Lovers Only

Praise for Christine Pacheco Letter to Reader About the Author Title Page Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Epilogue Copyright

Praise for Christine Pacheco

“Reading Chris Pacheco is like sitting in a balmy breeze under a banyan tree and savoring your favorite drink. Her books take me away to my favorite escape. She’s sure to please.”

—Bestselling author Debbie Macomber

“A sure delight!”

—Bestselling writer Barbara Boswell

“I Carried My Bride Across The Threshold,”

Clay said softly.

Cat’s breath seemed frozen.

“I need to give her a kiss to welcome her home. Slow and soft, Cat? Or with the passion that built inside me during the months you weren’t in my house, the months you weren’t in my bed?”

Her mind ordered her to run. Her heart held her firmly in place.

“It’s your choice. But know one thing. I’m going to kiss you. And it won’t be a kiss you’ll forget anytime soon.”

Dear Reader,

Happy Valentine’s Day! This season of love is so exciting for us here at Silhouette Desire that we decided to create a special cover treatment for each of this month’s love stories—just to show how much this very romantic holiday means to us.

And what a fabulous group of books we have for you! Let’s start with Joan Elliott Pickart’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Texas Moon. It’s romantic and wonderful—and has a terrific hero!

The romance continues with Cindy Gerard’s sensuous A Bride for Abel Greene, the next in her NORTHERN LIGHTS BRIDES series, and also with Elizabeth Bevarly’s Roxy and the Rich Man, which launches her new miniseries about siblings who were separated at birth, THE FAMILY McCORMICK.

Christine Pacheco is up next with Lovers Only, an emotional and compelling reunion story. And Metsy Hingle’s dramatic writing style shines through in her latest, Lovechild.

It’s always a special moment when a writer reaches her 25the book milestone—and that’s just what Rita Rainville has done in the humorous and delightful Western. City Girls Need Not Apply.

Silhouette Desire—where you will always find the very best love stories! Enjoy them all....

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Readar Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609. Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

About the Author

CHRISTINE PACHECO considers herself lucky to have married her real-life hero, Jared. They live in Colorado with their two children, a boy and a girl.

Christine remembers always wanting to be a writer. She even talked her elementary school librarian into publishing her books. She notes always preferring romances because they’re about that special moment when dreams are possible and the future is magical.

You can write to Christine at P.O. Box 448, Eastlake, CO 80614.

Lovers Only

Christine Pacheco

For my mother, whose belief in me was real and tangible. Mom, my heartfelt thanks for helping me believe I could achieve my dreams.

And for Whitney and Raymond, you two are special gifts! Of course, Jared, this is for you, too. Whatever I am, it’s because of your support.

One

Ripping paper broke the silence.

In stunned amazement, Catherine looked across at Clay. No one breathed. No one spoke.

Catherine’s heartbeat tripled its already fast tempo, and a lump lodged in her throat. Oh, Lord. Not now. Not now when things were so very close to being over.

Freedom hovered just moments beyond her reach.

Jagged legal documents fluttered to the floor.

Clay slammed his fist on the shiny cherry-wood conference table, marring the perfect gloss.

Catherine jumped. Couldn’t find a word.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Clay clipped, rising to his feet in a single, fluid motion. His hands gripped the table’s edge, and his body radiated tension.

Catherine’s shoulders sagged.

“Now see here, Mr. Landon—” her attorney began.

“No,” Clay interrupted softly. Dangerously.

How many times in the past years had Catherine heard that tone? Not as often as in the early part of their marriage, but enough to recognize the careful control with which he held his anger in check.

“No,” he repeated. “You see here. Catherine is still my wife.” With that, he broke gazes with her attorney and fixed glacial blue eyes on her—the opponent.

She shivered, despite the sun streaming through the window.

For a moment she thought she detected a softening in Clay’s expression. And something more. Perhaps a hint of hurt?

No, that wasn’t possible.

She and Clay had lost the ability to hurt each other three years ago. Catherine remembered it well. It had happened at the exact same time they’d lost their ability to communicate and share.

“She won’t be married to you for much longer,” Kevin Dobson insisted.

When Clay turned his attention to Catherine’s attorney again, the older man pulled a starched handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.

“I want to talk to my wife. Privately.”

“Clay,” Jack Simmons said. “This really isn’t the time.”

“Out!” he ordered his own attorney.

Catherine felt the heat of their stares fasten on her, one by one. First her attorney. Then Clay’s attorney. Finally, Clay himself.

Beneath the table she twisted her fingers together, absently reaching for the missing wedding ring...the ring Clay had gently slipped onto her hand as he’d solemnly promised to love and cherish her forever.

The same ring she’d shed when he’d broken that vow. The same ring that now rested, by itself, at the bottom of her jewelry box.

“Five minutes, Cat.”

The raw-edged intensity in his tone skittered across her nerves.

“Isn’t what we had worth five minutes to you?”

She remembered the way he’d raised her hand to his lips, making the preacher pause. She swore she still felt the warmth that had rushed through her at that moment, when she’d believed she and Clay would truly grow together, have a family together, become old together....

“Out, Jack. And take Dobson with you.”

“This is highly unusual,” Kevin Dobson protested.

In less time than it took her frantic heart to beat half a dozen times, Clay had moved, coming around to her side of the table. With the toe of his cowboy boot he pushed back her chair.

When his fingers found her shoulders, she looked up, trying to gauge emotions carefully cloaked behind his unreadable blue eyes.

“Call him off, Cat.”

With slow and gentle, yet inexorable pressure, Clay drew her to her feet. Then he pulled her closer to him. She could have resisted. Part of her mind screamed at her to resist. But she didn’t.

There was something so right, so elementally right and basic about being in his arms again. It had been so long....

Illogically, a frisson of excitement took hold. He was acting as if she was special, just like the Clay she’d fallen in Jove with so many years ago. Catherine forced herself to remember that it was the man he’d become she was divorcing.

She looked up. His eyes didn’t seem so glacial. Nor did they contain the heat that they might once have had when he held her.

“Cat, talk to me. Tell them to get out. Please,” Clay said quietly.

The warmth of his breath on her cheek stirred Catherine’s starving senses, along with memories—memories of cool Colorado nights and Clay’s masculinity to keep her warm and secure.

“It’s okay,” she finally said, looking sideways toward Dobson—away from her husband.

Dobson checked his watch. “Really, Mrs. Landon, this isn’t the way things are done,” he protested a second time.

Clay’s grip tightened.

From experience she knew it was better to face the storm, brave it out and then let it blow over.

If Clay wanted five minutes, she would give it to him. And then close the door behind her, never to look back.

Besides, knowing Clay, he would stand here and argue the point for five minutes and win, anyway. Giving in now meant victory in the end. Victory in the form of freedom.

“Give us five minutes, Mr. Dobson.”

He wiped his brow again, then checked his watch. “Five minutes, Mrs. Landon. I do have other clients, you know.”

The door closed behind the two lawyers. She and Clay were alone for the first time since she’d moved out of their home several months ago.

In spite of everything, she attempted a grin. “He acts as though he’s paying me,” Catherine said.

Clay didn’t smile in return.

If anything, his expression had darkened. The storm hadn’t diminished, it had intensified.

Her smile fled. She knotted her hands into fists, fingernails cutting into her palms.

“Okay, Clay, you won.” Catherine let out a long breath, then said, “Talk.”

“We haven’t done much of that, have we?”

“Don’t,” she protested, wedging one of her clenched hands between them in a desperate attempt to gain some space. “It’s a little late for regrets.”

He shook his head; a renegade lock of hair drooped over his forehead. Instantly years and experience were erased from his features. If only pain could be vanquished so easily....

“I was serious. I’ve changed my mind about giving you a divorce, Cat.”

Her pounding heart stopped. He couldn’t mean it. Not at this stage.

He began to move his fingers in a light caress.

Her heart resumed pounding.

Catherine forced herself to drink a deep breath of air and hold it for a few seconds. “You can’t prevent me from divorcing you, Clay. These are the nineties.”

“I know,” he said, voice barely over a whisper, making her strain in order to hear his words. “But I can make life hell for you.”

Her own anger surged to the surface, red-hot and blazing. “Are you threatening me?”

“No.”

She frowned. “What then?”

“A proposition.”

Confusion replaced anger. “A proposition?” she echoed.

“I love you, Cat.”

Her pulse leapt. The right words. Too late. Oh, Lord, he’d finally used the words she’d waited night after night to hear for the last three years. Slowly she forced her fists to uncurl. “Clay—”

“Hear me out.”

She tried to harden her heart. But how could she when he stood so close? When she inhaled the same untamed scent he’d worn on their wedding day? When he moved his hands so slowly, as if in intentional seduction?

They’d been in the same room less than half an hour and already he’d tossed her emotions into a tumultuous cauldron. She should resist. Should. But a look at his implacable face, hardened jaw and drawn lips convinced her otherwise. “Okay,” she said softly, resignedly. “You’ve still got three minutes.”

“What we had was good.” When the only sounds that filled the room were the distant ringing of a phone and their combined breaths, he finally asked, “What? No argument?”

She shook her head. “What we had was good,” she agreed. “Was, Clay.”

“What happened?”

“Life,” she answered. She’d pondered that same question a hundred, a thousand, no, ten thousand times. Not a night passed that she didn’t sit in the white wicker rocking chair, pushing it with her toe as she asked herself over and over, What went wrong? “We grew in different directions. You’ve got your business. I have the store.”

She took a breath, looking him deeply in the eyes, memorizing his every nuance, wondering if this was the last time they’d ever stand this close...if this was the last time she would ever feel his once-loving arms hold her.

Catherine wasn’t a fool. She’d considered all these things before finally swallowing the past and deciding to move on to the future.

She just hadn’t realized Clay would make the finality so difficult.

“And the store’s enough for you?”

His look demanded honesty, even if his eyes shaded his true feelings. “It is for now,” she said.

“But what about at night? When you climb into bed and it’s cold? Or in the morning, when there’s no one to say hello to? Is it enough then?”

“Your five minutes are up!” Dobson called, pounding on the door.

“Tell him to go away, Cat. Or I will.”

He would. No doubt about it. “I’ll be right out,” Catherine called back.

As suddenly as he’d crossed the room and taken her shoulders in his hands, Clay released her.

Without his support, her shoulders sank forward.

“As I said, I have a proposition for you.” He pivoted and strode to the far end of the room, bracing an outstretched hand on the window frame.

He looked out for long moments, seemingly staring at nothing.

She waited.

Her pulse wasn’t as patient.

At one time she would have gone to him, skimmed her fingers up his spine. His head would have dropped forward and she would have gently worked the tension she instinctively knew resided in his shoulders.

But she could no longer lay claim to that intimacy.

She’d given up that right when she’d tearfully slipped her wedding ring into the bottom of her jewelry box.

After nearly a minute went by, he turned to face her. This time she saw vulnerability in his gaze, raw and naked. The depth of emotion etched in his eyes made her knees weak.

“Now’s not the time to have a deep discussion about what went wrong.”

“A week wouldn’t be long enough,” she whispered, fighting for strength. She smiled...falsely. She knew that it emerged weak. And that it reflected inner feelings she wanted to hide.

Clay plowed his fingers through his hair. “Then give me a month.”

“What?”

“A month, Catherine. Give me a month to prove that we’re meant to be together. A month to show you I’ve changed, that I’ll do anything it takes to have you love me again.”

He asked the impossible. It had taken her so long to find the courage to admit things weren’t and never could be magically repaired.

As for love, she’d never completely stopped loving him. But life had taught her a coldly valuable lesson she didn’t intend to forget: love wasn’t enough.

She shook her head, blinking back tears as she did.

“You don’t mean that,” he said.

Catherine discovered strength, but knew it would vanish if she didn’t draw upon it now. “I do mean no.” She blinked again. Damn, but she didn’t know a slice of pain could sting this badly. “Our relationship is over, Clay.” Shaking, she started toward the door.

When her hand closed around the knob, the quiet threat in Clay’s voice seared her like a whip.

“I’ll sue for half of your store.”

Her head fell forward, resting on the uncaring wooden door.

He couldn’t be that cruel. Yes, she knew his temper was volatile and that he could and would do nearly anything when backed into a corner. But cruelty? Never toward her.

Until now.

She closed her eyes on a fresh wave of anguish.

Owning the store had been the one dream she’d held fast to through the years. As she and Clay had slipped into being strangers under the same roof, opening her own store had taken on more and more meaning.

Right now it was self-supporting, sustaining.

But if Clay sued...

Seconds stretched to eternity.

“Don’t make me do that,” he said.

She swung around. “You don’t have to do anything,” she insisted. “Except give me my freedom.”

“That’s the one thing I won’t do willingly.”

“Damn it.” Breath eased from between her clenched teeth. “Damn you.”

His eyes narrowed fractionally. He balled his right hand into a fist.

“If you want to fight dirty, Clay, then we will.” She dashed her knuckles across tear-filled eyes, repeating a silent litany: I won’t let him make me cry. “I’ll sue for half of Landon Construction.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “But that’ll tie up our money and time for months.”

His implications rushed through her. He didn’t make idle threats. She needed her hands on her capital; she didn’t need to be enmeshed in litigation for months and months. Clay did possess the power to make her life hell. And ruin everything she’d fought to gain.

“You’re impossible.”

“Yep.”

Dropping her damp hand, she quietly said, “Don’t play games.”

“No games.” He raised his left hand. “I’m making you an offer. I’ll leave your shop alone and give you half of Landon Construction—”

“If I give you a month.”

“That’s a hell of an investment, Cat,” Clay said softly. “A few hundred grand, maybe more, free and clear, for thirty days of your time. Catherine’s Den of Antiquity would be the best with that kind of money. And you wouldn’t have to give me a dime. Think about it.”

She allowed the door to take the weight of her shoulders. Lord knew she couldn’t support herself with her thoughts spinning like this.

“Come away with me. We’ll go to the cabin. Get to know each other.” He stared at her intently. “Again.”

She blushed. The way he was looking at her meant he had only one thing on his mind.

“Let’s find out if we’re still good together.” He took a step toward her.

She stood straighter, wishing she had someplace to retreat. Struggling for survival, she said, “Having good sex doesn’t mean anything.”

“Great sex,” Clay corrected.

“Great sex?” she echoed. “It’s been so long—”

“Let’s change that.” With a few strides he demolished the distance separating them.

Thick carpeting muffled his footsteps, but the sound of her thudding heart filled the air.

“Clay,” she breathed as his callused thumb brushed a curled strand of hair from her cheek.

He leaned closer. Then stroked the column of her throat with his thumb and forefinger.

Softly she cursed him.

She was lost.

As he’d known she would be.

Tears threatened again. He eased back up her throat, thumb hovering near the thundering pulse point.

“Give me a month, Cat. Then you can have your freedom.” He touched the pulse point then. “If you still want it.”

He snared her wrists in one hand and drew her a few inches away from the door. With his free hand he began plucking bobby pins from her hair.

The first floated toward the floor.

Followed by the second.

His fingers on her scalp felt so wonderful, so captivating. So enticing.

Catherine issued a reminder to herself to keep her heart hidden from Clay’s purposeful intent. She might never have stopped loving him, but he’d stopped loving her.

He tossed the final bobby pin. It clinked on top of the others.

Never releasing her gaze, he shook her hair, fluffing it.

“Feel better?”

“Yes,” she answered, before realizing how much she’d given away.

“And this suit...” He fingered the top button of her blouse. “Cat, you’re made for flowing dresses and short shorts, not uptight suits.”

“Clay, stop.” Rationally she told herself this was as threatening as his earlier words. And in the end she would be hurt just the same, maybe worse.

But in his usual way he’d trapped her as surely as he had any opponent. No way out existed, except his.

She couldn’t believe she was actually considering accepting his ridiculous proposition. A month in seclusion, at the small Rocky Mountain cabin his father had purchased, the same cabin Clay said he’d intended to use as a retreat. And never had.

Alone.

Clay at his seductive best? She didn’t know if she possessed the wherewithal to resist. “Don’t do this to me, Clay. Please.”

“Don’t do this to us,” he countered.

One of the lawyers pounded on the door again.

Clay clicked the lock into place. Then, before she recovered her equilibrium, he returned to her.

“If you walk away at the end of a month, I’ll give you your damned divorce. And the money. No questions asked.”

Did he feel the way her pulse raced? Did he know what he did to her?

“Look at me, Cat. And give me your answer.”

She looked up. Read the raw intensity he no longer hid. Noticed the dark shadow that bruised the tender area beneath his intensely blue eyes. Saw the evidence he hadn’t shaved.

Clay always shaved.

Unless he’d been awake all night.

As if totally in tune with her thoughts, he said, “Two nights.” Marginally he loosened his grip on her hands. “I haven’t slept in two nights.”

More incessant pounding continued on the door.

The tension elevated between Clay and Catherine.

She reached one hand to his cheek, tracing the stubble, outlining the determined jaw and finding the slight indentation—he refused to name it as a dimple-in his chin. Business was the only thing Clay lost sleep over.

Wasn’t it?

“I don’t know what went wrong, Cat. But I intend to find out. And fix it. If you’ll let me.”

“Two weeks,” she countered.

“A month.”

His expression lightened. He knew he’d won, but obviously didn’t intend to gloat. Thank goodness.

“Two and a half.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “A month.”

Clay stood so close. Too close. He filled her vision, her thoughts. Stole her breath. “But—”

“You said it yourself. It’ll take time to sort through what went wrong.”

“You want to spend the entire month at the cabin?”

He nodded.

“Is there a phone?”

“No.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean to tell me you want to spend a month with me? And no phone? No computer? No modems or faxes?”

“No television, either. And the nights are long. Plenty of time to become reacquainted.”

The corners of his mouth began to crinkle. Oh, Lord, she prayed, don’t let him smile. Clay’s smile combined with an engaging attitude was powerful. Overwhelming. Irresistible.

“Do it, Catherine. Run away with me.”

“But my business...”

“Isn’t Melissa still your assistant?”

“Yes, but—”

“She’s capable of running the shop for a few weeks.”

She sighed and nodded, admitting defeat. There wasn’t much else to do when faced with the power of an oncoming locomotive.

“I’m leaving Jeremy in charge of Landon Construction.”

Catherine worried her lower lip. He hadn’t trusted his younger brother, Jeremy, to water their plants when they went on their honeymoon.

“That’s how important this is.”

The memory of their idyllic honeymoon just served as a needle in the expansive balloon of his idea. Their weeks in sensual solitude had been as close to perfect as possible.

Hawaii had been beautiful—paradise on earth. Her new husband lavished all the attention of a devoted spouse on her. She’d been spoiled, pampered and well loved.

She suspected the same would happen for the next few weeks.

But then reality would intrude as it always did.

When the plane had parked at the gate at Denver’s airport, her husband had been a changed man, consumed with thoughts of making Landon Construction a success in a recessionary market. No one thought he could do it. Except her.

And he’d succeeded.

Admirably.

At the cost of their marriage.

As much as she wanted to believe things could be different, experience told her otherwise. Still, in order to win the war—her freedom—she had to concede the battle.