They danced for a long time without speaking, their steps slowing until they were swaying rather than moving, their bodies gradually seeming to melt together. The piece now playing was piano music, each note clear and bright. Laura could smell the pleasant masculine scent of Carter's body, hear that his heart was beating as powerfully as her own.
She knew, of course, what was going to happen next. Knew, but had no desire to fight it. Whatever was drawing her and Carter together was too powerful to fight. It wouldn't last on his part, of course. Attraction based only on sex never did. But she was human, she had needs, physical needs, and there was no earthly reason why she couldn't enjoy the attraction while it did last. Rationalizing, she thought with a feeling close to despair. Women were always good at rationalizing.
When the music stopped, he Lifted her hands and kissed them, his dark dark eyes gazing down at her face in the sexiest way imaginable. She was out of breath, almost as if she'd been running in a marathon. She tried to speak, but all she could manage was a groan.
Carter smiled.
Letting go of her hands, he walked over to the fireplace and placed another log on it, then picked up the rag rug and spread it carefully in front of the hearth. "What do you think?" he asked.
She looked dubiously at it. "It doesn't look too comfortable," she said, noting that her voice was hoarse.
"My chiropractor says a firm surface is much better for the back," he said gravely.
Laura laughed again.
He held out a hand and she moved toward him as if she had no will to do otherwise. He took her in his arms again and brushed her mouth lightly with his own, his lips moving softly, questioningly against hers. To answer his question, she allowed her lips to part, welcoming the touch of his tongue on hers. His kiss was wine flavored, heady to her senses. Her knees were giving way, she realized.
Carter evidently realized it, too. Drawing her gently down to the rug, he stretched out beside her, supporting his head with one hand so that he could look down at her as he touched her face, his thumb rubbing gently over her lips. As she gazed up at him, he moved his hand to caress first her throat and then her breast. Putting her arms around him, she gave herself up to the sensations he was arousing in her, sensations that had lain dormant, waiting for his touch.
The rain beat a tattoo on the roof of the cottage, echoing the thundering of her heart. The wood in the fireplace cracked and sparked and flared up, drugging her with its warmth. Carter's eyes reflected the flames as he touched her gently and murmured to her. Though she wanted him desperately, there didn't seem to be any urgency. She was content to lie there in the warmth, to touch and be touched.
Time seemed to slip away and have no meaning. Her fingers caressed the back of his neck and moved through his crisp hair, then down across his neck and shoulders, moving forward to unfasten the buttons of his shirt and slide over the dark mat of hair that covered his tightly muscled chest.
Smiling at her, his eyes dark with passion, he pulled down the zipper at the back of her dress and eased it off her shoulders. She felt again the heat of the fire as he slipped her bra free.
And then he touched his mouth to her breast and she was suddenly calling his name urgently, helping him take her dress off, impatiently removing her shoes, panty hose and briefs.
Just as quickly, he took off his clothing, and then she was in his arms again, held closely against his fire-warmed body, his mouth on hers, urging her to a passion far greater than any she had ever felt before.
Flame-driven shadows chased one another around the room. Rain beat incessantly on the windows as the storm worsened outside. Carter and Laura moved together, touching, holding, then parting a little so they could explore each other's secret places, until her body felt a need so great it could only be satisfied in one way.
"Carter," she begged.
He looked at her and smiled that wicked smile of his, kissed her hard, then moved over her and entered her. For a moment, they stilled, looking into each other's eyes, acknowledging the wonder of her body enclosing his. Then the sheer joy of that special closeness swept over her and her head fell back. She was once again aware, but distantly this time, of the heat of the fire—a heat that was matched by her body's own as it surrendered itself to the magical rhythms of passion.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"Laura," Carter whispered, close to her ear.
She came awake with a start, embarrassed to realize she had slept. Carter was kneeling on the floor next to her, dressed only in his suit pants, his smile luminous, his black hair tousled and shining damply in the firelight. He must have taken a shower already. For a moment, she gazed groggily at his muscular shoulders, the mat of dark hair that covered his chest and arrowed down to disappear beyond his belt. Images crowded her sleep-numbed brain—Carter touching her, talking softly to her, holding her, lifting her…
"I'm sorry," she murmured, forcing her eyes farther open. "I didn't get much sleep last night."
"Unrequited passion will do that to you," he said gravely.
She laughed, then turned her head to check the time on the mantel clock. Nine-thirty. They'd have time to talk. To her surprise nervousness clutched at her stomach.
"You were worrying about Priscilla?" he asked more seriously.
"That and—" She broke off, frowning. Why was she suddenly so nervous about telling him her news?
His dark eyes studied her face for a minute or two. The rain had stopped, she realized. He kissed her lightly, gently, his breath warm and sweet against her mouth. "Coffee?" he asked.
She nodded, grateful for the delay. When she emerged from the bathroom a little later, Carter had two cups of coffee waiting. The fire was blazing. She felt wonderful, she realized as he smiled at her with obvious affection. Sleek and cherished and relaxed. "Okay?" he asked.
"More than okay," she said softly. "Whole. Complete."
His grin lit his face. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should." She frowned again.
"Tell me," he said.
She looked at him questioningly.
"Something's on your mind, something that's worrying you. Why don't you talk about it?"
She sat down on the sofa next to him and picked up her cup. "It's not worrying me exactly. It's just that I'm nervous about saying it out loud. Maybe I'm afraid that even though I think I can do it, I might not be able to, and if I talk about it I'll decide I'm fooling myself. Do you know what I mean?"
He grinned. "I don't even know what you said."
"I'm not sure where to start."
"Start in anywhere. I'll catch up as you go along."
She took a deep breath, set the cup down and faced him. "Okay. First of all then, I'm not going to sell The Willows."
It might have been the firelight throwing shadows onto his face, but it looked to her as if his tan had gone slightly gray. Under his eyes the skin looked bruised, as if someone had hit him. His eyes were very dark, she noted. Not with passion this time, at least not sexual passion. She regarded him nervously. Maybe it wasn't a trick of the firelight, after all.
He clattered his cup into its saucer and looked at her with a wounded expression deep in his eyes. "What possible reason could you have for refusing to sell me the house?" he asked.
Good grief, she'd given him the wrong impression. "You don't understand," she said. "This has nothing to do with your offer. I'm not going to sell the house to anyone. I'm going to keep it. I'm going to stay in Port Dudley. I've worked it all out on paper. I'm pretty sure I can get a business loan from the bank. I thought I might talk to Tiffany's uncle. He's a banker, isn't he? I thought you might be willing to set up an appointment for me, you know, tell him I'm a trustworthy type?"
Bewilderment creased his face. "A business loan?"
She grinned. "I'm going to turn The Willows into a bed-and-breakfast inn. Isn't that a great idea? It solves all our problems. Priscilla will have Jessica and me to care about her. Jessica can settle into school and not have to m
ove. I'm getting tired of moving myself. I'm also getting tired of working on houses and turning them over to other people. It came to me when I said something to you about The Willows being my house. Do you remember that? I told you I got a funny feeling saying that. Then I got so mad when you said you wanted to buy the house. And I realized that was because I really did think of it as my house. I didn't want to leave it."
She leaned forward eagerly. "I'm sure I can make a bed-and-breakfast work. I love to cook. I can offer a country breakfast—that harvest table will seat a lot of people. And I thought maybe I could do afternoon teas—start a tradition— like the Empress in Victoria, you know. They're always booked solid. Brady and I went to one of their teas once. It was great. I'd serve cucumber sandwiches and toasted crumpets and little cakes just the way they do. I'd have to hire some help, of course, but I think financially I could swing it. And I know I could do it physically—it would be a lot easier than what I've been doing for the past six years."
She couldn't ignore the fact that Carter's face was darkening by the minute. His mouth had tightened into a grim line. "I guess I threw all that at you, didn't I?" she apologized. "I'm so excited about the idea, Carter. That's why I'm babbling. And why I couldn't sleep last night. Don't you think it's a great idea? I can't wait to tell Priscilla, but I have to make sure I can get the loan first."
He stood up, strode across the room and started putting on his shirt, then buttoning it up. Max came out of the bedroom, stretching, inclining his big head to one side. Opening up the French doors, Carter let him out. "It's time we were going," he said. His voice was tight.
Laura looked at him uncertainly. "Are you upset about something?" she asked.
His face might have been carved out of granite. "God, no, I'm delirious with happiness—can't you tell?"
"Carter?"
He came across the room and leaned down over her, one hand on the arm of the sofa. "Where do I fit into this wonderful scheme of yours?" he asked. "I want to buy The Willows. You know that."
Bewildered by his anger, she gazed up at him. "But you only wanted to buy it so Priscilla would be okay," she remarked. "She will be. I'll make sure of that. And you can come and visit with her anytime you like."
"That's very magnanimous of you." His face was still grim. "I believe I also mentioned that it was my childhood home. I was happy there. I want to live in it again."
"You could have bought it from Ed Mallory," she responded, stung by the harshness of his voice.
"I didn't know I wanted it then."
She glared at him. "And people say women are illogical." Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, I get it. It was all painted green then. It didn't suit your sense of history. Then I came along and did all the work and made the house more attractive to you. Well, I'm sorry, Carter—my mind is made up. I'm keeping the house for Jessica and Priscilla and me."
Max scratched at the door and Carter straightened. "Then I guess there's nothing more to say."
In silence, he drove her home, reached across her to open her door. Max leaned over the back of the seat and licked her ear in farewell. She patted his head.
"Carter," she began, feeling on the verge of tears, but willing to try again to explain her position.
He shook his head. "I can't talk about this tonight, Laura. I'm too—I don't know what I am." He glanced at her face, then away. "I'll call you," he said.
Those words had become almost a litany between them, Laura thought sadly as she approached her front door. Whenever Carter left her or she left him, he said he would call her. And he always did. But would he this time?
The phone didn't ring at all the following day. Laura listened for it constantly as she worked—she was sizing the walls in the master bedroom, having ordered a delicately flowered wallpaper she had come across in a Seattle company's catalog. Around six o'clock, she found herself hovering near the front door, gazing out through the etched-glass sidelight at the street, as though she could conjure up Carter's Jeep if she stared long enough.
She didn't sleep well again that night. Several possibilities for Carter's withdrawal occurred to her as she lay staring up at the ceiling. One: it wasn't the house sale that had upset him, after all—he'd been shocked to learn she intended staying on in Port Dudley. He was afraid she was going to try to trap him into a commitment. Two: his nose was out of joint because she wouldn't let him buy the house with her in it, thus assuring himself—he thought—of a steady supply of trouble-free sex. Three: it was the house he had wanted all along, wanting her had just come along as a sort of bonus.
In the morning the wallpaper arrived, but she couldn't seem to bring herself to start hanging it, even though that was usually one of her favorite jobs. After lunch with Jessica, who chatted away gamely—though not without several puzzled glances at her silent mother—she gave herself a stern talking to. She was going to get on with the job, just as she always had.
But once she'd got as far as setting up the sawhorses and hoisting a sheet of four feet by eight feet ply onto them, she wandered downstairs and stood gazing out of the narrow window again.
"Is anything wrong, Laura?" Priscilla asked from beside her. Laura didn't even jump, she was getting so used to Priscilla's sudden appearances.
"Just checking the weather," she said.
Priscilla's eyes were thoughtful. "You look as forlorn as a sea-captain's wife waiting for the ships to come home."
"Not a bad simile," Laura murmured.
"I take it all this angst has to do with Carter? Where did you go night before last? You never did say."
"A picnic," Laura said flatly. "We took Max on a picnic."
Priscilla arched her eyebrows. "How very Bohemian. Was it a nice picnic?"
Laura gripped the window frame and closed her eyes against the pain of remembering just how wonderful it had been. It was impossible to believe that after making tender, passionate love to her, Carter had let her go in silence. Because she wouldn't sell him her house. If she'd thought about it beforehand, which she hadn't had the sense to, she might have been afraid he'd live up to the cliché about a man not respecting a woman in the morning. But she would never have expected him to get so mad because she'd decided to stay in Port Dudley.
"Why do you keep denying your love for Carter?" Priscilla asked.
"I have to," Laura said. "If I let him know I love him, I give him the power to hurt me. I don't want to be hurt again."
She felt Priscilla's sympathetic gaze on her face. "Did you have a fight?"
Laura nodded miserably. "He was furious with me—I'm not sure why." She felt Priscilla's hand touch her shoulder and grip it gently. Warmth radiated from the spot. "I'll be okay," she said softly.
Priscilla sighed. "Men are the very devil, aren't they?"
Laura laughed shortly and was about to agree, when a movement in the street caught her eye. Leaning forward, she saw that a black '51 Mercury was parking across the street.
Afterward, when she remembered that all evidence had pointed to the driver of the Merc being some kind of hired thug, she shuddered, thinking that she had taken a hell of a chance. But at the time she hadn't hesitated. Yanking the front door open, she shot across the porch, down the steps to the front path and across the street. Jerking open the door on the driver's side of the car, she exclaimed, "Hold it!" as the driver fumbled with the ignition key. Then she reared back in surprise; the driver was a woman.
"What are you doing here?" Laura demanded. "Why are you hanging around my house?"
The woman was middle-aged, big boned, with dark gray hair that frizzed wildly around her strong-featured face. Her glasses had thick lenses that made her brown eyes look slightly deranged. "There's no law against parking here," she said belligerently.
For all Laura knew she could be right. Nonplussed, she stared at the woman, who stared right back, her mouth set in a tight line, her strong jaw raised.
Just as Laura was gearing up to argue, the woman's gaze shifted slightly, making her look a little l
ess menacing.
"I'm looking for Simon Kincaid," she said. "I know he's been here, I've seen him. But I haven't managed to catch up with him. He's avoiding me, isn't he? Going out of his way to avoid me."
"His nephew and I have been very worried," Laura said chidingly, without confirming or denying the woman's statement. "We were afraid whoever was after Sly might have gambling connections."
A grim smile flitted across the woman's face. "You know Sly well, don't you?" Still gripping the steering wheel, she glanced suspiciously up and down the street as though she expected to catch Sly peering out from behind a bush.
"Does Sly owe you money?" Laura asked.
The woman shrugged. "I don't care about the money. All I want is—" She broke off. "I can only get over here on weekends," she muttered. "I work at my printing business all week. I've been driving over Friday nights, back on Sunday night. I can't keep it up much longer. Where does he live—do you know? I thought he probably lived with his nephew Carter in the condo on Forest Drive, but now I'm not so sure. I've spent hours at a time there and Sly's only come out once while I was watching. Then he came over here."
"Couldn't you just have knocked on Carter's door? Or on my door? Why all the cloak-and-dagger stuff?"
Color flooded the woman's face. "I wanted to catch Sly alone. I wasn't sure what the…situation was at either house. For all I know Sly might have a wife." Her eyes narrowed. "Does he have a wife?"
"I'm not about to tell you anything about Sly until you tell me why you want him," Laura said. She studied the woman for a minute. She was large and apparently tough and obviously annoyed. On the other hand, she was clean and well-spoken. Her clothes were fairly drab, but respectable—a beige blouse with a pearl brooch at the collar, a brown jacket and a skirt with box pleats. Surely she couldn't be a real threat to Sly Kincaid. "If you want to come in and tell me what this is all about, maybe I can get Sly to come over," Laura suggested in a friendlier voice. She held out her hand. "I'm Laura Daniel. You are?"
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