Can't Forget Him Read online

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  This is Cara West's sixth Superromance novel and, like her others, is set in her home state of Texas. In fact, five out of the six are set in Austin, Texas, where Cara has lived for the past twenty-five years. This talented author won the Romantic Times award for Best Superromance in 1991. She also contributed to Harlequin's very successful Crystal Creek series.

  ISBN0-373-70674-X

  CAN'T FORGET HIM

  Copyright © 1996 by Cara West

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or any other information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada, M3B 3K9

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  Printed in U.S.A.

  To my critique groups, past and present,

  with special thanks to

  Pat R., Janet, Pat W., Paula and Adrianne.

  My writing has been tempered by their refining fires.

  PROLOGUE

  NATE HAD KNOWN for many years that the Grants were enchanted. He'd fallen under their spell the first time he'd walked into their cookie-scented kitchen at the ripe old age of seven, as Sam's newest buddy. Now as best man at Sam and Jenny's wedding, Nate still believed the family had magical properties. Only now he had a greater understanding of what the magic was.

  Taking a sip of his champagne, Nate watched the newlyweds begin their last round of greetings before they changed clothes and headed for an undisclosed destination. The reception line had dissolved moments ago, freeing Nate from his official duties, and he'd found a quiet corner to retreat to momentarily, unwilling as yet to plunge into the crowd.

  For some reason, ever since the ceremony, he'd felt strangely detached from the joyous occasion. This should have been one of the happier days of his life. Sam was, after all, his best friend and business partner, and Jenny already seemed like a sister to him.

  So why did he feel left out today?

  Envy, perhaps? Oh, yes, he was envious, because Sam had found something Nate doubted he himself ever would. They'd sown their share of wild oats together and had made their way through a fair number of willing women. Except Sam had obviously understood all along that there was something better to search for. But then, why shouldn't he, with his parents' marriage as a guide?

  Nate caught sight of them now, making their way around the room. After forty years and four children, Molly and Andrew were more devoted to each other than ever. They were like two halves of a whole. Yet the love they shared embraced the world.

  Nate had many fond memories of Andrew taking time to answer questions from curious kids. And Molly had always had a supply of kindness and cookies. She'd tended to more of Nate's cuts and bruises than his own mother had.

  Was that what was causing his unease? Was seeing his own parents in the same room for the first time in years bringing back memories of a lonely childhood within a disastrous marriage?

  He caught sight of Sandra, his mother, just as Molly reached her side. Sandra had moved away from Molly's neighborhood a few years after the divorce, and these days the two women seldom saw each other. Yet Molly greeted Sandra with her usual spontaneity. Sandra responded with a polite smile and conventional pleasantries. Not even Molly Grant could get past Sandra's guard.

  No one would dispute his mother's accomplishments. Sandra was intelligent, energetic and efficient in business. A woman whose statuesque looks served her well in middle age.

  Unfortunately her personal relationships were less than successful. Unfortunately for Nate, at least. There always seemed to be a wall between her and other people, a wall of her own making. It had taken most of his adolescence, but he'd finally resigned himself to the fact they'd never be close.

  After the divorce from his father, Warren, Sandra had poured her energy into her real-estate firm. Burdened with a young son, she'd done her duty in raising him. When he'd entered the University of Texas, she'd considered her duty finished.

  God knows, she had a right to be bitter toward men and marriage. Warren had always had trouble keeping his pants zipped. The final straw had come when he'd had an affair with his law partner's wife.

  As nearby conversations sifted through Nate's consciousness, he watched Andrew make his way through the crowd toward Warren. Immediately the two men were deep in conversation. Oddly enough, they'd remained friends through the years.

  It was impossible to ignore the contrast between them. Although Andrew was undoubtedly distinguished-looking, Warren, at sixty, still turned women's heads.

  Nate wondered how Diana, Warren's latest wife, felt about her husband's glamorous looks and checkered history. She was here with him today looking relaxed and cheerful. Nate had to admit she'd hung in longer than the others. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd issued Warren an ultimatum. Or maybe Warren had belatedly grown fond of hearth and home.

  Nate wouldn't know. He saw Diana and Warren occasionally in social situations. But he and Warren didn't go in for father/son chats.

  Nate took another sip of champagne to wash away the sudden bad taste in his mouth. People who knew them both often commented on how closely he resembled his father. Some even speculated on how valuable an asset that must be. Nate had discovered long ago just what good looks could buy him. He'd also learned the hard way how much they could cost.

  One of the female guests had been eyeing his assets for the past half hour. Nate hadn't decided exactly what to do about the come-on. This evening, he wasn't in the mood to live up to his reputation.

  Still, she was obviously available and neither innocent nor married. Unlike his father, Nate refused to play games with women who were already spoken for. And he never seduced the young or naive. The women he took to bed knew exactly what to expect from him. If they wanted more, he bade them a fast farewell.

  In fact, Nate decided with wry resignation, about the only thing he could say in defense of his reputation was that he'd never led a woman on.

  He'd realized long ago that he'd inherited his father's charm and acute legal mind, along with his mother's aggressive instincts for business. Those two qualities, partnered with Sam's engineering brilliance, had brought Nate and Sam an early measure of success.

  Nate had also recognized he wasn't cut out for personal commitment. He was Sandra and Warren's son whether he liked it or not.

  Yet the Grants had always seemed to see something finer in him. They'd treated him as if he was capable of loyalty and love. He didn't think he'd ever be able to repay their trust.

  And yet sometimes, on a day like today, a day of family celebration, he was reminded that no matter how much the Grants included him, he ultimately stood outside their magic circle.

  Just as he'd stood outside Megan's magic circle for too long.

  Megan...

  Tension gripped him at the thought of the youngest Grant, and Nate finally admitted that she was a large part of his feelings of estrangement. Today he'd tried to ignore her cool formality, just as she'd avoided his eyes during the exchange of wedding vows. They
had a brief conversation two days ago at her homecoming. Since that time, she'd left him strictly alone.

  Under hooded lids, Nate let his gaze wander to where she stood in her maid-of-honor finery, laughing at something an admirer had just said. Nate noted that, as usual, the man appeared mesmerized by her animated beauty. As usual, Nate's gut knotted in instinctive dislike.

  If the Grants were charmed, then Megan was their fairy princess. Risa and Carol, her older sisters, resembled their father. But Sam and Megan had inherited their mother's "black Irish" looks. Megan's dark hair shimmered like sunshine at midnight. Her complexion evoked images of rose petals in the rain. Her cobalt blue eyes seemed as deep as the ocean.

  Nate could remember holding her in his arms when she was barely a week old. He'd been thirteen at the time and would have died if anybody but Molly had caught him entranced by the miracle of Megan's tiny toes and fingers. Even then her eyes had had the power to touch his soul.

  He was fond of Risa and Carol in a vaguely fraternal way. But after Megan was born, he'd claimed her as his very own baby sister. From the beginning, he'd been as much her brother as Sam was.

  As soon as she could toddle, she'd trailed behind the two of them. As far as she was concerned, neither could do any wrong. Nate had been more than willing to bask in her hero worship. And like Sam, Nate had done his brotherly duty—teasing and riling her and protecting her from harm.

  Only he hadn't been there to protect her when it mattered the most. Even now, two months after the ferry accident in the English Channel, memories of Megan's close encounter with death clamped like a vise around his heart.

  Accustomed as the Grants were to long lives, successful marriages and beautiful children, their charmed life had almost failed them. For nearly twenty-four hours they'd waited to hear if Megan was among the survivors. That was the hardest day Nate had ever endured.

  He could tell himself it was the accident that had altered her attitude toward him. But in fact, she'd been withdrawing from him for the past couple of years. It seemed as if all they had left between them was the bickering.

  He knew she rebelled at what she considered his lectures. He knew she resented his hovering just as she did Sam's. But damn it, they hovered because they wanted the best for her.

  She was a princess. She deserved a prince.

  Princes were exceedingly rare, however, Nate had discovered. Predators, on the other hand, were in generous supply. Nate wasn't sure Megan could tell the difference.

  So what if she was twenty-three and a college graduate? She was still a child as far as he was concerned. A child who'd been sheltered by a warm wonderful family. She had no idea how harsh and unloving the world could be.

  Maybe he had been too critical of the boys she dated. But he didn't want to see her in a meaningless sexual liaison. The kind of liaison he understood too well.

  He only wanted to keep her safe from harm and a part of his life. It seemed neither wish would be granted.

  She'd flown in from Paris just in time for the wedding, and the day after tomorrow she was returning overseas. She seemed determined to put an ocean between herself and the people who loved her. Nate had no idea when he'd see her again.

  A wave of desolation washed over him, threatening his mask of good cheer. If he wasn't careful, he would dampen the mood of the occasion. With grim determination, he forced his thoughts and gaze away from Megan to that unescorted female guest. She was standing alone by a door.

  At that particular moment the woman was gazing wearily at nothing. Even so, he recognized the hint of cynicism in her eyes. He faced that same jaded weariness in the mirror most mornings.

  Before he glanced away, the woman sensed his scrutiny and met his gaze head-on. For a moment she seemed surprised at his belated interest. She recovered quickly, and her lips curved in an inviting smile.

  They were provocative lips, Nate decided. In fact, the entire package was suitably sleek and tempting, and offered the possibility of a night of painless pleasure.

  "Oh, what the hell," he muttered, feeling fatalistic.

  Finishing his champagne, Nate headed her way.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Italy—Three years later

  SHE WAS STANDING near a railing, peering out over the water. She was watching, waiting for something to happen, while horror scuttled close like wisps of fog.

  A grating jolt pitched her forward. Pain struck like lightning. She was screaming... falling. She had nothing to cling to. Cold dark water sucked her down into its depths.

  Megan awakened with a cry and stared into the darkness, seeking the reality of the unfamiliar room in the pensione.

  She hadn't had the dream in more than a year. Why, tonight, had she relived the horror? Was it the stress of deciding whether or not to finally go home?

  She became aware of what sounded like someone pounding on the front door.

  Maybe the noise had set off the fading nightmare. Who could be wanting a room at this hour?

  She peered at her alarm clock. Four-thirty in the morning. She'd planned to set off early for Milan, but this was ridiculous.

  Groaning, she rolled over and tried to ignore the voices.

  After a moment, the stairway creaked. A moment later a knock came at her door.

  Megan stared at it warily. Only Celia, her boss at the art gallery, knew she was here.

  When the second knock came, it sounded imperious. By the time Megan turned on the lamp and threw her robe over the nightshirt, the third knock resounded with unmistakable urgency.

  "I'm coming," she called.

  When she opened the door, Nate Kittridge loomed in front of her.

  Nate. For a moment that was all Megan could comprehend.

  Forgetting to breathe, she shook her head in disbelief. Had her subconscious conjured him up just as it had the accident? His figure lacked substance in the shadows of the hall.

  "Nate?"

  "Megan. Can I come in?"

  "Of course." When he crossed the threshold, his features gained definition and she could see that strain had carved lines in his face. "What on earth are you doing here?"

  Turning to the hotel manager, he nodded briefly. "Thank you." He shut the door and caught Megan's hands in his.

  "Megan," he said, "your father's had a heart attack."

  "A heart attack?" Nate's words hit Megan like a two-by-four.

  "Yes. He's alive, but it's serious. Sam called and asked me to fly down and tell you."

  "Serious—? Dad—?" She was reeling in shock.

  Nate put an arm around her and guided her to the bed.

  As she sank onto the mattress, she stared into his eyes. For the moment he was her only anchor.

  "How... how serious?" she whispered.

  "Serious enough for your mother to want her children close by."

  "Mom... oh, God. How is she taking it?"

  "Sam says as well as can be expected. Family members are taking turns staying with her and your father at the hospital. But she needs you, Megan."

  "Yes. I'll fly back immediately." Megan looked around distractedly, "What should I do first?"

  "Let me handle the arrangements." Nate's voice was calming. "That's what I'm here for."

  She shook her head. "But that's what I don't understand."

  "What?"

  "Why are you here?"

  "Sam and I thought—"

  "No, I mean in Italy. In her last letter, Jenny didn't say anything about your flying over."

  "I was in Munich closing a deal. Sam phoned me, thinking it would be better for you to get the news in person. It took me a day to track you down."

  For the first time Megan realized she was clinging to Nate's hand. "Sam was right," she said, letting go reluctantly. "Thank you for coming."

  She turned away, trying to find the necessary courage. Her head was clearer, but she still felt as if she'd been punched in the gut.

  "When did it happen?" she asked after a moment.

  "Yesterday after
noon."

  "Is Dad...? Will he...?" She swallowed hard. "Have you spoken to Sam today?"

  "Andrew's in critical condition in intensive care. That's all I can tell you, except Sam said to assure you he's holding his own."

  Megan felt certain Nate wasn't telling the whole story. She'd never been good, however, at prying information from him when he didn't want to give it.

  "There's no point in staying here," she said as she packed her few belongings. "When can we fly out?"

  "There's a direct flight from Rome to Dallas that leaves this morning. Last time I checked there was space available. I wasn't sure whether you'd want to go by your apartment first."

  "Book two seats," she said, and shrugged off her robe.

  LUNCH HAD BEEN SERVED. The drone of the plane's engines was soporific.

  The shade Megan had drawn earlier blocked the sunlight and now, after four hours of flight, Megan found herself limp with fatigue.

  She was grateful for Nate's strength. He'd insisted on taking care of every detail, from calling Austin to let the family know when they'd be arriving to notifying her landlord in Milan about her emergency departure.

  Reclined in her first-class seat—bless Nate's thoughtfulness, although he'd insisted the arrangements were for him, rather than her—Megan surveyed him as he lounged beside her.

  Nate Kittridge, her unofficial big brother. The man she'd adored for most of her life.

  She smiled wryly to herself. He'd have been horrified to know he'd filled her dreams and fantasies. He viewed fantasies, along with most emotions, with acute distrust. He also conducted his sexual affairs with a charming remoteness that challenged any female foolish enough to think she could get past his guard.

  Nate's eyes were closed. Megan guessed he was asleep. In repose, his expression was unguarded.

  Had three years changed him? If so, the changes weren't obvious. At thirty-nine he was still one of the most handsome men she'd ever met.

  With streaked blond hair, sculpted brow and a chiseled chin, he bore more than a passing resemblance to Robert Redford. Only, at over six feet, Nate was considerably taller.