Family Secrets. Ruth Dale Jean
They drank. She could feel her tension rising. She wouldn’t have thought that she’d ever have another civil conversation with him, let alone share a dinner and allow him into her apartment. What he’d done to her had been utterly unforgivable. Even if she was the forgiving type, he’d be beyond absolution.
She’d really like to give him a taste of his own medicine, though. She started to speak, started to ask him straight out, Dev, why did you do it? Why did you turn your back on me when—
“I’ve got to give it one more try.” His words cut right through her thoughts. Setting his glass on the floor by his feet, he unbuttoned his shirt collar and tugged off his tie. “Isn’t there anything I can say to convince you your grandmother isn’t playing games, isn’t trying to trick you, is worried sick about your grandfather?”
“No.”
“How about my chances to convince you your parents love you and want you back in the fold?”
“No.” There went the old blood pressure again.
“That your sister would like to share her happiness with you, and your brother would simply like to get to know his big sister?”
“No!” She gulped down a big mouthful of her drink.
“Dammit!” He picked up his own glass but simply held it before him between both hands, a picture of frustration. “What is it about Colorado you’re so crazy for? Wanna explain that?”
“It isn’t New Orleans.” She glared at him. “Besides, I went to school in Colorado. I feel comfortable here.”
“So? I went to Harvard, but I couldn’t wait to get back home.”
“I also have a job, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Is it a great job?”
“How do you define ‘great’? I’m a journalist, which is what I’ve always wanted.”
“WDIX hires journalists.”
“WDIX hires pretty faces.” She’d long since convinced herself that the pencil press was vastly superior to electronic talking heads.
For a moment he just looked at her, his disappointment clear. Then he said, “Sharlee Lyon—”
“Hollander.”
“Whatever—you’re a snob. In fact, you’re a reverse snob, which is even worse.”
She couldn’t believe he’d be so unfair. “I’m probably the only member of my family who isn’t a snob.”
His mouth tightened. “You really don’t know your own people, do you?” Draining his glass, he set it on the floor again and rose. “At least think about your grandmother’s request.”
“It wasn’t a request. It was an order.”
“I don’t care what you call it. I want you to think about it.”
“Not a chance.”
“Charlotte...!” He clenched his hands into fists, controlling himself with visible effort. “No one has ever been able to rile me the way you do,” he said as if it pained him to admit it. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“If I do.” she said, feeling a flash of vindictive pleasure, “it certainly isn’t because I try.”
“No?” He took a step toward her. “There are a lot of different ways to get to somebody. It isn’t always in anger. Once...”
Her mouth felt dry and she took another swallow of her drink. “I don’t want to hear about ‘once,’ ” she said. “What’s past is past.”
“Think so? I wonder.” He moved toward her, his dark eyes glittering with determination.
Sharlee wanted to run. She wanted to turn around and bolt into her bedroom and slam the door. But that was what a child would do, and hadn’t she been trying to convince him, and by proxy her parents and grandparents, that she hadn’t been a child in a long time?
She raised her chin and stood her ground. “Give it up, Dev. You don’t do a thing for me anymore.”
“No? And all evening I’ve been thinking otherwise.”
Her pulse leaped. “That’s your problem.”
“It’s no problem at all.”
He put his hands on her shoulders. She could pull away, shove his hands aside. She could scream at the top of her lungs if she wanted to and the weight lifter across the hall would be in here before Dev knew what hit him.
Or she could face him down. Look him in the eye and let him see that this approach wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “If you think you’re scaring me, you’re wrong,” she informed him.
“Why would I want to scare you?”
He slid one hand up the slope of her shoulder until he touched her bare skin beyond the collar of her blouse. His thumb stroked lightly on the indentation at the base of her throat and she wondered if he could feel her racing pulse.
She held steady. She didn’t love him anymore. She didn’t even like him anymore; certainly, she didn’t trust him.
“You’re wasting your time, Devin. I’m way beyond that, where you’re concerned.”
The movement of his lips mesmerized her to the point that his words only registered belatedly. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“About what?” Oh, she was handling this just fine!
“Whether any of the old feelings still exist. Whether there’s the least little spark left.”
“I’m not a bit curious about any of that.” But she was! She was dying to know what it would be like to...to kiss him again, nothing more. She wouldn’t think about the rest of it—if she could avoid it with his hands on her the way they were now, stroking, coaxing.
“You lie.” He leaned so close it took all her willpower not to flinch. “We’re not kids anymore. You wonder if it will be the same, worse or better. My money’s on better.”
“My money’s on...indifferent.” He was taking control away from her and she had to get it back. “Why don’t we just find out?”
She put her arms around his neck—careful of the drink she still held in her right hand. Looking into his eyes with all the insolence she could summon, she pressed her lips to his.
And for that instant, she was in control. Moving her mouth against his in little nibbling kisses, she felt her confidence growing. All right; it was just all right, nothing more. She could step away anytime she wanted, confident that...
He came to life as if exiting some twilight zone, pressing his lips against hers as if he wanted to devour her. Sparks raced along to her nerve endings and she tasted trouble.
This was the man who’d taught her to kiss—not given her the first one, but taught her how powerful a kiss could be. There was no way on earth she could resist the deluge of memories or the stunning sensations that made her right hand relax...
He jumped away from her. “What the hell?” Twisting, he pulled the shirt away from his back.
The wet shirt.
It took her an instant to realize the ice and liquid in her glass had soaked him. All that cold must have been quite a shock.
She stared at him, mortified, trying not to giggle.
He glared. “Did you do that on purpose?”
As if she’d been able to think straight enough to plan such a revenge. It was ludicrous. She smiled, shrugged, hoped he’d believe she’d had that much presence of mind.
Surprisingly the outrage left his face. “Very good,”