Her voice blank, she asked, “How did you get in here?”
“I could pick old locks like yours before I could walk. It’s a wonder somebody hasn’t made off with everything you own. Or you.” The look in his eyes as he surveyed her in her worn nightgown had heat around the edges.
“I suppose you have a reason?” She dragged the brush through the ends of her hair, which she held in her free hand, working at the tangles to avoid looking at him.
“A couple of them. Number one, you need somebody on guard duty—whether you believe it or not—and I’m available. Number two…”
She glanced up as he paused. “Number two?”
His smile was deliberate, his voice husky. “I was hoping maybe you had missed your boy toy. I thought you might want to take him out and play with him.”
The color that mounted into her face matched the images flaring in her mind. She hoped he couldn’t see that telltale flush with the light behind her. “After the things we said this afternoon? You can’t be serious.”
“No?”
“Of course not!”
“Too bad.” The shake of his head was mournful, yet the shadow of something like pain lay in the darkness of his eyes.
“Oh, come on!” she said, lowering her brush and flinging the jumbled mass of her damp hair behind her. “Surely you don’t expect to be taken so lightly.”
He thought about it while his lips took on a judicious twist. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“Who’s doing the taking?” he suggested with a lifted brow.
She closed her eyes. He was teasing again. Or was he? It was distinctly possible he was primed to go either way, depending on her reaction. She should have been angry, suspicious, but instead she felt the slow rise of relief.
The name she called him was not exactly a compliment, but neither was there any force behind it.
“I know, but you should see your face,” he answered in grim agreement.
“It’s not really funny.” Her voice was querulous.
He shrugged a little, his gaze frank. “I’ve met women like your sister-in-law before. They confuse being rude and crude with being sophisticated. The only way she can bother me is if what she says turns you against me. On the other hand, I seem more than able to do that myself every time I open my big mouth.”
The somber tone of his voice and self-deprecating assessment were disarming. That they were meant to be, she didn’t doubt for a minute; still, she couldn’t deny the result. Without quite looking at him, she replied, “We both said things we didn’t mean. The situation is so bizarre that I guess it’s not surprising.”
“Self-defense mechanism. For both of us.”
It was a reasonable excuse if she wanted to accept it. In her agitation, she tilted her head and attacked the wet tangle of her hair again, muttering under her breath as the brush immediately became embedded in the thick swath.
“Hey, hold on,” Alec exclaimed, coming off the bed in an effortless glide of firm muscles. “Keep on like that and you won’t have any hair left.” He moved toward her, took the brush from her hand. “Let me.”
She resisted for a moment, but he was determined. Circling her wrist with his strong fingers, he led her back to the bed. He dropped down to sit on the edge, then made room for her between his spread knees. As he pulled her between his legs with her back to him, he drew her hair between her shoulder blades. Working with care, he released the brush from the long strands, then began to remove their snarls with deft efficiency.
His concentration was total. Combined with the feel of his hands on her hair, it was amazingly intimate. The effort it took not to lean against him, into him, amazed her.
She ought not to be doing this. She should have stood her ground and ordered him out of her house; should never have stopped to bandy words with him. She should have refused to come close at any price. Certainly, she should never have let him put his hands on her, even in so benign a task as brushing her hair.
She didn’t have an ounce of common sense. Or the tiniest bit of willpower.
Clearing her throat after a moment, she said, “You’re very good at this.”
“I should be, don’t you think?” he replied, tossing his own long ponytail over his shoulder with a quick gesture. “Of course, I started out on my little sister, trying to get her ready for school.”
The image he evoked, of a teenage boy determined to make his sister look presentable, trying to take the place of mother and father to her, made her heart ache. She didn’t want to be affected, knew he had no use for her compassion, but she still couldn’t help it.
Before she could recover, he said, “I hear you’re threatening to shoot people again.”
She tried to look at him over her shoulder, but he was holding her hair and she couldn’t turn her head. Subsiding, she asked, “Who said so?”
“Some older woman phoned Gran, said she heard it at the beauty shop. Gran asked me about it when I went home after work this evening.”
“I was upset.”
“So now, whoever comes around will be armed.”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “What was I supposed to do? Turn the other cheek? Let them ruin everything you and I worked so hard to accomplish?”
“You don’t have to do anything, not when you have me.” His hands were steady, gentle, on her hair.
“Since I didn’t know I would have you or anyone else, it seemed best to handle it myself.”
“You’ll always have me. Whether you marry me or not.”
She jerked around to look at him, ignoring the pull on her hair. “Don’t say that!”
“Why not, if it’s true? I didn’t mean to push you or ask more than you can give. It won’t happen again.”
She hated the resigned tone of his voice, hated that she had put it there even as she wondered what was behind it, what he was after. She began to shake her head. “Alec, I don’t think…”
“Then don’t try,” he said, the words firm. “This isn’t a big deal, I promise. You need me right now and I need you. We don’t have to think about tomorrow or ‘forever.’ Only this moment, right now, matters. Is that so hard?”
It wasn’t hard at all, that was the trouble. “Oh, Alec, you deserve more than just to be needed.”
His lashes flickered and the definite molding of his lips firmed. “Let me worry about that.” His gaze dropped to the silken tresses he still held captive in one hand. In lighter tones, he added, “That first night, when I saw you come out of the house, I thought your hair was like moonbeams. I like it much better like this, silky smooth, instead of fluffy the way it was this morning.”
“Thank you. I think.”
Her voice was subdued as she answered. He was changing the subject, and who could blame him? She didn’t want to talk about everything that was between them, either. Didn’t want to think about all the doubts and fears and problems. She couldn’t—not while her upper arm was pressed against the firm wall of his chest and she could feel his taut thighs on either side of her hips. His body heat surrounded her like a caress. His warm, clean scent mounted to her head like a breathable aphrodisiac. She wanted him with a deep, slow ache that nothing could assuage except his touch, his strength against her.
What was it about him that muddled her thoughts and destroyed her will to resist? She had heard about men and women who risked everything for the sake of a lover, but had never expected to understand quite so thoroughly the urgency that moved them. At this moment, she didn’t care what happened next or what happened to her. It was enough that Alec was here with her. And she really felt she might die if he did not kiss her.
Perhaps something of her longing was in her face, for his movements stilled. He met her gaze, his own dark and strained, yet tumultuous. He tossed the hairbrush aside and pulled her to him.
To Alec, it felt as if he had won. Lovely, lovely prize. He would be generous in his victory, if he could manage it when she drove him so crazy.
He
kissed the delectable corner of her mouth, which was as tender and moist as a child’s. He brushed the warm satin of her cheek with his nose, felt it against his eyelids, his cheekbone. Moving to her ear, he dipped his tongue inside, tasting her, then caught her earlobe between his teeth. At the same time, he smoothed his hands over her rib cage, moving upward to gather the cushioned softness of her breast in his hand, capturing the nipple that tightened at once to a succulent bud. Perfect, she was so perfect, and so responsive to his least touch. The soft sound she made struck a chord inside him that resonated in his heart. With his lips he captured that sweet moan, held it inside him.
God, but he hurt with the pressure of wanting her. It wasn’t just about sex, but about what was in his head, his heart, his lungs, every cell in his body. The need to feel her naked against him was so strong that he reached for the hem of her gown and pulled it up to her waist. He only released her lips long enough to skim the nightgown over her head. Then he took them again as he dragged her higher in his arms. He turned her completely to face him as, holding her against him, he lay back on the bed. Spreading his hands, he gripped her backside, pressing her feminine heat to him while her hair spilled forward, tickling, teasing, driving him mad with its fragrance and damp, silky softness along his face, neck, shoulders.
He loved it, loved her body, loved kissing her, thrusting his tongue into the moist velvet heat of her. He loved the sugar-sweet, minty toothpaste flavor of her mouth. Loved her. And he had to have her now, before he exploded.
In a swirl of hair and limbs, he heaved her over onto her back. Struggling, cursing in whispers, he unzipped his jeans and shucked them down, then kicked free of them. He put a knee between her legs, then followed it with hot, heavy, ready male. He slid into her, gasping, winded by the shock of pleasure. Her warm depths were encompassing; they held him, pulsed around him. He plunged deeper, his hands grasping her to him as he probed satin eternity.
She was his and he wanted her to know it, to feel it deep inside where only he could reach. He wanted her to join him, ride with him, take him as he took her. He used his strength to make her feel his need. When she opened to him, moved to accommodate him, he answered that movement with surging power, then fell into a hard, swift cadence.
Her breathing was ragged. He felt her shuddering effort as she matched his pace. It fueled his need, increasing it until his muscles moved with the heavy, powerful rhythm of oiled pistons. Harder and harder.
The low sounds he made were choked nonsense, a measure of his need to make himself a part of her. He wanted that with a desperate urgency that was a part of the dilating, fracturing wonder inside him. It spread, engulfing him, consuming him as he drove into her heat and moisture again and again. Never in his life had it been this fine, this complete. Never had he wanted so badly to take someone with him into the dark, red-hot heart of his most stark desire.
Possessed and possessing, he heard her soft cries, felt the quaking shivers of her pleasure. And abruptly he lost it, giving her everything he had while the muscles and tendons of his body clenched, freezing him into absolute stillness. Chest heaving, mind a burning blank, he held that deep, absolute penetration.
The frenzy passed. Slowly, inevitably, he subsided until he could feel her heartbeat against him. He lay there, supporting the majority of his weight on his elbows but absorbing her as if he could siphon love through his skin.
Long moments slipped by filled with nothing except the slowing pant of their breathing. At last, she stirred, lifted a hand to trail her fingertips through his sweat-moist hair. With a shiver of laughter and something more in her voice, she said, “Amazing.”
His lips twitched. A light, airy joy washed over him. Shifting, he slid from her and turned onto his side. He dipped his head to lick the nipple of her breast, which was still tight and hard. His voice lazy, deep and as Southern as he could make it, he said, “Lady-my-honey, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
Her abdomen quaked with her silent laugh, ending abruptly with a taut quiver of internal reaction to his suggestion. He felt his own lips twitch with pleasure for the effect he had on her. She was so responsive that she startled him sometimes, sent a tingle of pure excitement through him at others. He would like to stay in bed with her for aeons, exploring all the ways he knew to bring her pleasure.
Not that he was so experienced himself. He didn’t much care for quick and casual sex. Like snacking on sticky candy when what he needed was a home-cooked meal, it didn’t satisfy the hunger deep inside. Besides, it was downright stupid. AIDS was the major monster waiting in the dark, but there were others that could put a definite kink in your love life.
Which reminded him. He rubbed his lips back and forth over the warm ivory of the side of her breast for a moment while he gathered his thoughts. “Laurel?”
“What?” The aimless skimming of her hand along the ridges of his back ceased.
“You aren’t using any protection, are you?”
There was a long pause before she answered, then the words were stifled. “It never occurred to me.”
“Or to me, I’m sorry to say.” His chest rose with the depth of the breath he took.
“It—could be a problem. I’m not quite old enough to be…immune to the consequences.”
“I know. Would it bother you? I mean…I’m just curious, but would you hate having a baby now that your other kids are grown?”
Her gaze was somber as she stared into a dim corner of the room. “I don’t think so. Not if I could be sure it would be healthy.”
“I know what you mean,” he said, then let his smile show. “But can you imagine the talk? Not that there wouldn’t be plenty if you showed up at the drugstore checkout with a handful of prevention. I’ll take care of it.”
“You don’t have to. I can handle it.”
For an instant he thought she meant she might want his child. That possibility, followed by the realization that she couldn’t have intended to say such a thing, struck him like a one-two punch to the heart. “I want to do it,” he said, voice constricted. “It’s my responsibility.”
“Whatever you prefer.” Her face was shadowed, her lashes almost resting on her cheeks.
“What I prefer—” he began as he flashed her a stern look. Then he stopped with his breath caught in his lungs. Her face was bathed in a mottled red light that flickered orange and yellow, dancing in shapes with the writhing triangularity of flame.
Fire!
He swung his head toward the window behind him. The drapes were not quite closed. The leaping light of the blaze shone through that narrow opening and around the outer edges. He cursed roughly, then wrenched himself up and out of the bed in a single fluid movement while reaching for his crumpled jeans. “Stay here. Call the fire department,” he ordered over his shoulder as, dragging up his jeans and buttoning them as he went, he slid from the room.
Laurel made the call, but she had no intention of staying in the house. It was her shed burning high into the night sky with her pottery and her kiln and all the fine, unfinished treasures inside. All the pots, the tools, the knives, the brushes, the kaolin and the promise. Dragging on her gown, she sprinted from the house.
She halted on the back porch as she felt the heat that came toward her in rolling waves, smelled the hot, throat-catching, eye-burning breath of destruction. She stared at the red maw of fire visible through the shed’s row of side windows, the powerful shooting flames clawing for the sky, the hot cinders swirling, then falling again like red shooting stars. Then she saw Alec kneeling, connecting a water hose to an outside water hydrant with hard, fast twists of his wrist.
She darted across the porch and down the steps, flying over the grass that already felt parched and warm under her feet. Clamping a hand on Alec’s shoulder, she dragged him around toward her.
“Let it go!” she shouted above the muffled rumble and snap of the flames. “It’s too late.”
His gaze was sober, his face set. There was gray-black ash lying across his
bare shoulders like a coating of feathers. “We have to wet down the house, try to save it.”
He was right, of course, she knew that even as she said, “The fire department will be here in fifteen minutes.”
Sardonic and unmoved, he only snorted. “If there’s anything you want to save, you had better get it out.”
Swinging away, he wrenched the faucet handle to the On position and dragged the hose toward the garage to play the stream of water over the back wall and roof. He had already backed the car out and parked it on the lawn, out of the way of the fire trucks when they came.
Laurel turned to stare at Ivywild with its walls a glowing pink from the reflected light of the fire. Dozens of antique pieces were in the house, from a 150-year-old Victorian rosewood settee to a 250-piece set of old Paris china complete with syllabub cups and knife rests. Picking and choosing from among the many treasures was so difficult she couldn’t even think about it.
Availability of water was much better than it had once been, since Alec had put in several auxiliary hydrants while he was laying pipe for the fountain. There was one with a hose attached near what had been the Bacchus fountain. Laurel ran to turn it on, pulling the heavy coils of the hose near Alec where she could throw a stream of water on the house wall and its high roof.
As they worked, she called to him, “How did it start? Can you tell? Was it an electrical short, maybe in the kiln?”
“I don’t think so.” He lifted his head, drawing in a short, hard sniff. “Smell that?”
She copied his action, then coughed from the burn of smoke and the acrid, familiar fumes of something else in her lungs. Her eyes widened as she stared at him through billows of smoke. “Gasoline!”
“Exactly. Somebody sloshed it around—probably from the can in the garage—then set it off and ran like a rabbit. And they did it while I was here, inside. Some guard I turned out to be.” The look he gave her was virulent with self-blame.
“You couldn’t guess anybody would do something like this.”
Garden of Scandal Page 22