Treasured

“Exactly,” Ben said, sounding relieved.

“I should go. Please tell Destiny that I had a wonderful time. I’m sure I’ll see her soon at the gallery.”

“Tomorrow morning would be my guess,” Ben said wryly.

Kathleen laughed despite herself. “Mine, too.”

“Will you tell her about the kiss?”

“Heavens, no. Will you?”

“Are you crazy? Not a chance.”

Kathleen looked into his eyes and made a swift decision. “I’m still coming back out here, you know. You haven’t scared me off.”

He gave her a vaguely chagrined look that told her she’d hit the mark. That kiss had been deliberate, after all, not the wicked impulse he’d wanted her to believe.

He shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

She laughed at having caught him. “I knew it. I knew that was what the kiss was about.”

He gave her a long, lingering look that made her toes curl.

“Not entirely,” he said, then grinned. “That should give you something to think about before you get into your car and head out this way again.”

It was a dare, no question about it. If only he’d known Kathleen better, he’d have realized that it was a point of honor with her never to resist a challenge. She’d survived her past, and when she’d come through it, she’d vowed never to let another soul intimidate her or get the upper hand. She didn’t intend to let Ben Carlton—despite his sexy looks, killer smile and devastating kisses—be the exception.

* * *

After that potent kiss, Ben was surprised and oddly disgruntled when Kathleen simply grabbed her coat and walked out without even waiting to say goodbye to Destiny or to Mack and Beth.

That was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? He’d wanted to scare her off. He should have felt nothing but relief that his plan had worked and his aunt’s plotting hadn’t succeeded, but he felt a little miffed, instead. That wasn’t a good sign. All of the Carlton men loved a challenge.

Which probably meant that Destiny had advised Kathleen to go with her patented “always leave ’em wanting more” maxim. Alone with Destiny now, he gave his aunt a grim look.

“What are you up to?” he asked as she sat on the sofa, her feet tucked under her. With her soft cloud of brown hair and bright, clear brown eyes, she looked to be little more than a girl, though he knew perfectly well she was fifty-three.

Destiny sipped her brandy and regarded him without the slightest hint of guilt. “You’re too suspicious, Ben. Why would I be up to anything?”

“Because it’s what you do. You meddle. Ever since you decided Richard, Mack and I were old enough to settle down, you’ve systematically worked to make it happen.”

“Of course I have. I love you. What’s wrong with wanting to see you happy?”

“I am happy.”

“You’re alone. Ever since Graciela died, you’ve been terribly unhappy and guilt-ridden. It’s time to put that behind you, Ben. What happened was not your fault.”

“I’m not discussing Graciela,” he said tightly.

“That’s the problem,” Destiny said, undaunted for once by his refusal to talk about what had happened. “You’ve never talked about her, and I think perhaps it’s time you did. She wasn’t the paragon of virtue you’ve built her up to be, Ben. That much has to be clear, even to you.”

“Destiny, don’t go there,” Ben warned. He knew that his family had never held a high opinion of Graciela, but he’d refused to listen then, and he was equally adamant about not listening now, even with all of the facts still burning a graphic image in his head. He’d seen her with that polo player, dammit. He didn’t need to be reminded of what were only rumors and speculation to everyone else.

“I will go there,” Destiny said fiercely. “She was hardly a saint.”

“Dammit, Destiny—”

She cut him off with a look that made her disapproval of his language plain. “Leaving her was the right thing to do, Ben. You’re not responsible that she stormed off that night far too upset and drunk to be driving, and crashed her car into a tree. That was her doing, hers,” she repeated emphatically. “Not yours.”

Ben felt the words slamming into him, carrying him back to a place he didn’t want to go, to a night he would never forget.

The argument had been heated, far more volatile than any that had gone before. He’d caught Graciela cheating on him that afternoon, found her with a neighboring Brazilian polo player, but she’d tried to explain away what he’d seen as if there could possibly be an innocent explanation.

In the past he would have accepted the lies, because it was easier, but he’d reached the end of his rope. Loving her and forgiving her had worn him down, the cycle unending despite all the promises that she would change, that she would be faithful. He’d been foolish enough to believe them at first. He had loved her unconditionally and for a time had thought that accepting her flaws was a part of that.

Then he’d realized that what he felt wasn’t love, but an obsessive need not to lose someone important again. He’d seen the truth with blinding clarity that afternoon. He’d realized finally that he’d never really had her anyway.

On that fateful night he’d told her to get out and he’d meant it. Her hold on him had finally snapped.

“You’ll change your mind,” she’d said confidently, slurring her words, her expression smug, beautiful even in her drunken state.

“Not this time,” he’d told her coldly. “It’s over, Graciela. I’ve had enough.”

If that had been it, he could have moved on with his life, buried the repeated humiliations in the past and kept his heart hopeful that someone else would come along. But Graciela hadn’t even made it out to the main highway when she’d crashed. He’d heard that awful sound and run outside, only to find the mangled wreckage, her body broken and bloody and trapped inside as the first flames had licked toward the gasoline spilling across the drive.

Frantic, he’d tried to drag her to safety, knowing even as he struggled that it was too late, that nothing he could do would save her.

From that moment on, as the car exploded into a fiery inferno, Ben had shut down emotionally. It had stirred the images that had haunted him from childhood of his parents’ plane going down into the side of a mountain on a foggy night. He’d been so young back then that he’d barely understood what had happened. Everyone was careful to tiptoe around the details of that crash, so he’d filled in the blanks for himself, envisioning the kind of unbearable horrors that only a child with an active imagination could spin.

Now he shuddered and tried to push from his mind all of those memories, forever intertwined even though they’d occurred years apart.

“There’s a huge difference between being alone and being lonely,” he pointed out quietly. “No one should recognize that better than you. I don’t see you trying to snag a husband now that your nest is empty, Destiny.”

She frowned at the challenge. “It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to have companionship if the right man came along.”

“There,” he said triumphantly. “The right man, and nothing less.”

“Well, of course.” She gave him a sad smile. “I had that extraordinary experience once. I know what it’s like. I won’t accept anything less.”

“Neither will I.”

“But you won’t find it, if you don’t get out and look,” she scolded.

“So you’ve decided to bring the likely candidate to my doorstep?”

She shrugged. “Sue me.” Then she gave him a sly look. “It worked, didn’t it? You’re intrigued by Kathleen. I saw it in your eyes. You were watching her.”

“Maybe I’d just like to paint her,” he said, unwilling to admit to any more. Kathleen had been right, if Destiny knew about that kiss, he’d never hear the end of it. Who knew what she might do to capitalize on the impact of that kiss? Throwing them together at every opportunity would be the least of it.