Page 142 of Confessions

“Not quite a million.” He shoved himself upright and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. I’ll buy you dinner while I tell you my life story.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His fingers closed over hers. “What will it hurt?”

She was afraid to answer that one.

* * *

HE CHOSE A restaurant in Coleville, the Blue Lobster, which specialized in seafood. Rough plank walls adorned with black-and-white photographs of fishing crews and whaling boats were complemented by fishing nets strung over individual booths. Dried starfish and sea horses were cast into the nets and colorful glass floats completed the decor.

A waitress showed them to a private booth near a fireplace. Glassed candles and fresh flowers graced a varnished table constructed from the hatch cover of a small boat.

Ben ordered a plate of seafood appetizers as well as wine for Carlie and a beer for himself.

When the drinks and hors d’oeuvres arrived, he touched the neck of his beer bottle to her glass of Chablis. “To new beginnings,” he toasted.

“Here’s mud in your eye,” she responded, then laughed, remembering so many years ago when she’d laughed with Ben and shared her most intimate secrets with him. She’d told him her dreams, her fears and made love to him without a worry for the future.

“Nice, Carlie,” he said, but laughed. The candlelight flickered, casting golden shadows on his face, and she wondered what it would be like to fall in love with him again. Gone was any trace of the boy she’d once cared for. Seated across from her was a man, one with lines around his eyes, a leg that sometimes pained him and years of military service. A man who had seen action in deserts and jungles and cities of the Third World. While she’d been in New York and Paris, he’d been in the Middle East, Africa and Central America.

Worlds apart.

She sipped her wine, studied the menu and ordered baked halibut with rice. He chose steak and prawns.

“You were telling me about your love life,” she reminded him as the main course was served and the waitress disappeared.

“There was no ‘love’ to it,” he

assured her.

“No special girl?”

His head lifted and he stared at her, his hazel eyes sending her a message that caused goose bumps to rise on her arms. “No special woman,” he said.

Carlie’s throat nearly closed on a piece of halibut.

“What about you?” He broke off a piece of garlic bread. “You’re divorced, right? Who was the lucky guy who walked you down the aisle?”

An old ache settled in her heart and the food suddenly lost its taste. She didn’t like discussing her failed marriage and had barely mentioned it to anyone. Her parents knew most of the story, of course, and Rachelle, from various conversations, had pieced together the most telling details, but now, seated across from the only man she’d ever loved, she didn’t know if she could face the pain. “I, um, don’t talk about it much.”

“Why?”

“It’s...history.”

Ben’s lips tightened. “Does it hurt too much?”

“I suppose.”

His brows lifted slowly. “You still love him.”

“Oh, no! I mean...that’s the problem.” No time like the present to be honest. She’d convinced herself that she would be straight with any man she became involved with, that she would tell him everything that had happened in her life. But she hadn’t expected to start a relationship with Ben, the very man who had caused her the greatest heartache of her life. “I didn’t love Paul as much as I should have.”

“Paul was your husband.”

“Yes, Paul Durant. He was a struggling actor and I had just started modeling. Neither one of us had a dime to our names and we started seeing each other. I guess he caught me on the rebound from you,” she admitted, and noticed Ben’s mouth tighten at the corners. “He wasn’t handsome, but very cute. Blond and wiry...” She smiled sadly and pushed around the uneaten portion of her fish into her rice. “Well, before I really had time to think about it, we decided to get married.”

“Why?”