“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s not anyone’s fault. It just happened.”
“Your father wasn’t there at all?”
“No. He ran off when I was little. I never knew if it was because my mom got pregnant or her drinking or what. She never volunteered the information, and I was too scared of the answer to ask.” The last sentence came out in a whisper.
Cathy clamped her lips together. She’d said too much. Stone would be shocked or disgusted. She drew her good knee to her chest and wrapped her arms around her leg.
“My growing up was different,” Stone said, his voice conversational. “I grew up in a beautiful home. There was quite a bit of money, but very little attention. It’s not that they were neglectful of me. I think it was more that I didn’t cross their minds very often. As long as I obeyed the rules, and the housekeeper, they pretty much left me alone.”
He stretched out his arm along the back of the sofa. His fingers were only inches from her shoulder. He didn’t seem to be doing more than sharing about his life—as if that’s what they were doing—exchanging stories. Was it really that simple? Had he just listened and accepted what she’d told him?
“I was popular in high school,” he said, then shrugged. A low laugh filled the room. “Fortunately I didn’t peak then. At least I hope I didn’t. I’ve always felt sorry for people who had their best year when they were seventeen.”
“I’ll bet you had tons of girlfriends,” she teased.
“Not tons, but enough.”
They couldn’t have been more different. She’d never had a boyfriend in her life. Her entire romantic experience consisted of getting drunk at a party in her senior year and playing a kissing game. Apparently the experience had been forgettable because all she remembered was spending the next day throwing up and wishing she could die.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she asked.
“No, there was just Evelyn. She was my best friend from grade school. Eventually we married.”
Cathy’s stomach tightened at the sound of the other woman’s name. She told herself he trusted her enough to share the details of his life with her. That was a good thing, right? But it didn’t feel very good. If only she could see Stone’s face and know what he was thinking. “That must have been nice,” she said.
“It was. She died three years ago. I still miss her.” His tone gave nothing away. Before Cathy could think of how to ask for more information, he changed the subject.
“But enough about that,” he said. “The past is over. Let’s talk about the future. Specifically, tomorrow.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been cooped up in this house for two weeks now. You must want to get out, at least for a few hours.”
Cathy blinked. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” That much was true. The house was so huge, it was impossible to feel trapped, much less cooped up. Then something unpleasant occurred to her. “Do you want me to go?” She cleared her throat. “After all, ithasbeen two weeks. I’m sorry. I should have thought of that. You’ve been more than kind and I—”
He leaned forward and pressed his index finger to her mouth. The action silenced her as effectively as a gag.
“Enough,” he told her. “I’m not trying to get rid of you. I’ve told you before. I like having you around. But as Ula pointed out to me this morning, you’ve been in the house for two weeks. If there’s somewhere you’d like to go, or some people you’d like to visit with, I’ll be happy to put the car and a driver at your disposal.”
The pressure of his fìnger was soft and warm. She could practically taste his skin. Her heart rate increased, as did her breathing. He’d meant the touch as a simple way to get her attention, but to her it was intimate and very special. When he finally dropped his hand to his lap, she had to bite back a whimper of protest. At least it was dark, she told herself as she licked her lips, hoping for some lingering proof he’d really touched her like that.
“You’re not putting me out,” he said. “I want to do this.”
“I appreciate that,” she told him, forcing her mind away from the pleasure of what had just happened and focusing on what he was talking about. The truth was she didn’t have anywhere she wanted to go. “I don’t think—”
He raised his hand. “I insist,” he said, cutting her off again.
He insisted. Great. Now what? “I’m sure I could drive myself,” she started, only to be silenced by a tilt of his head. She knew what he was going to say. She wasn’t up to driving. When she’d seen her doctor last week, he’d told her it would be at least ten more days. Maybe she could go home and check on the house and then out to a movie.
“Thank you,” she said, injecting her voice with an enthusiasm she didn’t feel. “I’d like that.”
“Anything for you.”
She stared into the darkness and wished that were actually true.
* * *
