A Proposal Worth Waiting For. Raye MorganЧитать онлайн книгу.
raked his hard fingers through his hair, leaving spikes in every direction. He could see she was tortured and he wanted to grab her and hold her and tell her it was going to be okay—but he couldn’t.
“I don’t think,” he told her, mostly because he didn’t know what to think of that statement. “I just react.”
She nodded. She shouldn’t have said that. It was true, but no one else needed to know. She couldn’t un-say it, but she could throw some other things out there into the mix to lessen its impact. Hopefully.
“Okay. React to this.” She took a deep breath and her green eyes looked like bits of shattered emeralds. “I’ve hated your family for fifteen years. I think you caused my father’s suicide. If it hadn’t been for the way you all handled it and how disgraced you made him feel, he would be alive today.” Her voice was firm, but the edges were trembling, just a little bit. “What’s your side say?”
Her words stung. He turned away. His natural reaction was to lash out at her, but he held it back. She was talking crazy. Her words, her emotions, her reasoning, everything was jumping all over the place. She wasn’t really making sense. And maybe that was because she really didn’t have any solid proof of anything. It was all conjecture, all an attempt to fill in a past she just couldn’t understand.
Understandable. Still, he had to balk when he heard her using his family as an excuse to cover up her family’s heartbreak. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t in pain. He could see it. He could feel it. Her soul was writhing in agony.
And he had a sudden insight. If it was true what she’d told him, if she really didn’t know for sure if her father was guilty, if this was more a search for truth than a search for proof—then she had a kind of inner integrity that was rare to find.
Still, it didn’t mean she couldn’t be capable of some pretty underhanded methods to get to where she wanted to go. He’d seen enough of the raw and untamed side of humanity to know it was always lurking. Never trust anyone. That was his motto.
“My father was an honorable man,” he said softly, leashing his anger. “If he did something that hurt your father, I’m sure he had a reason. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body.”
Tears were sliding silently down her face. Her mouth twisted. “I know,” she whispered. “I...I loved your father, too.” Her voice broke. “He was so kind to me. I can’t believe... Don’t you see?” She hugged herself, arms wrapped tightly. “That’s part of the problem. It just doesn’t make sense that he would treat my father like an evil person. He...he...”
She couldn’t go on. He started to reach for her, but she turned away. “Torie,” he said, but she shook her head and moved further away.
“Let’s go back.” She started off down the trail. He followed close behind.
He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Everything in him rebelled at her calling his father a villain. He didn’t believe it. He’d known the man too well.
But at the same time, he suspected her father had probably been treated badly. Why? How? Had he really been guilty of the original theft? Or what? He wanted to get to the bottom of this as much as she did.
“By the way,” he said as they walked along the path. “The Greeks have gone.”
She stopped and whirled, staring up at him, remembering the shouts she’d thought she heard in the night.
“What? What happened?”
He shrugged. “Turns out they weren’t very Greek. And they definitely weren’t on the up and up.”
Her shoulders sagged and her face was truly sad. “Oh no. I liked the Greeks.”
“Sure you did,” he said as they started off again. “That’s part of their game. They spend a lot of time at events like this, or resort gatherings, endearing themselves to people with money and trying to get some of it.”
She sighed sadly, looking up at the house as they approached. All the windows were dark. Hopefully everyone was asleep—even Marge and Jimmy. “So there’s no idyllic little Greek supper club?”
“No.”
“No little Greek grandmother with secret recipes from the old country?”
He gave her a half smile. “Sorry.”
She shook her head. “It’s a real shame. I liked that story.”
“Yes.”
They’d reached the porch and slowly took the steps, one at a time, until they were in front of the door.
“How did you find out?” she asked, turning to face him again.
His face took on a hooded look and he shoved his hands down into the pockets of his jacket. “I’ve got some friends in law enforcement. I made a few calls.”
She looked at him, tilting her head. Was that a subtle hint that she and Carl had better watch their steps?
“What did your sources have to say about me?” she asked tartly.
He started to grin, then cut it short. “I’ll let you know when I get the full report.”
She reacted badly. That wasn’t something she had wanted to hear. “You see this face?” she asked him, pointing at it. “Once again, this isn’t adoring reverence for you. This is what we call anger. Anger and resentment and...”
His kiss stopped her words. He couldn’t help it. It had to be done. Right now, she needed to be kissed, and he was the man to do it.
It was just a kiss. A kiss wasn’t a surrender. It didn’t mean he believed her. It didn’t have anything to do with guilt or innocence. It was just an expression of desire, or maybe need, or maybe something even deeper. But that hardly mattered at all. It just was.
She gasped, her hands rising up to push him away, but they didn’t try very hard. His mouth was hot and his arms were strong and she began to melt. And just as she began to enjoy it, he pulled away.
“Good night, Torie Sands,” he said roughly, hunching deeper into his jacket. “Go to bed.”
She felt slightly dizzy. “Where...where are you going?”
“I think I’ll just take one more turn around the area. See what’s shakin’.” He gave her a quick grin as he turned to go. “See you tomorrow. Breakfast is at nine.”
BREAKFAST was served on a wicker table on the terrace overlooking a clear blue ocean beneath a clear blue sky. It was a beautiful morning. Just what any real estate agent would have ordered if such a thing were possible.
Torie slipped into a chair beside Carl. He looked dreadful, like a man with a serious hangover.
“What’s the verdict?” she murmured to him as she reached for a small glass of orange juice that was perched tantalizingly on a silver tray.
“The verdict?” he responded sharply, jumping as though the word startled him.
She looked at him impatiently. “What do you think of Shangri-La? Are you going to buy the place?”
“Buy the...? Oh, uh...” He moved restlessly in his chair. “I haven’t seen enough yet,” he muttered. Then he seemed to remember who she was and he frowned at her fiercely. “And you haven’t been much help. You keep disappearing.”
“You were the one disappearing last night,” she said. “What were you looking for out there in the dark?”
He glared at her, then leaned closer to talk without being heard by others. “Look, way back when we first started talking about this, you told me you used to go with old man Huntington on his rock-hunting trips around the estate. Didn’t