like ambrosia, but for some reason had the flavor and consistency of sawdust. At a quarter to seven Sylvia appeared in the doorway. “Should I hold dinner a little longer? I’m afraid to wait too long or it’ll be overcooked.”
“Hold off for fifteen more minutes. If he’s not here by then, you can wrap everything up and stash it in the fridge.”
“Oh. Oh, sure. We can do that.”
Catherine flinched at the unmistakable pity in the other woman’s voice. “Thanks, Sylvia. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me.”
Keeping her chin high, she marched to the master suite and gently closed the door. Then she proceeded to remove her belongings and transfer them to one of the guest bedrooms. Why, oh why, had she allowed herself to believe for even one single second that he’d changed? Nothing had changed. Business always came first with Gabe and it always would.
From deep inside the apartment the phone rang. More than anything, she wanted to ignore it. But it would only make matters worse if she allowed the answering machine to take the call so that Sylvia and Casey could overhear whatever excuse Gabe cared to offer for his delay.
She picked up the bedroom extension. “Hello?”
“I’m sorry.” Gabe’s voice rumbled across the line. “This wasn’t how I planned our first night together.”
She held on to her self-control by a shred. “I’m sure it wasn’t.”
“You’re furious, and I don’t blame you. That deal I told you about earlier came to a head. Roxanne managed to get LaRue to the table, and this was the only time he’d agree to.”
“I’ll bet.”
“It’s going to be a while. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
She heard the unspoken question and answered it. “I promised I’d be here, and I will. The rest we’ll negotiate in the morning.”
He swore softly. “This will be the last time.”
She shook her head in disbelief. He still didn’t get it. “You think it will, Gabe. That’s part of the problem. You always think that next time will be different. But it never is, is it?”
She didn’t wait for his response, but hung up. She needed to inform the caterers that their services wouldn’t be required. But first, she needed a moment to herself. A moment to grieve over the death of a tiny blossom of hope that had somehow, at some point when she wasn’t looking, managed to unfurl deep in her heart.
It was two in the morning before Gabe keyed open the lock to his apartment. Catherine had left a light burning for him, the one by the sculpture of the sleeping woman—a sculpture whose gentle curves and sleek, soft lines reminded him vividly of her. It was why he’d bought the damn thing, even though he suspected it would torment him every time he looked at it. And it did.
Turning off the light, he headed directly for the bedroom, pulling up short when he realized Catherine wasn’t there. For a single, hideous moment, he flashed back on the night she’d left him. His gaze shot to the dresser, half expecting to see another crisp white envelope with his name neatly scripted across the front. Of course, it wasn’t there. Nor was the dresser. Within a week of her departure, memories too painful to bear had him replacing every stick of furniture in the room.
Stripping off his suit jacket and tie, he went in search of Catherine. He found her in the spare bedroom farthest from the master suite. She sat at a small antique desk by the window, her head pillowed in her arms, sound asleep. She wore a long, sweeping silk nightgown in a stunning shade of aqua, covered by a matching robe.
Gabe silently approached and glanced at the papers littering the desk beneath and around her. They were accounting records, he realized, and he tugged free a few of the sheets. As he glanced down the rows and across the columns, a frown knit his brow. Hell, she was skating precariously close to disaster. First thing tomorrow, he’d take a closer look at this and see just how close to the edge she’d come and what it would take to turn it around…assuming that was even possible.
Tossing the pages aside, he circled the desk and gently tipped her out of the chair and into his arms. She stirred within his hold, but didn’t awaken until he reached their bedroom and eased her onto the bed. She stared up at him in confusion, her golden eyes heavy with exhaustion and brimming with vulnerability.
“What…?”
“You fell asleep at your desk.”
He saw the instant her memory snapped back into place, watching with keen regret as her defenses came slamming down. She bolted upright. “What am I doing in your bed? How did I get here?” she demanded.
“You’re in my bed because it’s where you belong,” he explained calmly. “And you got here because I carried you here.”
“Well, you can just carry me back, because I’m not staying.”
He toed off his shoes without saying a word. Then he proceeded to strip. He was one article of clothing away from baring it all when she erupted off the bed.
“You’re not listening, Gabe. I’m not sleeping with you.”
“Then don’t sleep,” he retorted mildly. “But when we go to bed, we’ll be doing it together.”
She shook her head, and her sleep-tangled curls danced in agitation. “You stood me up tonight. You promised me this time would be different and then you stood me up.” The vulnerability he’d seen earlier leaked through her defenses, nearly killing him. “You can’t do that and then expect me to—” She waved a hand in the direction of the bed.
“Just for my own edification, is this how I’m supposed to react when the shoe is on the other foot?” he asked.
That stopped her, if only for a moment. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that your business is as demanding as mine. Most of your events take place in the evening or on the weekend when I’m off work. Having spent the past two years building up your business, you know there are times when the unexpected arises and you have no choice but to deal with it.”
“Damn you!” She glared at him in frustration. “I’m not in the mood for your brand of logic. You can’t turn this back on me.”
“I’m not trying to. I’m trying to make you see that every once in a while something like this is going to happen. We’d better learn to deal with it starting right here and right now. Tonight was on me, and I’m sorry, Cate. I’m more sorry than you can possibly know. I wanted your homecoming to be special, and instead it was a nightmare. But you tell me how to handle it the next time or how I should react when you’re the one calling with the last-minute emergency.”
He could tell she was at a loss for words. The fire died, leaving behind pain and confusion. “I was looking forward to tonight so much,” she confessed.
The admission hit and hit hard. “So was I.” He stripped off his shorts and tossed back the bedcovers. Then he held out his hand. “Robe.”
