Lost In His Arms. Carla Cassidy
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Elizabeth looked up at the waning sunlight that broke through the trees, then looked back at Talbot. “We’re going to be here overnight again, aren’t we.”
“At this point it’s a strong possibility.” He frowned and raked a hand through his disheveled hair. “It’s going to get dark soon, and I don’t want us stumbling around in the woods then.”
Elizabeth fought the sense of unease that always permeated her when she thought of the dark. “I’m starving,” she said in an effort to change the subject.
“Yeah, me too. I’d love a big juicy steak, medium rare, and a baked potato smothered in sour cream.” He looked at her with a touch of humor. “And I suppose if your dream meal were in front of you, it would be a lettuce leaf with a drizzle of dressing.”
“A lot you know,” she retorted. “My dream meal would be a double cheeseburger with a side of French fries and the biggest chocolate shake in the world.” She picked a dried leaf from her hair. “Why on earth would you think I’d be interested in rabbit food?”
“Because whenever you and Richard came to my place for dinner, you usually didn’t eat much of anything.”
Elizabeth well remembered those nights when she and Richard had first been married and Talbot would request their presence at dinner. How she had hated those family gatherings! “I was always too nervous to eat,” she confessed.
He eyed her in surprise. “Nervous? You always appeared amazingly cool and collected to me.”
“I was a good actress,” she replied. “Inside I was a quivering bundle of nerves and knew if I tried to eat, I’d probably throw up.” She grinned at him. “Remember the Big Burger down the street from your house? I used to make Richard stop there on the way home and I’d get a burger, fries and a shake.”
She could tell he was surprised by her confession. “What made you so nervous?” he asked.
She hesitated a moment before replying. She couldn’t very well tell him that he made her nervous, with his gorgeous dark eyes and sculpted features. She couldn’t tell him that whenever she was around him, all she could think about was how it might feel if he kissed her, made love to her. At the time, she hadn’t even wanted to admit what she felt to herself.
She wasn’t about to tell him that her nervousness and tension around him was a result of an acute awareness of him, not as a brother-in-law, but as a virile handsome man whose eyes constantly held the chill of dislike.
“You,” she finally replied. At his puzzled look, she said, “Oh, come on Talbot, I knew how much you hated me. I knew you thought I’d gotten pregnant on purpose in order to trap Richard.”
“Why did you marry him?” His eyes held a genuine bewilderment.
“It wasn’t just because I was pregnant,” she said defensively. “And I certainly wasn’t looking to cash in on the McCarthy fortune, even though I knew that’s what you believed.” She raised her chin, like a prizefighter anticipating a blow. “I was seventeen years old and I thought I loved Richard.”
“You and Richard were both far too young to know about love.”
“Try telling that to two hormone-driven teenagers,” she said dryly. In all the years of her marriage and in the years since her divorce, she and Talbot had never spent any time together alone and had certainly never discussed her marriage to his brother and subsequent divorce.
She frowned thoughtfully, her mind flitting back in time. “I was desperate to belong somewhere. Richard was handsome and fun and seemed to want all the same things I wanted. I desperately wanted to believe that we could build something together. A family.”
She wanted, needed Talbot to understand. She reached out and touched his arm. “Haven’t you ever felt passionate about something, about someone?”
“At the moment I’m feeling pretty passionate about getting out of here.” He rose to his feet. “We’d better keep moving in what little daylight is left.”
He limped off under his own steam, and Elizabeth hurried to catch up. She’d wanted him to understand what forces had initially pulled her toward Richard and ultimately what forces had driven them apart. But it was obvious he didn’t care to know.
As she stared at his broad back, she realized he hadn’t answered her question. He’d probably never felt passion for anyone, she thought. He’d always struck her as a man who would never understand passion, or love or need.
He’d always appeared strong in his isolation, content with his aloneness. What she didn’t understand was why this knowledge of him created a strange ache inside her.
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