Carly was willing to admit all those things. What else could you call a woman who had married seven times in search of the perfect love?
But her mother hadn’t been evil. She hadn’t been conniving.
Never.
But there was no point in telling that to Piran. She had no intention of defending her mother to the likes of Piran St Just! He could go to hell as far as she was concerned. And he could take his book with him.
‘Carlota, damn it! Get back here!’
Carly hurried on. The day was hot and sticky for December. And while she hadn’t felt the heat much in the van, now her shirt stuck to her back. Rivulets of sweat ran down her spine and between her breasts into the waistband of her chambray trousers. She shifted the duffel from one hand to the the other and continued on.
Heavy footsteps pounded after her. She ignored them.
‘Carlota!’
She didn’t turn around. She didn’t falter.
‘Carly, you stubborn witch, stop!’
A hand came out and snagged her arm, hauling her abruptly to a halt. Fingers bit into her skin, holding her fast.
She tried to jerk her arm away, but Piran wouldn’t let go. The pull on her arm was so strong he almost dragged her to the ground. She looked at him closely. He seemed winded. His dark hair clung damply to his forehead. His lean cheeks were flushed, but he was white around the mouth, and he was breathing heavily.
‘Let me go,’ she said again, trying to pry his fingers loose.
His chest heaved. ‘Only if you don’t start walking again.’
She just looked at him, making no promises.
His fingers tightened. She winced. He looked at his hand still biting into her flesh and frowned, but he didn’t let go. ‘We need to talk.’
‘I’m not talking—or listening—to anyone who insults my mother.’
A muscle ticked in his jaw. She could almost see the thoughts flashing across his brain, angry thoughts, disparaging thoughts. But finally Carly felt his fingers loosen reluctantly. His hand dropped and he shoved it once more into the pocket of his canvas trousers. He shrugged almost negligently. ‘Whatever.’
Carly pressed her lips together. She wanted to rub her arm, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
‘So talk,’ she said frostily.
Piran drew a deep breath, as if trying to decide where to start. Finally he lifted his gaze and met hers.
‘Let me get this straight,’ he said after a long moment, and she could still bear his disbelief. ‘You just happen to work at Bixby Grissom and you just happened to edit our book?’
‘More or less. As I said, Sloan has a lot on his plate, and since I know more about archaeology than he does he asked me if I would do your last revision letter for him and the last line-editing.’
‘Which he signed.’
‘He’s your editor. I’m not. And Des came to see him, but he was out with the flu.’
‘So Des just jumped at the chance to suggest you come in his place.’
‘I’m sure Des was just there to ask for an extension. But when he saw me a light bulb went off in his head. You know Des and his ideas.’
Piran grimaced. ‘Yeah, I know Des and his ideas. What I don’t know is why you agreed.’
‘I told you—because I like my job. And because I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d have it if I didn’t. It certainly wasn’t because I was ecstatic about seeing you.’
Was that a flush making his cheeks darker? ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said gruffly after a moment.
She waited, the sun beating down on her back, but he didn’t say anything else. He just shut his eyes. His jaw tightened.
‘So,’ Carly said finally, ‘do I stay or leave?’
He sighed, then opened his eyes. ‘Like you I have no choice. What else can I do if we’re going to turn the book in on time?’
‘Des said you had a draft.’
‘Des is ever an optimist.’ His tone was dry. ‘I have a very rough draft—the operative word being “rough”. I was counting on Des to shape it up. He’s supposed to be here,’ he muttered again.
‘Yes, well, he’s not. I’m it. Unless you want to plead with Diana for an extension.’
Piran shook his head. ‘It’s in the schedule. Promo’s being done. You know that as well as I do.’ All at once he muttered, ‘God, it’s hot. I need to sit down.’
And he did, right there at the side of the road, pulling his knees up and dropping his head between them.
Carly stared at him, astonished. Then she bent down to look at him more closely. ‘Are you all right? Piran?’
He didn’t answer. She could only see the shallow rise and fall of his back.
‘Piran, for God’s sake, what’s wrong?’
He lifted his head. His face was white. ‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ she mocked. ‘You’re just resting?’
‘Just resting,’ he agreed, his voice hollow. Carly could see sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip.
‘You’re sick.’
He shook his head. ‘I had a diving accident a while ago. No big deal.’
As far as Carly could recall from the days when she’d been a part of the St Just family, there was no such thing as a diving accident that was ‘no big deal’.
‘What kind of diving accident?’ And why hadn’t Des told her? Trust Des to stick her with Piran who was ill as well as harsh, fierce and moody.
Piran gave a quick shake of his head and straightened, putting his hands behind him and leaning back, dropping his head back so that now her eyes were drawn to the long column of his throat, the strong jut of his chin and the quick rise and fall of his chest.
‘What kind of accident?’ Carly repeated.
‘Had to come up too fast.’ He sighed. ‘Damn, I hate this.’
‘Then don’t run after people,’ Carly said, taking refuge in gruffness. She wasn’t about to let him think she was concerned.
Piran’s mouth quirked. ‘I’ll try not to.’
‘Why’d you do a stupid thing like that? Come up too fast, I mean.’
‘Cut myself. Lost a lot of blood.’
‘Blood?’ Carly looked at him, aghast.
‘Gashed my leg on some coral. Not a bad wound, but there’re sharks out there sometimes…’
His voice trailed off. He didn’t have to finish; Carly knew exactly what could have happened. She felt sick.
‘There were two of us,’ Piran went on. ‘The other guy wasn’t cut, but he couldn’t stay down either without me. And they only had one decompression unit. He showed more effects, so they put him in.’
‘You could have died!’ The words were wrung from Carly in spite of herself. She couldn’t have stopped them if she’d tried.
He slanted her a glance. ‘Wishful thinking, Carlota?’ She glared at him. ‘Sometimes you’re such an ass, Piran.’
He looked at her quizzically. ‘Am I?’
‘Yes,’ she said tersely. ‘Come on.’ She held out a hand to him.