She'd told him that this was a disaster in the making, but he'd built his life around crashing through roadblocks, so he'd ignored the obvious and charged ahead. Even though he'd known she was right, he wanted her, so he'd taken, and the consequences be damned. Now that it was too late, he absorbed exactly how big a disaster this was for her, professionally and personally. Her emotions were engaged-he'd seen it in her face-and that meant she couldn't ever go back to the business of being his matchmaker.
He rolled over and punched his pillow. What the hell had he been thinking? He hadn't been thinking, that was the whole problem. He'd only been reacting, and in the process of getting what he wanted, he'd blown her dreams right out of the water. Now he had to make it up to her.
He began drawing up a plan in his head. He'd talk up her business and find some decent clients to throw her way. He'd use his PR people and media contacts to get her press. It was a good story-a second-generation matchmaker brings her grandmother's old-fashioned business into the twenty-first century. Annabelle should have come up with it herself, but she didn't think big enough.
One thing he couldn't do was let her keep introducing him to other women. That would break her heart. Selfishly, he didn't like the idea of her not working for him anymore. He liked having her around. She made things easier for him… something he'd repaid by screwing her over, literally and figuratively.
Like father. Like son.
The despair that settled over him felt old and familiar, like the sound of a rusty trailer door slamming in the night.
He didn't remember falling asleep, but he must have because it was daylight when the earth moved. He eased one eye open, saw a face he wasn't ready to face, and turned his head into the pillow. Another small earthquake rattled the mattress. He peeled open his lids and blinked as a blade of sunlight hit him between the eyes.
"Wake up, you gorgeous gift to womankind," a voice chirped.
She sat on the porch floor next to him, a coffee mug cradled in her hand, one bare leg extended so she could nudge the mattress with her foot. She wore bright yellow shorts and a purple T-shirt printed with a grotesque cartoon troll and a caption that said we're people, too. Her hair curled in a crazy fracas around her imp's face, her lips were rosy, and her eyes a lot clearer than his. She sure as hell didn't look devastated. Shit. She thought last night had changed things. He felt sick. "Later," he managed.
"Can't wait. We're meeting everyone for breakfast in the gazebo, and I have to talk to you." She picked up a second mug from the floor and held it out. "Something to ease the pain of reentry."
He needed to be alert for this, but he felt like the bottom of a dirty ashtray, and all he wanted was to avoid this discussion by rolling over and going back to sleep. But he owed her better than that, so he propped himself on one elbow, took the coffee, and tried to will the cobwebs from his brain.
Her eyes followed the sheet as it slipped to his waist, and he wanted her all over again. He moved his arm to conceal the evidence. How was he going to break the news that she was a friend, not a candidate for a long-term relationship, without tearing her apart?
"First," she said, "last night meant more to me than you can imagine."
Exactly what he didn't want to hear. She looked so damned sweet. It took a real shithead to hurt someone like this. If only Annabelle were the woman he'd always dreamed about- sophisticated, elegant, with impeccable taste and a family that traced its roots back to a nineteenth-century robber baron. He needed someone worldly enough to survive life's bumps, a woman who saw life as he did-a competition to be won, not a perpetual invitation to come out and play.
"At the same time…" Her voice shifted to a lower, more serious note. "We can't ever do that again. It was a serious breach of professional conduct on my part, although not quite the problem I'd imagined." A smile he could only describe as impish broke through. "Now I can recommend you with complete enthusiasm." The smile faded. "No, the bigger problem is how manipulative I was."
Coffee slopped over the edge of the mug. What the hell was this?
She dashed into the kitchen for a paper towel and handed it over so he could mop up. "Back to business," she said. "You have to understand I'm truly grateful for what you did. The whole thing with Rob really messed with my head. Ever since we broke up, well… I've been running from sex. The brutal truth is, I've been pretty screwed up about it." She dabbed at some drips he'd missed. "Thanks to you, I'm past that."
He took a cautious sip and waited, no longer sure where any of this was heading. She touched his arm in a gesture that felt annoyingly maternal. "I feel healthy again, and I owe that to you. Well, and to Krystal's movie. But, Heath…" The tiny scatter of freckles on her forehead met as she frowned. "I can't stand this feeling that I-I sort of used you."
His coffee mug stalled midair. "Used me?"
"That's what we need to talk about. I consider you a friend, in addition to being a client, and I don't use my friends. At least I haven't until now. I know it's different with men- maybe you don't feel taken advantage of. Maybe I'm making too big a deal out of this. But my conscience tells me I need to be totally honest about my motivations."
He tensed. "By all means."
"I needed someone safe who could help me reconnect with my body, someone I wasn't emotionally involved with. So, of course, you were perfect."
Not emotionally involved?
She nibbled at her bottom lip, beginning to look as though she'd rather be anywhere but here. "Tell me you're not mad," she said. "Oh, crap… I'm not going to let myself cry. But I feel so bad. You heard Kevin last night. I…" She gulped. "That whole other complication. What a mess, right?"
She'd thrown one more curveball. "Other complication?"
"You know."
"Refresh my memory."
"Don't make me say it. It's too embarrassing."
"What's a little embarrassment between friends?" he said tightly. "Since we're being so honest."
She gazed up at the ceiling, rolled her shoulders, looked down at the floor. Her voice grew small, almost timid. "You know… The tiny crush I have on Dean Robillard."
The floor shifted beneath him.
She pressed her hands to her face. "Oh, God, I'm blushing. I'm awful, aren't I, talking to you about this?"
"No, please." He ground out the words. "Feel free."
She dropped her hands and regarded him with all kinds of earnestness. "I know it probably won't come to anything-this thing with Dean-but before last night, I didn't even have the nerve to give it a chance. He's obviously an experienced guy, and what was I going to do if the connection I felt wasn't just in my imagination? What would I do if he was interested in me, too? I couldn't cope with the sexual ramifications. But after what you did for me last night, I finally have the courage to at least give it a shot. If nothing comes of it, well, that's life, but at least I'll know it wasn't my neurosis that held me back."
"Are you saying… I was your icebreaker?"
Those honey-colored eyes darkened with concern. "Tell me that's okay with you. I know your emotions weren't involved, but, still, nobody likes to think they've been taken advantage of."
He unclenched his teeth. "And that's what you did? You took advantage of me?"
"I wasn't, you know, picturing him in my mind last night when I was with you or anything. Well, maybe for a couple of seconds, but that's all, I swear."
He narrowed his eyes.
"So are we okay?" she asked.
He didn't understand the smoldering mass of resentment growing in his chest, especially since she'd handed him a free pass. "I don't know. Are we?"