Island Hearts (Jenny's Turn and Stray Lady) (49 page)

Inside Carrie, memories flamed.

She had made a very serious mistake. Five years at Charles' side, but the thing she had allowed to happen

When he did wake up, she would have to say some words, but there were no words in her, only panic

Well, Charles, I guess last night was just one of those things. Here's a cup of coffee and here's your clothes. I'll see you at the office Monday morning, and why don't we just forget it happened?

She shuddered, then froze. On her hip, his hand had moved! He was murmuring something against her shoulder, his lips pressed to her softness. She was afraid to move, terrified even to close her eyes. She endured a breathless interval of panic until, slowly, his body drained of consciousness.

None of this was real! It was not possible! Dreams could be vivid, stronger sometimes than reality. Hadn't Charles haunted her sleep for five years? This was nothing new, waking with the feel of him sharp on her consciousness. Ever since that first day, that shocking impact as he walked into the room, that unbelievable sensation of recognition deep inside herself.

All right! So he had a place in her dreams, but not here, lying close against her, holding her while he slept. It was one thing to fantasize Charles as her lover; but complete, raving insanity to let the yearning turn to reality! She had known the risks from that first meeting; had been scrupulously careful to keep her dreams firmly at home. With time, it had became second nature to be cool and impersonal with him. Friendly. Understanding. Efficient

Not, for heavens' sake, emotional! Emotions were the last thing Charles wanted, and she dedicated her life to being what he wanted. Intimacy intimacy was out of the question

But intimacy had raged between them only hours ago. Under the warmth of the down quilt that covered them, Carrie was naked. Charles must be undressed, too, because

Oh, God! Carrie's face flamed with uncomfortable memories. Not a dream, not this time. Any minute now, he would open his eyes and somehow she would have to face him. It might be the darkest hour of the night, but it was impossible to imagine Charles lying trapped in the soft oblivion of sleep for much longer.

She had to get out of here! When he woke, he would remember last night clearly. Carrie shuddered, knowing she could not possibly lay here beside him and watch the emotions chasing across his face. Even fully dressed, with a room between them

Not now, not so soon after the crazy, uninhibited creature from her dreams had walked wantonly into real life

She turned to stare at him. Night time, but city lights from outside showed the outline of his sleeping face. Beyond the bed, she could see the shadow on the carpet that might be her own clothing. She trembled and the memory was covered with a haze of sensation, her clothes falling away at his touch. She remembered other things vividly… drowning in sensation, clinging to his shoulders as he carried her into this room. Staring up, her eyes so wide she could not blink, his face harsh as his eyes blazed down and then she was sinking, going under, and there was no light except her skin seeing, knowing him, burning for him

He would remember it all when he woke. Carrie, her heart and her dreams exposed. Everything, and when his eyes opened, she would see knowledge in them, awareness that she could never erase now

She held her breath as she slid out from under the weight of his arm. His breathing shifted. She held herself motionless, the quilt around her hips. Movement. Then nothing. She stared blindly at the window, afraid to turn and see his eyes

Only that soft, slow breathing. She slipped out of the bed, her nerves crawling, waiting for a sound, a word. Her name, on his lips

He was asleep.

She dressed hurriedly. Pantyhose and bra, the suit from yesterday. Shoes? She remembered, shuddering, and went swiftly out to the hall. Two high heeled pumps, lying where they had fallen. She had been in his arms, her lips buried against the heated flesh of his neck as he lifted her. She had moved in his arms and kicked the pumps off, the wild surge of abandon throbbing deep inside her body

She picked them up now, her throat clenched against the memory. Her purse yes, here, on the kitchen counter. She had dropped it there when they came into her apartment last night. Then that strange conversation in the living room… the tension, and his questions. Then she had said, "Coffee?" and suddenly the insanity had grown between them, flaring abruptly, so much worse than the original madness of inviting him up here into her apartment

She paused at the front door, caught by uncertainty. What if he was awake now? She should go back, try to No. Impossible to face him after this. She closed her eyes, senses stretched. No, nothing. Only silence behind her. She pulled down her coat, winced at the sound of the hangar pulling free, swinging on the rod

Get out, now, before it's too late!

She held her breath until the apartment door closed behind her. She was almost safe now. Only a few more steps, then the wait for the elevator. Once its automatic doors closed, sealing her inside, there would be no chance of Charles' opening her apartment door and trapping her in a nightmare.

Five steps down the corridor, she pushed the button that would summon the elevator to the tenth floor. Then she stood rigid, staring at lighted numbers as the elevator climbed. She had her shoes in one hand, purse in the other, her coat slung over her arm.

She had never never in her life done anything so insane!

She could hear the elevator, a muted whir that she hoped would not penetrate Charles sleep. He must be exhausted, after that flight from overseas, and the wedding, especially after

Every nerve in her body was alert for the sound of her apartment door opening, the sight of a tall, blonde man coming after her. "Please," she whispered. "Let him sleep a little longer." Just a couple of minutes, to let her get out of here!

Abruptly, the elevator doors slid open.

Carrie hurried inside and pushed hard on the button for the underground parking level. Nothing happened. The elevator hung on the tenth floor, motionless, doors open for anyone who might come along. For Charles. She jabbed frantically at the close button. Even then, for a second, nothing happened.

Please! Close quickly before he comes!

The doors slid shut. Carrie sagged back against the mirrored wall of the elevator. What next? The garage. Her car. Where on earth was she going? It did not matter. Anywhere. Just away! And quickly

When the elevator opened on the parking garage, she stepped out onto cold concrete and realized that the only covering on her feet was her pantyhose. Hurriedly, she slipped on shoes and coat, then dug in her purse for car keys

They were not in the little compartment where they should be. What if she had left them back in her apartment? She could not go back! She would go up to the entrance level and have the doorman call her a taxi. She rummaged wildly in another section of her purse, among lipstick and nail polish, while Charles' amused voice echoed in her mind. Just a week ago. Charles, standing beside her in the early morning while she fumbled for the keys to Kantos Holdings

"Carrie, for an impeccably organized person, you've got the damndest habit of putting those keys in a different spot every time."

Forget Charles! After tonight, there was no way he could be part of her life again. She pushed back the pain of loss. No time for that, far too late. She could feel tension crawling across her back, as if he were there behind her, not just the ghost of his voice. Her fingers closed on the metal key ring and she let out a gasp of relief. With trembling hands, she opened the lock of her car door

She slid in and started the engine. Good. Now, drive. Just drive and keep going. She stared at her fingers, clenched hard on the steering wheel

Where?

Where was she going?

Anywhere

No, she couldn't just run, could not disappear without a word. If she did, Charles would worry. If he worried, he would feel responsible. Then, somehow, he would find her, no matter how far she ran. She shuddered at the thought of the conversation they might have when he found her. Because now, he would know everything. After last night, Carrie Brooke was exposed, vulnerable. Running was cowardly, but it made more sense than standing around waiting for the consequences of last night.

Carrie drove out of the underground parking lot, half-expecting daylight outside. She turned onto Burrard Street as she did every morning, but it was not morning. The streets were spooky, dark sky overhead, lighted pavement empty in the brilliance of artificial lighting. At what point in her instinctive flight from the sleeping man in her bed had she decided? When had flight dissolved into the knowledge that there could be no going back? Carrie drove automatically, across the bridge and into the heart of the city. She stopped for the red lights although there was no other car in sight. At one red light, she closed her eyes, waiting for the green. Law abiding, playing by the rules. She had always kept herself safe, until last night. What madness had betrayed her, making her throw everything over in one crazy impulse?

Nausea welled up at the image of Charles coming after her, finding her. Impossible to face him now that he knew how desperately she ached for his touch, his love

The light turned green. Carrie pressed down on the throttle.

When she came to the tall building in the financial district, she pulled into the drive and pushed the driver's door open. She handed her keys to a startled parking valet

He touched his cap as if he thought it was disarranged. "Miss Brooke? Working overtime? So late?"

"Yes," she agreed tonelessly. "A few things I have to clear up."

In the elevator, she glanced at her watch. Four-thirty in the morning. No wonder the valet had been startled to see her! Or had he been surprised at the way she was dressed? She was wearing yesterday's clothes, the rose-coloured silk suit she had worn to the wedding. That elegant suit had been the first thing she reached for when she dressed in the dark, listening to Charles breathing as she stumbled into clothes.

Inappropriate for running, for travelling. She would buy something else, leave the softly elegant suit in a hotel room somewhere. She could never wear it again now. Carrie bit her lip and made herself focus on the lighted indicator over the doors. How far would she have to go to keep Charles from finding her? He would come after her if he could, would try to cancel last night. She stared at the flickering light that marked her progress up the floors, trying to drown the certainty that Charles would wake soon, regretting.

Seventh floor. Tenth. Fourteenth, because there was no thirteen.

The elevator stopped at sixteen. Carrie stepped out quickly, uneasily aware that she spent her life on the up side of elevators. She lived on the tenth floor of one building, worked on the sixteenth of another. The worst part of it was, Charles was the owner of both buildings. He surrounded her life.

Admit it, she thought grimly as she unlocked the door to Kantos Holdings. Charles Kantos was her life. Or he had been, until now

She found an empty box in the stationary room. She carried it to her desk. She switched on her computer and let it whir into action while she concentrated on piling five years of her life into the cardboard box. A picture of her parents, her father grinning wryly because he hated standing still for pictures. The big picture of Jane's children, Allie pushing David too high on the swing while David screamed with laughter. Jane watching, smiling as if amusement warred with a mother's worry that her child might fall. The smaller picture of Allie and David playing with a puppy on the beach in Mexico. Carrie had taken that one herself last winter. She put it face down in the box, then added the executive pen set that had been a gift from her parents when she finished her MBA degree.

Her diploma. She turned and lifted it down from the wall, added it to the box.

The telephone rang. Carrie jerked open the top drawer of her desk. She scooped lipstick and nail file into her purse, then moved to the locked centre drawer and added her passport, which she kept handy at work. Charles was likely to ask her to fly almost anywhere at a moment's notice.

Two drawers empty.

She opened the third. Third ring of the telephone. She swept a spare pair of pantyhose and her business calculator into the box. Two books from the bottom drawer her dictionary and accounting standards manual

Books. She stared at the bookcase beside her desk. The telephone rang for the fourth time and Carrie realized that she was flinching with each ring. It might be someone calling from Germany, where it was daytime. Or it could be Charles

The bookcase. She was not sure exactly which of the books Charles had paid for, which she had brought when she came to him. She bit her lip as the answering machine came on in the outer office. Dianne's pleasant, recorded voice filled the rooms, announcing that the office was closed. Carrie turned her back on the books and grimly cleared the last of the personal items from her desk. She felt her jaw go rigid as Charles low voice filled her world, amplified by the answering machine

"Carrie? Are you there?" His voice sounded calm. Quiet. Completely in control

She had spent five years learning to handle Charles. She knew him intimately in one sense, knew the times when it was possible to oppose him and come out with a compromise. He controlled everything, including Carrie Brooke's life. Despite that, she had never allowed his will to dominate hers, had never let him read her as he seemed able to read everyone else.

If she had to face him now, she would not have a chance. Carrie's hand jerked away from the telephone on her desk. Her fingers clenched painfully because she had never before ignored Charles' wishes.

Charles was no longer any part of her life.

She went into the coffee room and picked up her coffee cup. The mug was a Christmas gift from the office staff, showing a caricature woman with computer terminal and desk piled high with papers. In the background, a tall blond man hovered, glowering

Charles, except that he never glowered. It was not his style