Page 143 of Confessions

It seemed like a sensible question. “You know the old saying, two can live as cheaply as one? Well, we both needed roommates—Manhattan was so expensive. We, um, liked each other a lot. Even convinced each other that we were in love.”

“But you weren’t?”

She dropped her fork and stared at him. “I’d only been in love once before, Ben, and it hadn’t worked out all that well for me.” His jaw tightened perceptibly, but she plunged on. After all, he’d asked. “I don’t think passion is a driving force for two people planning to spend the rest of their lives together. I just wanted to...not be alone and to spend my time with someone I liked. Someone who cared about me.”

“Sounds perfect,” he said sarcastically.

“It wasn’t.” She finished her wine in one gulp. “I started getting more jobs than he did. While he was still waiting tables in an Italian restaurant two blocks from our apartment, I was getting more work than I could handle and making a lot more money. He went to audition after audition and only landed a few parts—nothing to speak of.”

“So jealousy and money drove you apart?”

She ran the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass. Somehow it seemed a violation, a betrayal of a trust to tell him any more. “That was most of it.”

“And the rest?”

“He fell in love with someone else. My best—and only—friend in New York. You might have heard of her. She’s starting to make a name for herself on-and-off-Broadway. Angela Rivers.” She didn’t add that she’d walked in on Paul and Angela, twisted in the bedsheets, making love with such passion that they hadn’t heard her come into the room. She’d been horrified and embarrassed and had promptly thrown up.

Paul’s biggest fear had been that Carlie might be pregnant and he would be tied to her forever, but fate had saved him that particular embarrassment. He’d told her that the marriage had been a big mistake from the get-go, that he loved Angela and that he wanted a divorce. He filed the next morning and Carlie hadn’t fought him. She’d just wanted out.

Licking her wounds, she’d given up her life in Manhattan, started taking photography classes again and spent a lot of time in different cities, finally spending the last few years in Alaska where she’d taken shots of wildlife and quaint villages and natives. Her photographs had been commissioned by the state as well as bought for a book about America’s rugged northern wilderness.

She’d cut all ties with Paul and knew nothing of his life. That’s the way they’d both wanted it.

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, though his gaze belied his words.

“I’m not. It’s over. Probably never had a chance to really get started. Besides, it was all for the best.”

“How so?”

“I gave up all those silly dreams about the big city,” she said.

“You didn’t like New York?”

“I loved it, but I was younger then, had different ideas about what I wanted out of life.”

The waitress came with dessert and coffee and while Carlie picked at a strawberry mousse, Ben devoured a thick wedge of apple pie. He wondered about her marriage to the actor. She’d obviously glossed over her relationship and Ben sensed she wasn’t being completely honest with him, but he really didn’t care. Everyone was entitled to a few secrets. What bothered him was the sadness in her eyes as she’d talked of the man she’d married, and he couldn’t help but feel a spurt of jealousy run hot through his blood.

At one time in his life he’d hoped to marry Carlie, dreamed of sleeping with her every night and waking with her snuggled safely in his arms. After Kevin had died, he’d convinced himself that Carlie was the wrong kind of woman for him, a schemer, a user, a woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. She was too beautiful, too flighty, too interested in the bright lights of a big city.

He paid the bill and ushered her back to his pickup.

On the way home, he flipped on the radio and told himself that Carlie was still a woman to avoid. True, he’d misjudged her in the past, but although she now seemed to know what she wanted out of life, he suspected that she still flew by the seat of her pants, took chances that were unnecessary and didn’t know the meaning of the words discipline and structure. Her apartment, though charming, was an eclectic blend of antiques, period pieces and modern furniture. She wore anything from high-fashion designer labels to jeans or faded “granny dresses” right out of the seventies. She was confident and secure and fascinating, but she wasn’t the woman for him.

So why did you try to make love to her? his imperious mind demanded and he scowled to himself. Despite all his rational thoughts, all the reasons he should avoid her like the proverbial plague, he was entranced by her.

Shifting down, he glanced in her direction. She was certainly the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, but her looks were only a part of her allure. Sophisticated and sexy, she still smiled easily and her eyes were warm with humor and intelligence.

Boy, have you got it bad!

Swearing under his breath he wheeled into the drive of Mrs. Hunter’s apartment house and let the pickup idle.

“Thanks for dinner,” Carlie said, reaching for the handle of the door. She seemed anxious to escape and he had the overpowering urge to drag her into his arms and make love to her forever.

“I enjoyed it,” he admitted and she offered him a fleeting smile. A darkness shadowed her eyes and he imagined that he’d hurt her more than he could remember. She was as enigmatic and mysteriously beautiful as ever.

“Next time it’s on me,” she said as the door opened.

“Carlie?”