Cole Cameron's Revenge

by Sandra Marton

  He knew. Oh, he knew! Faith reached behind her, put her hand on the nightstand for support. It was inevitable that he'd learn about Peter's existence, but she hadn't expected such rage...

  "Answer me, dammit. Where is he?"

  "How did you...?" Her voice shook. "I don't know."

  Cole's eyes swept over her. She flushed, fought against the almost overwhelming urge to grab the cover from the bed and wrap herself in it, but the last thing she wanted was to let him know how vulnerable she felt. Alice, she thought desperately, Alice, wherever you are, don't come home just yet.

  "Come on, baby. You can do better than that. He's here, all right. What man in his right mind wouldn't be waiting to see you come out of that shower?"

  "I'm telling you, I don't..." Faith caught her breath. Man?

  "Don't tell me he's gone already." Cole's mouth twisted. "Did you tell him about the money? Does he know you won't be able to support yourself on what little is left, let alone support a lover?"

  Cole didn't know she had a son, he thought she had a lover. A lover! The idea was preposterous and so far removed from what she'd thought he believed that she almost laughed. In fact-in fact...

  The sound rose in her throat and burst from her mouth. Cole's face turned red and she clamped her lips together. Don't, she told herself, don't, but it was too late. She shook with hysterical laughter, with the relief of it, the pain of it...

  Cole's hands bit into her shoulders. "Who are you laughing at, my brother or me?"

  "I'm-not-laughing," she gasped, but she was, she was laughing and weeping and­-

  "Damn you," Cole growled, and hauled her into his arms and kissed her.

  It all happened so fast that, later, he cursed himself for a fool. He hadn't been thinking, hadn't been functioning or he'd never have done it. Why would he kiss her? She was all the things he most despised in a woman, a scheming little liar with an uncanny talent for taking a perfectly normal male and making him do things he'd never have dreamed of doing.

  None of that reasoning drove him now. Anger drove him, a fury so hot and deep and dark that he didn't give a damn that she was struggling frantically to free herself of his em­brace or that she was trying to twist her mouth away from his. She owed him this, owed him for the years of hating her and wanting her and asking himself when he was ever going to purge her from his system.

  "Stop," she begged, and he laughed, thrust a hand into her hair, tilted her head back and kissed her again and again, his mouth hard, his hands rough... and then she made a sound that cut through it all, a whisper of fear and despair, and it pierced what little remained of his heart.

  "Faith," he whispered, and his kiss softened, became a plea. His mouth moved gently over hers. He said her name again, put both hands in her hair, and she sighed and opened her mouth to his.

  A thousand memories swept through him. The warm, silken softness of her skin under his caressing hands. The honeyed sweetness of her mouth, the flower-and-rain scent of her hair. The feel of her against him, her breasts thrusting against his chest, her hips tilted up just enough so he could press his aroused flesh into the vee of her thighs when he swept one hand down her back, cupped her bottom, lifted her to him.

  She was the woman he had never forgotten, a dizzying blend of sensuality and innocence. Having her in his arms again, feeling her surrender, sent all his blood to his loins.

  He groaned and buried his face at the tender juncture of neck and shoulder. He'd always loved the smell and taste of her there. All he'd ever had to do was kiss that spot, catch the skin lightly between his teeth and she'd moan, her head would fall back and his name would whisper from her lips...

  As it did now. Her hands had been pressed against his chest. Now, they curled into his shirt. He felt her shudder and he knew she was trying to deny what she felt but it was too late. He slid his hands inside her robe and cupped her breasts. God, the feel of her. The heat. He moved his thumbs over her nip­ples and she cried out his name.

  "Cole. Cole, please..."

  The words took him back in time, made him hard as stone-­hard made him remember what a talented Jezebel she was.

  He let go of her. Faith staggered back, opened her eyes and stared at him. If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought the horror on her face was real.

  "God," he said hoarsely. He swung away from her and gulped deep lungfuls of air. He felt sick to his stomach. It disgusted him, to think she could still affect him like this.

  "You-you bastard!"

  The blow to his back caught him by surprise. She struck him again and he turned, grabbed for her hands and pinned them against his chest but not before her fingernail raked his lip. Her eyes were bright with tears, her mouth trembled. She tried to jerk free of his grasp and bring up her knee, but he pushed her away and she fell backward onto the bed and looked up at him as if he were a monster.

  "Get out of my house!"

  Such righteous indignation. If he'd been a spectator instead of a participant in this pathetic excuse for a morality play, he'd have been tempted to believe she was the innocent virgin wronged by the evil villain. Cole took out his handkerchief, gingerly put it to his lip. The white linen came away faintly smeared with blood.

  "Are you deaf?" Faith scooted across the bed and got to her feet. "Get out!"

  "You're repeating yourself," he said coldly.

  "And you're still here!"

  "Maybe you had difficulty understanding what Sam Jergen said, Faith." He stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket. She was good, no doubt about it. She didn't only look wronged, she looked terrified. "This house is mine. Think about it, baby. You can't throw a man off his own property."

  "The house is mine." She held the robe closer, lifted her chin, looked him in the eye. "I live here. I have lived her for the past nine years."

  "And? You think that gives you squatter's rights?" Cole folded his arms over his chest. "My brother wrote a will. He left this place to me. End of story."

  "Your brother was my husband. He said he'd leave me money only there wasn't any money to leave. I live here. You don't. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. That's the end of the story!"

  "Is that what your lover told you?"

  Color striped her face. "I don't need anyone to tell me right from wrong."

  "Wednesday," Cole said coolly. "Nine a.m. You're either gone or-"

  "Or what? You'll get the sheriff to evict me?" She flashed him a chilly smile and took the telephone from the nightstand. "How about I get him to evict you?"

  "Nobody can evict me. I just told you, this house is-"

  "Yours. And maybe it will be, when I'm good and ready to leave. Until then, I'm the one living here. That makes you an intruder." Her eyebrows lifted. "Last chance, Cole. Are you leaving on your own, or do you want to wait for the sheriff? I'm sure he'll be happy to do his civic duty and arrest you for trespass or breaking and entering. Whatever it's called."

  "Go right ahead." Cole spoke with exaggerated politeness. "Call the sheriff, by all means. I'm certain he'll be eager to assist you."

  He wouldn't. Cole knew it. So did she. The sheriff didn't think any better of her than anybody else in this miserable town. Still, facts were facts. He'd see what had happened, that Cole had broken into the house, that he looked as dangerous and disreputable as when he'd left Liberty nine years ago...

  Faith caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Dangerous, yes. But not disreputable. What he looked was gorgeous and exciting, every woman's bad-boy fantasy come true.

  Even hers.

  That was the worst of it, that he'd taken her in his arms and tapped into all those hot, humiliating dreams she'd had as a girl. There were still times she came awake in the dark of night, her body aching for his remembered touch. She dreamed of his hands on her skin, his roughened fingers moving with shocking tenderness over her breasts, between her thighs.

  Every memory of that one night they'd spent together was a part of her. The hardness of Cole's body. The sweetness of his
mouth. The heat in his eyes and the excitement of knowing she'd caused it...

  Faith turned her back to Cole and fumbled with the phone. Her brain wasn't functioning right. What was the sheriff's number? She couldn't remember and that was his fault, too, because he'd frightened her, angered her, made her remember things she'd spent years trying to forget.

  How? How could he have done that? Made her want to melt against him, let him do the things he'd done to her throughout that incredible night?

  "What's the matter, Faith?"

  She jerked her chin up. He was watching her with an in­tensity that made the hair rise on the nape of her neck, as if he knew what she was thinking. Dammit, what was that num­ber? She knew it. Everybody in town knew it. Six three one. No. Six four one. One four six...

  "Hang up the phone." His voice was soft, almost a purr.

  Faith turned her back. She didn't want to feel his eyes on her. The number, dammit. The number...

  "I said, hang up."

  His hands clasped her waist. She gasped and swung toward him. "Don't you dare touch me!"

  "Why not?" His mouth turned up at the corners in a slow, sexy smile. "You know," he said softly, "I thought you were putting on a show a little while ago. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the problem's more complicated than that."

  "There'll be a very complicated problem for you, once I call the sheriff."

  "I turn you on."

  She blinked. His tone was filled with certainty and she wanted to laugh again-except it would be dangerous because he might take her in his arms again, if she laughed, he might kiss her...

  She smiled. That was safe enough. "I'm amazed there's room in here for you, me-and your ego."

  "It's true, isn't it?" He moved closer. She tried to move back but the nightstand was right behind her. "You like sex. You always did."

  His voice was thick and rough; his eyes were darkening. Faith could feel her heart beginning to race. She lifted the telephone, held it between them and punched the buttons. "I'm calling the sheriff."

  "Sure. But you might want to think about what you'll tell.

  "I'll tell him the truth. That you broke into my house."

  "Sheriffs Department," a tiny voice said in her ear.

  "Really." Cole grinned, reached into his pocket, took out a key and held it in front of her. It was a duplicate of the old-­fashioned brass key she owned. "Seems to me it's kind of difficult to accuse a man of breaking in when he used a key."

  "Sheriffs Department," the voice said again. "Miss? Do you need help?"

  Yes, Faith thought, but not the kind she'd find behind a sheriff's badge.

  "No," she said, and took a breath. "Sorry. I-I must have dialed by mistake." Slowly, she put the telephone down. "All right. You've made your point. This is your house and I don't belong here."

  "Damn right, you don't. You never did, and you sure as hell don't belong here with your latest-"

  The door flew open. They both swung toward it. Faith felt her knees buckle. No, she thought, please, no...

  "Mommy?" Peter bounced into the room. "Look what Alice got me... Oh." Her son stared past her. "Who's that?" he said, with childish directness.

  Faith forced her lips to curve into what she hoped was a smile. "Peter," she said, "Peter, darling. Come and say hello to-to your uncle."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FAITH had feared this moment, feared it for months after her baby's birth. But as time passed and months became years, life had been peaceful. It had lulled her into forgetfulness. Then she'd walked into Sam Jergen's office and the fear had come rushing back, filling her with terror.

  Justifiable terror.

  She'd known she had little hope of keeping Peter's exis­tence a secret, not with Cole back in town. Sooner or later, somebody would say something. And somebody had. Some­one-Jergen, probably, told him she had someone named Peter in her life. Cole thought he was her lover.

  If only fate had left things that way...

  But it hadn't.

  Cole and his son were staring at each other, both of them looking as stunned as she felt, though for very different rea­sons. Their expressions were almost identical. Two pairs of wide green eyes. Two slightly dimpled chins. Two mouths, opened in surprise. Peter, a miniature of Cole. A miniature of his father...

  No. No. Faith took a ragged breath. She must not think that way. Ted was Peter's father. Cole was from a time long past and best forgotten.

  Peter recovered first. "Mom?" He looked at her. "Is he really my uncle?"

  Faith gave a laugh so false she half expected a bolt of light­ning to sizzle from the sky and strike her.

  "Yes," she said brightly, "that's right, sweetheart. Your­ your uncle."

  Her son looked as if he couldn't decide if that was good news or bad. Faith swallowed hard. Cole, older and more ca­pable of disguising his feelings, had masked his expression but he didn't take his eyes off Peter. What was he thinking? What did he see?

  Not the truth. Oh, please, please, not the truth. "He looks just like Cole," Ted had said on Peter's first birthday. She'd denied it. He looks like himself, she'd insisted ... but now she knew she'd been lying.

  "How come you never said I had an uncle?"

  Faith cleared her throat. "Well, I guess I didn't-I mean, I never thought..."

  "No." Cole's voice was frigid. "I guess you never did."

  Her heart thumped as he brushed past her. For one terrible, hope-filled instant, she thought he was going to ignore her son, march straight past him and out the door. No such luck. Cole stopped in front of the boy.

  "Hello."

  Peter shot a delighted look at her, then at Cole. "Hi," he said shyly.

  Cole didn't answer. After what seemed forever, he bent down to Peter's level and held out his hand. "I'm Cole."

  Her son hesitated. Then he held out his hand, too, and let Cole's swallow it up.

  "How old are you, Pete?"

  Faith realized she'd been holding her breath and let it out in one long rush. "It's Peter," she said quickly. Two sets of green eyes fixed on her, one bright with childish wonder, the other icy with tightly banked rage. "His name is-"

  "It's Peter," her little boy said. "But-but some of the guys call me Pete."

  The sweet lie almost broke Faith's heart. There were no "guys" and no nicknames. Her son smiled hopefully at Cole, who smiled back.

  "Pete it is, then. How old are you, Pete?"

  No, Faith thought. She wanted to grab her son and run but there was no place to run to.

  "I'm eight."

  "Eight." Cole nodded, let go of the kid's hand and told himself to take it easy. It all made sense now. He'd misun­derstood Sam Jergen; he'd assumed Faith had only claimed to be pregnant but she really had been. Ted could never have walked away from his own son. He'd have done the right thing.

  "Eight," Cole he repeated, his voice soft as silk, his anger as deadly as one of the superheated fires that could turn an oil well into a never-ending spiral of flame.

  "Yup. How old are you?"

  He took a deep breath, reminded himself that the child's genes were only half Davenport. Cameron blood ran through the boy's veins, too. Ted's blood.

  "I'm just a few years older than that," he said, smiling as best he could around his fury. While he'd still been aching for Faith, she'd been carrying his brother's child.

  "How come I never knew nothing about you?"

  "Anything," Faith said. It was as inane as her first com­ment but she couldn't just stand here in silence. She had to end this meeting before it dragged on any longer. Man and child looked at her again and she ran the tip of her tongue between her lips. "I mean-I mean surprises are nice some­times, Peter, don't you think?"

  Cole rose slowly to his feet. "Good question, Faith. Why not ask it of me?"

  "Cole." She took a breath. "Look, I'm sure you have ­you have questions, but-"

  "Me? Questions?" His mouth twisted. "Not a one, baby. Why would I have questions when any man with half a brain can f
igure out the answers?" His eyes swept over her, all but peeling the robe from her body. "I told Ted to take care of you," he said softly. "I should have told him to take care of himself."

  "You told him to take care of me?" Faith gave a quick, bitter laugh. "Please. Let's not lie to each other, not after all these years. I was the last thing you thought of, after that night-"

  "What night?"

  Faith caught her breath. Peter was looking up at her, his head cocked to the side. She bent down, lifted him up even though he was really too big for that, and hugged him.

  "Hey," she said briskly, "you know what?"

  "Put me down, Mommy." Peter shot an embarrassed look over her shoulder. "I'm not a baby anymore."

  "I will, in a minute. Give me a hug first. That's it." She put her son on his feet, smiled and ruffled his hair. "I just remembered that I didn't get you that burger I promised. Why don't I take you to town-"

  "You might want to get dressed first," Cole said softly.

  Her eyes flashed to his face. He was smiling thinly and she told herself not to blush, not to give him the pleasure of seeing her discomfort.

  "I'll put on some jeans and a T-shirt," she said, her voice gentle for Peter, her eyes icy for Cole. "And we'll drive to town-"

  "I already had a hamburger. Alice bought me one." "Oh." Faith nodded. "Well, then-then we'll go to-to the Ice Cream Factory for-"

  "Mom," her sweet, adorable, faithless little boy said, "it's too near suppertime for ice cream. That's what you always say."

  "Is it?" Faith glanced at the clock on the nightstand. He was right. A lifetime had passed since this morning. How could that be? "Well..." Well, what? Cole wasn't showing any signs of leaving. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, his eyes locked on her face. "Well, since it's that late, we'll drive into town anyway and-and pick up some fried chicken. And-and a video. We'll have an early supper in the den. On trays." She knew she probably sounded des­perate, and she was. There had to be a way to get away from Cole and that unreadable stare.

  Peter looked at her. "That sounds like fun," he said po­litely. Then he beamed a smile at Cole. "You know some­thin'? I didn't have an uncle when I woke up this morning."