by Diana Palmer
Andy turned to speak to her and his eyes went homing to her swollen mouth, devoid of lipstick and looking as if it had been hotly and thoroughly kissed. His face flamed and he drew in a harsh breath. Wynn put a hand to her mouth, as if she could cover up what McCabe's thumb had done to it. "Andy, it wasn't what you're thinking," she said shortly.
"Sure it wasn't." Andy stood up, almost knocking over his chair. "He's only been here a day, for heaven's sake!"
"I'm a fast worker," McCabe said with a wicked smile. "And Wynn is a dish. Can you blame me? Especially when she's so... responsive."
Andy seemed to puff up. His face reddened and he gave Wynn a killing glance. He whirled and slammed out of the house. A minute later, the roar of his car filled the silence.
"You troublemaker," Wynn accused hotly. "What was the point of that lie?"
"It wasn't a lie," he said calmly, lighting a cigarette. His eyes shot up and held hers.
"You'd have let me kiss you."
She shifted restlessly. "All right," she admitted, "I probably would have. We go back a long way and I'm as curious about you as you seem to be about me. But I'm engaged to Andy, I'm wearing his ring. And what's a kiss, these days, McCabe?"
"It depends on the people involved," he said quietly. His eyes scanned her hot face.
"You and I would make more of it than a meeting of mouths."
She flushed and dropped her eyes to her empty coffee cup. "He'll pout for three days before he even speaks to me again. That is, if he doesn't break the engagement."
"You'd be better off."
"I don't want to be an old maid," she burst out, glaring at him. "It may suit Katy Maude, but it wouldn't suit me. I don't like being alone, living alone!"
"You aren't," he reminded her. "You're living with me right now."
"Not in the sense I mean."
"Not yet," he agreed, and it was a threat.
She stood up. "I'll do the dishes."
"Running?" he asked, studying her. "I won't go away. And neither will the problem."
"I'll ignore you both," she promised him.
She gathered the dirty dishes, but as she started by him, to add his plate to the pile :it the end of the table, he caught her around the waist and turned her, pressing his open mouth to her backbone.
She stiffened at the unexpected contact.
His big hand spread out across her midriff, bringing her closer as his lips brushed between her shoulder blades down to her waist. His hand moved slowly, insidiously, to the flatness of her stomach and back up in a warm, lazy circle. Her hand went to catch it, to stop it, and lingered helplessly on the curling hair that covered the back of it.
He let her go all at once and she moved away from him as if she'd been scalded, with wild eyes that glanced off his.
"You really are a babe in the woods," he murmured, watching her hands tremble as they stacked dishes. "Hasn't Andy ever done that to you?"
She lifted the stack, praying she wouldn't drop it. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she asked coldly.
"Wynn ..."
She paused at the doorway to the kitchen, with her back to him. "Yes?"
"Imagine how it would be," he said quietly, "if I kissed you all over like that."
The dishes tottered precariously in her hands and she marched into the kitchen stiff-legged, viciously kicking the swinging door closed behind her.
She took her time doing the dishes, tingling all over with the force of her own awakened hungers. McCabe should be shot, she told herself. Then she remembered that he had been, and felt guilty.
She finished washing up and went reluctantly back into the living room. She had to get this situation in hand, she had to convince McCabe that she wouldn't tolerate any more of his suggestive remarks. She was engaged, she belonged to another inan. Besides, what would McCabe want with her? A little fling between assignments? A pleasant diversion while he recuperated? Because he wasn't a marrying man - he'd told her that himself years ago. And Wynn couldn't settle for an affair. She wanted a marriage, a husband, children. Which made it doubly irritating that McCabe could make her feel sensations Andy's wildest ardor had never aroused. And by barely touching her.
Sorting words and explanations in her mind, she marched into the living room ready to do battle. And found McCabe sitting up asleep in his easy chair.
In sleep he was oddly vulnerable. The hard lines in his broad face were relaxed, his lips were slightly parted. His eyes were closed, heavy-lidded and copper-lashed, under the deep jutting brow. His hair wasn't a true blond, it was a pale brown with blond highlights, bleached by sun light. There were dark hairs in his eye brows, too, and in the opening of his shirt she could see dark and light mingling, his curling hair like a shadow under the khaki shirt. He was as broad as she remembered him, his chest tapering down to a flat stomach and narrow hips. The muscles in his legs bunched sensuously under the fabric of his trousers. She tingled all over, just looking at him. She always had. But it had made her angry when she was a girl, and it made her angry now, that he should cause such a reaction in her. He was the enemy. Wasn't he?
"Deep thoughts, Wynn?" he asked lazily, and his eyes opened to slits.
"You weren't asleep at all," she accused, embarrassed at being caught in that total scrutiny.
"No, I was resting my eyes. If my leg didn't hurt so much, I'd let you sit on my lap," he added with an outrageous grin.
The thought of it made her feel odd. She turned away. "McCabe, we've got to talk."
"All right. Sit down. Better yet, make some coffee and then sit down."
"I already have," she murmured, glad of a reason to escape. "I'll bring it in."
She calmed down while she got the coffee service, and when she'd poured the black liquid into cups and was sipping hers, she was able to face him quite calmly. Outwardly, at least.
"How do you like it?" he asked suddenly.
She blinked. "Like what?"
"Reporting."
"Oh." She smiled. "I love it. It's not at all like a normal job. It's exciting and there's variety, and I feel like I might even he doing a little good once in a while."
He nodded. "And you learn a lot. About life, and people, and professions. It's an educational kind of job. An information clearing house."
"The press releases we get are really interesting," she agreed eagerly. "We can't begin to print them all, we don't have the space, but I love reading them just the same. We get inside features on racing and medicine and all sorts of political profiles, scientific discoveries ... it's almost as good as working in a library."
"And you learn how government works," he murmured dryly.
"I wouldn't be a politician for all the opals in Australia," she burst out. "Oh, McCabe, isn't it terrible? So much controversy over even the smallest decisions, and if you tell the truth you cause all kinds of trouble for everybody. But you can't not tell the truth, because you're obligated to."
"It goes with the job." He grinned. "If you do it right, both sides hate you."
"So I've found out." She sighed. "And no matter how hard we try, we make mistakes. And while nobody remembers the good jobs we do, nobody forgets the bad ones."
"The wreck bothered you, didn't it?" he asked after a minute, studying her over the rim of his coffee cup. "Why?"
She shrugged. "There was a child involved. Two years old. He was killed."
"Who else?"
"The baby's father." She looked up at him. "The baby's mother is in a coma. If she lives, think what a horrible awakening she's going to have. I wouldn't want to live, I don't think." She laughed mirthlessly. "And do you know why it happened? The driver of the second car was in a hurry to get to Atlanta. He had an appointment." Tears welled in her eyes. "He didn't want to be late, so two people died."
He sighed heavily. "Wynn, you can't judge. Especially, you can't afford the luxury of getting involved. It's suicide."
"Stop caring, you mean?" she asked.
"Stop hurting when I see someone else hur
ting?"
He shook his head. "I mean you have to learn to report the news without becoming part of it. Death is a natural part of life, honey. I've seen more of it than I care to remember in the past few years; lives wasted in ways you haven't dreamed of. But you can't cry for every death. You'd never stop. You have to change your perspective."
"How?"
"You simply learn to take it one day at a time," he said, and his eyes darkened. "You have to understand that people are going to die. You can't stop it. You can't help by walking around in a perpetual state of grief. You have to report what you see and go on. And if you can't handle what you see, it's time to quit."
Her eyes ran over his craggy face. "Can you still handle it, even after what you've seen?"
He smiled carelessly. "Barely."
"Why?"
"Why do I do it?" He shrugged. "Somebody's got to. I'd hate to see a family man step into my shoes. Nobody would miss one "
"Don't," she ground out, averting her eyes. "That's a horrible attitude."
There was a long silence and she felt his gaze almost physically.
"Wynn, don't brood over me," he said after a minute. "I can take care of myself. Heaven knows, I'm not suicidal."
She glanced up. "Sure you can. Look what good shape you came home in!"
He chuckled softly. "So I slipped up. Everybody's entitled to one mistake."
"It was almost your last."
"That, too." He leaned back with a heavy sigh. "Does Andy ever listen when you talk shop?"
She flushed and avoided his penetrating gaze. "I don't ask him to."
"He doesn't," he said, answering his own question. "So who do you talk to? Ed's like me, he doesn't look back. Who's left?"
"I talk to myself, if you must know," she muttered. "I'm a sparkling conversationalist when I get started."
His eyes narrowed. "And that's exactly why I wanted you out of this business. You're not tough enough, Wynn. One day you'll fold up like an accordion."
"That hasn't happened yet," she reminded him. "And I'm tough, too, like my father was."
He smiled softly. "I owed your father my life once or twice," he recalled. "He pulled me out of some hairy situations. I'm only sorry I couldn't do the same for him, the one time it mattered."
"He admired you," she said.
"It was mutual. That's why I agreed to this crazy scheme of his, to oversee your inheritance." His eyes wandered over her slowly. "But I'm just beginning to understand his reasoning."
"If that's another dig at Andy, you can forget it," she told him, rising. "He's well to-do, he doesn't need my money."
"He doesn't need your money," he mused, "he doesn't want your body, and he doesn't seem to need common interests either. What exactly do you do together?"
Her jaw fell. "We get along very well," she tossed back. "We go to movies, we like the same kind of books, we're good friends ..."
"You're describing a brother, not a potential lover," he shot back. "Do you want him?"
"That's none of your..."
"Because you do want me," he continued, watching her flush. "And I want you."
Her breath sighed out wildly and she nought to retain control of the situation; her hands clenched at her sides until they whitened. "McCabe ..."
His head went back and he studied her arrogantly, intently. "It's just as well I stayed away so long, Wynn."
She hardly understood what he was saying. She was too embarrassed. "It's been a long day. You can have the spare bedroom. It's -"
"The first one down the hall," he said for her. "I scouted around when I got here."
"Naturally." She picked up the coffee service and carried it back to the kitchen, not bothering to wash up the two cups.
"There are towels and washcloths in the bathroom if you want a bath," she told him. "I take mine early in the mornings."
He stood up with an effort, his face lined with pain. "I could use a good soak," he agreed. "One way or another, it's been a long week."
"When do you start at the office, since Ed never tells me anything?" she asked.
"In the morning." He smiled at her irritation. "I can ride in with you, if you don't mind."
"I don't, but you might," she murmured, sizing him up. "I drive a Volkswagen."
"I'll bend over double, it will be all right," he assured her. "'Night, Wynn."
"Good night, McCabe."
He watched her go down the hall with a purely predatory gaze. And slowly, calculatingly, he smiled.
Chapter Four
Wynn hardly slept. All night, she kept feeling the touch of McCabe's hard mouth on her back until her skin felt unbearably sensitive. Images of him whirled through her head and shocked her. When morning came, she was feeling dragged-out and irritable.
She dressed in faded denim jeans and a T-shirt with "Foxy Lady" emblazoned across the front, because it was Wednesday and they'd all be working in the back to mail out papers. It was dirty work, because newsprint came off on hands and clothes and skin as the hundreds of papers were bundled and bagged and sent to the post office. Everybody wore casual clothes on Wednesday.
She ran a brush through her long hair and left off her makeup. It didn't matter. Ilcr complexion was an artist's dream, peaches and cream, and her bee-stung mouth hardly needed the gloss of lipstick she gave it.
McCabe was already dressed and in the kitchen, trying to make toast. He was wearing brown slacks and a patterned shirt, open at the throat, with a lightweight tan jacket and tie. He turned as she walked in and chuckled at the expression on her face.
"I wear jeans in the jungle, honey," he murmured, approving of hers, "but the first day on the job I don't want to scare off the help."
"You won't do that," she said. He looked so good, Judy would probably swoon. Wynn honestly felt like it herself, so she dragged her eyes away.
"Here, I'll do that. Why don't you sit down?"
"I'll be sitting all day," he sighed angrily. "Dammit, I hate inactivity!"
"You won't get much of that, handling Ed's job," she murmured, smiling at him as she made the toast and poured coffee. "Want some eggs or bacon?"
He shook his head. "Can't stomach it this early. How about you?"
"The same, I'm afraid." She handed him Isis coffee and sat down by him.
"Andy called."
She lifted her head. He looked odd. "When?"
"About six."
She glanced at her watch. "Over an hour ago? You didn't wake me."
"I asked Andy if he wanted me to hand you the phone," he murmured.
It took a minute for that to sink in. Her eyes scanned his face and she began to flush. "You didn't!" She got to her feet in one smooth motion. "McCabe, you didn't!"
"I did." He sipped his coffee calmly and raised an eyebrow at her. "He is suspicious, isn't he? He jumped immediately to the conclusion that you were in bed with me. "
She lifted her saucer and slammed it down on the table, shattering it into a dozen pieces. "That's it, that's it, you're leaving here today! I don't care if you have to shack up with a mouse, you are leaving my house! How dare you interfere in my life? I'll marry whom I please!"
He got to his feet with the help of the cane and moved toward her. "Not Andy," he said quietly.
"Yes, Andy!" She backed away from him. "You just pack your bags, McCabe Foxe, and I'll drive you to a motel."
"No, you won't," he said. "I'm not leaving."
"I'll call the police," she threatened wildly as she wound up with her back to the wall and McCabe looming over her.
"How interesting," he said. "What will you tell them?"
She thought about that for a minute. Infuriatingly, she couldn't think of anytiling.
"No go, Wynn," he said with a laugh. "You're stuck with me, so make the most of it. It won't be so bad."
"But it is bad," she wailed, staring up at him with a wildly beating heart, intimidated by the sheer size of him. "Oh, McCabe, you're going to ruin my whole life."
He sho
ok his head. "No. I'm going to help you salvage the rest of it. Andy isn't for you. He'd drain the life out of you."
"But it's my life," she returned.
He looked down into her wide green eyes and lifted his hand to brush her hair ;iway from her face in an oddly tender gesi tire. "I won't let him have you."