She took a breath, and he found his eyes drawn to the pulsing skin on her neck. Just when he thought she wouldn’t answer him, she said quietly, “I think you used to be a smuggler.”
Cole gave up and shook his head ruefully, unable to deny her ability to face him down. He sighed. “Let’s say I have a background that might have provided me with that knowledge. If that were so, how do you plan to get close enough to catch the dolphin?”
She looked up at him, with eyes so full of hope they sparkled like diamonds in the sun. For a man who led what life he had in the dark hours, her compelling radiance was blinding torture. He suppressed a groan. What in the hell was he doing with her? His gaze dropped to her lips, and he realized there was more than one answer to that question.
He let his hands drop from her shoulders. He wanted to hate feeling this way, to hate her for making him feel at all. It had been so long since anything or anyone had penetrated the walls he’d built to protect himself. But the simple truth was, it felt too damn good to walk away from. He knew he’d call himself a hundred names, all of them ugly, before this was over. But he also knew he couldn’t be the one responsible for dousing the light in her eyes and killing her hope. At least not tonight.
“All you have to do is get us close without being detected,” she answered. “I can take it from that point.”
Cole’s gaze fastened on hers again. “Alone?”
Her eyes widened a bit at his tightly voiced demand. He forced himself to relax his features a bit but didn’t apologize for it. He wanted to know.
“I’m an experienced diver and trained to work underwater. I have or can get the proper equipment we need so we can work at night. All we have to do is find a way through whatever barrier he’s using and then send out a recording of Rio’s signature whistle. P.J.’ll come to us.”
Cole studied her so closely, the back of her neck became damp. Kira curled her toes as tight as her flats would allow. She sensed he was struggling over whether or not to help her, so she tried to remain calm, making a valiant attempt to keep from breaking down and begging him again. But with all that harnessed energy of his focused so intently on her, it was difficult to remember how to breathe.
“How did you get into this line of work?”
His question startled her, but she answered it easily. “My father was a marine biologist, and I grew up helping him. I began studying dolphins in college, and when I discovered the work they were doing with children, I knew immediately this was what I wanted to do.”
He nodded but took another long moment before he spoke.
“If I’m going to help you, I’ll need a lot more information,” he began.
His words gave her a leap of hope, and she impulsively grabbed his arm. He froze. So did she. Trapped in his gaze, she barely noticed the muscles of his forearm twitching under her fingers. For what seemed like an eternity but in reality was probably only a second or two, they stood locked in visual combat. Damn. She silently called herself every word she knew for idiot. She’d been so close, and then she’d done the one thing guaranteed to blow it.
She’d touched him.
In many ways he seemed a highly sensual man who wouldn’t mind physical contact. But after the first time she’d impulsively touched him, she’d always let him initiate contact and noted he did so mostly to emphasize his control of the situation. Was it just her, she wondered helplessly, or any woman? Or anyone at all? His eyes glittered with fury, and she was torn between the need to try to explain and the strong instinct to run like hell.
He lowered his face toward hers, and she finally tore her gaze away. Belatedly realizing she was still holding his arm, she released him as if he’d suddenly become unbearably hot to the touch. Considering the trickle of perspiration sliding down her throat, that wasn’t far from the truth.
“I’m sorry, I just …” She looked up as she spoke, and it hit her with the force of a gale wind that he wasn’t furious with her at all. He’d dropped his gaze to her lips and was looking at them as if planning a six-course meal. A slight shudder rippled through her and caused the strangest melting sensation to slide through her inner thighs. “Cole, I really don’t want—”
A slow smile curved his lips. It did terrible things to her pulse and sent the most wicked sensations skittering to pulse points all over her body.
“You do want, Kira. You want it badly. And so do I.” His smile faded as he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips were firm and hot and quickly became wet as he pressed them against hers. He reached up and held her head between his large hands, tilting it slightly to allow deeper access.
Kira was consumed in sensations so intense, they simultaneously engulfed her body and seduced her mind. The pleasure of his callused palms hot against her cheeks, combined with the sweet pressure of his lips on hers, made her dizzy.
She parted her lips and felt the vibrations of his groan travel the length of her throat. There was almost a sense of desperation in the way he held her face, and the mere thought that he was in need sent her control spiraling away. She wanted badly to reach up and clutch at his shoulders for support, but she clenched her hands into tight fists at her side.
He pushed his tongue slowly into her mouth, sinuously twining it with hers, then seducing it back into his own. He tightened his hold on her tongue as if he was drinking the sweetness from it, then just as suddenly thrust his tongue back into her mouth. She knew without being told he wanted her to do the same to him. She felt a burning sensation build behind her tightly closed eyes at his silent entreaty to touch him. It was a minor concession considering he was ultimately controlling the kiss, but even such a small break in his formidable armor had a devastating effect on her. She gladly took him into her mouth and held him there tightly as she savored the taste of him.
Desire shot through her with a violence that rocked her. Never before had she wanted so much, felt so much, needed so much. Suddenly the wanting became unbearable, and she thought she might sink to the floor if she didn’t hold him. At that exact moment he broke the kiss, but kept his lips only a breath from hers.
“Let that be a lesson to you, Kira,” he whispered roughly. “Don’t ever lie to me.”
FOUR
Kira gently hung up the phone. She wanted to slam it down but refused to give Cole the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d irritated her. Besides, she still had the last feeding to do, and she barely had enough energy to stand. She wasn’t about to waste any of the little she had left on Cole.
Their brief conversation echoed in her mind.
“Something’s come up,” he’d said. “If you want to talk, meet me at the houseboat around nine.” His tone hadn’t invited discussion, and she’d barely responded that she would see him then before he’d disconnected the call.
Damn that stubborn, arrogant, macho … If there was any other way of getting P.J. back … But there wasn’t, and she knew it. Problem was, so did Cole. And he was apparently making sure she wouldn’t forget that little fact. She’d counted on making him come to her. Hoping, despite the odds, to get him in the water with the dolphins. She also wanted the advantage of meeting him on her own turf. If only she hadn’t let him kiss her last night.
Kira’s face burned with humiliation at the recollection. She’d been a fool to think Cole was wrestling with some inner demon. His music and dark moods had her painting him as some sort of tortured hero. Well, he’d made it clear he was no hero. And any lingering doubts she might have had he’d effectively abolished with one kiss.
One very hot, distinctly unherolike kiss.
Kira pushed out of her chair and headed for the shed where Paul, her assistant, had left the buckets of fish for the last feeding. She quickly tied an apron over her rumpled white shorts and bathing suit. Tucking a few extra fish in one of the pockets, she headed for the pier. Thirty minutes later, nearing the bottom of the last bucket, she had managed to push away all thoughts of the disturbing Mr. Sinclair and how good his strong arms had felt around her.
She reached deep into the bucket and tossed the last piece of herring to Cutter. The dolphin snapped it up, then emitted a rapid series of clicking noises, as if begging for more of the briny treat.
“At least you’re eating,” she told the ever-smiling mammal. Her gaze shifted to Rio, who was swimming listlessly across the small cove to the fence at the canal, then back to the floating dock situated at the end of the other pier. The dolphin had repeated the motions over and over, day in and day out since P.J.’s disappearance. He had refused yet another full feeding. Considering it took around twenty pounds a day to keep the five-hundred-pound dolphin well fed, she was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore the nervous knot tightening in her stomach. Sighing, she picked up the empty bucket.
Cutter rose out of the water until all but his tail flukes were visible and backwalked across the surface of the water, clicking and whistling to get her attention.
“Sorry, sweetie,” she called, and flipped the bucket upside down to show the dolphin that mealtime was over for now. Cutter dove under water and swam at his characteristic high speed to the edge of the dock, shooting up at the last second and sending a sheet of water cascading over Kira. Drenched but not caring, Kira laughed and licked the salty water from her lips. “You know a soft touch when you see one.” Kira smiled, glad she’d allowed Paul to convince her to do the last feeding. Spending solitary time with the dolphins always cheered her up. She reached into the pocket of the apron and grabbed a handful of cigar minnows. “Here. And don’t tell Paul.”
“Tell Paul what?”
The familiar teasing voice of her assistant broke gently into her thoughts.
“Hey, time to punch the ol’ clock. Buy a lady a beer?”
She forced a smile on her face and turned to greet him. Big and blond with a body to put any California surfer to shame, Paul Taylor had been with Kira since the start of her Dr. Dolphin Institute four years ago. At twenty-four he was almost a full decade younger than she, but despite his easy charm and devil-may-care attitude, Kira knew she couldn’t have asked for a more dependable assistant.
“And risk alienating every female from here to Key West? No way,” she shot back.
He casually relieved her of the empty bucket. “Did he eat?”
“Not much, maybe another pound.”
“Damn.”
Kira could sense the tension in him. “If it gets much worse, we’re going to have to pipe him and force-feed him. But even that’s chancy, not to mention temporary.”
“Have you been able to dig up anything more on P.J.?”
Thoughts of Cole and the wild events of last night raced through her. The brief reprieve the dolphins had given faded away, leaving her weary and tired.
She began fiddling with her apron ties. She wanted more than anything to confide in Paul, who’d understand all the ramifications and sympathize with her problems. But she couldn’t risk it, given the probability an insider had been involved.
Choosing her words carefully, she said, “I know I’ve been pretty vague about the details, but I’d hoped to keep you guys from worrying too much. We have so much to do—”
He placed a hand on Kira’s bare shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Let me help you.”
Kira smiled briefly. If he only knew how desperately she wanted to. She removed Paul’s hand, giving his fingers a light squeeze before letting go. “I appreciate that, Paul, really I do. But for now, let me handle this on my own. The fewer people who get involved with this, the better.”
A wariness entered Paul’s eyes. “Do you know where P.J. is?” His voice had become almost urgent. He took a breath as if trying to regain control. “Why don’t you tell me everything you’ve found out so far.”
Kira tried very hard to ignore the tingling alarm that trickled down her spine. Was she just imagining the unfamiliar tone of command in his voice? Kira shook her head, as much in answer to Paul as to clear her mind. What she needed was a full night of sleep so she’d stop seeing intrigue where there was none.
“Thanks. It means a lot to know I can count on your help. But I think I’ve got it under control for now.”
Paul studied her for a long second, and she couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his mind. Then he abruptly relaxed and shot her the wide, charming grin that had the ladies lining up to go out with him. “Okay, then. Take it easy.” He turned and sauntered back toward the shed that held the extra buckets and equipment.
Kira watched him go, trying to convince herself that she should be grateful he’d let the subject drop so easily. Shivering suddenly, she crossed her arms in front of her and ran her hands over the goose bumps lining her skin. She headed quickly to her office and the dry clothes she always kept on hand. She ignored the fact that it was a balmy evening with very little breeze.
It wasn’t working. Cole let the sax drop to his lap, the last notes still echoing across the water. He let his gaze drift past the railing off the back deck of his houseboat. The moon had made a striking debut a few minutes earlier, but contemplating the mysteries that lay under the water’s now silvery surface did little to calm him either.
“Damn her,” he muttered, letting his bare feet drop to the deck with a soft thud. He pushed out of the chair and headed inside. In a few minutes Kira would be here to fill him in on the rest of what she knew. It was information he should have gotten from her last night.
He recalled in arousing detail exactly what he had gotten from her last night. From the start her all-business attitude made him wonder if the promise of sensuality in her fall lips was merely illusion.
He hadn’t intended ever finding out. But he hadn’t counted on her eyes looking at him as if she could see all the way to his soul. Looking as if she wanted to heal it.
Cole snorted and laid his sax on the bar. He reached over and grabbed the beer he’d started earlier. It hadn’t dulled the fierce need that sliced into him every time he thought about her sweet lips opening up under his.
To hell with Kira Douglass. She could take her diamond eyes and soft lips and go heal someone else. What was wrong with him couldn’t be fixed with a sweet kiss and an understanding look. Besides which, he had no desire to be healed. He needed the pain. Had intentionally blocked everything else out. Pain served as a constant reminder that he was alive. Whether he deserved to be or not.
Twin beams of light pierced the glass doors, illuminating the darkness inside the isolated houseboat. She was here. He downed the rest of the beer, tossed the bottle over the bar into the trash, and got up to return his sax to the worn leather case in his bedroom. He ran a quick gaze over the small room, pausing slightly at the large box he’d placed in the corner earlier that day. Calling himself a few choice names, he closed the folding door behind him. On his way to the deck, he absently kicked his old ratty deck shoes under the couch and tossed a magazine onto the shelf behind his reading chair.
It wasn’t until he stepped outside that he realized he’d been cleaning up for her again. A scowl stole across his face. He leaned against the side railing and crossed his arms over his chest. For the hundredth time since she’d said her hasty good-byes last night, he asked himself why he hadn’t kicked her off the boat the minute she’d confessed that P.J. was a dolphin, not a child.
He had no answer. Not one he’d admit to, anyway.
Well, he could correct that stupid mistake in about five minutes. And there would still be time to head to Key West for a set or two at Repo’s.
“Cole?” Her soft voice floated to him through the humid night air.
He continued to lean on the railing as she climbed aboard. The moonlight gave her white slacks an almost neon brightness; the white stripes on her dark pullover also stood out. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. Wild strands of unruly curls blew gently around her face, making him wonder absently if she’d driven with the windows down. She looked … untamed. What had happened to his Sunday-school teacher?
She paused after she’d gotten her fo
oting. He hadn’t spoken to her yet, and some perverse notion kept him silent. She took a small step closer, and Cole realized he was testing her, anticipating what she would do next with something that much too closely resembled interest. He shifted slightly, crossing his ankles. She stopped.
He couldn’t decide how that made him feel. He wanted to intimidate her, make her leave. He wanted her to fight back. He thought about the kiss they’d shared. Shared. He wanted to taste her lips again.
He abruptly pushed away from the railing and moved to the sliding glass door. “I’m going to get something to drink. Want anything?”
With his back to her, he had no idea how his somewhat rude welcome had gone over. He paused with his hand on the doorframe.
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, a beer would be nice.”
Her voice was low, her tone even. But he hadn’t missed the underlying sarcasm. A private smile curved his lips. He didn’t turn but merely nodded his head and went inside.
Stepping back onto the deck, he tucked one bottle under his arm and unscrewed the other, then wiped the damp glass off on his jeans and handed it to her. She had to walk a few steps to take it from him. From the silver sheen flashing in her moonlit eyes, the fact that he’d made her do so hadn’t been lost on her.
Her fingers brushed his as she took the icy-cold bottle. He resisted the urge to pull his hand away, forcing himself to let the warmth of her skin register on his mind. Problem was, it also registered on his body. When she stood this close, he could smell the light citrus scent of her freshly washed hair. He should have known she would favor something sharp and tangy over soft and floral.
He struggled to recall his five-minute plan. Letting his hand drop, he busied himself flicking the cap off his beer. He knew he wasn’t going to help her. Had P.J. been a child, he simply wouldn’t have had a choice. But now …
He ignored the strange twinge near his heart. No. His decision to send her packing was the right one. If she stayed here, he’d have her in his bed. In his bed, underneath him, writhing. The very idea tempted him almost beyond his control; the image burned in his mind.
Black Satin (LS 675) Page 5