“She’ll love it,” she clarified, chuckling.
Austin wanted to wring her neck. He was still adjusting to this new Mrs. Merryweather, the one with the marvelous dry humor. Most of the time he loved her to pieces, but other times, like now, he could gladly clobber her. “That was a dirty trick,” he growled, but he couldn’t resist asking, “How can you be so sure?”
Mrs. Merryweather shot him a glance. “Because Mr. Howard would have hated it.”
Well, that was clear as mud. Austin gave up. “Can you explain that?”
“Why don’t you just ask her?”
Austin heaved a frustrated sigh, wishing he could confide in the housekeeper. But they weren’t that close. “I don’t think she likes talking about her late husband.” In fact, he was certain she didn’t.
“Well, she might as well get used to it.”
The woman was driving him insane with all this mystery. “Get used to what?” Austin asked between gritted teeth. He’d been working nonstop on the nursery, the pool, and taking care of one thousand and one jobs the housekeeper asked him to do daily. Sleep deprivation was a mild definition of what he felt.
Unruffled, Mrs. Merryweather bent to scoop a ball of lint from the new grape-colored carpet. She stuffed it into her apron pocket. “Get used to talking about her marriage. When she does the interview for the paper, she’s gonna have to talk about it.”
“Interview?” He gaped at her. “She wouldn’t willingly give an interview, would she?”
Mrs. Merryweather nodded. “Why else do you think they haven’t nominated you for Playgirl centerfold of the year?”
Playgirl? The old battle-ax knew about Playgirl? And then the meaning of her shocking words sank in. He frowned. “Are you trying to say she’s doing this—this interview so they won’t print that picture of me bare-ass-naked?”
“I’m not trying to say anything. I am saying it. She is. So you can forget about all those phone calls from hungry females you were expecting.”
Austin tried to sift facts. He planted his hands on his hips, his jaw hardening. “I won’t let her do that. After all, it’s my fault it happened in the first place.”
“How’s that?”
“If I hadn’t gone for a swim, Lucy wouldn’t have been looking for me, and Candice wouldn’t have been chasing Lucy, and she wouldn’t have”—Austin hesitated—”fallen into the pool.”
And they wouldn’t have made love. Austin gave himself a mental shake. No matter how incredible making love with Candice had been, he should have known better than to take such a risk. Should have known a reporter might be lurking. With Candice, there was always that chance.
But he hadn’t exactly been thinking with his brain at the time.
No excuse.
“Well, that’s not exactly true,” Mrs. Merryweather said, edging backward in the direction of the door.
Austin watched her, his gaze narrowing. She looked guilty about something. “What’s not true?”
She reached the door and kept going, backing into Candice’s room. The door to the hall loomed behind her. “Lucy wasn’t lookin’ for you. You see, I’d been takin’ her out every morning to let her swim in the pool.”
She disappeared through the open doorway before the last word left her mouth, leaving Austin staring into the empty space.
When he thought about how much sleep he’d lost, how many hours he’d spent agonizing and blaming himself, he nearly exploded. Lucy hadn’t been looking for him in particular; she’d simply been intent on getting her morning swim in a little early.
Still, he was the one who’d let her out of her cage in the first place.
Hell.
And then his humor, which had been sadly lacking these past two weeks since the incident with the reporter, came to his rescue.
That guilty look on Mrs. Merryweather’s face had been priceless.
He threw back his head and let the tension roll out of him in a burst of laughter that threatened to rattle the nursery’s pretty bay windows.
Chapter Thirteen
At the sound of his rich, deep laughter, Candice halted in the doorway of her bedroom. She dropped a hand to her rounding stomach, inhaling sharply. Austin, laughing in the nursery. Her child, growing inside her.
The combination gave her thoughts she had no business thinking. Still, she couldn’t help it.
It wasn’t the first time in the past two weeks that she’d wished this child was Austins.
How could she not? He would make a wonderful father, so funny and loving. So caring and giving. And although he wasn’t the father, he had proved over and over that he cared about the baby.
Before Austin, she never would have believed a man could take such an interest in someone else’s child, the way Austin appeared to. In fact, since they’d made love in the pool, she had experienced several episodes of shameful jealousy. The first time it had happened was when he’d proudly shown her the new dog kennel.
For the baby’s new puppy.
Then there was the hedge shaping, which he had finally confessed he’d done with the baby in mind.
And the old Oriental rugs he’d found in the attic. After spending hours beating the area rugs with a baseball bat he’d also found in the attic, he’d spaced them artfully throughout the house, over the wall-to-wall carpeting, casually explaining that the little tot’s knees could use the extra padding when he or she began to crawl.
Even their long walks in the woods every evening—after he had thoroughly scoured the area for lurking photographers—had been for the baby’s benefit. Exercise was important for the baby’s health, he’d informed her. During those many walks, they’d talked a lot.
About the baby.
And she’d tried quizzing him about his late-night work in the nursery, which he’d kept locked until now.
“Close your eyes. I’ve got a surprise.”
Candice came out of her daze with a guilty start to find Austin watching her. Her cheeks flamed, and she had to remind herself that he couldn’t know about her ridiculous jealousy. “I’m—I’m sorry, what did you say?”
She searched for a glimpse of heated passion, something—anything—that resembled what she’d missed the past two weeks when he had been so busy doing things for her baby.
Her heart sank when she found nothing to reassure her. His expression remained carefully blank, as if they had never made wild, passionate love in the pool at six o’clock in the morning.
Which meant he still blamed her and obviously regretted what had happened between them.
And in turn, she couldn’t blame him for blaming her.
What man in his right mind would want her? She was a media magnet, pregnant, and possibly on the brink of poverty. Not that she believed money mattered to Austin. On the contrary, she sometimes detected a trace of scorn in his voice for the finer things in life.
“Candice? Are you all right?” He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “I’ve asked you three times to close your eyes.”
His sudden concern warmed her.
“Is everything okay with the baby?”
Irritation swamped the warm feeling. “The baby’s fine,” she snapped. “Now, what’s the surprise?”
“You have to close your eyes,” he repeated, dangerously oblivious to her sudden downswing of mood.
“Close my eyes? What if I trip and fall?” Why was she being so obnoxious? It wasn’t like her, yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She ached to see something else in his eyes other than this I’m-your-buddy crap.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you trip.”
“Of course,” she responded acidly. “We wouldn’t want to hurt the baby.” When he gave her a puzzled look, she sighed and closed her eyes. “Okay, okay. My eyes are closed,”
He led her slowly across the carpeted floor of her bedroom. Her sandal bumped the slight rise of a door sill, telling her they’d reached the nursery. Candice inhaled, surprised when she caught only a faint whiff of paint. She could
have returned to her own bed long ago, it seemed. But each time she mentioned it, Austin had countered her attempts by reminding her of the paint fumes.
Yet there were none to speak of. Her curiosity stirred.
“Now I want you to lie down. No, don’t open your eyes yet.”
Candice obeyed, wishing his grip on her forearm contained some of the old heat. Instead, his fingers felt cool and impersonal, his voice as gentle and caring as Mrs. Merry-weather’s and just as platonic.
She squeezed her eyes more tightly closed, not because he commanded it but because she didn’t want the sudden tears springing to her eyes to fall.
He tugged her to the floor. The scent of new carpet joined the faint smell of paint, and intermingled with these smells Candice detected Austin’s unique blend of man and light, woodsy aftershave.
Her nipples instantly hardened, and a now-familiar ache between her legs returned. How could he do this to her without even trying? He obviously no longer felt any desire for her, so why, then, did her body insist on humiliating her this way?
She jerked as his hand landed softly on her stomach. Biting her tongue was the only way she kept the hysterical scream inside as he moved his hand across the material of her blouse, outlining the noticeable rise of her belly.
What was he doing? The man was obsessed with her baby, and she was getting damned tired of it.
“You can open your eyes now.”
Perversely, Candice didn’t want to. Why should she? The baby couldn’t see what Austin had done for it.
She was immediately ashamed of her thought. Opening her eyes, she stared at the ceiling, then shot straight up. “Oh, my God!”
With a firm hand, Austin pushed her down again. “To get the full effect, you have to be lying down, like he will be.”
“He?” Candice closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if she was dreaming one of those silly dreams again. She’d been having a lot of those lately. Dreams that Austin was her baby’s father.
Lord, if she thought he’d gone off the deep end now, what if he really were the father? He’d drive her insane!
But wonderfully so.
“He or she. It was just an expression. Open your eyes, Candice. You can’t see through your lids.”
She felt his arm press against hers and realized that he had joined her, lying flat on his back.
More slowly this time, to minimize the shock, Candice opened her eyes.
It was still there, which meant there was a good chance she wasn’t dreaming. Her lips parted, and a small gasp of awe sneaked out.
The entire ceiling was a circus, complete with ringmaster dressed in black breeches, a red coat with flowing tails, and black top hat. Graceful tigers pawed the air. Smiling elephants balanced their cumbersome bulk on tiny blocks. Gaily dressed men and women soared on trapezes and dared the high-wire. There were white horses with flowing manes and glittering halters, and clowns in every imaginable shape and color cavorted through the riotous, wondrous arena that would put the Barnum Brothers to shame.
“So? What do you think? I’ve read that babies need lots of colors and shapes to look at—it helps develop their vision.”
Candice blinked her dazed eyes, then covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.
His worst nightmare had come true; she was crying.
A tiny muffled sob escaped, and the sound damned near split his heart. He came up onto his elbow, watching tears seep through her fingers at an alarming rate.
Damn.
“What’s the matter, Candice?” He intended to ask softly, but his upset deepened his voice, making it sound all gruff and demanding. “Tell me why you’re crying.”
She gave no indication that she’d heard him.
He tried again. “If it’s the ceiling, I can slap a few coats of white paint over it and you’ll never know it’s there.” She didn’t have to know it would take more than a few coats to cover the ultra-bright paint. “I just thought—”
She shook her head without dislodging her hands. The tears continued to run between her fingers.
“No? It’s not the circus that’s bothering you?” Austin bit his tongue in frustration. Watching her cry made him feel like a jerk, completely helpless.
Her head shook again.
Nonplussed, Austin looked around, trying to guess what had started the waterworks. Was it the paintings he’d hung on the clear, washable white walls to break their monotony? The ones of the dancing bears? He thought they were some of his best works, each bear uniquely different.
He continued to study the room, trying to be objective. He’d thought the furniture, white with gold trim, a little prissy, but he had only assembled that; Candice had ordered it.
He shifted, then glanced down at the carpet cushioning his elbow. Maybe the carpet had upset her? Maybe he shouldn’t have picked such a vibrant color, but she just had to say the word and he’d rip it up and start over.
“Candice?” He reached for her, desperate to do something to stop her tears. With infinite tenderness, he pulled her into his arms and began rubbing her back. Hadn’t he read that pregnant women loved massages?
She quieted almost immediately, her sobs lapsing into heartbreaking shudders and sighs. Austin continued the soothing motion. Then he felt her lips against his neck, and he instantly became hard. No, no, it was inadvertent, he told himself.
But then a hesitant, trembling hand found its way inside his shirt. She curled her fingers into his chest hair, then raked her nails down, down, her actions soon growing bolder, more assured. Only the heavy buckle of his belt stopped her.
Austin’s stomach muscles clenched as her touch stoked the inner fire he’d barely held in check for the past two weeks. And when she raised her head so that her mouth found his, Austins sanity snapped.
Her mouth was soft and wet, a little salty from the tears yet honey-sweet and hot. Austin couldn’t imagine how he’d gone two weeks without the taste of her, the feel of her.
Could she possibly have missed him as much as he had missed her?
No way.
She tugged his belt buckle loose and slipped the button from the hole, all the while kissing him, her tongue teasing the tip of his own in a way that made him shudder. The featherlight brush of her fingers against the rigid planes of his belly as she continued to work her way down made his heart soar with anticipation.
Maybe.
His breath caught in his throat as she unzipped his jeans with agonizing slowness.
Okay, a big possibility.
She closed her fingers around him and squeezed.
Yes, definitely!
“The door,” he moaned against her mouth, surging into her hand. She had fingers like silk, and a mouth that held more surprises than a master magician.
Her whispered, “Lock it,” had Austin on his feet in an instant. He shut and locked the door, then released the drapes from their tassels to cover the windows.
Breathing harshly, he turned back to look at Candice. Gone was the cool, shy Mrs. Dale, and in her place was the woman he couldn’t resist. And why should he? After all, she carried his baby.
He hesitated, asking not for himself but for her, “Mrs. Merryweather?”
“Gone to the market.” With a come-hither look that curled his toes, she began to unbutton her blouse. Slowly.
Austin swallowed hard. Candice was seducing him, and doing a damned fine job.
Something hard and savage hit his gut and knocked more force into the pulsing thrust of his shaft. The scrape of his zipper was a shocking reminder of just what she could do to him.
With a look, a touch, a flash of her cat’s eyes.
He took a step forward, then stopped. Where was this going? He couldn’t imagine the great Mrs. Howard Vanausdale giving up this mansion and the money and the million luxuries it all could afford her—for him. The handyman. An artist down on his luck.
Down on his luck? Right now he’d like to get down on the floor and give Candice exactly what she wa
nted, what they both wanted. He wanted to forget how rich she was. He wanted to forget how rich he didn’t want to be. He wanted to forget, just for a moment, about the tie that bound them, whether she knew it or not.
The baby. What if there hadn’t been a baby? Would he be here, in this room with her? No. Nor would he have met her in the first place.
He took another step, watching her watch him. She had pulled her blouse open, revealing to his hot, eager gaze a sexy lace bra and creamy cleavage. His mouth went bone dry as he eyed the quick rise and fall of her breasts.
The plain, sobering fact was, if not for the baby, Austin would not have taken the time to get to know Candice Vanausdale and would not have discovered that there was far more to her than a pretty, perfect face and a love for money.
No, he wouldn’t be here if not for the baby. Yet… yet it wasn’t all about the baby. Not now.
Then why didn’t he just tell her the truth? Go from there?
Austin clenched his fists, knowing the answer but hating to admit it. He was afraid. Afraid of her reaction, afraid that that bone-jarring look in her eyes right now would turn to one of horror and disgust. Before Candice, he’d never cared what people thought of him or his chosen lifestyle, the way he lived simply and honestly. But that was before. This was now.
And the lady wanted him.
And he wanted her.
First things first.
Austin shook his head, then dropped to his knees.
She reached for him.
He reached for her.
Soon they were both naked. Candice clutched his tight buttocks and brought him to her with a force that shocked him. Then he was lost to all thought but to satisfy this woman and the deep ache inside him.
Poised above her, he stared into her beautiful, glazed eyes and whispered harshly. “Do you want me?”
“I want you.”
“How much?” Even as he spoke the husky words, he eased himself into her moist, tight sheath. He gritted his teeth, not from pain but from pleasure.
She grasped his bottom lip and bit gently, panting against his mouth. “All of you.”
Austin pushed to the limit, then stilled. Holding his upper body away from her, he bent and grasped a rock-hard nipple with his teeth, tugging gently, then sucking.
Mr. Hyde’s Assets Page 16