Page 139 of Confessions

> Thomas Fitzpatrick had done the town one good turn, she decided. Rather than call in the wrecking ball, he’d spent the money necessary to restore one of the oldest buildings in Gold Creek and returned the gold-brick building to its original charm. Thick Oriental carpets covered glossy floors and, three stories over the lobby, a skylight of stained glass allowed sunlight to pool in muted shades upon the walls and floor.

However there wasn’t enough charm in the building to alleviate her distaste at dealing with the man. He was too smooth, almost oily, and she had the gut feeling that anything he did was with one sole intention: the promotion and profit of Thomas Fitzpatrick.

She had lunch with her mother at the drugstore, visited her father for the remainder of her lunch hour, then spent the rest of the day at the shop. By the time she was finished with a studio sitting with four-year-old triplets, it was nearly seven and she was exhausted.

The last person she wanted to deal with was Ben Powell, but as she pulled into the parking lot, she recognized his truck parked in between the twin spruce trees. “Great,” she muttered, remembering the disaster of the night before. She was tired and cranky and didn’t want to face him.

Hopefully, he was working in another apartment.

No such luck.

When she shoved the door to her unit open she found him, sprawled across her old sofa, his shoes kicked off, his head propped against the overstuffed arm. As if he belonged. As if she’d invited him. As if she wanted him.

“I’d about given up on you,” he drawled.

“What’re you doing here?”

His smile was slow and sexy. “Waiting for you.”

“So you could come back and insult me again?” she asked, all the old anger chasing through her blood. “No way. I’m tired and I don’t think I should have to make a nightly ritual of throwing you out of my apartment. So why don’t you take the hint and I won’t have to get rude?”

“We need to talk.”

“Talk? I don’t think so. We said plenty last night. More than we should have.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He swung his feet to the floor and stood, studying his fingernails for a second. “We’ve got a lot more to say to each other.”

She waited.

“Okay, I’ll go first. I’m sorry, Carlie,” he said, though the words seemed to lodge in his throat for a second.

“You’re sorry?” She couldn’t believe her ears. Ben Powell was apologizing. To her? After all this time? Damn hard to believe.

“For jumping to conclusions.” He glanced up at her and his expression was sober. “I made a lot of mistakes and I have no excuses. I could say that I was just a kid, that I was confused, that I was naive enough to believe lies, but the truth of the matter is I guess I wanted to believe the worst about you. You were an easy target. You made it possible for me to shrug off some of the guilt.”

She felt hot tears threatening the back of her eyes again. “You believe me?” she whispered.

“I didn’t want to. To tell you the truth, I wanted to go on thinking that you were a lying, callous, coldhearted woman.”

“Why?”

“Because it was easier,” he said. “Less complicated.” He walked up to her and touched her shoulder. Quickly she drew away, crossing the room to the window and stared out at the gathering night. “I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours soul-searching, trying to convince myself that you’re trouble, that you’re the last woman in the world for me and that I’d be a fool to come back.” He hesitated a minute, then let out a long sigh. “But I couldn’t. Not until we straightened things out. I think there’s a chance I haven’t been fair to you.”

“A big chance.”

His jaw tightened. “As I said, I came here to apologize.”

She knew she should point him in the direction of the door and shove him hard, but there was a part of her, a very small and determined part, that wanted to hear him out. For years she’d fantasized about him groveling in front of her, begging her forgiveness, but those were just girlhood dreams of vindication. “I don’t want or need your apologies, Ben,” she said slowly. “There’s been too much time...too many years...” She lifted her hands and dropped them again. “Too much pain. I just want to be left alone.”

Shaking his head slowly, never letting his gaze move from the contours of her face, he said, “I don’t believe you.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

His smile was irreverently cocky. “Been called worse.”

“I’ll bet.” She swallowed hard and her pulse thundered in her brain as he approached her, his eyes glimmering with a silver fire. The way he was staring at her turned her blood to warm honey and she had to remind herself that he was dangerous, that spending any more time with him would only cause her more heartache than she would ever be able to bear. Until today he’d believed the most hideous lies about her. “You...you have to leave.”

“Not yet.”