Seven
In the hallway of Carrick’s house, Sadie pulled on her coat and was winding her scarf around her neck when Carrick touched her elbow. She turned, and he pulled her to the side, dropping his head to speak in her ear.
“Stay.”
One word, so powerful.
He moved off to say goodbye to his other guests, and Sadie stared at his broad back, needing to go but wanting to stay. If she didn’t follow his friends and family out the door, there was a good chance she’d end up in Carrick’s bed again and the line between sex and affection, desire and, well, not love but liking, would become more blurred.
She could not, would not, fall in love with Carrick. She’d fallen in love once before and it had hurt like hell.
She could do friendship, she could do sex, she could do coparenting, but handing her heart over was a step too far. But the more time she spent with Carrick, the blurrier that line became. And those lines were smudged enough already because she was starting to believe that Carrick was nothing like the guy Tamlyn and Beth had portrayed him to be.
There...
She’d admitted it. And it scared her half to death because it felt like she was ripping down a barrier between them, an essential means of protection.
She really should go. But instead of walking through the door, she shrugged out of her coat, hung it up on the hook and tucked her scarf back into the side pocket.
She wasn’t going anywhere...
Not tonight anyway.
Sadie walked back down the hallway. As she passed the dining room, complete with a sixteen-seater table and chairs and an elegant chandelier, she saw the gilded frame of a massive painting hanging over the fireplace. Unable to resist the lure of an exceptional piece of art, she slipped inside the room and walked past the tall chairs to stand in front of the painting, her eyes flying over the image of Madonna and child.
She didn’t recognize the artist, but she did recognize the style, Venetian, possibly eighteenth century. In the style of Caravaggio...possibly by one of his followers because there was no way that Carrick Murphy could have a real Caravaggio on his dining room wall.
Could he?
Sadie heard the tread of masculine feet and when they stopped at the door, she turned her head to look at Carrick. She jerked her head at the painting and gave him a wry smile. “I’m debating whether this is a real Caravaggio or not.”
Carrick smiled. “Not. It’s by one of his apprentices, we’re not sure which one, but we’re sure it’s not by the master.”
“It’s still amazingly emotive.” Sadie pointed at the face of the Madonna, her face suffused with love for her newborn child. “She’s beautiful. They both are.”
“The mother-child bond,” Carrick said, coming to stand next to her, his hands in the pockets of his black pants. “It’s a universal theme.”
Sadie placed her hand on the back of one of the tall dining chairs and kept her eyes on the serene face of the Madonna. “Do you remember your real mom?”
Carrick tensed, but he eventually nodded. “A little. I was six when she died and I remember her reading a book, something about a bear hunt.”
The book had been a favorite of hers, too.
“I remember her perfume, that she loved to hug, how pale she was when she got sick.”
“How did she die?” Sadie asked him, keeping her voice soft and nondemanding.
“Cancer,” Carrick replied. “She was diagnosed in January and was gone by April.”
Sadie winced; that was very quick indeed. “And when did your stepmom enter your lives?”
“I was eight,” Carrick replied, his expression softening. “She gathered us all up and made us feel... I don’t know how to explain it, safe? Loved? Complete?”
“My dad, he tried but he wasn’t very good at the day-to-day practicalities of raising us. He didn’t know how to deal with three heartbroken, confused little boys.” Carrick’s expression was pure guilt. “I shouldn’t say that. He did the best he could while dealing with his own grief.”
“You weren’t criticizing your dad, Carrick, just stating a fact.” Sadie soothed him, placing her hand on his biceps. Carrick covered her hand with his and squeezed her fingers.
“Raeni had this enormous heart, and a deep capacity to love. We were so lucky Dad met and married her.” Carrick looked around and grimaced. “It’s pretty cold in here. Let’s go back to the reception room. Or the study.”