Remember the Dreams (17 page)

T
oni knew that Kyle had been priming himself for an argument ever since they'd left the restaurant. All the signs were there—the formidable clenching of his jaw, the rigid set of his broad shoulders, a tightly wound spring just waiting for the slightest pressure to send it uncoiling.

Toni said nothing, preferring the forbidding stillness to engaging in what could only become a heated verbal battle. She wasn't about to plead her case. She'd swallowed enough of her pride when she'd set out to seduce him—and look where that had gotten her.

The oppressive silence that had filled the car during their drive home accompanied them into the house. Toni left Kyle in the entry and headed for her room, praying that she could hang on to the strange calm mercifully numbing her senses until . . . until what?

Until you can get out of here, she answered herself, haphazardly tossing the contents of her drawers into the suitcases she'd just pulled from her closet. Then you can go somewhere and quietly fall to pieces.

Kyle would never change. So what point was there in beating her head against a brick wall? She'd only be compromising herself if she stayed. Kyle had said that he didn't want to get married because he didn't want children. That was nothing but an excuse. She'd seen how he enjoyed playing with Todd's boys. The wistfulness in his eyes when he talked about Jana's little girl. Maybe he meant that he didn't want her to have his children.

The pain in her heart was beginning to have disastrous effects on her thinking processes. Right now, she'd be better off not to think at all.

She pulled an armload of suits from the rack and glanced up just in time to see Kyle pushing open the door.

He had taken off his shirt and tie. Without those trappings of civility, the irritation she had sensed in him seemed more pronounced, his lean, male form more threatening somehow.

That same threat was in his voice. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I don't think I'm doing anything," she returned, amazed at how calm she sounded. "What I am doing is packing."

"You're not planning on going anywhere tonight, are you? It's almost eleven, for God's sake!"

She didn't really know what she was planning. She was on auto-pilot. The same numbness that controlled her features was also in charge of her actions.

Closing the latch on the suitcase she had just filled, she pulled the other one toward her. She sounded every bit as reasonable as Kyle did angry. "If you'll excuse the use of a worn-out old adage, it's better late than never. You know something, Kyle?" She didn't look at him, or wait for a response. "I never realized how much I procrastinate. I'm always telling myself that I'm too busy, or too preoccupied, or too tired to do some of the things I know I should do. I kept promising myself that I'd hire an assistant. That I'd start getting some exercise. That I'd find a place to live." A tight little laugh slid past the constriction in her throat. "The only reason I bought a car when I did was because I didn't have any other choice. You literally took me by the hand and made me do it." She headed back to the closet. "I guess it's kind of like now. I don't have any choice. There's no sense waiting for things to change, because they're not going to."

"It's not like you to run away from something."

"I'm not running away." She caught a glimpse of him when she turned around. His arms were folded across his chest and his challenging frame filled the doorway. "Quite the opposite, actually. I'm just facing facts."

"And what are those facts?" he demanded.

The methodical motions of packing reinforced her almost-methodical thoughts. "That I've been deceiving myself. . . and you."

"Me?"

Her back was to him, so she didn't see the disquiet in his narrowed eyes. "Both of us," she told him softly.

"How did you deceive me?"

Was that anger or hurt she detected in his question? She couldn't tell. And she didn't trust herself to look at him to find out. "By letting you think that I'm something I'm not. That I'd be willing to settle for a relationship that won't ever lead anywhere. I think I was trying to convince myself of that same thing for the past couple of weeks. Even though I kept hoping that my . . . that how I felt about you would eventually make you feel the same way, I guess I always knew that I already had all I was going to get." She turned toward him, her eyes skimming his powerful chest, then lowering to the floor. "You either won't... or can't. . . give me what I need."

Her last words seemed to take a second to sink in and his silence drew her eyes to his. For one heart-stopping moment, she saw the anguish in his expression. But it remained only long enough for him to drag his fingers through his hair.

"I don't think we should talk about this right now," he stated flatly. "I don't want you to leave, but I think we're both too upset to discuss this rationally. One of us is going to wind up saying something not meant, so let's talk about it in the morning."

Toni thought she was being quite rational. "I'm not upset, Kyle." Indeed, she had never felt more . . . detached. "And I won't be here in the morning."

Pulling on the camel's hair coat she'd thrown across the dresser, she picked up her suitcases and started for the door. "I can't walk through you," she sighed. "So would you please get out of the way?"

It had been a mistake to get so close to him. Before she could widen the distance, his hands had curved over her shoulders, his thumbs running too lightly along the side of her neck. He nodded toward the suitcases.

"Put them down, Toni."

The feel of his hands and the intensity in his expression removed every trace of her benumbed state. If he kissed her, held her, she wouldn't stand a chance. His head was inching lower.

She couldn't let him do this. Without that deceptive numbness, she could feel only the hurt. And the screaming need of her heart for him to hold her and make that hurt go away.

Her only defense against him now was to allow anger to mask that pain. "Stop being childish," she said, berating him. "And let go of me.

She had just made mistake number two.

"Childish?" The word seemed to explode through the room. Kyle jerked his hands back, his own anger unleashed by her accusation. "To quote another old adage, isn't that a little like the pot calling the kettle black? If either one of us is being juvenile, it's most definitely you! You're still clinging to a bunch of outdated ideas about rose-covered cottages and living happily ever after. Well, I've got news for you, princess." The way he drew out that once-teasing endearment made it sound very belittling. "Things like that only happen in fairy tales. If you can't handle a mature relationship without deluding yourself about ..."

"Don't talk to me about not being mature," she snapped. "A mature person wouldn't be afraid to commit himself. And that's what you're afraid of, isn't it? You just don't have the guts to take a chance!"

His eyes glinted dangerously. "You don't know what you're talking about. And if you had any guts, you'd stay."

He was the one who didn't know what he was saying. It was taking far more courage to leave than it would to stay and live with the man she loved so desperately. But she had to be able to live with herself, too.

Kyle had moved from the door. Swallowing back the retort burning on her lips, she swept out into the hallway. She didn't even notice the cumbersome weight of her luggage. For all the attention she was paying to those heavy cases, they might as well have been packed with feathers.

"Toni! Come back here! You aren't going to walk out in the middle of this!"

It was hardly the middle of anything.

She had just opened the front door when Kyle came bursting into the entryway.

She nudged the door open further. They were doing just what Kyle had said he'd wanted to avoid—saying things they knew they'd both regret. It was up to her to make sure things didn't get worse.

"I can't stay, Kyle." There was a plea for understanding in her unsteady glance. "I can't just live with you. And I think enough has been said already."

She hurried out, but not before she caught a glimpse of the white roses sitting on the coffee table. Her heart wrenched painfully. It seemed like a century ago since she'd stood in that same entry, thanking him for those twelve perfect roses with her loving kiss.

Right on the heels of that unwanted thought came the ones she'd been trying to avoid.

Kyle cared about her. She knew that. But only enough to ask her to share his bed. He didn't care enough to marry her.

And right on the heels of that came Kyle.

He stood at the edge of the flagstone walkway, his rigid stance illuminated by the porch light. There was a look of resignation shadowing his features, and he made no attempt to move toward her car.

Apparently he didn't even care enough to try to keep her from going.

Toni fought back another surge of anguish, telling herself to be reasonable. She didn't want him to stop her.

"If I've left anything here"—she shoved her luggage into her car, praying that the moisture she could feel brimming in her eyes was something, anything, other than tears. Where was all that sophistication she'd prided herself on?— "send whatever it is to my office. The box in the bottom of the closet belongs to Madeline. I'd appreciate it if you'd give it to her." She couldn't quite bring herself to have Kyle add her thanks.

"Where will you be staying?"

She didn't miss the concern in his voice, or the pain revealed in his tense features. "Greg will know," she choked, more to herself than to Kyle. Greg had all those rental houses she'd found for him. Maybe he'd let her rent one.

She closed herself inside the car, shutting Kyle out completely.

Toni hadn't realized the devastating impact of her response. All she knew when she dared one last glance toward the house was that she'd never forget the dejection in Kyle's stance, or the contradicting rage darkening his beautiful face.

Kyle stood at the edge of the walkway for several long minutes after Toni had pulled out of the drive. There had been no point in trying to stop her. He had nothing more to offer than what he already had. He tried to tell himself that he should just be thankful that he hadn't been forced to tell her why. It didn't matter now anyway.

That night, Kyle did something he hadn't done in years. He went back into the house and got himself rip-roaring drunk.

Toni did something she hadn't allowed herself to do in years either. After reaching the bottom of the hill, she pulled the car off the road, folded her arms over the steering wheel, and cried.

❧

"How's the house?"

Toni closed the file she and Greg had been discussing over lunch and reached for her coffee. Now that their business was concluded, his question seemed perfectly logical.

"It's just fine," she returned, thinking about the small one-bedroom house she was now living in. It was such a drastic change from ... "I like it." She didn't want to think about the spacious home she'd left over two weeks ago.

"And how about you?" Greg's blond head dipped slightly, seeking her lowered eyes. "How's Toni?"

That question, unfortunately, was perfectly logical, too. When she'd met Greg after spending a long, tear-filled night at a hotel following her argument with Kyle, she'd looked more than a little haggard. She hadn't said why she'd needed a place in such a hurry, and Greg hadn't asked. "I guess I'm fine, too."

She hoped she sounded convincing.

Apparently she didn't. Greg smiled sympathetically. "If you need someone to talk to, we doctors are known to be very good listeners."

She didn't want to talk. Not about Kyle anyway. So a change of subject was called for. Greg liked to talk about himself and that seemed like a safe direction to head in. "So, you're a doctor now? A minute ago you were a big business tycoon. I assume you're also half tennis pro, since you said you aced your opponent this morning." They were having lunch at his club, and he was still wearing his tennis whites. "What else are you on your day off?"

Toni was surprised when he didn't go for the bait and he turned the topic right back around. "A friend. Or maybe I should say, a friendly doctor." He watched her place her cup back on her saucer and finger the pearl lying against her blue silk blouse. "Your hands are shaking. You ordered cream soup . . . which you didn't eat because you kept your arms crossed over your stomach like someone would who was trying to ease acidic discomfort. I would also guess that you're suffering from insomnia by the edema and"—he caught himself, opting for civilian terms rather than medical ones—"by the puffiness and dark circles under your eyes. I don't want you to think I'm trying to drum up business," he continued with a negative movement of his head. "Stress isn't my field anyway. But I do recognize the symptoms."

She tried to laugh, something that had seemed a little difficult to do lately. "That bad, huh?"

He nodded gravely. "Sometimes it helps to talk when something's bothering you. I don't want to pry, but if you think it would help to get it off your chest, just let me know." He softened his professionalism with a dentist-perfect grin. "I owe you for all that free investment advice you gave me."

Only part of it had been free. He'd been charged a walloping fee for most of her services.

Greg may have been one of the most conceited men she'd ever known—not without some justification, she'd finally concluded—but he was a doctor. And, in a way, they were friends.

She needn't have bothered with that rationalization. Before she knew it, Greg had drawn her out. She didn't have to say much for him to get a pretty clear picture of what had happened. But the only advice he offered was to start getting some exercise, ease up on the coffee, and call him if that didn't make it easier to sleep. He wouldn't prescribe sleeping pills himself—not that she wanted any—but he said he'd have one of his colleagues check her out and give her some if that doctor thought they were necessary. Definitely professional.