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Authors: Annette Broadrick
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hasn't it?"
"Nice? You call the start of what could have been a lasting relationship nice? While all the time you've been living with another man?" It was amazing what anger and belligerence could do to mar a handsome face. Ted reminded Carolyn of a little boy in the midst of a temper tantrum.
"In the first place," Carolyn answered in a level tone, "I don't recall doing or saying anything to give you the idea that I was looking for a lasting relationship—" His gasp would have done credit to an elderly spinster. "And in the second place, I don't see how my living with Clay has anything to do with you." She smiled.
"Dear God, I can't believe this. I don't want to believe this. Our entire relationship has been a farce, a sham, and all you can do is stand there and smile about it?"
"I can also say, 'Thank you for a nice evening, Ted,'" Carolyn added as she stepped into the room. He continued to stand there staring at her, thunderstruck. She waggled her fingers. "Good night," she said softly and shut the door.
She stood in the entry way for a moment, reviewing what had just happened. She acknowledged her relief that she'd managed to get away from Ted, thanks to Clay. He had really done her a favor. But that wasn't the point. The point was, Clay had deliberately—oh, yes, she was almost certain that his actions had been carefully planned—spoiled what might have been a very important relationship. She couldn't afford to allow him to interfere again.
Swinging on her heel, Carolyn marched into the living area where she discovered Clay tucked innocently into his bed, once again reading, his glasses perched on his nose.
"Hope I didn't interrupt anything," he asked with a touching, and totally false, concern, while he peered at her over his glasses.
Carolyn moved over to the fireplace, bracing her back against the rock surface, and crossed her arms. "Is that what you hope? Funny, I have trouble believing you."
Clay placed his book carefully upside down beside him, then laid his glasses on top. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"That means, Mr. Kenniwick, that I don't appreciate being made the butt of what to your warped sense of humor was a joke, that's what I mean." She glared at him, daring him to deny it.
He did just that. "Are you serious? How was I to know you were just getting in?" He glanced at his watch and frowned. "It's after two o'clock," he intoned, for all the world like the father of a teenaged daughter.
"I specifically told you before I left that I would probably be late tonight."
"So you did," he admitted.
"Well, at least that's something. I thought you were going to plead temporary amnesia. Where were you at this time of night, anyway?"
"I took a walk on the beach, although I don't see that it's any of your business."
"Ordinarily it wouldn't be, but you made it my business when you decided to come strolling in at the exact moment when I was telling Ted good-night. Why didn't you come in through the sliding glass doors?"
That did it. Clay threw back the covers and stormed out of bed, ignoring Carolyn's quick gasp when she discovered that the only thing rescuing him from nudity was a pair of black minibriefs. "I don't have to ask your permission to use any door I damn well please to enter my own room any damned time I please, do you understand?" He stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at her.
"Certainly I understand. So does everyone else within a ten-mile radius." Her nose had lifted and she stood there defiantly glaring back at him. "All I'm saying is that I don't appreciate your lurking in the bushes waiting for me to show up so you can play some sort of chaperone—"
"Lurking in the bushes!" He stopped suddenly, took a deep breath, then continued in a lower tone. "For your information, my friend"—he paused and let a contemptuous gaze wander over her—"I have better things to do with my time than play nursemaid to some thirty-year-old adolescent whose goal during her vacation is to see how
"Nice? You call the start of what could have been a lasting relationship nice? While all the time you've been living with another man?" It was amazing what anger and belligerence could do to mar a handsome face. Ted reminded Carolyn of a little boy in the midst of a temper tantrum.
"In the first place," Carolyn answered in a level tone, "I don't recall doing or saying anything to give you the idea that I was looking for a lasting relationship—" His gasp would have done credit to an elderly spinster. "And in the second place, I don't see how my living with Clay has anything to do with you." She smiled.
"Dear God, I can't believe this. I don't want to believe this. Our entire relationship has been a farce, a sham, and all you can do is stand there and smile about it?"
"I can also say, 'Thank you for a nice evening, Ted,'" Carolyn added as she stepped into the room. He continued to stand there staring at her, thunderstruck. She waggled her fingers. "Good night," she said softly and shut the door.
She stood in the entry way for a moment, reviewing what had just happened. She acknowledged her relief that she'd managed to get away from Ted, thanks to Clay. He had really done her a favor. But that wasn't the point. The point was, Clay had deliberately—oh, yes, she was almost certain that his actions had been carefully planned—spoiled what might have been a very important relationship. She couldn't afford to allow him to interfere again.
Swinging on her heel, Carolyn marched into the living area where she discovered Clay tucked innocently into his bed, once again reading, his glasses perched on his nose.
"Hope I didn't interrupt anything," he asked with a touching, and totally false, concern, while he peered at her over his glasses.
Carolyn moved over to the fireplace, bracing her back against the rock surface, and crossed her arms. "Is that what you hope? Funny, I have trouble believing you."
Clay placed his book carefully upside down beside him, then laid his glasses on top. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"That means, Mr. Kenniwick, that I don't appreciate being made the butt of what to your warped sense of humor was a joke, that's what I mean." She glared at him, daring him to deny it.
He did just that. "Are you serious? How was I to know you were just getting in?" He glanced at his watch and frowned. "It's after two o'clock," he intoned, for all the world like the father of a teenaged daughter.
"I specifically told you before I left that I would probably be late tonight."
"So you did," he admitted.
"Well, at least that's something. I thought you were going to plead temporary amnesia. Where were you at this time of night, anyway?"
"I took a walk on the beach, although I don't see that it's any of your business."
"Ordinarily it wouldn't be, but you made it my business when you decided to come strolling in at the exact moment when I was telling Ted good-night. Why didn't you come in through the sliding glass doors?"
That did it. Clay threw back the covers and stormed out of bed, ignoring Carolyn's quick gasp when she discovered that the only thing rescuing him from nudity was a pair of black minibriefs. "I don't have to ask your permission to use any door I damn well please to enter my own room any damned time I please, do you understand?" He stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at her.
"Certainly I understand. So does everyone else within a ten-mile radius." Her nose had lifted and she stood there defiantly glaring back at him. "All I'm saying is that I don't appreciate your lurking in the bushes waiting for me to show up so you can play some sort of chaperone—"
"Lurking in the bushes!" He stopped suddenly, took a deep breath, then continued in a lower tone. "For your information, my friend"—he paused and let a contemptuous gaze wander over her—"I have better things to do with my time than play nursemaid to some thirty-year-old adolescent whose goal during her vacation is to see how
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