didn’t have. All he knew was as soon as she stood in front of him, he wanted to kiss her, touch her, make love to her and have her smile at him in the same soft, sexy way she had when she was in bed with him before.
He shook his head, snatched his keys off his desk and pointed them toward the door. “You need to go.”
“What?”
Their gazes locked as Scott’s blood roared in his ears. “If you think she walked all over me last time, we’ve nothing else to say to each other. How could she have walked all over me when we were barely together more than a few days, huh? What happened after she left has nothing to do with her. Don’t you get that? It was me who hit bottom. It wasn’t her fault.”
Nick’s eyes widened. “So you’re going back for more of the same?”
“I have to know why she’s back.”
“No, you don’t. You want to. What is it about this girl? Sure, she’s pretty but God, man, it’s like she’s got hold of your damn dick.”
Frustration coursed through Scott on a vibrating wave. He had no clue what it was that burned like an inferno between him and Carrie Jameson. The only thing he was sure of was the same shock mixed with desire had gleamed in her gaze at the garage as it had when she took his hand and led him from The Coast Inn straight to her hotel room.
Scott brushed past Nick. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s up to me to deal with, not you.” He pulled open the office door and waved. “After you.”
“You’re going to see her right now, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” Nick raised his hands in surrender. “Do what you have to do. I’ll be at the bar when you need a drink. Something tells me that will be sooner rather than later.”
Nick marched out the door, his feet banging down the iron steps and through the garage. Scott refused to allow his friend’s judgment to seep into his blood and make him resent Carrie when she’d done nothing wrong. She’d promised him nothing. He had to see her.
Locking the door behind him, Scott hurried down the steps and through the garage. He drew together the two iron doors and padlocked them before pocketing the keys in his jeans. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the collar of his leather jacket and, with his head bent against the wind and rain, jogged toward town.
The townspeople were out in their numbers as Christmas Day approached with a rapidity Scott couldn’t think about right then. Some faces etched with happiness, others with stress—there was no avoiding the holidays would soon be here and Scott was far from prepared. He passed the temporary ice rink that was set up in the town square every year.
The sound of the kids’ laughter and their joyful expressions as they whizzed around the rink did nothing to appease Scott’s trepidation. It seemed a lifetime ago when he was carefree enough at Christmastime to spend it at the rink.
Forcing his gaze ahead, he pounded the distance and, with each hundred yards, his adrenaline slowed and his mind leveled. The gold-and-bronze canopy of the Christie Hotel came into view. Slowing to a walk, he nodded to the doorman and passed through the revolving door into the hotel’s lobby. It was a fancy, old-fashioned place. Not necessarily to his taste, but that didn’t prevent the image of Carrie, dressed in a column of sapphire silk and killer heels, from filtering through his mind.
Once again, his dick twitched awake and his blood heated. Even the knowledge she was married didn’t cool his physical need to make love to her again. Her hair, her eyes...those damn, sexy legs covered with sheer black stockings. Never before had a woman held him so quickly and so strongly in her snare. Thoughts of her with another man, and married, caused a lash of inexplicable pain in his chest—a pain so much worse than the surges of jealousy that had torn through him for months after she left whenever he imagined her with another man.
He lifted his chin and shoved his thoughts into submission. He glanced around the hotel lobby and smiled wryly. Yep, the place suited her perfectly. Carrie had that whole Hollywood golden age thing going on. A woman with good curves in all the right places. Rita Hayworth, Jane Russell...He breathed deep and smiled. Real women.
He approached the front desk. The stout, English butler–type manager wore the air of a king overseeing his subjects. He met Scott’s eyes with casual indifference. “Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?”
Scott cleared his throat. “Good afternoon. I believe a Carrie Jameson is staying here. Could you please phone her room and ask her to meet me in the lobby?”
“Your name, sir?”
“Walker. Scott Walker.”
“One moment, please.”
The desk manager picked up the phone and Scott turned, his nerves jumping and his shoulders tense. He looked to his left at a group of suited businessman and grimaced. His idea of hell would be having to wake up each morning and get trussed up in a suit and tie to work behind a damn desk all day. He looked to his right...
Carrie stood watching him. Her shoulders and chest rose as she took a deep breath and strode toward him. He pushed away from the desk. “Don’t worry. I found her.”
“Sorry, sir?” The desk manager coughed behind him.
“She’s here. No need to try her room.” Scott moved away from the desk, and he and Carrie came to a stop in the middle of the lobby. He stared, his gaze roaming over her hair to her face, lower to exquisite collarbones and smooth skin above breasts concealed beneath a red shirt—and, God help him, the revealed edge of a red satin bra.
“You came.” Her words whispered from between scarlet-painted lips. “Thank you.”
He met her eyes. “I’m sorry about Nick.”
She smiled softly. “You know about that?”
“He came to me straight afterward.” Unable to resist, he glanced at her hands clenched together in front of her. Her wedding band glinted. He met her eyes, his heart beating fast. “The man can be an ass, but he’s only trying to look out for me.”
“I got that.” She broke eye contact and waved toward some seats to the side of them. “Shall we—”
“Why are you here, Carrie?”
A faint stain colored her cheeks. “Why don’t we sit down?” She glanced around. “I don’t want to do this standing up with everyone watching.”
“Why does it matter?” He clenched his jaw. “Does your husband know you’ve come to Templeton? That you’re here now? With me?”
Her color darkened and her gaze blazed with anger. “My husband has nothing to do with this. I’m sitting down. You can either join me or go. I’m not talking about this for everyone else’s entertainment.”
Scott glared after her as she stormed away. He hesitated as his gut churned with indecision. Whatever she had to tell him couldn’t be good, but how the hell could he walk away without knowing what brought her back to Templeton? Not knowing would haunt him for the rest of his damn life.
Cursing, he pulled back his shoulders and strode across the lobby to where she sat at a low table, smoothing her
