So Into You Page 7

  "God, I'm sorry."

  "I'm reminded of him almost every day and I still miss him. It's not so bad now, but I would never wish anyone the pain of having someone you love ripped away like that." The cool wetness of a tear touched his skin.

  He turned on his side and cradled her in his arms, wanting to comfort her with a hug and then hold her in his arms all night. This was the deeply hidden face he'd sensed, the vulnerability, the fragile woman terrified of loss and still grieving in various ways.

  She clung to him, letting him enfold her and gently soothe her with his touches. There was nothing sexual in his caress, no teasing or arousal. It was simply two people wrapped together for the night.

  He held her tightly, letting her know without words that he was there for her.

  And smiling when her breathing leveled and he heard a tiny snore. She was sound asleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Casey cursed the wicked twist of fate that had sent her out of town just as she was getting to know Phil, and sensing that this could indeed be the start of a meaningful relationship, something she hadn't hoped could happen again.

  But work was work and this conference had been on her schedule for months. There was no way should could have avoided it, and there were a few moments when she wondered if it wasn't the best thing for her. To get away for a little while and catch her breath.

  But at last the week was over, she'd flown in late at night and spent the next morning reporting to several division managers on the results of the conference. They'd been very pleased, gushed compliments and her boss had winked when he referred to "payoff at review time" for the weeks of prep work she'd put into it.

  And now she was, for once, breaking a few rules. She'd texted Phil from the airport last night, told him she was fried and asked if he could make lunch today. He'd agreed and now she was here waiting for him, eager to see him and share the letter she had tucked into her large handbag.

  She hoped he'd be as excited as she was.

  "Pardon me, beautiful. Is this seat taken?"

  She jumped as Phil touched her shoulder. Then she smiled and stood. "It is now, handsome."

  His kiss was warm, hinting at so much more. But since they were in public, that was about as far as it went.

  She sighed as he moved to pull her chair out for her. "Nice. I missed you."

  "Missed you too, Casey. But thanks for keeping in touch. I know you must have been really busy."

  She nodded as he sat across from her. "I had no idea it was going to be so intense. No matter where I went someone was there wanting to talk business."

  She felt his legs move toward her and encase her ankles as he grinned. "I can't blame them. A beautiful woman with the mind of a genius. Maybe we ought to talk business ourselves." The curve of his lips was frankly sensual and she knew him well enough to realize that the business he was talking about had nothing to do with profits and losses.

  "We will." She rubbed his calf with one of her own. "Trust me on this."

  They chatted for a few moments while their orders were taken and arrived promptly. It was lunch, so nobody wanted to linger over their food and the restaurants needed a fast turnover.

  Casey dunked a fry in some ketchup and leaned down, as Phil finished his burger and wiped his mouth on his napkin. "Got something I want to show you."

  "I know. I want to see it." He snickered.

  "Mind out of the gutter please." She pulled out a manila envelope and passed it to him. "This is kind of a surprise and a present for you."

  With a look of curiosity, he opened it and slid out the sheets of paper, pushing his plate aside and putting them in front of him.

  His expression changed to confusion. "What's this?"

  She leaned toward him. "Isn't it wonderful?"

  "I don't know. What is it?"

  "It's a contract, Phil. For your drawings. From a publisher who wants to put them in a new coffee table book. It's an amazing concept— passion in all different kinds of media, and I knew when I saw…" Her voice trailed off as she looked at his face and saw not excitement, but growing anger.

  "Casey, what did you do? How did these people get my sketches?"

  "I…" She floundered. "I don't understand. I thought you'd be thrilled…"

  "How did they get my sketches?"

  She looked down in embarrassment. "I photographed them with my cell phone before you woke up."

  "You what?" His voice was ice.

  She straightened with a frown. "They are incredible works of art, Phil. And since they were of me, done without my permission by the way, I thought at least I had the right to take them with me."

  "Without asking?"

  "All I wanted was to be able to look at them, to have them with me. To treasure them, Phil. Truly." She spread her hands, trying to explain. "Then at the conference I met a friend who agents for a publisher and she told me about the book. I showed her one of the sketches and she went apeshit for the rest of them."

  Phil's eyes burned and his lips tightened as he thumbed through the contract. But he remained silent.

  "I thought you'd be pleased. Having your work published?"

  He refused to meet her gaze for a few moments, and she noticed a muscle working in his cheek. Right now he was a stranger, a furious stranger. A man she didn't know sat across the table. He had Phil's face and voice but his words— she swallowed roughly.

  "Casey, you've betrayed me, my trust. Those were drawings of you I did without any skill or training or intent that anyone ever see them. They were visions from my heart, if you want to be dramatic about it. But the bottom line is that they were private."

  Now he looked at her, stared at her with fury burning in his eyes. "You should have asked, plain and simple. Instead you've taken something very precious to me and paraded it in front of anyone and everyone. You've cheapened it and also cheapened the feelings behind those drawings. I put down on paper how I saw you. How I wanted you. What you meant to me."

  She flinched at the angry words and the dawning realization of what she'd done.

  "You took more than photos when you snapped my sketchpad, Casey. You have to know how personal something like this is." He pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and roughly scrawled his name on the bottom of the contract papers, tossing them back at her across the table. "I know you were trying to surprise me with something. But you took my trust and my love for you and turned it into nothing more than a fucking business contract."

  He stood and grabbed his wallet, dropping a couple of bills next to his plate. "I have to say you are really great at business. But you forgot to think about how I would take this. It obviously didn't matter to you. And neither did I."

  And with that he was gone, leaving her chilled, scared and shattered as she stared at the remains of her lunch.

  *~*~*~*

  Phil made very sure his path didn't cross Casey's for the rest of the day. He was furious, hurt and remorseful, finally reaching a point where he could admit that he'd overreacted. But then he remembered his sketches, the intimacy and the dawning hope that had gone into every loving line.

  And he hurt all over again.

  He almost cancelled his plans for the evening, but since he'd agreed to hit the town with two visiting fraternity brothers, he figured perhaps that would be the best way to drown his sorrows for a bit. He'd have dropped them in a New York minute if Casey had been free. But now, that was a moot point.

  He hadn't seen either Brent or Ryan in ages, so he prepared himself for a night of heavy alcohol intake with a side order of flirting. He figured he'd referee if necessary and be designated driver if they needed to be someplace without taxi service.

  Thankfully they stuck to the well-populated cab routes, enjoying a great steak dinner and typical manly conversation. Which, to Phil's surprise, included a casual job offer with Ryan's new company.

  "We'll talk, bro." Ryan nodded over the bill. "Now we drink and see if we can get laid, okay?"

  Phil sighed a
nd followed them out the door, unable to repress a grin as Brent hailed a cab, put on his best British accent and demanded "Take us to the nearest high class drinking establishment, my good man."

  In spite of that, it wasn't too long before they all found themselves on high stools in front of a spotlessly shining bar with foaming tankards in front of them.

  Yeah, life was looking up.

  "So no new meat for you anymore?" Brent teased, as a cleavage-enhanced waitress frisked by with an inviting smile.

  "He's in luuuuurve," Ryan hummed into his beer. "I know the signs."

  Phil just shook his head and ordered another round. He knew from prior experience that talking to these two after a few beers was an exercise in futility.

  "Hey Phil. Can't believe you're out for a night on the town. What a coincidence, huh?"

  He turned and there was Joan, dressed to kill. She had hot and sexy curves and most of 'em were front and center in a short short dress with a low low neckline.

  Ryan nearly fell off his stool and Brent visibly drooled.

  "Hello Joan. You out on a date?"

  She eyed the other two men with interest. "No, just having some fun with the girls. We had dinner in the restaurant next door and figured we do a little dancing to work off the calories." She leaned into him. "Flying solo, huh? Wise thing I guess. Now that Casey's off the market, so to speak."

  Phil frowned. "What are you talking about?"

  "Didn't you hear? Some guy from her past who was supposed to be dead showed up." Joan giggled. "Just like that. Poof. Dead one minute, there the next."

  Phil blinked. "What was his name? You remember?"

  "Sure." She smirked. "He was one helluva good looking not-corpse, if you know what I mean."

  "His name?" God, he might have to choke it out of her.

  "Umm…Desmond? Derek? No…Dominic. Yeah. Dominic something. He came to reception looking for her just after lunch."

  Thankfully, Brent and Ryan demanded an introduction at that moment, interrupting the conversation and giving Phil a chance to straighten a world that had suddenly tilted upside down.

  Her dead boyfriend? The one she'd said was the love of her life or something?

  Fuck.

  Double fuck.

  It would seem that fate or whatever was against him. He'd ripped up at her and walked out only to have her perfect man show up and probably rescue her. Even now they might be…

  Phil's heart thudded at the terrible image of her in someone else's arms, someone else's bed. So this was heartbreak. Well, he should have been smart enough to know it was coming.

  Disgusted with himself and the world in general, he made a snap decision. "Hey Ryan. Were you serious about that job?"

  Ryan, who was trying to look down Joan's dress without being too obvious about it, glanced over at him and lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah, why?"

  "I'll take it."

  *~*~*~*

  "And just like that he said I'll take it. No hesitation or negotiation. Nothing." Joan leaned on the cubicle wall, watching Casey like a hawk.

  Casey was struggling, fighting a battle on two fronts. The first was against the tears she'd thought she'd controlled last night. The second was the urge to take her stapler and figure out if it was possible to murder somebody with it. Somebody like Joan. She'd start by stapling those pouty lips together and then maybe moving up to the heavy-duty model and nail her to the cubicle wall. Upside down.

  She found words at last. "Well, wow." Lame, but since Joan was on a roll it didn't really seem to matter.

  "Yeah, I know, right? Of course, I was there, and he's awful cute. I figured if he wanted a goodbye…um…fling, well why not?"

  Hating herself, Casey had to ask. "And?"

  "Not a thing." Joan looked disgruntled for a minute or two. "Reckon the beers probably hit the old manhood. Some guys get needle-dicked after a few, ya know?"

  "I didn't, but thanks for sharing."

  "Anyway it didn't really matter." Joan tossed her hair. "That Brent was….mmm…mmm." She fanned herself. "Hotter'n a jalapeno if you catch my drift."

  Joan's phone buzzed and Casey offered up a prayer of thanks to the communication gods. She couldn't have stood much more.

  It had been hard enough seeing Dominic again.

  Dominic.

  Alive. In the flesh. Smiling at her, hugging her, kissing her.

  And telling her he was married. To Keith.

  His voyage of self-discovery had begun on the side of a mountain and ended in the arms of his gay lover. It was all very surprising and very wonderful, but impossible to explain to anyone, apparently.

  So for three years, they'd lived under other names, quietly enjoying life and ignoring anyone who might have suffered at their loss.

  After her shock and joy at seeing him again, Casey began to look at him with new eyes. What she saw was a hunky guy who was, fundamentally, rather shallow. Hot sex was fine, but when it came to passion it was all about what he wanted.

  She was very glad he wasn't dead, but overall not sorry when he said he was just passing through and asked her not to tell his remaining relative. Aunt Joy, he explained, just wouldn't understand.

  He never even noticed that her eyes were bloodshot and scratchy and that she was on her second bottle of red eye drops.

  After Joan's stunning news, it looked like she was going to have to go for the hat trick and open her third bottle, although God knew if she had any tears left.

  She'd been an asshole and done a stupid, fucked up thing without thinking. And the result had been—emptiness. Her life was emptier than when Dominic had left it.

  Because now she'd understood what the warmth of desire and the honesty of passion could mean. She'd been held close to the heart of a man who wanted nothing more than her, Casey. As she was.

  A man who had loved her.

  She knew that now. He would never have done all those things for her, stuck by her side, devoted so much time to being her friend, if he hadn't loved her. He'd never have even thought about sketching her, that was for sure. He'd put his love out there in the lines of his drawings and all she'd seen were pretty, sexy pictures. She'd missed the emotions and the feelings behind them, even though he'd tried to tell her.

  And now she'd thrown it all away.

  That night, she sat in her bedroom and once again scrolled through Phil's drawings.

  She'd survive this loss. She'd survived before.

  But this one would be so much harder.

  With that thought in her mind, she let the tears come once again in the hopes that their salt would cleanse the deep wound bleeding from her heart.

  Chapter Nine

  Five months later

  Phil sat in his office, and for the millionth time enjoyed the view and the fact that he actually had an office all to himself.

  Ryan had been true to his word and the job with a projects development company that was small and energetic had proved the answer to Phil's dreams. Employment dreams, anyway.

  He had a pretty damn good salary, a new apartment in a new town, and a view out over the city. On clear days he could see the blue strip of the ocean in the far distance.

  What he didn't have was Casey.

  And for the five millionth time he wished he could stop wanting her so badly.

  "Package for you, Mr. Cooper." A young intern popped his head around the door and waved a large flat box at him.

  "Okay, thanks Ted." Phil stood and took the box, walking over to the table by the window and pushing a few folders aside to make room for it.

  He stilled as he saw the return address.

  That publishing company. Fuck.

  Phil forced his thoughts away from a certain fateful afternoon and slit the packing tape. Inside was more paper, a little more tape and then bubble wrap. Eventually he waded through the outer layers to find a good-sized book with a brilliantly beautiful dust jacket.

  He read the title aloud. "Eyes of the Heart: A look at all the colors of love."
/>
  The credits screamed endorsements from everyone from the Mayor of a major metropolis to a movie star.

  Curious now, he took it back to his desk, sat down and spun the chair so that he could rest one knee on the edge. Resting the book in his lap, he opened it.

  Love. It has been written about more than any other subject in the history of our species. Or perhaps it just seems that way. However you describe it, love is always different, always fresh, always new. And always fodder for writers, movie screenplays and television dramas ad infinitum.

  This book is a compilation of images about love in a variety of different media from a variety of different viewpoints. You'll find old masters and new voices, images from state-of-the-art devices and soft pictures painted several centuries ago with nothing more than a brush.

  Enjoy each of them. And perhaps find your own special vision somewhere within…

  Intrigued, Phil began to turn the pages, pausing at the first section—photographs of a new mother and her child, obviously taken by the father. They were happy, warm and filled with the kind of love that shines from a family welcoming a new life.

  After them came some of the classic old masters, gods and goddesses both real and imagined, and then some stills from the all time great romance movies.

  It was a truly beautiful book, with commentaries in some places and none in others, where the image spoke for itself. He paused at that one immortal shot of Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart at the airport in Casablanca. It didn't need any caption at all.

  That was followed by a series of photos tracing love through a long relationship—blurry black and white wedding photos leading through kids, grandkids and eventually two senior citizens holding hands next to the ocean, renewing fifty years of commitment. It was sweetly poignant.

  Then he turned to the next section and his hand trembled as he saw his own sketch. The title blurred for a minute and he had to blink to clear his vision in order to read the words at the top of the page.