Page 120 of Confessions

He lifted his shoulder, as if he really didn’t give a care, but the rigid set of his jaw said otherwise.

“You know, the same could be said about you,” she pointed out.

He leaned one hand against a leafless oak sapling, then dusted off the snow that clung tenaciously to the bark. “I just thought you should know.”

“‘Forewarned is forearmed’—isn’t that an old army saying?”

“Take it any way you like,” he said hotly. He moved dangerously close to her. “Besides, what do you care, from the looks of it, you’ve got Thomas Fitzpatrick wrapped around your little finger.”

“I don’t even know him.”

“It won’t be long, Carlie,” Ben predicted harshly. “I saw him with you. He’s on the scent and a man like that usually gets what he wants.”

“You’re crazy.” Thomas Fitzpatrick? Interested in her? The idea was outlandish. Or was it? Her skin crawled.

“Just watch out.”

“You’re serious.”

“Absolutely, and you’d better open your eyes or quit playing that you don’t know what’s going on.”

“He’s a married man and old—”

“—enough to be your father. I know. Big deal. He wants you, Ms. Surrett. So the question is whether you’re going to go for the bait. Fancy house, all those businesses, more money than you can count. What about it, Carlie?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Tell me that in a couple of weeks. The way I figure it, Fitzpatrick will make another move by then.”

She lifted her hand as if to slap him, but he caught her wrist and his eyes flashed fire. “Don’t even think about it!”

“You bastard.”

His mouth twitched into a sarcastic grin. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He let go of her hand.

Shaken, Carlie decided to have it out with him. Obviously they couldn’t both live in this tiny little town, trying to avoid each other, hoping to steer clear of the other person’s path. Tilting her chin, she eyed him speculatively. “You know, you don’t have to hate me, Ben.” Her words seemed to echo across the lake. “It’s not part of the rules.”

Ben winced and looked at her sharply, his eyes narrowing on her face. “I don’t—” He moved back, snapped his mouth closed and glowered angrily, as if he were suddenly mad at the world.

“You don’t what? Hate me?” She almost laughed. But her hea

rt soared at the thought that there was a chance they could, at the very least, be civil to each other. “You have a funny way of showing it.” Shoving her hands in her pockets, she walked through the tiny drifts of snow to get closer to him. “It would be a lot easier if we could get along.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’d rather despise me.”

He raked fingers through his hair and squared his cap on his head. “It just makes things easier.”

“You don’t believe that,” she said, feeling suddenly bold. There was anger in his dark gaze but something else, as well. Doubts? Passion? Memories of the love they’d shared? She wondered what he’d think if he knew the truth—all of the painful truth.

“I don’t think it matters.”

“How long are you staying in Gold Creek?”

He wanted to lie, to tell her that he’d be on the next bus out of town, but the deceit would catch up with him. “I don’t know.”

“A few days?” She stepped closer. Too close. The scent of her perfume wafted through the cold air. “A week?” Her face turned up to his, defying him, challenging him to lie to her. “A month?” She was so near that he saw the reflection of the Christmas lights in her eyes.