Best Laid Plans jh-2

by Nora Roberts

  Cody shut the door, then leaned against it. "They are nice shoulders. From what I've seen of them."

  From an engineering standpoint, Abra couldn't have said why the trailer seemed more crowded now than it had a moment before. Turning back to the table, she began to tidy her papers. "It isn't necessary for you to pick me up this evening."

  "No." He studied her, not certain whether he was amused or annoyed by her withdrawal. He hadn't slept well, and he knew the blame lay squarely on those pretty shoulders, which were now braced for an attack. "But I will."

  This was business, Abra told herself, and should be handled as such. Making up her mind, she turned to face him. "All right. You'll need an address."

  He smiled again, slowly this time. "Oh, I think I can find you, Red. Same way you found me."

  Since he'd brought it up, Abra told herself, it would be best to deal with it. "It's good that we have a minute here. We can clear things up."

  "What things?" Cody pushed away from the door. Abra backed into the table hard. "We had a mule back home on the farm," he mused as he stepped closer. "She tended to be skittish, too."

  "I'm not skittish. It's simply that I think you have the wrong impression."

  "I have the right impression," he told her, reaching around to toy with the end of her braid. "Of just how your body feels when it's fitted against mine. A very right and very pleasant impression."

  "That was a mistake." She would have turned away to move around him, but he tightened his grip on her hair and tugged her back.

  "What was?"

  "Last night." She was going to handle this calmly, Abra told herself. She was basically a calm and reasonable person. "It should never have happened."

  "It?" His eyes had darkened. Abra noted that, and noted, also, that there was no anger to be seen in them. She let out a little breath of relief. Obviously he was prepared to be as reasonable as she.

  "I suppose we just got caught up in the moment. The best thing to do is forget it and go on."

  "Okay." She saw his smile but didn't notice how cool it was. He wasn't much of a hand at chess, but he was a killer at poker. "We'll forget last night."

  Pleased at the ease with which the problem had been erased, she smiled back at him. "Well, then, why don't we-"

  Her words were cut off as he dragged her against him and covered her mouth with his. Her body went rigid-from shock, she told herself. From fury. That was what she wanted to believe. Today there was none of the gentle, sensual exploration in the moonlight. This kiss was as bold and as bright as the sun that beat through the windows. And as angry, she thought as he twisted her against him and took whatever he wanted. She tried to yank free and was held fast. Those subtle muscles covered steel. Abra found herself caught up in an embrace that threatened every bit as much as it promised.

  He didn't give a damn. She could stand there and talk all she wanted in that reasonable voice about mistakes. He'd made mistakes before and lived through them. She might be the biggest, she would certainly be the costliest, but he wasn't about to back off now. He remembered the way she had felt in his arms the night before, that shivering, wire-taut passion, that abrupt avalanche of emotion. Even then he'd known it was nothing he'd felt before, nothing he would feel again. Not with anyone else. He'd see them both damned before it was forgotten.

  "Stop," she managed before he crushed her mouth again. She was drowning, and she knew she couldn't save herself. Drowning, she thought as she moaned against his lips. Drowning in sensations, in longings, in desires. Why was she clinging to him when she knew it was crazy? Why was she answering that hard, hungry kiss when she knew it could lead to nothing but disaster?

  But her arms were around him, her lips were parted, her heart was pounding in rhythm with his. This was more than temptation, more than surrender. What she felt now wasn't a need to give but a need to take.

  When they broke apart she dragged air into her lungs and braced a hand on the table for balance. She could see now that she'd been wrong. There was anger in his eyes, anger and determination and a rough-edged desire that rooted her to the spot. Still, when he spoke, his voice was mild.

  "Looks as if we have another point of reference, Red." He swung to the door. "See you at seven."

  There were at least a half a dozen times that evening that Abra thought of a plausible excuse and began to dial Cody at his hotel. What stopped her each time was the knowledge that if she made the call she would be acknowledging not only that there was something between them but that she was a coward. Even if she forced herself to accept the fact that she was afraid, she couldn't allow him to see it.

  She was obliged to go, she reminded herself as she rummaged through her closet once again. It was really no more than a business meeting, though they would be wearing evening dress and picking at canapes on Tim's elegant patio. It was politic and necessary to show Barlow that his architect and engineer could handle a social evening together.

  She had to be able to handle it. Sexual attraction aside, Cody Johnson was her associate on this project. If she couldn't handle him-and what he seemed bound and determined to make her feel-she couldn't handle the job. No slow-talking East Coast architect was going to make her admit she couldn't handle anything that came her way.

  In any case, she thought with some satisfaction as she tried to decide between two dresses, once they were there there would be so many people that they would get lost in the shuffle. It was doubtful she and Cody would have to exchange more than a few words.

  When the knock came, she looked at her watch and swore. She'd been talking to herself for so long that it was time to leave and she wasn't even dressed. Tightening the belt on her robe, she went out of the cramped bedroom into the tiny living area and answered the door.

  Cody took one lazy look at her short cotton robe and grinned. "Nice dress."

  "I'm running behind," she muttered. "You can go on without me."

  "I'll wait." Without waiting for an invitation, he walked in and surveyed her apartment.

  She might be a woman who dealt in precise facts and figures, but she lived in chaos. Bright pillows were tossed on a faded couch, and piles of magazines were stacked on a mismatched chair. For someone who made her living turning facts and figures into structure and form, she didn't know the first thing about decorating space-or didn't care to, Cody mused. He'd seen her work, and had admired it. If she put her mind to it, he figured, she could turn a closet into an organized and functional living area.

  The room was smaller than the bedroom of his hotel suite, but no one would have called it impersonal. Dozens of pictures jockeyed for position on a long table in front of the single window. There was a comfortable layer of dust over everything except a collection of crystals that hung at the window and caught the last of the evening light.

  That, more than anything else in the room, told him that she spent little time there but cared for what mattered to her.

  "I won't be long," Abra told him. "If you want a drink or something, the kitchen's through there."

  She escaped, clicking the door firmly behind her. God, he looked wonderful. It wasn't fair for him to look so sexy, so confident, so utterly perfect. She dragged her hands through the hair she had yet to attempt to style. It was bad enough that he looked so good in work clothes, but he looked even better in a cream-colored jacket that set off his sun-bleached hair and his tanned skin, and that didn't seem fair. Even dressed more formally for the evening he didn't lose the casual flair of the beachcomber or the masculine appeal of the cowboy. How was she supposed to fight off an attraction when every time he showed up he was that much more attractive?

  The hell with it, she thought as she faced her closet again. She was going to handle him and the attraction she felt. That meant she wasn't going to wear that plain and proper blue suit after all. If she was going to play with fire, she decided, she was going to have to dress for it.

  Cody found her kitchen in the same unapologetic disarray as the living room. One wouldn
't have called it dirty. Something normally had to be put to use to get that way, and it was obvious that she wasn't a woman who spent a lot of time over a stove. The fact that she had a tin of cookies and a canister full of tea bags set on two of the burners made that clear.

  He found a bottle of wine in the refrigerator, along with a jar of peanut butter and one lonely egg. After a search through the cupboards he located two mismatched wineglasses and a paperback copy of a horror novel by a well-known writer.

  He took a sip of the wine and shook his head. He hoped he'd have a chance to teach her a little about vintages. Carrying both glasses into the living room, he listened to the sounds of movement from the bedroom. Apparently she was looking for something and pulling out every drawer she owned in the search. Sipping gingerly, he studied her photographs.

  There were some of her, one a formal shot showing that she'd been very uncomfortable in pink organdy. There was another with her standing beside an attractive blonde. Since the blonde had Abra's hazel eyes, Cody wondered if she might be an older sister. There were more of the blonde, one in what might have been a wedding dress, and another of Abra in a hard hat. There were pictures of men scattered throughout, the only one he recognized being of Thornway senior. He sipped again, wondering if any were of her father, then turned. The noises in the bedroom had stopped.

  "I poured some wine," he called out. "Want yours?"

  "No… Yes, damn it."

  "I'll go with the yes." Walking over, Cody pushed open the bedroom door.

  There was something about a long, slender woman in a black dress, Cody decided. Something that made a man's mouth water. The dress dipped low in the front, and the plunge was banded with silver in a design that was repeated again at the hem, where the skirt skimmed above her knees. The glitter was designed to draw the eye before it moved down the length of slim legs clad in sheer, smoky stockings. But it was the back that was troubling Abra. She was struggling to fasten the hooks, which stopped at her waist.

  "Something's stuck."

  His heartbeat, Cody thought, and he waited for it to pick up speed again. If she'd attracted him in a hard hat and a sweaty T-shirt, that was nothing compared to what she was doing to him now.

  "Here." He stepped over sturdy work boots and a pair of glossy black heels that were no more than a few leather straps.

  "They design these things so that you have to fight your way in and out of them."

  "Yeah." He handed her both glasses and tried not to think about how much more interesting it would be to help her fight her way out of this particular scrap of black silk. "You've got the hooks twisted."

  She let out an impatient breath. "I know that. Can you fix it?"

  He glanced up, and their eyes met in the mirror above her dresser. For the first time since he'd seen her, she had put on lipstick. Her mouth looked slick and ripe and inviting. "Probably. What are you wearing?"

  She sipped because her throat was suddenly dry. "That should be obvious. A black dress with faulty hooks."

  "I mean the scent." He dipped a little closer to her neck.

  "I don't know." She would have moved away, but his fingers were busy at the waist of her dress. "Something my mother bought me."

  "I'm going to have to meet your mother."

  She sipped again. "Are you finished back there?"

  "Not nearly." He skimmed his fingers up her back and had the pleasure of watching her reaction reflected in the mirror. "You're very responsive, Abra."

  "We're very late," she countered, turning.

  "Then a couple of minutes more shouldn't matter." He slid his hands lightly around her waist. In defense, she pressed both glasses against his chest. He took them patiently and set them on the dresser behind her. "You have lousy taste in wine."

  "I know the difference between white and red." She lifted her hands to his shoulders as he circled her waist again. His grip was loose, just the slight pressure of his fingertips against her. But she didn't shift aside.

  "That's like saying I'm a man and you're a woman. There's a lot more to it than that." He bent his head to nibble at her lips. He'd been right. They were inviting. Very inviting. "A whole lot more."

  "With me things are one way or another. Cody." She arched away as she felt the floor tilt under her feet. "I'm not ready for this."

  A yes or no he would have dealt with swiftly. But there was a desperation in her words that made him pull back. "For what?"

  "For what's happening." There were times for flat-out honesty. "For you and what I'm feeling."

  His eyes skimmed over her face and came back to hers. She'd given him the leverage. They both knew it. Rather than applying weight, he gave her space. "How long do you need?"

  "That's not a question I can answer." Her fingers tightened on his shoulders as his hands moved up and down her back. "You keep backing me into corners."

  "So I do," he murmured. He moved aside and waited while she stepped into her shoes. "Abra." When she looked at him again, he took her hand. "This isn't the end of it. I have a feeling the end's a long way off."

  She was absolutely certain he was right. That was what worried her. "I have a policy," she said carefully. "I like to know what the end looks like before I begin. I can't see a nice clean finish with you, Cody, so I'm not altogether sure I want to take you on-so to speak."

  "Red." He brought her hand to his lips, leaving her flustered. "You already have."

  By the time they arrived at the Thornway estate, the party was in full swing. The buffet was loaded with spicy Mexican cuisine, and wine and margaritas flowed. Beyond the spreading white-and-pink ranch house that Tim had had built for his bride was a sweep of carefully manicured lawn dotted with a few rustling palms. A pool glittered at the tip of a slight slope. Near it was a pretty gazebo shielded by trailing vines just beginning to bloom.

  The scent from the side garden was as sweet as the moonlight.

  There was a crowd mingling on the glassed-in terrace and the lawn. The cream of Phoenix society had turned out. Abra had already decided to find herself a nice quiet corner. She was always pleased to build for the upper crust, but she didn't have a clue how to socialize with them.

  "A Chablis," Cody explained as he handed Abra a glass. "California. Nice clean color, sharp aroma, and very full-bodied." ' Abra lifted a shoulder as she sipped. "It's white."

  "And your dress is black, but it doesn't make you look like a nun."

  "Wine's wine," she said, though her palate told her differently.

  "Honey-" he trailed a finger down the side of her throat "-you have a lot to learn."

  "There you are." Marci Thornway, Tim's wife of two years, glided up. She wore a heavily embroidered white silk caftan, and around her neck was a jeweled collar that glittered in the moonlight. She gave Abra a pat on the hand, then lifted her sapphire-blue eyes to Cody. Her voice dripped like Spanish moss. "I suppose I can understand why you were late."

  "Marci Thornway, Cody Johnson."

  "The architect." Marci slipped a proprietary hand through Cody's arm. "Tim's told me all about you- except he didn't mention you were so attractive." She laughed. It was a musical sound that suited her silvery blond looks and her petite frame. "But then, husbands have to be forgiven for not telling their wives about handsome men."

  "Or men about their beautiful wives."

  Abra made a face behind Marci's back and began to spoon up a cheese enchilada.

  "You're from Florida, aren't you?" With a little sigh, Marci began leading Cody away. "I grew up in Georgia, a little town outside of Atlanta. Sometimes I swear I could pine away from missing it."

  "Little magnolia blossom," Abra muttered, and turned directly into Barlow. "Oh, excuse me, Mr. Barlow."

  "That's WW to you. Ought to put more on your plate, girl. Here, try these tortillas. Don't forget the guacamole."

  Abra stared down at the food he had heaped on her dish. "Thanks."

  "Why don't you have a seat with me and keep an old man company in the moonlig
ht?"

  Abra wasn't sure what she'd expected of this evening, but it hadn't been to enjoy a sweet and funny hour with one of the richest men in the country. He didn't, as she had half feared, make a pass, but flirted like an old family friend across the comfortable distance of thirty-five years.

  They sat on a bench by the rippling waters of the pool and talked about their mutual love of movies. It was the one vice Abra allowed herself, the only pure recreation she didn't consider a waste of time.

  If her attention wandered from time to time, it wasn't because she found Barlow boring, it was because she spotted Cody off and on-more often than not in Marci Thornway's company.

  "Selfish," Barlow decided as he finished off his drink. "Ought to let you mingle with the young people."

  Feeling guilty about her lapse, she gave him a warm smile. "Oh, no, I like talking to you. To tell you the truth, WW, I'm not much on parties."

  "Pretty thing like you needs a young man to fuss over her."

  "I don't like to be fussed over at all." She saw Cody light Marci's cigarette.

  Barlow was nothing if not shrewd. He followed the direction of Abra's gaze. "Now there's a pretty little thing," he observed. "Like spun glass-expensive and easy to look at. Young Tim must have his hands full."

  "He's very devoted to her."

  "Been keeping your architect close company this evening."

  "Your architect," Abra said. Because she didn't like the way that sounded, she smiled. "They're both from the East-Southeast. I'm sure they have a lot in common."

  "Mmm." Plainly amused, Barlow rose. "Like to stretch my legs. How about walking around the garden?"

  "All right." She made a point of keeping her back to Cody as she took Barlow's arm and strolled off.

  What the hell kind of game was she playing? Cody wondered as he watched Abra disappear with Barlow. The man was old enough-more than old enough-to be her father. She'd spent the entire evening cozying up to the man while he'd been trying to untangle himself from the wisteria vine called Marci Thornway.

  Cody recognized a woman on the prowl, and the porcelain-cheeked Marci was definitely sending out signals-ones Cody wasn't the least bit interested in receiving. Even if he hadn't already set his sights on Abra, he wouldn't have felt the slightest tug from a woman like Marci. Married or not, she was trouble. Tim was welcome to her.