The Fiancée Fiasco (16 page)

"Oh Lord." Win's voice was uneven as he clasped her yet closer. Roseanne could feel the heat of him, the straining male energy beneath his clothes. Her hunger jumped.

Win mumbled something into her hair.

"What?" Roseanne pulled back to look at him, wondering if he was thinking what she was.

Win looked down at her with one of his shy smiles. Imagine that, after kissing her like a regular Lothario, he was
still
shy. "I said I'm afraid I'm ruining your perfect dinner."

Roseanne wrinkled her nose. "Yes, I suppose the rice may have gone sticky again."

"Again?"

"Never mind," she hastily replied. Far better he never discover all the trouble she'd gone to over this dinner. "I'm not that hungry any more, anyway."

His eyes rested intently on her face.

She knew what he was thinking then, and it was exactly what she was thinking. About the other kind of hunger, the man-and-woman kind.

Roseanne sucked in her lips. It had been a long time since she'd allowed herself to feel this way, not that she felt in control enough at the moment to consider she was 'allowing' any of her present sensations. Feeling her hunger, and a significant recklessness, Roseanne swallowed and said, "Win—"

"No, Roseanne." His tone was firm, and belied the expression on his face. "I'm not taking you to bed."

It was like a splash of cold water. She tossed her head. "How do you know that I—?"

"I've got three days," he interrupted matter-of-factly, brushing aside her attempt at denial. "Then you're going home. It'd be madness."

He was right, of course. Briefly, Roseanne closed her eyes. Thank God at least one of them was thinking. For goodness' sake, she
was
going home in three days, going home to get that partnership waiting for her. Had she forgotten? She opened her eyes again. "Then...?"

Then—what? They couldn't stop
now
. Now that they'd kissed. Surely he wasn't suggesting they go back to not touching. Oh, God. Did they have to?

"Then..." His smile widened. "We could always really—" It was amazing how abruptly he stopped himself. His smile froze. "Oh, now, what am I saying?" Shaking his head, he smiled again and looped his arms around her waist. "What I'm saying is that...this is up to you, sweetheart. All up to you. Where do you want this to go?"

It was up to her. He was giving her control. But for the first time in her life, Roseanne had no idea what she wanted. Her body was humming, wanting him to pull her against him again, while her brain was finally chiming in again. Just how close did she intend to get to this man? This divorced man? How much could she allow herself to trust him? Was she prepared to cross lines she'd never before crossed?

No, surely not...but there had to be a way—

"Like a vacation," Roseanne heard herself suggest. Oh, she was brilliant! It would be a bit more intense than her usual vacation fling, true, but still—short-term. They wouldn't go all the way, either physically or emotionally. In the end, the whole thing would be casual. No big changes required.

No
risk
.

Win looked thoughtful. "Just friends?"

Roseanne coughed. "Perhaps...a little bit more than friends. Only not—you know."

"O-kay." His brows drew down. "Not—you know." For a moment he pursed his lips and gazed at her, his expression inscrutable.

Roseanne held her breath, inwardly grimacing. He was a grown man, one who'd been in a state of denial for quite some time. Was it possible he'd agree to such terms? She could practically see the gears in his mind spinning, calculating it out, the pros and the cons. To be truthful, she had no idea what end result he came up with that led him to nod his head slowly.

"Okay," he said again. "That could work." His voice went a little gruff. "So we'll simply...enjoy the next few days with each other. With no promises, no commitments, and no regrets."

No promises, no commitments, no regrets. Yes, that sounded...perfect. And yet Roseanne met Win's eyes with a sense that for all that thinking of his, something was not quite right. Before she could start to figure it out, however, he was kissing her again and all useful thought went out the window.

After a long while, a while spent in drawn-out, lingering kisses, they finally sat down to dinner. True to Win's prediction, all of Roseanne's hard-won culinary achievements had been ruined: the green beans were like cold string and the chicken, of course, was nothing but dry scales. Win went ahead and served himself some of everything.

Just like one of her casual vacation flings, Roseanne reminded herself, watching as he cheerfully bit into another helping of limp green beans. When she went back to Seattle on Saturday morning, Win would pass quietly from her life—almost as if they had never met.

Wouldn't that be...great?

Win dumped a generous helping of the clumped-up rice onto his plate and looked over at Roseanne with a big, Texan smile.

A little shakily, Roseanne smiled back. Yes, yes, yes. Everything was just perfect.

There was no threat here. No threat at all.

CHAPTER TEN

"Hey, boss, workin' late again?" Donald, one of the technical engineers, stopped in the hall to grin at Win and Roseanne as they hovered over the printer in the copy room.

"Just finishing somethin' for Roseanne, here." Win scooped up the legal brief that had plugged the machine when Roseanne had tried to print it, but which had spit out perfectly once Win had stepped into the room. "Here y'are, honey. I think that's got all the pages. You might want to check."

Roseanne accepted the sheaf of paper, certain she didn't need to check. The machine wouldn't dare mess up for Win.

"It's good you found another workaholic, Win," Donald ribbed. "Now you got someone to work late with."

Win looked up with a laugh, but Roseanne felt a twinge inside, a twinge she'd been getting all day. It was the strangest thing. Before she and Win had become a bona fide item, she hadn't felt the slightest compunction about pretending to be his fiancée. Now she got this twinge every time someone assumed they were actually getting married.

"See ya tomorrow," Donald called and, with a wave, continued down the hall.

"I'm not a workaholic," Roseanne grumbled, though such a characterization wasn't what had disturbed her.

"Of course you aren't, sweetheart." Win visibly stuck his tongue in his cheek. "Uh...how much longer did you want to stay here tonight again?"

She shot him a dark look. "Never mind. I can do what I need tomorrow morning—at the crack of dawn when you insist on driving into town."

"Ah, but the early bird gets the worm," Win advised, putting an arm around her waist. With that arm, he steered her out of the copy room and into the hall.

"I'd rather be a late bird—with a cup of strong coffee."

Win laughed.

"I'm not kidding," Roseanne retorted and goosed his waist. "Worm-eater."

He laughed harder, clutched her close and gave her a sound buss on the cheek.

A few stragglers on their way out of the building walked past them. Each face broke into a smile when they saw their boss goofing off so light-heartedly with a woman.

The twinge hit Roseanne again, the weird, brand-new twinge of conscience. She felt the oddest urge to stop each person who smiled, to explain that just because she and Win were enjoying a—a—light flirtation here didn't mean they were about to get married.

This was all just casual.

And a good thing, too, because she and Win argued over just about everything. This morning they'd argued over what time Roseanne had to get out of bed if she wanted to drive into the office with Win. On the drive downtown they'd argued over which radio station they should listen to. Roseanne called Win's country-western station cornfed bawling, and Win wondered acidly how an educated woman could prefer to listen to the radio news rather than read about it in the paper.

Then at the office they had argued about how much help Roseanne would accept from Win in setting her up on a modem and downloading her files from Seattle. That argument had soon gone moot as it became clear Roseanne was absolutely helpless with the computer connection. Win had fixed the problem in about five minutes. Earlier today, they'd argued about where to have lunch, and then about how much Roseanne was allowed to eat if Win were going to cook dinner.

Okay, so they were laughing during most of those arguments. Roseanne hadn't felt as purely joyful in years.

But that didn't mean the whole thing wasn't casual.

Now in Win's fishbowl glass office, he began the process of shutting down his bank of computers. Roseanne stuck the legal document Win had printed out for her in her briefcase. She'd make revisions on it after dinner...that is, if she and Win didn't get too distracted by, eh, other things. Not that they'd end up in bed together. They hadn't last night. They wouldn't take that plunge tonight, either, since they both knew Win was correct and it
would
be madness to get in that deep.

Now Win leaned over her shoulder. "Hey, beautiful." He placed a kiss under her ear. It was a light but lingering kind of kiss, a promise of things to come. Roseanne knew from the night before that Win could manage a lot with mere kisses. His hand settled warmly on her waist. "Let's go home."

Roseanne zipped her briefcase closed. "I'm not beautiful."

"No? Let me take a look at you." Win turned Roseanne gently toward him.

She had to let go of her briefcase, and then lift her chin as Win put a finger underneath it to lift her face for a look.

Their eyes met.

An odd sensation went through Roseanne, even though it was impossible to tell what Win was thinking as he solemnly studied her face. Surely he didn't think she was beautiful, though. Not after having been married to Sylvia.

"Well?" she finally asked.

"Well," Win replied, which would have been no reply except that he then lowered his mouth. Their lips touched.

That thing happened to Roseanne again, the same thing that happened every time the darn man kissed her. Explosions, tidal waves, earthquakes. Roseanne's arms lifted to hold him.

How long the kiss lasted, Roseanne had no idea. But she did know that when they finally pulled away from each other, she caught a movement past Win's shoulder.

Out in the hall, Boyd Henderson stood watching them. He wore a smile from ear to ear. Then, with a wave, he continued down the hall, striding jauntily.

We're not engaged. This isn't real
. Roseanne wanted to shout the words after the man.

"Is something wrong?" Win asked.

Roseanne realized she'd stiffened in his arms. Deliberately, she relaxed her muscles. "Boyd was out there."

Win twisted to look over his shoulder, then turned back to Roseanne with a lascivious grin. "He's gone now." He lowered his head again.

"Win!" Roseanne turned her face so his lips met her cheek. "Shouldn't we have a little more privacy before we start, uh, this sort of thing?"

Win chuckled against her cheek, then straightened. "I thought we were supposed to put on a show."

"Yes, right." Inwardly, Roseanne winced. He
was
right. And yet she was really starting to hate the subterfuge. Quickly, she came up with a different excuse to postpone the fireworks. "And here I thought you were such a private person."

Looking down at her, he affected surprise. "Who, me?"

Roseanne lifted her eyebrows. "Oh, yeah, you. In fact, your sister Meredith put it well. She said you can know Win all your life and never really know him."

Win's amused smile faded. "My family is probably the least likely of anyone to understand me."

Roseanne tilted her head. As far she'd seen, Win didn't communicate much with his family, which made him as much to blame as they. "Your dad seems the most out to sea of all," she mused. "Meredith says he considers you something of a changeling."

Letting go of Roseanne, Win emitted a snort. "I should hope so."

His sudden vehemence was striking. "I'll admit he's not the most tactful apple in the bunch," Roseanne observed slowly. "But at least you know where you stand with the guy. Your mother, on the other hand..."

Win took a step back. "What about my mother?"

She's a cold fish
. But instead of saying as much, Roseanne chose her words carefully. "She's...kind of distant."

Win turned aside. Around them, the office building appeared to have emptied. No more stragglers wandered past the glass walls in the hall. "Whatever my mother is," Win told Roseanne, "my father made her that way."

Roseanne frowned. He was exhibiting all the signs she'd come to know well: the muscle twitching in his jaw, the tension at the corners of his eyes. She'd clearly stumbled into a minefield here. The smart thing would be a strategic retreat. Both smart, and eminently appropriate for a casual, no-strings relationship.

Instead, Roseanne heard herself ask, "What did your father do to your mother?"

Over by his desk now, Win shifted a pen from one side of his blotter to the other. "Nothing. Shouldn't have mentioned it."

He was right. This was taboo territory. Lifting a shoulder, Roseanne told herself not to feel snubbed. "I apologize. Of course it's none of my business."

"Okay." Not looking at Roseanne, Win clenched his hand into a fist. "He was unfaithful to her, all right. A lot of times."

Roseanne blinked. "Oh."

"It's not like it's so unusual." Win's tone sounded deliberately neutral, but Roseanne could see both his hands now bunched into fists. "Not for a man of his generation and social class."

Maybe not unusual, Roseanne reflected, looking at Win's hands. But no less devastating. "How long have you known about it?"

"Since I was sixteen." The information came out grittily, as though Win were both relieved and appalled to be telling her. "But, believe me, it had been going on for years before then."

"Did your mother know?"

Win shrugged. "She must have. But for her own reasons, she turned a blind eye."

Roseanne nodded, reluctantly understanding Elizabeth Carruthers' position. With three children to raise, she probably hadn't wanted to rock the boat. "Do your sisters know?"