Why couldn’t he get Carlie out of his mind?
Muttering oaths under his breath, he kicked the door shut and stared at the rubble that had been his sister Nadine’s lakeside cabin. Once charming, the cottage was now only twisted black metal, charred beams and a sagging soot-covered chimney. Ash and debris. Nothing worth saving.
Nadine had asked him to rebuild it. His eyes narrowed on the snow drifting on the cold pile of ash. Did she really want to give him a job or was her offer merely a handout to her only surviving brother, a man who had to start over in this shabby little town? After her wedding today, Nadine would be able to build a damned palace on this side of the lake. She could hire a bevy of architects, builders, and yes-men who would bow and fawn over the new Mrs. Hayden Garreth Monroe IV.
Damn! He should be pleased, he told himself. Nadine had struggled for years. But was marrying Monroe, that class-A bastard born with a silver spoon wedged firmly between his teeth, the break she deserved? Why not just sell her soul to the devil?
And why invite Carlie to the ceremony?
“Son of a bitch.” Angry at himself and the world in general, Ben picked his way over the frozen path to the dock. His knee hurt like hell, compliments of embedded shrapnel from that skirmish in the Middle East, and his pride had been bruised and battered over the course of the past decade, starting over a decade ago in this very town. With Carlie Surrett. Beautiful, seductive, treacherous Carlie. She’d managed to destroy Ben’s brother as well as rip Ben’s world apart in the bargain.
And now he’d have to face her again. All because of his sister and her insistence that it was time to let bygones be bygones. “Thanks a lot, Nadine.”
Through the snow swirling to the ground, he shot a glance across the angry gray waters of Whitefire Lake where lights glowed warmly from the windows of Monroe Manor—Hayden’s mansion on the lake. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney and twinkling Christmas lights, still glowing though the holiday season was long over, glimmered in the gloomy day. I hope you know what you’re doing, Nadine, he thought anxiously. She was the only person left in the world that he really cared about. He’d never forgiven their mother for turning her back on the family when the going got tough, and his father...well, the old man had never gotten over Kevin
’s death...which brought Ben’s thoughts back to Carlie again. Always Carlie. He scowled darkly, then took another long swallow from his bottle.
A north wind, raw as January, blew across the choppy surface of the water and sliced through his dress uniform.
Today was the big day—the day of reckoning, or rejoicing, of ignoring decade-old feuds and, in Ben’s opinion, of doom. He should be on his way to the wedding, but he couldn’t stomach all the small talk, gossip and curious stares his presence was bound to inspire. No, he’d wait until the last minute, then stand in the back and watch his sister make one of the biggest mistakes of her life.
He glanced at his watch. The ceremony was scheduled to start in less than an hour. His guts twisted just thinking about the fact that he’d probably see Carlie there. He’d been furious when Nadine had told him that Carlie was on the guest list.
“Are you out of your mind?” Ben had demanded of his sister. “It’s bad enough you’re going to marry Monroe—” He’d caught the mutinous set of his sister’s jaw and held up a hand in surrender. “Sorry, Nadine, but I never did like the guy and you know it as well as I do. I’m not gonna stand here and tell you that all of a sudden I think he’s a wonderful choice—”
“Enough, Ben,” she’d warned.
He’d plowed on. “But if that isn’t bad enough, you invite Carlie Surrett?”
“It’s time to bury hatchets, Ben. All of them.”
“You’ve really lost it, Nadine. First marrying Monroe, that’s... Well, it’s damned unbelievable. But inviting Carlie...”
“Just behave yourself,” Nadine had said, her green eyes glittering with an impish light that meant she was scheming again.
“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m the model of civility.”
“Yeah, right. And I’m the pope. Save that one for someone who’ll believe it.”
She’d turned the conversation back to rebuilding the cabin. The topic of her wedding had been effectively closed and she was going to have her way come hell or high water. Ben, like it or not, would have to abide by her whimsical, I’m-the-bride-and-I’ll-do-as-I-damned-well-please wishes.
So he was stuck. “Hell,” he ground out. He didn’t want to think about Carlie. Not now. Not ever. He’d planned on avoiding her the rest of his life. That woman was trouble. No two ways about it. Beautiful, headstrong, kick-you-in-the-gut trouble.
Telling himself that she probably had more sense than to show up at Nadine’s wedding, he finished his beer. Certainly she wouldn’t want to cause all the old speculation again. Or would she? Carlie Surrett had been a woman drawn to the spotlight, a woman the camera loved, a woman whose brush with celebrity, though fleeting, had been real.
Frowning, he slipped a small pair of binoculars from his pocket and held them to his eyes. Monroe Manor loomed larger than before. With snow clinging to the eaves, the three-storied Cape Cod looked like something from Currier and Ives.
Charming, he thought with a sardonic sneer. Well, he hoped his mule-headed sister knew what she was getting into by saying “I do” to the likes of Monroe.
Give it up, Powell! He’s marrying her and she’s happy. As for seeing Carlie again, you can handle it. Couldn’t be much worse than what you went through in the action you saw in the Middle East. Or could it?
Ben allowed himself a grim smile. He’d willingly return to combat rather than stare into Carlie’s erotic blue eyes ever again.
Through the magnification of the binoculars, his gaze skimmed the banks of the lake, past frozen, empty docks, ancient sequoia trees, stumps and rocks to land on the shoreline by the old church camp. He saw a movement, a flash of deep blue and he adjusted the glasses.
His heart nearly stopped. His muscles tightened as she came into focus: a long-legged, beautiful woman staring across the water. Her black hair was braided loosely and coiled around the back of her head, but a few strands whipped across a face that was branded in his memory forever. She looked as if she could grace the cover of a fashion magazine in her long black coat, thrown open to reveal a gauzy blue dress that skimmed her ankles and offered a view of her elegant throat.
His fingers tightened over the binoculars as she turned, staring straight at him, her cornflower blue eyes as warm as a June day, her cheeks pink from the cold, her full lips glossy and turned pensively down at the corners. Drawing in a frozen breath, Ben waited for a wave of disgust to sweep through his blood, but instead of revulsion he felt a pang of regret for all the could-have-beens that would never be.