Page 16 of Don't Be Scared

“You deserve that much at the very least.”

“And at the very most?”

“You deserve more—much more.”

She waited, her nervous fingers twirling the stem of her glass. She cocked her head expectantly to one side, unconsciously displaying the curve of her throat. Why did he work for his father in a position he found so disagreeable? “I had assumed that you took command because of your father’s heart attack.”

“That’s part of it,” he conceded reluctantly. “But a very small part.” She was quiet, and her silence prodded him on. “Actually, when Ben had the first attack and asked me to take over for a couple of weeks, I refused. I didn’t need the headache, and I figured he would have half a dozen ‘yes men’ who could more than adequately fill his shoes while he was recuperating. So I refused.”

Sheila’s eyebrows drew together as she tried to understand. “What changed your mind?” she asked quietly.

“The second attack. The one that put Ben in the intensive care unit for a week.” Noah’s fingers drummed restlessly on the table as he thought for a moment. “My father hadn’t trusted anyone to run the company other than himself. When I refused to help him, he ignored the advice of his doctor and picked up where he left off.”

“That’s crazy,” she thought aloud.

Noah shook his head. “That’s getting his way. The second attack almost took his life, and when my mother pleaded with me to help him out, I agreed, but only until a replacement could be found.”

“And your father didn’t bother to look for one,” Sheila surmised.

“Why would he? He got what he wanted.”

“But surelyyoucould find someone—”

“I’ve looked. Anyone I’ve suggested has been turned down by the powers that be.·

“Ben.”

“Exactly.”

Sheila was confused. When she thought of her family and all of the love they had shared, she found it hard to imagine the cold detachment between Ben Wilder and his only son. “Surely there must be some way of solving your problem. Can’t you talk to your father?”

“It doesn’t do any good. Besides, that’s only part of the story. I owed my father a favor—a big favor.

The uneasy feeling that had been threatening to overtake Sheila all evening caused her to shudder involuntarily. “And you’re repaying him now, aren’t you?”

“In my opinion, yes. You see,” he continued in a flat, emotionless voice, “when my son, Sean, was born, there were problems I wasn’t able to handle alone. I was too young. I was forced to ask and rely upon my father for help. He complied, and the bastard has never let me forget it.”

“But what about Sean’s mother?” Sheila questioned. “Certainly she could have helped if there were a problem with the child. Sean was her responsibility as well as yours.”

“Marilyn?”Noah’s face contorted at the irony of the suggestion and the memory of a young girl he had once thought he loved. “You don’t seem to understand, Sheila.Marilynwas the problem, at least the most evident problem, and it took all of my father’s money and power to deal with her effectively.”

“I shouldn’t have asked—it’s none of my business,” Sheila stammered, stunned by the look of bitterness and hatred on the angled planes of Noah’s proud face.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe it never did. Anyway, it’s all a part of the past, dead and buried.”

Sheila pushed herself onto unsteady legs beginning to rise from the table. “There’s no reason for you to tell me all of this.”

His hand reached out and captured her wrist, forcing her to stay near him. “You asked,” he reminded her.

“I’m sorry. It was my mistake. Perhaps we should go.”

“Before you see all of the skeletons in the Wilder closets?” he mocked.

She felt her spine become rigid. “Before I lose track of the reason I came here with you.”

Her dark eyebrows lifted elegantly, and Noah thought her the most intriguingly beautiful woman he had ever met. “AmIcoercingyou?” she asked as her eyes dropped to her wrist, still shackled in his uncompromising grip.

“If you are, lady, it’s only because I want you to,” he rejoined, but the tension ebbed from his face and his hand moved slightly up her forearm, to rub the tender skin of her inner elbow. “Let’s go,” he suggested, helping her from the chair. His hand never left her arm as he escorted her down the stairs and into the night. He carried her coat and wrapped his arm over her shoulders to protect her from the damp breeze that still held the promise of rain.

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