Twins times two! Read online

  She was so beautiful.

  So alive.

  More and more Ross was beginning to see that he'd been living in a fog for far too long. He'd been numbly sleepwalking through his job and his

  role as a father. He'd gone through the motions, doing what was expected of him but little more.

  Until now. He suddenly found himself hungry for life.

  And love.

  The thought frightened him more than he would ever have thought possible. Hadn't he vowed to remain emotionally detached? Hadn't he promised himself that this marriage of convenience would be based on mutual respect and little else? Hadn't he sworn that he wouldn't let his emotions become involved?

  So when had he stopped listening to the inner warnings for caution? When had he begun to look upon his relationship with Cara as being more than a convenience?

  His gaze clung to her as she circulated through the small handful of guests that still remained. She was so totally unaware of her effect on men that she made him want her all the more. She'd just about driven him crazy in that dress. He couldn't seem to keep his hand from sliding over the bare expanse of her back. Nor could he banish the image of slipping the straps from her shoulders and allowing the sensuous satin to slip to the floor.

  As if she'd sensed his regard, Cara glanced over her shoulder. In that instant he caught an answering

  heat in her gaze and knew that the platonic aspect of their marriage wouldn't last the night.

  A heat flared low in his belly, but he made no effort to banish it.

  It seemed like hours before the last guest finally made his way out of the door to where the hired valet had parked the man's car. Gripping the terrace railing, Ross watched the influential judge slide into his car and drive into the dark night. He vaguely noted the distant flash of light as the reporters took yet another round of pictures.

  Then the night was silent and still.

  Turning his head, he found Cara waiting in the doorway.

  "I've sent the catering crew home," she murmured. "Tomorrow is soon enough to clean up."

  "And Stibbs?"

  "He disappeared into his room. I believe he's relaxing to the sounds of La Boheme."

  Ross pushed himself upright and walked slowly toward her. "And what about you, Mrs. Gifford? Aren't you tired?"

  "I'm too keyed-up to feel it yet."

  She was watching him with wide eyes, and for a moment Ross considered ending the evening here and now. She had the look of a deer caught in the headlights—too stunned to move, too fascinated to resist. But just as quickly as his chivalric instincts

  appeared they faded away. He needed her too much to let things end that way. He needed to touch her, hold her, caress her. He needed to reassure himself that he could still feel something in his heart other than grief, that he was still capable of loving.

  Loving?

  The thought hit him with the intensity of a lightning bolt. But as he drew Cara into his arms and began to kiss her—slowly at first, then with the hunger of a starving man—he knew that he had already crossed an imaginary line. He could no longer pretend to be emotionally uninvolved. Although his head warned him of the inherent dangers of caring for another woman, his heart could no longer be denied.

  Forgetting the journalists with their telephoto lenses and night vision, Ross swept Cara into his arms and carried her into the house. But this time as he closed the door with his shoulder, he didn't set her down. Instead, sensing her tacit consent to his intentions, he continued up the staircase and down the hall to Cara's bedroom.

  Cara woke to sunshine streaming through her bedroom window. Her body was deliciously lethargic and sated, and she smiled to herself, stretching luxuriously.

  She couldn't remember ever feeling so wonderful, so at peace with herself and her surroundings.

  Peeking beneath her lashes, she saw that she was alone in the bed. The fact didn't surprise her. Judging by the angle of the sun, it was late and she knew that Ross had been scheduled to appear in court first thing in the morning.

  Turning, she reached her hand toward the pillow on the opposite side of the bed, then paused when her fingers encountered something other than fabric.

  A tender smile formed on her lips when she peered through her lashes and discovered that a single rose had been left on her pillow.

  In an instant her heart flooded with emotion, and she trembled from sheer, overpowering joy.

  She was in love. Completely and utterly in love. And ironically, the object of her affections was her own husband.

  Laughing softly to herself, she breathed deep of the rose's heavenly fragrance. The hours in Ross's arms had been beyond her wildest imaginings. He'd been passionate and tender, making her feel beautiful and desirable. Over and over again he'd brought her to the heights of ecstasy, only to hold her close in the aftermath.

  So much had changed in such a short amount of time. In the space of a few hours her world had

  altered from one of uncertainty to one of great hope.

  "We're going to make it," she whispered to herself. "Despite its beginnings, this marriage is going to be a happy one."

  But by the end of the day Cara wasn't nearly so certain. She had been so sure that Ross would come home right after court, but there had been no sign of him that afternoon or at dinnertime. Finally, exhausted by the previous evening's late hours, she'd curled up on the couch in the great hall, intent on waiting for Ross there. But when she'd awakened the following morning in her own bed, she had no doubts that she had slept there alone.

  She told herself that the following day would be different. She purposely chose activities that would keep her and the children close to home. But other than a few close calls with reporters trying to scale the fence, she saw no sign of anyone approaching the house.

  It wasn't until she was putting laundry away in Ross's room that she received the blow that she hadn't been expecting. There on his nightstand, nearly obscured by a pile of yellow legal pads, was Nancy's picture.

  The sight was so devastating that the laundry basket fell from her fingers. A sharp cry escaped her lips.

  A noise behind her made her turn. There, standing on the threshold, was Ross.

  She couldn't speak, couldn't move. But she realized in an instant that she didn't need to say a thing. His expression and the shadows in his eyes told her eloquently enough that he regretted their night together.

  The pain was so intense she felt as if her legs would buckle. But knowing that she couldn't let him see how much he'd hurt her, she quickly scrambled to put the spilled clothes back into the hamper.

  "Cara, I—"

  "Give me a minute and I'll let Stibbs know that you're here."

  "He already knows."

  "I see. Well, I'll just go get the children. They're hungry, and I'm sure they'll be glad to know you'll be joining them for dinner."

  Knowing she had to get out of there before the tears fell, she dropped the hamper on his bed, then darted toward the door. But before she could pass him, his hand shot out to grasp her elbow.

  "Cara, I—"

  "Don't," she whispered, the pain raw in her voice. She blinked at the moisture gathering in her eyes and pierced him with a gaze rife with accusation.

  "Don't tell me that everything is all right. And don't tell me that anything has changed." A bitter laugh tripped over her lips. "I was a fool to think that making love with you had improved anything. You're still in love with a dead woman, and there's no room in your heart for me."

  Ross reeled backwards, Cara's words searing him with the intensity of a lance. But even as he would have gone after her to argue her point, he found he couldn't move.

  She was right.

  His eyes squeezed shut as the pain shuddered through him. Since making love to Cara, he'd been filled with so many conflicting emotions. When he'd arranged their marriage, he'd been so sure that he could slip into the role of "husband" while keeping himself emotionally aloof.

  But even tho
ugh he had come to a point where he had accepted Nancy's death and was ready to move on to his own future without her, he still balked at the emotional ramifications of beginning another relationship. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to banish his fears for the future. Death had stolen his happiness once before. And as much as he tried to reassure himself that fate wouldn't deal him a similar hand again, a part of him believed

  that the only way to avoid loving and losing was not to love at all.

  It had been a mistake to make love with Cara. His eyes closed at the mere memory of the passion and delight that he'd experienced that night. He'd been transported to another world, one without pain or doubt or want.

  But upon waking to find Cara nestled in his arms, he'd known that it wouldn't be fair to revel in the physical aspect of their relationship unless he could offer Cara more. She was a woman who needed to be loved, completely and wholeheartedly. And to offer her anything less would merely cheapen their relationship.

  So Ross had done his best to put some space between them. He'd purposely worked longer and later. On those few occasions where he'd seen Cara, he'd done his best to appear cool and unaffected by her presence—even as his body and his heart had other ideas.

  But it wasn't working. He'd thought that by giving them space, he could put some perspective on their single night of passion. Instead he found himself growing more and more hungry for her laughter, her tenderness, her passion...

  And her love.

  So what was he going to do? He wasn't fool

  enough to think that either Cara or he could return to an emotionless relationship.

  But neither could he find the strength to allow himself to offer her anything more.

  After their chance meeting in Ross's bedroom, Cara went out of her way to avoid being alone with her husband. She concentrated her time on the children.

  In that respect, at least, things were going well. The girls were growing more and more attached to one another. They no longer seemed to differentiate between "my twin and the other twins." Instead, a palpable emotional bonding had begun to occur—so much so, that when the reporters continued to hound her every move, Cara invited the media to join her and the twins for playtime at a local park. With Stibbs's help, she prepared a picnic for the reporters and cameramen, let them take their fill of pictures and sound bites, then bade them a fond but firm farewell.

  If she'd thought that her actions might infuriate Ross, she'd been disappointed. On one of those rare occasions when they were in the same room at the same time, he'd glanced at the newspapers and magazines Stibbs had left in a pile on the counter. After skimming the articles, his only comment had been, "The twins need a swing set of

  their own. I'll have one delivered as soon as possible."

  Soon the days began to run together, one indistinguishable from the next. And Cara became haunted by her growing hunger for Ross's love. But if she'd hoped that Ross would weaken, that his iron-willed control would relax, she was doomed to disappointment.

  As the weeks progressed Cara feared that the girls were beginning to pick up on the tension surrounding their parents. Attempting to allay their suspicions, she insisted that Ross accompany them to the zoo. But he remained so remote and cool, she feared that her efforts had only harmed matters more.

  So when they returned from their trip and Ross abruptly left and closeted himself in his study, Cara was brought to a breaking point.

  Over and over again she had tried to convince herself that she didn't need Ross's affection. But she was swiftly beginning to realize that she couldn't fool herself any longer.

  She needed Ross to feel something— anything — for her other than remote politeness or even a hollow passion. She yearned to have him acknowledge her as a person rather than a convenience, as a partner rather than a helpmate. She needed to feel...

  Needed.

  Loved.

  Cherished.

  Still, it wasn't until she stumbled upon Ross sitting alone in his darkened study one evening that she realized she had reached a point where decisions needed to be made.

  She and the children had spent most of the day with Ross. As promised, he had decided that the time had come for the girls to have their own swing set. They'd clambered into the Suburban he'd bought and made a trip to a specialty shop where the children had "test driven" every possible piece of playground equipment.

  Through it all she'd sensed a lightening to his mood, a softening of the tension surrounding his mouth and the set of his shoulders. And fool that she was, she'd dared to believe that Ross had come to an emotional turning point.

  Therefore, it was all the more painful when he suddenly asked, "What are your plans for the future, Cara?"

  "The future?" she echoed weakly. Her heart twisted in her chest and she quipped, "Which future is that? Tomorrow or next week?''

  He remained still and quiet for far too long. Cara wasn't deceived. He might slouch in his chair and

  stare at a spot somewhere in the darkness, but she knew his mind was working furiously.

  "Our future. What exactly do you see for us? What is it that you want from this relationship?"

  Her mouth grew dry, and her brain frantically scrambled for a coherent answer even as her heart broke in two. The mere mention of the years ahead of her filled her with fear. Despite her inner warnings, she had fallen in love with Ross, deeply and irrevocably. But if Ross already had doubts about the soundness of continuing their marriage—after little more than a few months—she had no illusions that there would be any happily-ever-afters for them.

  She shuddered, gripping the doorjamb for strength. The most she could hope for would be a distant form of fondness or perhaps an intimate companionship. But theirs would never be a passionate joining of souls. Just as she had suspected from the beginning, Ross was incapable of offering her that kind of commitment. Indeed, if his actions over the past few weeks were anything to go by, he was already beginning to tire of her company.

  Just as Elliot had done.

  Was it only a matter of time before Ross began looking for another conquest?

  Without warning, her temper snapped. Slapping

  her hands on the woodwork, she strode toward Ross's desk.

  "How should I know what I want out of our relationship? We've already crossed the line of pure convenience, and no matter how much we try to pretend otherwise, we can't go back."

  She strode toward him, stabbing a finger in the air. "But I don't know if I want to go forward, either. There was a time when I would have done anything to see if we could make this...this cockeyed marriage into something real. Then I got a full dose of what it was like to be married to the great Ross Gifford—and let me tell you, it hasn't been a picnic. You're so tied up in your own little ivory tower of grief that it's become a habit to you. Even when you seem more than ready to put your wife's death behind you and carry on with your life, you can't let go. And I think that your motives have less to do with your attachment to Nancy than with your unwillingness to take life whatever way it comes."

  Cara knew that her voice was rising and that Stibbs and the children could probably hear her from the far recesses of the house. But she couldn't stop yet. Not when the words were burning to be expressed.

  "Life doesn't come with any guarantees, Ross Gifford. Everyone has his or her own measure of

  pain to endure—and you're not the only one who has suffered. But what makes the rest of us different is that we work through our feelings and then we press on. We don't become martyrs and we don't live the rest of our lives in fear of what further calamity might befall us."

  She rested her hands on the desk, bending toward him. "If you were to ask me, I'd say you were a coward. You have an inestimable capacity to love, but you won't allow yourself to feel anything more than the barest sense of commitment. And I'm not just talking about our relationship. Even with your own girls you offer them mere pieces of yourself."

  Ross jumped to his feet. "I love my daughter
s!" "Then show them. Show them how much they mean to you. Show them that they are the most important thing in your life and that nothing will get in the way of that—not work, not life, not even your own uncertainties for the future! They deserve that much. We all deserve that much. Especially

  - - ■ ? *

  me.

  The words echoed in the stillness of the room and Cara clapped her hands over her mouth. Dear heaven, she had done the unspeakable. She had belittled his grief and censured him for his ability to parent. Worse yet, she had all but declared her love for him. She had stripped herself bare and

  exposed the needy part of her that would never be happy until he loved her in return.

  A sob bubbled up in her throat, and without waiting for his reply, she rushed from the room. But as she hurried up the staircase, she was suddenly aware of one demoralizing fact.

  Ross had made absolutely no effort to stop her.

  It was long past midnight when Ross climbed the stairs and made his way to his own room. He couldn't remember a time when he'd felt so weary, so...

  Empty.

  For hours he'd sat in the darkness, reviewing Cara's words time and time again. And what had shamed him most was that he had no defense.

  She was right. He had made himself a martyr to his own grief. Not on behalf of his love for Nancy, but to insulate him from feeling anything that deep and overwhelming ever again.

  Slowly making his way down the hall, Ross was inundated with thoughts of Cara and the way she had turned his well-ordered existence upside down. And with each step he took nearer her bedroom door, he knew that he wanted nothing more than to fall in love with her.

  But if he let go of the last shreds of his resistance, he feared for the future ahead of them. If he

  truly loved her, if he gave her his heart and soul, could he survive losing her—to death or divorce?