Mending Fences (15 page)

“The market’s in a slump right now.”

“Uh-huh. And you don’t check the stock quotes five times a day and watch competing companies like a hawk either, do you?”

“Force of habit.”

Jamie snorted. “Admit it, Curran. You miss the big bad business world. You’re a shark trying to act like a goldfish.”

The conversation had seriously gone off the proper track. He started out warning his flighty friend off his sister and somehow now had to justify his own path in life. He tossed a curse at Jamie, and strode into the lodge, ending the discussion before it grew any more complex.

* * * *

Later that evening, after dinner with everyone, Curran stood with Victoria on her porch, waiting to see her safely inside. Safer in the house than in the truck, where he’d been unable to keep his hands off her.

She unlocked the door and turned to him. Her eyes glittered with passion and her kiss-swollen lips curved up in a smile. “Do you want to come in?”

Curran groaned and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her body into his. “Only if you’ll change your mind about letting me make love to you.”

She drew a deep breath. “Don’t tempt me. I want to, but I’ll hate myself in the morning.”

The resignation in her voice dampened his raging desire. He covered her lips with his own in a gentle kiss, then released her. “In that case, I’d better be a gentleman and refuse your offer. If I walk in that house, I may not leave.”

She trailed her fingertips along his jaw, over his lips. “And I may not let you. Goodnight, Curran.”

He waited until she’d closed and locked the door behind her before leaving the porch. He opened his parka, grateful for the cold and the way it helped knock his libido down a few notches.

Victoria continually hovered at the edge of his thoughts now. In a way, he regretted promising not to seduce her. It might prove the most difficult promise he’d ever had to keep. Her scent drew him to her. Her pale, tender skin tantalized him, and every time she looked at him, he felt the light in her eyes deep in his gut.

If it was purely a physical reaction, it would be easier to manage. But it was more than that. She warmed his soul in a way he craved. His life seemed a little darker when she wasn’t nearby, and the more time he spent with her, the less he liked leaving and missing her.

When he neared Kelli’s house, the lights were on, but Jamie’s rental car was already gone. He needed something to take his mind off Victoria. Finding out if anything had happened between his sister and his friend should do the trick.

Kelli let him in, then settled back into her workspace on the living room floor. He wove his way around the scrapbooking boxes to the lone empty spot on the sofa. He pushed at a heavy box with his feet, trying to move it out of his way so he could stretch out his legs. Frustrated, he gave the box a swift kick.

“Hey, be careful with that, Curran! I work hard on these scrapbooks.”

“Sorry. Where’s Jamie?”

She crossed her legs, then picked up a photo and decorative scissors from the pile on the coffee table. “He went back to the hotel. He was tired. You really put him through his paces.”

“Does it bother you that Jamie is staying at the Silver Lode?”

Kelli shrugged and leaned across the table for a glue stick. “Why should it?”

“Because Dakota Grant’s restaurant is there, and he dated her for over a year.” He winced as he finished speaking. His words sounded petty. He chalked it up to crankiness brought on by lack of sex.

Kelli cocked her head at him. “If he wanted her, he would have stayed with her. He was rather quiet before he left, though. I certainly hope you didn’t say anything to mess up what we have going.”

He’d meant well, but he didn’t think Kelli would appreciate his discussion with Jamie. “Of course not. I have nothing but good wishes for you two.”

He reached into the box he’d kicked and pulled out a blue leather book. One of his, he noticed as he opened the cover. “Why do you do this, Kel?” He never understood why she felt the need to chronicle his life, his rise to the top of the business food chain. He turned page after page of years-old articles. He remembered all these events. What did he need a scrapbook for?

“Even your memory isn’t perfect, dear. Someday, you may want to look back on your accomplishments. Or your kids will, if you ever settle down.”

“It still seems ridiculous to me, but whatever makes you happy.” He flipped another page and froze, his brain clarifying what he’d just seen. Slowly, he turned the page back. A profile of himself from a business magazine, done around the time the company moved into the filmmaking arena.

The world tilted slightly as a sick burning grew in his gut. He read the author’s byline again. The words stared back at him.

Victoria Linden.

Chapter Eight

Curran’s hands trembled as his fingers grasped the scrapbook. Victoria Linden. Her name stood out in small, bold type under the yellow block headline, “Shaw Sets Out To Conquer Hollywood.”

The scrapbook seemed to fade as his focus turned inward and he concentrated. He sifted through memories, back to that weekend when Victoria must have interviewed him. It seemed so far away, such an utter blur.

He’d announced his acquisition of Pieron Pictures. He’d held a press conference on Friday morning at company headquarters, then holed up in the Four Seasons hotel for the weekend, along with executives from Pieron, and a few actor and director friends involved with the film company. It was a Hollywood-style press junket and he gave interviews until he lost his voice, then partied with his mates every night. It was enormously fun, if dreadfully long, and he must have met a hundred journalists there.

“You’re lost in thought.” Kelli crouched beside him, tugging him back to the present.

He sat back in the chair and refocused, weaving through the images in his mind. She had to be there somewhere.

“Earth to Curran.”

He absently tapped the scrapbook page. “Give me a minute. I’m trying to remember.”

Kelli lifted the scrapbook from his knees and examined the article. A sharp gasp of breath told him she’d read the author’s name. “Maybe it isn’t her. It’s been a few years since this article, but I’d think you’d remember meeting Victoria before.”

“There’s always been something familiar about her eyes, I just couldn’t place her.” Suddenly, he sorted her image loose from the jumble of others in his memory. “I remember. If I’d only sat and really thought about those eyes of hers, I might’ve figured this out sooner.”

He glanced at Kelli, who wore her concern like a mask. “Her hair was different. Long, blonde. She wore glasses then, I think.”

His heart shuddered. It had been wonderful while it lasted, to have her in his life. To have who he thought she was, at any rate. “Kel, do you have any idea how much a current article about me would be worth to her?”

She grasped his arm. “No, no way. You can’t possibly think—”

“Why not? It makes sense. She spends a while getting to know me, then writes a lovely in-depth report for her pick of major magazines. She gets a huge scoop, a big fat check, and probably pushes her career up several notches in the process.”

His fingers tightened on the chair arms. His chest ached with the tension twisting through him. His lungs wouldn’t work properly. It wasn’t the first time he’d been betrayed, but strangely, this was the only time he could recall it causing him pain. “When did I become such a poor judge of people?”

“Curran, you’re hurt, I can hear it in your voice.”

He pushed up out of the chair. “I’m not hurt. I’m furious, dammit! None of this was real.”

“I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She cares for you, enormously.”

“And you’re such a skilled judge of character.”

Kelli’s eyes clouded. “That was harsh, Curran.”

Curran forced himself to control the whirlwind building inside him. She was right; he didn’t have any cause to take out his misery on her. “I’m sorry.”

Something inside him trembled and cracked, threatening to break. He’d be damned if he’d let it happen in front of his sister. He sidestepped between her and a stack of boxes. When he reached the door, she called out to him.

“Curran. Please. Talk to her, calmly, before you do something you’re going to regret.”

He looked over his shoulder at his sister. She looked small, fragile, standing with her arms wrapped around herself as if for support. For a blinding moment, he saw Victoria standing that way, pale and trembling, the night of her flashback. The sudden ache nearly split his heart. He shook off the image. It was all some sort of grand act. “Oh, I’ll talk to her all right. After everything I gave up for a modicum of privacy, she owes me some answers.”

“Maybe she truly doesn’t care that you used to be a bit of a celebrity. Give her the benefit of the doubt, at least. Think about the Victoria you know.”

“I have. She doesn’t exist.” He left, bracing himself against the bitter wind as he crossed the snow-crusted ground between the houses. The women he dated all wanted something more than companionship, in the long run. Usually, they wanted to share his spotlight for a career lift, to siphon off what they could use from the image he’d crafted over the years.

As a journalist, Victoria would strip him of his carefully built privacy for her own gain. Stupid. He knew she was a writer, but he let himself believe that what she wrote had nothing to do with him.

He kept his anger and his pain leashed until he entered his home. He stalked down the hall to the fitness room and sent the door crashing shut behind him. Here, completely alone, he could let loose.

He stripped off his shirt and boots, pulled on a pair of running shoes and stepped onto the treadmill. He sped it up to a full run, uphill. His quads screamed in protest, still tired from hours on the slopes.

It didn’t matter. He touched the remote control attached to the treadmill console. The blare of music answered him. He cranked up the volume, letting the thunder of drums, heavy bass and a wailing guitar wash over him as he spit out every curse in his repertoire.

How in the hell had this happened? People with ulterior motives never slipped in below his radar. If they did, he’d have been screwed a hundred times over in the expansion of his company. He read people too well to be surprised. Even when Amanda cheated on him, he’d expected it. The only curve she threw him was making a public spectacle of it and embarrassing both of them.

Victoria kept secrets well. Not well enough to conceal the fact she had them, but her skill kept him from figuring everything out on his own. Even after she told him about those threats in the mail, he’d known that wasn’t all she hid. She was the first person he didn’t have pinned down before the secret surfaced.

Which probably meant he’d really lost his touch, and needed to get his ass back to work so he could sharpen up again.

Or, it meant she was somehow innocent. Maybe she really was the woman he perceived—sweet, fun, with a fascinating steel-edged fragility that made him desire her and need to protect her all at once.

No. She could have told him that first day, untangling Peg. She could have told him when they talked about her writing over hot chocolate. She could have told him every time he asked about what she’d worked on that day.

She could have. She should have. She chose not to.

Therefore, the only possible conclusion was his first. She meant to write some sort of an exposé that would destroy everything he’d gained by disappearing from public view and moving here.

Yeah, he’d talk to her. Right now, he needed to shut down his mind, and run himself to exhaustion.

* * * *

Victoria hadn’t heard from Curran in two days. She thought about calling him, but her own insecurities made her put down the phone every time she picked it up. She expected it to end, didn’t she? True to Mara’s prediction, she spent much of her quiet time, when she should be writing, stewing over everything he’d said on Sunday, on the way he’d kissed her before he left, trying to recall the exact expression in his eyes.

Finally, on Wednesday afternoon, the doorbell rang. A glance out her bedroom window confirmed Curran’s truck sat in the driveway. A thrill shot through her, and she ran for the door.

Victoria glanced in the hall mirror. At least she’d worn mascara today. Her stomach lurched with delicious tension at the thought of seeing him again and she drew a deep breath before she opened the door.

He stood on the porch, sheepskin coat closed against the breeze, gloved hands clasped before him, dark hair tumbling over his forehead and collar. His expression was so composed, so hard, she couldn’t read anything in him. The tension in her belly took a sickening dive. Something was wrong.

“Hi. Come in.”

“I’d rather not. Get your coat and talk to me out here.” A distant coldness hung in his voice, making her shiver.

She slipped her coat from the closet and pulled it on, then stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind her. “Okay. We’re outside. I missed you the last couple of days.”