Page 15 of You'll Find Out
“I want you to come and live with me.”
Mara felt a frown distort her features, and the tears that were promising to fall began to slide unchecked down her cheeks. “Live with you?” she repeated hoarsely, and turned her face away from him. “I . . . I don’t know if I can live with you—or any man for that matter, without being married.”
“Don’t you think that we should get to know each other a little better before we talk about marriage?” he asked realistically, and gave her an affectionate shake.
“I don’t know what to think,” she admitted.
“Then just trust me, Mara. Trust me . . .”
And she did.
Chapter 4
That period in her life, when she lived so naively and happily with Shane, was long over, she reminded herself as the sleek silver car raced through the busy streets of Asheville. The sports car ground to a halt before an expensive restaurant and inn. The large, three-storied structure stood out in gleaming relief against the darkness of the night. Established just after the Civil War, the inn was painted white, with traditional green shutters on each of the bay windows. Shimmering lanterns, reflecting against the paned windows, poured out a Southern welcome to Mara, beckoning her to enter the well-known establishment.
Mara was propelled unwillingly back to the present and the betraying fact that Shane had a purpose in seeing her. She moistened her lips and couldn’t help but wonder if he, too, had been absorbed in memories of the past that they had shared together. The thought was intriguing, but traitorous. If he had wanted to see her, if he had needed her as desperately as she had needed him, he would never have left her to think that he was dead for all of these years.
The shimmering lanterns and the warmth of the night reminded her of the romance and passion that she had shared with Shane. How many times in the past four years had she fantasized about just such an evening with the only man she had ever truly loved? And how many times had she ruthlessly destroyed those conjured imaginings because of what she had thought was the truth—that Shane was dead, gone forever?
Once again the creeping sense of betrayal cooled her blood. Shane must have felt the change in her mood, because as he helped her from the car, he trapped her with a dark, questioning look.
She walked gracefully toward the colonial restaurant, Shane’s commanding fingers guiding her with a light but persuasive pressure on her elbow. She tried to ignore the enticement of his touch and concentrate on the elaborate restaurant. The cheerful decor of gleaming wainscoting and blue, floral-print wallpaper helped to lighten her mood. And the staff of the inn, dressed in colonial attire, made her forget momentarily her dilemma with the man she still so feverishly loved.
Shane declined the waiter’s invitation that he and Mara join some of the other guests along a long, linen-clad table for family-style dining, where the “down-home” feeling grows as you sit down at the large table with the other patrons and pass the chef’s specialties around the table. He preferred more intimate dining arrangements, and the amiable waiter led them to a corner of the inn near a large window, where they could enjoy privacy and a view of a private duck pond. Amber-colored lamps reflected on the water, and a few water birds skimmed quietly on the surface of the pond near the shoreline.
The waiter began to hold Mara’s chair for her, but Shane smiled at the man and assisted Mara into her seat himself. Once she was comfortable, he took his place directly across from her and stared deeply into her eyes, as if trying to delve into the farthest reaches of her mind. Without asking her indulgence, he ordered for the both of them, and for the moment Mara forgot the nagging feeling of deception that had converged upon her. A smile teased her lips, lessening the crackle of the tension in the air, as she noticed that still, after all of the years apart from him, Shane remembered all of her favorite dishes, even down to pecan pie.
After a vintage bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon had been poured and Shane had tasted the wine, he broke through the pretense of small talk that had enveloped them since entering the restaurant. His dark brows drew together and he rubbed the back of his neck with his fingers. Mara sipped her wine patiently, waiting to hear explanations, reasons, alibis, excuses, ANYTHING that would help her understand why he had lied to her four years ago and what he wanted from her now.
“I told you that I was interested in purchasing Imagination Toys,” he stated, and watched for her reaction.
Mara nodded slightly and ran a polished fingernail over the rim of her wine glass. “And I told you that Imagination wasn’t for sale.” A muscle worked in his jaw and a scowl creased his forehead. His entire body became rigid.
“That you did. But I was hoping that you might have altered your position.”
In answer she puckered her lips thoughtfully, but shook her head. To Shane, her pensive motion and concentrated brow were the most alluring provocations that he could imagine. Her tawny hair moved wistfully against her cheek as she thought.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t sell. It’s not that your offer isn’t tempting . . .” Her deep blue eyes met his in total honesty. “It’s just that I feel . . . responsible . . . not only for the company, but also to Peter’s family.”
Something akin to anger swept his face, and his eyes, once darkly enticing, became stony. “Responsible to the Wilcox family?” he echoed, incredulous. “Your loyalty surprises me!”
“Myloyalty surprisesyou?”she repeated in disbelief.
“That’s right,” he snapped. “I really don’t think that devotion is your long suit!”
“Why not? I’ve always been faithful to . . .” she tried to explain, but the last word, which should have been Shane’s name, stuck in her throat. It was the truth. In her mind she had never loved another man, and she had remained faithful to Shane until she had thought him dead and Peter had convinced her to marry him. But even during the marriage, she had never loved her husband—not with the same burning intensity that she had tasted with the man who was seated angrily opposite her in the quaint Southern restaurant. She tried tactfully to change the subject. After clearing her throat, she spoke in a voice that was devoid of the feelings that were raging within her.
“You said earlier that you had an alternative proposition? I’d like to hear it. I’d also like to know why you’re so interested in Imagination. There must be a dozen toy companies that would do just as well.”
“You’re probably right. But I chose Imagination because of you. No other reason.”
“Not exactly sound business practice,” she deduced, but she couldn’t help but lift her eyebrows to indicate that she hadn’t missed his comment or any of its poignant implications. Her heart turned over, and for a moment she thought that he might elaborate, but the waiter came to remove the dishes and serve the dessert. Shane’s intimate mood seemed to have vanished.
When he spoke again, it was in a tightly controlled, businesslike voice. “Do you know anything about Delta Electronics?” he asked.
“Your company?” She shrugged her slim shoulders and touched her napkin to her lips. “Not much, other than the fact that you manufacture computers—”
“Micro-computers,” he corrected. Her brows pulled together, and he sighed. “I guess I’d better start at the beginning.”
