My One And Only (22 page)

She glanced at the clock on the mantel. "Um, Rachel isn't c
oming home until tomorrow after
noon. You could always take your time now." She was staring at the clock when she said that. Her lower lip trembled slightly.

He felt like he'd barely escaped with his life. Never again, he promised himself. He would never let things get so out of control again. She'd scared him last night, and he'd had trouble recovering, but he could master himself. The stakes were simply too high for him not to. Determined to demonstrate just how inspiring extra attention could be, he rolled onto his feet and extended a hand to her. "I need a shower," he said. "And then I have some things to show you."

"Things?"

"Lots of things." He dipped his head and kissed her softly. "You'll like them."

She laughed in that sultry way that made him
feel a little intoxicated. He nipped her lower lip. "Anything you don't like," he continued, sweeping a hand down her back to clasp her closer to him, "let me know. I'll keep trying until I get it right."

thirteen

R
ain pelted the windshield of Abby's late-model sports car as sh
e navigated the Kennedy Express
way, Ethan winced and clamped his hand on the door handle when she darted between two cars. She was humming an off-key tune and tapping her fingers on the steering wheel in rhythm with the windshield wipers. He was trying not to panic, as she obviously suffered under the delusion that she was flying a fighter jet and not a too-small car that looked like it had come from a blister pack at a toy store.

Another driver merged into their lane, and Abby laid on the horn with a dark curse. Ethan closed his eyes.

"What a creep," she muttered, and jerked her car into the adjacent lane. "Where did you get
your license?" she yelled at the offending driver. "A convenience store?"

Ethan's grip on the door handle tightened even more. "Do you always drive like this?"

She glanced at him in surprise. "Like what?"

He resisted the urge to put his hand on the steering wheel and ease the car back into the center of the lane. "Like you have a death wish," he mumbled.

Abby laughed gaily and looked at the road again while he made a mental note not to ask any more questions. "I had no idea you were such a nervous passenger," she said.

He gritted his teeth when she sped up to keep a car in the merge lane from getting in front of her. "I had no idea you aspired to be a stock-car driver."

"Oh, come on," she chided. "You drive in California. It has to be worse than this."

"The operative word is 'drive.' I
drive
in California. I do not use the highway as an excuse to practice counterterrorist driving techniques." A tractor-trailer bore down on them, and Ethan shuddered. "And my car isn't made out of plastic and aluminum."

Abby gave him a reproving look as she dashed across two lanes of traffic toward her exit. "And here I had you pegged for an enlightened male." She shook her head. "Who knew?"

Ethan closed his eyes with a groan and leaned
back against the headrest. He couldn't bear to watch her maneuver through the crowded streets of the Loop, so he tried to tune out the sounds of blaring horns and Abby's muttered curses. She'd already scheduled this meeting with Deirdre and her volunteer committee for today otherwise they could have spent the rest of the afternoon watching the rain fall—an idea that he'd found oddly appealing.

Ethan rarely afforded himself the luxury of sitting still. It wasn't in his nature. He drove himself in his personal life as hard as he did in his business life. This trait was one more thing Pamela hadn't been able to deal with. Today, however, the idea of simply lying around Abby's house had tempted him. A smile tugged at the co
rn
ers of his mouth as he considered all the implications of that scenario. He could have spent the rest of the rainy afternoon exploring her secrets.

What he'd learned so far had him itching for more. He spread his hands over his thighs and thought about the way he could make her shiver when he nestled his lips on—

"Damn moron!" Abby yelled beside him and jerked her car hard to the left.

Ethan's eyes flew open. He felt himself anticipating the inevitable crunch of metal on metal. "What—"

She glared at the car next to her. "He pulled out
of that parking deck without ever looking to see if anything was coming."

Ethan drew a calming breath. "I don't suppose there was any chance you were driving too fast?"

She scowled at him. "People shouldn't drive in the city if they don't know how."

Or they shouldn't drive in the city, period, he thought. He shook his head and deliberately changed the subject. "Tell me about this meeting today."

She rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you agreed to subject yourself to it. You know how Deirdre is."

"Tedious?"

"Demanding. I mean, I actually kind of like the woman most of the time, but she's driving my staff insane."

"I can understand that." He couldn't resist the urge to brush one of Abby's curls over her shoulder. She wore a green cotton sweater that made her eyes look like wet leaves. "Is that why you agreed to see her on a Saturday?"

"No." Abby headed for Grant Park. The MDS office building overlooked the park and the harbor. "I did that for the volunteers. I knew Rachel would be gone today—" She shot him a sheepish look. "I didn't know I'd be preoccupied."

He placed his hand on her thigh. "I could preoccupy some more."

"Promises, promises," she teased and pulled into the parking garage. "And I have to get
through this meeting first. I still can't believe you're willing to be part of it."

He shrugged. How was he supposed to explain that he wasn't yet willing to let her out of his sight—not after the scare she'd given him the night before. "I don't mind."

She found her parking space, turned into it, and killed the engine. "After we get past this, I'm all yours," she told him.

God, he hoped so. He still had the information in his briefcase that he'd planned to give her last night at dinner. He still had the unpleasant task of telling her that the only hope for Harrison's financial future was to split his company into pieces and sell them to the highest bidder. He still had to let her know that he couldn't give her the miracle she'd requested.
He
remembered his conversation with Hansen Wells. And he still had to tell her that the man who'd tried to break into her house had felt the need to do it because Ethan had begun asking questions—and finding answers.

Unable to resist, he closed the small distance between them and kissed her deeply. The depth of her response gave him a glimmer of hope. "I'm counting on that," he murmured.

A
bby led him through the routine security doors, up the elevator, and
into her office. His continued
silence worried her. Before they'd left her house,
he'd made her promise that tonight she'd tell him what had driven her yesterday to the police station, then to the cemetery. There was no way, she knew, that he'd let her off the hook before she told him everything.
The look in his eyes had regis
tered more than a general concern—it held determination.

There was a sort of stoic quality about him, as if he dreaded whatever lay ahead but felt that the burden was his alone to bear. Abby had even sensed a certain edginess to his lovemaking that morning. Something told her that he was waging an internal battle, and that he'd already accepted defeat.

She tried to shake off the glum thought and unlocked the door to h
er office. "Here it is," she an
nounced. "Home sweet home."

He glanced around with an approving eye. "It looks like you."

"Not nearly as big as yours," she said. "And the art on
my
walls is reproduction."

He had wandered across the room to her desk, where he was idly playing with her nameplate. "If you want the Rothko," he said absently, "you can have it."

That made her laugh. She walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "It was just a joke, Ethan. You were supposed to laugh."

"Some people say I have no sense of humor."

Before she could respond to that, Deirdre arrived to break the intimate moment. "Well, I see you two are getting along nicely," she remarked from the doorway.

Abby stepped away from Ethan. "Hello, Deirdre. You're early." The older woman was dressed flamboyantly as usual, in an orange silk pantsuit with hot-pink trim and the shoes and hat to match.

Deirdre laughed. "On time, you mean.
I
thought I'd surprise you." She glanced at her nephew. "Still in town, Ethan?"

"Back in town," he said, and set the nameplate on Abby's desk.

"I'd ask you if it was business or personal, but the answer seems obvious." Her comment might have sounded waspish if Deirdre hadn't had a slightly devilish twinkle in her eye. "Actually, I'm very glad you're here."

Ethan leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. "In the mood to flay someone alive today, Aunt Deirdre?"

She laughed. "No, nothing like that. I was thinking—"

"Deirdre, where did you say—" Harrison came to an abrupt halt in the doorway of Abby's office. The car keys in his left hand rattled to a stop against his thigh.

Abby let out a low whistle. "I see," she said to Deirdre.

"Don't you just?" Deirdre entered the office and sat on the tweed sofa.

Harrison and Ethan continued to watch each other warily—like beasts of prey squaring off over territory, Abby thought irritably. She wouldn't be surprised if they started sniffing each other. She took a step closer to Ethan. "Hello, Harrison."

"Abby." He gave his sister a hurt look. "Did you know about this?"

"No, I didn't." Deirdre crossed her long legs and settled herself more comfortably on the couch. "I really did think we were going to discuss the plans for the fund-raiser today."

"That was my plan," Abby told her. "You were supposed to be
bringing your volunteer commit
tee."

"And I brought Harrison instead." Deirdre folded her hands in her lap. "How fortuitous."

Harrison's expression was pinched. "I suppose," he said to Ethan, "that you're here because you've decided to get involved in my financial affairs."

"No," Ethan replied. Abby stole a quick glance at his profile. The implacable
façade
was firmly back in place. "I'm here to see Abby."

Deirdre chuckled. "This is almost better than Shakespeare."

Abby shot her a warning glance.

The older woman patted the cushion next to her. "I'm sorry, dear," she said. "I'm not trying to
be insensitive. Come here and let's talk business. The two of them have been handling their own feud for years."

Harrison ignored her. "Damn it, Ethan, I warned you—"

"Which never got you very far, did it?"

Abby squelched the urge to bring her heel down on the arch of Ethan's foot. He wasn't going to budge an inch, even if it made Harrison crawl. "It's not what you think," she started to tell Harrison.

Ethan turned his head to capture her gaze. "Yes, it is."

She frowned at him. "Will you stop?" She looked at Harrison again. He seemed to have aged ten years in the past few weeks. "Can we please just sit down and discuss this?"

"There's nothing to discuss," Harrison told her. "I've already decided to sell off the divisions of MDS."

"But—"

Harrison shook his head. "It's too late, Abby. I let the board know yesterday."

Ethan's nod was short. "It's true. The market will open to the news on Monday morning."

Harrison jammed his hands into the pockets of his navy trousers. "I would have told you, but Marcie said you'd left the office early."

Abby nodded, shinned. Harrison continued. "It probably won't affect things for quite a while. It'll take some time to organize the breakup, and
more time to negotiate the sale. As far as the foundation is concerned, I'm not sure yet where we're going with that."

"The foundation is self-sufficient," Deirdre pointed out.

Abby stared at Harrison. "You're selling?"

"Yes."

"Everything?"

Ethan placed his hand at the small of her back. "It's the only way, Abby. I was going to tell you last night, but I wanted to do it in person."

She felt a little dizzy, so she walked across the room and sat in the overstuffed chair across from Deirdre. "But I thought—"

Harrison interrupted her. "I didn't want to do it, Abby. If there'd been a way out, I'd have taken it."

Ethan, she noted, was watching him closely. "The assets were too low."

The two exchanged looks rife with meaning. Harrison finally glanced away. He sat down next to Deirdre on the sofa. "Abby, I know you had the best of intentions—"

She shook her head. "I just wanted to help you. The same way you once helped me."

His expression became unspeakably sad. "Ethan will be happy to tell you that you've always had an unreasonably high opinion of me."

Deirdre gave her brother a benevolent look. "It's not nearly as high as your opinion of yourself, Harrison, darling."

He smiled slightly but continued to study Abby "So there's no need to worry about any of this anymore. It's settled now."

"I still have some questions," Ethan said. He crossed the room to stand behind Abby's chair. "And I'd still like some answers."

Harrison frowned at him. "I can discuss all that with you in private, Ethan."

"I think Abby would like some answers too." He put his hands on her shoulders.

Harrison looked distinctly uncomfortable. "This isn't the time or the place for that."

Ethan rounded her chair to sit on the arm, and draped his arm across the back. "Actually, I think this is an excellent time—especially since Abby would like to know why someone tried to break into her house late Tuesday night."