by Diana Palmer
"Not Nan," came a familiar deep voice. He dropped beside her on the sand. "How do you feel?"
"Sick."
"Serves you right. If you can't hold your liquor, don't drink. You could have ended up in severe circumstances last night, except for Nan."
"Rub it in," she muttered.
"I intend to. Nan's had a go at you already, I'm sure."
"Several. My head hurts."
"No wonder." He smoothed back her windblown hair. His hand was big and warm and surprisingly gentle. She opened her eyes and looked up. She wished she hadn't. He was wearing white swimming trunks and nothing else, and he looked better than the sexiest suntan commercial she'd ever seen. He was beautiful, just beautiful, and she was glad she had on dark glasses so that he couldn't see her appreciation.
"Where's your shadow?" she muttered, closing her eyes again. "Or does she sunbathe? It must be disconcerting to have men screaming 'put your clothes back on!'"
"Not nice," he said firmly. "Being thin is fashionable in our circles."
"It is not," she said, forgetting that he didn't know she frequented the same circles he did. "Thin is fashionable only with models and—" she sat up, taking off her sunglasses to glare at him "—your ladylove."
He shrugged, powerful muscles rippling in his chest and arms. "Some men like well-endowed women, I suppose. I never have."
She was too aware of her full hips and generous bosom. She glared at him. "Then don't waste your time sitting here talking to me."
He laughed mirthlessly. "I have a vested interest in you, and kindly don't take this as a sign of sexual intent. Even if you appealed to me, which you do not physically," he added pointedly, "the fact is, you're still in school."
She started once again to correct his assumption about her age, and stopped. Plenty of time for confidences later, if he stuck around. Otherwise, pretending a lesser age than she owned might not be a bad form of protection. He was obviously pretty experienced, if the look he was giving her body was any indication. He wasn't blatant, but he had seductive eyes and a voice that was more than a little persuasive. His words denied any interest or intent, but his eyes belied that. She wondered if he even realized it. "I'm back...!" Ben hesitated before he sat down beside his father and Shelly. "Oh. Hi, Dad. Where's Marie?"
"Sleeping late, I suppose." He watched as Ben handed Shelly a soft drink.
"Delicious," she whispered, holding the icy can to her temples.
"Are you assimilating it through osmosis?" Ben asked. "We studied that in biology."
"You don't know what biology is until you've had to study DNA, enzymes, proteins and genetics in college."
Ben blinked. "What happened to animals?"
"You study them in zoology."
"You study enzymes in biology?" Ben muttered.
"That's right. And if you really want to understand biology, taking chemistry helps. I haven't yet." She grinned. "I'm a sociology major. I only have to take biology. Since I passed it, I don't have to take chemistry."
"How far along are you?" Faulkner asked.
"Oh, I'm still a freshman."
He didn't reply. His face grew thoughtful, and he turned his attention seaward.
"Where are you from?" Ben asked her suddenly.
"Washington."
"State?" he persisted.
"D.C."
"So are we!" Ben said excitedly, and Shelly was aware of his father's interested gaze. "Where do you go to school?"
"Thorn College," she replied. "It's very small, but nice."
Faulkner knew the college and the area in which it was located. A nice, middle-class community. Nothing fancy. Older homes on small lots near the interchange.
"Oh," Ben said. "We live several miles away from there. Some of our neighbors are senators."
"Are you on vacation?" she asked hesitantly.
"No," Faulkner replied. "There's a convention here this week—bankers."
"Dad's the keynote speaker," Ben said proudly. "Shelly, didn't you say your dad was good at numbers and accounting?"
He certainly was. He was on the board of directors of two banks. She hoped Faulkner's wasn't one of them. "Sort of," she said.
"What does he do?" Ben persisted.
"Actually very little," she said, feeling her way.
"I see," Faulkner said quietly, and his tone indicated that he was developing an impression of Shelly's father that classed Mr. Astor as a street person. Shelly had to bite her lip to keep from laughing ■ at the picture that came to mind. Her father contributed to several charities that helped street people, but he was far from being homeless.
"What are you going to do with your degree when you get it?" Faulkner asked with genuine curiosity.
"I'd like to be a social worker," she said. "There are plenty of people in the world who could use a helping hand."
"No doubt about that," he replied.
"Well, I want to be a wildlife illustrator," Ben said firmly.
"He wants to do his duck shooting with a camera,"
Faulkner said with a sigh.
"Good for him. I think it's atrocious the way people treat our living natural resources."
Ben grinned from ear to ear. "You tell him, Mom!"
"I am not your mother," she said shortly, and then groaned and held her head.
"She's much too young to be anyone's mother," Faulkner agreed, and there was, just briefly, a wistful look about him. He quickly erased it and got to his feet. "I've got to go and collect Marie. We have a luncheon engagement. Ben..."
"I can stay with Mom. Can't I?"
"I'm not—!"
"—your mother! I know, I know!" Ben said chuckling. "Can I stay with you?"
"She's not able to look after you," Faulkner said.
"I want to look after her," Ben replied solemnly. "She certainly needs looking after, and her friends are going sailing. I don't think she can go sailing, do you?"
Shelly swallowed and made a moaning sound.
"Good point. Is it all right?" Faulkner asked Shelly.
"Just as long as he doesn't talk too loud," she agreed.
"Don't give her any trouble," Faulkner cautioned the boy.
"Isn't Marie going back home today?" Ben asked with glee.
"She's leaving with her father. If he goes today, so will she, I imagine."
So they weren't sharing a room, Shelly thought. She was surprised that a woman of Marie's age would travel with her father, especially when she was apparently all but engaged to Faulkner.
"Marie's father is one of the bankers at the convention," Ben explained. "We flew down together."
"None of that is of any interest to Ms. Astor, I'm sure," Faulkner said. "Stay out of trouble. We should be back around three o'clock."
"Okay, Dad."
Faulkner wandered off, absently thinking that he'd much rather be on the beach with Ben and Shelly than sitting around talking business. But that was part of his job.
Shelly and Ben left the beach half an hour later and after two pain tablets and another icy drink, Shelly felt well enough to go fishing off the pier with Ben.
"Isn't this fun?" she asked on a sigh, lying back on the boards with her eyes closed and the fishing pole held loosely in her hand. "I'll bet that fishing concession makes a fortune without selling a single worm."
"Your hook isn't baited," Ben muttered. "That's not fair."
"I don't want to catch a fish, for heaven's sake! I just want to lie here and drink in the smell of sea air."
"Well, I want to catch something. Not that I expect to," he said miserably when he pulled up his hook and it was bare, again. The minnows under the pier kept taking the bait in tiny nibbles and missing the hook.
"Don't fall in," she said firmly.
"Okay."
The sound of footsteps didn't bother her, because there were plenty of other tourists dropping lines off the pier. But these came close. She looked up and there was Ben's father, in jeans, a gray knit designer shirt and sneakers. He did
n't even look like the same man.
"Catch anything?" he asked.
"Some sleep," Shelly remarked.
"I'm catching cold," Ben grumbled as he baited his hook for the fourth time.
Faulkner's narrow silver eyes slid over Shelly's trim figure in tight white jeans and a pink sleeveless blouse tied at the midriff. Her glorious hair was tamed into a French braid and even without makeup, her face was lovely. He couldn't stop looking at her.
She flushed a little and sat up. That level stare was making her self-conscious. "Since you're back, I'll leave Ben with you. I have to try to find Nan and the others."
"I thought they went sailing."
"They did," she agreed. "But Nan's a much worse sailor than I am. I expect she's lost breakfast and lunch by now, and is praying for land."
He reached down a big, strong hand and helped her up. Oddly his fingers were callused; her fingers lingered against the tough pads on his and she looked up at him with kindled interest.
"Your hands are callused," she remarked.
He smiled slowly, closing his fingers around her own. "I have a sailboat," he remarked. "I love sailing."
"Oh."
"And you don't like the sea," he murmured dryly.
"My stomach doesn't like the sea," she corrected.
He searched her soft eyes and she didn't look away. Currents of electricity seemed to run into her body from the intensity of that stare, until her breathing changed and her heartbeat doubled. He still had her hand in his and unexpectedly, he brought the soft palm up to his lips and pressed them hard into its moist warmth.
She felt the color run into her face. "I, uh, really have to go." She laughed nervously and extracted her hand from his.
He smiled at her, without rancor or mockery. "Thanks for taking care of Ben."
"He sort of took care of me," she replied. Her eyes searched his, and there was a little fear in them.
His smile was indulgent, faintly surprised. "It's all right," he said softly, his voice deeper than ever, his eyes narrowed and intent.
She gnawed on her lower lip, understanding his response in her subconscious even if it sounded odd to her conscious mind. She turned away. "See you, Ben!"
"Sure. Thanks!"
She almost ran the length of the pier. She dated, and boys liked her. But she'd never liked them. Now, in the space of a few days, a man who thought she was much too young for him had blazed a path to her most secret self, and she didn't know how to chase him out again. There were plenty of reasons she should keep her distance from him, and she wanted to. But Ben was making it impossible.
She walked into the motel, almost colliding with a very irritated Marie Dumaris.
"You again," the older woman said curtly. "Stay away from Faulkner. I don't know what you think he'd see in a ragamuffin like you, but I don't like the way you've attached yourself to him and Ben."
The attack was staggering. Shelly stared at her blankly. "I beg your pardon?"
"If you don't leave Faulkner alone, I'll make you sorry. My people are well-to-do and I have influence. I can have you kicked out of school if I feel like it." She smiled haughtily at Shelly's expression. "Faulkner told me that you go to Thorn College. So watch your step. You don't know who you're dealing with."
Shelly looked her in the eye, and she didn't smile. "Neither do you," she said with quiet dignity.
Marie started to say something else, but Shelly turned and kept walking. She couldn't imagine why Marie would warn her away from Faulkner, who wasn't interested in her that way at all. Besides, she was only going to be here for four more days. That was hardly enough time to capture a man's heart. She overlooked the fact that hers was slowly being chained already....
That evening, after they'd eaten fish and chips, she and Nan were startled by a knock at the door.
Shelly went to open the door and found Faulkner. He smiled gently at her surprise. She was still wearing her jeans and pink blouse, but he'd changed into white slacks and a patterned shirt.
"Do you like Latin music?" he asked.
She was flustered, and looked it. "Yes."
"Come on. There's a live band down the way. Nan?" he added, looking past Shelly. "Want to come with us?"
"I'd love to, but there's a PBS special on about a dig in Egypt," Nan said apologetically. "I love classical archaeology."
"Indulge yourself, you stick-in-the-mud," Shelly grumbled.
"I will. Have fun!"
Faulkner waited while Shelly tied a pink knit sweater loosely around her neck in case it got cooler, and found her purse.
She waited until they were in the elevator headed down to the ground floor before she spoke. "Isn't this sudden?" she queried. "And where's Ben?"
"He's staying with some friends of mine for a few hours."
She lifted both eyebrows.
He chuckled. "You know how I feel about May-December relationships. I've already said so. I don't have anything indiscreet in mind. I thought you might like the impromptu Latin concert on the beach, so I came to get you."
"Am I substituting?"
He tilted her face up to his and shook his head, holding her eyes. "Oh, no," he said quietly. "Not you."
She smiled gently. "That was nice."
"I am nice," he replied, letting go of her chin. "It takes some people longer than others to notice it, of course."
She laughed. "Conceit, yet." "I am not conceited. In fact, my modesty often shocks people."
"I'll let you know if I feel in danger of being shocked."
His silver eyes twinkled. "You do that."
"You aren't what you seem," she said with faint curiosity. "1 thought bankers were staid and businesslike."
His powerful shoulders rose and fell. "I am, when I'm in the office." He glanced down at her. "I'm not in the office tonight, so look out."
She chuckled. "I can hardly wait."
The music got louder the closer they got to the beach A boom box was blasting Latin rhythms and food and beer were being passed around while couples danced in the sand. A crowd of merrymakers had gathered to watch, including some of the students Shelly was travelling with. One of them, unfortunately, was Pete.
"So this is where you went to!" he said impatiently, glancing warily at Faulkner. "Want to join us?"
Faulkner slid a possessive arm around her waist, and smiled at Pete. It wasn't a pleasant smile. "She's with me," he said quietly.
"Yes, I am," Shelly added. "Thanks for the invitation anyway."
Pete didn't say another word. He stalked back off to the other group.
"He's been drinking again," she said. "Ordinarily he's very nice."
"Nan told me that she was barely able to peel him off you last night," he said curtly. "I don't like that. A man who'll take advantage of an intoxicated woman is no man at all."
She stared at him. "Which means that you wouldn't seduce me if I got drunk?"
"Of course not. Besides, even cold sober, a college freshman is a little green on the tree for a man my age," he added, and his voice was unusually soft.
She should have been glad that her subterfuge had been successful. But instead, she was miserable that he thought she was too young for him.
"Will you relax and enjoy the music?" he chided.
"Sorry." She smiled. "I'm glad you asked me. I love music."
"So do I."
"Elevator music and classic rock and roll?" she teased.
He cocked a thick eyebrow. "Axl Rose and Aero-smith," he shot back.
She chuckled. "Mr. Scott, you are nothing like your image."
"Thank God for that."
The music got louder and couples moved into the circle to dance. Because her parents were ballroom dancing fans, she'd grown up knowing how to dance the mambo and tango. Faulkner seemed surprised that someone of her tender years would know how to do a sophisticated tango, but after he gauged her style, they seemed to flow together to the passionate refrain.
The music was wild. What she felt with
every sensual brush of his body against hers was wilder. Her heart ran away with her. There was no tomorrow—
only tonight. She began to act as if the moment was all that existed, deliberately tempting him with the brush of her breasts against his broad chest, the soft glide of her thighs beside his, the intoxicating fencing of her steps with his.
She hung beneath his narrowing gaze, feeling the effect she was having on him in his quickened breath, the tightening of his hands on her waist and then, sliding lower, on her hips as he brushed her body against him.
It was arousing and she was too hungry to hide her reaction to him. As the music built to a climax, her eyes found his and held them. By the time it wound down, she was clinging to him, like a life preserver.
They finished the dance with a trembling Shelly draped over one powerful arm. Faulkner's mouth poised scant inches above her own The whole crowd applauded, but they were so lost in each other, in the intoxicating magic of aroused awareness, that they barely noticed.
"Oh, for a few seconds of privacy," he murmured huskily, searching her eyes as he slowly drew her back up again, the sensual brush of his hard body against her soft one arousing her suddenly and violently.
The dance had been sensual. She could feel her heart, and his, pounding in rhythm. "What would you do?" she challenged.
"I think that you're not quite that naive," he said, and his silver eyes fell to her soft mouth, lingering there until her lips parted and a tiny, frustrated moan escaped them.
His breathing was suddenly audible. "Shelly, stop it!"
She wanted to, she really did. But for the first time in her life, she wasn't quite in control. The feel of his chest against her soft breasts made them swell and she felt a sweet trembling all through her body. She was young and untried and hungry for her first taste of physical ravishment. All that was in the eyes she lifted bravely to his.
His jaw clenched. He swallowed. "All right. But not here," he said roughly.
He took her hand in his and drew her along with him. Her head was spinning; he'd read her thoughts as surely as if she'd spoken them. She'd never before experienced that kind of communication. It was frightening, similar to the headlong rush into passion that made her legs tremble.
"People. Damn people!" he muttered under his breath as he searched for a single uncrowded place. There wasn't one. He looked toward the beach, where the sea oats and sand dunes gave at least the illusion of privacy.