Borrowed Dreams (Debbie Macomber Classics) (9 page)

Brand’s hands explored her back beneath the sweater. “Don’t fight me so hard,” he murmured.

Carly sighed thoughtfully. “The way I see it, I’m not fighting near hard enough.” She could feel his smile against her temple. “The things you make me feel frighten me,” she whispered, after a long moment.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to fall in love with you,” she whispered.

“I know that, too.”

Carly’s eyes rested on the clean top of the television. “What did you do with Sandra’s picture?” He’d put it away, she knew, but she needed to know where.

“It’s in a drawer.”

Somehow she’d expected him to wince when she mentioned the wife he’d lost, but he didn’t. “Top or bottom?”

A hand on each shoulder turned her so that she could look him in the eye. “Bottom.”

She lowered her gaze, embarrassed at revealing the depth of her insecurity.

“Now,” he said, and a hint of firmness stole into his voice. “When are you going to stop running from me?”

“I don’t—”

Narrowed, disbelieving eyes forbade her from finishing. “Carly, look at me. I’m through with this ‘we’re not dating’ business. We are
seriously
dating, and I won’t take no for an answer. Understand?”

She nodded numbly. All the old insecurities bobbed to the surface of her mind, but when Brand put his arms around her those doubts seemed inconsequential. Only when she was alone did they grow ominous and forbidding.

Brand patted the lump of discarded glass in her jeans pocket. “Either you’ve got a serious problem with your bones or you’re sprouting something in your pocket.”

Carly smiled and arched her back so she could withdraw the glass. “Here.” She gave it to Brand. “I found a treasure.”

“Treasure?” He eyed her warily.

“It’s as green as an emerald.”

“Yes,” Brand agreed.

She took it back, rubbed it between the palms of her hands, and held it to his face. “And warm as fire.”

“Not quite that hot.”

“We’re imagining here,” she chastised playfully. “Now hold it up to the light.”

Brand did as she requested. “Yes?”

“See the cracks and lines?”

“So?”

“It’s as intriguing as a map. A treasure map,” she added, repeating the youngster’s assessment. “And I bet you thought this was just a plain old piece of broken glass that time had smoothed.”

Brand closed his fingers over the green glass and a sadness suddenly stole over him. “That’s the kind of wonder Shawn would discover in this.”

“Shawn?” A chill settled over her even before Brand could explain.

“My son.”

“You have children?” The question came out breathlessly, her voice low and wobbly.

“Yes. Shawn and Sara.”

Suddenly Carly knew what it must feel like to die.

Several hours later the knot in her stomach still hadn’t relaxed. Even now her breath came in short, painful wisps. Brand had children. Beautiful children. He’d taken a family photo from his wallet and Carly had been forced to stare at two blond youngsters. Both Shawn and Sara had been gifted with Sandra’s beautiful eyes and Sandra’s hair color.

For every second that Carly had studied the picture she’d died a little more. Brand had explained that his children were living with his mother in Oregon, but they’d be joining him in a couple months, once school was out for the summer.

“How old are they?” Somehow Carly managed to ask the question.

Brand’s eyes were proud. That he loved and missed his family was obvious. “Shawn’s seven and Sara’s five.”

Carly nodded and returned the photo.

“You’ll like them, Carly.”

Brand sounded so confident, unaware of the turmoil that attacked her.

A few minutes after that, Brand walked her to his front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, and gently kissed her brow. “We can talk more about us.”

Carly wanted to scream that there wasn’t anything to discuss, but she held her tongue, realizing an argument would solve nothing.

On the way out the door, her shoe caught on the rug and she stumbled forward. She would have fallen if Brand hadn’t caught her.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she mumbled. “I’m fine.”

Brand knelt at her side and retrieved her shoe. “The heel’s broken. I can probably fix it, if you like.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Don’t worry.”

The instant Carly was back in her apartment, she took off the shoes and threw them both in the garbage. For the first time in recent memory, she was pleased that Diana wasn’t around to witness this latest attack of wastefulness. Yes, the shoes could be repaired. But not for her. All
too often in her life she’d been forced to wear repaired shoes. But not anymore.

Diana saw her attitude as ridiculous, but Carly considered the cost of new shoes a small price to pay.

*  *  *

Moon shadows danced across the walls as Carly lay in bed, unable to sleep. It was hours later. Already she was dreading seeing Brand again and what she had to tell him. Every condition she’d set for their relationship had been broken. He had come right out and told her he wanted more from her than friendship.

The most disturbing thing had been that Brand had known how badly she’d wanted to kiss him. He had been able to see it when she hadn’t even admitted it to herself. If she was that easy to read, Carly doubted that she could disguise any of her feelings. And she was dangerously close to falling in love with Brandon St. Clair. Placing Sandra, Shawn, and Sara out of the picture, Brand could make her feel more of a woman than she had at any other time in her life. The attraction between them was so strong she didn’t know if she could fight against the swift current that seemed to be drawing them together.

*  *  *

In the morning, Carly dressed for work. Standing in the kitchen, she was buttering a piece of toast when the discarded loafers caught her eye. Throwing them out was a wasteful, childish action. Having them repaired would be such a little thing. This quirk, this penchant for perfection, was ruining her life. Carly turned her back and ignored the shoes. They were old, worn, and she’d have thrown them out in a few weeks, anyway.
But they were comfortable
, her mind returned quickly.

At the front door on her way out, Carly suddenly turned around and went back into the kitchen. She lifted the shoes out of the garbage and set them on the floor. Time. All she needed was time to think things over.

*  *  *

“Morning, George.” Carly set her purse on top of her desk and walked across the room to pour herself a cup of coffee.

George had a clipboard in his hand. A deep scowl darkened his face. “Do you remember the Longmeir shipment to Palmer?”

Leaning her hip against her desk, Carly cupped the coffee mug with both hands. “Sure, we trucked that out last week.”

George set the clipboard aside. “It didn’t arrive.”

“What?” Carly straightened. Two days after arriving at Alaska Freight Forwarding, she’d learned that Longmeir was their best and most demanding customer. The mining company had bases throughout the state and depended on Alaska Freight to ship the needed supplies to each site in the most expeditious, most dependable, and most economic way. Carly had been the one to decide to truck this latest shipment rather than use rail cars. George had concurred with her suggestion, but the decision had been hers.

“Needless to say, that freight’s got to be found. And fast.”

Brushing the hair from her forehead, Carly pulled out a desk chair. “I’ll get on it right away.”

“Do that,” George ordered crisply.

By late afternoon Carly had gone through fifteen cups of coffee. Near closing time she tracked down the lost shipment. The truck driver had delivered it to the wrong camp, but that site had no record of accepting the shipment. There had been foul-ups at both ends—and Charles Longmeir wasn’t a man to accept excuses. Carly stayed until everyone else had left for home. She had an idea that once the handler at the other camp inventoried his supplies, they’d be able to verify the location and make the necessary adjustments. However, that couldn’t be done until morning. Rotating her neck to ease the tense muscles, Carly couldn’t recall a worse Monday.

Letting herself into her apartment, she felt mentally and physically exhausted. George had voiced his displeasure all day. If they lost the Longmeir account, she might as well kiss her job good-bye. George hadn’t actually said as much, but the implication was there. To complicate matters, she was due to investigate a large claim on another order that had arrived damaged. Her
stomach felt acidic, and she could feel the beginnings of a headache prickling at her temples. Little wonder. She hadn’t eaten anything since her toast that morning.

The phone rang at seven-thirty, and Carly didn’t answer it, certain Brand was at the other end of the line. She didn’t feel up to seeing him that night. All she wanted was a tall glass of milk, a hot bath, and bed. In that order.

She hadn’t finished the milk when someone knocked on her door. Carly didn’t need to be told it was Brand.

“Hi.” He greeted her with a light brush of his mouth against hers.

Carly was astonished that such a little thing as this brief kiss could affect her, but it did. “Brand, I’ve had a rotten day. I’m not in the mood for company.”

“I know. George told me about the Longmeir shipment.” He ignored her lack of welcome and walked past her into the kitchen, carrying a grocery bag. “I’ll only stay a few minutes,” he promised. “Now, sit down, put your feet up, and relax.”

“Brand,” Carly moaned, half pleading, half amused. She was still holding the front door open, but he was in her kitchen, humming merrily. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” she challenged.

“Taking care of you.”

Carly closed the door and marched into the kitchen. “I don’t need anyone.”

Brand was at her stove, a dish towel draped over his arm as he cracked fresh eggs against the side of a bowl. “I know that.” Again he pretended not to notice her lack of welcome “You’ve been on your own for a long time. But I’m here now.”

“Brand, please …”

He turned and planted his hands on both of her shoulders, his eyes holding hers with such warmth that she couldn’t resist when he lowered his mouth to hers. His kiss brought her into quick submission.

He smiled down on her. “Now, go relax. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

Carly complied, wondering why she allowed him this amount of control over her. Leaning her head against the back of the love seat, her eyes drooped closed. The sound of Brand’s humming as he worked lulled her into a light, pleasant sleep. Eyes shut, Carly’s mind followed Brand’s movements about her apartment. She heard him whipping the eggs and chopping something on the cutting board; she heard the sizzle of the butter when he added it to
the hot skillet. That sound was followed by another she couldn’t identify, then finally she heard the eggs being stirred in the pan and bread being lowered in the toaster. Delicious smells drifted toward her, and Carly realized how hungry she was.

“Dinner’s ready,” Brand called, and he stood behind her chair, waiting to pull it out as she approached.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the appealing omelet. Melted cheese and pieces of onion and green pepper oozed from the sides of his tantalizing masterpiece. “Wow,” she said, as she sat down. “You never told me you could cook like this.”

“There wasn’t any reason to mention it before now. I’ve been on my own long enough to learn the fundamentals.”

Carly took the first bite and shook her head in wonder. “This is fantastic.”

“I didn’t think you’d want dinner out.”

“After a day like today, all I want is a hot bath and bed.”

A mischievous grin curved the edges of Brand’s mouth. “If that’s an invitation, I accept.”

The sexual banter between them seemed to grow more pointed with every meeting. Carly shook her head forcefully. “No, it wasn’t,” she announced primly.

She finished her meal and carried the plate to the sink. “How did you know I hadn’t eaten?” Carly asked, not turning around. Most people would have had their dinner before now. A glance at her wristwatch told her it was nearly nine.

His eyes grew warm. “Because I’m beginning to know you, Carly Grieves. You don’t eat when you’re upset.”

“I drink coffee.”

“Yes, you drink a ton of coffee. It’s a wonder you haven’t gotten an ulcer.”

Making busywork at the sink, Carly was torn between needing him to stay and wishing he’d leave her alone. The feelings she’d battled over the weekend returned a hundredfold. “Aren’t you going to thank me for dinner?” he asked softly, coming to her side. He slipped his arms around her waist from behind and kissed the gentle slope of her neck.

Carly went still as she breathed in the clean male scent of him. “Thank you, Brand.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I was hoping you’d have other ways of expressing your appreciation,” he whispered, and gently nibbled on the lobe of her ear.

“I don’t.” She prayed he couldn’t detect the thread of breathlessness in her voice.

His hand stole beneath her sweater and slid across her ribs as his mouth sought and found the sensitive areas on her neck. Carly tilted her head to one side, loving the delicious sensations he brought to life within her. A trembling weakness shook her and she melted against him, her softness reveling in the touch of his hard length. Brand turned her into his arms, and she linked her hands at the base of his neck.

“Kiss me, Carly,” he ordered huskily.

She defied him with her eyes, not wanting to give in to him. Not so easily. Her pride—and so much more—was at stake. She couldn’t allow herself to become involved with this man.

Their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills. His dark eyes were narrowed with demand. Unable to meet his look, Carly’s gaze slid to his mouth. His lips were slightly parted, eager. And Carly couldn’t deny him … couldn’t deny herself.

Finally she obliged, her mouth slanting over his, kissing him with a thoroughness that left them both weak and breathless. He clung to her as if he was afraid to let her go.

“Are you happy now?” she asked, rubbing her cheek along the side of his jaw in a feline caress. The abrasive feel of his unshaven beard against her skin’s smoothness was strangely welcome.