter, Daniel, remember?
He needed to get himself back under control. Focus on things like Charlotte’s long legs or her arousing scent rather than her motivations. After all, sexual attraction he could handle. Sexual attraction he understood. It was those other feelings—the ones that made him feel like he stood on the edge of a giant cliff—that he needed to keep in check.

Chapter Nine

Charlotte was applying eye makeup when her cell phone rang. She answered without checking the ID; she already knew who was calling.

“Not now, Judy. I’m not in the mood for a lecture.”

“I’m not calling to lecture,” Judy said.

“Good.”

“In fact, I owe you an apology. I had no right to pick on you about saving your family legacy.”

“No, you didn’t.” Charlotte set down her eye pencil. “But I know your heart was in the right place, so I forgive you.”