He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. "Damn it, Colleen. You've worked here for a couple of years now. You understand that the insurance business is all about risk. I can't take a risk on Abby Hamilton."
"She didn't run into the colonel."
"What?" It had all happened so long ago that he really didn't care. Abby wasn't the wild young teen she'd once been. He knew that.
"
I
did, Clayton."
"You don't have to He for her. I really don't..."
"She's the one who lied," Colleen said. "For me. She knew what our family was going through with Daddy dying, and she didn't want me to get in trouble for driving without a license, for stealing her car..."
"Colleen, you wouldn't have done any of that," he said. Because then he'd failed
her,
too, as well as his dad. When his father had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, Clayton had promised to take care of his siblings. Protect them. He hadn't done a very good job. Rory was out of control, and the promises he'd made were probably only manipulation to get him out of trouble. Molly had run out on her wedding, humiliating a good man and disappointing two young boys. And now Colleen was lying.
"I stole Abby's car, Clayton. I was going to run away because..."
Because of their father dying. Because of how unhappy their family had been. Because they hadn't been able to help the man they'd loved the most. He stood up and walked around his desk to pull her into his arms. "I know."
He'd been tempted to nan away, too.
"Then I crashed the car. I don't know how Abby ever managed to drive that piece of junk. The steering and brakes were crap. And
I
hit the colonel."
She trembled in his arms, as if reliving the experience. She'd been so banged up, badly scratched and bruised. He should have known then that she had to have been behind the wheel. But it had been easier to assume the worst of Abby, who'd screwed up before, than of his sister. "Abby wasn't even in the car," he said, realizing now why she hadn't had a scratch on her.
"She found me in the park," Colleen explained. "She pushed me out of the driver's seat and took the blame, and she did it to protect me. She wouldn't let me tell the truth."
"But she got expelled." Not to mention all the abuse she'd taken from him. The names he'd called her ricocheted in his head, taunting him. He'd been the idiot, not her. Then and now.
"That's the kind of person Abby Hamilton is," Colleen said, her voice shaking with emotion as tears streamed down her face. "She's the most loyal and loving friend a person can have. She wouldn't let me tell. Ever."
She sniffled. "She won't be happy that I've told you now, either. But I think you need to understand what kind of person Abby really is."
"I know."
"She's worth taking a risk on, Clayton."
Apparently Colleen had learned the insurance business better than he had. Some risks were worth the possibility of loss. But could he do it? Could he open up the heart he'd closed off so many years ago?
"If you want to keep her here, I think it's going to take more than a lease. You've really given her a hard time," his wise little sister pointed out.
"I don't think Abby wants anything from me
but a
lease." Not after what he'd put her through. He didn't deserve another chance, when he'd refused again and again to give her one.
"It might be too late, Clayton," Colleen warned him. "Abby was almost done packing when I left her."
"Then maybe I should just let her leave." That would be the smart thing to do. The safe thing. But his sister was right. It was time for Clayton to take a risk.
Indignation coursed through Abby, so that her hands shook when she shoved open the door to Clayton's office. But was she mad at
him
or at
herself?
Just because he'd called and told her to come down to the office didn't mean she had to come. Or even that she
should.
She should be on a flight to... Anywhere out of Cloverville, Michigan. Away from Clayton McClintock. And instead, she'd come to see him.
Just one last time. Then she would call the airport as soon as she got back to the house. Or maybe she'd use Clayton's phone at the agency to reserve a flight. He'd probably be only too happy to dial the airline number for her.
"Clayton?" she called out as she entered the deserted reception area of his office. The insurance agency had closed more than an hour earlier, according to the sign on the door—the one he'd left unlocked for her. She reached toward the counter, running her finger around the rim of a crystal candy dish. Clayton had replaced the old desktop computers with flat screens and updated the older, multiline phones to modern headset models. He'd also made use of fresh paint and new carpet, but the presence of this simple candy dish told Abby that he'd kept his father's spirit there as part of the agency. The generous heart of it.
"In here." The deep voice emanated, not from a doorway into what she assumed was his private office, but from out in the hall somewhere.
She turned back toward the foyer, crossing a small vestibule containing an old-fashioned gum-ball machine to reach the other half of the main floor and the empty office space. The door stood open now, although she was sure it had been closed when she'd passed by a moment earlier.
"Hello?" she called out as she walked into the reception area. Not a desk or even a cardboard box sat atop the gray Berber carpeting.
"Back here."
Her frustration growing, she followed the low nimble of his voice through to a private office in the back. "Clayton, you're not my big brother. You can't order me around like you do the rest of your family."
"I'm glad I'm not your brother," he said as he rose from a table set in the middle of the empty office. A crisp linen tablecloth fell, in graceful folds, to the carpet. Between a pair of sparkling crystal wineglasses, two tapered candles flickered, their flames reflected in the silver covers topping two serving platters.
Mesmerized—and mystified—she asked, "What is all of this?"
"An apology." As she looked back, again, to the table, to the candlelight and the silver dishes, he studied her. She was so beautiful: her hair hung in loose curls around her bare shoulders, above the spaghetti straps of the thin cotton sundress she wore. His pulse raced and pounded.
Abby lifted her chin, pride burning in her eyes. "Clayton, it's too late."
His breathing became shallow as the pressure in his chest increased. Abby wouldn't care what he said—she was leaving. "It's a long overdue apology," he admitted. "I should have..."
Her face paled, all color draining from it. "Colleen told you."
"You
should have told me."
Abby shook her head. "It was her secret to tell."
"A secret there was no need for."
"Yeah, right," she scoffed. "You wouldn't have screamed and yelled at her..."
"The way I screamed and yelled at you?" Regret and shame weighed heavily on him. He was used to bearing burdens, but his guilt over this particular issue was extremely hard to bear.
"I know you were under a lot of pressure, Clayton. Your dad was dying, and I didn't want to add to that turmoil."
"So you look the blame for something you didn't do." How had he never realized what a wonderful friend, what a wonderful person, she was? Of course, he'd been a little distracted by his sisters' tattoos, which he'd been convinced had been her idea.
"That time, that one thing I didn't do, but I've done plenty of other things I regretted." Her eyes widened with embarrassment. "Not Lara, though. I never regretted my baby."
He rubbed a hand over his chest, remembering how she'd shoved him the night she thought he'd called Lara a mistake. "I know."
"Do you, Clayton? Do you understand what my daughter means to me?"
His heart fell. He didn't want any more responsibility. He didn't want to raise another man's child. But Lara's face, glowing with affection for him. flashed through his mind. "I know."
"She wants to stay in Cloverville."
"So stay."
"Despite keeping Colleen's secret, I'm a selfish person, Clayton." She blew out a breath, causing the curls around her face to dance. "I know what's here for my daughter. But I also want to know what's here for
me."
As he stepped closer to her, her eyes widened. Instead of reaching for her. he pulled back one of the chairs and held it out for her. "Sit down."
"You think a candlelit dinner will change my mind?" She shook her head. "I'm not a hopeless romantic, Clayton. I'm a practical woman."
"I know. That's why the first course is this." Leaning over her, so close his lips nearly brushed her shoulder, he lifted the cover from a serving platter. A scroll of paper unrolled from the plate.
"What is this?"
"A lease.
I
signed it. It just needs
your
signature." He held out a pen for her.
Her lips curved into a smile. "I don't sign anything without reading it first."
"Of course." He settled into the chair across from her, fascinated as she studied every sentence of the contract. He reached for his glass of wine, sipping from the rim as he watched her. The chardonnay was a poor substitute for her lips. Nothing else was as sweet as Abby's kisses.
She lifted her gaze to his, two lines creasing her brow just above the ridge of her upturned nose. "It's an open-ended lease."
When he'd decided to take a risk on Abby, he knew he'd have to accept her terms. "As long as you want it, the space is yours."
"Is that giving
me
an out, or
you?"
she asked, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Despite the tension in his shoulders, he managed a shrug. "You. I don't want out." But he wasn't sure he could put himself entirely in, either.
The paper crinkled as Abby set it aside with a shaking hand. "What do you want, Clayton?"
"For you to accept my apology." He swallowed hard, his mouth dry despite the sip of wine he'd just had. "I'm really sorry for the way I've treated you, Abby."
"Are you sorry for kissing me?"
"Abby..."
"Because if you are, you're not going to like this." She stood, ran around the table and tugged him to his feet. Then she threw her arms around his neck, rose up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. Her lips, soft and warm. tasted as sweet as the cake he'd brought from Kelly's Bakery for dessert. He'd rather have her.
With a groan Clayton pulled back. "I regret a lot of things," he admitted, "but never kissing you. I would have regretted letting you leave."
"I'm not leaving."
Somehow he didn't think she was talking about only Cloverville. "Abby..."
"Shh, Clayton," she said, pressing her fingers against his lips. "Don't say anything that's going to ruin this."
He touched her bare shoulder, fiddling with the thin strap of her shimmery blue dress. "I certainly don't want to ruin this." But he couldn't promise that he wouldn't; he'd never gone this far before with his emotions. He'd never gotten so close to falling in love.
'Then shut up and kiss me!"
His chest shaking with amusement, he pulled her close. In the eight years she'd been gone. Clayton hadn't laughed all that much. And then she'd returned.
Abby stared into Clayton's face. His square jaw relaxed into a wide grin and his eyes shone with a happiness she had never seen before. She couldn't leave Cloverville.
She couldn't leave Clayton.
He held her tight, resting his forehead against hers. "I don't know why I thought you'd ever be anything but the boss, Abby Hamilton."
"Better the boss than the instigator."
'Troublemaker," he corrected her, as his fingers stroked her shoulders.
She didn't feel like the boss now—she felt totally, happily helpless, as his lips brushed her forehead and then her cheek, before following the angle of her jaw to the sensitive spot below her earlobe. She shivered. "Clayton..."
He was the troublemaker, wreaking havoc with her senses as her pulse raced and her heart beat heavy against her ribs.
"Shh," he murmured. "Shut up and let me kiss you."
His mouth covered hers. Teasing her, he stroked the seam of her lips with his tongue.
Abby moaned, inviting him inside her mouth. And her heart. "Clayton..."
He pulled back and his hands cupped her face, holding her gently, as if she were something delicate and very valuable. "We haven't touched our dinner."
"Forget about food."
"But I'm hungry," he argued, lowering his head. His hair brushed her shoulder as he nipped her earlobe. "I'm hungry for you, Abby. I haven't slept a night since you set foot back in Cloverville."
"Clayton..."
His lips moved down her throat, and she tipped her head back. Her pulse leapt as his tongue lapped at the pulse point on her neck. He nibbled the ridge of her collarbone while his large, masculine hands carefully slipped the thin straps of her dress down her arms. The cotton skimmed her body and slid off to pool at her feet.
He expelled a ragged breath, then groaned. "You're so damn beautiful."
Self-consciousness tempted her to raise her arms, to cover the curves of her breasts spilling over her strapless demi-bra. But instead she reached for him, untucking his shirt, and then pulling it over his head. She gave in to temptation and ran her hand over the wide expanse of his chest. Muscles rippled beneath her touch.
The clasp of her bra popped, undone by his clever hands, and then the wisp of lingerie dropped to the floor beside her dress. She gasped, her nipples hardening from the intensity of his hot gaze. Then he touched her, using his hands to lift and cup her breasts. He dipped his head to kiss each peak.
When he tugged at a nipple, Abby's knees weakened and threatened to collapse. She lifted her leg and wrapped it around his hip. His erection, a hard ridge beneath his fly. nabbed against her heat. She moaned as pleasure streaked through her. "Clayton..."
She wanted, she
needed
him to touch her as he had in the hall; to bring her the sweet release she hadn't felt in so long. "Please..."
She wasn't too proud to beg for more, knowing instinctively that he could give her limitless pleasure. He was so used to taking care of others, after all.