by Carol Rose
"How gracious of you," he remarked, a bite of pate halfway to his mouth.
They ate in silence, the only sounds provided by the clinking of cutlery and the nasal-toned hum of bumblebees pillaging nearby azaleas.
The nonalcoholic wine turned out to be a sparkling apple cider served in tulip-shaped flutes. With the headiness she felt whenever Cole was near, not to mention the romantic setting, the addition of real wine humming through her veins would have been truly dangerous.
She rested her plate in her lap, the edge now taken off her hunger. "This is such a beautiful spot. I can't see how you could want to destroy it."
"Elinor," Cole replied, patiently, "have you read any of the prospectus I gave you?"
"Some," she evaded, lifting a last bite from her plate before setting it aside.
"Well, you can't have gotten very far in it," he said, "or you'd realize that my plant wouldn't destroy this place."
Warmed by the afternoon sun that filtered through the trees, she began to take off her suit coat. "Any large construction project would do damage," she argued.
Cole leaned over to ease the jacket down her arms. "That's true. Some of the trees would have to be cut down." He put up a hand to stop her protest. "But none of the really big ones down here by the river."
"Still, you admit that your plant would drastically change this site." She felt cooler now in her white cotton blouse.
"Of course," he acknowledged. "But change isn't always a bad thing. When you read the rest of the prospectus you'll see that we have environmental consultants to ensure that the ecology of the river life will be undamaged."
When she remained silent, he went on. "The plant will be located in the area that requires the least destruction of the grounds. And we plan to add to the natural flora to enhance the area."
"It all sounds good," Elinor conceded grudgingly. "And I accept that you'd do everything you could to avoid a toxic spillage, but you can't protect against human error. If there's a plant here, there is a possibility of environmental damage."
"That's true," Cole admitted. "But the kind of damage you're worried about is related to the more volatile plastics production plants. My business involves the processing of recycled plastics. It's a different scenario altogether."
Elinor sighed. He made it all sound so good. When she looked into his blue eyes, she wanted to believe him. Heck, she wanted to help him build the thing, a definite clue to loss of objectivity.
As if sensing her weakening, Cole leaned nearer. "There's also something else in the prospectus that I think you'll like."
The soft warmth of his cologne drifted up to her along with the breeze from the river. "What's that?" she asked, her voice feeling strangled.
"A college fund for the children of the plant employees."
"Really." She straightened up with a frown. "I don't remember reading about that."
"You haven't gone far enough." A lazy smile curled his mouth as he lay back on the blanket.
"Oh." Feeling a sudden need for activity, she began gathering their discarded plates.
"We're also committing to a yearly contribution to the Bayville school system," Cole added, a sensual smile lurking in his somnolent eyes as if he knew the chaos he stimulated in her.
"That sounds really good." For some reason, she felt breathless, as if the air by the river had suddenly heated.
"I thought you'd be pleased."
Elinor glanced at him sharply, not fooled by his meek tone. The man was too used to winning. She thought briefly about maintaining her hard line against the plant, just to spite him. But it might not be in the town's best interest. As things were unfolding, Cole Whittier might just be the best thing that had ever happened to Bayville.
Finished packing the picnic basket, Elinor settled onto the blanket, battling the urge to relax. Lying back on the blanket could only lead to one thing, given the sexual tension that hummed between her and Cole. And she couldn't allow herself to be seduced just because the man had set up a college fund.
"I think," Cole stared up into the canopy of branches as he spoke, "that it's time to subtract those ten years we were talking about earlier."
"You mean this wasn't it?" Elinor gestured to the picnic basket.
"Oh, no," he dismissed. "What's risky about a picnic?" He vaulted to his feet in a sudden, athletic move.
"Risky?" Elinor echoed, staring up at him. "This has to be risky?"
"All the really good things in life are," Cole told her, holding out his hand.
"Oh." What on earth could he be up to now? She'd been sure he was about to make a move on her, but the sudden, dancing light in his eyes didn't look the least bit seductive.
"Come on, Elinor. Let's be eighteen."
"Eighteen wasn't a really good year for me," she grumbled, letting him pull her to her feet.
"Sometime I want you to tell me about your best year," he commented, dragging her by the hand as he purposefully approached the river.
"Wait a second!" Elinor yelped, trying to tug her hand loose from his grip to no avail.
"You must approach life with a more open attitude," Cole lectured, towing her to the bank of the river.
"Cole! Don't you dare!" she howled.
Standing next to the water, he suddenly dropped her hand.
Elinor backed up, gaping in shock as Cole began to shuck his shoes and socks.
"What on earth are you doing?"
"Rolling up my pants," he replied with equanimity.
"You're going to . . . wade?"
"Yes, my lovely chicken. If I were planning to skinny dip, I'd be dropping my pants." Dressed only in a short- sleeved oxford shirt and trousers rolled up to his knees, he presented an incongruous sight. "And I am not planning to wade alone."
"Now, Cole." Elinor started backing up in earnest. True, it was a great relief not to be thrown into the water, or asked to strip down to the buff. But that didn't mean she wanted to go wading. "Cole, it's too cold to go wading."
"It's never too cold to wade in Louisiana." He snagged her wrist again, this time bending down to hoist her over his shoulder.
"Cole!" she shrieked between helpless giggles as he strode toward the river. "Put me down!"
He set her down just at the river's edge. "Now." He leered evilly. "Do you need any help getting out of those panty hose?"
"No," Elinor averred quickly.
Cole laughed. "Okay, but I'm only turning my back for ten seconds." He swiveled around and began counting loudly.
"Good grief!" She grappled under her skirt with urgent hands, grateful she'd left the hated shoes back at the blanket.
"Seven and a half," he counted. "Eight, eight and three-fourths."
Elinor tugged at the stretchy material, wondering why panty hose never came down when you needed them to.
"Nine, nine and five-eighths."
She balanced, waveringly on one bare foot, tugging desperately to free the other.
"Ten!" Cole pivoted around just as she was smoothing her skirt down around her hips.
Unholy mischief lit his face. "I knew you could do it. There's something so attractive about a woman who can shed her lingerie at rapid speed."
"I'm sure," Elinor retorted, staring at the sluggish green water of the river with resigned eyes.
"Come on, chicken." Cole took her hand again.
"I can do this without assistance," she commented, allowing him to lead her into the river's edge.
"Life's more fun when it's done together," he told her, a glimmering, banked promise in his eyes.
Elinor gulped, absorbing the shock of sensations. Cold water raced past her calves as her toes buried themselves in river mud. Cole's hand was warm and strong around hers, as the splendor of his approving smile drew her on.
They waded in the river, Cole picking up stray objects from the river floor with his toes. He scattered drops of water in her direction, just enough to send her in retreat. Elinor felt like a tentative flamingo, picking her way along the s
hore as her body adjusted to the cool water.
Finally she got out, standing on a convenient rock long enough to let the river wash the mud from her feet. Cole skulled along without her, going deeper into the river, unconcerned about the water lapping at his expensive trousers.
Feeling freer than she could ever remember and deliciously relaxed, Elinor settled on a grassy spot, the river lapping at her feet. She leaned back, admiring the small puffs of clouds that dotted the sky, drifting timelessly.
"Hey, El!" Cole called out.
Propping herself on her elbows, she saw that he'd waded closer and was now bent down at the bank, scooping mud from just above the water line.
"I used to do this all the time when I was a kid," he told her. "I wonder if I've lost my touch." He formed a ball with a small clump of damp earth.
"That better not be for me," Elinor warned, not feeling alarmed.
Cole laid one mud ball on the bank and bent to scoop up another handful. "Don't you know a statement like that is an invitation?"
"No, it's not," she denied, reaching down to brush a fly from her knee.
As he glanced up, Cole's eyes followed her movement, drifting down the length of her legs with suddenly taut features.
A frisson of excitement ran through her like a warning, but Elinor ignored it. She was too content to play safe, too replete in his company to even want to avoid the possibilities.
He formed a third ball with the river mud, shaping it carefully to brush off loose clumps. "Now." He retrieved the other balls in his hands and stepped back into the river.
With a simple toss, he sent the balls into the air, one at a time, until all were aloft in a flowing triangle of movement. He had to reach for the first one as it fell wide, but within a few moments he kept all three balls up in the air with amazing ease.
Elinor's surprised gasp turned to a strangled chuckle. Cole stood knee-deep in the flowing river, juggling mud balls like a carny in a sideshow.
Then one of the mud balls lofted a little high and off center, just beyond Cole's reach. It hit the water in front of him, detonating like a torpedo, followed by the second and third as he failed to get back into position to catch them.
~~~********~~~
Four
A spray of droplets covered him. His rolled-up trousers and strong muscled calves were splattered with water, the cuffed sleeves of his dress shirt speckled with mud and damp.
Laughter burst out of Elinor as he stood in the river, a droll expression on his face. Giggling so hard she couldn't catch her breath, she leaned over, trying to breathe between chortles.
A satisfied expression flitted over Cole's face as he bent to wash the mud from his hands.
"I can't believe you," she choked out as her mirth subsided. "I've never seen anyone look less like a millionaire."
Cole lifted his shirt away from his body in short, flapping motions in a futile effort to dry the damp spots.
"It helps to have unusual talents in your climb to the top," he commented, slogging his way to the bank looking like a tarnished angel with the sun touching his blond hair.
"Well, you surely have unusual talents," Elinor agreed as he sat down where she was stretched out on the river-bank. "Although I don't think juggling mud balls has much practical use these days."
He leaned back next to her, braced on one elbow with the fabric of his shirt pulled taut against his muscled shoulders. "Oh, but you're wrong."
Propped above her, his dark eyes suddenly seemed bluer than the sky. "My talent for juggling has just helped me accomplish my primary goal for this afternoon. Don't you feel it? Reckless innocence?" His voice dropped into velvet. "The blood running through your veins, the electricity of possibilities?"
Elinor stared up at him, suddenly aware of the stillness all around them, aware that she'd been waiting all afternoon to kiss him again. Longing for it with an urgency that disturbed her equilibrium and left her dizzy.
Drifting closer, Cole dipped his head to hers. His mouth surged over hers with an elemental passion, sending shock waves through her system. She felt the muscled weight of him, drew in the heady scent of his skin, tasted his soft wooing touch—all in one kaleidoscopic moment. And found herself clutching him like a drowning woman.
As if sensing the raging hunger his touch ignited in her, Cole pressed closer, his hand slipping up to cup her head, sifting through the wisps of hair at her temple. His mouth moved over hers in earthy sensuality, a frank, unpolished mating of flesh.
A haze clogged Elinor's mind. Every breath she took imprinted his scent on her memory. The solid weight of him felt like a homecoming, an ancient rightness. She grasped the fabric of his shirt, reveling in the heat of him beneath the cloth, the life and power that raged from his body to hers like an arc of electricity.
Cole let his thumb drift down her neck, pausing on the slam of her pulse as his mouth mated once more with hers. Elinor opened to him, her body arching to meet his, instinctively striving for more contact.
Naked wouldn't be enough. In that instant, she wanted nothing less than total submersion. Cole Whittier under her skin.
He was real, the way he made her feel, the surge of passion in his arms. Everything else faded, a pale memory, unimportant beside her fierce hunger to lose herself in Cole. She felt the hard thud of his heartbeat against her breast, the thrusting distension of his arousal as he held her to him.
The faint sound of a child's voice, still yards away, hit Elinor with the splash of cold reality.
Jolted, she tore her lips away from Cole's, reaching up to grasp his hand just as he cupped her breast.
"There's someone coming," she panted, adrenaline roaring through her with the urgency of life threat. "We have to get up." She pushed against his unyielding weight.
"Shhh." He brushed back her hair from her face. "It's all right. We're not doing anything."
"They won't know that," she commented tightly, "if you don't get up."
Jeez, she berated herself as she stood up, hurriedly straightening her clothes, the high, childish voices growing nearer. This is a really good way to keep your distance from heartache. Get into a clinch with Cole Whittier right here in front of God and the good people of Bayville.
Elinor brushed the twigs off her skirt and balled up her panty hose in one hand. She had to have rocks in her head to get this involved with a man she couldn't trust. A cluster of kids came around the corner in the path just as she finished making herself presentable.
"Those are Councilman Morris's children," she hissed to Cole. His answering chuckle drew her glare. Stalking back to clear away their picnic remains, Elinor promised herself not to get too close to Cole Whittier.
Elinor reached up to snap off her desk light. She couldn't concentrate to save her soul, and there was no use pretending otherwise. She sat in her darkened office, the only light cast through the open door into the hallway. Restlessness plagued her like a bad reputation.
The lace curtains at the open window stirred and danced in the breeze, the wind as restless as her blood. She rose and walked to the window, brushing aside the curtain to draw in a breath of night air. She'd been jittery all day, unable to escape thoughts of Cole.
Turning from the window, Elinor left her office in a surge of nervous energy, slipping out the front door to the wide gallery to find refuge in a comfortable wicker rocker. The air was sweet all around her, fresh with the scent of awakening earth and the flowering of a hundred spring shrubs. A night breeze slid over her sundress-bared arms and legs, soft and seductive against her skin.
The pebbly surface of the wicker felt smooth and cool beneath her fingers as Elinor set the chair in motion and untethered her mind. She'd fought it all day, but now Cole crowded into her consciousness, as pervasive as the drumbeat of springtime.
Their brief afternoon interlude by the river troubled her thoughts . . . and her body.
Night sounds rose and fell around her as she rocked, the busy life of insects and night critters carrying o
n as if she wasn't there. In the distance, she heard the hush of tires on the black-topped road at the end of her curving drive. The sound approached in the night and died away.
There was an itchiness beneath her skin, a tangled yearning as ancient as the seasons. And every possibility of respite collided with her heart. She wanted, lusted, longed for Cole Whittier. And he was the last man to whom she could bare her soul. Cole worshipped money, the attitude that ruined her father and grandfather's lives.
The gallery's wooden floor creaked beneath her with the slow rocking of the chair. She leaned her head against the woven back, submitting to her daydreams.
The crackle of footsteps nearby brought Elinor up in her chair. A flash of sensation skittered over her skin like a cold shiver. For a brief, heart-pounding moment, she considered bolting for the door. She felt vulnerable, suddenly aware of being easy prey. But surely, her mind rationalized, Bayville was different from living in the city. Strange men didn't stalk women here.
The breeze lifted sliding around her body with restless fingers. Elinor searched the night with still-anxious eyes. The inky blackness of the country-dark night, lit only by a pale sliver of moon, had never seemed so filled with possibilities.
He materialized out of the murk at the foot of her steps, the faintness of moonglow coalescing on his hair. Standing at the lower step, Cole watched her.
"Come dance with me," he bid her without preamble, his hand raising in invitation.
She knew she shouldn't go with him. Elinor's fingers clenched the arms of the rocking chair. There could be no happy ending with him; still, she felt compelled to respond.
He stood waiting, silent and persuasive, his hand held out in entreaty.
She rose from the chair, her full skirt whispering with the movement. The gallery had never seemed so long, and never had she been so filled with mingled desire and dread. Cole Whittier could break her heart, but her heart didn't seem to care.
Her hand slipped into his like a homecoming, a perfect fit, the warmth of him surrounding her. She saw his smile, a glinting temptation in the faint light, and joy bubbled up in her. She loved Cole's smile. He didn't look like himself without it.