The Millionaire Bachelor Page 8

  A brief flicker of something hot burned low in his belly at the thought of a young man visiting her, but he pushed that aside. He didn’t care if Cathy had fifty admirers. That wasn’t what their relationship was about.

  “That, too,” Ula said. “But I was thinking of something else. She always eats alone. Perhaps you could join her some evening.”

  Without wanting to, Stone touched his left cheek. The ridges were old friends by now. He’d grown accustomed to his disfigurement, but that didn’t mean Cathy would be comfortable in his presence.

  Dinner. With another person. He hadn’t experienced that particular pleasure even once in three years. The longing was as intense as it was unexpected. He forced it away, using the iron control that had yet to let him down.

  He snatched up the envelope and ripped it open. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  Ula dismissed him with a wave. “You’re making more of your scars than you should. She won’t care.”

  “But I will,” he said coldly, letting the housekeeper know she’d crossed over the line with him.

  She sighed heavily, then rose to her feet. “Very good, sir.”

  The sir was emphasized, as she let him know she wasn’t impressed by his attempts to intimidate her. Stone knew she meant well. Ula had been good to him over the years.

  He deliberately softened his expression. “I don’t think it would be wise,” he said by way of a peace offering.

  “Why not? You’re making all of this—” she motioned to his face “—more tragic than it has to be.”

  That drove Stone to his feet. He dropped the papers onto his desk and barely noticed when one of them drifted silently to the floor. “It is tragic,” he said, his voice laced with anger. “Have you forgotten Evelyn died that night? Have you forgotten that it was my fault?”

  “I haven’t forgotten you want to make it your fault. There’s a difference. It’s been three years, Mr. Ward. It’s time to let it go. Evelyn, too.”

  “I’ll thank you to remember you are simply an employee here. As such, I would appreciate it if you would keep your opinions to yourself.”

  Ula’s temper flared to match his. But the housekeeper didn’t respond. Instead, her spine stiffened and she turned on her heel, then left. Stone remained standing for several more minutes, listening to the silence and the pounding of his rapid heartbeat. He felt the threat of the memories, as if the release of his temper had also released the box where he kept them locked up.

  As they swirled through his mind, jabbing him, blinding him to anything but the past and his guilt in it all, he sank slowly into his chair and prepared for the onslaught.

  *

  “You’re quiet tonight,” Stone said.

  As always, the sound of his voice made her want to dance with delight. Instead, Cathy shifted slightly on the sofa and looked at him. “Sorry. I was thinking.”

  “About what?”

  He was really here. Sometimes she had trouble remembering that, or believing it. Despite the fact that he’d come to her room every night for the past two weeks, she kept expecting to wake up and find that this was all a dream. But here they sat, a scant foot apart.

  Ever since she’d given up the crutches and started moving around more easily, she’d taken to sitting on the sofa while he visited. Although she couldn’t see him any better, because even though she was closer, it was still dark in her room, she liked to pretend that they were a normal couple on a date. That he had come to see her for romantic reasons rather than because he felt sorry for her, or responsible, or whatever real reasons drew him to her side.

  She liked feeling his presence. They were physically close enough that sometimes she caught the scent of his body, the combination of faint cologne and some male essence that left her thighs trembling. She liked that when he talked he used his hands, and occasionally he would reach out and briefly touch her shoulder when he was making a point. She liked that when they argued about books or politics, he would lean forward as he tried to convince her to see it his way. Sometimes she disagreed just to be contrary and to tease. She liked everything about him.

  She wished that she could see him. Several times she’d almost asked, but something had kept her silent. Respect for him and his wishes, she supposed. Obviously his need for privacy was great. She had no right to violate that.

  So she made up fantasies about him, about what he looked like and how it would be if she could see him. It was like having a crush back in high school.

  “Cathy?”

  “Huh? Oh, sorry. I was lost in thought.” She felt herself flushing. Thank goodness he couldn’t see that. “What was the question?”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  She tried to figure which of her wayward thoughts would be the safest to share. “Um, high school.”

  “What was that like for you?” he asked.

  She thought about all the lies she told on that particular subject and suddenly she was very tired. Did it matter if Stone knew the truth?

  “Not fun,” she admitted. “I didn’t have many Mends, mostly because I couldn’t do anything with them after school, and that was expected. I didn’t mind going to their house, but I couldn’t invite them to mine and I always had to be home early.”

  She paused, waiting for the inevitable questions. Instead, Stone was silent. After a couple of minutes, she continued. “My mother drank a lot. I never knew what to expect.” She closed her eyes against the memories, but that didn’t help much. They were always there, just below the surface. “Sometimes she would be fine, just like everyone else’s mom, but most of the time she was either drunk or passed out. I spent a lot of time taking care of her. I didn’t want to have to explain why she was acting strange or asleep on the sofa, so I avoided situations where I would have to. In the end, it was easier to just be alone.”

  “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 detail
s 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, it has been 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.

  *

  “So what are your plans for today?” Ula asked as she poured more coffee.

  “I’m not sure. Stone said I can have the car for the whole day. I thought I might check on my house.” Which would take all of two hours, including driving time both directions. The day stretched out endlessly. She didn’t want to get back too early and have him think her life was so incredibly pitiful that she couldn’t fill a few hours away from the house.

  Ula took the seat opposite. Cathy had been joining the housekeeper for breakfast every morning for nearly a week. The older woman wasn’t overly friendly, but she was loosening up a little. If nothing else, Cathy was fascinated by her always perfect grooming.

  “I have a suggestion,” Ula said. “If you wouldn’t think I was butting in.”

  “Butt away,” Cathy told her. “The only thing I’ve come up with is a movie, but I’m not too excited about going alone.”

  “Well, I know a salon on the west side. They do great work with hair. I thought you might like to get a cut and style. It would be fun.”

  Cathy knew the housekeeper meant well. In her gruff way, Ula had befriended her. Still, the implied criticism hurt. Cathy knew she wasn’t much to look at. Her mousy brown hair hung down to the middle of her back. The best thing she could say about it was the center part was straight and her hair was clean.

  She pushed the small serving of fruit around on her plate and tried to figure out how to respond to the housekeeper’s suggestion.

  “I’m sorry,” Ula said. “I didn’t mean—” She pressed her lips together. “It’s just that you’ve done so well on your diet and with your exercises. You’re a lovely girl but you don’t do anything to accentuate the positive. I can’t figure out if you don’t think you’re worth it, or you just don’t know what to do.”

  Cathy raised her head and stared at her. “I’m not lovely.”

  Ula snorted. “Oh, please. You have perfect skin and big green eyes.”

  “They’re not green.” Cathy wished they were. “They’re sort of a muddy moss color.”

  “With the right hair and clothes, the green would stand out,” Ula told her. “Your smile lights up the room, you’re smart and funny. Why don’t you give yourself more credit? Sit up straight. Enter the room as if you have the right to be there. Don’t be afraid.”

  Her comments made Cathy straighten in her chair, but she wasn’t so sure about the rest of it. Ula’s assessment of her was startling. Did the older woman really think she had potential?

  She fingered a strand of hair. “What kind of cut?”

  Ula poured them each another cup of coffee. “Something layered. Your hair is fine, and layering will give it more volume. I can call the owner of the salon right now and see if he can squeeze you in.”

  *

  Two hours later, Cathy found herself covered by a purple vinyl cape and staring at herself in a wide mirror. Ernest, the well-dressed middle-aged man who owned the salon, tsked as he stood behind her.

  “The seventies were over years ago,” he said. “Long straight hair disappeared with the decade. A cut.” His tone was sure. “Some color, maybe a little red with a touch of honey to warm up your features.”

  His own hair was receding, but what was left had been grown out and pulled back into a ponytail. Earrings glittered from both ears.

  He pressed his hands to her shoulders and leaned forward. “Ula told me about the fire and your surgery. You poor dear. We’re going to fix you right up. Would you like a latte while you’re waiting?”

  “Um, sure.”

  “I’ll take care of everything.” He smiled at her in the mirror. “Just trust me, honey.” He turned away. “Selena, a latte for Cathy, please, then we’re going to work some magic.”

  Four hours later, Cathy found herself back in the same chair, staring at herself in the same mirror. While calling it magic was a stretch, Ernest had definitely made a difference.

  “You like?” he asked with a wink.

  Her hair hung in soft layers to her shoulders. The cut had freed up a wave she hadn’t known had been there. Honey red highlights brought out the green in her eyes and made her skin glow. Selena or Marta or one of the women—they were all dressed in black, incredibly beautiful and impossible to tell apart—had applied makeup. Not a lot, just enough to emphasize her cheekbones and her mouth. She was a vastly improved image of her former self.

  Cathy smiled back at him. “I like it very much.”

  “Good. Then you’ll need to make an appointment for six weeks from now. Trim every six weeks, color every twelve. It takes time to be beautiful, but it’s worth it.”

  Cathy followed him to the front of the salon. Once there, she made an appointment for the trim and didn’t even wince when they announced the total for her credit card. She’d never done anything like this before in her life. She’d never thought she was worth it.

  As she turned to leave, she caught her reflection in the mirror by the entrance and had to smile. She was standing straighter. Not so much because Ula had suggested it, but because she felt better about herself. She knew she’d lost a few pounds, too. Not much, but enough that her clothes were loose. She’d always worn them baggy, hoping the excess fab
ric would disguise her bulges. Now her old jeans were practically falling off. A new pair would be another nice treat. Nothing expensive. Maybe they could stop at her favorite discount store on their way back to Stone’s house.

  As Cathy approached the gleaming BMW waiting for her on the curb, she had to laugh. Here she was being driven around the city in an expensive car, and on her way back to the fabulous mansion where she was staying, she wanted to stop at a bargain store. What on earth was wrong with this picture?

  *

  Cathy hurried up the front stairs as quickly as her healing knee and her cane would allow her. She was beaming with excitement and happiness. The shopping trip had been so successful, she’d worn her new jeans out of the store. She kept glancing down in disbelief. They were a whole size smaller.

  Granted, she wore baggy clothes and for the first time in years, she’d bought something that actually fit, but it was still a size smaller! She’d splurged on a couple of new T-shirts, too, wanting to celebrate. When she’d studied herself in the full-length mirror in the dressing room, she would have sworn she saw the first hint of muscle definition in her arms. Her stomach wasn’t as round, and her thighs looked a tiny bit more trim. Maybe it was the lighting or her imagination. She didn’t care. All she knew was that she’d actually been eating right and exercising for two whole weeks, which was about thirteen and a half days longer than she’d ever managed before. She loved her new haircut, her makeup and most especially her new attitude. For the first time in a long time, things were looking up.

  She headed toward the kitchen to share her new look with Ula, then, on a whim, headed up the stairs. She wanted Stone to see her. After all, the last time he’d seen her in the light had been when she’d been in the hospital. Not exactly a flattering image.

  As usual, the door to his office was closed. Cathy hesitated, fighting back sudden shyness. What would he think about her new haircut? Would he hate it? Would he think it was silly that she wanted to share her news with him? Maybe she should wait for tonight, or—