One Tough Cookie

by E C Sheedy

  Willy's eyes were bright with battle. She was breathing hard. Taylor raked a shaking hand through his hair and turned to face the window. He took a long breath before looking at her again. He had a formidable temper, and he wasn't about to lose it no matter how much she baited him. Besides, the stubborn, defiant woman in front of him was more than a little right. Maybe they both still had a drop or two of youthful poison in them.

  "You still didn't answer my question." He managed a calm, modulated voice.

  "What question?"

  "Is it over? The traveling around? Have you accomplished what you set out to do?"

  She gave him a stubborn, suspicious look. "Almost."

  It was her original answer, repeated, which meant they'd come full circle; Willow on one side of the small kitchen, he on the other. That left only one thing left to say. And, after tonight's conversation, Taylor knew there would never be a right time, so it might as well be now. He walked to where she was standing and took her loosely in his arms.

  "Then I'm about to seriously complicate your life, impose a hardship on you that just might be more than even you can handle." He paused, took a breath. "I love you, Willow. And I think we should make some plans. Plans to spend more time together—maybe even a lifetime." When she stiffened and started to pull away from him, he held on. "Stay right where you are and don't say a word. I'm not asking for an answer this second. But I am asking that you think about it—maybe put it under that microscope of yours for the next few days. Will you do that?" He pulled her to him.

  After a long—very long—pause, she nodded into his shoulder and cursed. "Damn you, Taylor Monroe. Damn you."

  Chapter 9

  A bright Spanish sun poured through the high window over the bed. Willow, on her back, one arm under her head, watched dust dance along its rays like dull bits of silver in an endless minuet. Taylor's deep, rhythmic breathing seemed to be keeping time.

  It was getting late, but she didn't bother turning her head to look at the bedside clock—her thoughts were on the man in bed beside her, his arm lying possessively across her middle. In a few short days, he'd managed to throw her into the eye of an emotional hurricane. She was angry, agitated, and utterly confused, and it was all his fault. He'd brought up the L word. Love. Every woman's Achilles' heel. She should have told him then and there she wanted no part of it?

  But you didn't, did you crazy woman?

  She'd done just the opposite, promised to consider his hare-brained proposal. And her mind hadn't stopped clicking and whirring since. And she'd made love with the man, slept with him, bonded with him in a way she'd avoided for years. What a mess.

  She rolled her eyes heavenward, then closed them tight. I'll work it out, somehow, I'll work it out, but you're not going to be happy about it, Monroe. Not happy at all.

  She denied the sudden need to turn and look at the man beside her. He wasn't the man for her. And when she found the right words, she'd tell him. She bit on her lower lip to fight the emotional pain searing its way through her soul.

  When she heard the soft rap on the front door, she sat up and reached for Dan's robe. Probably Rosa with another message from Dan. Taylor turned over, then rolled to reclaim the warm space left by her body. Grateful he didn't wake up, Willow silently left the bed to answer the door.

  "Peter, what are you doing here so early?" She tightened the belt on her robe and raked her right hand through her hair—even drummed up a smile.

  "Early? It's nearly ten. And I came for some coffee and conversation. The Faux Pas is sailing in a couple of hours, and I wanted to speak to you before I left." He lifted his hands palms up. "So, can I come in, or should I just stand here and pretend I've never seen you in dishabille before?"

  "I'm sorry." She stepped back from the door. "Come in. I was about to start some coffee."

  Peter stepped across the threshold and glanced around. "Nice place you've got here. What exactly do you call the decorating style? Early Spanish gauche?"

  Willy's lips curled. "It grows on you."

  "God. I hope not." He moved to one of the walls covered with Dan's photographs. "Now these... these are good." He stepped back and tilted his head. "Extraordinary in fact. Who's the photographer?"

  "They belong to the guy who lives here. Dan Monroe. You met his brother the other night. Tell you what, you have a good look while I put on the coffee." Willy headed for the kitchen. Peter, after another long look at the photographs, followed.

  "Has he taken any of you?"

  "Dan? A few. We worked together on a job a few months ago. I think they're in the drawer over there—under the lamp." She directed him with a quick head movement as she measured coffee into the pot. Peter walked back into the living room and opened the drawer.

  He had the photographs of her spread over the coffee table when she came in with coffee and cups.

  "This is a real waste. You know that, don't you?" Peter took the cup she offered with one hand and indicated the pictures with the other.

  "Don't start, okay?"

  "I'm your agent. If I don't tell you what I think is right, who will?"

  "Ex-agent." She corrected him, sipping her hot coffee and sinking back into the sofa.

  "Willow. Listen to me. You've done your time, proved your point. Whatever in hell it was. Don't you think it's time you came back to the real world?"

  "Unreal world, you mean. And no. No, I don't."

  She let out a long sigh and had a feeling of déjà vu. Was this going to be a repeat of last night's conversation—confrontation—with Taylor? "I hope you didn't come here with your golden tongue to coerce me into working again, Peter, because it's not going to work. I've got, as the saying goes, other fish to fry."

  "You could fry a million fish before you'd make the kind of money I can offer you. Covers, Willy. Big time, big money,"

  Willow eyed him suspiciously. "And just whose cover are you talking about? Could it be Gloire, by any chance?"

  Peter didn't hesitate. "You're damned right it's Gloire. Henri wants you—"

  Willy rolled her eyes.

  "Okay. So the guy leers a little."

  She rolled her eyes again and Peter smiled.

  "So he leers a lot. You can handle it."

  "I don't want to handle it. Forget it, Peter."

  "So, forget Henri. Forget Gloire. Forget my fat commission." He looked heavenward. "Don't hold me to that," he prayed before turning back to her. "Just give me a year. Come back to New York. One year. That's all I ask."

  Willy groaned inwardly. New York—Taylor. It was the last place on earth she planned to go. Right now Antarctica had more appeal. "I'm not prepared to make that kind of commitment. And I have no desire to ever go back to New York. Sorry."

  "I'm the one who's sorry. I was hoping you'd done whatever it was you set out to do, that you'd be ready to settle down. Looks like I was wrong." He put his coffee cup on the table and gave her a long look, half glare, half stare. "These, uh, fish you plan to fry—could he be one of them?" He nodded his head in the direction of the bedroom.

  Willy looked up to see Taylor leaning in the doorway, casually buttoning his shirt and staring at her with an unreadable expression. His thick dark hair was uncombed and his jaw was shadowed with beard. He was waiting for her to answer Peter's question.

  When she didn't, he answered for her, his eyes never leaving her face. "This fish is already fried, Peter. For better or worse."

  Willy stared at him and he stared back.

  "I think this is what's called a pregnant pause," Peter said." And a smart guy leaves before the birth." He got to his feet. "You change your mind, Willy, you know where to find me."

  "I won't change my mind," she said, while Taylor continued to watch from the doorway.

  Willow saw Peter to the door and waved good-bye. When he was safely away, she shut the door and leaned against it, steeling herself for what she had to say to Taylor. He didn't give her time. He crossed the floor.

  "Now I can say good morn
ing the way it's meant to be said." He reached for her, gripped her shoulders, and pulled her into his arms. Burrowing his head into the warmth at her throat, he slipped his hands around her waist and locked her to him—his eyes targeting her mouth with obvious intention.

  "Taylor. I—"

  "No words for a minute, love. Okay?"

  She nodded, closed her eyes, letting his mouth gentle her. Then from the embers of last night's loving, he stoked a fire. When she started flame out, she pulled away. Blinking, she looked up at him.

  "You're not going to find it so easy to turn down what I'm offering," he drawled.

  "You think so, huh?"

  "I know so." He smoothed the hair back from her forehead and kissed her there. For the barest moment his look turned deadly earnest. "You're not going to cut and run on me, are you?" He held her face between his hands, forced her eyes to meet his.

  She swallowed. She'd thought about running but knew it was the coward's way out. No, this... thing with Taylor had to be faced down. "No. I'm not going to cut and run. But we do have to talk. For one thing, you can't possibly mean what you said last night."

  "I can't?" He twirled a long lock of her hair around his index finger.

  "No. A man doesn't start spouting about being in, uh, love after knowing a woman only a few days. I mean they do if they..." She trailed off. She was babbling and Taylor continued to play with her hair as if everything was perfectly normal.

  "—want something?" he said, finishing her sentence. "You're not going to start talking about sap again, are you?" She knew he was struggling not to smile.

  "This is not funny," she said.

  "On that we agree. Love is serious business. At least it is with me. I've never been in love before."

  "Quit saying that! You're not in love with me, and I'm not in love with you—if I was, I'd be on the first train out of town. I don't believe in love. I told you that, Taylor, and I meant it."

  Taylor put his hands palm flat on the door behind her, walling her in. His face was inches from hers when he spoke. "You love me all right. You just haven't gotten around to admitting it. Which is okay as long as you keep your promise to me, and think about it, about us—and you don't run away."

  Willow met his gaze, her chin thrust stubbornly forward. She had to make him understand—even if she wasn't sure she understood herself. "I have thought about it and—"

  She was interrupted by a knock on the door behind her. She was pinned so tight to it by Taylor's hard body she could feel the vibration on her shoulders.

  He stepped back to let her answer the door.

  "Elena! Hi. You're here." Willy knew she sounded dumb and dumber, but she was having trouble yanking her thoughts away from Taylor's words. I've never been in love before.

  Elena grinned, then saw Taylor step out from behind the door. "Oh, I came at a bad time. Sorry."

  Willy tugged at her arm. "No. No. Come in. You brought a suitcase. How wonderful," Willy said, as if bringing a suitcase were a special event. "You'll stay then." Willow pulled a perplexed Elena into the room none too gently. "We were just having coffee. Would you like a cup? I'll get it." Okay so she probably looked and sounded like a perpetual motion machine wearing a propeller beanie. It was better than looking in Taylor's knowing eyes.

  Elena, looking confused, glanced at Taylor—who was busy trying not to laugh. She gave him a tentative smile.

  In seconds Willow was back with the coffee. "You're finished at Ronda?" she asked, more relaxed now and super pleased Elena was here. Just who she needed to run interference between her and Taylor. It would give her time to get her wits in working order and figure out how to make it clear to him she wasn't into moonlight and romance—that what they had was temporary, had a specified shelf life and ended the day he left Spain.

  "We finished late yesterday," Elena said. "I thought about your invitation and I thought I'd, well..."

  "Thought you'd come and stay for a few days. Which is great. The three of us will have a super good time. Taylor hasn't done much sightseeing since he got here. It'll be fun. Won't it, Taylor?"

  His mocking eyes met hers across his coffee cup. He smiled. "Absolutely. Great fun."

  Elena looked from blue eyes to green and her own narrowed suspiciously. "Look, you two. If my timing's bad, speak up. I came to see Dan, not get in the way of... anything."

  "You're not in the way. Please stay," Willow asked. Elena couldn't miss the note of fervor in her request. Still...

  "There's plenty of room," she went on. "You can sleep with me. Taylor can take the couch."

  Taylor, who'd been leaning back, balancing his chair on its hind legs, moved forward. The chair legs ground into the floor. He coughed but Willow ignored him. Her eyes were fixed on Elena. She had to stay.

  "Well?" The word prodded, pleaded.

  Again Elena glanced at each of them; Willow gave an encouraging nod. "Okay. I'll stay. This is better than a hotel room any day." She looked around the room, her expression turning dubious. "If you factor in the company, that is," she added.

  "That's it then," Willy said delightedly. She nodded toward the bedroom. "Throw your things in there, Elena. I'll make some breakfast." With that, Willy fairly pranced to the kitchen.

  "Here, let me give you a hand." Taylor reached for Elena's suitcases, his words courteous, his face unreadable.

  * * *

  "Should I apologize or anything?" Elena leaned against the closed bedroom door and looked at him. "Willy wanted me to stay, and—"

  "And whatever Willy wants, Willy gets?"

  "That's not what I was going to say, but come to think of it, it's probably true."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude." Get a grip, Taylor, he told himself. It's not Elena's fault Willow wants space. You rushed her. You said you weren't going to, but you damn well did. He forced a smile, and added, "What were you going to say, Elena?"

  After a knowing look at the rumpled bed and the two white towels in a pile on the floor, she looked at him. "Just that I get the impression she wants a bodyguard." She gave him a look of open admiration. "Though for the life of me I can't understand why."

  "Well, thanks for that anyway." He closed his suitcase and gestured at the dresser. "There's sheets in the bottom drawer."

  "I know," she said, moving in the direction he indicated. She took some clean bedding from the drawer and turned back toward the bed. Taylor had already stripped off the sheets.

  "Here, give me that, I'll give you a hand," he offered.

  Elena looked surprised, then flicked the sheet in his direction. "You're nothing like Dan, are you?"

  "What makes you say that?"

  "For one thing, you're much taller, and for another, in my wildest dreams, I can't imagine Dan helping me make the bed. He's not much for housework." She shrugged. "But then I don't think I'd merit the Good Housekeeping seal of approval, either. You should see my place." She smiled shyly and tucked in her end of the sheet.

  He smiled back. "I'm sure you can get by without anybody's seal of approval."

  "Thanks." She shook open a pillowcase. "But I'm not quite as independent as Wild Willy."

  "Why do you call her that anyway?"

  "You really want to know?" She gave him an assessing glance and smoothed her hand over the fresh sheets.

  He nodded and stretched out on the bed, hands behind his head. "As you may have figured out, I'm interested in everything about the lady."

  She cocked her head and gave him a teasing grin. "Gee, I'd never have guessed."

  "Open book, huh?"

  Elena giggled and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Okay, I'll tell you, but I'm not sure Willy will thank me." Her hair was in a high topknot, and she casually started to take out the pins as she spoke.

  "We'd just left this tapas bar near the Plaza Mayor in Madrid. That's in the old center of town. It's kind of a big main square. You know, shops, outdoor cafes, that kind of thing. It was close to midnight, and we were heading back to Willy's car whe
n it started to rain. I mean really rain. Neither of us was wearing coats, so we stepped into a doorway to wait it out for a few minutes." She pulled a long decorative pin from her hair. "Anyway, these three lowlifes came along and started to hit on us. At first we ignored them but it didn't do any good. They became even more persistent. I was scared. I mean, there wasn't a soul around anywhere, but Willy... Willy didn't seem scared at all. I kept saying to her, 'Let's go, let's get out of here,' but she said—as calm as you please—that it was still raining. The men were yammering to each other, and to us, in Spanish. I don't think they thought we could understand. I couldn't, of course, but Willy did and whatever they were saying made her tense up."

  Elena combed her fingers through her long black hair and settled more comfortably on the bed beside Taylor before continuing. "The next thing you know, one of them says something and grabs for my breast. And Willy went crazy. First she let go with this stream of Spanish. Even I recognized some of the words—blue is blue in any language—and she kicked one of them in the head. Actually kicked the guy." Elena shook her head as if she still couldn't believe it. "The other two lunged at her. She got the second one in the groin." When Taylor winced, Elena seemed not to notice. "I was terrified, absolutely freaking flat out terrified, but in what seemed like seconds it was over, and all three men were in a wet heap in the middle of the road with Willy standing over them like some kind of avenging angel. I've never seen anyone so... enraged and at the same time so totally cool. It was amazing." She gave him an intense look. ''Willy was amazing. Anyway, when we started to walk away, one of the men kept yelling at us. I asked Willy what he was saying, and she said, among other things, he was calling her a, uh, mujer fiera, a wild woman. I've called her that ever since."

  "You want to see a mujer fiera, just let my perfectly fried eggs get cold." Willy leaned against the door-jamb, eyeing them with a cool blue gaze. "Breakfast is ready if either of you is interested, if not—"

  Elena leaped from the bed like someone had taken a torch to it. "We were just—" she fumbled.

  "Yes?" Willy's voice was sweet with interest.