"Nope. They tried to beat it into me a time or two, but I've got a hard head. Thanks for the pizza, by the way. And for the cartoon. Kismet has almost worn it out."
Jared caught the way she'd diverted the subject from the painful admission and let her get away with it, for now. He'd ponder the thought of someone trying to beat anything into Cleo another time. "You really think she's socially challenged and not developmentally disabled? She doesn't seem too connected to reality."
Cleo emitted a little moan of appreciation as she finished chewing her last bite. "I don't get pizza often. This is good."
That little moan raised other parts of him besides his expectations, and Jared squirmed uncomfortably. He didn't hold out much hope of winning her with pizza. "I ordered extra everything. Back to Kismet."
She wrinkled up her nose at him. "Men have such one-track minds. Kismet is pathologically shy; I'll give you that. Counseling might be helpful. Chances are good she's been abused in the past. Teachers really need to look for that in troubled kids. They also need to look for hidden talents. No one has ever praised Kismet, told her she was good at anything, encouraged her to come out of her shell and show the world what she is. Maybe she will never be a literary or mathematical genius. Who cares? She just needs to learn to function, and then she can find what she can do on her own."
Amazed that he'd drawn that much of a speech out of the taciturn creature across from him, Jared figured he'd hit on a hot spot and he'd best stay with it. "It's kind of hard to expect the school system to teach some kids to function while teaching others what it takes to get into college, don't you think?"
"So, what would you do with a whole lost layer of kids who've lived in mud from birth? I don't know the answers. I just know Kismet and Gene are basically good kids in a sad situation."
"Letting them stay with their mother isn't helping them." He knew better than to argue when he wanted to taste her kisses instead of pizza, but he hadn't grown up with his mother's speeches on charity and social reform without learning some social responsibility.
Cleo stabbed the pointed end of her pizza at him as if it were a knife. "You'd rather give them to a system that thinks food and clothing will solve the problem? Kids need love, encouragement, and attention, and there isn't a government in existence that can provide that. Their mother's efforts may be pathetic, but they're better than none at all."
He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "From what I see, their mother can't provide for her own needs. I don't know how you expect her to provide for the kids."
She ran her hands through her short hair, making it stand on end. "Not easily, but she's never been this bad before. Still, they can hope things will turn around. But if Social Services takes them away from their mother, they take away their only hope. Social workers wouldn't even have a clue if the kids belonged in a white home or a black one."
Time to derail this topic and move onto something easier. He liked knowing she could be passionate about something—it gave him hope. But he really didn't want to anger her when they were finally talking like sensible adults instead of exchanging insults. "What are you, a burned-out social worker that you know so much?"
She snorted so hard the soft drink almost came out her nose. Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she shook her head in amusement. "You don't even want to go there. Let's just agree to disagree, all right? You'll go away in a few months and forget all about it. I've got to live here. Accept that it's none of your business, and we'll do fine."
He wasn't accepting anything of the sort, but he didn't have to tell her that. He liked her in a mellow mood. He'd have to bring pizza more often. "All right, then, tell me about Matty and Maya."
"Why? You're not likely to be around long enough to get to know them. You want blunt?"
She didn't give him time to tell her he'd rather forego the pleasure.
She plunged on. "You have about as much interest in my family as I have in yours. We come from different planets. I don't know why you had to pick my beach house out of all the expensive condos you could have had all up and down the coast, but proximity doesn't make us anything but temporary neighbors. If I try, I might learn to deal with that. Don't think I'm available for anything more just because you're bored and avoiding whatever brought you here in the first place. Got it?"
The words stung, but he'd learned a thing or two about Cleo Alyssum over these past days. Her scary barriers were all for show. She would never have said what she just did if she hadn't been thinking along the same lines as he was. He had a craving desire for an intelligent, challenging woman for a change—or maybe to prove he wasn't as shallow as his family thought.
His family had always said he'd never learned to take no for an answer, too. About that, they were right. Persistence was his middle name.
Jared pushed back his chair and stood, and she did the same. He liked having women around, always had, so he'd spent a lot of time learning how to achieve what he wanted. Anger wouldn't do it.
"I got it," he said with a smile. "I don't happen to agree. Only time will decide who is right or wrong." He could see the suspicion creasing her forehead. He'd known she wasn't unintelligent.
He waited until she came around the table to ease him out the door. Then he caught her stubborn little chin and lifted it until she all but spat into his eyes. "If you try, could you learn to deal with me and not just my proximity?"
Jared didn't give her the opportunity to answer. He'd spent days imagining what it would feel like to soften her sassy mouth beneath his. Now, he intended to find out.
She tasted of pizza and tartness. Exploringly, he licked the salt from her lips, and knew the triumph of conquest when she shivered and her mouth relaxed and accepted the pressure of his.
His libido screamed to grab her waist and haul her against him while he had the chance. His conscience gave her more space than that.
Sliding his fingers to frame her jaw, Jared deepened the contact, asking for the next step, the gentleness before the lust, permission before the taking.
She returned his kiss with more than interest, with a hungry need that shook him and pushed him faster than he'd anticipated. When she parted her lips on an exhalation of pleasure, he rejoiced and took possession of her mouth.
Cleo bit his tongue. Hard.
Chapter 11
"Dammit, Cleo! What the hell did you do that for?" Nursing his sore tongue, Jared stepped away from the table.
Cleo began reboxing the pizza. Jared McCloud had rattled her bones. If she thought too hard, she'd realize she was shaking. "You might want to take the rest of this back to your brother." She closed the cardboard lid and shoved the box at him.
Men never touched her unless she let them. Why had she let him? She'd better figure it out quick, because she wanted his hands on her again. They'd been strong, competent, reassuring hands, and she could easily deceive herself into believing they were caring ones.
No man had ever kissed her like that. Or maybe she'd never been kissed by a real man. The possibility that Jared was the kind of man she'd never known shivered her down to her toes. She didn't need this.
His eyes narrowed as he studied the box, studied her, then focused his gaze on an aroused part of her anatomy she'd rather not reveal. If her flannel shirt had been nearby, she'd put it on. He was entirely too good at seeing beyond the obvious.
"If you wanted me to leave, you could have just said so," he said angrily, ignoring the offered box. "If you're still mad at me for letting my party get out of hand, you could have said that, too. You damned well didn't have to maim me."
Yeah, she did, but she wasn't saying that either. Talking had never got her anywhere. How in hell did he expect her to explain that she had the hots for him, but no way in this universe was she acting on her insane, self-destructive impulses?
"You wouldn't have taken 'no' for an answer." She shoved the box at him again. "I'm not mad at you. It's good pizza. Go away."
He snatched the box, and for a hair-raising minute
, Cleo feared he would set it aside and come after her. She couldn't half blame him. They'd really been getting into that kiss, and if he didn't leave soon, she'd be gravitating right back into his arms again. Why in hell hadn't he stomped out and left her alone as he was supposed to do?
She hadn't anticipated her reaction to his kiss, but she was prepared this time. She crossed her arms over her aroused breasts, activating all her defenses.
He must have read her body language. He kept the box in his hands.
"All right, I'm going. Hide out here all you like; it's no difference to me. I'll be gone in a few months. You're the one who has to stay in this prison you've built."
He stalked into the front room, but Cleo didn't follow. She wiped the pizza crumbs from the table with a cloth and listened to the front door slamming. Bone-deep loneliness seeped through her, but she was used to lonely. Anybody who could call the privacy she'd found here a prison had never been in one.
That didn't mean he wasn't right. She was just like Kismet. People like her just couldn't function normally in society. She'd chosen the life that suited her best. Until Jared McCloud had come along, she'd done just fine.
When he left, it would suit her fine again.
Until then, she'd have to live with the memory of that kiss and avoid the bastard at all costs. Her fragile equilibrium couldn't handle a two-month affair, and building a secure environment for Matty was more important to her than sex. For Matty, she could survive loneliness.
* * *
"I see your sweet-talking charm didn't get you into the lady's bed." Sitting in the shadows of the deep, unlighted, porch, Tim tipped his chair back, propped his feet on the rail, and took another swig from his beer.
Jared remembered now why he'd run away from home at the first opportunity. Flinging the cardboard pizza box at his brother so TJ had to drop his feet and grab with one hand, he continued up the porch stairs and toward the door. His tongue didn't hurt much anymore, but his ego would never be the same. The lady in question threw a tough right jab, and she hadn't had to lift a hand to do it.
"She's not your usual sort," TJ continued, balancing the box on his knee and opening it to fish out a slice of pizza.
With a sigh, Jared gave up any hope of going to his room and sulking. Helping himself to another slice and a bottle from the cooler, he settled on the newly installed planks with his back against the rail. He hadn't bothered with much in the way of furniture. After all, once the project was done, he'd be out of here. Cleo could have her snakes and peacocks and mosquitoes. He swatted at one of the bloodthirsty critters.
"Maybe I like a challenge," he retorted through a mouthful of cheese.
Jared didn't count the number of empty beer bottles his brother had lined up on the railing. A man as large as Tim could swill a case and not feel the effects until he stood up. His serious-minded brother seldom indulged, but when he did, he pulled out all the stops. Jared didn't see any point in interfering. Tim had half a foot and more than a few pounds over him, and he inclined toward cantankerous when sloshed.
"Well, you were never satisfied unless you were butting your head against a wall," Tim agreed.
"Cleo isn't a wall. Cleo is Alcatraz." He grimaced and corrected that. "She's like a wounded fox caught in a trap who snaps at anyone who comes close."
Tim chugged a swallow of beer before replying. "Call the Humane Society."
Jared popped a beer cap and thought about that. "Maybe someone already has. And maybe they hurt her worse." He'd never spent much time examining motivations before. Maybe it was time he slowed down and took a look around for a change. Cleo compelled him to stop and think.
"Maybe baby brother has the hots for a chick who told him no," TJ growled.
For all he knew, his brother was right. Jared didn't have much experience at serious thought. "I think I'll call Susan and have her come down for a few days. Should I have her invite a friend?" That was something he could do without thinking.
Tim snorted. "Not for me. I'm supposed to be in Mexico City on Monday. I don't think I could seduce one of Susan's friends in two days, and I'm not about to spend the weekend staring at breasts and listening to chatter about what kind of car the last boyfriend had."
Jared tried to chuckle, but Tim was hitting too close to home. Susan and her friends did just that. She had a good pair of breasts though.
They didn't look half as intriguing as Cleo's pert, aroused ones. Cleo had wanted him. That kiss hadn't been fake. And there were much deeper depths to Cleo than to material worshippers like Susan.
He didn't know why the hell he'd suddenly taken a dislike of material worship.
"Cleo has a kid and the father's dead, but the kid apparently doesn't live with her. Wonder if he's with the in-laws?" He'd never even asked if she'd married the kid's father.
"I don't know a hell of a lot about women," Tim mused, "but even I can tell your landlady hides deep waters with a rough undertow. She's out of your league, lightweight."
Jared scowled at his bottle. His brothers had always taunted him about being superficial. So, he didn't know how to make the insides of a computer tick and couldn't look at a human mandible and tell it belonged to a female Caucasian with a lisp. He made people laugh, and that was just as good.
"Cleo and I connect in ways you'll never understand, big brother," Jared said with a self-confidence he didn't feel. "It doesn't always have to be about sex." Of course, this was probably the first time he'd ever said such an insane thing, but it sounded good.
Tim laughed. "Tell me you took her pizza so you could discuss mechanical witches."
Disgruntled, Jared threw his pizza bones into the box and stood up. "I'm capable of intellectual relationships. You're the one with a problem in the sex department. Good-night, big brother, I've got a strip due for next week."
He maneuvered this dramatic exit with a little more finesse, slamming the screen door and leaving TJ scowling.
The day's encounters had generated a super idea for the daily comic that his fingers itched to produce. Now, if only he had an idea to pull together the film project, he could forget Cleo and Tim and the rest of the world for a while. That's why he'd come here in the first place, wasn't it? Not to salivate over tongue-biting vipers.
He groaned at the image. Now he'd dream all night about Cleo as a snake wrapping around him and licking his face. His libido had careened totally out of control.
* * *
Sunday morning, Jared jogged down the eroding beach, kicking at washed-up strands of seaweed and rotten tree limbs, absorbing the roar of the surf. TJ had driven off to the airport, Susan had refused to visit a town without a designer boutique, and even the workmen had taken a construction day of rest. Only the squalls of the seagulls intruded upon his solitude. Surely, he could get some work done now.
Which was why he was running the beach without pencil in hand or idea one in his head. He wished he knew why he'd agreed to do the film in the first place. Probably because he thought it would look good on his résumé. If he had any character at all, he'd pay back the advance and give up his delusions of grandeur, but the Jag accident had eaten his cash, and his stocks were margined to the max. He couldn't go that route.
Besides, his agent would pitch a fit if he tried to back out. Films meant lucrative spin-offs and commercial franchises and could up the ante for books and who-the-hell-knew what all. He was sitting on a gold mine, if he could just dig down to it.
He'd never had to dig before. It had all rolled from his fingertips, and he wanted that creative energy back. Even his cash cow of a comic strip was losing momentum, probably because he was losing interest.
He had a nasty feeling he needed to be an angst-ridden teen again to re-create his earlier successes. He was getting old, and the passion wasn't there anymore.
What in hell would he do with his life if he couldn't draw?
Breathing hard, he stopped to do a few push-ups to unwind. He was only thirty-two. He couldn't quit now. He just needed
to get his teeth into something and shake it around a bit, something that really turned him on.
Cleo really turned him on, but he didn't think digging his teeth into her a good idea. Or maybe it was, but it wouldn't be productive. She'd apparently packed up and taken off for the weekend after their little contretemps on Friday night. As usual, she hadn't bothered activating her trespasser-alert system while she was gone.
Returning upright and jamming his hands into his pockets, Jared gazed around to orient himself. He couldn't see the beach house behind him. He figured the condo resort at the end of the island was just beyond the bend ahead. The wide sandy path into the jungle at the beach's edge beckoned. He ought to know better than to take any more paths, but they had a certain amount of entertainment value. Maybe he'd discover more imps and fairies.
He jogged into the dappled shade of tall, nearly branchless pines cutting off the intensity of the Carolina blue sky and sunshine. He hadn't realized what a fog Miami and New York lived under until he came here.
Maybe he could do something with that—go into some issue-oriented fairy tale that intellectuals would eat up while their children thought it was all just good fun. Who the hell watched cartoons anyway? Teenagers? Like, they'd be real interested in issues.
Maybe he needed to define his market. He could give Georgie a call...
He stopped at the edge of a clearing leading to a crumbling clapboard shack with bits of logs visible where the boards had rotted off. A log cabin. Well, this was one of the reasons people lived in New York and Miami instead of in rural decrepitude.
A scraggly vine bearing occasional splotches of yellow flowers crawled up the chimney, and wisteria had taken root in the corner of the porch he could see from this angle. The thick woody vine had already torn through the porch roof and probably supported it more than the column it wrapped around.
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