"I'm not going to die." His voice, by her ear, was gravelly with emotion. "And neither are you. I won't let it happen. But, Haley, you've got to trust me-at least with how you feel for me. You're killing me, here."
She felt wretchedly ashamed now. In his voice was something she'd always wanted, something she could have, if she would only reach for it. But she couldn't. He couldn't know what it did to her heart, to be offered something she'd wanted her entire life-trust-and then to have to turn it away. "I'm going to leave, Cam."
He dropped her notebook on the table in front of her. It clamored noisily in the silent kitchen. "I wish you could believe in me. I want that more than you could know. But even more than that, I want your safety. I don't want anything to happen to you, Haley. You want me to stop crowding you. Fine. I will. But don't leave."
She felt his fingers brush over the back of her neck in a soft, loving caress. She held herself rigid, knowing if he so much as touched her again, she'd give in and fly into his arms.
"Don't go," he whispered. Without another word, he left the kitchen.
She waited until the door shut before sinking into the nearest chair, dropping her head into her arms. The tears she'd been holding back fell freely, but it didn't matter.
Nothing mattered.
She'd done this to herself. She'd fallen in love with a man she could never have. Her sobs echoed around her, like her dashed dreams, crushed hopes and broken heart.
Much later, Haley thought to check the pager, which had been ominously silent.
Nothing. She shouldn't have been so surprised, but she was. The service had been disconnected. There would be no more messages.
She was completely alone.
Cam pushed the papers littering his desk away and shoved ten fingers into his hair. Haley was going to leave, if he didn't stop her. He'd call the police and turn her in before he let that happen. But what would that do to her-that final betrayal?
Without stopping to think about the wisdom of it, he pulled out her mother's phone number and dialed it.
An English guy answered. He turned out to be the butler, giving Cam the third degree. By the time Mrs. Whitfield came on the line, Cam had started to regret the call.
"Mrs. Whitfield," he said in his most charming Southern voice. "I'm a friend of your daughter's and-"
"Haley?"
Well, who the hell did she think? "Yes, Haley. I know you haven't seen her lately, but she could really use your support right now-"
The woman laughed, long and coldly. "I paid for her education, which was more than most would have done. I'll not give her another penny."
"But-"
"Tell her to capitalize on her brains. For whatever they're worth."
Something deep inside Cam chilled when he pictured Haley as a little girl, with this icy woman for a mother. No wonder she felt she could rely on no one but herself.
"I'm sorry," Mrs. Whitfield said. "I have another call."
She wasn't sorry at all, except for the fifteen seconds she'd wasted. But he had to try one last time. "Your daughter is in trouble. Aren't you in the least bit concerned? Or even curious?"
"Frankly, no," she replied. "I've tried to make my mark in that woman's life, tried to show her what was important, but she never listened. Haley has made a lifelong habit of living her life as she saw fit. She'll continue to do so, with or without me."
Unbelievable, Cam thought, his hand shaking as he hung up the phone. Absolutely unbelievable. Her mother didn't care. How different from his own mother, who before she'd died of cancer five years ago, had butted into all her sons' lives night and day, all out of love.
So much about Haley made more sense now. The way she hesitated to lean on anyone, her stubborn insistence on doing everything for herself, her incredibly low self-esteem. His hand slammed down on his desk as anger vibrated through him.
All he wanted was to show her how life could be, show her patience, kindness… love. And all she wanted to do was fight those very things as hard as she could. Understanding her motivation didn't help.
He hoped to God she managed to stay out of his way until he could rein in his feelings for her. If not, he'd kiss her again, or humiliate himself and beg her to feel a fraction of what he felt for her. He'd chase her away, and send her into the unknown danger she feared so.
A small noise had him looking up. The subject of his thoughts stood in his doorway, watching him with wary, vulnerable eyes. Damn it, she looked beautiful. And he wasn't close to being prepared to face her. Not yet.
"I'm busy," he said evenly, tapping his pencil against a file.
"I'm… sorry. I just wanted to talk to you."
He tossed his pencil aside before raising his reluctant gaze to hers. She wasn't going to make this easy for him, but he'd face it. If only to keep her here. "I thought you were all talked out."
"I thought so, too." She moved into the room, bringing the light, sweet scent that was so uniquely her. She'd changed into a pretty floral dress that he remembered as Nellie's, but he'd never remembered it being so… alluring. It swept to her ankles, its fitted bodice emphasizing her thinness. She'd lost weight, he realized with a pang of alarm. It wouldn't be good for her health. If only… Well, there were a thousand if-onlys.
"It's going to rain," she said inanely, her voice that throaty whisper that always brought visions of hot, lusty sex to mind.
Which added frustration to his growing bad temper. "Yes. And as I doubt you've come to ask me to dance in it, you might as well spill it." He would absolutely not plead with her to give him what he wanted. Her twiddling fingers spoke of her own nervousness, but he couldn't cater to her feelings now. He had his own to protect.
She sank into the chair in front of his desk. "I came to ask you to not be mad at me."
The fight drained out of him in one sweep at the urgent, almost-desperate need on her face.
How was he supposed to remain distant when all he wanted to do was wrap himself around her, comfort and protect her? As he rose and went closer, the signs were there for him to see and agonize over. She'd been crying, and as she lifted drenched eyes to his, he could see the tension, the pain blazing in them.
He squatted before her, tried to take her hands in his, but she gripped his desk so tightly, he couldn't pry them off without hurting her. "Haley," he murmured, guilt racking him. Selfish, he berated himself. He'd been so selfish, thinking only of himself. "Come on, darlin'," he urged, stroking her hands until she loosened her grip. He turned her toward him, bringing her hands up to his lips. "I'm not mad at you."
Her eyes closed, her voice filled with exhaustion. "Oh, please. Not you, too, Cam. Don't you start twisting the truth."
"All right." He couldn't contain his reluctant smile at her self-demoralizing tone. "I was mad. I was also acting selfishly. Come on." He stood, still holding her hands. "I'll walk you back to your house. You should sleep. It'll probably help the headache."
"How did you know?"
"I know you better than you think. Or at least, better than you want to admit." He tugged her gently to her feet, giving in to the impulse to pull her close.
He slid his hands up, cupped her jaw and brought his face closer to hers. God, he could drown in those eyes. "Haley, I know I agreed to walk away, to be just friends." His fingers sank into her lovely, silky hair. "But I don't want to anymore."
"Cam-"
He didn't want to hear it so he covered her mouth with his. Under his fingers, her muscles went lax, even as her pulse raced. Slow and soft, he reminded himself, though his body urged him to hurry and possess. The change in her-the gradual, hesitant response-was so irresistibly sweet, he pulled back just to look at her.