Taming Tess, page 18
Her sister?
Yeah, right. Like she hadn't also handed over her trust the minute that gold ring had been slipped onto her finger. The trust with the marriage clause in it ... just like hers.
There was an option. Get married and she could have the trust fund her mother had set up for her daughters out of her inheritance.
Yeah. Right. Marry and end up in the same trap as her mother—a trap where the husband takes control of your inheritance and adds marriage clauses to your daughters’ trust funds.
Tess scowled. How did her father wind up such a chauvinist with an aunt like Honey? How had her mother wound up marrying such a man?
An unsettling sensation walked its way up Tess’ spine. Something slightly more ominous than the usual anger she felt over the injustice of being denied access to anything, including her trust fund, just because she was a single woman.
Not that she'd have relied on that trust fund anyway. Relying on any sort of bailout would defeat her purpose, which was to prove her abilities as an architect and businesswoman to her father.
The familiar rumble of Roman's truck pulling into the drive rolled through the house and up her legs. Her heart gave a little lurch. Thank goodness she had more of Aunt Honey's sense than her mother's ... Honey who'd loved her men but invested her own money.
Tess tapped the tip of her pencil against the sheet of paper on the desk in front of the computer monitor where she'd figured how many board feet of lumber and sheets of plasterboard she'd need to repair The Castle. At least she hoped she had more of Honey's sense.
Downstairs, the front door opened and closed. Desire pinched at Tess’ stomach. Honey had shared with her the tales of the great loves of her life. She could hardly wait for Aunt Honey to come down off the mountain so she could tell her about Roman.
Her gaze snagged on the stack of unpaid bills piled beside her list of supplies. Bills for the company that ionized the air at The Castle, the cleaners who laundered the smoke out of drapes, linens, and clothes, and a contractor whose remodeling job had gone up in smoke. Reality.
Maybe Aunt Honey could offer her some advice on how to stretch her already over-extended credit ... besides the one outlandish possibility that kept nudging its way into her mind.
Roman came up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and nuzzled the back of her neck. “Whatcha doing?"
"Trying to figure out how to keep from going bankrupt on my first project. Know anyone who wants to buy a big old house with a giant hole in its roof?” she said, giving voice to that outlandish possibility.
His fingers flexed against her shoulders. “Yeah, I do."
She wheeled the chair around so quickly, they nearly knocked heads. “You know someone willing to pay good money for a half-burned-out, waterlogged wreck of a house?"
He smiled crookedly down at her. “Yeah."
"Who is this sucker, and point me in his direction."
Roman gripped the arms of the chair and put his face close to hers. “You already are pointed in his direction, and he's not a sucker."
Even though she knew whom he was talking about, she stared into his eyes a full minute before speaking the obvious, and still it came out as a question. “You?"
"I've always wanted The Castle. You know that, Tess."
"But it's a wreck."
"And I'm a contractor with the resources to repair it."
This was the answer to her prayers. Why wasn't she jumping up and down with joy?
For the same reason she wasn't running to Aunt Honey for help or jumping into any marriage so she could get her hands on her trust fund. That was the answer that shot through her like an express elevator.
"You're bailing me out,” she accused.
"I'm offering to buy The Castle at salvage price. I get a bargain and you don't lose your shirt on the deal. If that's bailing you out, so what?"
"So this is strictly a business proposition?” she quizzed cautiously.
"That would be one option,” he allowed. “But there is another option, another proposal, I'd like you to consider."
He took her hands in his and went down on one knee. “Marry me, Tess."
Hope, desire, and happiness exploded through Tess. Why then, wasn't she saying yes to Roman?
A jumble of thoughts bounced around inside her skull. Marry the man she loved ... and give up her independence. Gain access to her trust fund ... and lose her integrity. She couldn't cook and was a disaster at laundry. Why on earth should Roman St. John want to marry her?
Did it have something to do with the business proposition he'd first offered her? Ex-groom-to-be Harry had prefaced his marriage proposal with business, too. Though he hadn't offered both propositions in the same conversation ... hadn't been anywhere near as straightforward with either proposal. But the result would be the same. Her blood began to sizzle.
"I suppose you already have the ring,” she managed in a level voice.
"It hasn't been sized, yet,” he responded enthusiastically and reached into his shirt pocket.
"That sure I'd say, yes, huh?” She snorted.
He paused without opening the little blue velvet box he held in his hand, his enthusiasm and his smile fading. “Tess, we talked about kids today. That's the sort of thing that makes a man think..."
"That he's found his June Cleaver?"
Frown lines furrowed his brow. “It sounded like we wanted the same things."
"Like babies?"
"Yeah."
"Like filling The Castle with them?"
"Yes."
"Maybe a big playroom in the attic?"
"Yesss,” he answered more cautiously.
"And of course that walk-in closet goes back to being a nursery."
He narrowed his eyes as though he was beginning to get her message. “We can compromise..."
She stood, the chair rolling back from her. “I'm not some damsel in need of rescuing, St. John."
He jerked to his feet. “I'm not trying to rescue..."
"I'll take option one. The business deal."
"Dammit, Tess, what are you so angry about?"
She swung her chin through the air at him. “I'm angry about men controlling my life."
"I'm not trying to control..."
"The hell you're not! You just told me you want to turn The Castle into one giant nursery."
"I thought you wanted the same thing as I do."
"I bought The Castle as an investment to remodel and sell. Nowhere in your little proposition did you provide for my input about the house."
"Okay, so I jumped the gun. I thought..."
"All the baby talk automatically meant I was willing to subjugate myself to you?"
"No. That's not..."
"You had it all planned out. You get the girl, the kids, and the house all in one neat deal."
"I thought we wanted the same things,” he murmured, standing there in front on her, his arms hanging at his sides, the little velvet box dangling between his fingers. She could almost feel sorry for him. But, damn it, she was fighting for her independence here. And independence meant life to her.
"You want The Castle that bad, St. John? It's yours ... at salvage price. Put all the nurseries you want in it."
"Tess,” he pleaded.
She skirted around him and headed for the doorway. “Have the papers drawn up and sent to me at my Chicago address. That's where I'll be."
Chapter Twelve
Tess sipped her morning latte as she watched the pedestrians hurrying past her sidewalk café table. In the past week, she'd gone to a play, a blues club, and a comedy club. She'd visited Navy Pier, The Museum of Natural Art, and The Shed's Aquarium. She'd eaten deep-dish pizza from the number one Chicago pizzeria, Italian ice at a neighborhood ethnic fair, and ballpark franks while seated in the cheap seats at a Cubs game. She'd done all her favorite things. But none had cheered her up.
Why? Why hadn't the fireworks off Navy Pier made her go, “Oh!"? Why had the breakers rolling in off Lake Michigan made her feel melancholy? Why, when she'd tossed coins into Buckingham Fountain, hadn't she been able to put her wish into words?
She knew why. No matter how hard she wished, Roman would never share those once favorite moments with her.
And when her resolve weakened, when she fingered the car keys on her condo kitchen counter and thought of roads lined with trees instead of concrete streets shadowed by skyscrapers, she'd called her sister and her mother for a reminder of what marriage did to a woman. A reminder why any dream of a big, old house humming with activity wasn't hers. A reminder why she denied herself the man her heart yearned for.
A couple of lovers strolled past her sidewalk table, fingers entwined and heads together. At a neighboring table, two little girls giggled over oatmeal raisin cookies and cocoa while their mother and father beamed at them. At the street corner, an elderly man held up a hand to the oncoming traffic as he helped his wife, who hadn't quite finished crossing before the light had changed, onto the curb.
Tess couldn't help but wonder if she was doomed to forever be no more than an observer of such things? To be a stranger sitting at a sidewalk café, sipping lattes and watching old women smile at their life mates for helping them cross streets. How that smile lit up the old woman's face. How the old man's face softened as he looked into his wife's.
Who would help her cross the street when she was old? Who would be there for her to smile at ... and to smile back at her?
No one as long as marriage and loss of independence went hand in hand. That's why she'd played the shrew one last time with Roman. That's why she'd pushed him away even though she loved him. That's why she stubbornly clung to her need to control her own life.
The old couple trundled off down the street, arm in arm. Maybe it was worth giving up a little control to have that.
"Tess Abbot,” intoned a familiar voice. “I heard you were back in town."
She raised her chin toward the man standing beside her table in a dark gray suit, crisp white shirt, and power tie ... the man who'd shown her just how dangerous it could be to relinquish control.
"Hello, Harry,” she leveled at her ex-fiancé.
He smiled his dazzle-em-with-bull smile. “You're looking good, Tess."
She thought about the amount of make-up she'd had to apply to cover the circles under her eyes. “What do you want, Harry?"
He grunted through his fixed smile. “Now why would you assume I want something?"
"You never liked this café. This corner is out of your way. And everything you ever did with and for me, you did because you wanted something."
He dipped his chin, the smile tightening at its corners. “Cynicism does not become you, Doll."
"I'm not your Doll, Harry. What do you want?"
"You're going to make me get right to the point, aren't you?"
"If you don't get to the point soon, Harry, you're going to be talking to an empty chair because I have no interest in playing your games.” She started to get up.
He put a hand on the back of her chair and leaned over her. “Okay. Here's the deal. Remember that little project you helped me with?"
"You mean the low income housing design I developed for which you took the credit?” she shot back, refusing to shrink from him.
His lips tightened over a solicitous smile. “We're not going to have to rehash that now, are we?"
She arched an eyebrow at him. “You're the one who brought it up."
He sighed and eased back from her. “I couldn't very well not bring it up when I'm here to offer you a chance back in on that project."
She studied her ex-fiancé, noting the intensity with which he watched her, how he held his breath, and the white knuckles of the hand draped seemingly casually over the back of her chair. “You're in trouble with the design, aren't you?"
He snorted as though she'd just said the most absurd thing, but the pressure of his fingers telegraphed through the metal frame of the chair. “I'm offering you a chance to get back on board. That's all."
"In that case, no, thank you.” She pushed her chair back from the table and rose, making him release the chair—her.
"B-but..."
He seemed to catch himself before he said more. But the damage had been done because Harry never sputtered.
She looked him in the eye. She could just walk away. She knew he was in trouble. But she wanted him to admit it.
"You stole a perfectly good design from me, Harry. What could you possibly have done to screw it up?"
He smiled indulgently at her. “We've been all through this, Tess. You created that design on company time. It belongs to the firm. Nobody stole it from you."
"Swell.” She snatched the disposable coffee cup off the table and headed toward the trash receptacle. “Then take your problems to the firm that owns my design. Take your problems to my father."
"I already did,” he rushed out, not sounding at all smug now, and followed her. “We're both in trouble with it."
She turned back to him. “How can you be? That was a simple plan."
He stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets, rocked back on his heels, and shrugged. “You know the government, always demanding modifications."
"So make them."
He looked down at the toes of his wing tip shoes then peered up at her through his eyelashes. It was his contrite, boyish look. He'd used it on her before when she'd caught him in the small manipulations, the ones she'd let slide because she knew what it was like to not quite measure up.
"Everything we've tried has been rejected,” he said, “and we're running out of time."
A bark of laughter escaped Tess. “Then you're screwed, Harry."
She started off down the sidewalk.
"This doesn't affect just me,” he called after her. “It's costing your father big time."
She considered shouting back that he and her father could both go jump in Lake Michigan. But here was her chance to get what she wanted from her father—recognition as an architect. She'd be a fool to pass it up.
There was something else she sensed she was being a fool about. But this was not the time to think about Roman.
* * * *
It was nearly dark by the time Tess strode out of the Abbot Building and hailed a cab. It was as close to seeing daylight as she'd gotten in five days. She'd been working long and hard to recapture the integrity of the design that had initially won the huge contract for her father's firm while making the necessary cost cuts, and she'd done it all under deadline.
The client still had to approve the final design, but she was confident they would. Most importantly, she was done with it.
Done with the job. Done with Harry. Done with her father.
Any latent thoughts she might have had about rejoining her father's firm had vanished after five, life-blood sucking days working with him. He'd actually spoken condescendingly to her about her coming to her senses and returning home. So much for gaining his recognition ... his approval. At least she'd had the satisfaction of seeing the shocked look on his face when she'd told him she'd mail him her consulting bill.
She also now knew beyond any doubt she did not need her father's approval, and she found that realization vastly freeing.
She sank into the backseat of the cab with a sigh of relief. Something else she'd learned in the past five days. She definitely wanted more out of life than to be only an architect. She loved the work—the creativity. But even the most creative work in the world couldn't love you back. Not in the way lovers loved. Not in the way parents loved.
Not in the way an old couple who'd spent a lifetime together loved. She wanted that, all of that.
She peered out the cab window at the Chicago skyline, the buildings gilded by the setting sun and their windows blazing. She knew what she wanted with the same clarity that she knew, however much she loved the city, even that wouldn't be enough for her, not without someone with whom to share life.
What a fool she'd been. A silly, shrewish fool. Roman was nothing like Harry or her father.
Five days with those two and she'd seen the difference between take over and take charge, between controlling and supportive. Harry and her father wanted to take over and take control because they believed she, being a woman, was not capable. Roman took charge because he was decisive. Her father and Harry tried to control her. Roman supported her.
Tess smiled. She would go to Roman and apologize for being such a shrew. That last part should bring a smile to those beautifully sculpted lips. She could almost feel them slanting across her lips ... could almost feel his arms slipping around her and his hand cradling her head as he kissed her ... forgave her.
The cab jerked to a halt in front of her building, jolting her from the fantasy. She handed the cabby his fare and opened the cab door. A stiff breeze cut under her suit jacket, and she shivered. What if Roman wouldn't forgive her? What if he'd come to his senses and realized she didn't come close to being the domestic goddess he deserved? What would she do then?
She climbed out of the cab, murmuring to herself as the cab pulled away, “Wish him well and let him go find the kind of woman he deserves."
But that was not going to happen. No way. No how. Roman St. John loved her and she loved him. End of story. At least it would be the end of the story once she got back to Pine Ridge and climbed a certain contractor's six-foot plus frame.
She nearly skipped into the condo. “Hey, Carlton,” she sang to the security guard behind the circular desk to one side of the entrance, “how'd your Libby's wrestling match go?"
"She won against a boy who was tops in his weight division last year."
She veered to the desk, leaned over it, and gave the guard a kiss on the cheek.
"What's that for?” he asked.
"For being a great father."
She practically pirouetted toward the elevators, but Carlton stopped her. “Oh, Miss Abbot. There's a gentleman here waiting to see you."
She turned halfway back to the guard who nodded toward the seating area on the far side of the main entrance. She turned further and saw the man rise from one of the French Provincial chairs. He wore pressed jeans, khaki sports jacket and a blue knit polo shirt the same amazing hue as his eyes ... Roman St. John's eyes.
