HOT-BLOODED HERO

by Donna Sterling

  “Her name,” came a voice from the doorway, “is Mrs. Westcott.”

  Both Tess and Leo turned to Cole in surprise. Her heart gave a crazy kick at the sight of him; at the sound of his voice. But most of all, at the name and the way he’d said it. She hadn’t given it a thought until now. Mrs. Westcott.

  “Mrs. Cole Westcott,” Cole specified, advancing into the library with a steely gaze fixed on Leo. “My wife.” He then slid his arm around her waist, drew her against him and melted every thought from her mind with a long, hot, possessive stare. “My wife,” he repeated in a gruff whisper that steamed against her face.

  She knew he was making a statement to her as well as to Leo. That statement thrilled her. Made her want to be everything he claimed … and more.

  “Aww, geez, Cole,” Leo grumbled. “Don’t get carried away with this marriage stuff. How was I supposed to know if you wanted her in here or not? You’ve always been touchy about letting anyone in your library.”

  Cole shifted his gaze away from his heated communion with Tess to level another warning stare at Leo, which set him back a step. “Understand this, Leo. This is now her library. And her house. If she wants to kick your butt out of here, you’re out.” Cole then glanced at Tess. “Do you want him out?”

  The temptation was strong to banish him from the house—more for the harm he’d done her father and Josh than for the rudeness he’d shown her. Yet, in all good conscience, she couldn’t do it. He was Cole’s family. She couldn’t take that lightly. And he had been looking out for Cole’s best interests. With almost painful reluctance, she shook her head.

  “You have the right, Tess. Never doubt it. If anyone, anyone, makes you uncomfortable, you can make them leave. And I’ll back you up, all the way.”

  She swallowed against a sudden tightness in her throat. His sharing of his power and his home, his trust in her judgment and respect for her feelings, all touched her deeply.

  Averting her gaze from Cole to stop him from seeing how much he had touched her, she glanced at Leo, who looked shaken, sullen and embarrassed. “I … I may have been partially to blame for Leo’s hostility,” she admitted, wishing her conscience didn’t compel her to do so. Surprise flickered over Leo’s face. “I might have provoked him.”

  “Imagine that,” murmured Cole.

  “She said I beat up her old man.”

  “You did,” charged Tess, her passion engaged again.

  “I did not.” Steam virtually rose from Leo’s reddened ears. “In fact, I was trying to stop him from hurting himself or someone else.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet.” She swung her braid back over her shoulder, rested a fist on one cocked hip and narrowed her eyes. “Is that why you drew the gun?”

  “I drew the gun before he jumped me … when the other guy came out with the rifle.”

  “Well, if that wasn’t brilliant! Couldn’t you tell that he—”

  “Hold it.” Cole held up his hands and frowned, silencing them both. Though he couldn’t deny gleaning a certain thrill from watching his slim little redheaded bride in her tight faded jeans get all fired up and go toe-to-toe with a mountain of mean brawn, he figured he’d better put an end to the confrontation before Leo said something that Cole would make him regret. “If you two want to discuss this matter, we’ll do it some other time. It’s getting late, and I’m tired.”

  “Late?” Leo scoffed. “It’s not even nine. And on a Saturday, yet.”

  For having been a newlywed himself not too long ago, Leo was amazingly obtuse. Choosing to ignore that dim-witted observation, Cole said, “I’m assuming you’re here about tomorrow. Have you brought over all of your supplies and found everything you’ll need?”

  He nodded, his resentment still palpable.

  “Tess, your shop’s closed on Sunday, right?” She nodded, and gladness seeped through Cole. He’d keep her in bed late tomorrow. “Good. Leo, let’s change our engagement to lunch instead of brunch. We’ll expect you around one-thirty.” With a glance at Tess, he said, “Mrs. Johannsen is off on Sundays, so Leo’s going to take up the slack. He plans to dazzle us with his culinary art.”

  Tess blinked, as if she hadn’t quite understood.

  Leo also blinked. “You mean, she’s going to try the dishes, too?”

  “Of course.”

  “He’s going to actually cook?” Tess’s incredulous question provoked another scowl from Leo. She turned in concern to Cole. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  Leo’s granite jaw jerked back and forth, and Cole heard teeth grinding. “Let’s do this taste test some other time, Cole. When we’re alone. I don’t want your opinion swayed by outside influences.”

  That was just the kind of comment he wouldn’t tolerate—one that seethed with disrespect for Tess’s role in his household. In his life. He was having a hard enough time defining that role even to himself without interference from anyone else. The word “wife” appealed to him immensely, though. And the idea of sharing his home with her, if only for a while, touched a resonant chord deep within him. He wouldn’t have her slighted. “If you’re referring to my wife as an outside influence—”

  “Okay, okay,” cried Tess, grabbing his arm to stop his angry advance on Leo. “Enough of this squabbling. By one-thirty tomorrow, Leo, you’d better be in that kitchen, or wherever it is you cook. I won’t say a word, not one word, about your ‘dishes’ unless you ask for my opinion.”

  Leo glowered at her, clenching and unclenching his hands, then looked to Cole for guidance—as if he’d never dealt with a force quite like Tess before and hadn’t the vaguest idea of how to handle it.

  Cole couldn’t help empathizing. Letting go of some of his anger, he nodded at his cousin in encouragement. Muttering that he’d be back at one-thirty tomorrow, Leo strode out of the library.

  After they heard the front door slam, Tess stared in the direction he’d taken. A silent moment ticked by before she asked faintly, “He cooks?”

  “He says he does.” The relief of finding himself alone with her washed away the rest of Cole’s anger. He’d been waiting all day to touch her. Hold her. He ran his hands up her arms, bare and smooth beneath her short—sleeved gold blouse. “He wants me to let him cook at a restaurant I opened on Shem Creek.”

  “But isn’t he a cop, and a part-time security guard?”

  “He’s a cop, but they’ve got him on desk duty, and he hates it. He’s looking for some other line of work. He also needs more money because of his baby boom.”

  “Baby boom?”

  “His wife gave birth to triplets two months ago. All boys.”

  “Triplets!” Tess gaped at him. “I hadn’t pictured Leo as a father.” After another moment of reflection, she asked, “How long has he been married?”

  “Almost a year.”

  “A year?” Her eyes lit with an unexpected excitement. “That’s wonderful. He’s a Westcott. Don’t you see, Cole? He’s proving that the curse isn’t real!”

  Cole bit his cheek, hating to burst her bubble. “Actually, his wife left him last week, because of the incident with your father. She feels Leo is too hot-headed to be a cop, and is afraid that hell be sued, and doesn’t think he can support the family any other way. She’s divorcing him.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” Genuine distress shone in her gaze.

  Cole wanted to kiss her. But he knew that her interest in Leo was too keen at the moment for her to be easily distracted. Determined to get it over with, he explained, “He won’t take money from me that he doesn’t earn. Unfortunately, I felt I had to suspend him from his guard duty after his fight with your father.”

  “I didn’t know you did that.” She clearly held mixed feelings regarding the issue. “But Leo’s a Westcott. Why isn’t he rich?”

  Cole held back a rueful grin. At least he could always count on her for plain speaking. “His father lost his money gambling. Leo himself made matters worse with a few bad choices.”

  She nodded sympathetically.

&
nbsp; He drank in the sight of her, sifting his fingers through the fiery tendrils beside her face, savoring the silky texture of her hair. He wanted to free the thick, shining mass from the maddening braid. Thrust his hands into it. Kiss her breathless.

  He sensed tension stealing into her body as their gazes locked. “Cole, about me being here in your library. I’m sorry if I wasn’t supposed to be. I only came to find a phone number and use your fax machine. I—”

  He shushed her with a finger against her lips. “You don’t owe me an explanation for being in the library. I meant what I said. This is your home for as long as you stay.” Slowly he brushed his finger across the lush, smooth curves of her mouth, his gaze avidly following. “You can do whatever you like.”

  Her eyelids fluttered in sensual reaction to the stroke of his finger, and hunger for her surged through him. He lowered his mouth to hers, swept his tongue along the same path his finger had taken, then delved into a deep, hot, stroking kiss. He molded her body to his and reveled in the taste, the feel, the heat of her.

  He didn’t think he could ever get enough. Their lovemaking last night had shaken him with such force that he hadn’t been able to think of much else. He had no idea where the intensity came from, or where it would lead, but he wanted to go wherever it took him. Again and again.

  And he wouldn’t listen to her nonsense about there being no need to “replant the seed.” Before he finished with her tonight, she wouldn’t deny the need—the one that burned between them. “Come to bed with me, Tess,” he urged.

  “Oh, Cole…” With a regretful groan, she brushed his hair tenderly back from his face. “You’ve been so sweet and kind.”

  Sweet and kind, hell! He didn’t want her thinking of him as sweet and kind … but as hot, hard and necessary.

  “Offering to share your home, standing behind me even when I’m rude to your cousin. Calling me your wife. But our marriage isn’t real. We didn’t mean any of our vows. And if we keep carrying on the way we did last night, I … I might start losing sight of where the pretense ends and reality begins.”

  Pretense? Reality? He was hot and hard. She did want him. Their lovemaking was necessary. There was no pretense about it. He didn’t see much of a problem.

  Tilting her face for easier access, he kissed and nipped his way along her jaw, licking its tender underside, stopping beside her ear only long enough to whisper, “Reality’s whatever we make it.” He then continued down the warm, fragrant curve of her neck, eliciting breathless moans from her. He intended to make their reality the very best he could. The telephone rang. He ignored it. His hands had found her breasts, warm and round, confined behind the cotton of her blouse and the stiff lace of her bra. He rubbed his palms over her nipples until they strained through the barriers, and a cry roiled in her throat. It all had to come off—the blouse, the bra. The jeans. Everything. He needed to feel her, skin to skin. Mouth to skin.

  The fax machine clicked on as he reached to unbutton her blouse.

  With an urgent gasp, she covered his hands and squeezed, preventing all movement. “I’m sorry, Cole.” Her whisper was unsteady, her skin flushed. He knew her blood burned with a need as hot as his. “But I meant what I said. The seed has been ‘planted’ as well as it’s ever going to be. That requirement has been fulfilled. Sex with you over the next five months wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

  “It would be good, Tess, and you know it.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  He enfolded her hands into a warm, tight clasp between their thudding hearts and gazed compellingly into her eyes. “You really think we can live together, sleep together, and not—”

  “I think we’re going to have to.” Pulling her hands away with a regretful yet determined look, she turned toward the fax machine. “This will probably be for me, from the translator.”

  He stared at her in acute frustration, trying to think of what to say, what to do, to make her see reason. He imagined her in his bed, lying beside him, and didn’t know how he’d ever make it through even one full night without reaching for her. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it.

  “I sent the translator the curse from my family bible,” she was saying, watching as the transmission hummed and the paper slowly emerged. “I thought we’d better see exactly what it says, just in case there’s something more than we already know.”

  Cole swallowed a groan. She was thinking about that damn curse again. Maybe this was the torture that the McCrary witch had planned back in 1825—to distract his sweet, hot McCrary bride with mumbo jumbo until he slowly but surely lost his mind.

  Tess withdrew the printed page from the fax machine and silently read it. An odd, troubled look flitted over her face. She glanced rather furtively up at him, then skimmed the page again.

  Curiosity filled him. “What does it say?”

  She met his gaze, looking shaken. “Nothing. I mean, nothing more than yours said. Same old stuff.” Abruptly she folded the paper, not once, not even twice, but many times, into a small, thick square.

  “Let me see the translation.”

  “Why?” She held the square of paper behind her and backed away from him, piquing his curiosity more. “I told you, it’s the same as yours. Except instead of ‘safe, comfortable home,’ it says I have to provide you with a warm, comfortable home.’”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard. We do ‘warm’ so well.” He advanced a stealthy step, making no quick moves that might warn her of his intention to pounce. And he did intend to pounce. “Does it say you have to forsake all others and keep only unto me?”

  “No, it doesn’t mention that.” She backed away another few steps.

  “No? That’s not fair. Leave it to a McCrary woman to stack the deck against me.” He advanced a little closer. “What does it say about planting the seed?”

  “Oh, it’s definitely in favor.”

  And just before he made his move, she took off running.

  *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  Tess reached the bedroom a half step before Cole—just in time to shut the door in his face and turn the lock.

  “Tess, open up.”

  “I will. When I’m ready.” Her heart raced from the exertion of her mad dash. Although he’d chased her every step of the way, she had the feeling he’d allowed her to outrun him—as long as she was headed for the bedroom. Devious man. He obviously hadn’t been expecting a door to be slammed in his face.

  “What’s in that translation you don’t want me to see?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She backed away from the door, opened her hand and unfolded the sweat-dampened square of paper.

  “Come on, Tess. You hid the printout behind your back and tore out of the library like a scalded dog. Now you’ve locked me out of my own bedroom.”

  “A girl needs a little time to herself now and then.” To find a place to hide inconveniently worded curses and such.

  He shook the door handle. A tactically brilliant move. “Tess!”

  She took the time to read the wording again, just in case something had escaped her. You, McCrary of Charleston, must relinquish your daughter in marriage to Westcott of Westcott Hall. She must share his home and his bed.

  No surprise there. The curse in Cole’s bible had basically required the same. She must keep for him a warm and comfortable home. Couldn’t object to warm and comfortable.

  The next line, though, had almost caused her to swallow her tongue. She must strive with body and heart to satisfy his manly needs.

  Manly needs! No, she certainly couldn’t let Cole set eyes on that. She knew exactly what he’d do. He’d carry on and on about his “manly needs.” He’d turn her into his sex slave! Or rather, he would if he could.

  “If you open the door, I’ll let you keep your secret. I’ll forget all about it.”

  “I’ll bet you have your fingers crossed.”

  “Open this damn door
!” He banged hard enough to rattle the solid, glossy oak panel on its hinges.

  She pursed her lips in reflection. She’d come so far in fulfilling the demands of the curse—marrying Westcott of Westcott Hall. Sharing his home and his bed. Planting the seed within her. And things did seem to be looking up for her family. She wasn’t about to lose ground now.

  Satisfy his manly needs. With body and heart, no less.

  “Don’t make me get ruthless, Tess.”

  “I’m scared, Cole. Real scared.”

  He muttered a soft, fervent string of obscenities.

  She’d really be in a pickle, she supposed, if she hadn’t experienced a major, life-changing realization. When she’d read the words, “…strive to satisfy his manly needs,” she should have been dismayed. Anxious. Possibly even horrified.

  She hadn’t been. She’d been glad. Her heart had lifted with sudden lightness. Her duty to her family and all future generations of McCrarys became clear—she had to keep making love to Cole Westcott. The matter was simply beyond her control.

  The curse had absolved her of all guilt. Doubts and hesitation became irrelevant. She’d been handed the perfect excuse to indulge freely in her deepest, wildest urges with a man most women only dreamt about.

  That was when the realization had hit her. Why did Tess McCrary need an excuse to do anything? She’d been afraid to act on her desires, and she’d felt guilty for betraying Phillip—after waiting faithfully for a year. How pudding-hearted was that?

  No more. Her gladness at the curse’s translation had opened her eyes. Yes, she was laying her heart on the line by making love to Cole. Every time they touched, every time they kissed, her need for him grew a little stronger. But such was the nature of any worthwhile sexual relationship, wasn’t it?

  She would take full advantage of these next five months. When the time came for them to part, she would walk away a stronger, more experienced woman. If her heart broke a little, so be it. Until then, she’d “strive to satisfy his manly needs,” all right … but without his knowing about the curse’s demand. No sense in needlessly tipping the balance of power in his favor.