Someday Soon Read online

  “You’re afraid of me seeing you,” he realized.

  “I’m—flat out terrified,” she admitted in a rush.

  His slow smile played havoc with her already overheated senses, spreading across his lips in a thoroughly sexy.manner. Cammie felt mesmerized by that image, and the powerful masculine messages he was inadvertently sending her way.

  Good heavens, if he didn’t put some clothes on soon, she wasn’t certain she could sit here much longer without wanting to touch that tanned skin. And wouldn’t that just be great? Having “little sister” suddenly jump on him?

  Like before…

  “Something wrong?” Ty asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “You look like you’re going to faint or something.” With that, he suddenly moved to the couch, sinking down beside her. Cammie’s heart leapt erratically in alarm at his proximity. She pulled back as far as possible without actually moving her hips from the depression his weight had created beside her.

  Ty’s gray eyes assessed her carefully, and she found herself holding her breath against her will. “What is it?” he asked softly, perceptively.

  “What—what do you mean?” Cammie licked her lips, inadvertently drawing his attention to the pink tip of her tongue.

  “What are you hiding?” he asked.

  “Hiding?” Her attempt at laughter sounded as forced as it felt.

  “You’re trembling. Do I scare you?” he suddenly asked in surprise as the idea hit him.

  “I’m just nervous,” she admitted. Beside her leg, his hair-dusted, muscular thigh looked masculine and tough and thoroughly enticing.

  “Why did you really come and find me?”

  “I told you. I just wanted—”

  “I know what you told me.” He swept that away with an impatient gesture. “But now that I’m sober, I want the truth. Something’s wrong, isn’t it? There’s some secret, or problem. What is it?”

  Cammie swallowed. Beyond the window, the sky was turning dusty pink, harbinger to a vivid dawn that would fill the eastern skies very quickly. “It’s morning,” she said.

  “Don’t change the subject. It’s not my father, is it? Is something wrong with him—apart from his being a bastard, that is,” he added with only the faintest humor.

  “No!”

  “My mother,” he choked out, his voice tightening.

  “No, no. Nothing like that. Everything’s fine.”

  His hand suddenly clasped her upper arm. Cammie squeaked out a protest, her eyes widening, but then she saw the flash of concern in his dark eyes. “Is it you? What is it? For God’s sakes, Cammie, if something’s serious, you’d better tell me quick.”

  “I’m fine! We’re all fine! Why can’t it just be that I wanted to see you?” she demanded desperately. “You’ve been gone so long, and it’s just not—fair!”

  Her outburst was childish and pathetic. She hated the words that came straight from her soul. And, as if Ty suddenly sensed their true meaning, the grip on her arm loosened but didn’t quite relinquish. Instead, his thumb rubbed against her shoulder, sending a frisson of awareness down her arm to the pit of her stomach where tension formed into a knot. He had to stop doing that. If he was unaware of its effect—as she believed he was—then he had to be told. His touch was like a magic potion, overtaking her until her brain felt light and airy, her body hot and aching.

  “I thought you’d be married by now, raising a family, living the whole lie,” he said. “You seemed the type.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Would he ever let go of her arm? Her whole concentration was centered on his touch.

  “Mom, Dad, apple pie, and a station wagon.”

  She shook her head, breathing sketchily. “You still think I’m your little sister.”

  “No, I don’t. Not for years. So, no marriage, huh?” He flicked a glance at her left ring finger and found it bare. “No kids, either.”

  “I’m divorced.”

  “What’s the bastard’s name?” he asked humorously, responding to her tight tone.

  “Paul Merrill.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know…” She couldn’t bring herself to go into it right now.

  “Are there children involved?”

  “No. None.” Bitterness crept into her voice. He waited silently for further explanation, but none came. He could sense her sadness. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, meaning it, and it was the worst thing that could have happened. His sympathy raked across Cammie’s raw nerves. Feelings engulfed her. Misery. Despair.

  “Don’t be,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. One moment he was an antagonist—a sexy, dangerous, and persuasive opponent—the next he was a reluctant ally, one who pitied and empathized with her. And Cammie, who’d been running on emotion for far too long, felt tears burn her eyelids and a huge ache swell inside her chest.

  She tried to rise. To stand up and leave. But his grip never loosened, and when he pulled her into his arms she melted into a puddle of misery, crying silently on his shoulder, her salty tears dampening his warm flesh.

  “Did that affect the divorce decision?” he asked quietly.

  “What?” For a moment she’d forgotten her own words, awash in her own grief and shocked by the delight of being consoled in his strong arms. “Oh. No.” She swallowed. “Paul didn’t care. I mean, it wasn’t an issue, really. We just couldn’t get along.”

  “He couldn’t get along with you?”

  His faith in her character went a long way to restoring her equilibrium. She smiled. “We both thought we loved the same person. He just loved Paul Merrill a little more than I did.”

  “Ahhh…” Ty nodded. “He was an actor.”

  “A producer, of sorts. My mother thought it would be a good match. She wasn’t—well.”

  He inclined his head in understanding.

  “It’s all right. The marriage is over, and we’ve both moved on. He actually worked with me on Cherry Blossom Lane.” She could have gone into how she’d helped him get his job and how he’d stabbed her in the back, but it was all water under the bridge and, besides, she was sick of talking about her own problems.

  Tyler absorbed her information, then reluctantly—at least it seemed reluctantly—released his grip on her arm. “It’s late. Almost dawn.”

  “We should get some sleep,” Cammie agreed, feeling self-conscious at all the revelations of the night.

  “You go ahead. I think I’ll take a walk. Believe it or not, I’m not much of a serious drinker anymore, and I need to get these poisons out of my system.”

  “Sure…”

  And so she’d scurried off to the safety of the bedroom and managed to drift in and out of sleep, but only after she heard his tread on the stairs up to the loft. She’d thought about his days and hours and minutes spent in Bayrock and marveled anew at his being in real estate. She’d fallen asleep thinking she’d like to know more, then this morning she’d seen the pages of that script tucked in the drawer, and her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

  And I’ve got the throbbing finger to show for it! she thought with some remorse as she turned off the taps to the shower and flexed her fat digit.

  Pressure had increased and now her attention seemed fixated on the pain. How was she going to hide it from him? She didn’t want any more of his sympathy, and she certainly didn’t want to explain what had happened! Their relationship was tenuous at best, and Ty would not appreciate her snooping through his things. He had moments of tolerance, to be sure, but she knew how she’d feel if someone were to go through her drawers.

  You’re such a silly fool! How do you get yourself into these predicaments?

  A sudden rap on the bathroom door caused her to yank down a fluffy lemon-colored towel and wrap it close to her body. “Yes?”

  “You okay? You’ve been in there for a hell of a long time.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good. Hurry up. Breakfast is waiting…”

&n
bsp; Ty stalked away from the bathroom door, grimacing slightly at the pain in his head. His throbbing headache was definitely alcohol related, but the black mood dogging him had a name: Cammie Pendleton Merrill.

  And why are you mad at her? he asked himself.

  He sighed, knowing he was really mad at himself and his reaction to her. She flat out bothered him. Just thinking of last night’s talk with her on the couch elicited a strange feeling inside his gut that he didn’t like. Somehow, she’d dug beneath his tough skin and touched something vulnerable that he’d spent a lot of years denying existed.

  He didn’t like it at all. He didn’t like thinking of her being married to some narcissus named Paul Merrill. He didn’t like the infinite sadness that stole over her face when she’d revealed she couldn’t bear children.

  He, himself, thought the whole family thing was an overrated crock of bull perpetrated by insecure folks who needed everything neatly tied up in writing—usually for monetary gain. Cynical? He knew he was that and a whole lot more, but he honestly couldn’t find proof to the opposite. His father had married and married and married and sired a passel of forgotten offspring. Sam’s lack of parenting skills wasn’t entirely his fault, but Ty didn’t care anymore. He, Ty, had tried to follow in his father’s footsteps and he’d been trodden on. Had Sam been proud of his son’s ambitions? Hell, no! Okay, maybe in the beginning, but the man had quickly become threatened by his son’s success, and then hell had really broken loose.

  And Ty wasn’t proud of the fact that it was Gayle’s death that had brought him to his senses and sent him away from the insidious bonds of family and his own ambitions. Luckily, he’d left with his soul battered but intact.

  That was the problem, then, with Cammie. He feared for her. She’d chosen a similar path to his own and though she seemed removed from Sam’s web of deception, she was still a babe in the woods when it came to the machinations of the self-serving in Hollywood.

  God, he hated it. And yet, he couldn’t deny there was a fascination there that sent millions of fame-seekers to its golden Mecca. He was jaded and angry, and it wasn’t really fair. Not to people like Cammie who still possessed a positive view of others.

  Still…what was it about her that got to him so much? Had he been such a hermit that any reminder from his old life could awaken such powerful feelings? Why was he so touched that someone, even a pseudo-relative, cared enough to search him out?

  And it had taken one long, long-walk along the bay as the streaky hot pink light of dawn appeared against the horizon for him to get over that seductive feeling and remind himself that reuniting was no good for either of them.

  Ten minutes later, Cammie appeared at the foot of the stairway. In jeans and a white cotton shirt, her feet bare, pink, painted nails peeking beneath the frayed hems of her pantlegs, her auburn hair damp and combed straight so that it waved gently beneath her chin, her blue eyes wide and a bit uncertain: she’d never looked so desirable. And that was the word, too. Desirable.

  Ty swallowed and felt a bit like a masher. Wasn’t he supposed to be her “older brother”? Maybe he didn’t feel that way, but she probably did.

  Her hands were tucked behind her, her stance one of a truant awaiting discipline. He said gruffly, “I’ve got toast, eggs over easy, and bacon. What would you like?”

  “Just toast, please. Maybe one egg.”

  “Women don’t eat bacon, either,” he predicted with a faint smile.

  “Actually, I like my bacon with white wine,” she teased. “A few strips—no, a rasher—along with a carafe. Unless I’m dieting, of course.” She reached for the plate he handed her, wincing suddenly and nearly dropping the china dish in the bargain.

  Ty steadied the plate in her hand and considered the frozen look on her freshly scrubbed face. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Her wince had been of pain, he realized, and ignoring her protests, he pulled the dish away, spying her damaged finger before she thrust her right hand behind her back like a recalcitrant child.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I smashed it.”

  “Let me see it.”

  “Nope. Go on ahead with breakfast. Maybe you could just set mine down on the counter.”

  She was being awfully coy, Ty decided, but he did as she suggested—for now. What he really wanted was to yank her arm around and assess the injury.

  He poured them both orange juice and sat next to her at the tiny bar that served as his eating table. She attempted to keep her right hand in her lap, eating with her left though it was an obvious and awkward effort. Eventually, Ty gave up waiting and clasped her wrist, bringing her injured finger within view.

  “Ouch,” he said, examining the swollen member. “Hurts like hell, doesn’t it?”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Looks like you just did it. What did you smash it in, the door?”

  She swallowed some orange juice, gently extricating herself from his grasp. “A drawer.”

  An inkling of understanding slipped over him. “My drawer? In the bedroom?” When she didn’t immediately respond, he asked, “What were you looking for?”

  “Nothing! I just opened one.”

  Ty was beginning to grow amused. “Snooping. And you got caught at it.”

  She blushed prettily, the color covering the V of skin at her neckline. Ty found himself so intrigued by this show of femininity that he forced himself to turn away.

  And then he realized what she might have found…

  “Which drawer?” he asked, his voice hardening.

  She didn’t answer.

  “The nightstand?”

  The bit of egg on her fork slipped back to the plate as her hand trembled ever so slightly.

  “You were reading my script, weren’t you?” Ty declared in a dangerously soft voice. To her continued silence, he demanded, “Weren’t you? Answer me, Cammie. Is that what you were sent to do? Spy on me, find out what I’m up to? Report back to Sam and God knows who else! Who’s paying you?” he demanded, his rage swelling furiously. “Tell me that. I think I have a right to know!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  To her intense embarrassment, Cammie was suddenly near tears. They burned hurtfully behind her lids and she blinked several times, her eyes unnaturally bright. Horror filled her; she was about to humiliate herself in the worst way.

  “You’re on someone’s payroll, aren’t you?” Tyler persisted angrily. “Damn it, Cammie! Answer me!”

  “No!”

  “I’m not going to believe you came here out of some misguided need for ‘family.’ I know how you felt after my father treated your mother so badly. I’ve got my own issues with him, too.” He paused for breath. “But as you’re talking to him again, somebody’s got something to gain. So, what is it, hmmm? Why are you helping him?”

  “I’m not helping him.” Cammie was adamant. “I wouldn’t help your father in any way! I’m sorry, but it’s true. If you don’t want to believe me, fine. I can leave right now.”

  “And go tell who?”

  Fury finally took over, and she was glad. She was tired of everyone telling her how she felt and what she wanted and what would be best for her. “All right, you caught me,” Cammie declared hotly, throwing up her hands in defeat. “I’ve got a horde of reporters waiting right outside that door. Everyone wants a piece of you. We’re all going to make a fortune off this! In fact, your father is in a nearby television studio right now, crying to a million viewers how he lost the love of his son. It’s a reunion show and all I have to do is bring you there, and the audience will go mad with joy! Come on, let’s go. It’ll be a fabulous show and you’ll be the star! Oh, and don’t forget, I’ll get a hefty finder’s fee, so we’ll all be just as thrilled as we can be!”

  She nearly ruined it by break-ing down and crying herself. Her lips trembled, threatening her hard-won composure. But she met his gaze with a cold one of her own, and in the end, Ty inclined his head and scratched his chin, fighting t
he stirrings of a smile.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Okay, what?” Cammie demanded.

  “You’ve made your point. And, you might be a halfway decent actress, although the tears would have been over the top.”

  “You bastard,” she said with feeling.

  He grimaced and drew a breath. When he gazed at her, there was a touch of admiration in the depths of his eyes. “Since I don’t think Geraldo or Leeza or Oprah are anywhere within a thousand miles, I guess I’m safe from the ‘reunion show,’ ” he said. “I—apologize.”

  Cammie’s pulse pounded in her head. His words effectively blocked the surge of rage that had fueled her tongue. She wanted to hold on to this fury. It was her protection against the attraction he couldn’t help making her feel. Damn the man! It wasn’t fair that she should be so ridiculously eager to please him, and make him happy, and want him to like her so much. Nor was it fair that he could hurt her so easily, distrust her on instinct, and drive her to rave at him like a crazy loon.

  “You’re amazing,” he added, destroying her wall of anger still further.

  “I’m not amazing. I’ve just been on television for three years, and I’ve seen enough tabloid TV to think like an idiot.”

  Holding out a hand to her, he shook his head. “I don’t know how to behave anymore.”

  “You’re doing just fine,” she murmured tautly, too emotionally overwrought to place her fingers within his and expect to keep her wits about her.

  “It’s good to see you.”

  This heartfelt admission trampled her defenses yet again. She turned away, knocking her finger against the side of the counter. Yelping in pain, she yanked her hand close to her chest. Ty reached out and gently unfolded her fingers, examining her injury more closely. “It’s throbbing like hell, isn’t it? You need to drop the pressure.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “I could drive you to a local clinic where they’d—”

  “No,” she cut in firmly.

  “—take care of it, or I could relieve the pressure myself.”